“No, Julian,” I reply as sweetly as I can, dipping my spoon in the soup. “Sulking would imply that I’m mad at something you did. But I don’t get to be mad, do I? You can do whatever you want to me, and I’m supposed to just accept it, right?” And taking a sip of the richly flavored soup, I give him a saccharine smile, enjoying the way his eyes narrow at my response. I know I’m tugging on a tiger’s tail, but I don’t want a sweet, gentle Julian tonight. It’s too misleading, too unsettling for my peace of mind.

To my frustration, he doesn’t take the bait. Whatever anger I managed to provoke is short-lived, and in the next moment, he leans back, a slow, sexy smile teasing at the corners of his lips. “Are you trying to guilt me, baby? Surely you know by now that I’m beyond that kind of emotion.”

“Of course you are.” I meant the words to sound bitter, but they come out breathless instead. Even now, he has the power to make my senses whirl and spin with nothing more than a smile.

He grins, knowing full well how he affects me, and dips his own spoon into the soup. “Just eat, Nora. You can show me how mad you are in the bedroom, I promise.” And with that tantalizing threat, he begins consuming his soup, leaving me no choice but to follow his lead.

As we eat, Julian peppers me with questions about my classes and how my online program is going so far. He seems genuinely interested in what I have to say, and I soon find myself talking to him about my difficulties with Calculus—has a more boring subject ever been invented?—and discussing the pros and cons of taking a Humanities course next semester. I’m sure he must find my concerns amusing—after all, it’s just school—but if he does, he doesn’t show it. Instead he makes me feel like I’m talking to a friend, or maybe a trusted advisor.

That’s one of the things that make Julian so irresistible: his ability to listen, to make me feel important to him. I don’t know if he does it on purpose, but there are few things more seductive than having someone’s undivided attention—and I always have that with Julian. I’ve had it since day one. Evil kidnapper or not, he’s always made me feel wanted and desired, like I’m the center of his world.

Like I genuinely matter.

As the dinner continues, Ana’s story plays over and over in my mind, making me viciously glad that Juan Esguerra is dead. How could a father do that to his son? What kind of monster would purposefully try to mold his child into a killer? I picture twelve-year-old Julian standing up to that brute for a defenseless kitten, and I feel an unwitting flash of pride at my husband’s courage. I have a feeling keeping that pet against his father’s wishes had been far from easy.