Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
ISABELLE
“You three should probably stay here tonight.”
I swallow at the implication of Dad’s suggestion—that I may well be sharing a room with Jackson tonight. I don’t mind doing so, but given what happened in Chicago, this could potentially go in one of two ways.
There’s only one spare bedroom in my parents’ house—after Ivy and I moved out, Mom and Dad converted our old bedrooms into a home office for them each.
“We have two options,” Dad continues. “Since Jackson and Belle are together, they can have the guest bedroom, and Ivy can take the couch tonight if she doesn’t mind. Alternatively, Isabelle and Ivy can share a room, and Jackson can take the couch.”
Jackson and I exchange a glance, some of the tension on his face from earlier disappearing.
“I’ll take the couch,” Ivy says.
I bite my lip as I glance at her. She really hates me to the extent that she can’t even bear sharing a room with me.
Well, if she wants to take the couch, I’m not stopping her.
Dad nods. “Okay, that’s settled.”
The rest of the dinner conversation diverts to mundane topics. Mom is mostly quiet, and although Jackson is a smooth talker, per usual, I can tell that what happened earlier is still bothering him.
I keep replaying the words he said to Mom. The fierce, protective look that crossed his face. That look that I’ve now seen several times—first at the reunion, then in Chicago when we ran into Oliver, and now tonight.
Then, in a shocking turn of events, my mom displayed a streak of remorse. I’m trying to put myself in her shoes and believe she has good intentions. However, she should’ve been mindful of her language instead of leaving me feeling like I was … nothing. Worthless, just because I didn’t choose law.
And I finally snapped. Maybe it was because of Jackson’s speech, or maybe it was something else, but I finally decided to stand up for myself in front of Mom. And it felt pretty amazing to let everything out, like a massive weight being lifted off my shoulders.
Once dinner’s over, Dad leads me and Jackson to the guest bedroom. Mom digs out my old Snoopy T-shirt and shorts for me to use as tonight’s sleepwear, and Dad finds a spare T-shirt and pajama pants of his that he lets Jackson borrow.
“There are spare toiletries and fresh towels inside the bathroom cabinet,” Dad says.
“Great,” I say.
He turns to me. “Are you feeling all right, Belle?”
I’m not sure whether he’s referring to the sleeping arrangements or Mom’s words from earlier. Still, it’s nice to have someone from my family check in on me.
“Yeah,” I respond, hoping my voice comes out assuring. “I’m okay.”
Dad’s gaze drifts between me and Jackson. “If you need anything, just give me a shout.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Thank you for your hospitality, Karl,” Jackson adds.
“You’re welcome.” Dad walks off, leaving me and Jackson alone.
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Jackson asks, his brows drawing together. “About what happened at dinner, I mean.”
I nod. “Yeah. I am.”
Mom’s words still hurt, but not as much as they did earlier tonight.
A sincere, unwavering look spreads across Jackson’s face. “I meant everything I said to your mom. Just because she’s your mother doesn’t mean she can talk down to you like that.”
“I know.” I sigh. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
I clear my throat, glancing around the bedroom. “Do you want to shower first, or should I go? I don’t mind either way.”
Mischief shines in Jackson’s eyes. “I have a third option.”
“Which is?” I slowly ask, afraid of what he might say.
“We jump inside the shower together.”
My breath hitches as a vivid image of Jackson standing inside the shower, with his hair wet and droplets of water running down his toned body, conjures in my mind.
Laughter bubbles in his throat. “I’m just messing with you, Bella. By the way, your cheeks are a little red.”
Great. I’ve been exposed. Again.
“And on that note, I need to splash some cold water on my face,” I say, making a dash for the door with my T-shirt and shorts. “See you on the other side!”
Even without seeing Jackson right now, I can picture amusement painting his face. He knows what he’s doing to me—that’s for sure.
