Page 35 of Holy Hearts
Fuck.
Once I’m turned around, I close my eyes, but it doesn’t stop my mind from drifting. It’s not even the thought of her body—it’s the trust in her voice, the ease with which she lets me stay. As if there’s nothing threatening about me, nothing inappropriate about the way I linger on the edge of this intimate moment. I tell myself that’s a good thing. That I should be relieved she doesn’t see me as anything more than Julian’s friend.
But part of me hates that she doesn’t.
The torturous sound of Sophie’s clothes dropping to the ground as she undresses behind me echoes in the bathroom.Sophie is naked right behind me, and I’m imagining what she looks like while she’s in excruciating pain. Not to mention she’s Julian’swife.
I hear her step into the water, and a few seconds later, she sighs contentedly.
It certainly doesn’t helpthe situation.
“Okay, you can turn around.”
I do, and fortunately the bubbles cover her completely below the neck. “Better?” I ask.
“Very. The temperature is perfect. Scalding but not unbearable,” she adds, giving me a small smile.
I walk over to the edge of the windowsill and sit down, which gives her a bit of privacy as I’m lower down.
Over the last few weeks, I’ve gotten to know Sophie well. She’s bubbly and fun, and witty as hell. I can see why Julian fell in love with her. We spend our time together doing various projects around the house while she tells me about her horse, Snickers, and how much she enjoys riding. She’s passionate about planning the housewarming party, and she talks about the romance books she enjoys reading. In fact, she’s taken a liking to telling me about the elaborate plots and ridiculous things the characters get up to, but I can’t help but admire how much she seems to enjoy reading, and how much she lights up when she talks about it.
I just enjoy watching her talk, to be honest. I shouldn’t, but I do. And it’s not just the way she talks—it’s the way she looks at Julian, like he’s her whole fucking world. I’ve never envied Julian for his title or his wealth. But for the way she looks at him?
Yeah. I envy that.
Though neither of them talks about it much, I know Julian and Sophie are much happier here than in England. I don’t exactly know what happened, but when I asked how Julian’sfamily was, they shareda look.It’s almost as though they’ve agreed to communicate a part of their lives in a way that doesn’t need outside validation or permission.
The more I watch them together, the more I notice little signs—fleeting looks, private smiles, subtle touches that linger just a bit too long. It’s not that Sophie doesn’t trust me; in fact, she’s more open and friendly than most people I’ve met. But there’s a part of her that remains inaccessible—a part she’s saved just for Julian. Even when she’s talking about herself, it feels like she’s holding back, as if something essential is just out of reach.
And it’s in the way Julian looks at her too—the way his eyes soften when he thinks no one’s watching, and the way they seem to communicate just by looking at each other. They’re united, but there’s also something else there. It’s like they’ve learned to navigate a unique space in their relationship, an arrangement that needs no explanation beyond what they share with each other.
I get the feeling that there’s something deeply personal between them that they choose to protect.
And I’m not sure if I’m jealous… or curious.
Sophie groans and leans her head against the back of the bathtub. “This feels so fucking incredible,” she murmurs. “Can you do me a favor?”
I perk up. “Sure. What’s up?”
“In the drawer to the left of my dressing table is a silver box and a lighter. Can you please pass them to me?”
I stand up and walk over to the antique-looking dressing table in the small room between the bathroom and the closet. Reaching into the left-hand drawer, I pull the small silver case and matching lighter out, walking them back over to Sophie.
“Thanks.”
To my utter surprise, she pulls a cigarette out and lights it, setting the case and lighter off to the side.
I contain my laughter as Sophie slips both feet out of the bath, crossing them at the ankle, and takes a deep drag of the cigarette.
“I should quit,” she says slowly as she blows smoke out into the air. “Old habits die hard. Now I mix tobacco with marijuana to help with the pain.”
“I didn’t know you smoked,” I tell her, an amusing smile playing at my lips.
“I don’t.”
“Does Julian know?”
She looks over at me and gives me a sharp look. “Of course.” I sit down and lean back against the window. “It’s endometriosis, by the way.”
