14. Ariana
14
ARIANA
I slowly make my way down the stairs, the soft sounds of conversations growing louder with each step. When I round the corner and step into the dining room, a dozen sets of eyes turn toward me.
Everyone’s waiting.
A strange warmth spreads across my chest—and then nervousness crashes over me like a wave. They waited for me .
My steps falter for half a second, but Jasper’s gaze finds mine and softens. He pulls out the chair beside him without saying a word, and I hurry over and sit down, cheeks hot. As soon as I lower myself, he pushes me in so I’m closer to the enormous table.
He leans in slightly, voice low and gentle. “Is there anything you’re allergic to? Or anything you don’t like?”
I glance at the platters of food covering the table—roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, a huge salad, steamed vegetables, rolls, and some kind of baked pasta—and shake my head. “Everything looks great. This is… a lot of food.”
More than I’ve seen in years… And my mouth is watering as the aromas fill the room.
He nods and starts piling food onto my plate. He cuts my steak into neat bite-sized pieces without even being asked.
Across the table, Cage is doing the same thing for Ember, murmuring something low in her ear that makes her giggle. On the other side, Theo is cutting Rowie’s food while she chats excitedly with the man they keep calling Ghost about the butterfly she saw this morning.
I glance around the table and can’t help but wonder… are all theses men Daddies?
So many questions swirl in my head. Is Jasper really a Daddy? Has he ever had a Little of his own? Would he ever want one?
Would he ever want… me?
I shove the thought away almost as soon as it forms. Someone like Jasper—strong, steady, capable, smart, wealthy—would never want someone like me. Not long-term. Maybe as a friend. Maybe.
And I should be grateful for that.
I focus on my food, forcing myself to eat even though the ache in my chest dulls the flavor. Every bite is still delicious, and I try unsuccessfully to slow down so I don’t look like a starving dog at their table.
“Hey, Ariana,” Rylan calls from a few seats down. “I like your camper. It’s got personality.”
Before I can respond, a low growl vibrates beside me.
I glance at Jasper.
He’s glaring at Rylan.
Rylan grins smugly and takes a long sip of his drink, clearly enjoying the reaction.
Was Rylan being sarcastic about my camper? Or did he say that just to irritate Jasper? Because if so, it worked.
I don’t say anything, but the tension between them crackles.
By the time I finish my plate, I’m much more relaxed—maybe from the food, maybe from Jasper’s quiet presence at my side as he eats his own meal.
He turns to me, his voice gentle again. “Want some more?”
I nod. “Can I have more salad?”
Clatter.
Both Ember and Rowie drop their forks.
They gape at me like I’ve just announced I enjoy licking dirt.
“Are you feeling okay?” Ember asks, eyes wide.
“Salad is vegetables .” Rowie sounds like she’s informing me of a horror movie plot. “Vegetables are icky.”
Jasper’s full attention shifts to me as I laugh.
“I actually love veggies.” I smile shyly. “I used to have a whole garden. Grew everything myself—carrots, tomatoes, lettuce, cucumbers. There’s nothing better than a salad straight from your own dirt.”
Ember shudders dramatically. “That sounds awful. ”
Rowie groans. “Too green.”
Theo laughs and rolls his eyes, while Cage raises an eyebrow at Ember, who shrugs.
I giggle as Jasper sits back, watching me.
His eyes are warm, proud.
When I finish my second helping of salad, he leans in close, his breath brushing against my ear.
“You’re a very good girl for eating your veggies,” he whispers. “I’m proud of you.”
My entire body warms at the words because while I loved every bite of my salad, even if I hadn’t, I would have still eaten it just to hear him say that.
* * *
A fter everyone finishes dinner and helps to clear the table, Jasper places a gentle hand on the small of my back and steers me toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go feed your rodent.”
I laugh as we step out into the cool evening air and head to his place, which is only a short walk away from the main house. When we reach the front door, he unlocks it and pushes it open, motioning for me to go in first.
The second I step inside, I freeze.
It’s… beautiful.
