The Palmer estate is everything you expected and more—grand marble floors, chandeliers glowing warmly, the faint scent of roses carried through the hall by some invisible current. You’ve argued in courtrooms against ruthless executives and CEOs, but somehow this—meeting Jacob’s parents—has your stomach in knots.

Jacob notices. Of course he does. His hand rests on the small of your back as the butler ushers you inside. “Relax,” he murmurs, lips brushing close to your ear. “They’re going to love you.”

You’re not so sure. But then his mother appears, elegant in silk and pearls, her face brightening the second her eyes land on you. “So this is the woman I’ve heard so much about,” she says warmly, taking your hands before you can even introduce yourself.

Behind her, Jacob’s father steps forward—sharper gaze, firm handshake, sizing you up in a single glance. For a moment, your nerves spike again. But then his eyes flick toward Jacob, who still hasn’t moved his hand from your back, and his mouth curves just slightly. Approval, subtle but there.

Dinner is a whirlwind—questions about your work, your family, the long hours at your firm. His mother laughs at your stories, his father presses on business matters, and Jacob? He steadies you through it all, brushing his thumb across your knuckles under the table, squeezing your thigh whenever you falter. By dessert, you’re laughing along with them, almost forgetting you’d been nervous at all.

When coffee is served, his mother insists, “You’ll stay the night, of course. The guest suites are ready.”

Your mouth opens to protest, but Jacob beats you to it. “We’d be happy to.” His tone leaves no room for argument.

Later, you find yourself standing in the grand hallway, clutching your overnight bag as Jacob unlocks the door to a guest room that looks more like a five-star suite. The bed is enormous, the chandelier dripping crystal, the sheets smooth silk.

You gape. “This is the guest room?”

He smirks, closing the door behind you. “Told you they’d roll out the red carpet.”

“I feel like I’m trespassing.”

“You’re not trespassing.” His hands slide to your waist, pulling you close. His voice softens, low enough only you can hear. “You belong here.”

Your cheeks burn, but you don’t get a chance to reply—his lips brush yours, once, then again deeper, slower. You sink into him, the world fading—

Until a cheerful knock at the door has you both freezing. His mother’s voice sings through: “Goodnight, darlings! Sleep well!”

Mortified, you bury your face in Jacob’s chest as he muffles a laugh against your hair. When the footsteps fade, he tilts your chin up with a wicked grin. “Guess we’ll have to be quiet tonight.”