Too Late: The Don's Regretful Pursuit

The night before I planned to leave, Jax summoned me to the solarium.

"Summoned" was truly the only word for it.

A guard had pounded on my door and informed me that the Don requested my presence for dinner.

I wore a simple white dress that hung loosely on my frame. I didn't bother with jewelry. I didn't bother with makeup to hide the bruise-colored circles under my eyes.

When I entered the glass-walled room, I stopped dead.

It was... a stage set.

Candles were everywhere, hundreds of them, their flames flickering against the glass that looked out over the darkened estate grounds.

The table was set with his mother's finest china. A string quartet was playing in the corner-*Clair de Lune*, my favorite piece.

Jax stood by the table in a tuxedo. He looked like the prince from every fairytale I was fed as a child, polished and perfect.

"Eliana," he said, pulling out a chair. "Sit."

I sat. My cane clattered softly as I leaned it against the table.

"What is this?" I asked.

"An apology," he said, pouring a rich red wine. "A real one. I know I've been distracted. But I want you to know, you're still... vital to me. You're my future."

He reached across the table and took my hand. His palm was warm.

For a second, just a split second, my heart stuttered. This was the Jax I remembered. The one who used to hide flowers in my locker.

"I want us to go back to how we were," he said softly. "Before the stress. Before everything got complicated."

He squeezed my hand. "Look outside."

I turned my head.

A sudden hiss cut through the air, followed by a thundering boom.

Fireworks exploded over the garden in a shower of sparks. Red, gold, and green.

They formed letters in the sky, burning bright against the black velvet night.

*E-L-I-A-N-A*

It was grand. It was excessive. It was exactly the kind of gesture that was supposed to make a girl forget that her fiancé had watched her fall down a flight of stairs.

"Do you like it?" he asked, a boyish grin on his face.

Before I could answer, the glass doors slid open with a soft whir.

Catalina sauntered in.

She was wearing a silk robe tied loosely at the waist, holding a tumbler of whiskey.

"Oh, good! They went off on time," she said, clapping her hands lightly.

Jax looked at her, then back at me. He didn't look angry that she had interrupted. He looked... grateful. Relieved, even.

"You did good, Cat," he said.

The air left my lungs. "What?"

Catalina drifted over to the table, picking a grape off Jax's plate.

"The fireworks," she said, popping the fruit into her mouth. "Jax didn't know who to call. I have a cousin in pyrotechnics. I set it all up. Even picked the colors."

She winked at me over the rim of her glass.

"Green for envy. Red for blood. Gold for... well, gold digger."

She laughed, a sound like breaking glass.

I looked at Jax. "You didn't plan this?"

"I paid for it," he said, immediately defensive. "Cat just handled the logistics. She knows I'm busy with the clean-up from the Rossi fight. She wanted to help me do something nice for you."

"She wanted to help you," I repeated, my voice hollow.

"Yeah," Jax said, oblivious. "She's been great, Eliana. Really supportive of us. She even reminded me it was our dating anniversary next week."

I stared at him.

He didn't remember our anniversary. *She* reminded him.

He didn't plan the dinner. *She* did.

He didn't order the fireworks. *She* did.

Every romantic gesture, every moment of kindness in the last month... it had all been filtered through her.

She was orchestrating my relationship. She was pulling the strings, making Jax dance, making me dance.

I was sitting at a dinner table set by the woman who wanted to replace me, eating food she ordered, watching fireworks she bought, holding the hand of a man who couldn't even be bothered to remember what date it was.

"This isn't romantic, Jax," I said, pulling my hand away as if burned. "This is a puppet show."

"What?" He frowned.

"You're not doing this for me," I said, my voice rising. "You're doing this because she told you to. You aren't the playwright, Jax. You're just following her script."

"You're being ungrateful," Catalina chimed in, leaning on Jax's shoulder. "He spent a fortune."

"I don't care about the money!" I snapped. "I care that my fiancé needs his mistress to tell him how to love me!"

Jax slammed his hand on the table. The silverware rattled violently.

"She is not my mistress!" he roared. "She is family! And she is trying to help! Why can't you just accept a nice thing without analyzing it to death?"

"Because it's fake!" I yelled back. "It's all fake! You're fake!"

I grabbed my cane and stood up.

"Sit down, Eliana," Jax warned, his voice dropping to that dangerous register.

"No."

I started walking away.

"If you walk out of here," he called out, "don't expect me to come chasing you."

I stopped at the door. I didn't turn around.

"I stopped expecting anything from you a long time ago, Jax."

I walked out.

Behind me, I heard Catalina laugh.

"See?" she said. "I told you she wouldn't appreciate it. You should have just bought her a car."

"Yeah," Jax muttered. "Maybe you're right."