Page 77 of Julia.

Before I can continue to second guess myself, I throw open the cab door and step out into the sunshine. With determined steps, I make my way to the front door of the grand Van den Bosch estate.

The towering double doors stand as formidable guardians, iron bars running down the front of them like symbols of the secrets they protect. Touching the button to ring the doorbell, I stand back, my throat tight and feeling more nervous than I can ever remember feeling. I have to put on a brave front, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to do.

After a few minutes, the doors creak open, and the butler greets me with a reserved nod. He looks me up and down, his eyes lingering with curiosity. I gather my courage, knowing that the fate of my bruised heart and ego rests on the forthcoming conversation. Still, the words feel sticky in my mouth, and they’re so hard to speak.

He’s just the butler!I admonish myself mentally.If you can’t speak to him, then how the heck are you going to speak to Johannes?

“Good afternoon, Ms. Van Dieren,” the butler says, and I cringe. I guess any element of surprise is long gone if they all know who I am here.

“I’d like to speak with Mr. Van den Bosch,” I announce, steady despite the butterflies that flutter within me. “Senior, of course. I know Sebastian isn’t home.”

A flicker of surprise dances across the butler’s face before he composes himself. With a respectful bow, he gestures for me to follow him. My heart quickens its pace as I trail behind him, anticipation and trepidation intermingling within me.

The butler leads me through opulent corridors adorned with timeless paintings and intricate tapestries. Each step reverberates with the weight of the unknown, the air heavy with anticipation. Finally, we arrive at the grand library, a sanctuary of knowledge and hidden truths. But more striking than that are the memories of first meeting Sebastian here during the ball, and how I was so enamored with the mysterious, bearded man from the very beginning. It makes my heart lurch to think about it. God, I miss him so much!

“Wait here, Miss, and I will fetch Mr. Van den Bosch, if he deigns to see you.” Then, the man lowers his voice. “I will remind you that the senior man of the house is ill, and anything that may cause him undo stress is unappreciated.”

The audacity of the staff member shocks me, but I shake myself out of my surprise and frown. “Noted. I’ll wait here.”

The butler departs and I find myself standing amidst the shelves lined with books of forgotten tales, sordid histories, and epic adventures. The room is bathed in a soft glow, the sunlight filtering through the heavy drapes. This is where it all began, where my heart first faltered under the gaze of Sebastian. Memories of stolen glances and breathy promises flood my mind, both a comfort and a curse. It almost makes me feel greedy. I want more of those memories…for the rest of my life, if I have the choice.

Moments pass, the silence stretching. I pause in my exploration when I hear the soft sound of footsteps on the carpeted floor near the door, and hurry back to see that the butler has returned. Now that he's back from delivering my message, he stands by the door, his presence a reminder of the gravity of the impending conversation and a message…a message that tells me that the household staff isn’t going to let me upset Johannes too much.

And then, with a gentle creaking sound, another shadow appears in the doorway, revealing the figure of Johannes Van den Bosch. He steps into the room, his demeanor poised and composed, trying to mask how sick and downtrodden he really is. I’m shocked by how much different he looks from the last time I saw him, how frail and gaunt the once powerful man has become. There is still a fire in his eyes when he sees me, but there is a hollowness there, too.

“Ah, Miss Julia,” he acknowledges, leaning forward on an intricately carved cane. His words carry a hint of intrigue. “Margaret’s oldest daughter and the woman who has stolen my son’s heart. I have to say that your visit is quite the surprise, as well as the message you have apparently brought.”

I can’t be sure, but I sense that he’s trying to cover up his nervousness with ill-placed humor. Nervousness is an advantage that I can’t risk wasting.

“That’s me,” I confirm, tilting my head towards him. “Thank you for seeing me. As for what I know about–”

“Come, come,” Johannes interrupts, waving me toward a sitting area dotted with sturdy leather and mahogany furniture. “My staff is bringing refreshments. No reason for us to stand here awkwardly while we speak.”

Annoyed that he stopped me from making my point, I follow him as he moves slowly towards his seat. It occurs to me that he’s asking me to sit becauseheneeds to, a clear sign of his weakness, but he won’t say that out loud. Pride, I assume.

I settle into a large armchair, crossing my legs and leaning forward as Johannes sinks down onto the leather loveseat with extreme carefulness. There’s a pang of sympathy in my heart, but I have to smother it. This man is not getting any soft feelings from me, not after he played right into my mother’s hand, and that doesn’t even take into consideration the terrible truth that he’s been lying to his own son for all these years.

I watch the staff bring in tea and cucumber sandwiches, one of them pouring and plating the repast for Johannes so he doesn’t have to make the effort. I can see his hands shaking as he sips his tea, quickly handing it back to the server who sits it down.

“Now that we’re comfortable,” I try to start again. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I showed up on your doorstep with such a huge declaration.”

“There’s no reason to rush, my dear. Does my son know that you’re here? I’m sure he’ll be disappointed that he missed your visit.” Sebastian’s father is trying to play a part, I realize–the part of the doddery old man that deserves all the sympathy in the world. Well, he isn’t going to get it from me. Not when he played such an integral part in Sebastian leaving me.

“We’re not talking about Sebastian today. At least not directly,” I counter, keeping my shoulders straight. “Let’s cut the bullshit, sir, and just get into it.”

There’s a sharp intelligence that shines in his eyes when I speak, despite his age. He smiles, but there is an edge of anger to it. He is nowhere near amused with me. “Indeed. You have piqued my curiosity. Please, enlighten me with the knowledge you possess.”

I take a deep breath, summoning all the strength within me. “I know the real reason why you asked Sebastian to break up with me,” I declare, my voice unwavering. “My mother blackmailed you, because she knows you have a bastard.”

A flicker of surprise dances across his features, quickly replaced by an unreadable expression. He must have thought that I either knew about the blackmail, or the bastard, but not both. I can’t see the anger in him anymore, but I know it’s probably right there simmering beneath the surface.

Johannes tries to laugh dismissively, but it rings false. “A bastard, huh? You certainly think you’ve discovered something of a bombshell, don’t you? Well–”

“Enough,” I snap. “There is no reason for you to deny this. I know my father has one too. We all do. Sebastian needs to know the truth, and if you don’t tell him, I intend to.”

The old man leans back in his seat, sitting his cane on the loveseat beside him and folding his hands. “Go ahead then, Miss Julia,” he prompts, his eyes fixed upon mine. “Tell me everything you think you know. Let’s put it all out on the table, since you’re proving to be just as stubborn and problematic as the woman that birthed you.”

I clear my throat, and launch into the explanation of the knowledge that I have. It isn’t everything, not by a long shot, but I’m banking on it being enough to throw him off. With each word that spills from my lips, I recount the tales of deceit and hidden truths, painting a vivid picture of the love that was torn apart between his son and I. I keep things simple when it comes to the whispers of infidelity and the shadows that lurk within his past, but hold nothing back when I describe how much his son meant, and still means to me. Let him feel guilty for it, he deserves it.

---