10 Date Night #2
“Can I ask you something?” His tone is careful—not the teasing, cocky Jace everyone else gets, but a softer, more vulnerable version.
“Yeah,” I say softly.
He glances at me, searching my face. “Why did you keep going back?”
“Back?”
“To Daniel. To your mom.” He hesitates, jaw working. “I’ve read the files. I’ve seen what he did to you in the end. You could have left, stayed with Maeve. I just… I don’t understand why you kept going back.”
The air between us feels heavier now, the sounds of the market fading into the background. I take a slow breath, eyes dropping to my lap.
“Because it wasn’t always like that,” I murmur. “When I was little, my mom… she was different. She used to sing in the kitchen. She’d let me stay up late to watch old movies. She’d braid my hair before school and tell me I was the most beautiful girl in the world.”
My throat tightens, but I push through it.
“Even after things started to change—after Daniel—I kept thinking maybe I could get her back to that. That if I stayed, if I was good enough, careful enough… she’d remember how to be that person again.”
Jace’s gaze doesn’t waver. There’s no judgment there, only something achingly understanding.
“I guess,” I continue. “I wanted to hold onto those good memories so badly that I was willing to take all the bad ones too. Because letting go of her meant letting go of that little girl who believed her mom loved her.”
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. His hand finds mine again.
“You didn’t deserve any of that,” he says finally, voice low and with a hint of anger.
The knot in my chest loosens just a fraction, enough for me to squeeze his hand back. “I know.”
And somehow, sitting here in the cold with Jace looking at me like that, I almost believe it.
For a while, we just sit there, hands clasped, letting the bustle of the market fade into a distant hum. The cold nips at my cheeks, but Jace’s hand is solid and warm around mine, grounding me in a way I didn’t know I needed.
“You know…” he says after a beat, his voice softer now, “I used to think love was supposed to be a transaction. You do something right, you earn it. You screw up, you lose it. That’s how my dad raised me.”
I glance at him, catching the faint, wry twist of his mouth.
“But watching you…” He shakes his head slightly, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “You give it, even when you don’t realize it. Even when someone doesn’t deserve it. Like me, I definitely don’t deserve a second of your time.”
“I don’t know if that’s a strength or a weakness,” I admit.
“Both,” he says, like it’s obvious. “But it’s one of the things I…” He trails off, looking away for a second before his eyes find mine again. “One of the things I admire most about you.”
It’s ridiculous, but my stomach flips like I’m hearing that for the first time. I try to cover it with a quiet, “Careful, Ravencourt. You’re getting dangerously close to being sweet.”
That earns me the smallest, almost shy smile. The kind I’ve never seen him wear before.
“I can go back to the possessive asshole, if you prefer.”
“No, this is good right now.” I laugh.
Jace stands up, extending his hand to me, and I take it, letting him pull me up. He pulls me close against him.
Jace’s gaze lingers on me, like he’s memorizing this exact second. “You really have no idea, do you?” he says quietly.
“About what?”
“How you look.”
“Right now?” I shift my weight.
“All the time.” His thumb traces lightly over my cheek, and there’s a kind of adoration in his voice that makes butterflies explode in my belly.
“Sometimes I don’t think I even deserve to look at you.
Not when I know what I’ve done. I’ll never do anything good enough to have been rewarded with the honor of meeting someone like you, Ashthorne. ”
The words knock the breath right out of me. I think my brain short-circuits from the lack of oxygen. I can’t think of anything to say, so I don’t—I just watch him, the way the light catches in his eyes, the faint curl of his breath in the cold.
Snowflakes settle in his hair, catching the glow of the market lights, and I realize this is one of those moments people write songs about—the kind that lingers long after the season ends.
“Promise me something.” His forehead rests against mine, I examine the freckle by his mouth.
“What?”
“Give me a real chance. I admit, this is… uncharted territory. I don’t know how to do this.” The admission is rushed, stripped of his usual composure. Like if he didn’t say it right then, he’d lose the nerve.
I swallow hard. “I’m scared.”
“I know. So am I.” He whispers.
“I can’t…” I close my eyes, taking a shaky breath. “I can’t let someone in just to lose them. Not again.”
He cradles my face in his hands, it’s firm but gentle. I look up into his eyes.
“Nothing will happen to me.” His voice is resolute.
“You can’t promise that.” I feel the familiar burn in my eyes.
“Yes, I can. Death would have to fight like hell to take me. There's no way I’m dying before I get to have you. I’ve told you, you’re mine, and nothing will keep you from me.”
A frustrated laugh slips before I can stop it. “God, do you realize how insane you sound? You’re talking like you have any control over life and death, but you don’t. No one does.”
His mouth tilts, just barely. “I’d do anything to remain here with you. ”
We stay like that for another long moment. No rush, no expectations. Until the cold finally pushes in enough that I shiver. He notices immediately, pulling back and standing, offering me his hand.
“Come on. Let’s get you warm before you turn into one of these fancy ice sculptures.”
The SUV pulls up to Ashthorne Hall, tires crunching over the gravel. The air inside feels warmer than it should. My fingers are still tangled in Jace’s until the driver opens the door.
We walk the quiet hallway together, our steps muffled by the thick carpet. He stops outside my room, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he says, and there’s that half-smile of his—the rare one that sneaks past my guard every time.
“Goodnight, Jace.”
I slip inside, closing the door behind me. For a second, I just stand there, heart pounding too fast, my hands curled in my sweater. The silence feels thicker than it should.
Before I can think about it, I pull the door open again.
He’s still there. He hasn’t moved an inch.
The next second, I’m grabbing his coat and pulling him inside, the door clicking shut behind him. Our lips crash together, all heat and urgency, months of tension igniting at once.
His hands are in my hair, mine fisted in the front of his sweater. We’re both unrestrained, hungry, like the dam has finally broken open.
When he backs me toward the bed, I don’t let go.
Not even for air. We scramble in a mess of hurried limbs to throw our coats off.
His warm hands slip up my legs, moving their way under my dress.
He grips my ass firmly and I moan into his neck.
I push my hands under his sweater, and he hisses at the touch.
“Take it off.” I whisper to him between kisses.
He reaches back with one hand and pulls the sweater up and over his head, his lips finding mine as soon as he’s free. His hands grab my sweater again and starts to drag it up my body, I lift my arms and let him tug it off.
He holds my gaze as he unzips my boots. Lowering himself to the floor he grabs the band of my tights, slowly peeling them from my skin.
His heated gaze falls on the matching lace set I’m wearing.
Jace pushes me onto the bed, pulling the rest of my tights off. He stands up and looms over me. His chest rising and falling heavily as his eyes roam over the lace on my body.
“Jace, please,” I whisper and his eyes snap up to mine.
“Please, what?” His voice is rough.
“I just need to feel something. Make me feel good.”
When he lays me back against the bed, he doesn’t rush. His hands trace over my shoulders, my ribs, my waist, like I’m something precious. His mouth follows—pressing kisses over old scars, lingering over the curve of my stomach, the dip of my hip.
“Don’t play games with me, Isobel.” He says huskily into my ear, then presses his fingers against me, feeling my wetness through my panties, the heel of his hand giving my clit delicious pressure. I gasp.
“So wet.” He pants as he moves my panties to the side.