Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

THREE WEEKS LATER

KATE

I haul my heavy suitcase out of the trunk of the Uber and settle up with the driver.

As the car pulls off, crunching along the gravel driveway, I look up at the picture-perfect English cottage. The entire drive here was like a scene out of Bridgerton . I've visited London before, but never Oxford and never this kind of countryside.

I can see why Jon was so determined to marry Felicity here, in her late parents' house. It's stunning. The purple wisteria wraps around the classic English white porch, the huge flower heads framing the entryway perfectly. The double-fronted stone cottage has flower baskets under each window, and I smile at the purple and green combination he's clearly gone for. I gotta hand it to him, he doesn't miss a detail. He never has when it comes to his soulmate.

I took a different flight than Luna and Felicity, who are already here. A case I thought I'd wrapped up took a last-minute left and I didn't trust anyone else to see it through. So, I backed out and caught a red-eye last night. I have to be here today since, in true Jon fashion, the celebrations last not just one day but two. Not that I'm complaining since I can't wait to spend every second with the happy couple. No one deserves a happily ever after more than these two.

I tap the big brass knocker twice, but my breath catches in my throat when the last person I expected to answer swings the door open.

"Kate. Um, hi."

There, standing in all his freakin' glory, is Jensen Jones. Argh. Why does he have to wear backward caps?

"Hi," I squeak out. Aside from a couple of pre-wedding meals we've both been at, we've barely spoken beyond handing each other the breadbasket and politely saying thank you.

"I thought you were the, um, the florist. They're coming to set up the archway today."

I nod as we hold awkward eye contact. "Nope. Just me."

He scratches at the thin white T-shirt he's wearing and then reaches out to grab my suitcase. I put my hand on the handle. "I got it, thanks."

I don't miss the way his eyes narrow at me, but I can't tell if it's frustration or that he simply likes me about as much as I do him. "Fine."

Stepping to one side, he holds the heavy white wooden door open, and I step into the hallway. "Where are the others?"

"In the garden. Jon's parents have just arrived with Adam, so they're spending some time showing him the garden and house. I came inside so there weren't too many of us around."

Adam, Jon's brother, is autistic and has some sensory processing needs. He can get overwhelmed with crowds of people, especially when he's in unfamiliar surroundings. But I'm betting he's doing just fine since he's with his number one person, Felicity. Those two are inseparable, with a bond like nothing else I've ever seen.

What does surprise me, though, is the way Jensen thought about someone else. He came inside to give Adam the space he needed.

I quickly shrug off the feeling. One moment doesn't undo the countless dickhead moves he's made. "Okay, do you know where my room is? I can go dump my suitcase."

I stand at the bottom of the wooden staircase. This place is seriously stunning. Jon's spent a fortune restoring its original features.

Jensen takes a step closer and holds out his hand to take my bag. "Your room is next to mine. I can take it up—it looks heavy."

I prop a frustrated hand on my hip. "You don't need to pretend, you know."

His eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Pretend what?"

"That you like me, that we like each other. We can just exist in the same space for the next two days and not fight and then go our separate ways for a detox."

Blowing out a humorless laugh, he shoves his hands into the front pockets of his low-riding black jeans. "I don't hate you."

"But you don't like me."

He drops his head between his shoulders and looks at the floor. "I thought you didn't want to talk."

"I don't want to talk."

"Then what are we doing here? Let me take your luggage upstairs. One, because it looks crazy heavy, and two," he pulls his head back up, looking at me with an intense expression that sends my knees weak, "because I'm a gentleman."

I scoff. "Ha! Okay."

He lurches forward, grabbing my suitcase by the strap.

"I wasn't saying okay to carrying my luggage. I was?—"

"Whatever," he bites out as he stalks up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Kicking off my sneakers, I chase after him. "Give me back my suitcase."

He stops mid-way to the top and whips around to me. "Remind me. When is it you turn thirty-six?"

"August."

"Start acting like it then."

He continues back up the stairs, and I chase him down the hallway until he stops outside a door I assume is to my bedroom.

"And what about you? When do you hit puberty?"

Placing his hand on the round brass doorknob, he twists it open and then turns to offer a smug smirk, which is way too sexy. "I already did. But you keep passing up the opportunity to find out."

There are so many ways I could dissect that statement. But I ignore all temptation to find out just how mature thirty-two-year-old Jensen Jones is.

Hard pass.

