Naomi
“We’re here, honey.”
I don’t know when I drifted off, but the soft brush of fingers along my forehead stirs me. As I blink awake, the soft caress of Jaxon’s fingers sends tingles all over my body.
He tucks a curl behind my ear, his gaze is too tender, as he watches me come down from a hazy dream.
It doesn’t match the man who lives to get under my skin.
And yet… I don’t move. I just sit there, torn between wanting to lean in and needing to pull away.
Because this version of him is the one I’ll pretend I never saw—it's the version of him I want, but can’t allow myself to notice.
“Why’d you let me fall asleep?” I mumble, rubbing exhaustion from my eyes. “Where are we?” Sniffling, I glance out the window.
The city blurs into view—streets buzzing with life, people rushing in every direction under the warm glow of a setting sun.
Come on, Sleeping Beauty," he says, already stepping out of the car. "I'll show you."
As he opens the passenger side door, he holds out a hand to help me out, his platinum cufflinks catching the streetlight. We dart across the street as he tucks me under his arm, his cologne—amber and something that lulls me into a sense of safety—enveloping me.
We dart across the street as he tucks me under his arm, heading straight for a restaurant that practically oozes the charm of a Havana night.
Nestled on a vibrant street, the building stands like a Cuban daydream, its sun-kissed stucco walls painted a warm, golden yellow.
Arched windows line the facade, their elegant black frames casting sharp contrasts against the golden backdrop.
The arches are like teasing whispers, hinting at the life pulsing inside.
“Oye! ?Qué bolá?” Jaxon calls out before we even make it through the door. His voice carries over the music, smooth as silk as he greets someone at the front door.
But I’m not even paying attention.
Inside, the atmosphere is intoxicating—a kaleidoscope of Cuban culture.
Colorful murals stretch across the walls, alive with street scenes and bursts of tropical flowers.
Rhythmic salsa music weaves through the air, making it feel like the whole place could erupt into dance at any moment.
The golden-yellow walls glow warmly beneath the dim lights, adorned with vintage photographs and trinkets steeped in history.
The space radiates a beautiful mixture of class and elegance.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper to no one in particular, craning my neck to catch a view of the dining area, desperate to drink it all in. My inner designer buzzes with excitement, heart fluttering at the thought of dissecting every detail.
“?Hola, mi vida!” A sudden, high-pitched squeal shatters my awe, snapping my attention back instantly.
My head turns just in time to see her—a whirlwind of curls and energy—throwing herself into Jaxon’s arms, his arm wrapping around her back.
Her joy is electric, and the way she kisses him on each cheek makes my blood boil—I’m not even sure why.
“?Qué bolero?” she coos, her voice thick with a Cuban accent, her hands lingering on his shoulders, right at home in his arms.
Trying to extract my hand, still clasped tightly in his, his fingers tighten around mine like a vice—try as I might, he won't let go, subjecting me to their very affectionate display.
She leans an elbow onto his shoulder, casually tossing her voluminous curls to one side, her sharp brown eyes landing on me.
“Is this her?” she asks, still staring me down like a cat sizing up its prey, her lips curving into a smirk. “Just what I imagined.”
“Yes,” Jaxon says, his smile just a little too bright for my liking. “This is her. Pretty, no?”
Pretty? He’s got the nerve. Talking about me like I’m some prize he’s parading around. My eyes instantly narrow, my sights set on him.
“Está hermosa.” she agrees, flashing a dazzling smile. It's the kind of smile that belongs on magazine covers. “Even if she looks like she wants to claw out my eyes.”
Together, they’re sin incarnate, the kind of pair who could burn down empires just for the fun of it. I force a smile, but it’s more plastic than sincere. The rage bubbling under my skin is practically visible, and Jaxon knows it. He knows, and the bastard enjoys it.
“Let go of my hand, please, Mr. Knox,” I say in just the way that makes his eye twitch, my voice sugar-sweet but threaded with steel. But this time, it seems to roll off him.
“Why? So that you can storm out of here?” His grip doesn’t loosen. Instead, he tugs me closer, his smirk widening. And before I can protest further, Jaxon’s arm slides around my waist, pulling me flush against him, unyielding.
He finally drops his other arm from around her, before brushing a stray curl out of my face, the touch maddeningly gentle.
“Jealousy looks good on you,” he murmurs in my ear, his breath warm against my skin. I stiffen, glaring up at him, but out of the corner of my eye, I can see her amused gaze flicking between us.
