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Chapter Forty

Lilianna

I sat looking at the menu as I twisted my hands in my lap.

It was my first official date, I was nervous, I knew there was no real reason for it, but I was.

The restaurant inside the conservatory was more intimate than I'd expected - a small space with glass walls that seemed to float among the exotic plants.

White tablecloths, soft lighting from pendant lamps that looked like glowing seed pods, and the constant gentle sound of water from some hidden fountain.

Julian sat across from me, looking impossibly handsome in a dark blue button-down that made his hazel eyes appear almost golden in the ambient light.

"Everything looks wonderful," I said, trying to mask my nervousness with enthusiasm as I studied the menu. The dishes were sophisticated but simple - seasonal ingredients paired with herbs grown right in the conservatory gardens.

Julian's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. "Choose whatever appeals to you. The chef here is remarkable."

I nodded, still feeling the lingering flutter of anxiety as I glanced over my menu again.

You don't need to be nervous," Julian said softly, setting his menu down. "It's just me."

"That's exactly why I'm nervous," I admitted, my voice barely audible over the gentle trickle of the nearby fountain. "Because it's you."

His expression softened further, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Would it help if I told you I'm nervous as well?”

I blinked at him. “You? Nervous?”

Julian chuckled, low and warm. “Terribly.” He leaned back slightly, folding his hands on the table. “You have this effect on people, Lilianna.”

I let out a soft, disbelieving laugh and shook my head. “I think you’re just being kind.”

“I’m being honest,” he said, his voice gentler now. “From the moment we saw you… There was something about you. I didn’t know what it was yet. I just knew I wanted to understand it.”

That left me quiet for a moment. I wasn’t used to people wanting to understand me. I was used to being managed, molded, or misunderstood. I looked down again at the menu, then back up at Julian, who hadn’t taken his eyes off me.

“I think I’ll go with the trout,” I said softly. “It sounds… comforting.”

He smiled and flagged down the waiter. His quiet competence was calming, and as he spoke with the waiter, I let myself exhale slowly. Maybe I didn’t have to carry so much tension tonight. Maybe I could just… be.

Once our orders were in, Julian sipped his wine and glanced toward the soft tangle of greenery beyond the glass. “I always liked this place. It always calmed me.”

“I feel that too,” I said, folding my hands together. “It’s peaceful here. Like everything outside doesn’t exist.”

Julian glanced at me again, a smile lingering. “You seem different today. Not in a bad way. Just… lighter.”

I hesitated. “I posted again.”

“Another poem?” he asked, interest sparking in his hazel eyes.

I nodded. “And a short caption. A reflection, really. About how healing isn’t a straight line.” I chewed my lip, debating if I should show him. Then I pulled my phone from my small clutch and turned the screen toward him.

He leaned forward, reading the post carefully. I watched his expression shift—softening in places, tightening around the edges when he got to the end.

The caption read:

“I used to think I was broken because I didn’t bloom the way they expected me to. But I’m learning that some things grow slower, deeper—hidden roots before flowers. And maybe that’s okay.”

I’d paired it with a photo of an unfurling fern, dewdrops clinging to the delicate curve.

“When did you post again?” he asked quietly.

I nodded. “After breakfast…I sat there trying to read and my mind drifted to what had been happening…. and that is what ended up coming out.”

Julian handed the phone back to me, his expression unreadable for a moment. “It’s beautiful. Raw in the best way.”

“It already has over seven thousand likes,” I whispered, still stunned. “I hit five thousand followers yesterday, and now I’m at over seven. People are tagging their friends. Sharing it. Someone even made a watercolor illustration of my poem this morning.”

Julian leaned in again, his voice low and sure. “Because your words matter. You’re showing people a kind of quiet bravery they don’t know how to name—but they feel it.”

I blinked, my throat suddenly tight. “It doesn’t feel brave. It feels like I’m peeling parts of myself open and hoping nobody laughs.”

He reached across the table, brushing his fingertips over mine. “Bravery isn’t the absence of fear. It’s walking forward anyway.” I stared at our hands. I hadn’t realized how badly I’d wanted to be held like this—not physically, but emotionally. Safely. Reverently.

