Julian had spent the afternoon "curating" me. He didn't try to make me look like a debutante; he knew better. Instead, he'd brought in a dress the color of a bruised plum, sleek, sharp, and expensive enough.
"You look like you're about to start a war," he'd whispered, adjusting the strap on my shoulder before we left.
"I'm just here for the open bar, Vane," I'd shot back, though my heart was doing a nervous tap-dance against my ribs.
The gallery in Mayfair was a white-walled vacuum of pretension. It smelled of ozone, expensive perfume, and old money. People moved like they were made of glass, sipping champagne and nodding at abstract paintings that looked like someone had sneezed ink onto a canvas.
Julian was in his element. He moved through the crowd with me tucked firmly under his arm, his hand resting on the small of my back like a claim. There was a new light in his eyes. A smug, grounding warmth that only appeared when he looked at me.
"Julian! I heard you were back in the city, but I didn't believe the rumors."
A woman detached herself from a group of men in tuxedos. She was stunning, all long legs, honey-blonde hair, and a smile that looked like it had been practiced in a mirror for twenty years. She wore a dress that looked like it was made of liquid gold.
"Isabelle," Julian said, his voice smooth and polite, but his grip on my waist tightened just a fraction. "It's been a while."
"Too long," she purred, her eyes sliding over me with the detached curiosity of someone looking at a stray cat that had wandered into a palace. "And who is your... charming guest?"
"This is Alina," Julian said, and I could feel the pride vibrating off him. "Alina, this is Isabelle Thorne. An old... associate."
Isabelle's smile widened, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Associate. Is that what we're calling it now? We used to call it 'three months of shared summers in Tuscany.'" She turned her gaze to me, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "You must be the girl from the states. Julian mentioned he was doing some... rural development."
I felt the old "vicious" spark ignite in the pit of my stomach. I took a slow sip of my champagne, letting the silence stretch just long enough to be uncomfortable.
"Rural development," I repeated, my voice steady and deceptively light. "That's one way to put it. I mostly just thought he was a tourist who got lost looking for a decent cup of coffee. It's lovely to meet you, Isabelle. I love your dress. It's so... brave. Gold is such a hard color to pull off when you're trying to look subtle."
Isabelle's smile faltered for a micro-second. "Subtlety is overrated, don't you think?"
"Oh, absolutely," I agreed, flashing her a grin that was all teeth. "That's why I like Julian. He's about as subtle as a sledgehammer. But I suppose you already knew that. Though, I imagine Tuscany was a bit more... polite."
Julian let out a breath that was almost a laugh. I could feel his body singing against mine, the thrill of watching me navigate his world. He loved the pettiness. He loved that I wasn't intimidated by the liquid gold or the practiced smiles.
"Alina is refreshing," Julian said, his voice dropping into that dark, possessive tone I knew so well. "She doesn't do 'polite' very well. It's her best quality."
"I can see that," Isabelle said, her tone clipping. "Well, I'll leave you to your... art. It was a pleasure, I'm sure."
She drifted away, her shoulders a little more rigid than they had been five minutes ago.
I turned to Julian, eyebrow arched. "Tuscany, huh? Did you wear linen shirts and talk about grapes?"
"I was young and bored," Julian murmured, pulling me closer until my hip bumped his. "And she was... a distraction. Nothing more."
"A distraction in gold foil," I muttered, leaning my head against his shoulder. "You have terrible taste in women, Vane. Aside from me, obviously."
"Obviously," he agreed, his mouth grazing my temple. "You were magnificent. The way you handled her... I think I might have to buy you a painting."
"Don't you dare," I laughed. "If you put one of these ink-sneeze things in the house, I'm moving out."
Julian laughed, a real, genuine sound that drew looks from the starchy crowd around us.
He didn't care. He looked at me like I was the only masterpiece in the room, and for the first time since landing in London, I didn't feel like a ghost. I felt like the girl who had conquered the his world without losing herself in the process.
"Let's go home," Julian whispered. "I'm done with art for the night."
"Best idea you've had all day," I said, tucking my arm into his.
As we walked out into the cool London night, the memory of Isabelle, and the shadow of the ridge felt smaller than ever. I was in the shark's world now, and it turned out, I had a pretty good bite of my own.