One Weekend with the Billionaire Chapter 87

*Braxton*

She’s gone. I can hardly believe it. I’m still standing in the foyer, near the window, where I watched my driver take her away, wondering how in the world I’m going to function without Julia here.

I have no idea. Everywhere I look, I’m going to see her. Every room I walk into, I’ll smell her perfume. Every time I lay down in my bed, I’ll feel her beside me. I’ll see her near the pool, at the dining room table, in the gardens. And… in her art room. How can I possibly go into that room again without feeling the ghost of her?

It’s obvious to me that Julia is making a huge mistake, but I can’t change her mind. It was clear to me when I saw her face that she was resolved and wasn’t going to be swayed. The idea of her walking back into that apartment, of her trying to live with Jeff Thompson again, as his wife, makes my skin crawl. I can’t bear to think of him touching her. Tears sting my eyes, and I have to rest my hand against the windowsill to keep from doubling over as a wave of nausea hits me.

“Are you all right sir?” my butler asks me behind me. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’m fine,” I say, straightening up and taking deep breaths. I can’t let Jeff Thompson get away with this. I can’t let him win. He doesn’t love her. He just wants to be victorious.

I am more concerned with Julia’s safety at the moment than anything else, so I call Stringer. He answers on the first ring. “I need you to go back to the apartment next to Thompson’s,” I say, my voice sounding robotic as I can’t handle thinking about what I’m saying and what all of it means.

“The apartment?” Stringer echoes, clearly stunned. I know he won’t ask a lot of questions, though. “Yes, sir. Of course.”

“If you hear anything suspicious at all, do what you need to do. Knock the door down if you must.”

“Yes, sir,” he says again. “I’ll keep you apprised of the situation.”

“Thank you.” I hang up and slip my phone back into my pocket, knowing Stringer won’t let me down. I hate to call and tell him his evening is not going to go as planned. He was probably planning on spending the evening with his wife at home. Now, he’ll have to go to a shitty part of town and hang out in a nearly empty apartment, listening through the walls. It’s not a fun job, but he will do it and do it well. I know he will do everything possible to keep Julia safe.

But I don’t know if it’s possible to keep her completely safe because I don’t know exactly what Thompson is capable of. He surprises me at every turn. He is a loose cannon, the sort of person who could go off at any second.

I sigh and turn around, still envisioning Julia’s small frame standing here when I first walked in the door. I want to cry, but I won’t let myself do that. I have to believe this isn’t over.

I’m not hungry, even though I can smell scents of dinner wafting through the house from the kitchen or dining room. I don’t walk that direction, though. Instead, I turn and force myself down the hallway that leads to the art room.

I shouldn’t make myself go in here, not now, not so soon. I should just go lose myself in other things. Dinner, work, maybe a movie. But everywhere I turn reminds me of her anyway, so I may as well immerse myself in her essence now. Maybe if I do that enough, I’ll become numb to the pain. I don’t know how that’s possible, but I find myself pushing the art room door open and stepping inside.

It smells like paint, but it also smells like her. I can’t separate those two scents now. I will always associate the scent of oil paints with my sweet Julia.

Her easel is up, the canvas she was working on still set up on it. I flip the light switch and walk in, approaching the easel with caution. I can’t see if it’s the one she’s been working on, of the couple in Italy, or if it’s something else. I’m not sure I want to see it, especially if it’s finished.

The urge to look at it is impossible to fight, though. I walk around it and stop in front of the easel.

It’s finished. The couple standing in front of the beautiful landmark as the sun goes down, the sky painted in hues of pink, orange, and yellow. They have their arms wrapped around each other, pulling each other close. It’s a beautiful painting, and it reminds me so much of her, my heart aches even more. I knew I shouldn’t have come in here.

I look around. She’s cleaned up, probably knowing that she was leaving. All of the paints are organized, any mess she may have made from cleaning her brushes all taken care of, the brushes all clean as well.

If I were smart, I’d walk out right now. I don’t. I take a moment to run my fingers over the soft surfaces of the brushes, to touch a few of the bottles of paint, to caress the stool by the easel, the one where we made love. I think back to that night, how she was wrapped around me, how we melded into one another. In that moment, I never thought I’d be without her. I couldn’t imagine my life without Julia in it.

And now she’s gone.

Tears begin to stream down my cheeks as I head out the door, wishing there was something I could do to get her back, but I cannot force her. Only a monster like Jeff Thompson would do something like that, and I am not a monster.

I walk out of the art room and close the door behind me, feeling the sting of loss like I never have before. I have to pray that Julia will find her way back to me, like she did before, because without her, I don’t want any of this. Nothing I have means anything at all without Julia in my life.