Telling myself to snap out of it, I head to the bathroom, which is next door to the guest bedroom. It’s locked, the sound of running shower water inside. Call me a coward, but I’m not ready to go back to the bedroom and face Jackson again yet, so I decide to wait outside.
Ten minutes later, the bathroom door opens, revealing Ivy with a towel draped around her body. She struts past me without acknowledging me, her head held high.
Fine. Have it that way.
I enter the bathroom, searching for toiletries and fresh towels. Once I’m all showered and ready for bed and in my T-shirt and shorts, I return to the bedroom. The shorts are small and tight on me since I’ve outgrown them, but I suppose they’ll have to do.
Jackson glances up from his phone where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his gaze slowly raking over me in my tight shorts, lingering on exposed skin. My body vibrates with heat.
“There’s only one bed,” I blurt out, hoping talking will be a good distraction.
“You don’t say.”
I roll my eyes. “So, how do you want to do this?”
“I can sleep on the floor, and you can take the bed,” Jackson offers.
I frown. “Actually, no, don’t do that. You’re the guest, and you’re the one doing me a favor. We’re both adults, so we’ll be fine sharing.”
“Okay. As long as you’re comfortable.” He adds as an afterthought, “And you promise not to kick me off the bed in the middle of the night.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say. “Go take your shower.”
He stands, flashing me a dimpled smile. “Don’t do anything naughty while I’m gone.”
Jesus.
Once Jackson leaves the room, I settle in the bed and sit up against the headboard with the comforter over me. While he’s taking a shower, I make another marketing post on social media for my fashion show and reply to a few business emails.
At the sound of footsteps, I glance up from my phone, watching as Jackson steps inside, wearing the T-shirt and pajama pants he borrowed from Dad. His brown hair is still a little wet and curly from his shower, and there’s a tiny lock falling over his forehead—
“No amount of cold water’s going to help with that blush, Isabelle.”
Jackson leans against the doorframe with a smirk on his face. He needs to stop standing like that, or I might be tempted to do something dangerous.
“I wasn’t blushing,” I say, though we both know that’s a big, fat lie.
“Yeah, I know,” he drawls. “The weather’s just hot. That line’s getting old, by the way.”
“So is you making fun of me every time that happens. Like, get a new hobby.”
Jackson shakes his head. He’s still leaning against the wall. “Can’t, sorry. You take up too much space in my head already.” He sighs as though I’ve inconvenienced him. “It’s getting out of hand these days. I really should start charging you a fee.”
“You are so dramatic,” I mutter, but internally, his words are making me all gooey. “How does Anna put up with having you as her uncle again?”
“My niece loves me very much. As does everyone else.”
“Humility goes a long way,” I jokingly say. “Look it up in the dictionary sometime.”
“I’ll add it to my to-do list.”
Without awaiting a reply, Jackson turns off the light switch and joins me in the bed. We both lie down at the same time.
“Good night then?” I ask.
“Good night, Bella,” he gently says.
The clashing sounds of pouring rain pounding against the windows echo in the room, coupled with the sound of my loudly beating heart.
I snuggle under the comforter, replaying everything that happened at dinner once again and not daring to sneak a glance at Jackson.
Soon after, my body gives in to sleep.
It’s finally the long-awaited night of my fashion show. I’m backstage and cued to walk out in one minute to open the event. All my hard work has led to this moment, and it feels so surreal, like a dream come true.
I take a deep breath and put on a smile, preparing to greet my audience with the welcome speech I’ve rehearsed a million times in my head.
Except the smile disappears from my face as soon as I step out into the open.
No one is here.
The entire place is empty, and every seat is vacant.
My stomach drops as I scan the venue again to make sure my eyes aren’t deceiving me. But the sight in front of me is as clear as day.
“I don’t get it,” I say to myself, blinking. “No one showed up?”
“Did you actually think anyone would show up?”
It’s Mom’s voice, and I turn around to see her, Ivy and Dad, who’ve suddenly appeared, disappointment marking their faces.
