Jax was nervous.

He looked cool and collected, but his knee was bouncing a mile a minute as we drove through the English countryside. He had been this way—fidgety and distracted—since we left the hotel, and I didn’t know what to say to soothe him.

“They’re not warm,” he warned me during the drive. “They really embrace the British stereotype of being distant and emotionally closed off.”

“I understand,” I tried to reassure him, trying to get him to relax during our several hours on the road. “I’ve survived many an awkward dinner,” I said. “Have I told you about the date I had with the magician?”

He turned to me, his eyes wide. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am.” I grinned. “And don’t even get me started on the first date who brought his mother to dinner. I wish she had been distant and emotionally closed off. Instead, she was feeding him crème brûlée by the end of the evening.”

Jax cracked a smile, and for a moment, I could see him relax. “Good thing I came along when I did,” he told me as we turned off the main road. “Who knows what terrible situation you would have found yourself in next?”

He patted my leg, and I slapped his hand away.

“You never know,” I retorted. “Prince Charming could have been next in line. You might be keeping me from him this very moment—”

I fell silent as the trees parted and the house came into view.

Correction: the mansion.

I gulped. I had known his family was wealthy—the summer house on the shore with round-the-clock staff was a big hint back when we were kids—but this was like something out of Jane Austen all over again.

No wonder he seemed so comfortable on the movie set, lounging around the stately house. He’d grown up in a mini version all of his own.

“Wow.” I blinked. We drove closer, and the house got bigger. Much bigger. It was old and crumbling, with manicured hedges and rolling lawns, and a fountain out front. “So this is Casa Hawthorne?”

Jax didn’t reply. He was looking at the couple who had just emerged from the front door and stood waiting as we pulled up outside.

It was time to meet the parents.

I climbed out of the car and took a quick look. Jax’s mother, Kira, had her hair pulled back so tightly that I was amazed she was able to blink, let alone move any part of her face at all. His father, Peter, was wearing a fricking bowtie with his tweed jacket, everything buttoned up as high as it could go.

Suddenly, I felt underdressed, even in my best floral dress and sharp navy jacket. I could just feel them silently judging me as Jax grabbed our things from the back and joined me.

“Mother,” Jax greeted them, heading up the steps. “Father.”

“Darling.” Kira offered him a cheek, but extended it only far enough to get an air kiss. Peter shook his son’s hand.

“And who’s this?” he asked, looking me up and down.

My stomach was tied up in knots.

“This is Penny,” Jax told them, putting his hand on my lower back. “We met in the States when we were younger. When we went to the Shore over the winter that one year.”

Kira’s eyes widened, but only barely. I didn’t think she could widen them anymore.

“That had to have been years ago,” she said, looking confused.

I nodded. “About fifteen years ago,” I confirmed.

“So, what are you doing in England now?”

“Penny has been staying with me while I film the movie,” Jax said.

They looked at him blankly.

“The Pride and Prejudice movie,” he added. “I told you about it.”

Kira lifted her nose. “I so hate it when they adapt books,” she said with a sigh. “It’s never as good as the original source material.”

I glared, but Jax didn’t even seem to notice. I got the feeling that it was the kind of comment he was well used to.

“I brought you something,” Jax told his father, and handed him the gift bag containing an expensive bottle of whiskey.

“It’s a Glenfiddich,” Jax added. “I thought that was your favorite.”

“It is,” Peter said, turning the bottle over in his hands. “When it’s a twenty-year.”

He handed the bottle back to Jax. The bottle of fifteen-year-old whiskey. The bottle of fifteen-year-old whiskey that I was tempted to open right there and chug half of.

Poor Jax.

But he took it all in stride, handing the bottle to the butler—an honest to goodness butler—that came out to show all of us in.

“Penny, wasn’t it?” Kira asked me as we headed into the house. “What is it that you do? Are you one of those Hollywood people?” she asked, in the same voice that you would say “vagabonds.”

“Penny’s in finance,” Jax said, and I got a little warm and fuzzy at the pride in his voice.

“Really?” There was the tiniest hint of interest in Peter’s voice. “Finance.”

