Every bit the young, charming twenty-four year old who films TikToks and loves Taylor Swift and romance novels… he’s the prettiest.
Because I thinkthisis who he really is. I don’t know for sure, but… I think it is.
And I love the man beneath the illusion as much as I love the illusion.
When Sal comes out with two suits for Jacob to try on I smile.
The first is a dark blue suit and though it looks nice on him, it doesn’t look as sharp as the black suit. I grin.
“That one,” I say, and Jacob crosses his arms.
“What’s wrong with the other one?”
I shrug. “Nothing. I just like this one better.”
“Well, I’m not dressing for you,” he bites petulantly. I grin.
“Oh, you’re not?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
He turns to Sal. “We’ll take the blue one.”
Sal rubs his hands together as he looks at me. “Final decision, boss?”
I catch Jacob’s smirk. Fucking brat; he’s doing this on purpose.
“Mhmm. What the boy wants, he gets,” I say, winking at Jacob. His cheeks erupt into a blush.
I get up, walk over to him and don’t think twice about kissing him. He responds in tandem, slowly kissing me back.
“Thanks, Daddy,” he murmurs against my mouth, and I have half a mind to take him into one of these dressing rooms so he can show me how thankful he is.
But I don’t. Because I have more self control than that, and because we both have more important things to do.
So I tell Sal to wrap it up, pay him for the suit, and then Jacob and I head back to the house to get a jump on preparing our food for our party tomorrow.
When we get back, the Tempests have dispersed, and everyone seems to be taking a break until it’s time to leave. We spend the afternoon in the kitchen—or more or less, Jacob does. He tells me what to do, and I do it without protest. I chop fruit and vegetables, spread lunchmeat on sandwiches. I whisk Jell-O and he fills the plastic cups, snacking on swedish fish as he sprinkles them into the cups with the gummy sharks.
I hip check him and grab a shark and he laughs, the sound genuine.
It takes us too long to make the desserts because every time he tries to use the whip cream I swipe some. On his nose, on his cheeks, on his perfect lips.
Our whip-cream kisses turn slow and sweet, and I only stop when the timer for the Jell-O setting goes off.
I smack him on the ass as he sets to finishing up. We have about two hours until the party, which means we have to get ready. Everyone should be back soon if they aren’t headed straight there.
“Stay here,” I say. “For a second.”
He looks at me in question, but does as I ask. I head down to the bedroom, to the bathroom, and ready the tub for us. Jacob did say he wanted a bubble bath, and with everything that’s been going on, we haven’t had the time for him to just soak. But we’ve got two hours left before the party so it feels as good a time as any.
I turn the faucet on warm, dump some liquid in and head back out to get Jacob.
“Okay, now you can come,” I tell him. I don’t miss the look in his eyes, misconstruing my words.
“There will be time forthatlater,” I laugh. “Right now, I think we could both use some time to relax.”
He chuckles. “If you say so.”
