Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
ISABELLE
Icut a piece of steak and put it into my mouth, listening to the CEO on the stage, who’s giving a speech about the power of leadership in business. But I keep spacing out, my mind elsewhere.
I’m thinking about Jackson.
And trying to resist the urge to glance at his attractive profile every couple of minutes.
Okay, every couple of minutes is a lie. I’m trying to restrain myself from looking at him every few seconds.
The CEO finishes her speech, and we go through several award categories before it’s time to announce the winner of the Excellence in Marketing Award, which is what Jackson’s company’s been nominated for.
I peer at Jackson, who doesn’t look nervous. Still, I give his right hand a squeeze for good luck, and a soft smile spreads across his lips as he turns to me, lacing his fingers with mine.
“And the award goes to … Carter Marketing Solutions!”
A round of applause erupts in the room, and I grin at Jackson, happy for him. “Jackson, you won!”
“Yay! Go, Jacky!” Hilary squeals at the same time.
Bitterness crawls up my spine, but it disappears when Jackson leans forward to kiss my cheek. Heat blooms across my cheeks instead.
Making his way to the stage, Jackson accepts the award plaque and stands behind the lectern. Some people in the audience are standing as they clap.
“You can sit down now,” Jackson jokes, glancing around the audience as he speaks into the microphone. “Someone once told me I have a big ego, so you don’t need to inflate it any further.”
Laughter resounds in the room, and I chuckle, too, knowing very well who he’s referring to.
“I know everyone’s probably looking forward to dessert, so I’ll try to keep this short and sweet, pun intended,” he continues.
“Thanks to the award sponsors and judges for this honor. As some of you may know, Carter Marketing Solutions was something my late dad built, and it’s an honor to be carrying on his legacy.
” He pauses. “I know he’d be proud of us tonight. ”
I think Jackson’s dad would be incredibly proud of his son and the man he’s grown to be if he were here today.
“Thank you to my amazing team for their endless and tireless work. They make the late nights bearable, and I couldn’t have asked for a better team. A big thank-you must also go to our clients for their trust and confidence in us. Their ongoing support is the reason we’re standing here today.”
Flashbacks of Jackson giving speeches in high school in his role as student council president replay in my mind. As much as I hated to admit it back then, he was always an eloquent public speaker, and that hasn’t changed.
However, there’s something else I realize; he’s smiling, but it’s not one of his genuine smiles.
There’s some more applause in the crowd, and Jackson’s gaze lands on me, his expression blossoming with tenderness. “While I have the mic, I’d like to take this opportunity to thank someone else.”
My heart skips a beat. Is he about to thank … me?
“Her name is Isabelle,” he says, his eyes not leaving mine.
My pulse flutters crazily, and I’m unable to look anywhere else but at him.
“She’s one of the most amazing people I know, and whenever I’m with her, I’m reminded of how beautiful life can be. I’m really grateful and happy that she’s here with me tonight.”
“Woo! Go Isabelle!” a random person in the audience calls out, but I’m distracted.
My mind’s racing with a million thoughts, my heart’s pounding like waves crashing against the ocean, and I think I might melt into a puddle and disappear under the table.
I’m not okay.
Because what he just said … did he mean that, or was it simply for show? I want to believe it’s the former, yet there’s a little warning voice in my head that’s telling me not to get my hopes up.
Jackson takes a step back. “Thanks again, and have a great evening.”
Another round of applause erupts from the audience as he makes his way down the stage, and when his eyes lock with mine once more, there’s a smile on his lips that makes my heart melt all over again.
“This is the best tiramisu I’ve ever had,” I say to Jackson, putting another spoonful of my dessert into my mouth. The velvety texture melts on my tongue.
The awards ceremony concluded ten minutes ago, and people are hitting up the dance floor, where a DJ is blasting pop music. Hilary stepped away from our table and hasn’t come back, not that it bothers me.
Jackson watches me as I eat, staring intently at something on my lips.
“Do I have something on my face?” I ask.
He leans forward, his thumb brushing against the corner of my mouth to remove a crumb. “Not anymore.”
Oh.
I lick my spoon to get rid of remnants of the cake, and Jackson’s throat bobs.
“Are you okay?” I say.
“Careful with that spoon, or you’re going to give me ideas.” The huskiness in his voice cuts right through me, and heat flushes on my neck.
Jackson’s words keep doing something to me, but I tell myself he’s only teasing me. Just like how back in high school, he had no trouble flirting with girls.
“That’s not … you … ugh.” I glance down at my napkin. Just a few hours ago, I had no problem bantering back and forth with him, and now I’m all flustered. “I’m going to use the restroom,” I mutter. At least that’s not a lie.
Jackson nods, and I get up from my seat, taking my clutch.
Bright lighting and a citrusy smell greet me when I step inside the restroom. After using one of the stalls, I wash my hands and open my clutch, digging out my lipstick.
That’s when I realize I forgot to pack my cleansing balm.
It’s still sitting on my bathroom counter at home.
It’s definitely not the first time I’ve inadvertently left something out while packing.
Luckily, there’s a pharmacy opposite the hotel, so I can probably head out after the gala to purchase it.
The sound of someone crying emanates from inside one of the stalls, snapping me out of my thoughts. I whip my head to the source of the voice, hearing another cry.
“Hey, are you okay?” I ask, walking over.
Aside from the two of us, the restroom’s empty.
There’s a sniffling sound, followed by a voice I recognize. “Go away.”
“Hilary?” I say despite her words and hesitate for a moment. “Are you okay?”
A long, awkward silence follows.
Deducing she probably wants to be left alone, I head back to the sink.
To my surprise, there’s a click as the stall unlocks, and Hilary steps out. Her eyes are red and puffy, and her eye makeup is smudged, streaks of mascara running down her face.
