Chapter 153

Jennifer Winslow glanced at the velvet gift box, then sighed. "I'm not getting any younger, Julian. What I truly desire now is a family... children of my own."

His fingers tightened around the wineglass. "Funny you should say that, Jennifer. I've been craving the same thing lately." Julian leaned closer, his gaze intense. "Why don't we give this a proper chance? Date seriously. If things work out, we could build that life together."

Her manicured nails traced the tablecloth absently. "There's one condition from my father. Our firstborn—regardless of gender—must carry the Winslow name."

Julian's charming smile froze.

Jennifer reached for her clutch. "If that's unacceptable, we should end this now."

His hand shot out to stop her. "Wait! I'm perfectly fine with that arrangement." He forced a laugh. "The child would still be mine biologically, wouldn't they? Though..." His voice dropped conspiratorially. "Perhaps we could compromise? First child takes your name, second takes mine? That way everyone's happy."

Relief washed over Jennifer's features.

"Would your family agree?"

"Leave them to me." Julian's thumb brushed her wrist. "These past weeks with you have been... revelatory. Your grace, your poise—you're nothing like those frivolous twenty-somethings. You've utterly bewitched me."

A becoming blush colored Jennifer's cheeks as she accepted the diamond bracelet.

This is almost too easy, Julian mused, sipping his Bordeaux. Marrying into the Winslow dynasty would cement his social standing permanently.

Then movement caught his eye.

The same doe-eyed child from yesterday—the one who'd called him "Daddy"—was skipping toward the restrooms hand-in-hand with a dark-haired boy.

"Pardon me, darling. Nature calls." Julian excused himself with practiced charm before stalking after them.

Henry Thorne's spine stiffened moments before the footsteps reached them. In one fluid motion, he yanked his sister into the ladies' room.

"Henry! I don't need to—" Lily's protest died when her brother pressed a finger to her lips.

"Julian Whitmore. Twelve o'clock."

Lily's hands flew to her mouth. Her wide, onyx eyes darted toward the door. "Did he see me? Is he here to take me away?"

Without missing a beat, Henry unzipped his backpack and retrieved a sleek laptop. His small fingers flew across the keyboard.

"Lights out. Fire drill," he murmured.

Five seconds later, the restaurant plunged into darkness.

Ten seconds after that, ear-splitting alarms shattered the air. Patrons erupted into chaos, stampeding toward exits.

Evelyn Thorne fought against the current, screaming her children's names over the din.

She nearly collapsed with relief when two small figures emerged unscathed. A waiter shoved them toward safety. "Madam! Evacuate immediately!"

Scooping Lily into her arms and gripping Henry's hand, Evelyn fled into the night.

From his idling Mercedes, Julian squinted at the retreating figures. The woman's profile struck him—there was something hauntingly familiar about the way she cradled the girl while leading the boy.

He couldn't quite place it... but he intended to find out.