“Guess it would be hypocritical to change my tune now,” I said aloud, smiling at the sudsy water. Within seconds, I was sinking down into the bath, letting out a little whimper as the hot water enveloped my body. I sat there for a few minutes, luxuriating in the feeling, before I noticed two sleek silver bottles on the side of the tub. One had a white square of card stock attached to the front. I reached for the note, wincing when my fingers left watermarks on the creamy paper.
These are my all-time favorite skin and hair care products. They are obscenely, ridiculously expensive, and I can only find them in Milan. But they are worth every single penny. Enjoy. Jackson.
I decided that the only logical thing to do at that point was to giggle madly. The gels and creams in the silver bottle smelled even better than Chris’s oils. My entire scalp was tingling in the most amazing way possible. I had been tired when I got into the bath, lulled into a sense of ultimate relaxation by Chris’s efforts, but the products from Jackson had the effect of energizing me. “Definitely worth the money,” I said aloud. “If, you know, I had any.”
I didn’t get out of the bath until the water started to get cold, and even then, it was with a heavy heart. I wrapped the cozy, soft robe back around me and wandered out to the living room, unsure what I was supposed to do next. Did we have reservations or—
“Jackson!” I yelped, dropping the towel I had been using on my hair. “What are you doing in here?”
“Sorry!” He held up his hands. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I placed a hand over my heart. “That’s okay. I just didn’t think you would be done yet.”
“You were in there for nearly an hour.”
“I was?”
He nodded, looking rather pleased. “I told you that you needed to relax.”
I perched on the arm of the couch. “Thank you. This has been the most amazing day.”
His smile was huge. “I’m glad. It’s not over yet.”
“Are we going to dinner?”
“Eventually.”
Before I could ask what that meant, there was a knock on the door. “Ah, here they are.” Jackson crossed the room in a few short strides and opened the door to reveal three familiar faces.
“Sofie, you remember Reagan, Cassidy, and Fi?”
“Of course!” I gaped at the three stylists I had gotten to know on the movie set in Detroit as they marched into the room with several black cases. “What’s going…”
“We’re here to do your hair and makeup,” Fi said, chomping on her gum the way she always did.
I stared at Jackson, and he met my gaze, eyebrows slightly raised in challenge. His meaning couldn’t have been clearer—you agreed to this.
“Sounds good,” I laughed. “Where do you want me?”
The girls set me up at the desk, spreading their supplies out all over the coffee table and the couch. As they got to work on my hair, Jackson relaxed into the armchair, one ankle crossed over his knee.
“You’re just going to sit there and watch?” I asked.
“Pretty much.”
I shook my head at him, but Reagan snapped at me for moving. She rubbed some kind of lotion through my hair before attacking it with a blow dryer and a paddle brush. They had my hair dried and straightened in less than half an hour. “Can you move in with me?” I asked. “That usually takes me forty-five minutes.”
Reagan laughed. “I’ll give you this straightening cream. It’s amazing, and you should definitely have some, hair like yours.”
Fi had rubbed foundation and primers across my face and neck, blending in perfectly with my skin tone. Then she went to work on my eyes while Cassidy wrapped strands of hair around a barrel curling iron.
The best part of the whole thing was that they explained everything they were doing. It was like taking a master class in hair and makeup styling. I wondered if maybe Jackson had asked them to be specific after I told him how much I enjoyed messing around with beauty products.
When they were finished, they showed me their handy work in the mirror. “You look hot,” Cassidy said, adjusting one strand of hair over my shoulder.
I felt hot. And beautiful. They’d done my eye makeup in a dramatic, smoky look, even applying a few extra false eyelashes, a step I had never bothered with. My hair hung in loose curls, gathered up on the left side of my neck to cascade down around my shoulders.
“I love this look,” I told them. “Seriously. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Reagan said, spraying a last shot of hairspray over me. “I’ve been wanting to get my hands on your hair since the first day I met you.” She turned to Jackson, who was watching us from the same chair, looking amused. “Your turn.”
“Yeah, Jackson,” I said, pointing at the chair. “Time to get pretty.”
His beauty routine took much less time than mine. They moisturized his face, buffed his fingernails, and spent a good twenty minutes massaging his hair into tousled perfection.
“Pretty enough?” he asked me, eyebrow raised.
I studied his face before shrugging. “I suppose you’ll do.”
Of course, the truth was he looked good enough to eat. But I figured he had enough girls in his life telling him that.
Before the girls had finished packing up their things, there was another knock on the door. “I’ll get that,” Fi said.
A man and woman marched into the room pushing a covered garment rack. “Now what?” I asked.
“You said you liked shopping.” Jackson shrugged. “We don’t really have time to go out, so I thought I would bring the shopping here.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“I am not.”
He shook hands with the clothes pushers, introducing me to Chase and Bonnie. “I asked them to bring as many choices as they could manage.”
“We aim to please,” Chase said, pulling the cover off the garment rack.
I would like to say that I kept my cool, that I managed to act like racks full of couture dresses appeared in my hotel room every day. But I didn’t manage that at all. I gasped out loud, slapping a hand over my mouth and causing Cassidy to curse that I would mess up my lipstick.