“I’m not jealous.” Laughing through clenched teeth, my grin widens, but inside…I’m seething.
“Oh,” she giggles, poking one of Jaxon’s dimples. “She really likes you.”
I press my palms against his chest, desperate to put some space between us. “Jaxon, let me go.”
“Relájate, Reina,” he murmurs, adjusting the fallen strap of my dress with maddening care.
Relax? Relax? Is he serious?
“Ven aquí.” His smile is all smug delight, and the way he pulls me closer—like space between us is a non negotiable—makes my jaw clench.
His stormy eyes sweep over my scowl, “I’d like you to meet my little cousin, Melody.”
Cousin…right. And here I am losing my mind over the sight of another woman’s hands on him—what the fuck is going on with me.
“Nice to meet you, Melody.”
“I’d say the same if you weren’t stringing my cousin along,” she replies, every ‘R’ rolling off her tongue like a melody of disdain. Her sharp gaze practically slices into me, delighting in my discomfort.
“Be nice, nena,” Jaxon warns, his tone sharp enough to make her relent. She drops her predatory gaze and saunters off to her seat behind the hostess podium.
Stringing him along? I almost laugh out loud at the absurdity.
From the moment he bulldozed into my life, Jaxon’s been the one doing the teasing—relentlessly.
Sure, the man’s easy on the eyes—fine as hell, if I’m honest—but he’s still my brother’s friend.
And after what happened last night… I’ve been trying like hell not to think about it.
“Did your cousin mention that I’m engaged?” I ask, lifting my hand, the ring sparkling under the light. Jaxon’s features harden, his smirk twisting into something colder, but I keep my voice steady. “He was there, urging me right into my love’s arms.”
“Is that what you’ve been telling yourself?” Jaxon snarls, his voice low and lethal as it brushes against my ear.
I don’t dare look at him. Instead, I keep my eyes locked with Melody’s. “Looks like jealousy really is a disease,” she says, that mischievous grin curling back onto her face.
“I’m not jealous,” Jaxon and I snap at the same time, the words spilling out in perfect, unconvincing unison.
“Okay, okay.” She giggles. “Looks like neither of you are in the business of hearing the truth.” Lifting my hand, she inspects my ring, then her gaze lands squarely on Jaxon, giving him a pointed look. “I guess you’d rather have pretty lies.” Her gaze finally shifts to me. “It’s a beautiful ring.”
The massive, showy thing catches the light, sparkling, always demanding attention.
It’s to Christian’s taste, of course, extravagant and loud.
By the standards of the Country Club crowd, my ring is the pinnacle of success, an accessory of envy whispered about over wine glasses.
But I’d prefer something quieter, classic, something that doesn’t scream, Look at me!
I smooth my expression, forcing a practiced smile that masks every truth. “Isn’t it just?” My grin stretches wide, fake as hell, but perfectly poised.
I’m so caught up in this passive-aggressive sparring match with Melody that I don’t notice Jaxon move. Suddenly, he’s lifting another stunning woman into the air, her long legs kicking slightly as she laughs.
“?Tienes hambre, Mijo?” she squeals, asking him if he is hungry, her voice musical, as he plants kisses on both her cheeks.
She’s striking—older, but fierce, like a polished version of Melody, radiating confidence all the way to her Pucci stilettos.
He sets her down gently. “Mira, Tía. You know I can eat,” Jaxon quips, his grin wolfish.
She peeks over his shoulder at me, and she swats him. “You forget your manners. Who is this beauty?”
Before I can respond, Melody chimes in, her tone dripping with fake adoration. “Ella es la jeva de Miguelito.”
Whose girlfriend?
Her head snaps toward Melody, and the scolding look she gives her is so fierce it wipes the smirk clean off her face. As she glides towards me, her elegance is effortless, like she’s floating on air. It reminds me of my mother, the way she commands a room with nothing but her presence.
When her arms wrap around me in a warm hug, her scent—exotic and comforting, Tiare and Ylang-Ylang—hits me just as quickly. My shoulders relax before I can stop them. And for a moment, I can feel something inching its way close to comfort for the first time since my mother left.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Naomi,” I murmur, returning her embrace.
She gasps softly, pulling back to study me, her hands squeezing mine as if she’s trying to feel my sincerity. Her gaze darts to Jaxon and quickly falls back to me.