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“Wonderful. I'll leave you to get settled then.”
Left to myself, I unpack my clothes in the walk-in closet before aimlessly wandering through posh rooms.
While clearly expensive, with modern art and sleek gadgets, ornate Victorian bones peek through in the detailed molding lining the high ceilings.
On the floor below, I find a large sitting room with a fireplace and several closed doors, and I figure behind one of them must be Jack’s bedroom. On the table, there is a VR headset I recognize from last week’s tour at Whitmore Tech and a laptop.
Downstairs, the double doors to a sprawling library are open. I trace leather-bound collections ranging from Aristotle to Atwood, surprised to discover a stack of recent bestsellers on building social media influence atop the heavy mahogany desk. Flipping through them, I wonder if Jack got these with me in mind before reminding myself to keep my hopes in check.
This is a strictly business arrangement. He said it multiple times.
Outside, the warm September Saturday afternoon calls me enticingly. Since I moved to New York, I haven’t had a chance to walk around downtown too much, and I decide to use the empty hours for some exploring. I change into jean shorts and a sequined open-back crop top.
“I’m heading to the park. Will be back before eight,” I call to Elena as I head out the door, phone and lip gloss crammed into pockets.
“Wait,” she calls after me, handing me a key. “Just in case I have already left for the day by the time you are back.” After she reassures herself that I’m able to let myself in, she waves at me and disappears back into the kitchen.
Washington Square Park is just a few blocks away. It brims with life in the golden afternoon light. Students sporting headphones and laptops inhabit benches and shaded patches of grass. Elderly men hunch over stone chess tables, lost in play. Near the grand fountain, a ragtag troupe of male dancers weave athletic contortions to thumping music as a gathered crowd applauds.
I survey the lively human canvas, mentally scrolling my catalog of viral videos seeking inspiration. Catchy Afrobeat pulses filter through laughing clusters.
Perfect! I queue up my remix of the same song gaining traction on TikTok dancing clips lately.
Angling the camera just so, the triumphal arch makes a striking backdrop. And action! I bounce on beat through familiar moves—hip circles, dramatic hair flips, and shimmies lifting my crop top scandalously high.
On my third run through, movement behind me catches my eye. A shirtless man around my age grins, walking closer once he seems to recognize me. I finish my final fierce hair whip, pose holding as he calls out over the music.
“Hey, you’re MadeYaLookMaddie, right? Your dance is fire, girl.”
Laughing, I wave him into the frame. “What’s your name?”
“Jace.” He flashes me a heart-stopping smile, and we quickly get into a groove, seamlessly moving together for a few takes.
“Hey, MadeYaLookMaddie, you’re blazing,” he drawls after we wrap up filming.
“This is not your first rodeo either, I can tell.”
But I barely hear his response. From the corner of my eye, I spot Jack leaning against a tree, watching us.
“Is this your man, gorgeous?” Jace nods toward Jack, giving him a friendly wave.
In response, Jack lifts his hand politely but doesn’t move from where he is standing. The edges of his smile are as sharp as glass. His expression is inscrutable, hands stuffed casually in his pockets, dominance oozing from his every pore. The crisp business casual shirt stretching across that broad chest stands out starkly from the colorful park life swirling around him. He is sculpted perfection, working a smolder so hot that it burns.
I’m so fucking toast, you could spread jam on me.
“See ya’ around, Maddie girl!” Jace calls to me as he gives me a high five, and I saunter over to Jack.
“Hello, soldier. This a new habit, stalking your bride?” I pointedly eye his stiff posture.
Jack's mouth quirks slightly. “Hello there, Little Bird. Elena told me where to find you.”
He takes my hand, his unexpected intimate touch shooting fireworks up my spine.
“Let’s go home, fiancé.”
11
VIRGIN’S VOW
