Chapter 10 #2
Jordan had starred in her dream before it turned into a borderline nightmare. She’d given him her word, her hand, and a second chance, all within two weeks of knowing him. This was never going to be easy and her subconscious refused to let her forget it.
He was already in the kitchen waiting for her by the time she was dressed. “I thought you didn’t wake up early?” she asked.
“No need to wake up if you don’t sleep.” His voice was clear, not a hint of morning scratch. “Coffee?”
She leaned against the counter watching him pour her a cup. He was wearing all black again, jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. It suited him—he truly was overwhelmingly handsome. Irresponsibly handsome.
“How do I look?” She stood up straight and gestured to herself.
“Beautiful,” he said to the refrigerator as he grabbed the creamer instead of looking at her.
“I’m not asking for compliments. I need feedback.” That got his attention, so she continued, “You know how cartoon characters always wear the same thing? I was thinking this could be my signature look—a different cardigan every day. I have a lot of them.”
For her first official day of filming, she’d chosen a solid dark blue one that had a single pink flower over the right wrist. Her face inexplicably began feeling warm as Jordan considered her idea, slowly, from head to toe and back again.
“Spin for me,” he said thoughtfully.
She did and added a few poses at the end.
He nodded. “I was right the first time. Beautiful.”
“That’s unhelpful.”
“That’s my honest opinion.” He shrugged while holding both coffee mugs. “Shall we?”
Their open floor plan kitchen had the cutest little windowed dining nook. The sun was already up and bathing the spot in a dreamy orange glow as they sat. A new picnic basket was already on the table, and she peeked inside. He’d chosen an array of pastries and egg-based dishes.
“Did you get your family email?” he asked.
“Already activated.” She grabbed her phone.
Her Zaffre company account was also connected to a shared calendar that had everyone’s entire life schedule on it.
There were three categories—production, personal, and blacklist. Zinnia and Jordan would be on camera for twelve-hour blocks, clocking out at eight p.m. every night, seven days a week. For the next four months. How fun.
“Why are all our evenings blacklisted?” she asked.
“Because that’s our time. Bondingmoon. Bungalow date night. Whatever you’d like to call it.”
No one else in his family had any scheduled off-camera time.
“I bet they’re not happy that you asked for that time off, huh?” She tried to smile to hide her nerves. Pissing everyone off by getting special treatment was only going to make her job that much harder.
“I didn’t ask. And no, they’re not, but I don’t care.” He gave her a serious look. “You were right. We jumped in. I thought it wouldn’t matter that my dating history is…uh, what it is, but it does. How can I be a good husband when I’ve only ever been a terrible boyfriend?”
“That’s a good question.”
“I want to know you, Zinnia, and I want you to know me. We do that by dismantling the marriage fantasy and replacing it with reality one night at a time.”
“Wow, you really have been to therapy.”
“You know, I didn’t tell you my medical history so you could tease me about it.” He laughed, not at all offended. “Therapy isn’t for everyone, but it’s definitely for me.”
“And I love that for you.”
“For a long time, I used ‘needing to keep my family’s identity a secret’ as an excuse. I really thought that was the reason why I just couldn’t trust anyone.”
“Until being desperate changed your mind.”
“Until I found you,” he said, eyes locked on hers. “And yet, somehow, I still fucked up. I’m clearly the problem in both instances. Saying that I’m working on being better probably doesn’t mean much right now, but I am. You’ll see. I promise.”
Zinnia figured the magic sheen from his heartfelt apology would’ve worn off by now, but when she looked at him, she still felt hopeful. And curiously happy. She raised her mug and said, “Cheers to second chances.”
Breakfast was nice, tasting just as good as the day before, and conversation was borderline unremarkable until Zinnia asked, “Oh, do you want me to call you Alfie while we’re filming?”
He winced. “No. Never.”
“Gotcha.” She scrunched her nose. “For family only?”
He leaned closer to her. “I like that you’re the only one who calls me Jordan here. I like the way you say my name.”
Why did that make her smile? “How do I say it?”
“Not how—it’s the feeling behind it. Like a reminder that I’m allowed to be who I want and not who my family expects me to be.”
