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“Do you take a trip down memory lane with your mother?” He lifts his eyebrows, so I elaborate. “When I’m having a bad day, I’ll spend the day visiting places my dad used to take me. It helps me feel more connected with him, even though he’s not here.” I get up and hold out my hand and he stands up, folding his arms across his chest instead. “Let’s go to the restaurant your mom used to take you. I’m hungry, and I want to know more about your mother.”
He stares at my hand as if it’s filled with germs. “Why?”
“Because I want to get to know the woman who’s responsible for the nice version of Jasper.”
He grits his teeth and scoffs. “I’m not nice.”
“You don’t think making a painting of me and my father for our wedding day is nice. You don’t think giving me a job and marrying me to help me out is nice. You don’t think calling off the deal with Quinn’s family because she rubbed in my face in how poor I was is nice.” I shake my head. “If that’s not nice, then I don’t want to hear your version of nice. You could have married anyone else, but instead you married me.”
He shoves his thick fingers into his pockets, and I drop my hand to my side. “A deal is a deal, Poppy. I don’t go back on my deals. The reason why I helped you is because you’re mine and I take care of what’s mine. I’m responsible for your well-being.”
I blush at his words and straighten my back. “You’re lying to yourself. And what about Lacey? The way you look at her, you adore her like she’s the best thing in your life.”
He’s quiet for a few beats, then he answers, “Lacey doesn’t count because she forces herself into my life.”
“Yeah, but you love her, and I’m pretty sure you would do anything for her without any conditions.”
He straightens his spine. “Of course. She’s a misguided teen who needs a real role model.”
I burst out laughing. “You’re full of shit.”
He tells himself that everyone and everything is business but that’s far from the truth, he cares about the people he adores. To the world, he presents himself as cold and people as nothing but deals, but deep down he’s misunderstood, broken by his mother’s death and the treatment he receives from his father. Deep down, I think Jasper wants to be loved, but he doesn’t realize it.
He steps back, putting some distance between us. My eyes veer to a teen girl laughing loudly at the guy sitting beside her on a bench. Shaking my head, I glance back at Jasper. We walk slowly to the entrance and my feet throb from walking in these pumps all day.
“What about you?” he asks.
I tilt my head to the side. “What about me?”
“You believe you have to win over people’s approval. You tied yourself down to me just to make your mother happy. You deserve better. Your mother treats you like shit.”
He’s right, she does treat me like crap at times but, at the end of the day, she’s my mother and I love her.
“It’s what you do. You put your needs on the back burner for the people you love.”
He shakes his head and steps closer to me, stroking my cheek. “You don’t need to sacrifice your well-being for others. It’s okay to put yourself above people.”
I wish I could think the way he does and see it from his point of view, but I can’t. My mother did so much shit for me and I don’t want to let her down again.
“Are you going to take me to the steak house you and your mother used to go to, or what?”
He nods, and several minutes later, we’re in the back of the Aston Martin. Neither one of us says anything as we arrive at the restaurant. The place is in Little Italy, and the restaurant is a bit run-down.I expect it to be fancy with a valet, but we look out of place here.
We both get out of the car, and Jasper holds my hand as we walk into the restaurant. His touch burns me like lava, causing butterflies to flutter in my chest. I fight the urge to remove my hand. Jasper stares at the run-down building, some letters of the name of the restaurant no longer lighting up, and he rubs the back of his neck. He’s tense, so I squeeze his hand.
He sucks in a breath as he opens the glass door and I walk in. Cool air greets me. The smell of Italian food and steak sauce waft in the air.
A short, stocky woman with jet-black hair looks at me then at Jasper. Her green eyes widen in shock, and she flashes her yellow, crooked teeth.
“Jaspy! I can’t believe it’s you. I haven’t seen you since you were five years old.”
She hugs Jasper, and he stands there stiff as a board before he breaks away from her embrace. “Annie, it’s been ages.” He points to me. “This is my wife, Poppy.”
She grabs my hand and eyes the ring. “You did good, and the ring is fabulous. Bet it cost more than my entire life savings,” she jokes. Annie strokes her fingers through his hair. “How’ve you been?”
“I’ve been good. Just working and adjusting to married life.”
“You look good too,” she notes, looking at me. Her smile is filled with warmth. “He used to be a firecracker when he was a kid.”
