Page 18 of Julien (Confessions 2)

THE SOUND OF keys in the front door of the condo had Jacquelyn’s smile vanishing from Julien’s mind, and he found himself back in the kitchen staring at the bowls of cheese he’d been getting together for Robbie, who was currently sorting through the clothes they’d picked up from his nonna’s house on the way home tonight.

Julien’s hands were braced on the counter, and his knuckles were white with how tight he was holding on to the granite, and as the door opened and shut, announcing Priest’s arrival, Julien tried to shake himself out of the memory that had just snuck up on him.

He focused on the smooth sound of Sinatra filling the room as he stared into the white ceramic bowl of pepper jack, and reminded himself: It was only a memory. She’s not really here. She never will be again. But even as he told himself that, Julien could see Jacquelyn’s smile, could hear her laughter, and he could feel the soft strands of her hair as if it had all happened yesterday—instead of sixteen years ago.

As the sound of Priest’s shoes got closer on the hardwood, Julien reached for the Gruyere and a knife, and concentrated on chopping it up into cubes in an effort to try and appear normal when his husband finally got to him.

Dieu, as if Priest didn’t have enough to deal with on his own right now, he hardly needed Julien to have one of his infamous breakdowns. So snap out of it, Julien ordered himself.

But when he heard Priest put his briefcase and keys down, Julien remained as he was, with his back to the man who could always see straight through him, and decided to give himself a few seconds more to try and get himself under control.

WHEN PRIEST OPENED the door to the condo, he wasn’t exactly sure what to expect. When he’d left this morning, there had been an air of expectation that whatever had happened last night would be further discussed when he returned, but he still didn’t know any more about the situation than he had when he’d left.

No, to find that out, he was going to have to do some digging of his own. Some very careful digging. And until then, he didn’t see much point in dragging them all through this mess, not when they had something much more immediate going on in their lives, and it was fast approaching: their trip back to L.A., the one they still had to ask Robbie about.

Priest shut the door behind him, and as he walked up the hall, he heard the sound of Sinatra filling the living room. Julien. Always making sure everyone around him is okay, Priest thought, but forgets to look after himself.

He put his belongings down and stepped into the living room to seek his husband out, and wasn’t surprised in the slightest to find him standing over in the kitchen in front of a chopping board. Priest then scanned the rest of the space but didn’t spot Robbie anywhere as he walked across the hardwood to the kitchen, and as he stood there, he took a moment to enjoy the sight of Julien doing what he loved most in the world.

Julien’s broad shoulders filled out the white button-up he wore untucked over a pair of blue-grey pants, and as Priest walked around the center island, he noticed Julien’s bare feet and smiled.

“Good evening,” Priest said, and Julien looked at him with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Immediately Priest’s alarm bells went off. Something wasn’t quite right there.

“Bonsoir, mon amour,” Julien said as he put down the knife he’d been using, and then came over to greet Priest with a kiss to his lips.

As he moved away, Priest let his eyes shift beyond Julien’s shoulder to the food preparation going on behind him, the ingredients instantly grabbing his attention. “What’s on the menu tonight?”

Julien picked his knife back up and pointed toward the bedroom door. “You’re going to have to ask your chef for the evening if you want details. And tonight, that is not me.”

Priest walked up behind Julien and trailed his fingers across the small of his back. “Is that right?”

“Oui,” was all Julien said, before he went back to chopping and filling the bowls with cheese, quite obviously avoiding any other conversation.

Once he was done, and had put the knife down, Priest said, “Is everything okay?”

Julien didn’t turn to face him, didn’t look over his shoulder, merely lowered his head, and Priest placed his palm on his back. No. By the looks of it, everything was far from okay.

“Julien?” he said softly, and smoothed his hand up to where Julien’s shoulder met his neck and began to massage it. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” Julien reached back to pat Priest’s hand, and Priest turned his over so he could interlace their fingers.

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