Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
ISABELLE
The Summerhurst High reunion is in three days, and I still haven’t found a plus-one. In other words, Operation Find a Fake Boyfriend has officially flopped.
As part of my search, I caved in and downloaded dating apps for the first time.
I went on three dates, and each turned out to be a disaster—guy number one looked nothing like his photos, guy number two gave a TED Talk about how “crazy” his ex was the whole time, and guy number three ordered a series of expensive dishes, only to tell me he “forgot” his wallet when the bill came.
“Which is why I’ve given up and decided to show up to the reunion solo,” I conclude to Jen.
We’re at the dining table at home, eating baklava from our go-to bodega as a late-night snack.
Jen stops chewing and pauses. “That makes Jackson even more of a strong candidate.”
“Jackson?” I ask with a mouthful. “He was definitely joking last time.”
Jen shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”
“If he had been serious, he’d have at least asked me why I was looking for a fake boyfriend. He didn’t even ask for context and just said, ‘Challenge accepted.’ That’s like the equivalent of jumping off a cliff.”
“Maybe,” Jen says. “Another interpretation is, he didn’t care about the context. He’d do anything to help you, even if it meant jumping off a cliff.”
“Okay, let’s say, hypothetically, he was serious. As I said last time, it wouldn’t work. We’d just be throwing insults at each other the whole night.”
Jen’s blue eyes twinkle. “I think you’d have pretty good chemistry as a fake couple.”
Yeah, right. An ant and a twig would probably have more passion and excitement together.
“Chemistry so lethal that it’d be a dangerous explosion that blew up in our faces,” I say, taking another bite of my food. “And I don’t even need a science degree to know that.”
Jen sighs. “Okay, I give up. In other news, I might have hit Aaron up in his DMs, and he invited me for drinks with, uh, one of his … coworkers tomorrow night.”
“That’s so exciting. Look at you go!” I grin, feeling like a proud mother. At least one of our love lives is going somewhere. “Where does he work again?”
“At a marketing consultancy firm.” There’s a shine in her eyes. “Do you want to join? Other people will be there, too. There’ll definitely be single men around.”
“I was just going to stop by my parents’ place to give them their invitations to my fashion show,” I say. “After that, I might have an early night.”
Jen nods. “All good. Hey, even if you don’t bring a date to the reunion, you won’t be alone. You’ll have me.”
A grateful smile lingers on my lips. “I know. Thank you.”
I’ll get through the reunion without any drama and remain calm if I come face-to-face with Oliver.
Everything will be fine.
Returning to my parents’ townhouse—nestled in a quiet, leafy street in Brooklyn Heights—feels different from the last time I came here for our family dinner. I’m feeling hopeful. Light. Optimistic.
The three-story brownstone greets me as I walk up the stairs, mentally rehearsing what I’m going to say. Smoothing my blouse and jeans, I take a deep breath and ring the doorbell.
Mom opens the door after several seconds. She’s wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants—a contrast to the corporate attire I’m used to seeing her in.
“Hey, Mom,” I greet.
“Hi, Isabelle,” Mom says. “Come inside.”
I take off my sandals and step inside, putting on slippers before following Mom down the hallway.
Even though I’m not the closest with my mom or sister, I still hope to have their support. Maybe, just maybe, if Mom goes to my fashion show, she’ll finally see how important fashion design is to me.
Ivy sits at the dining table, scrolling through her phone, her face tense as she types something. She glances up at me. “Hi.”
“Hey,” I say. “Is Dad home?”
“Your father had to stay back at the office for some last-minute work,” Mom responds.
“Oh. All good.” I ignore the tiny pang of disappointment that clashes against my chest. I suppose I can just ask Mom to pass on Dad’s invitation card.
“Have you eaten yet?” Mom asks.
In Chinese and many Asian cultures, that question is the equivalent of asking how are you.
“Yep,” I respond.
Mom nods. “You said you had something you wanted to tell us?”
“Yes.” I grab the cream invitation cards from my tote bag. “I’m hosting my first-ever fashion show for my business, and I want to invite you all to the event.” Walking around, I give Mom and Ivy their invites. “This one’s for Dad,” I add, handing another card to Mom.
Ivy places her phone down to read my card while Mom studies hers. My palms turn clammy, my foot tapping anxiously against the floorboards. I feel like I’m back in school again, presenting my report card to my mother and awaiting her reaction.
After what feels like an eternity, Mom lifts her head. “This certainly looks exciting, Isabelle. Well done.”
