Twisted (Never After #4)(25)

Julian nods. “Listen, we can hope that Aidan will find the lamp in time. I’m sending him to Egypt with my best people. But if I haven’t been able to uncover it by then…”

He trails off, but I know what he’s saying. Odds are low that Aidan will find it at all, let alone within the amount of time we need.

“So I’m fucked,” I deduce. “This is your fault. You’re the one sending Aidan on this stupid mission that he isn’t even qualified to be on instead of helping me find a better solution.”

“You could always just tell your father the truth.”

Silence rings through the air. That seems so simple, doesn’t it? But after our meal together, the thought of it sends me into a tailspin. My breaths start coming quicker and my stomach cramps until I’m resisting the urge to physically curl into myself.

“I can’t,” I whisper.

Julian slips his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “There is another option.” He shakes his head. “No, never mind. You wouldn’t be interested.”

Annoyed, I hiss, “Don’t assume you know anything about me.”

“Fine.” His brows rise. “If Aidan doesn’t find the lamp in time, you could marry me instead.”

My mouth drops open in shock, and I stare at him blankly, waiting for the punchline. Only he doesn’t give me one.

Uncontrolled laughter bubbles in my chest and surges up my throat, escaping into the air. “Are you kidding me right now? Why would I ever marry you?”

“I told you that you wouldn’t be interested,” he replies. “But it does make the most sense, in my opinion. You convince your father you’re in love with me. It gets him off your back and keeps you from having to tie yourself to someone who’s expecting the world.”

I tilt my head and watch him. “And what about you?”

“What about me?” he replies.

“I mean…you’re just willing to go along with it? I don’t believe there’s a selfless bone in your body, Julian Faraci. What do you get out of this? What’s the trick?”

He tsks, shaking his head. “No tricks. Just me wanting to get Ali’s attention off you and back on things that matter.”

My chest cramps, but I push the jealousy over Julian’s relationship with my father to the side. “I’m not marrying you.”

“I’m not asking you to. I’m just saying we pretend. For a little while, until the boy returns with the lamp. Unless, of course, you’d rather be paraded in front of suitors until your father takes his last breath.”

“And when he wants a wedding before then?” I ask.

Julian grins. “Then we give him one. Doesn’t mean it has to be signed on the dotted line.”

What he’s saying is ridiculous, but I can’t deny the idea has some merit. I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out, because I genuinely have no clue what to say.

He wants to pretend.

Make believe that I’m in love with Julian? The thought alone makes me want to choke.

But what other choice do I have? I already know that my father has been setting up suitors, and I’m not naive enough to think that Julian wouldn’t know the ins and outs of his plans, especially knowing that my father confided in him over the extent of his illness when he won’t even let me be on the sidelines giving support.

My stomach cramps when it sinks in that Julian was the one who told me about my father, when I was just with him this morning and got nothing but silence and a pat on the hand. I suck in a stuttered breath, steeling my spine for what I know I have to do.

I can’t fall out of my father’s favor, not when there’s so much at stake, but if I have to go on dates like I’m a prized broodmare, I think I might lose my mind.

And it’s just pretend.

I can fake anything for a while. Especially if I know I’ll get Aidan in the end.

Julian walks toward me, using his fingers to tip my mouth shut. “Think about it. You know where to find me. But I’d urge you not to waste too much time, because you don’t have very much left.”





Chapter 10





Julian





The first time I thought about murdering somebody, I was five years old.

There had been an antsy energy swirling in my stomach all day, even though my papà had disappeared over a week ago, which meant the house was calm for the first time in my life.

When he wasn’t around to beat Mamma, then she didn’t have any reason to beat me.

It was peaceful.

But I wasn’t used to the feeling of not being on edge, and the peace was a foreign sensation filling up my body, one that caused my fight-or-flight mode to go on the fritz, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Mamma was in the kitchen making my nonna’s famous marinara, her shiny hair pulled tight in a low bun like it always was and a white apron wrapped around her with red trim and strawberries decorated along the front.

She didn’t normally wear such light colors, and the contrast of the apron against her tan skin and dark hair made her look almost ethereal to me. I remember being confused that she wore the white apron so easily, when I had heard her complain so many times before about how difficult it was to scrub out bloodstains from light fabric.