Page 44 of Most Likely to Deny Love (Yearbook #2)

MIA

P aris at night was straight-up magical. I pressed my nose against the window of Jack’s town car like an excited five-year-old, watching the lights blur past us.

I felt pretty good in the new dress Jack had insisted on buying for me.

Never in my life had I imagined shopping on the Champs Elysee, let alone buying a silky, swishy, silver dress that Jack chose because it matched my eyes.

It was a little more revealing than I’d normally wear and I’d definitely had a moment of doubt when I was getting ready.

But the moment I’d stepped out of the bathroom in it, with my hair worn swept to the side at Jack’s request, all doubts had faded.

He’d looked at me like I was the hottest woman in the world.

A girl could get used to this life, honestly. Except she couldn’t really, because it was all fake. Best not to forget that little fact.

Jack bumped his knee against mine. “Penny for your thoughts.”

Since I couldn’t tell him what I’d actually been thinking, I said, “Just thinking about today. Sacré-C?ur was beyond amazing and seeing the artists in Montmartre in real life was the best.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Was it my imagination, or did his smile seem forced?

Come to think of it, Jack had been weird all day.

I’d woken up alone this morning, the sheets next to me cold and empty.

When he finally showed up again, he was quiet, distracted.

It wasn’t until I’d pulled him back into bed and fucked his brains out that he seemed to snap out of whatever funk he was in.

But even after that, during our breakfast at an adorable little café and our second attempt at the Louvre to see the damn Mona Lisa (since we’d kinda bailed on her yesterday), he kept checking his phone. Twice he stepped away to take calls, coming back with this strange look on his face.

“The Louvre wasn’t as busy as I thought it might be.” I was fishing, making small talk to see if I could gauge his mood.

“That’s why it’s good to come this time of year.” He shifted restlessly, toying with the cuff of his suit jacket as he gazed out the window.

“The Mona Lisa was really something. I’m glad you took me back there today.”

“Worth the hype?”

“Yeah, I guess, although she’s definitely smaller than I expected.”

“Pretty much everyone says that.”

Look at me, Jack.

He didn’t. Instead, he fell silent again and I let him, because I was honestly starting to freak out a little.

Before I could really start spiraling, the car pulled into the curb.

The driver got out and opened Jack’s door.

He stepped out and held his hand out for me.

I took it, honestly loving the feel of his fingers wrapped around mine as I climbed from the car.

Then I froze, my jaw literally dropping as I looked up at the elegant entrance.

“Le Train Bleu,” I whispered. “Holy shit.”

Jack slipped his arm around my waist. Good thing, because I was about to faint from overwhelm. “You know it?”

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t form words. I just nodded, letting him guide me through the entrance and into the lobby where a host greeted us in rapid French. Jack responded without missing a beat, and we were led through the restaurant toward our table.

I remained silent as we walked, taking in the soaring ceilings, the ornate gilded moldings, the spectacular murals and frescoes covering the walls and ceiling. It was like walking into a palace where they happened to serve food, every inch of the place dripping with Belle époque glamour.

We settled at our table, and Jack studied me across the crisp white tablecloth. “Are you okay? You’re looking a little pale.”

I blinked rapidly, mortified to feel my eyes suddenly misting with tears.

“I did a project on this place in seventh grade French class,” I admitted, my voice wobbling embarrassingly.

“I found pictures in an old travel magazine in the library and I...” I swallowed hard.

“I used to dream about coming here. Like, literally dreamed about it.”

Jack’s expression softened in a way I rarely saw, all his hard edges melting away. He reached across the table, taking my hand and turning it over to press a kiss into my palm. The tender gesture nearly undid me, especially after all the weirdness today.

“Thank you,” I whispered, fighting to keep my ridiculous emotions in check. “For making my stupid middle school dream come true.”

“Your dreams aren’t stupid, Mia. Not a single one of them.” Something in his gaze made my breath catch.

I dragged in a deep, calming breath. And then another, because one definitely wasn’t enough. “I honestly don’t know how to thank you.”

Jack looked like he was about to say something, but then the waiter came over with the menus, then another one came to take our drinks order.

It gave me a chance to pull myself together, so by the time they’d both gone I was feeling a bit more in control. Although I had no fucking clue what anything on the menu was.

“Do you need some help ordering?”

“Yes, please.”

“The quenelles are their specialty. Pike dumplings in cream sauce.”

“That sounds amazing. Please go ahead and order that, while I sit over here, quietly freaking out about this place.”

The server returned and Jack ordered for us both, his French making me a little weak in the knees. I’d always thought people who said French was sexy were being ridiculous, but hearing it from Jack made me want to jump his bones, stat.

We ate our main courses, discussing our favorite parts of the trip, laughing over the art exhibit at the Louvre and my wide-eyed reaction to the hotel suite.

