Chapter 29
AMY
Ithink I’m engaged.
Maybe?
I’m not entirely sure. He didn’t technically ask me to marry him. And I didn’t technically say yes.
But I’m wearing the silver band he gave me. And I’ve been smiling like an idiot for seven days straight.
Right now, I’m curled up on my sofa in my tiny London flat, watching the sun stretch across the floor while Jake sleeps in my bed with Pea curled up in the crook of his arm like he’s always belonged there.
Someone leaked a phone video of our moment on set. It’s still everywhere, even a week later.
I’m 90 percent sure the marketing team for The Chronicles is collectively losing their minds with joy. “Jake Hollander Finds His Real-Life Celandine” is the headline on at least five different outlets.
And honestly?
I don’t even care.
Okay, that’s a lie. I do care. I’m not comfortable with the attention, and I probably never will be.
But I love him.
And I know now, truly know, that the press, good or bad, doesn’t shake him. He’s not performing anymore. He’s just Jake, and he chose me, and he deserves the same from me.
He goes back to set tomorrow, but today? He’s officially meeting Maya.
I’m bracing for it. For Maya’s patented brand of terrifying enthusiasm. For the look on her face when I tell her I’ll be moving to the US when Jake finishes shooting.
But I think they’ll get along. My girl is my biggest cheerleader. She wanted me to be happy before I even remembered how.
Jake wants to meet my family too. To “do the right thing,” as he put it. So next weekend, he’s flying back again to meet them, not just as a boyfriend, but as a quiet act of defiance. A statement.
He overheard the conversation I had with my mother after the tape of his love declaration leaked.
The one where my family asked why a man like him would ever be with someone like me.
He didn’t say anything at the time, but I know he’s not a fan, and it makes me feel so cherished to have this man in my corner.
I go into the kitchen and start to prepare breakfast when Pea trots in, mewling indignantly like I’m thirty seconds late to his royal morning feast.
“Alright, alright, you dramatic potato,” I mumble, reaching for his bowl. He does a little circle at my feet, tail in the air like a banner of judgment.
I’m halfway through cracking eggs into the pan when I hear the soft creak of my bedroom door, followed by the unmistakable shuffle of socked feet on hardwood.
A second later, Jake appears in the doorway, shirtless and sleep-ruffled, rubbing one eye with the back of his hand.
My whole body goes warm at the sight of him. He looks rumpled and sleepy and slightly confused by morning, and I swear, it might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Morning,” I say, trying not to sound like I’m already mentally monologuing about his bedhead.
“Morning,” he croaks. His voice is all gravel and sleep, and I feel it in my knees before he’s crossing the room like a very slow, very large zombie. He wraps his arms around me from behind, nuzzling his nose in the crook of my neck.
“You’re up early,” I murmur.
“You left the bed,” he grumbles, like that explains everything. “Also, Pea punched me in the face.”
I laugh. “That sounds like you probably deserved it.”
“Rude.” He takes a deep breath in my neck. “You smell like toast.”
“Because I’m making toast.”
“Genius,” he says against my skin and presses a lazy kiss there.
I melt instantly, and the spatula nearly slips from my hand.
He rests his chin on my shoulder, watching me cook like it's the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
“Will texted me,” he says eventually. “ Said I had to ask about… Lord Rupert Meowpants the Fourth?”
I snort. “Lord Ruppert Meowington the Third, thank you very much. Show some respect.”
Jake leans back just enough to look at me, one brow raised and his lips twitching. “That’s not a real name.”
“Oh, but it is. Will made a deal—help me sneak onto your set, and he got naming rights to my next pet.”
He squints. “Wait… we’re getting a pet?”
“Well, we already have Pea. And it was that or a child, so you dodged a bullet.”
He tightens his arms around me. “Did I?”
I freeze, unsure what to say. But he must feel the tension in my body because he shifts the subject without pushing.
“And we have to call him by his full title every time?”
“I don’t make the rules,” I say solemnly. “Lord Ruppert commands it.”
He chuckles and pulls me tighter, pressing a kiss to my temple, then another just behind my ear. I melt into him like butter on toast.
God, how did I ever think I could live without this?
We stand there for a while—the eggs are sizzling, Pea’s crunching like it’s Michelin-star kibble, and Jake is warm and sleepy and wrapped around me like he never wants to let go.
“Hey,” he says after a beat. “Can I admit something?”
I glance over my shoulder. “Always.”
“I’m nervous to meet Maya.”
I turn fully in his arms, surprised. “You’re Jake Hollander. You’ve done red carpets and fight scenes and kissed actresses who smell like hairspray and insecurity.”
