Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
ISABELLE
After our little painting competition, Jackson and I spend the afternoon doing some more portraits and enjoying our picnic. Then we head back to our respective homes to get changed into our outfits for dinner—a maroon halter-neck dress, paired with red lipstick and silver heels for me.
When I’m outside my building, Jackson’s waiting by the car, looking dashing in a black suit jacket, white dress shirt, and black slacks.
The moment he spots me, his throat bobs, and his gaze rakes over me, sending a delicious shiver down my spine. “You’re going to be the end of me.”
A laugh drops from my mouth, but internally, a flurry of butterflies flaps around in my stomach. “That’s the plan.”
Jackson cocks a brow. “Are you admitting to plotting my downfall?”
“Yep.” I nod twice. “I’ve been waiting eight years for it.”
“Eight years?” His brows shoot up in surprise. “The jury’s in—you definitely are secretly obsessed with me.”
I swat his arm playfully. “Keep dreaming.”
“I dream about this every day, Isabelle.”
He leans forward to kiss me, but I tilt my head so it’s a kiss on the cheek instead.
“Don’t ruin my lipstick yet,” I say, tossing him a grin when he frowns. “I spent ages trying to achieve a crisp outline.”
“I can’t believe it.” Jackson shakes his head. “Torture. This is absolute torture.”
I laugh as we head inside the car, where Tony’s waiting for us in the driver’s seat.
After a battle with New York traffic, Tony drops us off at an Italian restaurant in the West Village.
“Table for two under the reservation Jackson Carter,” Jackson says to the host standing outside the restaurant.
The host checks his tablet. “This way, please,” he says, leading us inside.
The interior of the restaurant is dimly lit, with framed vintage photos of Italian villages and people scattered on the walls.
Each table is covered with a white tablecloth and features a mini cordless lamp in the center.
Melodies of soft jazz play in the background, mixing with the sounds of light chatter.
We’re directed to a two-seater near the back. After thanking the host, Jackson pulls out my chair for me.
“Thank you.” I straighten my dress and sit down. “You’re really acting like a gentleman today.”
A sly twinkle glitters in his eyes. “I’m still waiting for you to admit this is the best date of your life.”
“You might still be waiting for a while,” I tease, grabbing the napkin on the table and placing it in my lap.
From the moment he picked me up this morning, it already became the best date of my life. As long as I get to spend time with him, I’m one happy girl.
“That’s fine.” A smirk lifts up his lips. “I have all night.”
“Smooth.” A flush creeps up my cheeks at the innuendo, and I clear my throat, picking up the menu on my side of the table. “Have you been here before?”
Jackson reaches for his menu, too. “Nope. First time.”
We order focaccia, three different pasta dishes to share—rigatoni, carbonara and spaghetti Bolognese—and a banana caramel cream dessert.
Our food arrives shortly, and after one bite of the first pasta—a soft, creamy texture settling in my mouth—I already know I want to come back here in the future.
Halfway through our meal, I get up to use the restroom. I’m walking around a corner of the restaurant when I spot a familiar-looking dark-haired man sitting at a booth, his arm slung around the woman next to him. She smiles at something he says, and he places a hand on her thigh.
I stop in my tracks and freeze, doing a double take. It’s hard to confirm if it is him under the dim lighting, so I walk closer to his table, hoping my eyes are only playing tricks on me.
But they’re not.
It’s Ivy’s fiancé, Ben.
He glances up at me, his eyes widening as he removes his hand placement from the woman’s thigh. “Isabelle? What are you doing here?”
I glare at him and the woman beside him, who’s staring at me with a frown.
Ben clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably. “This is Christina. She’s just a friend.”
My eyes narrow. “I never asked.”
I turn to walk away because his reaction and what I saw tell me everything I need to know.
“Wait,” Ben calls out. “It’s not what it looks like.”
My blood simmers. No way is he pulling that pathetic line.
I jerk my head around to face him. “Oh, so what is it?” I snort. “You accidentally placed your hand on her thigh?”
There’s a pleading look in his eyes. “Don’t tell Ivy, please.”
My nostrils flare. So, now he’s thinking about Ivy?
