spending time together
722 Words
Julian stood there, but the transformation was jarring. He wasn't wearing his suit. He was in a simple white t-shirt and a dark apron. His sleeves were rolled up, showing the hard lines of his arms, and his hair—usually perfectly slicked back—was messy.
"You're late for office hours, Melody," Julian said, his voice flat, but he didn't look surprised. He stepped back, gesturing for her to enter. "And I assume you want your tracker back?"
Melody froze in the doorway. He knew?
"I... I don't know what you're talking about," she pouted, pushing past him. "I came to... to check on my grade! And to tell you my brother is still very angry!"
"Your brother is always angry. It’s his only personality trait," Julian said, closing the door. He walked back to a small stove where a cast-iron pan was simmering.
Melody looked around the apartment. It was tiny, but every wall was covered in books. There were no golden statues, no maids, no guards. Just a single chair, a desk, and a small wooden table.
"What is that smell?" she asked, wandering into the kitchen area. "It’s burning my nose, but in a... nice way?"
"It’s Shakshuka," Julian said, cracking an egg into the bubbling tomato sauce. "A simple meal. Something people eat when they don't have a personal chef to hand-feed them grapes."
"Is it poisonous?" she asked, leaning over the pan. "It’s very red."
"It’s tomatoes and spices, Melody. Sit down. Since you’ve traveled all this way to 'check your grade,' the least I can do is make sure you don't faint from the shock of seeing a kitchen for the first time."
He set a bowl in front of her. There was no silverware. Just a pile of warm, torn bread.
"Where is the fork?" Melody asked, poking the bread with a manicured finger. "Julian, I am a Valerius. We do not eat like... raccoons."
"In this house, the bread is the fork," Julian said, sitting across from her and demonstrating how to scoop the sauce. "Try it. Or go home and tell your father I’m a terrible host."
Melody looked at the bowl, then at him. His eyes were watching her—not with the fear she was used to, but with a quiet, challenging curiosity. She tore a piece of bread, dipped it deep into the spicy red sauce, and took a bite.
Her eyes widened. The heat hit her first, followed by the rich, savory tang of the garlic and the creaminess of the yolk.
"Oh," she whispered, her spoiled facade crumbling for a split second. "It’s... it’s hot. Why is it so good? What did you put in this? Gold dust?"
"Cumin and patience," Julian replied.
"Why do you live like this?" she asked suddenly, her mouth half-full of bread. "You’re a genius. You could work for my father. You could have a mansion and ten maids like Rosa and Lila."
"Maybe I don't want maids," Julian said, his gaze dropping to his own bowl. "Maybe I like being the only person who knows where my keys are. And maybe," he looked back up, his eyes turning back into ice, "I don't like blood on my money."
Melody stopped chewing. "My father says money doesn't have a color."
"Your father is wrong," Julian said. He stood up, taking her empty bowl before she was even finished. "Now, you’ve had your meal. You’ve seen my 'shoebox.' Go home, Melody. Before Joshua figures out you’re missing and decides to bring his 'message' to my front door."
He handed her the tiny GPS tracker she’d hidden on his bag. It was crushed.
"And Melody?" he said as she reached the door.
"Yes?"
"The next time you want to know where I live, just ask. You don't need to waste a perfectly good tracker."
As the door clicked shut, Melody stood in the hallway, the taste of spices still on her tongue. She felt frustrated, annoyed, and strangely... hungry for more.
She walked down to the car where Marco was waiting. "Marco, call the estate. Tell them I’m not eating dinner tonight. I’ve already had... something better."
- Writer
