Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lola
Istare at myself in the mirror and almost don’t recognize the girl looking back.
My hair is swept up into an intricate way that Aubrey spent an hour perfecting, with loose curls framing my face in a way that looks effortless but definitely wasn’t.
Sam did my makeup, her hands steady as she applied eyeliner, mascara, and some shimmery product on my cheekbones that catches the light when I turn my head.
I look... different.
The dress doesn’t help. It’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong.
A deep navy blue that Sam and Aubrey insisted brought out my eyes, with a fitted bodice and a skirt that flows down to the floor in soft waves.
The fabric is smooth under my fingers, expensive in a way that made me wince when I saw the price tag.
But Aubrey waved off my protests, telling me it was perfect and that I had to get it.
And now here I am, standing in front of my bedroom mirror, staring at a version of myself I don’t recognize.
I’m nervous. More nervous than I should be about a stupid high school dance. But it’s not the dance that has my stomach in knots. It’s Jace.
I asked him last week if he needed help getting a suit.
I offered to go with him to the rental place to make sure he had everything sorted out.
But he just gave me that cocky grin of his and told me he had it all under control.
Which, in Jace’s language, could mean anything.
It might mean he really has it under control.
Or it could mean he’s planning to show up in jeans and a t-shirt and just call it good enough.
I take a deep breath and smooth my hands down the front of my dress, trying to calm the raging in my chest. It’s fine. Whatever he’s wearing, it’s fine. This is Jace. My Jace. And I shouldn’t care if he shows up in a garbage bag as long as he’s there.
But still, I want tonight to be perfect.
I grab my small clutch bag off the bed—another thing Aubrey insisted I needed—and head toward the door. My heels click softly against the hardwood as I step into the hallway, and that’s when I hear voices downstairs.
Jace and my dad.
I pause at the top of the stairs, my hand gripping the railing, listening.
“You take good care of her tonight,” my dad says. He’s been doing better lately, his speech has been improving with each week of therapy. “She’s... excited.”
“I know,” Jace says. “I’ll take care of her, Sir. I promise.”
“Good.” There’s a pause, before my dad says, “You look good, Jace. You clean up nice.”
Jace laughs. “Thanks. Wasn’t sure I’d pull it off.”
I love hearing them talk. I enjoy the easy way they speak to each other now and the bond they’ve built over the past few weeks. My dad trusts Jace. He respects him. And Jace treats my dad with so much care and patience that it still surprises me sometimes.
I start down the stairs, my heels tapping on the wood, and the conversation halts immediately. Both of them turn to look at me.
And then I see Jace. He’s standing at the bottom of the stairs in a suit that fits him so perfectly it makes my brain stutter.
Black jacket, crisp white shirt, black tie that’s been loosened just slightly at the collar.
The pants are tailored, hugging his legs in a way that’s almost illegal, and his hair is styled back but still messy enough that I can tell he ran his fingers through it at least once.
He looks... good. Incredible. Handsome doesn’t even begin to cover it.
He looks older. Sharper. Hot enough to make my mouth go dry and my heart forget how to beat properly.
It’s the kind of hot that belongs on magazine covers or movie screens, not standing in my living room waiting to take me to prom.
But it’s the way he’s gazing at me that makes me forget how to breathe. His eyes are locked on mine, filled with something that makes my knees weak. His lips part slightly, and for a second, he just stares, frozen in place as if someone hit pause on him.
“Bells,” he manages to say. “You look... fuck.”
He doesn’t complete the sentence. Just shakes his head and steps toward me, reaching out his hand as I descend the last few steps.
I take it as my fingers slip into his, and he pulls me gently toward him until we’re close enough that I can smell his cologne, which makes me want to bury my face in his neck and stay there forever.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, voice low so only I can hear. “So fucking beautiful I don’t know what to do with myself right now.”
My cheeks flush, heat spreading across my skin. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”
“Yeah?” He grins, that cocky edge slipping back into his expression. “Thought I’d make an effort. Didn’t want to embarrass you.”
“You could never embarrass me,” I say.
His grin softens into something warmer as he reaches into his jacket pocket. “I got you something.”
He pulls out a small plastic box, and when he opens it, I see a corsage inside. White roses with tiny sprigs of greenery, delicate, simple, and perfect.
“Jace,” I breathe.
