Act Like You Love Me (Jessica) novel Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Jessica’s POV

A jolt rocked the car, yanking me from sleep with a gasp. My neck throbbed from the weird angle, and… hold up, this wasn’t the front seat.

I was sprawled in the back, legs stretched out on the leather, a familiar fleece throw blanket draped over me like I’d been tucked in by some caring parent.

Blinking away the haze, I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes.

Aaron’s broad back filled the front seat, his posture rigid as he navigated what looked like a gravelly backroad, bumps jostling us every few seconds.

What the hell? Had he… carried me? The thought sent a warm flush creeping up my neck.

I vaguely remembered murmuring something incoherent in my half–sleep, the feel of strong arms scooping me up, his chest solid and warm against my cheek.

“Aaron?” My voice emerged scratchy, laced with sleep and something embarrassingly soft. “How long was I out? And… why am I back here?”

He glanced in the rearview mirror, his honey–brown eyes meeting mine for a split second before flicking back to the road.

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips–soft, almost tender, the kind that made my stomach somersault.

“Long enough to snore through three counties. We’re about twenty minutes from the manor now.”

Snoring? I swatted the air between the seats.

“Liar. I don’t snore. And you didn’t have to relocate me like luggage. I could’ve toughed it out front.”

He shrugged, but there was something in the set of his shoulders, a subtle shift that screamed he wasn’t as nonchalant as he sounded.

“You were out cold, head lolling against the door like a bobblehead. You looked uncomfortable as hell. Besides…” He trailed off, eyes flicking back to the mirror for a beat longer than necessary.

“Perks of being my fake girlfriend: I get to play knight in shining armor. Don’t read into it.”

‘Don’t read into it.‘ The phrase stung, a reminder of the invisible line we’d drawn.

But actions spoke louder, didn’t they? The blanket was his. And the way he’d handled me, gentle despite his gruff exterior… it chipped at the fragile walls I’d built around my heart.

Four years of this dance, and I still couldn’t figure him out.

As we climbed a hill, the scenery turned greener and more lush. The manor appeared ahead like something from a storybook. a huge stone building with ivy–covered towers, perfect lawns rolling down to a shiny pond. It screamed old money and family pressure from the Tyrones.

My heart raced, nerves kicking in again. What if they saw right through our fake act?

What if Fiona’s poisoned gaze stripped me bare? And Aaron–would he drop the act the second we stepped. inside, leaving me to fend for myself in this lion’s den?

“You good?” His voice cut through, softer now, like he’d caught the shift in my breathing. “No second thoughts about this circus?”

I leaned forward, arms on the seatback, and gave him a crooked smile to play it cool.

“Nope. I’m ready for my Oscar. ‘Babe, hand me the apples‘–nailed it, right?” My laugh came out weak, and he caught it. His eyes held mine in the mirror with a piercing intensity.

“We got this, Jess,” he said quietly, the words carrying more weight than they should. “Together.”

For a heartbeat, I let myself believe it–the “together” part feeling real but breakable, like thin glass.

I smoothen my hair with my fingers, reapplied gloss on my lips and popped a watermelon gum to steady my nerves, the fruity burst a small distraction as I mentally braced up for whatever waited.

By the time the car pulled through those towering metal gates, dusk had fully settled, wrapping everything in twilight blue.

Fancy cars were scattered across the huge yard like they’d been parked in a hurry–sleek Lamborghinis, polished Bentleys, even a vintage Rolls–Royce gleaming under the floodlights.

We moved down a long hallway, walls lined with rows of framed family portraits staring back like silent judges.

Generations of Tyrones–stern men in hockey jerseys, sticks in hand, medals glinting around necks, trophies hoisted high in victory poses.

Black–and–white shots faded into color, from great–grandpas with handlebar mustaches to Aaron’s dad mid- slapshot, all singing the family’s ice–rink legacy.

And dominating the end: a massive portrait of Kennedy Tyrone himself, seated on what looked like a throne carved from dark mahogany, his gnarled hand gripping a silver–tipped walking stick.

An enormous ring winked on his finger, probably worth more than my entire life savings, his eyes piercing even in paint, like he could see right through me.

“Wow,” I muttered under my breath, slowing to stare.

Aaron chuckled softly at my reaction. He steered me toward a set of gleaming elevator doors tucked discreetly in the wall.

An elevator? In a house? My mind reeled. This is next–level rich.

The doors slid open with a soft ding, and we stepped inside. As the ride ascended smoothly, my nerves ratcheted up, my hands twisting the hem of my dress, foot tapping an anxious rhythm.

What if I said the wrong thing? Tripped over a rug? Or worse, let slip how real this felt to me?

Aaron noticed my anxiety. His hand caught mine, warm and reassuring, pulling me gehtly into his chest. One arm wrapped around my waist while his free hand cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing my skin in a way that made my breath hitch.

Heat flooded my face, turning me all shades of red.

“Relax. Jess,” he murmured, his voice low and close, breath tickling my ear. “I’m right here with you. Nothing bad’s going to happen. And if anyone gives you shit, I’ll handle it–defend you tooth and nail.”

I nodded, managing a tiny smile despite the butterflies rioting in my stomach. His touch grounded me, made the fear melt just a bit, even as it stirred up a bunch of other feelings I couldn’t afford to dwell on.