10. Jaxon
Jaxon
"Why didn't you tell me?" Vivienne's question hangs in the air of the car, her voice barely audible over the engine's purr. She hasn't looked at me since we left the Waldorf, her profile illuminated by passing streetlights as she stares out the window.
"I didn't think it mattered," I reply, though the truth is more complicated.
That photo had unearthed memories I've spent years burying—not just of Andrew or our rivalry, but of the first time I saw Vivienne.
How even then, at sixteen, I'd been struck by her sharp mind and genuine smile.
How I'd watched her and Andrew together, feeling the familiar pattern of my brother getting everything I wanted before I even knew I wanted it.
"It matters," she says quietly. "It changes things."
"Does it?" I turn to face her fully. "We were teenagers who met once at some forgettable charity event. You were Andrew's lab partner. I was his sulky younger brother. Hardly a significant connection."
"Then why keep it from me?" She finally meets my eyes, something vulnerable in her expression that tightens my chest. "We've been constructing this elaborate backstory for the media, and all along there was an actual history you never mentioned."
The car pulls through the gates of my estate, the security lights illuminating her face in harsh white. In that moment, she looks both stronger and more fragile than I've ever seen her—demanding truth while bracing for it.
"Because it wasn't just about you being Andrew's lab partner," I admit as the car stops. "It was about how I felt when I saw you two together."
Before she can ask what I mean, the driver opens her door. The conversation pauses as we enter the house, the silence between us charged with unspoken questions.
Mrs. Patterson greets us in the foyer. "Lily's been asleep for hours," she reports. "Not a peep. How was the gala?"
"Predictably tedious," I answer, helping Vivienne out of her coat. My fingers brush against the bare skin of her shoulders, and I feel her slight shiver at the contact. "Thank you for staying late."
"Of course." Mrs. Patterson collects her purse. "I'll be off then. Good night, you two."
After she leaves, the house feels suddenly, acutely empty. Just Vivienne and me, and all the truths hovering between us.
"I'm going to check on Lily," I say, loosening my tie.
Vivienne nods. "I'll make some tea. Meet you in the kitchen?"
It's our routine now, these late-night conversations after events. A strange domesticity has formed between us in just a week of cohabitation.
Upstairs, I find Lily sleeping peacefully, her unicorn night light casting soft purple shadows across her face.
I adjust her blanket, brush hair from her forehead, and marvel again at how quickly this child has become the center of my universe.
Two months ago, I barely knew her. Now I can't imagine my life without her.
When I return to the kitchen, Vivienne has changed into silk pajama pants and a soft gray t-shirt. Her face is scrubbed clean of makeup, hair pulled into a messy bun, and somehow she looks more beautiful like this than in the designer gown from earlier. More real.
She hands me a mug of tea, our fingers touching briefly. I take a deliberate step back, needing distance to maintain clarity.
"So," she says, leaning against the counter. "You were saying? About how you felt when you saw me with Andrew?"
I exhale slowly, deciding how much truth to reveal. "I was jealous."
"Of me? For getting Andrew's attention?"
"Of him," I correct, meeting her eyes. "For having yours."
Her lips part in surprise, and I force myself to continue before I lose my nerve.
"It's stupid. I was sixteen, angry at the world, sick of living in Andrew's shadow.
You walked in with him, and I remember thinking you were different from his usual crowd—smarter, more genuine.
When you asked about my music, actually seemed interested...
" I shrug, embarrassed by the admission.
"I had a teenager's crush for about five minutes.
Then life happened, and I forgot all about it until I saw you at the gala. "
"And recognized me immediately," she says softly.
"Yes."
"But said nothing."
"What was I supposed to say? 'Nice to see you again after twelve years, by the way, I had a pathetic crush on you when we were kids'?"
A smile tugs at her lips. "When you put it that way." Her expression sobers. "So finding out I later dated Andrew must have been..."
"Typical," I finish bitterly. "A familiar pattern. Andrew getting everything I wanted."
Her eyes widen slightly. "Is that why you agreed to this arrangement? Some delayed revenge against your brother?"
"No," I say firmly. "God, no. Andrew's dead. Whatever rivalry existed between us died with him." I set down my mug, frustrated by my inability to explain. "This is about Lily. About keeping her safe, giving her stability. Nothing else."