“She likes numbers,” Jax added. “And she’s damn good with them.”

I blushed a little. “They make sense to me,” I explained.

“Sounds like a good sensible field,” Kira said before giving Jax a pointed look. “A good long-term career.”

The passive-aggressive barb did not miss its mark, and I could see Jax’s shoulders slump a little at his mother’s comment.

“Well,” I said, probably more loudly than necessary, “if I was as talented as Jax is, I’d be in the theater too.”

Both of Jax’s parents stared at me, and Jax cast me a grateful, if not amused glance.

“Let’s have tea,” Kira said after a long, tense pause.

Great, I thought. Better I put food in my mouth than continue to try to shove my foot down there.

I followed them through the house. It was even more beautiful on the inside, with oil paintings on the walls and heavy drapery, but it felt more like a carefully curated museum than a home. I didn’t feel comfortable touching anything, and I wasn’t exactly sure how we were going to eat if I had to worry about sitting on the furniture, or using it in any way.

But as we headed towards the dining room, Jax came over and put his arm around my waist, giving my hip a squeeze. He pulled me aside.

“Thank you,” he told me. “For trying.”

“They’re . . .” I searched for the word.

“Cold? Distant?” he teased. “I warned you,” he told me, and even though he was smiling, I saw the sadness in his eyes. He could joke all he liked, but it still must be hard dealing with these people as his family.

“This? This is nothing,” I said breezily, linking my arm through his. “It’s going to take more than a little passive-aggression to chill my bones.”

Tea was mostly quiet, with a side of slight tension. We all seemed to be very focused on our food—an incredible spread of scones and tea sandwiches—and conversation was minimal. Both Kira and Peter excused themselves soon after the food was cleared, leaving Jax and I alone in the dining room—one of many, as Jax made sure to point out.

“Would you like the grand tour?” he asked.

I looked around. “Won’t your parents want to, you know, talk? Catch up with you?”

Jax snorted. “They won’t reappear until dinner. Mum has a ‘training session.’ ” He made air quotes around the words. He seemed unaffected by all of it, but of course, this was normal to him. He had been dealing with this kind of behavior from his parents for his entire life.

I felt bad for him. This was no way for a kid to grow up—first, caught in the crossfires of several contentious almost-divorces, and then eventually forced to accept that his parents would remain together, living with each other unhappily, while sleeping with other people on a regular basis. Even though I didn’t agree with Jax’s belief that a marriage based in friendship would solve those kinds of problems, I could see exactly why he would have made our pact, back in the day. If I had been raised by Kira and Peter, I would be doing everything in my power to avoid ending up like them.

I was grateful when Jax took me outside. The house that had seemed so beautiful and refined upon first glance, seemed to get more and more oppressive the longer we stayed in it. Everything in there seemed to be judging me—from the candlesticks to the carpets. And I didn’t even know what it was judging me for!

“Hey boy,” Jax warmly greeted one of the sheepdogs that ran up to him.

It was well behaved enough that it didn’t jump on him, and sat patiently while Jax scratched him behind the ears before running off again.

Jax shrugged. “Wonder what they called that one?” he mused. “They all sort of seem the same. Which I guess is the point. They use the same breeder and the same trainer with each new dog.”

“He seems very sweet,” I commented.

Jax nodded. “He is. Sweet, but without much personality. Just the way my parents want them.” He took my hand. “Come on,” he said. “I want to show you something.”

We went around back, where the gorgeous garden continued, lush but still carefully maintained. The grounds surrounding the house seemed to go on forever, and the farther we got from the house, the more relaxed I could feel Jax become.

We reached a huge, old oak tree, and Jax gave it a triumphant gesture.

“Tah-dah,” he told me, fingers spread wide as he presented the tree trunk.

I wasn’t exactly sure what I was looking at, but I smiled and nodded.

“Uh huh,” I said, trying to sound excited about a tree trunk.

Jax shook his head. “Come here.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me around until I could see what he had actually been pointing at.

It was a couple of boards nailed to the side of the trunk. Boards that acted as stairs that led all the way up into the tree’s thick foliage.

