Page 8 of Riches and Romance

Instead of the triumph I anticipated as I return to my seat, I’m beset by disquiet and the distinct feeling that I’m being watched. I swivel my head to the left and right, but it’s too dark in the church to see beyond a few rows. I sit and try to ignore the hairs standing up on the back of my neck.

“Congratulations, Juliana,”a hushed voice whispers in my ear, sending wafts of beer and cigarette smoke into my nostrils.

“Conrad?” I turn my head to look over my shoulder, smiling at him for the benefit of everyone else at the table where we’re gathered to celebrate. But my palms grow so damp I don’t dare lift my glass to quench my suddenly dry mouth.

I stand to face him, suddenly grateful for the heels I’ve been cursing all night when they make us nearly the same height. He’s bulkier, grittier, harder than when I last saw him more than fouryears ago. The beard covering the lower half of his face is so full it obscures his mouth. But the mayhem in the eyes of this ghost from my past life is nothing new. I keep the smile in my voice and on my face, but my eyes are shooting daggers. “What are you doing here?”

He returns my smile with an excited and equally insincere one. “I was passing by and happened to look in the window and saw you and thought, that looks a lot like Juliana. I took a second look, and holy shit, itisyou. After all these years, it felt like fate. I had to stop and say hello.”

My stomach plummets to my toes, and I have to focus to keep my breaths from coming faster. “Of course you did.”

He smiles at the table of people behind me, and I wish I could throw a cloak over them and make them disappear. “We’re in the middle of a celebration.” My voice is harsh, even to my own ears.

Beside me, Reena clears her throat. “Jules? Is everything okay?”

I glance at her and nod. “He’s just a friend from home. Give me a minute.”

I’m sure her parents will think me rude not to introduce them, but I don’t care. I’d rather that than give him any more information than he might already have.

I grab his arm and lead him out of the restaurant and into the icy cold evening. I wrap my arms around myself instinctively, but the frigid temperatures barely register as I face the barnacle I can’t seem to scrape loose.

“How did you find me?”

“Luck. Purely. Literally I was walking down from the Tube and saw you going into a gate, dressed in robes and all, so I followed.”

“What do you want?” I snap.

He runs an assessing eye over me, pulls something from his pocket, and unfolds it. It’s the program from this evening.Cream, trifold. That explains the sensation I felt during the ceremony. I thought he was in a prison two hundred miles from here. Clearly, I was wrong. Dread and resignation settle at the same time.

“I thought you still had a year left on your sentence.”

“Good behavior pays off. Who knew?” He grins, flashing his teeth, the deeply pointed canines gleaming sinisterly under the harsh outdoor light.

“Juliana Quist, eh? Nice. I didn’t know they let offenders become lawyers. But I guess that’s why you changed your name? So you didn’t have to tell ‘em? Clever.”

He’s dressed impeccably in a pin stripe grey suit and black wool overcoat. His Chelsea boots gleam, and the gold signet ring on his pinky glints in the same harsh light.

I remember when he wore ragged, threadbare clothes. When his hair was stringy and disheveled, and dirt rimmed his fingernails. He’s come a long way from the boy he’d once been, when no one wanted him around. I’ve come a long way from the girl who thought my neighbors were unkind and selfish to turn their backs on him.

I don’t know how I didn’t see the malignancy of his intent. That I thought he was my friend and trusted him with precious things that he’s used against me ever since.

I thought I was finally free of him when he was arrested four years ago. But here he is, armed with everything he needs to destroy this fragile new beginning.

“How much will it cost me to get rid of you?”

He frowns and touches his chest. “Ouch. I thought we could catch up first. I’ll come back to yours. We’ll have tea?—”

“I’ll give you fifty thousand pounds right now. I will buy a plane ticket to anywhere you want to go, tonight, and you will never bother me again.”

“I was going to ask for ten, but fifty sounds much better.” He puts his hand out. “We have a deal.”

I ignore his hand. “Wait here.”

I go in and make my excuses. It’s a lot of money. But I have it. I haven’t touched the money my father left me since I graduated from uni.

I juggled two jobs along with my classes. I’d fall into bed every night, exhausted from a day of physical and mental labor, and unsure whether I could get up and do it all again.

But then I’d dream of my father. They were happy dreams of us in his shop, exploring a village in the countryside. And when we’d part ways, he’d hug me and whisper, “Hard work is never a waste of time.”

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