Page 76 of The Game Plan

I hate that we’re lying to people that matter. Because even if I’m developing real feelings for Jax, this marriage is still a sham. We’ve never been on a real date. I don’t know how he truly feels about me. Though I hate to believe it, I can’t deny that there is a seed of doubt in my mind that Jax is the playboy bachelor, still.

Do people change overnight? Can we?

Unexpectedly, Jax’s dad rises from his stand. I’m pleased that the evening entertainment has come onto the stage and people are starting to move toward the dance floor, otherwise this showdown would be drawing attention that none of us need.

To Jax, his dad says, “I may not respect all your choices, son, but don’t accuse me of not being on your team. I am always on the team of my kids.”

Then to Carl, Harris says calmly, “Carl, you need to turn yourself around and walk out of here, away from my family, otherwise you and I can both step outside together.”

“Holy smokes,” Sas says.

Did Jax’s dad just offer Carl out?

“She’s my fiancée, Harris,” Carl snaps in response.

Jax’s mom gasps.

“She was your fiancée,” Jax says. “Until you betrayed her, Carl. And she’s a million times better off without you.”

“Yeah, right, because now she’s not my fiancée but she’s your wife, Jax? You might have that guy from the immigration department fooled but I’ve been in this game long enough to spot a lie.”

“No, jackass,” Jax barks. “She’s her own person and whether she wants to spend the rest of her life alongside me or not, she’ll always be her own person.”

Like a flash going off, I’m thrust back to Las Vegas. A vague memory of Jax telling me that I was better than Carl, that I could set up my business alone, that I was my own person with my own choices and I should do what I want in life.

On Paradise Strip, in front of the Bellagio fountains, he said the words I turn to him now and repeat. “Dance with me, Jax?” I hold out my hand. “I don’t want to think about yesterday or tomorrow because we’ll never live tonight again. So screw him. Dance with me.”

He stares at me for so long, I wonder if he’s going to turn me down. Then his shoulders visibly drop, his chest relaxes, that devilishly handsome lopsided grin plays on his lips, and he slips his hand into mine. “Gladly.”

I don’t bother looking behind us to see what happens with Carl at the table, unconcerned. He’s got the message. He is no longer part of my life in any way, shape or system and I don’t know what happens next between Jax and me. I don’t know if there’s a girl out there he’d have preferred to marry than me. But I do know that right now, as the band sings out Wilson Phillips’ “Hold On”, Jax spins me under his arm and onto the floor, into his Spidey web. Hero.

We dance like no one is watching and sing as if the world can’t scrutinize how pitchy we are. It’s just Jax and me, having a blast, and I think this may be the second most liberated I’ve felt in my life, after Las Vegas. Bonus points for being (almost) sober this time!

The track changes to Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” and for the first time ever, I feel every word as this city boy wraps his arms around my waist and sings about a small-town girl.

His words draw my attention to his lips, and his lips make me say, “I feel cheated that I don’t have clear memories of what happened in Las Vegas.”

“Yeah?”

I nod. “I got to kiss you and I wish I could remember exactly what it felt like.”

His smile fades but his doe-eyes widen and soften, as his forehead presses to mine. I’m so lightheaded in his proximity, surrounded by his heady scent, alight where he’s holding the small of my back, that I cling to his lapels.

“You know, Tolstoy said that love can’t exist in the future, it can only exist in the here and now,” he tells me.

One side of my lips turns up. “Are you philosophizing on me, Jax Harris?”

“You bet your ass I am,” he says. “Philosophers think that stillness is the key to inner peace. Not sitting still but being able to focus your mental energy. Being present, living in the moment. I think maybe that’s what happened in Vegas, Sienna. I think I might finally understand it.”

He means every word and as I slide my hand into his hair, I feel it, too. Stillness. Peace. “Tolstoy?” I gently tease. “I thought Elvis lyrics were your thing.”

“Am I being red flaggy?” he asks, uncommonly uncertain, I think.

“More like an onion,” I tell him.

“Layered?”

I smile. “Layered.” In a way I want to keep discovering.