A warm feeling wraps around my body, like taking the first drink of a hot chocolate. Is my mother actually giving me a compliment right now? The same person who’s always been disappointed in me for not wanting to pursue a career in law?
“Are you secretly an alien posing as my mom?” I fake a gasp. “What have you done to her?”
Mom scowls, but I can tell she’s suppressing a smile. “There’s no need to be so dramatic. Can’t I just be happy for my daughter?”
I let out a laugh. “Thanks, Mom. That really means a lot.”
“That’s really exciting, Belle,” Ivy suddenly says. “It’s a shame about the date, though.”
I turn to her, raising a brow. “What do you mean?”
“Well, Ben and I are having our engagement party on the same day.”
My head starts thudding, the happiness and relief pulsing through my veins only moments ago vanishing. Out of the three hundred sixty-five days in a year, what are the chances that Ivy’s engagement party would fall on the same day as my fashion show?
“Really?” I stare at her with suspicion. “How come I’m only hearing of this now?”
“Well, we haven’t sent out the invites yet, but that’s the date we’re planning on having it.” Ivy shrugs and removes a piece of lint from her blouse. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”
I believe in coincidences. I really do. But this seems anything but a coincidence. It appears calculated and deliberate, like she doesn’t want to see me happy. Like she doesn’t want to see Mom be happy for me.
“I’m sure you do, Ivy.”
“Maybe you could consider changing the date for your event,” she suggests.
An acrid taste fills my mouth and coats my tongue until it’s all I can taste, bitterness overtaking my body and clouding my emotions. “Guess law school didn’t teach you much about honesty and fairness.”
Ivy’s mouth drops wide open, and her face flushes red.
“All right, that’s enough,” Mom cuts in. “Isabelle, that’s no way to speak to your sister.”
Ivy looks like she’s trying to hide a smug look on her face. She’s twenty-six—two years older than me—yet she acts like we’re still in middle school.
“It’s fine,” I bite out. “I’m leaving anyway.”
Ivy can do whatever she wants. I need fresh air and to get out of here as soon as possible.
Mom lets out a frustrated sigh. “We’ll talk about this later.”
I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it. There’s nothing left to say.”
Coming here and sending these invitations was a bad idea because no matter what, I’ll always be the villain in my mom’s eyes.
Neither Mom nor Ivy say anything else, not that I expect them to.
Still, a clogging feeling burns my throat as I grab my tote bag and make a beeline to the front door, hating that I still care about what my family thinks.
That silly me thought Ivy would be happy for me for once.
Mom’s reaction when she saw her invite seemed genuine, but I don’t know anymore.
As soon as I’m outside, I take out my phone and text Jen.
Me
Hey, can I still join you for drinks?
Jen
Of course! We’re at Angela’s Rooftop Bar
Entering the outdoor terrace at Angela’s Rooftop Bar, I take in the panoramic view of the city skyline and the airy and lush rooftop garden. Upbeat music fills the air, and around me, people in business attire are gathered in small groups, chatting away with drinks in their hands.
As I scan the crowd, I spot Jen giving me a wave and walk over to her.
She pulls me into a hug. “You made it! I thought you were going to have an early night.”
“Change of plans.” I let out a sigh. “Just some family drama. I’ll tell you about it later.”
Jen gives me an empathetic look. “Let’s get you something to drink.”
Aaron walks over beside Jen. “Hey, Isabelle. Nice to see you again.”
“You too, Aaron.”
Aaron exchanges a knowing look with Jen and clears his throat. Something’s definitely up with these two. “So, my boss is here, too. I think you might know him.”
“Your boss?” I frown. “Who?”
There’s a mischievous glint in Aaron’s eyes. “He’s coming over right now.”
I follow Aaron’s gaze to see Jackson strolling toward us.
His cheeks are slightly flushed, as if he’s had a drink or two already, but that’s not all.
His suit jacket is off, and the top buttons of his white dress shirt are undone, revealing his collarbone and a subtle yet very tempting glimpse of his chest.
My mouth turns dry, and a rebellious image of what he might look like shirtless marches inside my head, dragging every inch of my attention and demanding my imagination to run wild.
“I actually sleep shirtless.” At the same time, his words from last time replay in my mind, adding to my unwarranted thoughts.
After what happened at my parents’ house, my immunity to Jackson’s charms must be temporarily weakened. That’s surely the sole logical explanation for why my mind is playing more tricks than a magician right now.
“Your cheeks are a little red, Isabella.”
Snapping out of it, I avert my gaze elsewhere. “The weather’s just hot.”