Vivienne studies me for a long moment, as if searching for deception. "And that night at the gala? When we first reconnected?"
"What about it?"
"The connection we felt. Was that real? Or was it just... echoes of old feelings?"
The question cuts to the heart of what's happening between us, what's been building since that first night. The air between us seems to thicken, charged with possibility.
"I don't know," I admit. "But I know what I am starting to feel now is real."
She sets down her mug, takes a step toward me. "And what do you feel now, Jaxon?"
The way she says my name—soft, questioning—breaks something loose inside me. In two strides, I close the distance between us, one hand cupping her face while the other pulls her against me.
"This," I murmur, and then my mouth is on hers.
For one heartbeat, she freezes, and I fear I've crossed an unforgivable line. Then her body melts against mine, her arms sliding around my neck as she kisses me back with an intensity that makes my head spin.
Her lips are soft, eager, her body warm and pliant against mine. I back her against the counter, lifting her onto it without breaking the kiss. Her legs wrap around my waist, drawing me closer as her fingers tangle in my hair.
"This isn't part of the arrangement," she whispers against my mouth.
"I know." I trail kisses down her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath my lips. "Tell me to stop."
"Don't you dare," she breathes, pulling me back to her mouth.
The kiss deepens, turns ravenous. My hands slide under her t-shirt, fingers exploring the smooth, heated skin of her back, tracing the delicate arch of her spine.
Her nails scrape lightly over my scalp, sending a shudder down my body.
She’s intoxicating—every sigh, every moan pulling me under, drowning me in her.
My fingers graze the underside of her breast, teasing, testing, until she arches, pressing into my touch. I cup her through the thin lace of her bra, rolling my thumb over her hardened nipple. She gasps into my mouth, her fingers clenching in my hair as pleasure ripples through her.
"Jaxon," she moans softly, head falling back to give me better access to her throat. I take full advantage, sucking, tasting, nipping, leaving marks only I will see. She trembles beneath me, her body desperate, her hips rolling against mine as the heat between us builds to something undeniable.
She pushes my shirt off my shoulders, her hands exploring the muscles of my chest, tracing the ridges and scars. When her fingers skim the waistband of my pants, I groan, painfully hard and aching for her.
I flip our positions, lifting her easily, carrying her toward the couch, laying her down with careful precision even as our hands remain frantic. My lips find her stomach, the curve of her hip, my fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her silk pajama pants, dragging them down her thighs.
She helps me, lifting her hips, her breath coming in short gasps as I settle between her legs, my mouth following the path my hands took.
I press a kiss to the inside of her knee, then another higher, letting the anticipation stretch, watching as her breathing turns uneven, her fingers twisting in the fabric of the couch.
"Jaxon," she whispers, her voice full of need, her fingers threading through my hair, tugging me where she wants me.
And I give in, pressing a kiss against her, tasting her, savoring her.
Her gasp turns into a broken moan, her thighs tightening around my shoulders as I drag my tongue over her sensitive flesh, learning every reaction she gives me.
I take my time, licking, sucking, teasing her until she’s writhing beneath me, her hands grasping at anything, at everything.
I slip a finger inside her, feeling the way her body clenches around me, drawing me deeper into her heat.
She cries out, her hips rocking to meet every slow, deliberate movement of my tongue and fingers.
She’s intoxicating, so responsive, her body yielding to me in the most perfect way. Her moans grow more desperate, her body tensing as she teeters on the edge. I press my tongue against her most sensitive spot, curling my fingers just right, and she shatters.
Her body bows off the couch, pleasure wracking through her in waves, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. I hold her through it, kissing her inner thighs, feeling the tremors still coursing through her as she finally sags against the cushions.
I move up her body, pressing a kiss to her lips, letting her taste herself on my tongue. She hums against my mouth, her arms sliding around my neck, pulling me closer, deeper. Her fingers trail down my stomach, reaching for my waistband, and I groan, anticipation coiling tight inside me.
But before we can go any further, a small, distressed voice cuts through the haze.
"Uncle Jaxon?"
We freeze.
Vivienne stiffens beneath me, her hands still on my chest, her breath still ragged. My head jerks toward the sound, my heart slamming into my ribs.