JAY JAY POV
"You know, Keifer, you've been incredibly flirty lately," I said, looking down at him as he settled back onto my lap.
"Do you not want me to be flirty?" Keifer asked, raising an eyebrow. His eyes were teasing, but there was a hint of genuine curiosity there, like he was still testing the boundaries of what he was allowed to do now that we were together.
"I don't know, it feels weird," I admitted, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "Normally you ignored me or gave me that 'Tss' sound. But now? You're talking, you're kissing me, and... well, we even had sex." I felt my face heat up just saying it out loud. "It's a big change from the guy who told me to leave him alone every day."
Keifer's expression shifted, a mock-serious look taking over his face. "Fine then. If it's too weird for you, I'll just go back to the old way. I'll ignore you. I won't kiss you. I won't even look at you."
He started to sit up, shifting his weight off my lap with a determined huff.
"I'm just kidding!" I said quickly, grabbing his arms and pulling him back down with an undignified squeak. "Don't you dare go back to being the 'Ice King.' I worked way too hard to melt you to let you freeze up again."
Keifer let himself be pulled back, a triumphant smirk spreading across his face. He rested his head back on my knees, looking up at me with those dark, intense eyes that made my heart skip a beat.
"Tss. Make up your mind, Mrs. Watson," he teased. He reached up, running his thumb over my lower lip. "I only ignored you because I knew the second I started talking to you, I wouldn't be able to stop. And I only stayed away because I knew if I ever tasted you, I'd become addicted."
He pulled my hand to his mouth, kissing my knuckles "You're stuck with the flirty version now. No refunds."
I smiled, leaning down to press my forehead against his. "I wasn't planning on returning you anyway."
The warmth of the moment was shattered by the sound of footsteps crunching on the grass. We both looked up, and the air in my lungs turned to ice. Standing there, looking completely out of place in their designer clothes against the backdrop of a public park, were my parents.
"Jay? What are you doing here?" Mom asked, her voice laced with that familiar, high-pitched judgment.
I rolled my eyes, the "light" feeling I'd had all morning vanishing instantly. Keifer shifted, his muscles tensing as he stood up from my lap. We both rose to our feet, side-by-side, a united front.
"What are you guys doing here?" I snapped, crossing my arms. "I think you forgot that you have business deals to attend to somewhere in India, New York, Spain, or France. Isn't that usually more important than me?"
My father stepped forward, his face tight. "Jay, we've been worried. You've been gone for almost two weeks now. No calls, no updates. Do you have any idea how that looks?"
"We were worried about you," Dad said, though his eyes kept flickering to the small, humble apartment buildings in the distance.
"I'm sorry, but I don't think I know you guys," I said coldly. "The parents I knew wouldn't have even noticed I was gone unless a contract needed signing."
"Jay! We have been worried sick ever since you ran off with this... this Watson guy," Mom said, spitting Keifer's name like it was a curse word. She gestured to Keifer's plain t-shirt and our worn-out cooler. "Look at this! You're sitting in the dirt like a commoner. This isn't you."
I felt Keifer's hand slide into mine, his grip firm and grounding. I looked her straight in the eye, a small, defiant smile touching my lips.
"Actually, you're wrong, Mrs. Mariano," I said, my voice steady. "This is exactly me. And this 'Watson guy' isn't just someone I ran off with."
I lifted our joined hands, making sure the sunlight hit the simple gold band on my finger.
"This is my husband," I said firmly.
The silence that followed was deafening. My mother's jaw dropped, and my father actually stumbled back a step, his face turning a ghostly shade of pale. They stared at my hand, then at Keifer, then back at me, looking completely shocked.
"Husband?" Dad choked out, his voice cracking. "Jay, tell me you're joking. You can't be serious. An elopement? With a nobody?"
"He's not a nobody," I said, my voice ringing out across the park as I stepped closer to Keifer, physically anchoring myself to him. "He's the man who actually looks at me when I speak. He's the one who knows me, who gets me. He's a Watson. And so am I."
