Chapter 22
ELIZA
The flight from London to Chicago on Jesse’s private jet was as luxurious as any comfy English estate. I’d flown first class my whole life. My family wasn’t exactly known for slumming it in economy, but this was something else entirely.
For starters, there was space, stretch-your-legs-without-accidentally-kicking-a-stranger kind of space.
The interior of the jet was sleek, quiet, and absurdly comfortable, with wide leather seats and polished wood accents that made it feel less like an airplane and more like a very chic living room that happened to be traveling across the Atlantic.
“I still can’t believe this is yours,” I said, even as I tried to behave like this was all perfectly normal.
Inside, however, I was having a mild out-of-body experience.
Jesse smiled, seeming completely unfazed.
“You know, sometimes, neither can I, but it’s like, a thing, in my family.
Sterling started it. Our oldest cousin. As soon as he bought a jet instead of using his dad’s, Alex did the same, then Jameson, Sterling’s brother.
Before we even knew what was happening, it had become like a rite of passage. ”
He moved around the cabin with easy familiarity while I settled into one of the seats and tried not to look like I was mentally calculating how many normal plane tickets this aircraft had probably cost. “That’s a rather expensive rite of passage, isn’t it?
Do any of you actually travel enough to justify owning them? ”
He shrugged, those blue eyes sparkling with something that looked a lot like pride. “The truth? Not really. We do travel quite a lot, for business and for pleasure, but probably not enough. It’s more of an I-bought-it-because-I-could-afford-it kind of thing.”
Surprise trickled through me. “I didn’t expect you to admit that.”
He grinned, giving me a little wink before turning and disappearing into the small galley. “I’d like to think I’ve done a lot of things you didn’t expect.”
Since he’d called the words from behind the half-closed curtain, I allowed myself an excited smile. “Is that your game, then, Jesse Westwood? Preparing me to expect the unexpected.”
“No game.” He returned a few minutes later with a glass filled with something pale pink and sparkling. “I made this for you. It’s a virgin cocktail, so you don’t have to worry about how many you have.”
“You made it?” I asked suspiciously.
“Yes.”
I took a cautious sip and immediately blinked back even more surprise. “Oh.”
“Well?” he prompted. “How is it?”
“That’s amazing.”
His mouth twitched slightly. “I thought you might like something bubbly but safe after the champagne incident.”
I groaned. “Please never speak of that again.”
“I never make promises I can’t keep.” Something darker flickered in his eyes when he said it, but he blinked it away fast and lowered himself into a chair.
He pulled out his laptop as I took another sip.
The drink truly was delicious, light and sweet with just enough citrus to make it refreshing instead of sugary. I drank three.
In my defense, Jesse kept appearing with another one every time I’d finished the previous glass, so it hadn’t been entirely my fault.
An attendant I hadn’t even realized was onboard brought out a tray a little while after takeoff that included several foods I loved, pasta, fresh bread, fruit, and little pastries, and I stared at it in confusion.
“Did you plan this?” I asked Jesse.
He shrugged again. “I might have mentioned a few things I wanted them to stock up on.”
My lips parted, but I couldn’t quite formulate a way to tell him how much I appreciated the thought he’d put into a flight that otherwise might’ve seen me sobbing all the way across an ocean. Because of him, it turned out to be exciting, but peaceful.
We talked. I dozed off for a while, curled up under a soft blanket. I watched the clouds slide past the window when I woke up. Jesse was working on his laptop across from me, the top buttons of his shirt undone and the tie he’d boarded with long gone.
By the time we touched down in Chicago, I’d almost forgotten that my life was about to change completely, but reality returned the moment we stepped off the plane to find a driver waiting for us.
He stood beside a sleek black car like he’d been there for hours, anticipating our arrival. “Miss Roderick. Mr. Westwood.”
Miss Roderick. I wasn’t called that often. Lady Roderick, yes. Miss? Not so much, but I supposed that would change here.
I slid into the backseat beside Jesse, pressing my forehead lightly against the window when the car finally pulled away.
Chicago’s glittering glass buildings stretching into the sky seemed different this time, perhaps because it wasn’t only a visit.
I had officially moved here. Today was the start of my new life, a future I never would have thought possible in my soon-to-be husband’s city.