Jackson was watching me with that ever-so-slightly cocky smile. “You ready for this?”
“Are those…are those Louboutins?”
“You said you always wanted to wear a pair.” He cocked his head, his smile inviting. “Come on, Sofie. Let’s play dress up.”
So that was exactly what we did. Chase took him into Sam’s room, and Bonnie followed me to mine. And between the two of us, we tried on nearly every piece of clothing on the rack. The girls had decided, apparently, to stay and watch, because they gathered on the couch and gave us scores on every outfit we modeled. And we actually did model them, Jackson instructing me on how to walk as if on a catwalk, his face serious, cheekbones sucked in, as he swayed his hips across the small space.
“Twirl!” Reagan demanded when I came out in a full-skirted Versace—God, I was wearing a Versace!
“Yeah,” Jackson said. “Twirl!”
I giggled, complying, and was met with several wolf whistles.
“This is amazing,” I said, reaching down to touch the pink tulle. I always thought of tulle as scratchy, but this was amazingly soft against my fingers.
“It’s gorgeous,” Bonnie said, tilting her head. “But I’m not sure I like the proportion on you. Cuts you off a little.”
I met Jackson’s eyes. “Well, heaven knows, I don’t want to look cut off.”
So I went back into the room to try on dresses from Dior, Marc Jacobs, and Oscar de la Renta. Bonnie helped me get into each, making sure I didn’t mess up my hair or get any makeup on the couture. She’d even brought me new underwear, a lacy, baby-blue set from La Perla that I was sure cost more than Beth’s stroller.
I finally stepped back out into the room in another Versace. It was deep wine satin, fitted around the bodice, the natural waist opening up into a full, knee-length ski
rt. I knew immediately that this was the dress. The girls all gave happy little gasps, Bonnie nodded in satisfaction, and Jackson… Jackson’s eyes had darkened as he swallowed several times, looking me up and down. Finally, he met my eyes. “That’s it.”
I nodded, feeling overwhelmed by his reaction. For the first time, I let myself wonder if this might be a mistake. Everything had been fun and more than a little like a fairy tale. But eventually, the others would go, and I would be left alone with Jackson. Alone in very expensive, beautiful clothes. Alone with his eyes darkening like that. A shiver ran over my bare shoulders, and I turned away.
“The best part,” Bonnie said, breaking the tension I could feel crackling between Jackson and me, “is that these Louboutins totally match.”
“They do?”
She knelt at my feet, and I lifted first one and then the other so she could slip the shoes on. They fit perfectly—though I probably would have been happy to wear them, even if they were tight enough to cut off all circulation to my feet.
“You’re ready,” Bonnie said, smiling at me.
“You look amazing!” Reagan added.
“And it’s perfect timing,” Jackson said, holding out his arm for me to take. There was excitement and maybe a hint of nerves in his expression. I had the sudden, unmistakable feeling that I was about to cross a point of no return. I slipped my arm into his. “Sofie, are you ready to be off?”
“I am.”
He squeezed my hand lightly. “Then let’s be off.”
Chapter Nineteen
He had a car waiting for us outside the hotel. I had never been really into cars, myself, despite how many of my family members built them, but I thought this might be a Bentley.
There was a small crowd gathered outside the hotel doors. Clearly, the chase the day before had alerted the fangirls and photographers that Jackson was staying here. It was surreal, hearing the clicks of cameras going off, lights shining in our faces, girls screaming, while Jackson ushered me out to the car, an arm around my shoulders.
Once we were safely inside, I burst into laughter. “This is insane.”
He grinned. “But fun, right?”
“Are you kidding me? So fun.”
I saw Bill’s familiar eyes in the rearview mirror. “Hello, Sofie. You look very nice.”
“Thank you,” I said, blushing. For the first time, it occurred to me how this must look to everyone. The stylists, Bill, the photographers out there. We looked like we were on a date.
But Jackson was reaching for my hand across the seat, and I calmed at his touch. I wondered, not for the first time, how he was able to read my face so well. He always seemed to know exactly what I was thinking or feeling.
“Can you tell me where we’re going yet?” I asked.
“We’re having dinner at House Nine.” I remembered him telling me that House Nine was his favorite restaurant in the world. God, that day seemed like a million years ago. So much had happened since then.
“What kind of food do they have?”
“I think you’ll really like it,” he said, with that look on his face that always seemed to accompany fine dining. I’m so glad we’re doing this, I thought. It made me sad to think that he felt he needed to hide this part of him, any part of him, in order for me to want to spend time with him.
He hadn’t even finished his description before we pulled up in front of a high-rise building. The sun was beginning to set behind the skyscrapers, spreading a warm, orange glow over the sidewalk. There were no reporters here, but we still caught quite a few eyes as Jackson led me into the building, either because of the flashy car or because my dinner partner looked like a god in a tux.
“Upstairs,” Jackson explained, guiding me through the crowds in the lobby toward the elevator. He was causing a lot of turned heads, and I tightened my grip on his hand, uncomfortable with the scrutiny.
