Chapter Thirty-One Real
SUTTON
It’s been four days since Jayce first got sick, and he’s bounced back like nothing happened.
Honestly, it feels like ages ago already, especially since his mother has dragged us out to look at wedding venues, the reality of the world crashing back in around us.
Our fake engagement, fake wedding planning, and two extremely enthusiastic mothers who are suddenly in constant contact.
It’s…a lot.
Still, every time I think about that night, with Jayce lying pale and burning up with fever in his bed, my chest tightens.
I was genuinely terrified. I tried to fight as memories of Colson tried to pull me into an instant panic attack.
What if that happened with Jayce? What if he didn’t get better?
But I refused to let that happen so I tried to stay calm while caring for him.
Tried to calm my thoughts and focus, convincing myself it was just a virus or exhaustion or something minor.
When he’d drifted in and out of sleep, though, mumbling incoherently, his skin too hot beneath my hand…
I’d realized something that scared me even more than his illness. I care about him.
A lot.
More than I ever intended to. More than I should. The thought settles in my chest now, heavy and impossible to ignore. I’m falling for him, and that sends a ripple of panic rushing through me. I’m treading into dangerous territory.
Jayce has been very clear about his views on marriage from the start. He doesn’t believe in it. Not in the forever sense people usually mean. Plus, I’ll eventually have to move back to New York and to my own reality.
The longer this goes on, the more at risk I am of having my heart shattered when it ends. If I were smart, I’d be putting distance between us, but I don’t want to do that. I want this. I want him.
For now, for the sake of my own sanity, maybe I should just let it feel real, especially since something has changed between us since the night he got sick.
Before that, we’d had a few intimate nights where we’d fallen asleep together after sex, tangled up in the sheets and too exhausted to move.
Most other nights I’d go back to my room and he’d go back to his.
Now, every night, Jayce pulls me into his room. Sometimes we have sex, sometimes we don’t, but it doesn’t matter. He draws me into bed with him, wrapping an arm around me and holding me tight against him, and we fall asleep together.
I love it.
I love falling asleep in his arms and waking up next to him.
Even on the mornings when he has early practice and slips out before I wake up, I can breathe in his scent on the pillows and feel the lingering warmth of his body on the sheets. That feeling goes deeper than any physical intimacy we’ve shared. It’s calm, comforting, and makes me feel safe.
I don’t want to lose any of that.
“Isn’t this ballroom lovely?” Jayce’s mom gushes, yanking me back to my surroundings. She’s gazing around the huge space with shiny marble floors and obnoxious gold trim along the marbling on the walls and pillars. “I think it’s perfect!”
I do my best not to wince as I gaze around.
Ugh, this place is…a lot. Too much, really.
The massive chandelier in the center of the ceiling is old-fashioned and gaudy.
There’s even a large mural on one wall depicting a ballroom scene that looks straight out of an episode of Bridgerton…
minus the diversity, elegance, and overall charm.
What am I supposed to say, though? I don’t want to upset Mrs. Vaughn…
she terrifies me. My mother can be overbearing and exhausting, but at least I know she loves me and she’s generally a warm person.
The same cannot be said about Mrs. Vaughn.
She is…icy. Stone-cold, even to Jayce. Thank God he’s here, because I don’t know that I could handle her alone.
He’s standing next to me, holding my hand, gazing around with a neutral expression and I find myself worrying he’s just going to go along with his mother.
Without thinking, my hand drifts toward my mouth and I catch myself just before my teeth find my nail. I curl my fingers into my palm instead, forcing the nervous habit down.
Jayce notices, because of course he does. His thumb shifts against my lower back, brushing a slow line along my spine. The tiny movement sends a spark of heat straight through me.
He looks unfairly good today too, which really isn’t helping my ability to think clearly.
He’s wearing dark slacks and a charcoal button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, the fabric stretching across his broad shoulders every time he shifts.
The open collar reveals the strong line of his throat, and I have to drag my eyes away before I start staring like an idiot.
It’s ridiculous how attractive he is.
Even worse is the way he carries himself here. Calm, confident, and slightly detached from the chaos swirling around us.