My stomach fluttered strangely, but eventually, the car turned into a quieter neighborhood lined with elegant old buildings instead of modern glass. We stopped in front of a stately, historic townhome that looked like it had been standing here since before automobiles had been invented.
The driver cut the engine and climbed out to retrieve our luggage, but Jesse didn’t move right away. I glanced at him, surprised to see that he looked nervous, which was odd. Jesse Westwood didn’t strike me as a man who got nervous about much.
“This is just temporary,” he said suddenly. “The house, I mean.”
He gestured vaguely toward the front door as the driver unloaded the bags and I frowned. “What do you mean, it’s temporary?”
“I only recently moved back to Chicago,” he explained. “This is Will’s place. I’ve been staying with him until I get settled.”
I turned toward the townhome again, somehow seeing it just a bit differently now. “This is Will’s house?”
“Yes,” Jesse said. “Ours for now too, but not for long.”
Something in his tone was slightly off, though. Not wrong, exactly, but definitely uneasy.
Before I could question it, the driver opened my door and Jesse hopped out to collect the luggage from the driveway himself. He insisted on carrying most of it, motioning for me to precede him after unlocking the door.
I stepped inside but instantly stopped walking. The interior was beautiful, with high ceilings, dark wood, and large windows that let in the soft, very early morning light.
It felt lived in but orderly, like it belonged to someone rather organized who preferred their own space to the rest of the world. I could relate.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Jesse said, already pulling his phone from his pocket. “I just need to make a few calls.”
He looked mildly apologetic, but I smiled. “Of course. Home sweet home, right? Back to work?”
“Yeah. Something like that.” After flashing me a tight smile, he disappeared down the hallway and I wandered deeper into the house, passing a cozy sitting room, a dining room, and a staircase that curved elegantly upward.
Eventually, I found a smaller room tucked toward the back of the house. It looked like an office, or maybe a library. Both, really.
It wasn’t large, but the walls were lined with shelves packed with books. Loads and loads of them. I stepped inside slowly, unable to stop myself from scanning the titles. Finance. Business strategy. Economics. Leadership.
The collection was extensive for such a small space. I ran my fingers lightly along one of the shelves, suddenly having the strangest feeling that I’d just walked into someone’s mind, and like that someone was much more like me than Jesse had made Will out to be.
From what he’d told me, Will had seemed a bit more free-spirited than this. More like Jesse used to be back in the day. Nothing about Will’s house seemed free-spirited to me at all, but I supposed Jesse had been living here.
Perhaps he’d done some organizing. I was still standing in the office—library—whatever they called this mysterious shrine to business strategy, when Jesse reappeared. He leaned against the doorframe and watched me for a moment before speaking.
“Did you find anything interesting?”
I turned, gesturing vaguely at the shelves. “This is quite a collection he’s got.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“You could run a small university out of this room.”
He chuckled. “Don’t tempt me.”
As I turned back to him, I couldn’t help noticing that he seemed calmer than when we’d arrived, but there was still a faint tightness around his shoulders, like he wasn’t quite thrilled to be back.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. I just had a few work calls to return.” He glanced toward the window, where pale early morning light filtered through the glass. “You must be exhausted. Do you want to rest for a bit?”
I checked the time on the small clock on the desk and laughed softly. “I should be exhausted, but jetlag is a cruel and confusing thing. If I go to sleep now, I’ll wake up at three tomorrow morning, ready to reorganize your brother’s kitchen cabinets.”
Jesse considered that for a beat. “That seems like a valid concern. Does that mean you want to stay awake and pretend to be normal human beings starting our day?”
“What does that involve?” I asked curiously.
“Food.” He grinned. “Breakfast?”
“That’s a marvelous idea,” I agreed immediately. “Preferably somewhere that serves alarming quantities of coffee.”
“Done.”
Chicago in the morning felt different from the version I’d seen through the car window. It was still cool and quiet, but it was also waking up.
Doors swung open as we strolled down the streets, all sorts of paraphernalia being carried out.
From tables and chairs, to blackboards and mannequins.
I quite enjoyed the walk, but it was also a relief when we ended up at a café a few blocks away, the scent of freshly baked bread and coffee drifting out the door.