Francesca did not flinch.

She stepped forward, locking eyes with Julian.

Under the restless sweep of the night wind, her black hair streamed against her white dress, her crimson lips putting the neon glow around them utterly to shame.

Softly, Francesca spoke: “You needed me? If this is about Ronald, I’m pleased. I should thank you.”

Julian’s gaze deepened. “I’m glad you’re pleased.”

In that moment, he seemed to ...