Page 16 of Velvet Corruption

“She cares about the truth, Julian. She’s a smart kid. You know she’ll start asking questions.”

He ran a hand through his hair, the first sign of real stress I’d seen from him all night. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, she just needs to feel secure. That’s all I’m trying to do. She already knows her parents don’t really like each other, and now you want to tell her that your baby daddy is someone else?”

“Okay, you knew I was pregnant when we got together.”

I took a sip of my sparkling water, trying to cool the frustration that was starting to simmer. This was dangerous territory, but we were already knee-deep in it.

“When we got together,” he emphasized. “But I didn’t sign up for this, Ruby. For playing second fiddle to a man who isn’t even in the picture.”

“That’s rich, coming from the man who’s always had his orchestra waiting in the wings.”

He flinched, just slightly, but enough for me to notice. Score one for me, though it was a hollow victory. We both knew about his indiscretions; I just rarely called him out on them. There was a balance we’d struck, an uneasy truce that allowed us to coexist without descending into outright war.

“Touché,” he said, not breaking eye contact. “But we’re talking about the present, not the past.”

A silence fell between us, thick with the words we wanted to say but held back. I glanced around the room, taking in the faces of my supporters, their hopeful expressions and enthusiastic postures. This was supposed to be a celebration, a rallying point. Yet here I was, mired in old conflicts and new fears.

“Julian,” I started. “I know this isn’t easy for you. It’s not easy for me either. But we’re almost there. Just a few more months.”

He nodded slowly, as if absorbing each syllable. “I get it. The optics. But don’t kid yourself, Ruby. Once you’re DA, it’s going to be even harder. More time away, more pressure. Are you really prepared for that? Is Rosie?”

“I have to believe that it’s all for the greater good,” I said, though even to my own ears it sounded like a rehearsed line from a campaign speech. “If I can rid Boston of crime for our child, shouldn’t I?”

He laughed. “Right. You’re right. I’ve always been the pragmatist.”

I took another glance at Julian. He had a way of disarming me, even when he was being insufferable. Perhaps it was his unwavering confidence, or maybe just the familiarity of a man I’d spent nearly a decade with. Tonight, though, there was something different in his demeanor—an underlying tension, as if he were balancing on a tightrope.

“Listen,” he said. “All I’m saying is that you need to be realistic about what you’re getting into. I’m not trying to discourage you. Just…prepare you.”

“I know what I’m getting into,” I replied. I didn’t need the justice system mansplained to me by my ex; I knew how deep the corruption ran in this city. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“No, but it’s the highest stakes one yet.” He placed his empty glass on the bar with a soft clink. “I just want you to succeed,Ruby. Because if you do, Rosie will be proud of you. And if she’s proud of you, she’ll understand why you’re not there as much.”

I studied him, searching for any hint of sarcasm or ulterior motive. But his eyes held steady, sincere.

“I’ll still be there for our daughter.”

“I know, Ruby, that’s not what I’m saying.”

Alek had made his way back to us, champagne flute in hand, his ever-present smile growing wider as he noticed the serious expressions on our faces. “Everything okay here?” he asked, his accent a little sharper than usual. He worked so hard to always sound American. He was either tipsy or worried. Maybe he was a bit of both.

I forced a smile. “Perfect. Just catching up on old times.”

Julian stood, smoothing out his suit jacket. “I should get going. Early morning deposition.” He looked at me, then at Alek. “Good luck, Ruby. Really. Good to see you, Alek.”

“Likewise,” Alek tipped his flute toward Julian.

Julian turned and made his way through the throng of people, pausing briefly to shake hands with a few familiar faces. I watched him until he disappeared through the double doors of the hotel ballroom.

“He’s worried,” Alek stated, more than asked. “About you or about himself?”

I sighed, swirling the remains of my sparkling water. “He’s always worried. It’s how he shows he cares.”

“Sounds maddening,” he said. “Does he like the ‘Say Yes to Marquez’ slogan?”

I laughed. “He loves it,” I replied. “Thinks it was his idea.”

Alek rubbed his chin. “Wait, it wasn’t his idea?”

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