Chapter 36
Jemma added another slice of ham to both sandwiches.
Then another piece of cheese. And then—because cheese was clearly the food of the gods—another slice for good measure.
She was already halfway to a culinary masterpiece, so she finished the sandwiches with lettuce, tomato, pickles, and a thick smear of that fancy mustard she couldn’t pronounce but had tasted divine.
She was wearing one of Saif’s oversized dress shirts and a pair of his boxer briefs—soft, ridiculously comfortable, and frankly better than most of her pajamas. No bra. No pants. Just vibes. She fully intended to be naked again soon, anyway. Back in Saif’s bed. Tangled limbs. No clothes required.
Should she marry him?
The question floated through her mind uninvited, but stubborn. There had been no love declarations—just heat, tenderness, and the way he looked at her like she mattered. Like Jayla mattered. Like Jasper mattered. That counted for something. Everything, maybe.
She balanced both towering sandwiches on one plate, but her hunger won out halfway through the foyer. She lifted half of one and took a satisfying bite, her mouth instantly full of salty, cheesy perfection.
That’s when the front door opened.
And in walked... royalty.
Literally.
An older couple. Regal posture. The man looked like an older, slightly more terrifying version of Saif.
Two women—both breathtakingly beautiful—and two tall men with serious alpha energy.
Two kids trailed in behind them, chattering in polite indoor voices, wearing designer outfits.
The whole group looked like a Vogue family spread crossed with a diplomatic summit.
Jemma froze mid-bite. Bread. Cheese. Tomato. Her mouth still full. Plate still in hand.
And no pants.
Under normal circumstances, Jemma prided herself on being fiercely independent. But right now, standing barefoot in her boyfriend’s underwear and eating a sandwich the size of her head while his very intimidating, very well-dressed family stared at her?
Yeah. This was a cry-for-help moment.
“You must be Jemma Stone,” one of the beautiful women said, stepping forward with a smile that somehow didn’t feel condescending. “We’ve heard so much about you.”
Jemma tried to swallow her bite fast enough to speak, but it lodged halfway down. Her throat betrayed her. She gave a mortified cough and nearly choked on a tomato.
As if things couldn’t get worse, the front door swung open again and in walked her little brother, carrying Jayla.
Jayla, thank goodness, looked perfect—tiny pink hat, fluffy bunny booties, all dimples and sunshine.
Jasper, however, examined Jemma’s outfit instantly. He gave her one slow, obvious look and, still holding Jayla’s carrier, smirked.
“Nice boxers,” he said.
Jemma closed her eyes. Maybe if she stood still enough, the floor would open and swallow her whole.
It didn’t.
Instead, six heads turned to look at the bottom hem of her shirt and the slight peek of Saif’s boxers beneath it.
Had she thought her humiliation was complete?
Oh no. Karma wasn’t done with her yet.
Because right then, Saif walked into the room, reading from a paper as he spoke aloud:
“I’m ordering some handcuffs so I can pin you to the—”
He looked up. Froze.
Eight pairs of eyes were already locked on him. Bare feet. Bare chest. Low-slung jeans and tousled hair. A man who had very, very clearly not been spending the afternoon alone.
There was a beat of silence.
“Oh hell,” Saif muttered. He crumpled the paper and shoved it into his pocket.
Someone snickered—an obvious attempt to disguise it as a cough, but the effort failed miserably.
Thankfully, Saif rallied fast. Like the seasoned prince he was, he slid an arm around Jemma’s waist and addressed the room as if nothing were amiss.
“Mom, Dad,” he said smoothly, “I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Jemma Stone.” He added a wink toward Jasper. “And that guy right there is my future brother-in-law, Jasper Stone.”
Every head swiveled to Jasper.
“And,” Saif added, “the little lady in the carrier is my daughter, Jayla.”
That did it.
The tension evaporated as Saif’s mother beamed and moved straight toward the tiny bundle in pink. Jayla stared up at her with wide, curious eyes, temporarily stunned by the sight of someone new.
“I’m your gramma!” the elegant woman cooed, crouching to peek into the carrier. “We flew all the way from a big country called Lativa just to meet you—and your amazing mom.” She gave Jasper a playful wink. “And your brave, strong uncle.”
Jasper blushed and quickly set the carrier on the floor. With practiced ease, he undid the restraints—but Jayla, clearly overwhelmed, reached straight for him, clinging like a baby monkey.
Then she spotted Jemma.
Immediately, she cried, arms outstretched.
The room chuckled in collective delight as Jemma shoved the plate of sandwiches into Saif’s hands like it was a live grenade and rushed to her daughter’s side.
She scooped Jayla into her arms and held her like a shield, using her daughter’s tiny body to mask the fact that she was still wearing her lover’s boxers. And no bra!
“I know you flew a long way to meet your granddaughter,” she said, her voice somewhere between polite and panicked, “but I’m just going to get her changed and fed. Once she’s eaten, she’ll be much more…”
Jemma glanced down. Jayla was all sweet cheeks and curious blinking.
“…well, we’ll be right back.”
She shot Saif a quick, scathing glare—you owe me for this—then turned and bolted up the stairs. Her bare feet made only the faintest sound against the thick carpeting as she disappeared with her daughter in her arms and her pride trailing behind her.