Page 62 of The Good Girl Effect

“Listen,” Elizabeth says with a sigh. “I can take Bea to the studio with me on my days with her. I’ll give her lessons. But you can’t tell Jack.”

“Okay,” I say excitedly. “Thank you so much.”

She looks down at her niece with love in her eyes. “I just want her to be happy.”

“So do I,” I reply.

With that, Bea waves goodbye as she and Elizabeth walk away together. On my stroll back to the apartment, I can’t stop thinking about Jack.

This whole time, I’ve watched the real Jack come out of his shell, and my suspicions were correct. He was never truly as cruel and cold as he let me believe. He was just protecting himself. Closing off the rest of the world so he never had to feel that pain again. And the distance he puts between himself and his daughter isn’t neglect. He’s protecting her.

When I walk in the door of the apartment, I expect it to be empty. But when I turn a corner and see Jack standing in the kitchen, I freeze.

Neither of us say a word as we just stare at each other. For the first time, we are alone—truly alone. And it feels like a test.

I promised I could keep things professional. Those were the rules.

Suddenly, the thought that Jack and I could do whatever we want, and I know how much we both want to, seems so tempting it hurts. But I intend to prove to Jack that I have a strong will.

So head held high, I walk into the kitchen without a word. His eyes are on me as I pass by him and go to the fridge, pulling out a carafe of juice and placing it on the counter. When I open the cabinet and reach up to retrieve a glass, I feel him step up close behind me.

His body brushes against mine, and for a moment, I think he’s trying to taunt me or even may be about to break the rules. Instead, he pulls down one of the glasses I can't reach and sets it on the counter.

“Merci,” I whisper quietly before wincing at the reminder of what I learned today.

“You’re welcome,” he replies before pulling away.

I pour myself a glass of juice and lean against the counter as I drink it. He sips his coffee while we both stand in comfortable silence. Finally, he’s the first one to break it.

“Phoenix will be here at nine. I don’t want to be seen leaving together, so I’ll be at the club already, waiting for you. Understand?”

I nod, holding my glass to my chest. My teeth pinch my bottom lip as I think about it, being back there and with him this time.

He used the phraseshowing me off, and something about that feels both exhilarating and terrifying. I’m not sure if it’s about how good I look in the ropes or if it’s about how well I behave for him, but thinking about either one makes me feel the same way I do when he calls me his good girl. Like for the firsttime in my life, I know exactly what I have to do. I have someone who appreciates me and values me. I’m not alone.

It’s foolish, but I can’t help it. I love the idea of belonging to Jack in some way.

I wonder if he feels the same. Does he like the idea of belonging to me? Maybe we don’t express it in the same way, but this is a two-way street. If I am his, then he is mine. And not romantically or with any sort of commitment, but we share something that binds us. It’s in the way we can stare into each other’s eyes. The way he knows what I’m thinking without me having to speak a word. The way we trust each other.

He seems to notice my contemplation because he sets his mug down and approaches me. Staring down into my eyes, he tugs my lip from between my teeth softly with his thumb.

“Don’t be nervous,” he murmurs quietly. “You are perfect.”

All the air in the room is suddenly gone, and it feels like I forgot how to breathe. He reaches up and tucks a stray curl behind my ear.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

It takes everything in me not to crawl into his arms and hold him tight. I’d like to bury my face against his chest or in the crook of his neck and just squeeze away all his pain after learning what I did today.

I nod, but it makes his eyes narrow, and I worry that I did something wrong.

Then he utters the two words that strike me.

“Say it,” he whispers.

He wants me to speak? Why now?

Now that I know my voice and my accent bring back harmful memories for him, I can’t find it in me to hurt him. And yet he’s asking me to.