Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
JACKSON
As soon as my computer clock shows five p.m., I log off and start packing up my things in the office.
Normally, I’m the last person to leave the office, but I’m finishing up early—or rather, on time—today for dinner with Isabelle and her family, where I’ll be playing Isabelle’s boyfriend again.
After packing up, I take my work briefcase and empty water glass with me to the kitchen, intending to place the glass inside the dishwasher.
Andrew’s sitting at one of the kitchen tables near the entrance, typing a text on his phone, a mug in front of him. He turns at the sound of my footsteps and places his phone face down on the table.
His gaze darts to my briefcase. “Finishing up for the day?”
“Yep,” I say. “Feel free to finish up soon, too. It’s Friday.”
“I will.” Andrew smiles and wraps his hands around his mug. “Great job on the pitch to Vanderwaal Industries yesterday. I heard it went well.”
“Thanks, Andrew.” I peer at his beverage, a mug of hot chocolate. “Not a fan of coffee?”
“No.” Andrew shakes his head and laughs, revealing wrinkles on his forehead. “Caffeine makes me lethargic.”
“That’s how I used to feel about coffee, too,” I admit. “Now, I can’t live without it.”
“Well, everything’s good in moderation,” Andrew says with a chuckle. “Too much caffeine can’t be good for your body, though.”
“I’ll try my best not to overdo it,” I joke.
“Will your mother be coming to visit you anytime soon?”
“She’ll … yeah,” I say, shuffling my feet and caught off guard by the change in topic. “She’ll be visiting New York in the coming weeks.”
Andrew nods. “That will be nice.”
“Yeah.” I check the time on my watch, ignoring the strange sensation in my gut. “Well, I should get going. Have a good weekend, Andrew.”
Andrew gives me another nod. “You too.”
“According to the weather app, there’s going to be a severe thunderstorm tonight.”
I toss a glance at Isabelle, who’s sitting next to me in the car as Tony drives us to her parents’ place.
“A severe thunderstorm?” I ask.
It’s been cloudy most of the day, but there haven’t been any other clear signs of rain yet.
“Uh-huh.” Isabelle leans back in her seat. “But who knows? I never trust the weather forecast.”
“Maybe we’ll be stranded at your parents’ house for the night.”
Isabelle waves a hand. “Oh, I doubt it’ll get to that.”
She starts reapplying her pink lipstick, and I tell myself to stare at the traffic outside instead of thinking about her lips and the times I felt them against mine.
Spoiler: it’s difficult.
In Chicago, I tasted and felt her need. From the way she kissed me back and looked at me that night with adoration in her eyes. And, God, those soft lips—
“Are you okay?” Isabelle places her lipstick back inside her purse. “You seem distracted.”
“Just thinking about how I’m going to make a good impression on my future in-laws,” I say, mentally patting myself on the back for managing to sound casual.
Isabelle rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry; they’ll probably love you.”
I flaunt her a grin. “That confident in me, huh?”
“We’ll see.”
I’ve never met any girl’s parents before, but I’m not worried about being Isabelle’s boyfriend—fine, fake boyfriend—tonight. In fact, I’m confident about that. But I’m slightly nervous because I have a gut feeling that tonight has the potential to be a turning point for Isabelle and me.
“Is there anything in particular I should know before I meet your family?” I ask.
“Well, there’s my sister, Ivy, who you’ve already met. Her fiancé, Ben, will also be there. They’re both lawyers, and my parents are also lawyers. My dad is quite chill, but …” Isabelle falters and plays with the end of her cream sundress. “My mom can be intense.”
I give her hand a squeeze. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be with you the whole time, and your mom won’t scare me.”
A tiny smile graces her lips. “I know.”
Isabelle deserves to have someone who will be there for her endlessly, unconditionally, and I want to be that person. I want to call her mine.
I was too stubborn to realize my feelings for her eight years ago, but now, I refuse to waste even a second being in denial about how I feel about her. For Isabelle—my Isabelle—I’m willing to do everything and anything so that I deserve to call her mine.
Ten minutes later, we’re standing outside the door to Isabelle’s parents’ townhouse. Isabelle takes a deep breath, rings the doorbell, and takes a step back.
The door opens, revealing a middle-aged man in a T-shirt and jeans, who I’m assuming is Isabelle’s dad.
He smiles at Isabelle, pulling her into a hug. “Great to see you, Belle.”
“You too, Dad,” Isabelle says.
When they pull apart, Isabelle’s dad faces me with a warm smile. “Karl Curtis.”
“Jackson Carter,” I introduce, extending a hand. “It’s great to meet you, Mr. Curtis.”
He reciprocates the handshake. “Karl will do. You two make a fine couple.”
“I’m a very lucky man.” I hand Karl the gift bag I’m holding, which contains a bottle of Pinot Noir inside. “Just a small gift for having me over.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to.” Karl chuckles. “But I’m still going to take it. Please come inside and take your shoes off.”