The elevator opened onto the lobby of a clearly high-end restaurant. “Ah, Mr. Coles,” the maître d’ said, shaking Jackson’s hand. “We’re thrilled to have you back.”
“Thank you, Antoine,” Jackson said. “This is my friend, Sofia Flores. This is her first visit to your outstanding restaurant.”
Antoine actually bent over to kiss my hand. I managed not to giggle. “I hope we can provide a memorable evening for you, then.”
Antoine led us straight to our table, Jackson winking at me as we passed the short queue in front of the hostess stand. The table was situated in a private alcove right next to a window. The view of the city below us was breathtaking.
“Jackson,” I murmured, unable to find more words.
“It’s something, isn’t it?”
I looked up to see him smiling out at the view, the same way I had been doing. He doesn’t take it for granted, I thought. No matter how often he gets to do these amazing things, they never lose their appeal for him.
“There’s a tasting menu here,” he explained when I reached for the leather-bound menu.
“What does that mean?”
“It means the chef will create specific courses for the table. Usually, they’re on the small side, just a taste, but that way, you can try lots of different things. With a good chef, I think it can be very nice, very worthwhile. If you’re feeling adventurous, of course.”
I had a brief moment of trepidation. What if they brought out something really weird, like fish eggs? But I looked at Jackson’s familiar, encouraging face. When had he ever led me astray?
“That sounds fantastic,” I told him, and his resulting smile was all the encouragement I needed to know I’d made the right choice.
And it was definitely the right choice, even if they did bring out fish eggs. Jackson assured me that if I tried the caviar and didn’t like it, no one would mind, so I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and went for it. And, to my great surprise, and Jackson’s delight, I really liked it, even if the texture took some getting used to. There were other firsts, as well—escargot, swimming in garlic butter so rich and delicious I couldn’t even find words to comment on it for a good three minutes, risotto with truffle butter, quail and pork belly and scallops and so many other fantastic things, I could barely keep track. And for every course, the sommelier would come over and talk to Jackson about the wine options, giving his recommendations but always letting Jackson make the final decision. The wine was equal to the food, better even than the wine he had chosen for me at the Book Cadillac back home. We finished with a pomegranate sorbet that made me close my eyes and whimper.
“So,” he said, leaning across the table, his face eager. “How’d you like it?”
“Do you even have to ask?”
“It’s good, yeah?”
“Jackson. That was the best meal I’ve ever had in my life. I… I didn’t even know food could taste like that.”
He looked like a kid on Christmas. “That’s exactly how I felt the first time I went to a real, gourmet restaurant. And not just some poncey, overblown, expensive-just-to-be-expensive place like my parents would go to. A place with a real chef, someone with passion and direction. It’s like…art.”
“Exactly. That’s exactly what it felt like.”
His eyes were shining. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it, Sofie.”
“I’m so glad you brought me here.”
Both the maître d’ and the chef himself came out to see how we had enjoyed our dinner. Jackson gushed about the individual components and their preparations. I tried and failed to come up with something intelligent to say, finally settling for, “That was amazing.”
My dress was feeling distinctly tighter when we stood up, and I was happy that I had chosen something that didn’t require Spanx. I would have been beyond heartbroken if I had to turn down a single bite of that meal.
“So,” I said as Jackson guided me back to the elevator. “What’s next?”
“This one, I want you to be surprised for,” he said, stepping into the elevator and pressing the button for the ground floor. As we began to desce
nd, I watched him. Standing there in his tux, one hand loosely on my back, the other casually in his pocket, his hair a perfect mess, he looked like the definition of gorgeousness.
I wanted him. I’d wanted him since that first day we met. It was impossible not to, with the way he looked and danced, with that accent and that hair and that smile that could melt the iciest disposition.
But all of that had been before I really knew him. Before I knew he was the kind of guy who would offer a job to an inexperienced girl just because she needed a break. Before I knew how he always talked to everyone, from driver to stylist to most junior person on a film set as if they were important, worthy of his time and attention. How he always over tipped, no matter what. How he looked holding my daughter. How he wanted nothing more than to get better at his craft. And had wishes and goals even after all he accomplished. How he still wanted more, still wanted to find a purpose in his life.
That was before I knew he’d be willing to dress up in the most unattractive outfit possible just to spend a day in public with friends, like a normal guy. Or that he would go to such lengths to give me a beautiful, perfect night.
“What?” he asked, his voice low, and I realized that he was watching me watch him.
You’re supposed to be professional, I told myself. You made him promise. You promised yourself.
But I couldn’t just brush off what I was feeling. Maybe I should have. But then again, maybe I shouldn’t have even been there in the first place. I couldn’t imagine there ever being a scenario in which I regretted this. Maybe it would be the same to tell the truth.
“I’m just thinking what an amazing person you are,” I said, my voice completely steady so he could hear the honesty in it. “And how lucky I am to be here with you.”
He blinked a few times, very rapidly, and then took a step toward me. I held my breath, knowing that I would kiss him if he made a move. Or maybe I would make the move.
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