Chapter 206
“Get dressed,” he said, his voice returning to its usual register. “We have a meeting with the wedding planner in an hour.”
He turned and walked into the walk-in closet. Just as he passed the doorframe, his hand went to his hip.
The towel dropped.
Jocelyn gasped. Her hands flew to her face to cover her eyes — but her fingers betrayed her, parting just enough to catch a glimpse of a muscular back and —
He has a dimple above his—
She squeezed her eyes shut until stars exploded behind her lids.
She sank onto the edge of the bed, her legs suddenly unable to support her weight.
He is a very committed method actor, she told herself firmly. He deserves an Oscar.
о𝗿𝗀𝗮𝘯izе 𝗒o𝗎r l𝗶𝘣𝗋a𝗋𝘆 о𝗇 𝗴𝗮𝗹𝗇𝗼v𝖾𝗅𝘴.𝘤𝗈𝗺
Sleep had been a battlefield, not a refuge. Jocelyn had tossed and turned, the ghost of Gaston’s kiss warring with years of ingrained caution. Unable to settle, she had grabbed her phone in the dead of night, her fingers flying across the screen. Gaston Collins rumors.
The search results were a predictable mess of tabloid speculation, but one old article from a defunct gossip blog caught her eye. It featured a grainy photo of Gaston on a yacht years ago, his arm draped around a beautiful, androgynous man. The caption read: Billionaire heir Gaston Collins cozy with model Jovanni Waller.
The name felt too perfect, too convenient — almost like a piece of carefully placed misdirection. Still, it was the only tangible clue she had, and her mind latched onto it. The name stuck in her head, a puzzle piece that seemed to fit perfectly into the narrative she had constructed to protect her heart.
The dining room was quiet, save for the soft clink of silverware against porcelain. Jocelyn entered, dressed in a high-neck blouse that felt like armor. She needed layers. She needed barriers.
Gaston was already seated at the head of the long mahogany table, drinking a double espresso and reading the Wall Street Journal on his iPad. He wore a crisp white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing his forearms.
He looked up as she sat down. “Coffee?”
“Please,” she murmured.
Mrs. Higgins poured her a cup silently and retreated to the kitchen.
Jocelyn watched Gaston over the rim of her mug as he reached for the sugar bowl. When he leaned forward, her gaze fell on his chest.
The tattoo. J.W.
She had noticed it before, of course. But this morning — after the kiss, after the towel incident — it felt like a taunt. A brand.
“Jovanni Waller,” she murmured, the name slipping out before her brain could filter it.
Gaston paused, his spoon hovering over his coffee. He looked up. “Excuse me?”
Jocelyn set her cup down. Her hands were trembling slightly, so she clasped them in her lap.
“The tattoo. J.W.,” she said, forcing a casual tone she didn’t feel. “It’s for him, isn’t it? Your ex. The one you were waiting for?”
.