“I used to think I was only valuable when I was quiet. Obedient. Small.” My voice trembled just a little. “But lately… I want to see what happens if I stop apologizing for existing.”

Julian’s thumb traced a small arc across my knuckles. “I want that for you too. And not just as someone watching from the side. I want to be part of it—cheering you on when you soar. Steadying you when you stumble.”

My lips parted, but the words didn’t come out right away. I didn’t know how to say what it meant, hearing that. Knowing he didn’t just want me when I was perfect, but also when I was unraveling.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “For not making me feel like I have to earn this.”

“You don’t,” he said simply. “You never did.” The food arrived shortly after that, warm and fragrant.

We ate slowly, the conversation dipping between light stories—like Julian’s disastrous attempt at baking banana bread in college—and heavier moments, like the time I first realized my parents saw me as a transaction more than a daughter.

He didn’t interrupt, didn’t offer empty comfort, he just listened. And that alone felt revolutionary. After dinner, he offered his hand. “Walk with me?” I took it without hesitation, my fingers curling into his.

He led me through a hidden door at the back of the restaurant, down a winding path I hadn't noticed before.

The conservatory transformed in the evening light—the glass panels catching the sunset and turning everything golden.

Plants cast long, intricate shadows across the stone pathways, creating patterns like secret messages written in light and dark.

"This is my favorite time here," Julian murmured, his voice soft against the backdrop of trickling water and the distant calls of exotic birds. "When the day visitors are gone and everything settles into itself."

I squeezed his hand gently. "It feels like we're the only people in the world."

He glanced down at me, his eyes warm in the amber light. "That was the plan."

We wandered through a section filled with towering bamboo, their hollow stalks occasionally knocking together in the gentle breeze, creating a natural wind chime effect.

"It sounds like music," I whispered, tilting my head to listen more closely to the bamboo's gentle percussion.

Julian nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Nature's first symphony. Miles once spent three hours here recording the sounds. Said it helped him compose."

We continued along the winding path, passing through sections filled with exotic flowers that seemed to glow in the fading light. Some closed their petals as dusk approached, while others were just beginning to open, their sweet fragrance filling the air.

"Look," Julian said softly, guiding me toward a small alcove where a bench was nestled among flowering vines. "This is what I wanted to show you."

As we sat, I realized we had a perfect view of a rare night-blooming orchid. Its petals were just beginning to unfurl, creamy white with delicate purple streaks that seemed to pulse in the dim light.

"It only blooms for one night," Julian explained, his voice hushed with reverence. "And only when the conditions are perfect. Temperature, humidity, even the phase of the moon has to align."

I watched in fascination as the petals continued their slow dance, revealing themselves with deliberate grace. "How did you know it would bloom tonight?"

"I didn't," he admitted, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of my hand. "But I hoped. Sometimes the most beautiful moments are the ones we can't plan."

The metaphor wasn't lost on me. I turned to look at him, finding his hazel eyes already studying my face with an intensity that made my breath catch. "Is that what this is? A beautiful moment we couldn't plan?"

His free hand came up to cup my cheek, his touch featherlight but sure. "This is everything I never dared to hope for," he said quietly, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. "You, here with me, choosing to trust me with these moments."

My heart fluttered against my ribs as I leaned into his touch. "I want to trust you with more than moments," I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Julian's eyes darkened, his gaze dropping briefly to my lips before returning to meet mine. "Lilianna," he breathed, my name like a prayer on his tongue.

"I know I'm still learning," I continued, my voice barely audible over the gentle sounds of the conservatory around us. "Still figuring out who I am without all the rules and expectations. But I know I want to figure it out with you. With all of you."

His hand tightened slightly against my cheek, an anchor in the swirling emotions between us. "Are you certain?" he asked, his voice rough with barely contained desire. "Because once we cross this line, there's no going back. Not for me."

I searched his face, seeing the vulnerability beneath his careful control. This strong, accomplished man was laying himself bare for me, waiting for my answer like his entire world hung in the balance.

"I'm certain," I whispered, my hand coming up to cover his where it rested against my cheek. "I've never been more certain of anything."