Except as soon as I say those words, a gust of evening wind blows through my hair and body, causing me to shiver.
Fantastic. Even Mother Nature has it in for me today.
Jackson takes a step forward, tucking a strand of stray hair behind my ear. Butterflies—which have no business being here—escape from their cage, a fluttery feeling invading my stomach.
“Hot, did you say?” Jackson’s voice is velvety and smooth, gliding across my skin like melted chocolate. “I was going to offer you my jacket, but I guess there’s no need for that now.”
It’s definitely the alcohol he’s had that’s talking. Either that or he’s just messing with me or we’ve been transported to some kind of alternate universe. Because no way would Jackson Carter otherwise be touching my hair and thinking about offering me his jacket.
At least, I don’t think so.
I force myself to meet his gaze—steady, unwavering—and square my shoulders, feigning confidence. “Are you trying to flirt with me, Carter?”
Jackson inches his face closer to me, his gaze dipping to my lips before flicking back up. “Is it working?”
The fluttery feeling in my stomach returns as those annoying butterflies flap their wings madly. Frankly, they need to take the hint that they’re not welcome and go away.
“No.” I swallow and ignore the little voice in my head that shouts, Liar. “Try harder next time.”
“Mm-hmm.” Jackson looks at me like he doesn’t believe me. “Maybe I will.”
“Our table’s over here!” Jen’s voice jerks me out of my little bubble with Jackson, and only then do I realize she and Aaron already walked off.
“After you,” Jackson says.
Without replying, I head to the table Jen and Aaron are at, trying to brush off whatever happened with Jackson just now. I sit next to Jen, and Jackson seats himself opposite me. Two bottles of beer and a spicy margarita are on the table, which I’m guessing are drinks for the three of them.
Jen calls a server over, and I order a pina colada—my favorite alcoholic drink.
Aaron turns to me. “So, Isabelle, Jen tells me you went to fashion school and run your own fashion business.” He nudges Jackson on the shoulder. “Can you remind me which school you went to again? I’m sure Jackson would love to know.”
“Fashion Institute of Technology,” I say, ignoring his remark about Jackson.
“Wow. That’s so cool,” Aaron says. “Have you just been a business owner ever since graduating?”
“No, not always. After graduation, I worked for a fashion label full-time but got laid off four months in.” Jen knows this story already, but I don’t mind sharing it with Aaron. “When my job search wasn’t successful, I decided to take the plunge with launching my business.”
Aaron nods. “And with your business, do you have a whole team to help you with stuff?”
“I still have a long way to go before that,” I confess with a laugh. “I’ve hired a freelance seamstress before to help me out, but for the most part, it’s pretty much just me.”
Aaron takes a sip of his beer and shakes his head. “You’re too humble. Hopefully, you’ll still remember us when you’re famous.”
This whole time, I can feel Jackson’s gaze on me, and when I toss a glance at him, there’s an unreadable expression on his face. He’s acting unusually quiet, but he’s sitting there, listening.
He lifts his beer to his mouth, and my eyes lock on the motion, darting to his lips when he places his drink back down. His eyes connect with mine, and heat pools low in my stomach in a way it shouldn’t. My thighs involuntarily clench together.
I don’t know why he’s having this effect on me—right now and earlier. It’s like that time I tripped at the market and fell into his arms. Only this time, it’s even worse because there’s no physical contact between us.
“Isabelle’s also hosting her own fashion show,” Jen says.
“That’s awesome!” Aaron cheers. “I always knew you’d be destined for great things.”
I muster a smile, grateful for the distraction from Jackson. “Thanks, Aaron.” Even though my fashion show is the last thing I want to think about right now, I still appreciate his kind words. “So … what’s it like working with Jackson? Is he as intense as he was back in high school?”
Aaron lets out a dramatic sigh. “Unfortunately, intense is an understatement. I feel like I’ve aged ten years already since joining Carter Marketing Solutions.”
“You know I’m still here, right?” Jackson grumbles.
Aaron grins at him. “Sorry, bud. You’ve been awfully quiet. I forgot that you existed.”
Jackson says nothing further, only taking a sip of his drink. Meanwhile, Aaron turns to Jen with a look that means trouble. She winks at him in return.
I quirk a brow. They’re definitely plotting something.
“Jen, do you want to go for a walk?” Aaron asks, raking a hand through his auburn hair.
“I’d love that!” Jen chirps.
My mouth goes agape as they stand and walk off, leaving Jackson and me alone.
Jackson’s eyes lock with mine. “Guess it’s just the two of us now, Isabella.”