“ A treehouse!” I exclaimed, smiling.

“Wait until you see the view from up there,” he told me, gesturing for me to climb up.

I paused. “I’ll fall and break my neck,” I warned him. “And there are probably spiders. When was the last time someone was up there?”

“I check on it every time I’m home,” he reassured me, looking amused. “There might be spiders, but they’re not interested in you. And I won’t let you fall. I’ll be right behind you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I muttered before putting my hands on the boards and beginning to climb.

It wasn’t more than ten or twelve feet off the ground, but I didn’t like heights. Still, I gritted my teeth and kept climbing. When I got to the dusty platform, I could see why Jax had wanted me to come up here. It was beautiful.

“The view is incredible,” I said.

“I completely agree.” Jax’s voice had laughter in it, and I looked down to find that he was looking up my skirt.

“Ahem!” I quickly shimmied out of sight.

“You know I’ve seen it before,” he teased, and I went red.

I scrambled into the treehouse, careful to tuck my skirt down around my knees. Jax joined me shortly, his mouth still curved in a smirk.

“You better not have made me climb all the way up here so you could look up my skirt,” I told him.

He laughed. “Seems like a lot of work for something you’d let me do anyways.”

I huffed, but after last night, I didn’t really have the right to be self-righteous about that. After all, he wasn’t wrong.

“Not too bad, right?” he asked, his attention focused on the treehouse.

My skirt firmly smoothed down, I looked around. It was a lovely little space. There was barely enough room for two adults, but I could easily picture a young Jax spending hours up here by himself. “I used to come up here and read comics.” Jax somehow managed to fit his lean body against one side of the treehouse, his long legs stretched out in front of him, brushing up against mine.

My eyebrows went up. “Comics? Really?”

He shrugged. “Before I knew that I could buy copies of plays, comics were the next best thing. I’d do dramatic readings of them to my G.I. Joe toys. Got a standing ovation every time.”

I laughed, able to picture that perfectly.

“What kind of comics did you get?” I asked.

“Superheroes, mainly,” he said. “I really liked this one called Captain Atom.”

“I think I’ve heard of him.” I wracked my brain.

He nodded. “There’s been some talk about making it into a movie,” he added. “I’m on the shortlist for the lead.”

“What? That’s amazing!” I leaned forward and gave him a hug. It wasn’t easy in the cramped space, but somehow we managed. And when we did, the air in the tiny treehouse seemed to get a lot hotter, tension crackling around us.

When I drew back, I saw that it wasn’t just me. Jax’s eyes were intense, dropping down to my mouth briefly before focusing back on my eyes.

“Thank you for coming here,” he said softly. He reached to brush my hair out of my eyes, and I had to bite my lip to keep from sighing at the touch. “I couldn’t have done it alone.”

“Sure you could,” I said, trying to keep my composure. “You’re about to be a superhero, remember?”

Something flashed in his eyes, the tension dissipating as he looked away.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I’m not sure I’m going to get the part,” he said. “They don’t think that my reputation goes well with the Captain Atom image. You know, the whole ‘bad boy’ thing.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but then it all clicked.

Suddenly everything made sense. The need for an image re-haul. The fake relationship. The right kind of girl.

Safe. Sensible.

Boring.

This was all to help Jax’s image, so he could get the Captain Atom role.

I knew I should feel used, but I’d gone into this with my eyes open. I had agreed to this crazy plan because Jax needed the PR, and now I knew why.

Because getting this role would be a childhood dream come true for him—ever since he’d played pretend as a lonely kid up here in this very treehouse.

My heart swelled for him, so close to his dream.

“We’re going to make sure you get that role,” I told him. “I’ll be the best fake girlfriend you ever had.”

Jax frowned. “That’s not why I bought you here.”

“To England? It’s exactly the reason I’m here. And I won’t let you down.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that.” Jax shook his head. “I brought you home because, well, I wanted you to see it. See me.”

My heart stopped.

For a moment he just looked at me with that open, searching gaze. And then, leaning forward, he took my head in my hands and kissed me. It was a sweet, tender kiss, and I lost myself in it.

Then came the pitter patter of rain.