“I told you it wouldn’t work out.” Mom scowls, crossing her arms. “You should’ve just gone to law school like I always said.”
“No,” I croak out. “This wasn’t supposed to happen—”
“It doesn’t matter,” she interjects. “You failed.”
“Yeah, who would pay money to see your designs?” Ivy mocks. “Silly Isabelle with her silly little dresses.”
Dad shakes his head. “You’re a disappointment to the family, Belle. I expected so much more from you.”
“You’ll never be good enough,” Mom says.
Failure. Disappointment.
Not good enough.
Not enough.
“No,” I whisper as tears finally roll down my face.
I’m giving in to defeat. The world is fading around me; everything is crumbling and shaking. It’s hopeless.
I’m hopeless.
My family was right all along.
“Isabelle,” I hear a faint voice in the background say. I can’t tell if it’s real or a hallucination.
I back away from the sneering faces of my family, my breathing intense as I pick up my pace. I don’t know where I’m going, only that I need to get away from here as fast as I can.
My heart pounds as I reach the exit and pull at the door handle, but it’s stuck. From behind, the laughter of my family surrounds me, belittling and taunting me until it’s all I can hear.
“No,” I gasp.
I pull at the door once again, but to no avail. My vision blurs, and realization dawns upon me that I’m going to be stuck here.
“Bella,” a worried and familiar-sounding voice calls out. It’s more audible this time.
“Help,” I whisper.
Tears stream uncontrollably down my face, and tightness encapsulates my chest. The walls start closing in around me. I can’t move.
The door budges, and I hold my breath as it slowly opens, revealing a crack of light. I feel a hand pulling me out, as if someone is shaking me.
A gasp escapes from my mouth as my eyes snap open, and I jerk upright, realizing I’m inside my parents’ guest room and not at my fashion show. Sweat lines my body, and I drag a hand to my face to find fresh drops of tears.
“Bella,” a soothing voice beside me says.
I turn to face Jackson, who’s now also sitting up. He turns the lamp on, his brows furrowed in concern.
“What happened?” I pant. It’s stopped raining outside now. “What time is it?”
“It’s three a.m.” Jackson presses his palms against my face, cupping my cheeks. “You were having a nightmare.”
The memory of my dream comes flooding back to me. What if it was telling me something? What if no one is going to show up to my fashion show?
“I’m scared,” I whisper and unexpectedly let out another cry.
“Shh,” Jackson murmurs. He holds me in his arms and strokes my hair. “I’ve got you. I’m here. You’re safe.”
His words are like a soothing balm, and I feel safe with him, in his arms. Safe and sound, knowing that everything’s going to be okay. Knowing that I’m not alone.
“The dream I had felt so real,” I say.
He holds me tighter in his arms. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“I want to.”
I rest my head against his chest and tentatively glance up at him. He doesn’t say anything, but the tenderness on his face tells me he’s listening.
“I had a dream that no one turned up to my fashion show. And my parents and sister were saying that I was a failure and a disappointment. Then I tried to leave, but when I got to the door, it wouldn’t open, no matter how hard I pulled at it …
” My breath starts shaking again as I recall the dream.
“I know it probably all sounds stupid. I don’t even know why I’m crying. ”
“It’s not stupid. And you’re not a failure or a disappointment,” Jackson firmly says. “You’re the most amazing person I know.”
“I …” I let out another sniffle. “Is it okay if you keep holding me like this and we talk for a little?”
“For as long as you need,” he softly replies.
“Okay,” I whisper.
We lie down together, my head snuggling against his chest. Jackson threads his fingers in my hair, and us cuddling like this feels so natural.
“Bella, I’ve got you,” Jackson murmurs. “And I’m not letting go.”
Another teardrop falls down my cheek, but this time, it’s not because of my nightmare. It’s because I know I’ve found my safe harbor, my shelter when it rains, my home.
And in that moment, I know with full certainty that not only have I fallen so undeniably hard for Jackson, but also there isn’t anyone I want to be with other than him.