My stomach sinks a little. It does sound good, but it also sounds…heavy. Heavy and rich. It’s something that would be much better suited for a formal winter banquet than a summer garden wedding. I’d rather have something lighter. Something French, if I’m being totally honest. Like a Poulet Rôti or Coq au Vin Blanc with a Salade Mentonnaise maybe.
My fingers curl slightly against the edge of the table as I try to gather the nerve to speak up.
You can do this, Sutton. Just say something. It’s your wedding too.
I inhale, lifting my head as I prepare to explain that maybe we should look at some lighter options, but my hand trembles and I feel the old anxiety prickling under my skin.
What if his mom thinks I’m ungrateful?
What if I hurt her feelings?
What if…
“No, she prefers lighter dishes. French.” At Jayce’s firm words, my jaw drops and I turn my gaze up to him.
His tone is polite, but firm, leaving no room for argument. How does he know so well what I like and don’t like? Not even my parents or their personal chef know my food preferences so specifically, and he’s been on staff since I was in grade school. It takes me a moment to get past my surprise before I realize he must have figured that out because he’s been paying attention to the things I order when we go out or order in.
“Also, we’re going to get the cake from Sutton’s favorite bakery,” Jayce suddenly adds. “Molly’s Patisserie. It’s in Florida, but we’ll make a special order.”
My jaw drops. Has he really been paying that much attention to me? Learning my preferences so he can meet my every need? Even remembering my favorite bakery from college?
The thought lingers in my mind as I watch him calmly discussing options with the caterers. He’s been learning my preferences, anticipating my reactions, and stepping in before my anxiety can even fully surface.
No one has ever done that for me before. Not like this. Usually I’m the one adapting to everyone else. Reading the room, figuring out what people expect from me, and adjusting myself so things stay smooth and conflict-free.
Jayce, though, is doing the opposite. He’s studying me, figuring me out piece by piece, and then making space for me to feel comfortable.
The realization sends a soft rush of heat through my chest that has nothing to do with embarrassment. He makes me feel seen and important. My comfort actually matters to him.
My eyes drift over him again without meaning to and I take in the strong line of his shoulders, the relaxed confidence in the way he sits, and the quiet authority in his voice as he steers the conversation toward something that fits us better.
God, he makes my stomach flutter.
What’s more, he doesn’t make a show of it. He jumps in to take care of me so naturally, it’s like he was always meant to play the role of doting, caring fiance.
By the time we’re finished, we’ve set a date and have the caterer booked. Mrs. Vaughn is thrilled, displaying more excitement than I’ve ever seen from her.
“I’m going to call Iris and fill her in on everything,” she declares as Jayce pulls out my chair and I stand. “I’ll tell her hello for you, dear.”
I arch a brow, surprised. “Oh… sure, thank you.”
Just how close have our mothers gotten in the last couple of weeks?
“Goodbye, Mother,” Jayce says, wrapping his hand around my waist and leading me out of the dining room. “I’ll let you know when I show Sutton the venue, and if she approves it.”
“Yes, do that,” she calls after us. “I’ll see you both later.”
Jayce grabs my coat and helps me put it on, then we make our way out of the house and to our car. Once we’re both inside, he releases a breath and turns to me.
“You okay?”
I smile at him and nod. “Yeah, I’m good.”
Which is the truth. Despite Mrs. Vaughn’s intimidating presence and the web of lies we continued to weave all morning, I’m not feeling as anxious or guilty as I thought I would. Jayce’sprotectiveness as he stuck up for my preferences didn’t feel fake. He wasn’t acting or putting on a show for his mom.
Whatever our arrangement might be, Jayce really cares for me.
“All right then.” He lifts my hand and presses a quick kiss to my knuckles. “Let’s get you home.”