Throughout it all, though, I couldn’t help noticing how Jack kept fidgeting with his jacket pocket, how his eyes occasionally darted away as if checking for something.

“Okay, seriously,” I finally said as our plates were cleared. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been acting weird all day. Is everything alright?”

Jack set down his wine glass, his expression turning serious. “Mia, there’s actually something I want to talk to you about. I’ve been trying to figure out the right time, the right way to say it.”

My stomach dropped. Oh god. This was it. This was where he told me it had been fun, but we needed to get back to reality once we got home. Where he explained that what happens in Paris stays in Paris.

I braced myself, forcing a smile that felt brittle. “Whatever it is, just say it.”

He took a deep breath, and for the first time since I’d known him, Jack Sullivan actually looked nervous. “I need to ask you a favor. A big one. And you’re absolutely free to say no.”

Relief flooded through me so fast I felt light-headed. Not a breakup talk. Just a favor. I could handle a favor.

“The answer is yes,” I blurted out.

Jack blinked, surprised. “You don’t even know what I’m asking yet.”

I shrugged, smiling at him across the table. “Doesn’t matter. After everything you’ve done for me, I’d love the chance to pay you back.”

His expression softened, something that looked almost like guilt flickering in his eyes. “Hear me out first before you decide.”

“Fine,” I agreed, taking a sip of wine to hide how relieved I was. “What’s this big favor you need?”

He hesitated, his fingers drumming briefly on the tablecloth before he stilled them. “I need to go to Colorado for Thanksgiving. My family situation there is... complicated. And I was hoping you would come with me.”

I waited for the catch, but when he didn’t continue, I laughed. “That’s it? That’s the big favor? Jack, I’d love to go to Colorado with you. That’s not a favor, that’s a goddamn vacation.”

His lips twitched, but the tension didn’t leave his shoulders. “There’s more to it than that.” He stopped again.

“Lay it on me. The suspense is killing me.”

“I need you to come with me as my fiancée.”

“Your what now?” The word hung between us, unexpected and slightly surreal.

“My fiancée,” he repeated. “I need my family to believe we’re engaged.”

I blinked, trying to process this sudden twist. “So... you want to fake an engagement? Like an upgraded version of what we’re already doing with my family?”

Jack nodded, relief visibly washing over him at my calm reaction. “Exactly. It’s just for the weekend. Four days at most.”

“Okay,” I said simply. “I’ll do it.”

Jack stared at me. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” I smiled, my head spinning a little at the switch from anxious to relieved, to maybe a little excited, in the span of a few short minutes.

“Besides, you’re doing me a favor too. A get out of Thanksgiving card with my family is greatly appreciated. Megan has still not recovered from me missing the girls weekend.”

His expression darkened. “Hold that thought until you’ve actually met my family.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse.” There was no humor in his voice.

“Well, Thanksgiving with the Sullivans it is. At least we’ll be suffering together.” I raised my glass in a mock toast. “To family drama.”

He clinked his glass against mine, but the troubled look hadn’t left his eyes. “There’s one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

Jack reached into his jacket pocket, his movements deliberate, almost solemn. When his hand emerged, he was holding a small velvet box.

My heart stuttered. “Jack?”

He opened the box, revealing a stunning ring set with a deep blue sapphire surrounded by tiny diamonds. The elegant platinum band caught the light, throwing off glimmers that took my breath away.

“If we’re going to be convincing, we need to do this properly.”

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. Even knowing this was all pretend, the sight of Jack Sullivan holding a ring box across the table from me in one of the most beautiful restaurants in Paris made my pulse race and my mind spin with dangerous possibilities.

“Mia?” His voice broke through my thoughts, a hint of uncertainty coloring his tone. “We don’t have to?—”

“It’s gorgeous,” I managed, cutting him off. “Is this where you went this morning, while I was asleep?”

A hint of a smile touched his lips. “Yes.” With careful movements, he took the ring from its velvet nest and held it out. “May I?”

I nodded, unable to form words as I extended my left hand across the table. Jack slid the ring onto my finger with a gentleness that made my heart ache. It fit perfectly, as if it had been made for me.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his thumb stroking across my knuckles.

I stared at the sapphire, now resting on my finger like it belonged there. The deep blue stone seemed to glow in the soft lighting of the restaurant.

“It’s just for the trip,” I said, as much to remind myself as him. “Just pretend.”

Something flickered in Jack’s eyes, too quickly for me to interpret. “Of course.”

Yet as our dessert arrived and conversation shifted to lighter topics, I couldn’t stop stealing glances at the ring on my finger, a weight both foreign and thrilling. And I couldn’t quite shake the dangerous thought that took root in my heart:

What if it wasn’t pretend at all?