Page 127 of Angel Eyes

“I never knew you felt like that. All this time, I thought you just saw me as competition.”

He chuckled. “Well, you weren’t wrong. But part of me admired you too. You’ve always been true to yourself, Gabriel. No matter what anyone else wants, you never let it get in the way of following your own dreams. And look, you’ve built all of this.” His gaze bounced around the room before he rose to his feet. “Well, anyway, I believe my ten minutes is up.”

“You’re leaving already?” I asked, surprising us both.

He blinked. “Yes. Touching though this has been, I have another stop to make on my apology tour.” His lips settled into a grim line. “It’s time I told Marcel the truth. About everything.”

“Lucien—” I paused, clearing my throat. “Cristian, are you sure you want to do that?”

His mouth curved in a faint smile. “I am. It’s time that Elise paid for all the wreckage she’s caused. All these years, she’s been holding the role I played in her treachery over my head, but I won’t let her do it anymore. And if that means I go down with her, then so be it. At least my conscience will be clear.” His smile widened. “For once.”

He extended a hand to me, and I hesitated for a beat before taking it.

“Good luck, Cristian.”

He nodded, holding my gaze as he gripped my hand. “And to you, cousin.”

Forty-Four

Juliet

“I’m sorry, Juliet.”

I glanced up from the polished wood of Benoit’s desk to look at him, his mouth set in a firm line as he studied me with a solemn expression.

I swallowed, shaking my head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You kept your word and submitted my piece to the competition. You gave me a shot at something most new writers could only dream of. You have my gratitude, Julien.”

And I meant it—I was grateful.

Benoit had tactfully waited until Tuesday morning when I was due to come in to his office to deliver the news that my piece hadn’t won the magazine competition. And while it had been a devastating blow considering everything else going on, I was resolved to accept the outcome with my head held high. I had tried my best, and that’s all that mattered.

He leaned back in his chair as the sun directed a shaft of light through the window. “You should know that making it to the final round is a huge accomplishment. I told you, La Nouvelle Revue Française receives thousands of submissions each year, and only a small percentage of those make it past the initial round.” He steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Don’t let this stop you, Juliet. You are incredibly talented, and more importantly, you are disciplined and thorough. With your level of dedication, you are certain to go far as long as you don’t give up.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that.” I laughed weakly. “And don’t worry, I’m not one to stay down for long. If anything, I’m disappointed to miss out on the magazine’s annual event this weekend. Any chance you can sneak me in the back door?”

He gave me a half-smile. “I wish I could. I would have asked you to come as my plus one, but I hadn’t planned on attending this year, and now the RSVP deadline has passed. If I had known …” His voice petered out, but his meaning was clear.

If he had known I wouldn’t be invited myself as one of the competition winners.

“It’s not a big deal.” I glanced over at the desk that used to be mine. “So, any word on your assistant’s return?” His lengthy exhale was all the answer I needed. “I see. Well, I hope you find someone to replace him soon.”

“Are you sure I can’t entice you to stay?” He gestured around the space. “It’s no corner office on Park Avenue, but you would be most welcome.”

“You want me to stay on as your assistant?” I said, suppressing a smile. “Goodness, maybe you didn’t resent my notes quite as much as you let on.”

He let out a low chuckle, though his eyes held a look of sincerity. “Not just as my assistant, but as my teaching assistant. Your knowledge of the material, together with your education and experience, would more than qualify you for the position.”

I blinked. “You’re serious?” It was a pointless question. Julien Benoit was many things—a collector of antiques, a lover of classical literature, a connoisseur of tweed jackets—but a jokester, he was not. Shifting my weight, I toyed with the cuff of my sleeve. “I don’t know what to say. I truly appreciate the offer. It’s only …”

“Say no more,” he said, cutting me off with a wave of his hand. “I didn’t expect you to accept, but I would have been remiss if I didn’t at least ask. Now, before you go, I wanted to give you a list of publications you might consider submitting to when you return to New York. Despite the outcome of this competition, I think your piece was very solid, and I’m sure another magazine or journal would be happy to pick it up.” He reached inside his jacket pocket and extracted a white envelope, handing it to me. “It’s not often I say this, but it has been a pleasure working with you, Juliet. I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors.”

“Thank you, sir.” My throat tightened. “Likewise.”

I turned and hurried from the room before he could see the tears stinging my eyes.

I pushed through the door of my apartment building, stopping by the mailboxes to check for any last packages and making a mental note to leave a forwarding address with the landlord. Cresting the stairs, I rooted around in my purse in search of my keys just as my phone vibrated. I fished it out, propping it between my chin and shoulder as I unlocked the door and stepped inside.

“Hello?”

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