Page 68 of His Jersey

Having overlooked this detail, Jack quickly says, “We forgot it at the resort.”

Aston slices her eyes at Jack. “You’re not getting your mother’s red diamond if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“It’s not up to you where my mother’s possessions go,” Jack says, his voice low like the growl of a wolf.

“Allain, tell him,” Aston whines.

“I said we’d discuss it, baby.”

Jack abruptly gets up from the table. “If this woman so much as lays a hand on anything that belonged to Mom, I’m out.”

“Ta ta,” Aston says, opening her palm with a wave.

“Son …” Allain starts.

“Father, we have our differences, but there is one thing that we don’t disagree on. Mom, her memory, and her belongings are off limits.”

“But what are we going to do with them? It’s not like we can keep her stuff like a museum.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Jack says.

From what I’ve gathered, Jewel Bouchelle was a classy lady, but maybe she has some “stuff” that’ll make Jack feel more like he has a home instead of just a place to live. I wonder if she liked to cook or bake, read or garden.

Allain huffs a breath. Aston’s eyes flash and I have a queasy feeling.

Jack says, “Ultimatums suck. I’d know, but not Mom. Seriously. Not Mom.”

Allain nods and his eyes flit to me for one moment. Behind them, I see a calculation and can almost hear him proposing a business deal to his son.Don’t marry me and he can keep all of his mother’s stuff as he wishes. Say I do, and it goes to Aston.

The last thing I want to do is come between this family.

Aston swipes rapidly on her phone, smirks, and then narrows her eyes at me. “Actually, what if they’re not really engaged? What if it’s all for show?”

Nerves jangle through me and my glass nearly slides out ofmy hand at the same time a loud voice says, “Allain and Mrs. Bouchelle, lovely to see you both.”

Jack and his father greet the guy and I stand up to join them because it’s polite. Aston merely gives a cursory wave in the newcomer’s direction. I know a thing or two about manners that she does not.

Jack slides his arm over my shoulders. I can’t tell whether it’s protectively or possessively. Eyes darkening, he says, “Ella, meet Stefan Smedley. He’s my father’s lawyer.”

“How do you do?” I ask.

His lips pooch and he leers. “Where have you been hiding her, Jackie-boy?” The man somehow has an angular voice. His thin, greasy black hair plastered to the top of his head does little to hide his balding dome.

“At the resort,” Aston mutters.

Once more, my nerves jump.

Stefan stares at me for a long and uncomfortable moment. “Oh, wait a minute. I do think I recognize you.”

I meet his gaze and regret it. I definitely remember him. It wasn’t unusual for guests to request extra towels. However, periodically, a story would circulate among the housekeepers that someone would answer the door naked as if the towel delivery were code for something.

It wasn’t until it happened to me that I fully believed it and was horrified. I quickly covered my shriek with my hand but not before it echoed down the hall and I scurried away, nearly losing my wig.

“You look like someone,” Stefan’s eyes slit and dart to Jack, Allain, and then back to me. He must remember my fright and rejection.

“She does have a beautiful face, but it’s one of a kind,” Jack says, sitting down next to me and taking my hand.

Stefan says, “I heard you were at the game. I bet it was a bighelp.”

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