Hilary walks to the sink beside mine, blinking as she stares at her reflection in the mirror. “I look terrible.”
I reach inside my clutch to grab a packet of tissues, offering it to her.
“Thanks.” She takes out a tissue and blows her nose. “Unrequited love sucks.”
“Yeah,” I quietly say.
Maybe I wasn’t a fan of her earlier, but I don’t think she’s a bad person.
Hilary wets a tissue under the faucet, wiping away the mascara streaks and smudges on her face.
“I had the biggest crush on Jackson from the first time I saw him.” There’s a dreamy look in her eyes when she mentions his name.
“He’s hot, smart, funny, tall. He’s basically everything I’ve ever wanted in a man. ”
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t agree with all those characteristics she listed about him.
“And he has dimples, too,” she adds.
I sigh. “Blame those dimples.”
Hilary sniffles again. “I’m sorry for how I acted today. I told myself I was okay with the rejection, but when I saw him with you, I guess I was jealous—like, why you and not me?” A doleful laugh flows from her mouth. “You probably think I’m so desperate for his attention.”
I’m quiet for a moment, considering what to say.
When Oliver dumped me, I thought I was trapped in a maze of heartbreak.
However, I got through it, and maybe what I experienced is a different heartbreak from what Hilary’s feeling, but is the common thread not that we all just want to be loved for who we are?
“I believe there’s someone special out there, waiting for you, Hilary,” I say and genuinely mean it. “One day, you’ll cross paths with them, and everything will make sense. That person will make you feel supported and appreciated, and your interactions won’t feel forced. They’ll feel natural.”
A beat of silence passes.
“Does it feel natural?” she then asks. “When you’re with Jackson?”
“Yeah,” I find myself answering without hesitation, “it does.”
The Isabelle from weeks ago would’ve given a different response, but lately, everything between me and Jackson has changed. Those fluttery feelings I get whenever I’m around him are becoming more frequent, and it’s as if there’s an invisible string that’s slowly pulling me closer and closer to him.
Hilary’s bottom lip trembles. “I saw the way he was looking at you.”
My heartbeat hammers against my ribs. “How did he look at me?”
“Like you were the single star in a night sky. Like you were a beautiful daydream and all he wanted to do was get lost in the thought of you. Like he was scared that if he looked away and turned back, you might be gone.”
My breaths turn shallow.
Did Jackson really look at me like that?
“I just want someone to look at me like that,” she adds, her voice a pained whisper. Another teardrop trickles down her cheek. “Is that too much to ask for?”
“It’s not.” I touch her arm. “You deserve that as much as anyone else.”
“I guess.” She wipes her tears away. “Thanks. For the chat and the tissues.”
“Of course,” I say, giving her a tiny smile. “See you back inside.”
After touching up my lipstick, I grab my clutch, making my way back to the ballroom.
“She’s one of the most amazing people I know, and whenever I’m with her, I’m reminded of how beautiful life can be.”
“Does it feel natural? When you’re with Jackson?”
“Yeah, it does.”
“I saw the way he was looking at you.”
The line between what’s real and fake is blurring, and I’m not sure what to make of it. I thought tonight would be simple—attend the event and support Jackson. I’ve done that, or so I hope, but there’s nothing simple about the feelings churning my stomach right now.
I want to ask Jackson if tonight’s only for show and if he means everything he’s done and said to me, but I’m afraid of the answer.
Like at the reunion, when I asked him about our kiss and he simply told me not to think too much about it.
I don’t know if I—and my heart—can take it if I ask him and his response is similar to what he said last time. It’s scary to admit that he has that power over me, but not admitting it doesn’t make it any easier either.
“Bella.”
I stop in my tracks halfway down the hallway at Jackson’s voice.
“Hey,” I say.
“You were gone for a while. I was worried something had happened.”
“I’m okay.” The thought of him being worried about me causes my stomach to do a little flip. “I was chatting with Hilary.”
His brows pull together. “What did she say to you?”
“Just girl talk,” I admit. “We had a nice conversation.”
Jackson looks like he’s about to prod further but decides against it. “Come on. Let’s head back inside. Your favorite song’s about to play.”
A frown emerges on my face. “My favorite song?”
“‘Enchanted.’”
How does Jackson know that’s my favorite song? I don’t recall ever telling him.
“You told me when you were showing me your designs at your apartment the night of the reunion,” he explains, probably noticing the confusion on my face.
“Oh,” I breathe. That’s sweet of him to remember. “I … definitely wouldn’t want to miss that.”
Jackson reaches for my hand, lacing his fingers with mine. Warmth courses through me—a warmth I’ve never known and a warmth I never want to let go of.
As we reenter the ballroom, he turns to me and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his eyes bright as they gaze into mine.
The same butterflies I’ve been experiencing all evening return once more, but this time, I don’t fight them anymore. I let their wings spread, let them soar and fly freely.
“Isabelle,” Jackson says, voice breathless.
“Yeah?”
“Dance with me.”
The thought of dancing with Jackson makes me all giddy on the inside, like I’m a teenager in high school again. But it also makes me a little nervous.
“It’s been a while since I’ve danced, so I might be a little rusty,” I say, playing with my necklace.
He traces a finger down my cheek. “Then we’re going to have to change that.”
My heart flutters, and I don’t want to find an excuse anymore.
I want to dance with Jackson. I want to dance with him in my favorite dress, to my favorite song. I want to dance with him and pretend, even for one night, that I’m living in a fairy tale.
“Okay,” I let out.
A content smile stretches across his lips, revealing his dimples, and his grip on my hand tightens as he leads me to the dance floor.
With that, I find myself happily following the man I once thought was the biggest jackass in the world.