Zara's encouraging words and my outfit gave me a little confidence—but not quite enough to face Leo's parents without a racing heartbeat.
An expensive blue suit hugged my body just right, tailored like it belonged to someone who owned a yacht or five. A long brown overcoat draped over my shoulders, giving me warmth and the illusion of control as I stood under the modest bus stop shed—looking, surprisingly, like I belonged somewhere fancier.
Zara had picked the outfit for me, declaring, "Blue looks rich on you. Like CEO's boyfriend rich." Her voice echoed in my head like a pep talk on loop.
Five minutes passed.
Then, like a scene out of a drama, a sleek Porsche 911 Carrera, all-black and purring low, rolled into view. I stared for a second too long, distracted by its sheer... presence. My eyes returned to the pavement, pretending I wasn't lowkey drooling over that piece of vehicular art.
That's when I heard it. A deep, velvety voice behind me.
"Your ride has arrived, Mr. Richard."
My body turned on instinct. And there he was. Leo—looking infuriatingly flawless. Like a Greek god who casually picked up mortals for family dinners.
"Leo…"My voice betrayed me with a jump of surprise. "When did you get here?"
He pointed lazily at the Porsche. "About a minute ago."
"Wait—that's your car?" I blinked. Another mini heart attack.
He didn't answer. Instead, his warm hand reached out and wrapped around mine like it belonged there. "We should go. They're waiting."
As we walked to his out-of-my-league car, his grip never loosened. And somehow, with just that touch, the butterflies in my stomach... started dancing instead of panicking.
The butterflies didn't just flutter—they practically hosted a rave in my stomach as we drove in silence toward Leo's house. I couldn't stop sneaking glances at him. His jawline, the veins on his hands gripping the steering wheel, the way his hair fell just right under the soft interior lights. It was almost rude how effortlessly handsome he was. Words weren't enough to describe him—and trust me, I had tried.
The drive was calm. Too calm. No conversation, just the soft growl of the Porsche eating up the road. Leo's profile was unreadable, but I caught glimpses of that same guilt in his eyes—the one I'd seen on the rooftop. He still hadn't let it go. Even though I'd told him—again and again—that none of this was his fault.
After what felt like an hour of quiet intensity, we finally reached a massive gate—the kind of gate that had probably seen more luxury cars than an auto show. As it opened slowly, majestically, my breath caught in my throat.
Beyond it stood a castle. Not a house. Not a mansion. A castle. With towers. With actual towers. The grounds stretched so far I couldn't even see the end of them. The anxiety in my chest tightened like a vice.
The Porsche slowed to a stop in front of another ornate set of carved wooden doors.
"We've arrived," Leo said, his voice low, and oddly soothing. His hand patted mine, gently—reassuringly—like he could feel my panic without even looking.
A suited man appeared like a movie butler and opened my car door with unnerving precision. As I stepped out, the air suddenly felt heavier. More expensive. I caught Leo's hand reaching out to me—but mine was too sweaty, too tense—so I gave him a small shake of the head and a "I got this" look. Not that I had it.
As the doors opened to reveal the interior, anxiety nearly knocked the breath out of me. Marble floors, chandeliers the size of hot air balloons, and ceilings higher than my dreams. I was frozen—until that same hand found mine again. This time, Leo didn't ask. He just held on. And I let him.
"Shall we?" he asked, with that signature calm.
I nodded, almost against my will.
As we entered the grand hallway, a few women stood elegantly at its center. But my focus snapped to one particular woman—the one with sharp eyes, stunning poise, and that kind of beauty that made you straighten your posture without realizing it.
Leo stepped slightly ahead, still keeping my hand. "Hi, Mom…" He paused, reading her expression, then turned to me. "This is—"
"Jake Richard," she said smoothly, cutting him off before he could finish. Her voice was warm, but her gaze—her gaze—scanned me like she already knew my story. Top to bottom. Inside out.
I swallowed hard.
Dinner at Leo's house just officially began.
We sat quietly in the massive dining hall, a space that could easily host a royal banquet or the next season of The Crown. The long table stretched far beyond what was necessary, lined with an overwhelming number of chairs—each one more intimidating than the last.
Leo sat beside me, still holding my hand like it was a lifeline. His palm was warm, mine embarrassingly sweaty, but he didn't let go. On the other side of the table sat his mother, regal and composed, scanning me like a guest on trial. There was elegance in her stillness, but also a kind of practiced judgment. The kind that said: I've seen better. Convince me otherwise.
Then the tension cracked—softened—when a new energy burst into the room.
A girl. Younger. Radiating sunshine and chaos.
She ran straight to Leo, nearly tackling him in a hug so tight it made his hand slip from mine. Leo chuckled and stood up, wrapping his arms around her in return. His mother's face lit up with a genuine smile—a rare softness. It was like watching stone melt.
Then Leo turned toward me, eyes warm. "Jake, this is my little—but not-so-little—sister, Jennifer."
I stood up quickly and offered my hand with a polite smile. But instead of shaking it, she stepped forward and crushed me into a bear hug that knocked the breath out of me.
"Jennifer—enough." Leo gently pried her off me, letting me breathe again. I wasn't sure if I needed air or a new ribcage.
"Sorry," she said with a grin, brushing her hair behind her ear. "I just got a little carried away."
Everything about her mirrored Leo—her voice, the way she stood, even the little flicker of mischief in her eyes. She was like Leo's fun-sized, slightly chaotic twin. The tension in the room visibly dissolved. Leo's mother softened. Leo himself relaxed. And for the first time all night, I could finally breathe.
He reached back for my hand. Held it again. In front of everyone.
Like a declaration. This is mine.
And… I liked it.
The moment didn't last long.
Because the temperature dropped again.
A shadow entered the room. A man with presence. Not just any presence—command. He walked in with quiet dominance, like a king returning to his throne. He didn't need to speak. The silence that followed was loud enough.
Leo rose to his feet at once, silently nudging me to do the same. We stood side by side—our hands still interlocked—as the man took his seat at the head of the table.
"Dad, this is my boyfriend, Jake." Leo's voice didn't shake. It was strong, steady.
But his father?
Nothing.
No nod. No smile. Not even a twitch. Just a blank expression carved into stone. A fortress of a man. Emotionless.
Before I could even process what that meant, Leo's mother clapped her hands lightly and gave a simple command:
"We're ready. Serve the food."