She wondered if that was a new development. Did he not always remember that? Not wanting to get too existential first thing in the morning, she didn’t ask. After they finished eating, she volunteered to wash the dishes to be fair. The sink was empty. He must’ve washed them last night.
“Oh, you don’t have to,” he said.
“I do,” she said, collecting their empty plates. “I have this thing about bugs—”
“They’ll be washed. You just don’t have to do it.”
She frowned at him. “Are you going to do it?”
“No,” he said patiently.
“Then who is? Invisible elves?” she joked.
“Housekeepers. They clean everything daily. Think of it like living in a hotel. Everything goes back into the delivery basket, and we set it on the porch for pickup.” The tightness around his eyes made her think he was embarrassed—either by her not getting it or by the fact that his family had staff.
“I’m washing them anyway.”
Before he ran away, Jordan grew up rich. He’d said he lived completely on his own now, but also that he hired someone to deep clean his apartment. Who else did he employ for his personal life? A driver? A butler? Was Beta Carotene one of those trust fund cats?
He’d already gently suggested that they revisit the allocations for their joint marriage account in the future while signing their prenup.
That offer made her nervous as all hell.
Having her rich husband pay for everything sounded amazing in theory, but she’d heard too many horror stories about spousal financial abuse to just say yes.
Who knew something like dirty dishes could send her into a full-blown financial spiral?
Jordan’s watch began beeping. He silenced the alarm and said, “I have a surprise for you. Wait here.” He returned carrying his laptop, right as she was rinsing the last plate.
“We have to be out of here at eight or Mabel might break the door down and drag us out, but that’s more than enough time to have a breakfast meeting. ”
She rejoined him at the table. “And who are we meeting?”
“Grace’s messages have made it clear that my time on Earth is up. I asked if she and Fiona would be willing to have a little chat. I know you told them everything that happened, but I’d like them to hear it from me too. Before my untimely demise.”
Zinnia sighed because damn it, she liked him a lot.
But it was hard to feel excited hearing her best friends’ terse greetings and seeing the stone-cold expressions on their faces.
Fiona was still in bed—her clover-covered comforter in full view—because she worked from home.
Grace, however, went into the office every day.
She was in full corporate glam with a giant window full of skyscrapers behind her.
They listened to what he had to say without interrupting, eyes laser focused on the screen. Once he finished, Grace immediately asked, “And how do you plan to protect Zinnia going forward?”
“Well, we—”
“Because you can’t,” she cut him off. “I assume she informed you of the Sweetheart storyline we devised.”
Fiona started giggling. Zinnia frowned and whispered, “Not the corporate voice. Come on.”
Grace ignored them both and continued to address Jordan directly.
“It’s imperative that you maintain a neutral stance and stay in the middle for as long as possible.
Zinnia isn’t a villain, and she isn’t a damsel either.
We cannot allow Amber to use you as an excuse to twist the storyline any way she sees fit.
A sweetheart is strong, kindhearted, and does not need a knight riding in on a white horse to save her. ”
“If anything, my horse would be an Appaloosa because they’re my favorite breed,” he joked.
Fiona giggled again, louder this time. She liked to wake and bake more often than not and was likely high.
This meeting could’ve been much worse. Grace had been adamant during their planning session that Zinnia had to get used to relying only on herself while filming. Jordan’s loyalty would always be with his family first.
But a true second chance meant honoring the blank slate she’d given him. She poked Jordan in the side to get his attention. “What she means is, we don’t expect you to save me, but I do expect you to be there. You hang me out to dry again and I’ll end you myself.”
“No, she won’t,” Fiona chimed in, still giggling. “But she might let Grace do it!”
“We’re partners,” Zinnia said to Jordan. “We fight battles together, even if that means letting me struggle for a little bit. Just not for too long, okay?”
He nodded, eyes alight with sincerity. “What’s my bat signal? We should have a code, so I’ll know when you need me.”
She thought about it. “If I twist my wedding ring, you jump in and save me. If I roll my eyes, stand down.”
“You got it and me.”
“Thank you.”
When they turned back to the screen, Fiona’s eyes were rapidly flicking left to right as if she were reading something.
“What?” Zinnia asked.
“Nothing.” Her eyes stilled as her smile grew.