*Isabella's POV*
"That doesn't mean it's okay," he countered, voice low but firm. "It doesn't," I admitted, "but I'm happy you taught him a lesson. Without killing him, that is. I don't think I could date a convict." My teasing drew the smallest smile from him, the tension in his jaw finally easing. With a soft chuckle, he stepped closer, one hand sliding to the back of my neck as he pulled me into another slow, lingering kiss. "Stay with me tonight, doll," he murmured between kisses.
All I could manage in response was a breathy moan before he pulled back. "Let me grab a shirt," he said, already turning away. "But why? You're fine this way," I shot back, my eyes unapologetically drifting over him. He glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. "Nice try, doll." Once he finally put on a shirt, we curled up on the couch under a blanket. I figured we were about to watch something lighthearted. "What are we watching?" I asked. "Schindler's List," he replied.
I groaned. "Oh, come on. Can we change it? It's so freaking depressing." "Just because it's depressing doesn't mean we should ignore it happened," he said, smirking like he was already enjoying my protest. "It's a masterpiece." "I want a comedy. Or a romance," I pouted, leaning my head against his arm for extra effect. "Well, you're watching Schindler's List with me. Suck it up," he shot back. I muttered something about tyrants and movie nights, but in the end, I sat through it. Or… I tried to. Somewhere between the first act and the violins, my eyes got heavy, and I drifted off against him.
"I missed your smell," I heard him murmur. "Creep," I replied without even opening my eyes. He chuckled and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "I'm serious. You smell like an evergreen forest after the rainy season. No...you smell like the rain itself. Like spices and rain and warm summer nights." "Jacob, you smooth talker," I muttered.
"It's true, though," he said easily. "I already told you I'd stay tonight. You don't have to keep trying to persuade me," I yawned, finally cracking my eyes open. "I'm not trying to. You're welcome to fall asleep if you want to. Honestly, you can barely keep your eyes open," he teased.
"How dare you. I'm wide awake," I protested—right before another yawn escaped. He smirked but said nothing, letting me curl closer until I drifted off against his chest.
I woke to the feel of silky sheets against my skin.
For a second, I panicked—this wasn't my bed. The room was unfamiliar, shadows of early morning light stretching across the walls. Still in yesterday's clothes.
Right. Last night. Jacob.
I slid out of bed quietly, padding across the room. Curiosity—and maybe a little disorientation—pushed me to explore. I followed the faint sound of singing drifting down the hall.
When I reached the kitchen doorway, the scene that greeted me nearly made me laugh out loud.
Jacob was at the stove, spatula in hand, hips moving to the beat of his own little concert.
"It's messing with my head how I mess with your heart. If you wake up in your bed, alone in the dark, I'm sorry…" he sang, swaying as he plated breakfast. "Had to leave before you love me…" he spun on his heel, only to freeze when he spotted me leaning against the doorframe, giggling.
"Oh...hi," he said, his voice lace with slight embarrassment I stepped closer, smirking. "Why are you sneaking up on me like a cat?" he asked, trying for casual. "I wasn't sneaking. But seriously, Jacob… the Jonas Brothers?" I teased. "What? It's catchy. Tell me you don't like it," he shot back. "Of course I don't." "Okay, Mrs. Perfect," he muttered with mock offense, turning back to his cooking. "Are you hungry? I made scrambled eggs," he said.
I eyed the pan skeptically. "It doesn't look good. They're all over the place. Do you have two more eggs? I'll make an omelette." He gave me a look. "It's like my childhood all over again. Do you have these lines copied from Damien?" "Relax and eat. It's food, it doesn't matter how it looks," he added.
"Doesn't matter how it looks? Are you out of your goddamn mind?" I shot back, making him laugh. "I can't take you seriously when you talk like this," I added, crossing my arms. "Then starve. Those were the last eggs," he smirked.
"I'm going home anyway," I huffed, then hesitated. "Can you tell me why and how I ended up in that bed upstairs?" "You fell asleep on the couch, so I carried you there," he said simply. "Oh… did we—" I began nervously. "Talk. Bond. A bit. What else?" he cut in.
That's… not what I meant, I thought. "We made out a little. Then you fell asleep," he added, leaning closer until his lips brushed my ear. "So no…" I murmured. "I think you'd remember sex with me," he said with infuriating confidence. "So cocky." I rolled my eyes. "Well, I'm gonna head out." "Come eat with me. Don't go like this," he said, already carrying two plates toward the dining room.
"Fine. But only because my stomach won't stop growling," I sighed, following him to the table. We sat down, and I watched him eat, still skeptical about taking a bite. "Eat," he said, noticing my untouched scrambled eggs and toast. "You'll see my scrambled eggs are just as good—if not better—than your plain, flat omelette." "We'll see," I replied, finally taking a bite. As I chewed, I caught Jacob watching me with this strange mix of amusement and… admiration. "Don't go," he said suddenly. "What?" I blinked.
"Stay with me. Damien's not here, and I don't have any friends in Raleigh. Not even the maids come here on weekdays." His tone softened, almost pleading. "Please. This house is too big when I'm alone." There was a flicker of sadness in his eyes, the kind that made my chest tighten.