I’m so busy trying not to bite my nail again that I almost miss the moment his mother pauses and gazes at me expectantly.
Shit, what am I supposed to say? I can’t tell her that I really don’t like this place…
“Sutton doesn’t like this style,” he suddenly says, as if reading my mind. “We want something simpler. Elegant and understated. I found a vineyard just outside of the city that has a beautiful garden in the summer. I’ve arranged for us to visit it later this week. I think it’ll be perfect.”
I blink at him, stunned. That does sound perfect. It’s exactly the kind of venue I’d want for my wedding.
His mother narrows her eyes. “Oh, is that so? Are they able to accommodate three hundred guests? Do they have valet parking? Real silverware and China table settings? How about…”
“Mother, I’ve worked out all the details,” Jayce replies in a terse tone. “I apologize for not telling you sooner, but I made certain it was an appropriate setting for a wedding like this one.”
Something warm blooms in my chest as I stare up at him.
He noticed. He’s paying attention to what I would want, were any of this real.
The realization sends a strange flutter through my stomach.
My gaze drifts over him again and I swallow, feeling suddenly hot and tingly.
It’s the quiet way he’s standing here, reading my nervous habits and stepping in without making a show of it, that makes my pulse really start to climb.
He knows me.
Fuck, that’s so sexy.
Mrs. Vaughn purses her lips together and appears thoughtful for a moment before nodding.
“All right, fine. I suppose that sounds like it could be acceptable. Very well, let’s get going. We’re meeting with caterers in an hour back at the house.”
With that, she turns and makes her way out of the ballroom without a backward glance.
I stare after her. “What…what just happened?”
Jayce chuckles softly and squeezes my hand. “I got your back. Don’t worry.”
He tugs me along and we follow his mother.
An hour later, we’re seated around the dining table at the Vaughn house while platters of sample dishes are carried in and set before us one after another. The room smells incredible, an enticing mix of buttery sauces, roasted meats, herbs and garlic drifting through the air.
Jayce’s mom is already leaning forward with interest.
“Oh this one,” she says, pointing to the menu. “The braised short rib with truffle mashed potatoes. That would be perfect for the main course.”
My stomach sinks a little. It does sound good, but it also sounds…
heavy. Heavy and rich. It’s something that would be much better suited for a formal winter banquet than a summer garden wedding.
I’d rather have something lighter. Something French, if I’m being totally honest. Like a Poulet R?ti or Coq au Vin Blanc with a Salade Mentonnaise maybe.
My fingers curl slightly against the edge of the table as I try to gather the nerve to speak up.
You can do this, Sutton. Just say something. It’s your wedding too.
I inhale, lifting my head as I prepare to explain that maybe we should look at some lighter options, but my hand trembles and I feel the old anxiety prickling under my skin.
What if his mom thinks I’m ungrateful?
What if I hurt her feelings?
What if…
“No, she prefers lighter dishes. French.” At Jayce’s firm words, my jaw drops and I turn my gaze up to him.
His tone is polite, but firm, leaving no room for argument.
How does he know so well what I like and don’t like?
Not even my parents or their personal chef know my food preferences so specifically, and he’s been on staff since I was in grade school.
It takes me a moment to get past my surprise before I realize he must have figured that out because he’s been paying attention to the things I order when we go out or order in.
“Also, we’re going to get the cake from Sutton’s favorite bakery,” Jayce suddenly adds. “Molly’s Patisserie. It’s in Florida, but we’ll make a special order.”
My jaw drops. Has he really been paying that much attention to me? Learning my preferences so he can meet my every need? Even remembering my favorite bakery from college?
The thought lingers in my mind as I watch him calmly discussing options with the caterers. He’s been learning my preferences, anticipating my reactions, and stepping in before my anxiety can even fully surface.
No one has ever done that for me before. Not like this. Usually I’m the one adapting to everyone else. Reading the room, figuring out what people expect from me, and adjusting myself so things stay smooth and conflict-free.
Jayce, though, is doing the opposite. He’s studying me, figuring me out piece by piece, and then making space for me to feel comfortable.
The realization sends a soft rush of heat through my chest that has nothing to do with embarrassment. He makes me feel seen and important. My comfort actually matters to him.