A whole week of pretending I didn't notice Aaron's mother glaring at me across dinner tables and garden paths felt like living in an ice bath.
I'd never made it this far in a relationship. Meeting the parents? Foreign territory. And after surviving Helen Simmons for seven days straight, I wasn't sure I wanted to do it ever again.
The woman was a bitch. There was no dressing it up with a bow.
The next morning, she took us golfing—because nothing says "bonding" like standing on acres of land swinging metal sticks in front of people who silently wish you'd disappear.
The only golf I'd ever played was mini-golf, with plastic clubs and neon dinosaurs. So yeah, I was already losing before I'd even teed off.
"Here, dear, let me help you," Michael said warmly, stepping behind me and adjusting my grip on the club.
I glanced at Aaron. He was leaning against the golf cart in his sunglasses, watching like this was his personal entertainment.
I swung. Missed.
Swung again. Nothing.
Michael chuckled and stepped back. "You'll get it. It just takes time."
Aaron finally peeled himself from the cart. "Here, let me try."
He tossed his sunglasses onto the seat, came up behind me, and placed his hands on my waist, guiding me into position. His breath was warm against my neck. A delicious chill ran through me.
"Jealous?" I whispered, teasing.
"He's not the one fucking you every day," he murmured, lips brushing my ear.
My heart did a somersault. I bit my lip and looked over—just in time to catch Helen watching us with gritted teeth, her expression somewhere between a migraine and murder. When she noticed me staring, she quickly turned away, suddenly very interested in a tree nearby.
Aaron gently adjusted my arms. "Bend here. Shift your weight."
When I swung, the ball actually went somewhere—maybe not far, but it soared. People clapped. I turned to thank him, breathless.
He winked at Michael, who gave him a knowing nod. Men. Predictable. But it was cute, seeing Aaron like this—easygoing, warm, totally not the sharp-edged executive I worked for.
I walked over to Daisy, slipping the club into the bag she carried.
"I love seeing him like that with you," she said. "He's never brought a girl home before."
I didn't know what to say. So I just looked back at Aaron—laughing, joking with his brothers, for once not attached to his phone.
Later that night, after dinner at some five-star restaurant, we returned to the house for drinks. As we descended the stairs, Aaron kissed my cheek, and that's when Helen appeared—arms crossed, waiting like a final boss.
"Aaron," she said, ice in every syllable, "you know how I feel about public displays of affection. It's distasteful. And what I saw on the golf course today—well, I hope you'll both be more modest moving forward."
Her eyes landed on me like I'd dragged mud in on a white carpet.
Aaron looked between us. "Mom, what are you talking about? You've never cared about this before."
She threw her hands up and stormed off, muttering something about standards.
By the time the wine wore off and we were heading upstairs, I just wanted to crawl into bed with Aaron and forget the entire day.
But of course, she had one more move to make.
"I'd prefer you two slept in separate rooms tonight," she said coldly. "I'm not comfortable with you sharing a bed in my home."
I blinked, stunned. Not because I was surprised—but because she had the nerve to say it out loud.
I turned to Aaron. "Well, I'll see you in the morning," I said, all smiles, already plotting how to sneak down the hall later. "How about I make you breakfast?"
Aaron smiled, kissing me softly. "Sounds perfect."
At 3 a.m., I woke to the sound of footsteps and the mattress dipping beside me. Warm arms slid around my waist, and I knew instantly it was Aaron.
"What's your mom going to say about this?" I whispered, voice thick with sleep.
He buried his face in my neck. "Doesn't matter. I couldn't sleep without you."
I laced my fingers through his and drifted off, the wind howling outside, his chest rising and falling against my back.
The next morning, we took a long bath together, the hot water steaming around us as we turned the knobs back and forth to keep it warm. Despite his mother's drama, the week had turned into something sweet—almost dreamlike.
"We're late for breakfast, Miss Jackson," Aaron teased.
I groaned, sinking deeper into the water. "Don't ruin this moment."
"Mmm. Someone doesn't want to go back to the real world," he said, brushing his lips against my cheek.
"This is the real world, Aaron. And for once, I'm actually enjoying it."
He kissed the top of my head and wrapped his arms around me.
Then came the knock.
We froze.
"Are you alone in there, Aaron, or is Alaina with you?" Helen's voice sliced through the hallway like a guillotine.
Aaron grinned. I shook my head wildly, silently mouthing no.
"No, Mom," he called back. "I'm alone."
"Aaron, don't lie to me. You better not be in there together."
He rolled on top of me, grinning. His lips found mine in soft, slow defiance.
"Did you hear me?" she barked again, testing the doorknob.
"Yes, Mom. I heard you loud and clear," he replied, oozing sarcasm.
The knob rattled once more, then silence. She was gone—at least for now.
I pushed his hand away and climbed out of the tub.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"To get dressed. I have a feeling she's coming back."
Aaron sighed, watching me move around the room like I was the most fascinating thing in it.
"Let's go back to New York early," he said suddenly. "Catch a movie. Just us."
I raised an eyebrow. "You mean an actual date?"
He smirked. "Yeah. I think we've earned one."
"You think your mom will approve?"
He stood and walked over, pulling me close, zipping up my jeans for me like it was nothing.
"She doesn't get a vote. Not anymore."
He kissed me gently, and for a moment, it almost felt like we were the only ones in the house. Maybe even the world.
But deep down, I knew better.
All good things in my life came with a consequence.
And mine was just beginning.