JAY JAY POV
Asshole.
Pure, arrogant, unbearable asshole.
I shoved his hard chest with both hands as hard as I could, putting some distance between us before my face could betray just how much his dark little speech had actually made my stomach flutter.
I grabbed the heavy curtain divider, practically ripped it shut in his smug face, and quickly scrambled back into my regular work clothes.
Once I was safely zipped into my trousers and blouse with my hair smoothed back, we walked out to the main showroom counter to finalize the order for the dress.
“Is everything to your satisfaction, Mrs. Watson?” the head sales associate asked, beaming with rehearsed politeness.
I instantly snapped my head sideways and glared daggers at the asshole standing beside me.
When we first walked into this damn boutique, they were addressing me as Miss Mariano with absolute deference.
He definitely slipped them an extra tip or a subtle mafia command while I was busy fighting that zipper in the back.
Keifer just kept his hands casually in his trouser pockets, offering me an innocent, unbothered smirk that made me want to kick his polished Italian leather shoes.
I turned back to the associate, clearing my throat and trying to maintain some shred of dignity.
“Can you loosen the back just a little bit? Just a tiny adjustment around the lower curve, please.”
“Of course, ma’am,” the woman nodded, taking down the notes on her digital tablet.
“We can have the alterations completed by tomorrow afternoon, and our private courier will deliver the finished gown directly to the Mariano estate by Friday morning.”
“Sounds good. Thank you,” I said.
Keifer signed the paperwork without even looking at the total, took my elbow with that infuriatingly gentle grip of his, and guided me out through the glass doors into the cool evening breeze.
He glanced across the avenue, pointing toward a warm, softly lit Italian bistro with outdoor terrace seating.
“Let’s go over there,” Keifer said, glancing down at me.
“You must be starving by now.”
My stomach let out an unhelpful, rumbling vibration at the mere mention of food, considering all I had eaten all day was that stolen chocolate bar Percy gave me.
I just nodded quietly, choosing my battles and not bothering to argue with him this time.
He slid his large, warm hand around my waist, pulling me comfortably against his side as we stepped onto the sidewalk.
We left his car parked in the boutique’s private bay because Keifer insisted the bistro was just a short two-block stroll down the avenue.
The evening air was crisp and chilly against my cheeks, the kind of cool weather that felt refreshing after spending four suffocating hours trapped under boutique spotlights.
It was just past seven in the evening, and the sun had already dipped below the skyline, leaving behind a dusky lavender and amber glow that reflected off the pavement.
Streetlamps flickered to life along the trees, making the whole scene look uncomfortably like an actual romantic date.
I looked up at him, noticing how his shoulders remained unnaturally square and rigid.
His dark eyes were darting smoothly across the street, scanning the alleys, checking the tinted windows of parked vehicles, and tracking every single pedestrian who walked within twenty feet of us.
“Why do you keep looking around like that?” I asked, nudging his side with my elbow.
Keifer didn’t answer right away.
His grip on my waist tightened by a fraction of an inch, subtly nudging me toward the inner edge of the sidewalk, keeping his broad frame planted firmly between my body and the street traffic.
“Just keeping an eye on our surroundings,” he replied smoothly, his tone remarkably calm despite the sharp calculation in his gaze.
“We are literally walking two blocks in broad public view,” I muttered, looking around the peaceful avenue.
Families were window-shopping, couples were holding hands, and everything seemed completely normal.
“You look like a bodyguard waiting for an ambush.”
“I am a bodyguard when it comes to you, Jay,” he said, glancing down at me.
The harsh edge in his face softened for a second, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
“Especially when you are walking around looking like an easy target.”
“I am not an easy target! I know self-defense, thank you very much,” I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest and trying to match his long strides.
“Percy and Aries didn’t spend years dragging me to private combat gyms just for you to treat me like a porcelain doll.”
“Knowing how to throw a decent punch doesn’t stop a bullet, Jay,” he countered quietly, stepping up to the restaurant’s entrance and pushing the heavy wooden door open for me.
A warm, savory wave of roasted garlic, rosemary, and melted cheese washed over us, making my mouth water instantly.
The maitre d’ spotted Keifer the second we walked across the threshold.
The man straightened his jacket in a panic, bowing his head respectfully before rushing over with two menus tucked under his arm.
“Good evening, Mr. Watson. Your private table on the enclosed terrace is ready,” the host said, gesturing toward a secluded corner surrounded by lush green topiaries and glowing fairy lights, completely shielded from the main dining room.
Keifer placed his hand lightly at the small of my back, guiding me through the tables.
“After you, amor.”
I rolled my eyes at the Spanish pet name, but the cozy warmth of the terrace and the promise of actual carbohydrates made it impossible to stay annoyed.
As I slid into the cushioned booth, I watched Keifer unbutton his suit jacket and take the seat directly across from me.
“Go ahead,” Keifer said, handing me the menu with a genuine, relaxed smile.
“Order whatever you want. As long as you promise not to bite my head off until after the appetizers arrive.”
I rolled my eyes and focused all my attention on the leather menu, happily picking out a rich pasta dish and a massive chocolate lava cake for dessert.
When the waiter bowed and took our orders, I looked back up, catching Keifer leaning back in his chair with a soft, amused smile dancing on his lips.
“What?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Where do you want to travel to, Jay?” Keifer asked, his dark eyes watching me across the candlelit table.
I paused, caught off guard by the question.
A sudden wave of nostalgia hit me.
I had always dreamed of packing a bag and exploring the world, but with Papa keeping us locked down under heavy security ever since Mom died, that dream had stayed trapped in travel magazines and architectural blueprints.
