Julian slips behind me, wrapping an arm around my waist as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. His familiar scent of bergamot makes me sigh and close my eyes briefly as I smile.
“This looks incredible, Soph,” he murmurs into my hair.
“Thanks,” I say softly, letting my head fall against his chest for just a moment. “It feels… done. Like there’s nothing else to fix.”
He laughs quietly. “You’ve been saying that since we finished the guest room, and then two days later you were halfway through sanding the banisters.”
I roll my eyes but grin anyway. “I can’t help it. I like when things feel new.”
Julian kisses the top of my head. “Well, if you need a new project, I’m always open to suggestions. I quite liked the leather straps you added to the bedroom.”
I smother a laugh against my glass. “That wasn’t exactlyrenovation,Julian.”
He smirks and pulls me in closer, lowering his voice. “It doesn’t matter. It’s our house, pet. Our rules.”
The words are comforting, but they feel like silk draped over something thornier. I know he means them, but it’s hard to untangle years of my mother’s voice reminding me that ‘a proper woman doesn’t flaunt her marriage, shemanagesit.’
That’s something Julian says often, that this is our space, our kingdom, free from the prying eyes of family and obligation. I believe him.
Most days.
More people file in, and I take Julian’s hand, squeezing it once. “You look very dapper tonight,” I say, taking in his neatly slicked-back hair paired with a navy suit and a champagne-colored tie—the exact same color as my dress.
“And you,” he says, kissing my forehead. “Look stunning. As fucking always.”
I giggle, tucking my straightened hair behind my ear. “Thank you.”
Guests greet us—mostly a handshake, or a kiss on each cheek. I have déjà vu from the parties we used to host in Brookshire, and my mouth goes dry when I realize this is the same thing, only in a different location.
I swirl the champagne in my glass, leaning into Julian with a playful glint in my eye. “God, this is starting to feel like one of my mother’s parties. Quick—let’s sneak into the pantry and eat cake with our hands like heathens. Completely unhinged.”
Julian chokes on his drink, coughing through a laugh as he tugs me closer. “You mean scandalize the entire guest list with crumbs on your dress and frosting on my tie?”
I shrug, biting back a grin. “Adds character to the evening. Think anyone would notice?”
His eyes darken with that familiar spark—the one that always means he’s tempted by my nonsense. “Oh, they’d notice. But I’d bet good money no one would dare say a word.”
“Then it’s settled. Meet me by the lemon tart in five minutes?”
Julian laughs, low and indulgent, like I’ve just suggested something far more indecent. “Deal. But if you get powdered sugar on my suit, you’re cleaning it off later with your tongue. Speaking of later…” One of his hands comes around my backside, squeezing my arse.
Clearing my throat, nervous butterflies flit through me when I think of the surprise Julian has planned for me tonight. “Is everything all set for… later?”
Julian nods discreetly, taking my hand. “It is.”
“And you want it to happen upstairs?”
“I do.”
“Okay.” My hand curls around his. “You’re sure?”
Julian squeezes my hand back, leaning down so that his lips brush my temple. “What better way to celebrate our new home than to watch another man fuck my wife?” he whispers.
I bite my lower lip to keep from smiling. “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”
“Oh, I’m very happy, pet.”
“Are you sure it’s a good idea? To invite others… in the lifestyle…”
