JASMINE'S POV
"Tell me what?" I asked in a calm tone, though my heart was doing enough sprinting for both of us.
Aiden's entire body stiffened, like a predator caught in headlights.
His eyes locked onto mine, and for the first time since I'd met him, I saw uncertainty flicker in their depths.
"Jasmine," he said carefully. "You weren't meant to hear that."
I arched a brow. "No kidding."
Greg, who was lounging in his chair like a man who'd just casually stirred a pot of chaos and was now waiting to see if it boiled over, chuckled. He took a long sip of his wine and stood up with a dramatic stretch.
"I'll leave you two lovebirds to it," he said, already walking toward the door, "while I get a refill."
Translation: I've caused enough chaos for one evening.
And then he was gone.
I waited until the door clicked shut before stepping further into the room, arms still folded.
"So," I said, closing the distance between us. "Which part exactly wasn't I meant to hear?"
Aiden dragged a hand over his face and looked away.
"This isn't how I wanted to have this conversation."
"Damn right it's not." I stopped a few feet from him, planting my heels into the polished floor like a challenge. "So go ahead. Say it now. What is it I'm not ready for?"
He hesitated. That was new.
He always had a quick comeback, a slick retort, some cool, composed line that made you forget what question you even asked in the first place.
But now?
He just looked at me, like he was sifting through a thousand different versions of the truth and didn't like any of them.
Finally, he cleared his throat. "I was planning a surprise."
I blinked. "A surprise?"
He nodded, almost too quickly. "Yeah. A wedding reception. Late, obviously, but… I thought it'd be nice. A proper one. With family. Friends. Champagne. Jazz band. That sort of thing."
I stared at him.
He stared back.
And then—I laughed.
Not in a mean or sarcastic way, but a genuine laugh. It was quick, loud, and filled with disbelief.
"Is this what you've been keeping a secret?" I asked, a mix of laughter and doubt in my voice. "A surprise party?"
Aiden straightened a little, arms crossing over his chest in what I assumed was his attempt to look casual. "I wanted to get the timing right. And with the company stuff, your schedule, the press—it just didn't seem like the right moment."
I narrowed my eyes. "So, let me get this straight. Your grandfather corners you, you get weirdly cagey, and the big secret you weren't ready to tell me is that you're throwing me a party?"
He had the nerve to look offended. "You make it sound like I committed a crime."
I tilted my head. "Did you?"
"No."
"Are you lying?"
He hesitated again, just for a beat. But it was enough.
My smile stretched a little. "You're a terrible liar."
He raised an eyebrow. "I'm an excellent liar."
"Please," I scoffed. "Your nostrils flare every time."
"I do not—"
"You just did it again."
Aiden exhaled through his nose. "Okay, fine. Maybe not just a party. Maybe… it was also about asking you what kind of ring you actually want. I mean, the one I gave you was rushed. Maybe you hate it. And also, which car would you love to drive as a CEO?"
I glanced at the glinting band on my finger. "You're deflecting."
"Is it working?"
"Barely."
There was a beat of silence before I said, softer this time, "Is that really why you're being secretive?"
His gaze met mine. A flicker of something passed between us—uncertainty, hesitation… guilt?
But instead of answering, he said, "I didn't want to ruin anything."
That… I didn't have a comeback for.
I dropped my arms and folded them tighter across my chest. "You know, for a man who claims to be in control all the time, you really suck at owning your truths."
Aiden took a slow breath, stepping closer.
"Jasmine," he said in that low, deliberate voice of his—the one that always felt like silk dragged over steel. The one he used when he wanted to sound either dangerous or sincere. I hadn't yet decided which.
My heart skipped a beat.
Just one.
But it was enough to throw my entire system off balance.
"I know this might sound crazy, but…"
He paused.
My breath caught, and my pulse tripped like it had somewhere better to be.
He was close now—too close. Just a few inches and I'd be able to smell that ridiculous cologne of his. Amber and cedar and something unfairly addictive.
"But…" he added, dragging the word out like he enjoyed watching me squirm, "…I think it's time for dinner."
I blinked.
Stared.
Scowled. "Seriously?"
He stepped back, casual as ever, already halfway to the door. "Grandpa will be waiting."
And just like that, the spell shattered.
"You're an ass," I muttered, brushing past him.
He just laughed and followed me out like the smug menace he was.
—
The dining room was as dramatic as the rest of the house, featuring floor-length windows, deep mahogany walls, and candlelight flickering in crystal sconces. A table long enough to host a UN delegation, yet set for three.
Greg was already sitting down, enjoying a fancy golden drink that looked expensive. He had a grin on his face that I found a bit too smug for my taste.
He looked up the moment we walked in and raised a brow. "Well," he said, swirling his glass, "how was the first couple's argument?"
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Oh, don't look so surprised." He gestured to our seats. "I've been married long enough to recognise the energy of a good domestic spat."
"We weren't arguing," Aiden said smoothly, pulling out my chair like a gentleman. A manipulative, irritating gentleman.
"Of course not," Greg replied, his smirk deepening. "Just testing each other's patience like all healthy relationships do."
I slid into the seat. "We were discussing communication."
Greg hummed like a man thoroughly entertained. "Ah, yes. The art of saying what you mean without getting divorced."
Aiden filled my glass like he hadn't just dodged emotional landmines twenty minutes ago.
Dinner, to my surprise, was… pleasant. Roasted vegetables, lemon-glazed chicken that tasted like it had been kissed by gods, and a seven-layer dessert I fully intended not to finish—and absolutely did.
Greg kept the conversation going relentlessly but remained light. He asked about our so-called romance—how we met, our first date, who kissed who first—and every time I floundered, Aiden filled in the gaps with charming, vaguely true answers that somehow didn't set off my embarrassment alarms.
"You know what kept me and my wife together all those years?" Greg said mid-meal, pointing his fork like a sage with a weapon. "Never go to bed angry. Always touch feet under the covers. That's how you break tension."
Aiden coughed into his wine.
I nearly choked on mine.
Greg didn't stop there. "And kiss daily. Even when you're mad. Especially when you're mad."
I rolled my eyes and tried not to laugh. "You sure you're not writing a romance column on the side?"
He winked. "I might be. You two are excellent source material."
By the time dessert was cleared and my stomach officially hated me, I felt warm, exhausted, and—annoyingly—content.
I stood, stretching slightly. "It's been a long day, I should be heading to my room."
It slipped out before I could stop it.
Aiden froze.
Greg raised a brow.
"You have separate rooms?" he asked mildly, but his frown was all disapproval. "Ridiculous. A real marriage means sharing a bed."
My heart stopped.
Flatlined.
Rebooted.
Aiden didn't even blink. "Old habits. We actually share a room."
I choked on air. "Excuse me?"
His expression was hard to read, completely calm, as if he hadn't just placed a bomb on the table.
Greg stood, utterly unfazed. "That's more like it. Good night, lovebirds."
And then he left.
Leaving me alone with the man who just casually declared we'd be sleeping in the same room.
I turned to him slowly. "You want to explain that?"
Aiden's mouth curved, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corner. "We're married, remember?"
"So we're doing method acting now?"
"We're being convincing."
"You're being ridiculous."
He offered his arm like this was some damn royal ball. "Shall we, wife?"
I stared at it.
Then stared at him before storming on my own.
He followed right after me. We walked down the hall without saying a word. The tension? Almost unbearable.
And when we stopped in front of a double set of doors at the far end of the west wing, he paused and looked at me.
"Ready for our first night together?" he asked.