Page 75 of Alive At Night

“You’re really taking this whole eating thing seriously, huh?”

He nodded. “You’ll feel even more miserable going into this with an empty stomach. Especially if you plan on drinking tonight.”

I supposed he had a point; I needed at least one stiff drink to get me through this night, and I didn’t want it going straight to my head. Besides, I needed Julian to put on clothes. Like, immediately. Leaving would help with that.

“The fresh air will be good for you,” he added.

“We’re in New York City,” I said, even though he’d already convinced me. “I’m not surefreshis the best way to describe the air.”

“At least it won’t be as hot as it is in here,Jesus,” Julian muttered, kicking the sheets the rest of the way off.

Nope, having Julian further exposed while lying in bed didnothelp the heat situation. I hadn’t noticed last night, but dear Lord, his pajama pants were gray—of all colors, they were gray—and they were also way too thin for this situation. The morning after the Halloween party, I’d felt more than my fair share of Julian Briggs, but seeing all that outlined was—

Julian cleared his throat, interrupting the free show I was enjoying. Fuck, and he knew it. When he spoke, it was with a gruffness that tickled my nerve endings. “Save those looks for tonight when you’re trying to fool everyone into believing we’re dating.”

I opened my mouth to say a downright lie. “I wasn’t looking—”

“It’s okay, Juni.” He pushed off the bed without looking at me. “I was, too.”

* * *

The brunch spotwhere Julian made reservations sat around the corner from the hotel, so we walked. The November air bit through my coat as we strolled the Manhattan streets, and when I shivered, Julian put an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his body heat. Practice for later, right?

I asked Julian to order for me again, despite realizing it was an uncharacteristic move. Asking a man—a man who was Julian Briggs, of all people—to make my decisions? I didn’t know what was happening to me, but letting him pick my food meant one less thing I had to worry about today.

Julian happily ordered me a massive stack of spiced apple pancakes with a side of bacon and scrambled eggs. When I glared at him on account of the sheer amount of food in front of me, he merely shrugged and told me we could take the leftovers back to the hotel.

I hated to admit it, but the pancakes were quite possibly the best thing I’d ever tasted, and Julian’s lips twitched noticeably when I moaned after taking a bite. But instead of gloating—which I’d assumed he would—he asked me more about Sofia and what I knew of the wedding. And since Sofia had been so active with sharing details of her life and upcoming nuptials on her social media, I had a surprising amount to report. She’d been putting out teasers about the ceremony’s live music for a while now. Supposedly, the artist was a big up-and-coming name, and Julian and I spent a few minutes trying to guess who it could be.

After that, I informed him he was getting a steak entree because that was what I’d RSVP’ed, and he made a joke about how the tables had turned. And lastly, I told him that—based on the venue and the seeming cost—I expected to see at least one or two high-status guests. Julian, of course, put his money on some football player I’d never heard of, while I thought a famous influencer or two was more Sofia’s style.

I was halfway through a review of the timeline for the afternoon when a wash of anxiety surrounded me. But before I could spiral too much, Julian abruptly asked about the plot of the first book in the series I’d been reading, and I forgot all about the weekend. Fiction was always more fun to talk about than real life anyway.

Unfortunately, though, at a certain point, fiction faded.

My heart pounded as we strode back into the lobby of the hotel. Julian had been right—ugh, another thing I couldn’t believe I was allowing—that a trip out into the city had been a good distraction and a much-needed break from the stuffy air inside our room. Now that we’d returned, though, I knew it was only a matter of time before my nerves returned.

Sofia likely wouldn’t even have more than seconds to spare to meet me, so I didn’t know why I was so anxious about it. It was herwedding. Our interaction wouldn’t last more than a quick congratulations, but even knowing that, I still couldn’t escape the feeling that tonight was a big deal for me, for us, for the possible beginning of something more.

Giving myself three hours to get ready for an event that was only an elevator ride away seemed like it should be plenty of time. But, no surprise, it wasn’t. We had to be out the door in the next fifteen minutes, and I was stuck staring at myself in the mirror. Full face of makeup. Hair still in curlers.

Using curlers equaled rookie mistake number one. I never should have tried something new right before an important event. But my little black dress, the one I still had to stuff myself into, inspired me to go for a classic glam look. I wanted big, swooping waves, and my curling iron had never been able to achieve that. I was almost too afraid to take out the curlers now. What if it looked horrendous? There wasn’t enough time to start over.

“Do you need help?”

Julian’s voice made me jump. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame while wearing a spotless, crisp tuxedo. It fit him perfectly. I saw him in suits all the time, but this was different. The midnight-colored jacket contrasted with the brilliance of his auburn hair, emphasizing the hue. He pushed a hand through it, letting it fall back over his forehead in a perfect, styled wave.

I was going to look ridiculous standing next to him.

His eyes drifted visibly up to my crown of curlers.

“Don’t make fun of the curlers,” I warned.

I really needed Nice Julian right now. Not any other versions.

“I wasn’t going to,” he said earnestly. “I wanted to know if you need help. You look beautiful, but I’m guessing this isn’t the final look.”

I ignored my stomach flipping and kept strictly to the topic. “Do you know how to take out curlers? You have to sort of twist them when you unroll them, so the curl falls the right—”

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