He disappears inside the room, and I follow. A king-sized bed with a brushed brass mental frame sits in the middle of the room. The decorations are soft pink and very girly; even the comforter is pink. I take in my surroundings for the next two days. "This should be Luna's room."

He chuckles and sets my case on the white wooden trunk at the foot of the bed. "They're all like this. Frilly and shit."

I fight back my laughter at his description—no need to encourage him.

"You can laugh, you know, even crack a smile at me."

I press my lips together. "I will when you say something funny."

He walks toward me, and the air crackles with charge. I know sleeping with him would be mind-blowingly amazing, and I hate how aware I am of it.

There's barely a foot between us when his earthy cologne hits me. I haven't been close enough to him to notice it lately, but with it comes a flashback of that night in Riley's when I was perched on his lap.

I squeeze my thighs together, remembering the way he made me feel, just like the reaction I'm having now.

"I'll make you smile at me if it's the last thing I do, Princess."

Princess.

Oh, he thinks he's hilarious. The way he laced it with sarcasm, and I'm willing to bet he knew exactly how much it would piss me off too.

"More salad, Kate?" Jennie, Jon's mom, breaks me from my seething trance. Standing over me with a bowl, the others stare at me in silence as we sit around the huge, round outdoor table eating dinner.

How long have I been sitting like this?

"Hmm? Oh, no, no thanks," I finally respond.

Jennie smiles sweetly and turns on her heel, making for the kitchen.

"Okay, so let's go over the plans once more since a couple of things have changed," Jon begins. He leans down and fetches a folder from under his seat and starts flipping through the pages.

"Please tell me that isn't your wedding planner," I say, my eyes bugging out at the sheer volume of information. "I made fewer notes when studying for the bar."

A couple of snickers break out around the table, and I watch as Adam's shoulders shake with laughter. "Have you sprayed each page with Felicity's perfume?" he adds.

Jon points to him and then to me. "Don't you start. This is an intricate operation, and I want it to be perfect for my wife."

"It will be. So long as we say, ‘I do,' then it will." Felicity places her hand over Jon's.

"She actually turned up, so that's a good sign," Jensen adds, but I don't look at him. I haven't since the moment I stormed out of that bedroom.

Jon rolls his eyes and continues. "So the changes are to the aisle order immediately after we're married. Originally, the lineup was me and Felicity, obviously, and then my best man and the maid of honor, then Jensen and Luna. But…" He clears his throat anxiously. "I've tweaked it so Luna and Zach walk together. It won't be long until they're walking down the aisle themselves."

"Sounds good," Jensen agrees.

No, this does not sound good.

I stab at the cherry tomato on my plate. Keep calm, Kate. You need to remain civil. You're only linking arms with him; it'll be over in a flash.

"And you, babe, is that okay with you?" Felicity asks from across the table.

I smile sweetly. "Of course. I'm happy to go along with whatever works best."

I can't help it. I glance over at Jensen, who's staring straight at me, a proud smirk across his face. I narrow my eyes at him and pick up my wine glass. In response, the asshole fucking winks .

Just a few seconds down the aisle, and you don't even have to look at him, Kate. I mentally calculate how long I can realistically hold my breath, that way I don't have to smell him, either.

"We should probably practice now since the flower arch and aisle are all set up. You know, like they do with rehearsals," Jensen suggests.

I would rather eat myself.

"I don't think that's necessary. How hard can it be?" I retort.

His lips tip up, clearly expecting that response. "It's more for pacing and timing, making sure we're in sync."

Jon turns to Jensen a couple of seats down from him. "For a guy who doesn't believe in marriage, you sure know a few things."

He does. I look back at the asshole, and it's clear a hint of redness stains his high cheekbones. He picks up his water glass and shrugs. "With the size of that folder, I'm surprised you don't. Hollie gets married in August, and she's been talking about rehearsals for ages."

Jon sits up straight. "Yeah, well, you've got a point, buddy." He drums his fingers on the table and then flicks through a few pages in the folder as Felicity's jaw hangs open at what she's reading. "The schedule is tight, but we'll make it fit."

Luna low chuckles in response.

"What?" Jon quirks a brow.

She giggles, but it's clearly to herself. "Romance girlie. Inside joke, don't worry."

Shaking his head, he goes back to his schedule. "Tomorrow morning at ten a.m. We'll all meet down in the garden after breakfast and go through the process."

Can't fucking wait.