22. Jasmine

Chapter twenty-two

Jasmine

T he steam from the hot shower envelops my skin, leaving a warm and comforting sensation as I pad barefoot across the cool hardwood floor. I spot Zane near the opening of his closet.Being wrapped in just a towel, in his presence,feels more natural than anything I've worn before. His piercing gaze makes me feel like a goddess.

"Marcus and Alex brought you some gifts," Zane says in a low and even voice, gesturing towards a mound of shopping bags on the bed. Though I am excited to receive gifts from this family, I can't help but feel guilty that it is an unnecessary apology for Alex's comment last night about wanting a mother.

"They didn't have to do this."

"I didn't ask them to; this was all their idea, their way of making you feel welcome like part of the family."

"I'm not, though, am I?" My own foolishness has made me a prisoner. In hindsight, anyone else would have walked away from him as soon as possible. He never intended to harm me in my house; he wanted me to go with him willingly. It was my own stubbornness that prevented that.

"I think they'd like you to be." Zane exhales slowly. "Almost as much as I would."

His words fill me with hope, and I swallow hard, turning to the shopping bags and their mysterious contents. "Marcus and Alex?" Their generosity is unexpected and I can't help but feel grateful. I should buy things for them, especially that sweet little boy who deserves all the love and affection in the world.

With eager eyes, Zane watches as I reach into my bag and pull out a packet of plain white sports socks. They are not the most glamorous items, but they're more than I have in the bag I packed. I can't help but laugh at his expression, knowing he was probably expecting something much more alluring. After all, this was purchased under the watchful eye of a child and by a man whose best hope for me is to be a step-mum. The thought makes me shudder and cling tighter to Zane's arm.

"How old are Marcus and Lenny?" I ask, suddenly our age difference making me self conscious.

Zane sighs. "You're worried about the age gap between us?"

I nod hesitantly, mentally calculating the years between us.

"Twenty-four and twenty-two," Zane reveals, confirming that my twenty-eight years is indeed older than them, even if it's only by a couple of years. It eases my mind slightly.

"Right, warm feet, what else?" I question, eager to move on from the topic of age.

"Alex always complains about the kitchen floor being too cold. He says I need to get a carpet, but I say he needs thicker socks," Zane explains with a hint of amusement in his voice.

As I continue rummaging through the bag, I pull out various items - knickers, pyjamas, a few t-shirts - all clearly chosen by Marcus who must have assumed I arrived here with nothing but the clothes on my back. Little does he know that thanks to his unexpected kindness, I have a whole bag of hideous clothing that can now be disposed of.

"Makeup and clothes, huh?" That sums up the entire life of a woman. "They think that'll make me happy?"

"Perhaps not happy," Zane corrects me softly. "But maybe a little more at home."

Home. I like the sound of that.

"Thank you," I still don't consider myself worthy, but maybe I can try to be deserving of everything Zane and his family are offering.

"Try this on," Zane encourages, pushing a bag toward me with a nod. "See if anything fits."

I pull out a sexy little dress in a rouge red and my face lights up.

"Tell me my grandson doesn't have good taste in women's clothes." He tempts me, knowing damn well this dress is perfect. His grandson has amazing taste in women's clothes; the only thing in question is how, with three male role models, this boy knows what a woman likes.

"Should I wear it now?"

"Do you want the tears that will come if you don't?"

He makes me doubt my ability to wear such a dazzling garment to a family meal.

"Because I'll cry if you don't wear it." Zane teases me, gently removing the pressure from Alex's shoulders.

"Let's see if they got my size right, at least," I say, attempting to push aside the moment and begin again in a more grateful and positive frame. I grab the dress, feeling the softness of the fabric against my skin as I slip into the new garment they've gifted me.

"You look amazing," Zane says, and I know he means it. There's no deception in his tone. I'm just not sure if I'm worthy of it.

"Maybe," I concede, catching my reflection in the mirror. I do look pretty good, though, and that boy waiting downstairs has a fine taste in clothing. I'm letting my own self-doubt overtake my manners, "Thank you. Tell them... tell them I appreciate it."

"It would mean more if you tell them when we get downstairs." His words remind me that they are waiting downstairs.

"Oh, the onions!" I chuckle as I remember Zane's attempt to prepare dinner before the family came.

"Shit! Nothing but onions!" After my reminder, Zane realises his mistake and hurries from the room to finish preparing what he can for dinner. Onion soup isn't much of a dinner, but the show must go on.

I check my clothes, apply a little make-up and then check my hair. Good enough to meet the grown-up children. Now it's time to head down and face the music. Not an easy task with butterflies twisting up my stomach.

I brave the journey downstairs, knowing I'll be forgiven for distracting Zane from the dinner once I am there.

"Hi," Marcus calls to me as I reach the bottom of the stairs. "Dad is helping Lenny grab something out of the car. He won't be but a moment."

I smile and nod, thankful for the information.

"Can I just have a quiet word about Alex's mother?"

"Of course, but you really don't owe me any kind of explanation."

"I feel like you need to know, and then it can be forgotten again."

"I understand."

"Alex lost his mother when he was very young." Marcus's words are careful and measured. "He was two, but it left a void I could never fill in his life. You filled that yesterday."

It's a lot to process, to be seen as a beacon when I'm still fumbling in the dark. But I can't help but feel a thread of connection to this child who craves a love so fundamental, a feeling I understand all too well.

"I fathered him at eighteen. I was too young and it was an accident. The mother... she never wanted me to be a part of her life, knowing what my future held, I understood that."

"When we both turned twenty, she staged a kidnapping of our son, hoping to extort money from me. It was a ploy motivated by greed, she figured out I had risen in the ranks of the cartel," he explains, the disgust evident in his tone. "Ever since that day, I've protected him, probably too much. I don't let people near Alex because I couldn't bear to lose him. So, if I'm odd or overprotective, I want you to know that it's me and not you. I don't want anything to come between you and Dad. He deserves you."

"Thank you." It means so much for this man to open up about this past trauma, and to accept me so readily into his family.