“I know,” he says, sheepish. “But Maya matters to you. Which means she matters to me. And she’s terrifying.”
“She is,” I agree, fighting a smile. “But she’ll love you.”
“Really?”
“Eventually.”
He groans. “Eventually?”
“She makes people work for it.”
Jake leans in, resting his forehead against mine. “I’d work for it. I’d work for all of it. For you.”
My heart does that ridiculous achy flutter thing I thought I’d grown out of.
I kiss him—soft and certain. “You already did.”
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous about Maya meeting Jake.
To be fair, most of what she’s seen of this whole mess has involved me crying into a tub of ice cream and swearing off men forever, which isn’t exactly a five-star Yelp review of our relationship.
And that’s not fair to him because he makes me happy, stupidly, ridiculously, grin-until-your-cheeks-hurt happy.
I just hope she sees that today as we brunch in her house with her signature cocktails, her passive-aggressive playlist, and the ever-present threat of emotional dismemberment if Jake puts a foot wrong.
God help him.
As soon as the ride share leaves us in front of her town house, she opens the door, and I know we’re in for business when she looks Jake up and down, bringing her “Boss Bitch” cup to her lips and says, “So. This is the man who made my best friend cry so hard she hiccupped for two hours and threatened to move to the Outer Hebrides.”
Jake blinks. “In my defense—”
She raises a finger. “You don’t have one yet.”
He clamps his mouth shut and nods solemnly. “Fair.”
I whisper, “God help us all,” under my breath and follow her inside.
The table is set like we’re hosting brunch for royalty. Fresh croissants, fruit salad arranged like a Pinterest board, and—yep—tiny cards with inspirational quotes. Jake picks one up and reads aloud.
“‘Hurt her, and I bury you where no one will find you. —Maya.’” He looks up, deadpan. “This one feels less inspirational and more… legally actionable.”
Maya lifts her mimosa and toasts him. “Good. You’re catching on.”
To his credit, Jake doesn’t flinch. He just takes the seat she gestures toward while she settles directly across from him like an interrogator at a parole hearing.
“Where’s Matt?” I ask, hoping her husband might provide a buffer of basic decency.
She shoots me a look that says please, as if I should know better. “He’s otherwise occupied.”
“You kicked him out?” I ask, incredulous.
She nods. “I needed to have a word with loverboy. And my husband is far too polite.”
“Maya—”
“No, she’s right,” Jake cuts in calmly.
Maya raises her glass again. “I’m prepared to give you a second chance. Mostly because you apparently give my girl mind-blowing orgasms, and frankly, that’s good for her health.”
“Maya!” I groan, face in my hands.
“What? You told me yourself,” she says, unapologetic. “I’m just glad the movie star knows what he’s doing.”
Jake shoots me a smug grin that melts me on the spot. “Oh, I know.”
Maya swirls her mimosa like she’s conducting a symphony of chaos. “Exactly. And I am deeply invested in her well-being.”
I groan. “I hate everything that’s happening right now.”
Jake, somehow both terrified and entertained, chuckles. “Honestly? I respect the transparency.”
Maya narrows her eyes at him. “Don’t get too comfortable, Hollander. You might’ve passed the mimosa test, but if you ever hurt her again? Just remember, I know where you live. And I will key something wildly inappropriate into your car.”
Jake blinks. “That feels… oddly specific.”
“I have a stencil,” she says without missing a beat.
He lifts both hands in surrender. “Duly noted.”
But then Maya reaches across the table and places her hand over his, surprising both of us. “In all seriousness, if you’re in this for real, then I’m rooting for you. She deserves someone who sees all of her and doesn’t flinch.”
Jake’s whole expression softens. “I do see her. All of her. And I’m not going anywhere.” He pauses. “I figured out what matters, and it’s her. Always her. I love her wholeheartedly.”
For a long time, I thought no one would fight for me. But here he is. Here she is. And maybe I’m finally letting them.
I smile like a fool as Maya stares him down for another few seconds, then nods once and leans back in her chair. “Alright. You’ve earned half a croissant and a cautiously optimistic thumbs-up.”
Jake snorts. “High praise.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s basically a standing ovation from her.”
Maya grins. “Don’t get cocky, Hollywood. It’s a probationary period.”
He holds up his mimosa. “Understood. Toasting to my probation.”
“Good.” She lifts her glass too. “Now, who wants more croissants and an aggressively feminist playlist that includes three Taylor Swift deep cuts and one angry ballad about setting a cheating man’s house on fire?”
Jake glances at me with an amused raise of his brow. “Is this the famous Brunch of Reckoning?”