“I know it’s tradition or whatever,” he says, pulling it out carefully. “Figured I should do at least one thing right.”
He grabs my wrist, his fingers warm against my skin, and slides the corsage on. The elastic band settles comfortably, with the flowers resting against my wrist. He adjusts it slightly, making sure it fits just right, then looks up at me.
“Perfect,” he says.
I don’t know if he’s talking about the corsage or me.
Before I can ask, he leans in and kisses me. His hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushes along my jaw.
When he pulls back, his eyes remain on mine, and there’s something in them that makes my heart ache in the best way.
“You ready?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling. “I’m ready.”
“Wait,” my dad says from his spot near the couch. “A photo. I need a photo.”
Jace chuckles and steps back. “You heard the man. We need a photo.”
My dad fiddles with his phone. He finally opens the camera app, but when he lifts it to take a photo, I notice his hand shaking slightly.
“Smile,” he says, and Jace and I turn toward him, standing close together.
The phone clicks. Then clicks again.
“Dad, are you—”
“I can’t get it,” he mutters, frustration creeping into his voice.
Jace releases my hand and moves across the room, kneeling beside my dad in the wheelchair. “Here, let me help.”
He gently takes the phone and scrolls through the photos my dad accidentally took. Most of them are blurry or cropped.
“Alright,” Jace says, standing up and holding the phone out in front of us. “Let’s do this right.” He wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me close against his side, and holds the phone up high. “Smile, Bells.”
I lean into him, resting my hand on his chest, and smile at the camera.
The phone clicks, and Jace looks at the screen.
“Got it. And we actually look good, so that’s a win.”
He turns the phone toward me, and I lean in to see. The photo is perfect. Better than perfect. We look great.
Jace glances at my dad, then back at me. “Go over there so I can take a photo of you and your dad.”
Emotions surge so quickly that I’m caught off guard when I see my dad watching me with that soft expression he tries to hide. The one that makes me tearful because it reminds me of how things used to be.
My heels click softly against the hardwood as I cross the room and crouch beside him. I wrap my arm around his shoulders, careful not to jostle him, and he lifts his good hand, resting it on mine. His fingers squeeze gently, the grip weaker than it once was but still there… still him.
“You look... beautiful, sweetheart,” he says quietly, his voice thick with emotion.
“Thanks, Dad,” I whisper, blinking back tears that threaten to spill over and ruin the makeup Sam took over an hour to apply.
Jace holds up the phone, stepping back to get the right angle. “Alright, you two. Smile.”
I lean my head against my dad’s and smile. The phone clicks.
Jace looks at the screen, and his expression softens. “Perfect,” he says, his voice quieter now.
He crosses the room and holds out the phone for my dad. My dad carefully takes it, his good hand steadying it as he studies the image. His eyes linger on the photo and I can see emotion crossing his face. The bittersweet feeling of watching his daughter grow up.
He glances up at Jace, and there’s something in his expression.
“Thank you,” he says, and there’s weight in those two words. Gratitude for more than just the photo—for treating me right and becoming the man a dad can trust with his daughter.
“Anytime, Sir,” Jace says, with genuine respect in his voice.
My dad holds Jace’s gaze for a moment longer. “Take care of her tonight.”
“I will, Sir,” Jace says. “I promise.”
Jace and I step out into the cool evening air, and that’s when I see it. A limousine. An actual limo parked at the curb in front of my house—long, sleek, and black—shining under the streetlights.
I stop dead in my tracks. “Jace.”
“Yeah?”
“Is that—”
“A limo? Yeah.” He gently guides me down the porch steps, his hand warm in mine. “Surprise.”
“Jace, you didn’t have to—”
“I didn’t pay for the whole thing, Bells,” he says quickly, and there’s something almost apologetic in his voice. “Noah and Reece got it for the group. I just... I went with them for a third of the cost.”
He runs his hand through his hair like he does when he’s uncomfortable, especially when he’s trying to explain something he thinks I might be upset about.
“I’m sorry I didn’t have the money to take you to dinner tonight,” he says, and the words come out rough.
“I know that’s what you’re supposed to do for prom.
Fancy restaurant and all that stuff. But I couldn’t swing both, and I figured.
.. I don’t know. I figured riding in a limo with your friends might be better than sitting in some overpriced restaurant where I don’t know which fork to use anyway. ”