Chapter 167: The Woman in His Arms

Chapter 167: Chapter 167: The Woman in His Arms

Zoya scrolled through the digital brochure on her tablet. She frowned at the screen.

Wrong lighting. Wrong layout. Too small. Too rustic.

"No."

A pause stretched over the phone line.

"That was number seven," Jackson noted.

"You counted?" Zoya asked, tossing the tablet onto her desk.

"I stopped counting around five, but yes. I am keeping track of the casualties."

"The lighting is terrible," Zoya argued. "And they want to put the dance floor right next to the kitchen doors. I am not having my guests dodge waiters carrying trays of salmon while they try to dance."

"Fair point. But what was wrong with number six?"

"Number six had a moat, Jackson. A literal moat."

"I liked the moat. It offered good security. Keeps the unwanted guests out."

Zoya rolled her eyes. "Number five smelled like antique cheese. Number three had carpets from the nineteen seventies. We are trying to host a wedding, not a historical reenactment."

Jackson let out a low laugh. "We could just go to the courthouse."

"Do not even joke about that."

"It is highly efficient. We sign a paper. We go get lunch."

"It is depressing. I am not wearing a white dress to stand next to someone disputing a parking ticket."

"Just an option."

Zoya picked up a pen and started tapping it against her notepad. "Find me an option without a moat and without a musty odor."

"Actually, I was going to tell you something," Jackson said. His tone shifted, becoming more casual.

"Is it another venue?" Zoya asked. "Because if it has a barn, the answer is still no."

"No barns. My family is here."

Zoya froze. Her pen stopped tapping. "What?"

"They arrived from overseas a few hours ago," Jackson explained. "And they want to meet you."

"Meet me?" Zoya repeated. "When?"

"Tonight."

Panic flared in her chest. "Jackson. You cannot just drop that on me at two in the afternoon."

"I was trying to tell you yesterday at dinner."

"You did not try very hard." Zoya pulled the notepad closer and clicked her pen. "How many people? Is this formal? What should I wear? Does your mother know about the wedding details? Are we eating dinner, or is this just drinks?"

"Zoya."

"Because if it is dinner, I need to know if they have dietary restrictions. I cannot show up empty-handed. Should I bring wine? Flowers? Do they shake hands or hug?"

"They are just people."

"They are the people who raised you. That requires preparation."

A loud beep echoed through the line.

"I have to take this," Jackson said. "It is the senior partner."

"You cannot hang up on me."

"I will text you the address. See you tonight."

"Jackson!"

The line went dead.

Zoya stared at her phone in disbelief. She dropped the device on the desk.

"He cannot just say ’my family is here’ and then disappear."

Her assistant, Maya, knocked on the open office door. "Is everything okay in here? I heard yelling."

"No," Zoya said flatly. "I am meeting my future in-laws tonight and I have zero tactical information."

Maya smiled sympathetically. "Good luck. Should I push your afternoon calls?"

"I need more than luck. Cancel my four o’clock. I need to go home and figure out how to look like a woman who has her life together."

Later that evening, Zoya stood in front of her full-length mirror. She had changed her outfit three times. The navy suit was too corporate. She looked like she was going to court. The black dress was too severe. She looked like she was attending a funeral.

She finally settled on a tailored emerald green dress. It looked professional but approachable. She hoped.

She grabbed her purse and drove to the address Jackson had texted her.

She mentally rehearsed conversation starters at every red light. She practiced smiling. She tried to guess what kind of questions a mother would ask the woman marrying her son.

She pulled up to the restaurant. It was an upscale bistro downtown. The kind of place with dim lighting, smooth jazz music, and wine menus thicker than most novels.

She handed her keys to the valet and took a steadying breath.

She was not usually nervous. She faced down hostile corporate lawyers every single day. She cross-examined witnesses without blinking. But this was different. This was the first time she was meeting his family. And Jackson had provided approximately ten percent of the necessary information.

She walked inside. The hostess greeted her with a polite smile.

"I am looking for Jackson," Zoya said.

The hostess checked her podium, then gestured toward the back of the restaurant. "The private dining area, right through there."

Zoya walked past the crowded tables. She scanned the room, looking for his familiar broad shoulders.

She spotted him.

She stopped walking.

Jackson was standing across the room, near a velvet booth.

And a woman was holding him.

Very close.

Her arms were wrapped tight around his shoulders. Jackson had his arms around her waist. They were talking intimately. The woman laughed, tilting her head back, and pressed even closer to him.

She was stunning. Tall, elegant, with dark hair cascading down her back. She wore a sleek silk dress that clung to her frame.

Zoya stopped breathing for a fraction of a second.

Her expression shifted. There was no dramatic gasp. She did not feel the urge to scream or throw a wine glass across the room.

Instead, a very dangerous, icy lawyer silence settled over her.

She stood perfectly still and watched them, her fingers tightened against her elbows.

Jackson had not noticed her yet. He was still talking to the woman, completely unaware that Zoya had walked in. The woman whispered something in his ear, and Jackson smiled. It was a real, unguarded smile. He reached up and smoothed a strand of dark hair away from the woman’s face.

Zoya crossed her arms.

Her first thought was highly practical.

So this is the family meeting.

Her second thought was sharper.

Interesting.

She did not turn around and leave. She did not storm over and demand an explanation. She just stood there, waiting for him to look up and explain exactly what she was looking at.

Zoya had spent the entire afternoon stressing over whether Jackson’s family would like her.

Apparently, she should have been worrying about whether Jackson had forgotten to mention someone else.