Isabelle and I remove our shoes, and I gesture for her to step inside, following behind. We walk down the hallway, and I smile when I see a framed photograph of a young Isabelle posing with a chocolate birthday cake.
As we reach the kitchen, a middle-aged woman with short hair, who I presume is Isabelle’s mom, walks out in a blouse and pencil skirt.
“Hey, Mom,” Isabelle says. There isn’t that same easiness in her tone that was present when she greeted her dad.
Isabelle’s mom gives her a nod. “Good to see you, Isabelle.” She glances at me. “You must be Jackson Carter. I’m Jane Wong.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Wong,” I say.
“Likewise.” Jane studies me carefully, and then her gaze flies between Isabelle and me. “Why don’t you both take a seat? The food is ready.”
We head to the dining table, and I pull out Isabelle’s chair for her before taking the seat next to hers. Plates of sushi rolls, a bowl of seafood salad, some garlic bread, and a dish of roasted chicken are neatly placed on the table. Ivy is also seated, her eyes glued to her phone screen.
Ivy glances up when she sees Isabelle and me. “Hey. You made it.”
Out of respect that I’m at the Curtis-Wong family home, I don’t want to start a fight, but if Ivy brings up any bullshit with Isabelle tonight, I won’t simply sit here in silence.
“Where’s Ben?” Isabelle asks.
“He’ll be arriving later.” Ivy places her phone on the table. “He had something urgent come up for work tonight.”
Isabelle cocks a brow. “On a Friday night?”
Ivy shrugs. “Well, he’s busy. It’s not a big deal.”
Karl and Jane arrive at the table, and Karl pours everyone a glass of wine before sitting down.
“Please dig in, everyone,” Jane says.
A loud text notification from Ivy’s phone rings out. She rushes to pick up her phone and checks it, her expression falling.
“What’s wrong?” Jane asks.
Ivy slumps in her seat. “Ben can’t make it tonight anymore.”
“That’s all good, Ives,” Karl says in a cheery voice. “I’m sure he’d be here if he could.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Ivy mutters. She takes a few large gulps of her wine, almost too quickly.
Jane rests her elbows on the table and faces me. “So, Jackson, I understand that you and Isabelle went to high school together. How did you meet again after all those years?”
“We were seat neighbors on a flight and started chatting again,” I say, cutting a piece of my chicken. “Long story short, that flight turned out to be one of the best things to ever happen to me.”
“It’s fate, isn’t it?” Karl chimes in as he reaches for a piece of garlic bread. “Is that still what you young people call it these days?”
I smile. “That’s right.”
The topic changes to food and work, and I pick up two sushi rolls, placing them on Isabelle’s plate. She cocks her head and then selects three sushi rolls, which she puts on my plate.
“Thank you, Bella,” I whisper.
“You’re welcome.”
“How’s the event planning going for your fashion show, Isabelle?” Jane suddenly asks.
“It’s been good,” Isabelle slowly replies, like she wasn’t expecting the question. “I got a few more models on board, and marketing’s been great, thanks to Jackson.”
Jane helps herself to some sushi. “That’s good to hear.”
“Isabelle was interviewed for Sparkes Magazine recently,” I add.
“That’s fantastic!” Karl exclaims, his eyes crinkling. “How exciting. Your favorite magazine, Belle.”
Jane nods briskly at her daughter. “Well done, Isabelle. That’s huge.”
A smile toys with Isabelle’s lips as she turns to me. “Actually, that was only possible because—”
“It was all Isabelle,” I gently interject.
She doesn’t say anything, but there’s a softness in her eyes.
When I pick up my fork again, Ivy stares at me from across the table with a blank look. “Jackson, can I ask you a few questions?”
I lift a brow. “Sure.”
“What’s Isabelle’s favorite color?”
“Purple.”
“What are her hobbies?”
It’s almost laughable that she’s asking me these questions, but I answer nevertheless. “Sewing, drawing, watching rom-coms, listening to music and reading—specifically, romance novels.”
Ivy purses her lips. “When’s her birthday?”
“February 20. Anything else?”
“Nope,” she says, fiddling with her cutlery. “I just don’t want to see her get her heart broken again.”
I flaunt a fake smile at her. “You know, for someone who claims to care about her sister, your actions don’t exactly align with your words.”
Ivy puts down her fork and frowns. “Excuse me?”
“Ben Jones, your fiancé. An acquaintance of mine happens to know him, and apparently, he planned a vacation to Europe with you for October this year, but it was canceled after Isabelle announced the date for her fashion show … which also happens to be in October.”
I didn’t intend on spilling that before coming here; however, Ivy’s fake act tonight is pissing me off.
Ivy looks like a deer caught in headlights, and I sip my wine before staring her in the eye.
“I’m sure you’re smart enough to put two and two together,” I say.