Christina scowls at Ben. “Wait. You’re in a relationship?”
“He’s engaged, actually,” I say.
Christina’s nose scrunches in disgust, and she abruptly stands, grabbing her LV bag. “Cheater,” she hisses at Ben before storming off.
At least she seemingly had no idea. Or so I hope.
“Wait!” Ben exclaims. To my dismay, he gets up and starts chasing after her.
Unbelievable.
My head’s still pounding after I use the restroom and walk back to my and Jackson’s table.
Now that I think of it, last time at our parents’ house, Ivy’s behavior was odd when Ben couldn’t make dinner.
I suspect something might’ve been up already then, but I didn’t think he’d go as far as cheating on her.
“What’s wrong?” Jackson asks, jolting me out of my thoughts.
“I just saw Ben, Ivy’s fiancé, with another woman.”
“Shit,” he says, his eyes widening. “Are you going to tell Ivy?”
“Yeah,” I say without hesitation. “She deserves to know.”
While Ivy and I aren’t on great terms, deep down, a part of me still cares for her—the guileless version of my sister that I know is still in there somewhere, despite all the crap she’s poured on me. If I spotted Ben cheating on her, I’m going to tell her.
Jackson’s expression turns into something gentle as he stares at me. “You’re a good sister, Bella.”
I sigh, leaning back against my seat. “I just want to do what I feel is right.”
He gives me a small smile. “I know.”
Taking out my phone, I send a text to Ivy, explaining that I saw Ben getting close with another woman.
She replies a few minutes later.
Ivy
Ben wouldn’t do that to me
I bite my lip. “Ivy doesn’t believe me. I don’t know what else I can do.”
“You did what you could,” Jackson says. “If she doesn’t believe you, that’s on her.”
“You’re right.”
It’s Ivy’s choice what she wants to do with the information I gave her. Like the saying goes, you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.
So, I tuck my phone away in my purse and tell myself I won’t let what happened get in the way of enjoying my evening.
For the rest of dinner, I forget about Ivy and Ben, focusing entirely on my date with Jackson. I catch him staring at my lips several times, but I know I’m guilty of doing the same to him.
At the awards night in Chicago, Hilary told me Jackson looked at me like I was a beautiful daydream and all he wanted to do was get lost in the thought of me. I can’t believe I was too oblivious to see it back then, but I do now.
Jackson looks at me like he sees all of me, not just who I am on the outside, but also my dreams and quirks and vulnerabilities. Like they matter to him. Like I’m beautiful not despite those things, but because of those things.
By the time we finish our food, my heart and stomach are both full, and I’m ready to leave. Preferably to Jackson’s apartment.
I’ve been replaying the delicious images of us in Chicago way too many times, and I want him to take me to his bed. I trust him, and I want him.
Once the bill has been paid, we wrap up inside the restaurant and head outside, waiting for Tony to pick us up.
The delicious smell of pasta from indoors drifts outside, and the city bustles with activity—lit-up streets, people walking about, and cars driving past, illuminated skyscrapers in the distance.
“Are you cold?” Jackson asks, taking off his suit jacket.
I shake my head. “I’m okay. Thanks for asking.”
The temperature’s probably hovering somewhere near the higher end of the sixties, but it’s still somewhat humid and sticky.
Jackson nods. “Just keeping up the gentleman act.”
“I know,” I say.
A smile toys with Jackson’s lips. “So … what did you think of our date?”
“I loved every minute of it.” I glance up at him through my eyelashes, wanting to only speak the truth. “Best date ever.”
He’s staring at my lips again, an intensity in his eyes.
My breath hitches. “What about you?”
“Mine too.” Jackson smooths a strand of my hair. “But I have to admit, not being able to kiss you tonight really challenged my restraint.” His voice is husky, low, sending heat to my skin.
“Kiss me,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. I don’t even care that we’re in public right now. “Please.”
His eyes darken as he registers my words.
Before he can do anything, the sound of a car pulling up resounds as Tony parks by the curb.
“Can you be patient for me, Bella?” Jackson murmurs.
“I’m always patient. The question is … can you be patient?”