Chapter 13 #2
“Good.” He holds out his arm. “Now you can let me lead you to the car.”
I hesitate. He didn’t say I could touch him, and this could be a test. I’ve wanted a taste of Jaxon for too long to mess it up over a minor technicality.
“Livianna, is there a problem?”
“I’m not sure. You could be testing me, and if I do something wrong, I’ll lose my chance with you.” I shrug and shake my head. “Are you offering me your arm so I can lock mine with yours?”
His lips curl up as if he’s suppressing a grin. “Yes. Please take hold of me and let me show you to the car.”
“Okay.” I hook my arm with his, and he leads me away.
As he shows me to our ride, I run through all the rules he told me I had to follow. I’m not allowed to speak to him unless he says I can.
How does that work? What if I screw this up?
I’ve already kissed him when I wasn’t supposed to, and he didn’t like that at all. I’m not sure I know how to move.
Do I wait for everything before I do anything?
This is going to be a lot harder than I thought. I’m still reeling from that when we approach a driver holding the door to the backseat open.
Jax gestures for me to get in. “Ladies first.”
I smile to show him I appreciate his chivalry and slide across the seat. He joins me seconds later.
It smells like rich leather softened by time, stitched with secrets, and beneath it all, his presence—commanding and somewhat stifling.
The door shuts, and a few beats pass. The car glides forward, and we’re off to dinner right on time.
I thought I’d be able to pull off this submissive part, but I’m failing miserably. Not even my acting skills are showing up for me.
I sit with my spine straight, knees angled toward the door like they might unlock something that could rescue me from this mess.
But my hands are the ones giving me away. Clasped too tightly in my lap, they tremble inside the grip I pretend is grace.
The air between us is heavy. It moves like tension that’s ready to explode or like silence that’s waiting for a dramatic boom out of nowhere.
He peers over at me. “You’re quiet tonight.”
I nod, but my gaze stays fixed on the window and the way Paris slips by in streaks of gold and gray. No words. Just the echo of his voice replaying in my head, sharp and final.
He doesn’t press.
Of course he doesn’t.
Jaxon doesn’t chase reactions; he orchestrates them. And I’m too aware of how my silence might be construed. Too scared that one wrong glance, one misstep, could be interpreted as disobedience.
I’m already overthinking everything. How to sit. Where to look. Whether I’m allowed to speak unless given permission, or if the rules bend when there’s no one else watching.
The restaurant’s lights flicker across the backseat as we pull to a stop in front. This place doesn’t have a name, just carved stone and warm-lit sconces, like weapons disguised as opulence.
Jaxon doesn’t wait for his door to be opened. He steps out first as the driver rounds to my side and opens the door.
And then there he is again—Jax—standing with one hand extended, not as a gentleman’s offer but as a directive cloaked in elegance.
I place my hand in his without hesitation, though every cell in my body feels like it’s holding its breath. I’m just banking my time before I take a nose-dive and scrape up my hands and knees trying to maneuver in a world I don’t know how to live in.
He leads me into an intimate setting that gleams with the kind of hush you find at an elite gala. The light is low, the walls are slate and gold, and every table seems designed to seduce.
The ma?tre d’ bows and greets Jax without asking his name.
Of course.
This isn’t the kind of place you reserve. It’s the kind you’re allowed into.
We’re shown to a table beside a pane of glass that overlooks the Seine, where the water glimmers like champagne. The chair he pulls out for me is suede-lined, impressively soft, and yet I sense the rigid weight of invisible posture cues pressing into my spine.
I sit, careful with my dress. Careful with my every move. Even the thick leather-bound menu is heavy and stiff.
Jaxon takes the seat across from me, gaze settling on me like I’m both an indulgence and a variable in a very specific formula he’s already solved. I wish I knew the answer because I’m clearly out of my element.
I reach for the water not because I’m thirsty, but because doing something, anything, is safer than doing nothing. My fingers shake just enough to betray me, so I pull my hand back.
He spots the movement, and his eyes fill with something that seems like he’s analyzing me. I’m sure this is where I’ve ruined the night already.
Jesus, Livianna. Get your shit together.
I’m desperately trying not to break whatever rule I’ve already forgotten when the wine is poured without asking. The candlelight dances across the rim of his glass.
And me? I’m just trying to breathe without consequence.
I glance down at my hands again. They’re still clasped and trembling. The need for me to dig into my wrists clenches down on me.
Dammit, I’m losing the fight. I pick up my wine and drink half of it, hoping it’ll calm my nerves.
The stern gaze he sends me tells me I’ve broken another rule. Of course, he’s in charge of how much I can consume.
I think about the kiss I gave him earlier—the one he didn’t ask for, the one he reprimanded me for. I think about the rules I was so sure I could follow. About how easy it was to say yes in theory and how hard it is now to just exist under his gaze without having a panic attack.
My vision blurs. I’ve never followed the rules like this. I know how to bend them and make them work for me.
My breathing kicks into overdrive. I knew I was going to fuck this up. And now I’ll never get my chance with Jaxon Crowne because right now, I need to get the hell out of here.