Act Like You Love Me (Jessica) novel Chapter 92

Chapter 92

Jessica’s POV

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As the car slowed to a gentle stop, the low drone of the engine bled into the heavy silence of the night.

I peered out the tinted window, curiosity bubbling inside me like a shaken drink.

The driver stepped out to open the door, and Mabel, the escort from earlier appeared once more, extending a hand to support me.

The air was balmy, thick with the scent of ancient dust and a hint of distant sea salt.

As my heels clicked against the gravel, I realized we weren’t at a high-rise restaurant or a pulsing rooftop bar.

Instead, the rough-edged, grand silhouette of a circular arena loomed ahead, its weathered stone walls bathed in a soft, ethereal glow.

A bullring? My heart skipped. It looked empty and silent, yet the heart of it pulsed with a fluttering, warm light that spilled through the stone archways.

Mabel smiled knowingly, her arm linking through mine as she guided me toward the entrance.

“He’s waiting,” she said simply, her voice still carrying that same appreciative note from earlier.

We passed through a vaulted gateway where lanterns cast long, dancing shadows that stretched across the path.

Then, the arena opened up before me-vast, sand-covered, and breathtaking.

The tiered seats rose like a gallery of silent spectators into the ink-black sky, but the floor… the floor was a masterpiece.

The sandy earth had been transformed into a galaxy.

Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of candles had been arranged in perfect, concentric circles, their blinking gold light reflecting off the red-brick walls and painting the world in shades of honey and fire.

A small table waited nearby, draped in white silk and set with crystal that caught every flame, but my eyes refused to linger on the luxury. They were locked on Aaron.

He had shed the charcoal suit he usually wore for a more relaxed outfit; a crisp white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms and the top buttons undone, revealing the steady thrum of his pulse at the base of his throat.

The dark trousers hugged his frame, and a single, blood-red rose was tucked into his breast pocket.

He stood right in the center of that ring of fire, looking like the king of a kingdom I had helped him build, and then abandoned to the dark.

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Chapter 92

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When he saw me, his entire posture shifted. The predatory stillness he usually carried snapped, replaced by a raw, visible admiration.

“Jess,” he called, his voice a low chord that reached across the sand.

He strode forward to meet me halfway, his silhouette cutting through the candlelight.

Mabel melted into the shadows of the stone arches, leaving us alone in this magical, flickering bubble.

“You look…” He stopped, his voice catching as his gaze swept over the peach silk clinging to my skin.

He shook his head, a look of genuine disbelief softening his features as I walked up to him.

He reached out, his fingers catching mine-not as a boss, but as a man who was finally touching something he’d thought was a mirage.

He pulled me into his space, the heat radiating off him more intense than the thousands of candles surrounding us.

“I knew the dress would suit you, Jess,” he whispered, his thumb grazing my knuckles, “but I didn’t realize you’d look like the only thing worth seeing in this entire city.”

I blushed, the peach dress suddenly feeling like it was made of silk flames against my skin.

“This is… incredible. A bullring? How did you-”

“A little pull from me,” he admitted with a wry smile, leading me toward the center.

“Thought it’d be fitting. Remember that story you told me back in college? About wanting to see a real Spanish bullfight, but only if it was empty-no crowds, no chaos. Just the history, the romance of the place.”

My steps faltered, a rush of warmth flooding me. I’d mentioned that offhand one night, curled up on our old apartment couch, sharing dreams over pizza dinner.

He’d remembered? After all this time? I didn’t even think he was paying attention.

“You… you listened,” I whispered, touched beyond words.

He chuckled, pulling out a chair for me at the table. “I always did. Even when I pretended not to.”

We sat, the candles’ glow reflecting in his eyes like tiny stars.

A waiter appeared from the shadows, pouring deep red wine and uncovering plates of tapas that filled the air with a mouth-watering aroma.

There was succulent jamón ibérico, patatas bravas with just the right spicy kick, and a chilled gazpacho that tasted like a concentrated burst of summer in a bowl.

The food was divine, but it was the conversation that fed my soul.

As we ate, the barriers we’d built over the past week-and the years before-began to crack.

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Chapter 92

For the first time in six years, we weren’t fighting. We weren’t the “boss” and the “assistant.”

We were just two people who had once known the shape of each other’s souls.

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We laughed until my sides ached, recounting the time in college we tried to cook a Thanksgiving turkey in a toaster oven, nearly burning down the entire floor.

“The fire department guy asked if we were high,” Aaron chuckled, leaning back into the shadows as his eyes. danced in the candlelight.

“And I told him, ‘No, sir, we’re just two college students trying to see if a turkey can survive a third-degree burn. He didn’t find it as funny as I did.”

I remembered that night vividly; the smoke billowing through the hall and the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

But mostly, I remembered how he’d cracked jokes to the paramedics while I stood there trembling, wondering if he’d ever take anything, including us, seriously.

“Remember that visit to the mountains?” he started, a slow grin tugging at his lips as he speared an olive. “I think that was my eleventh-grade year, and you were just a tenth-grader.”

I nodded slowly, a soft smile playing on my lips as I leaned forward, my chin resting on my palm.

I stayed silent, giving him the space to breathe life into the ghosts of our past, watching the way his features relaxed as he began to recount the memories.

“The car broke down and we had to hike two miles in the rain just to find that tiny, dusty bookstore with the broken heater? You were so shy, you practically tried to hide behind the bookshelves when the owner greeted

I laughed, the sound bubbling up freely, light and genuine. I could still smell the scent of old paper wool.

and wet

“I was terrified! I didn’t want to talk to anyone, and we were quite literally lost in the middle of nowhere,” I squealed, the memory making me shiver and laugh at the same time.

“I was convinced we were going to be snatched by cannibals or something equally dangerous out in those woods. My heart was thundering.”

I looked at him, the flickering candlelight softening the sharp lines of his jaw.

“But you… you didn’t even care. You just sat there on that dusty floor and started reading those ridiculous poetry books aloud, your voice so calm and dramatic. You kept coercing me to join you, teasing me until I finally cracked a smile. You made me feel safe in a place where I should have been losing my mind.”

His expression softened, his fingers lacing through mine,

“You were the only person who could ever make me feel like I didn’t have to perform,” he said softly.

“Those quiet moments… they were the only times I felt free from the family business. From the weight of

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Chapter 92

being a ‘Tyrone descendant.’

He paused, his thumb stroking the back of my hand.

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His gaze shifted, dropping the playful mask of a storyteller and becoming uncomfortably intense, like he was trying to see through the six years of distance between us.

“I never told you,” he began, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly tone, “but that holiday on the cruiser—just before the wreck happened-I’d spent weeks working on something. Something I was going to show you during that trip. I’d gone through so much trouble to make sure every detail was perfect.”

I froze, the air in my lungs suddenly feeling thin. My heart faltered, then picked up pace, restless against my

ribs.

“What are you talking about, Aaron?”

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