16. JAXON #2
Something that maintains appropriate boundaries while acknowledging that those boundaries have already been obliterated twice over.
I walk through the door to find Lily on the couch, wrapped in her dragon blanket, watching the cartoon with singing dragons that she has been obsessed with for weeks.
Zara sits beside her, reading something on her phone, but she looks up when I enter.
"Daddy!" Lily bounces off the couch, launching herself at my legs with the force of a small hurricane.
I catch her, swinging her up while she giggles. "Zara made the best waffles. I only put a little syrup."
"A little?"
"Medium," Zara corrects, rising. "We negotiated."
Our eyes meet over Lily's head.
Something electric passes between us, that same current that’s been building since the moment I walked into my kitchen and found her there—upending everything I thought I knew about my life.
"Daddy, are you going to a party tonight?"
"A gala," I say. "For charity."
"Can I come?"
"Not this time, bug." I set her down, crouching to her level. "But Mrs. Henriksen is going to stay with you, and Zara said you can stay up thirty minutes past bedtime."
Lily's face lights up like I have promised her a pony. "Really?"
I glance at Zara, who is fighting a smile. "Apparently that was also part of the negotiations."
"She drives a hard bargain." Zara shrugs. "Gets it from her dad."
Lily tugs at my hand. "Zara's gonna look so pretty. She showed me the dress."
My chest tightens. "Did she?"
"It's purple. Like the dragon in my show."
"Violet," Zara says quickly, a flush creeping up her cheeks. "And someone wasn't supposed to share that detail."
Lily claps a hand over her mouth, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oops."
I watch Zara watching my daughter, and something clicks into place.
The way she cares for Lily is not performance. Is not obligation. It is real, bone-deep, the kind of nurturing that cannot be faked.
"Why don't you finish your show, bug," I say. "I need to talk to Zara for a minute."
Lily bounces back to the couch without argument, already absorbed in the cartoon.
I lead Zara into the kitchen, far enough to have a conversation without little ears catching every word.
“My ex has people digging into us,” I say without preamble. “Everything—our relationship, your background, whether this marriage is legit.”
Zara's expression flickers but holds steady. "I figured as much. Simone mentioned a blogger asking questions."
"This is different. This is professional, funded by Rachel's venture capital fiancé. They're going to look under every rock."
"And what will they find?"
The question is not defensive. Just... honest. Like she genuinely wants to know what I am worried about.
"I don't know." I run a hand through my hair. "That's the problem. Every time I think I've got this figured out, something shifts."
She is quiet for a moment, studying me with those gray eyes that see too much. Then she takes a step closer, closing distance I had not realized I needed closed.
"What do you want them to find, Jaxon?"
Something in her voice stops me short.
"What do you mean?"
"When they dig. When they interview people. When they try to prove this relationship is fake."
She holds my gaze. "What do you want the truth to be?"
I cannot answer. Because the truth is that I want her, and wanting her complicates everything.
"I want to keep my daughter," I say instead. "That's what matters."
Something flickers across Zara's face—disappointment, maybe, or resignation.
She steps back, and the loss of her proximity hits harder than it should have.
"Then we make sure that happens." Her voice is steady again, professional. "Tonight, we present a united front. We look in love, act in love, give them nothing to use against us."
"And after?"
She smiles, but it does not reach her eyes. "After, we figure out what comes next."
The conversation is over. She walks back toward the living room, leaving me alone in my kitchen, wondering how I have managed to say exactly the wrong thing.
***
Mrs. Henriksen arrives at six.
By six-thirty, Lily is settled with her approved snack and extended bedtime, and I am pacing the living room in a suit that feels too tight.
I hear her before I see her.
The soft click of heels on hardwood. A rustle of fabric. Then Zara appears at the top of the stairs, and everything else disappears.
Violet, Lily had said. But the word does not capture it.
The gown moves with her, every step deliberate, effortless, turning something as simple as walking into a quiet kind of spectacle.
Her hair is up, exposing the line of her neck, and she wears minimal jewelry—just small earrings and that silver heart pendant she never takes off.
She descends the stairs slowly, watching me watch her.
"You're staring."
"You're stunning."
The words come out before I can filter them, raw and honest in a way I usually avoid.
Zara pauses on the bottom step, which puts her almost at eye level with me. This close, I can see the slight flush on her cheeks, the careful way she is controlling her breathing.
"We should go," she says quietly. "Don't want to be late."
I offer my arm. She takes it, her fingers warm through my jacket sleeve.
We make it halfway to the door before my phone buzzes.
I pull it out, ready to silence it, then freeze.
My ex-wife's name on the screen, with a message that makes my blood run cold.
Rachel:
Hope you’re enjoying playing house while you can. You know how easily things fall apart under pressure.
Zara leans over, reading the message. Her grip on my arm tightens.
“She sounds delightful,” she says flatly.
"I know."
She turns, facing me fully. This close, I can see the steel beneath her warmth, the fighter she is.
Her hand comes up, straightening my tie even though it does not need straightening. "Whatever they throw at us, we handle together. That was the deal."
I catch her wrist, holding her still. Her pulse jumps beneath my fingers.
I want to say something. The thing I couldn’t say earlier. But I don’t even know what that is, so I stay quiet.
Her eyes search mine. Whatever she finds makes something shift—vulnerability slipping through the armor, just for a moment.
Then Lily’s voice rings out from the living room. “You guys look like a movie!”
We pull apart, and I’m more confused than ever.
Because are we supposed to pretend to be in love… or pretend we’re not?