Not in a modern, sterile kind of way, but warm. Masculine and structured, with dark woods, soft leather, and touches of comfort in the worn-in furniture and shelves filled with books. Why doesn’t it surprise me that Jasper reads? On the outside, he doesn’t look like the type to ever pick up a book, but once you talk to him, it’s obvious he’s intelligent and intellectual. It even smells good in here. Like fresh linen, wood, and leather.
“I didn’t expect this,” I whisper.
Jasper arches a brow. “What? You think I live in a cave?”
I smile. “I don’t know… maybe a military-grade bunker.”
He smirks and flicks on a few more lights. “We have one of those underground, but it’s beyond military-grade. Come on. Let’s find the rat.”
Unable to stop myself, I laugh and smack his arm playfully. “He’s not a rat. He’s a cat, and you’re going to hurt his feelings if you keep calling him a rodent.”
Jasper snorts and leads me around.
As we walk through the house—living room, kitchen, hallway—I notice how tidy everything is, but not in a cold or obsessive way. It’s just… cared for. Like everything here has a place. Like someone actually lives here and loves it. Definitely not what I expected.
For half a second, I picture myself curled up with a blanket on that couch, watching movies for hours while rain falls outside. Safe. Cozy.
Then I shake myself.
Temporary, I remind myself. This is only temporary.
We find Fluffy on a windowsill in the living room, looking about as grumpy as ever. As soon as he sees me, he jumps down and starts meowing insistently.
“Fluffy!” I drop to my knees, reaching for him.
Jasper barks, “Careful!”
I freeze, wide-eyed.
He crosses his arms, tone sharp. “He hasn’t been checked for any diseases yet. I don’t want you getting scratched.”
I giggle despite his tone, rolling my eyes as I pet Fluffy anyway. “Relax. He’s not going to give me rabies.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
He mutters something under his breath, but doesn’t stop me as he watches like a hawk from a distance.
I stroke Fluffy’s back for a few long minutes, soaking in the quiet. When I finally glance back at Jasper, I notice how tired he looks—his posture tense, his shoulders tight. He drags a hand over his face.
“You okay?” I ask softly. “You look exhausted. I can go back to my room in the main house so you can get some sleep.”
He stares at me for a long moment before letting out a low sigh and sinking onto the ottoman beside me.
“Even if I went to bed, I wouldn’t sleep.”
My chest tightens. “Why not?”
The playful warmth in the room dims.
He’s quiet. Long enough that I think he won’t answer.
Then, finally, he does.
“My childhood was rough, rainbow,” he explains, voice low. “Still get nightmares. Insomnia. Most nights, I don’t sleep at all.”
My heart aches. “That’s awful.”
He shrugs like it’s just part of life. “Only time I ever sleep hard is when the girls make me watch a movie with them. I pass out on the couch like an old man.”
Without thinking, I shoot to my feet and kick off my shoes.
Jasper blinks at me. “What are you doing?”
I grab a throw blanket from the back of the couch and hold it up like a flag. “We’re watching a movie. If you’re going to look out for me, I’m going to help you get some sleep.”
He stares at me, eyes softening.
And for once, he doesn’t argue as he moves to one corner of the couch and practically collapses into the cushions.
* * *
S omething jostles me, warm and solid, and I blink blearily, my thumb lodged in my mouth.
Then I realize I’m being lifted.
Strong arms cradle me, and that scent I’ve come to love surrounds me.
“What’s happening?”
Jasper’s voice rumbles in my ear, deep and low. “I’m taking you up to a guest room to tuck you in.”
“Mmm,” I sigh, snuggling into his chest. “You’re warm. And comfy. And you smell yummy.”
He groans under his breath, sounding almost pained. “Stop saying stuff like that, Little one, or I’m gonna do something I shouldn’t.”
I tilt my head slightly. “Like what?”
He’s quiet for a second, and then he answers roughly, “Like take you to my bed instead of one of the guest rooms.”
My heart does a little flip.
Still half-asleep, I hum and blink up at him. “I’d like that,” I whisper.
His gaze snaps to mine without saying a word.
He just keeps walking.
Up the stairs.
Eyes still locked on mine.
Every step is deliberate, his arms holding me tightly.
He doesn’t stop until we reach the very last room at the end of the hallway.
And it’s not a guest room.
It’s his .
He kicks the door shut behind us.