“Hmm,” I murmured, resting my chin in my hand as I thought about it.
“Maybe Andalusia, in Spain. The palace courtyards, the Alhambra… I’ve always wanted to see the architecture in person.”
A warm, radiant grin spread across his face, lighting up features that were usually so cold and unreadable.
“You know what, amor? After the wedding, I will personally teach you Spanish,” he said smoothly, drumming his long fingers against the linen tablecloth.
I tilted my head, curious, and leaned forward over the table to get closer to him.
“We can deal with grammar lessons later. First, tell me what amor actually means,” I asked him, narrowing my eyes with playful suspicion.
Keifer didn’t flinch.
He leaned in as well, closing the distance between us until the soft glow of the candle lit up the dark, intense depths of his eyes.
“It means my love, Jay,” he answered in a low, husky whisper that sent a sudden jolt of electricity straight down my spine.
“And you are the only person on this earth I will ever call that.”
I rolled my eyes, trying desperately to ignore the sudden heat creeping up my neck.
“Teach me a full sentence in Spanish then,” I challenged him, crossing my arms over the table and tilting my chin up.
“Something useful, not just mushy pet names.”
Keifer sat back slightly, the corner of his mouth curving into that dangerously charming, wicked smirk.
He looked right into my eyes, his tone dropping into a smooth, melodic cadence.
“Dame un beso, cariño,” he said, pronouncing every syllable with effortless perfection.
GIVE ME A KISS DARLING
I blinked at him, trying to sound it out in my head.
It rolled off his tongue so naturally that it sounded like poetry, but with Keifer Watson, there was always a hidden catch.
“What does that mean?” I asked, eyeing him with deep suspicion.
Keifer didn’t skip a beat.
He placed one hand flat over his heart, putting on the most innocent, sincere, and completely earnest face he had ever mustered in his entire life.
“It just means, Pass the bread basket, please,'” he said smoothly without blinking.
I narrowed my eyes at him, completely unconvinced.
“Are you serious? Cariño sounds way too long just to mean please.”
“Spanish is a very poetic, romantic language, Jay,” he explained with absolute, deadpan seriousness, gesturing casually toward the table.
“Everything has extra syllables. Trust me. Next time you want food, you just look at me and say dame un beso, cariño.”
I nodded, I had just added a practical phrase to my non-existent Spanish vocabulary.
We devoured our pasta, wiped out the warm bread rolls, and completely polished off the chocolate lava cake down to the last smear of fudge.
By the time the waiter cleared the plates and brought the check, I was happily stuffed and ready to head home.
Then I spotted the fresh basket of warm garlic breadsticks the manager had set near the edge of the table as a complimentary parting snack.
Perfect opportunity to practice.
I cleared my throat, straightened my posture, and looked across the table right into his eyes.
“Dame un beso, cariño,” I said proudly, pointing a finger toward the warm bread on his side of the table.
Keifer froze for a second, his dark eyes flashing with pure shock before a look of genuine, wicked triumph lit up his face.
“That’s right,” he said softly, clearly impressed with how effortlessly the words had rolled off my tongue.
“Now give me!” I demanded, holding my hand out with an expectant, tap against the wood.
“Hurry up, I want another piece before we leave.”
Instead of picking up the bread basket, Keifer pushed his chair back and stood up.
He didn’t reach for the food at all.
He took two slow steps around the small table, stepped into my booth, bent down, cupped the side of my face with his warm hand, and pressed his lips firmly against mine.
My eyes went wide against his cheek, my hand freezing mid-air.
What the hell is he doing?!
Where is my bread?!
Before I could even process the sudden ambush, his lips moved softly, masterfully over mine, coaxing my mouth open with that familiar, dizzying warmth that made my brain shut down on command.
His fingers tangled gently into the loose strands of hair at the base of my neck, tilting my head back just enough to deepen the kiss right there under the dim fairy lights of the terrace.
My heart did that stupid, frantic flip in my chest.
For five reckless seconds, my fingers curled into the lapel of his tailored jacket, completely forgetting that we were in a public restaurant and that I was supposed to be receiving baked carbohydrates, not mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
Then the penny dropped.
Beso.
Besar.
Like kissing.
My eyes snapped wide open.
I planted both palms firmly against his broad chest and shoved him backward with everything I had.
“Mmmph!” I pulled back, gasping for air, wiping the back of my hand against my heated lips.
Keifer didn’t stumble.
He just stood towering over my booth, looking down at me with the most smug, infuriating, triumphant grin I had ever seen on a human face.
His eyes were practically glowing with amusement.
“You liar!” I gasped, my entire face burning red hotter than a furnace.
“You tricked me! You said that meant pass the bread basket!”
“I never lie, Jay,” he said smoothly, unbuttoning his cuff links with casual arrogance as he slid back into the booth right beside me, trapping me against the wall.
“You looked me dead in the eyes and said dame un beso, cariño. In Spanish, that means Give me a kiss, darling. And as your devoted future husband, who am I to deny a direct request from my woman?”
“I was asking for garlic bread, you absolute jerk!” I yelled, snatching a cloth napkin off the table and throwing it right into his smug face.
Keifer caught the napkin effortlessly out of the air, chuckling softly as he reached over the table, picked up the actual bread basket, and placed it right in front of me with a teasing wink.
“Here is your bread, cariño,” he whispered, leaning close enough that his warm breath tickled my burning ear.
“Next time you want a second kiss, you don’t even have to ask in Spanish. I will gladly give it to you for free.”