The silence lasted only a second before my father snapped.
"You asshole! What did you tell my daughter? How did you brainwash her?" my dad roared, lunging forward and grabbing Keifer's collar, bunching the fabric of his cheap t-shirt in his fists.
"Let him go!" I screamed, moving to intervene, but before I could reach them, my mother's hands clamped onto my arms like iron shackles.
"You're coming with us, Jay Jay! Right now!" Mom hissed, her face contorted with a mix of fury and embarrassment. She began dragging me toward the black Mercedes idling at the curb.
"KEIFER!" I yelled, digging my heels into the grass. I twisted and turned, trying to wrench myself free from my mother's grip. "Let me go! I'm not going anywhere with you!"
"JAY JAY!" Keifer's voice was a primal growl. He didn't hesitate; he shoved my father back with enough force to send him stumbling and came sprinting toward me.
"Let my wife go before I do something I'll regret!" Keifer yelled at my mother, his eyes dark with a terrifying, protective rage I had never seen before.
"She isn't your wife!" Mom shrieked back, her nails digging into my skin. "She's a Mariano! She belongs in a home, not a hovel with a boy like you!"
"I am a Watson!" I screamed, finally managed to jerk one arm free. I used all my weight to pull away, crying out as the man in the suit—the driver—started to step out to help my mother.
Keifer didn't give him the chance. He stepped between me and the car, his body a solid wall of muscle and defiance. He didn't touch my mother, but he loomed over her, his shadow swallowing her whole.
"Take your hands off her," Keifer said, his voice dropping to a low, lethal vibration that made even the driver freeze. "I don't care about your money or your name. If you touch her again, I will forget that you're her parents."
Terrified by the sheer intensity in his eyes, my mother's grip finally faltered. I didn't wait. I scrambled behind Keifer, clutching the back of his shirt, my heart hammering against my ribs.
My father shoved Keifer back with a desperate force, his fingers digging into my wrists as he physically forced me toward the car. Before I could plant my feet, he shoved me inside the backseat.
"Let me go!" I screamed, kicking at the leather interior.
"Jay Jay, listen to reason! Yuri says he still wants to marry you even after you embarrassed us," Mom yelled, her voice frantic as she tried to block the door. "He's willing to overlook this... this lapse in judgment!"
The mention of that man's name made my blood boil. I didn't stay down. I scrambled across the seat, flung open the opposite door, and threw myself out of the car. I ran straight back to Keifer, who was already on his feet. The bodyguard stepped forward to intercept us, but Keifer didn't hesitate—he landed a clean, brutal punch that sent the man reeling.
"Look at what is happening!" I yelled, my voice raw. I turned to my parents, my chest heaving. "What do you want from me?"
"Jay, we want a safe house for you! We want to protect our business!" Mom yelled back, her priorities as twisted as ever.
The sheer coldness of her answer snapped something inside me. I reached down, grabbed a jagged rock from the landscaping, and hurled it with everything I had. It cracked against the pristine paint of the Mercedes with a satisfying thud.
"Fucking piece of shit!" I screamed at the car, at the name, and at the life they were trying to force me back into.
The commotion had drawn a massive crowd. People were whispering, filming with their phones, and watching the "powerhouse" Marianos get publicly unravelled.
"Jay, let's go. Everyone is looking at us," Dad said, his voice dropping to a hiss, his face red with shame. He reached out to grab my shoulder, but I stepped back.
"Mr. Mariano, don't cross your limits," I said, the formality of his name cutting like a knife. "You lost your daughter a long time ago. But fine. You want me to come with you? You want to prove you're my parents?"
Keifer stepped up behind me, his hand resting firmly on my waist, lending me his strength.
"In the next twenty seconds, tell me everything you know about me," I challenged, staring my father down. "Anything. My favorite color, my best friend, what I'm allergic to, what I dream about. Tell me who I am."
"Jay, what is this crap?" Dad asked, looking around nervously at the spectators.
"Your time starts now," I said.
The silence that followed was the loudest thing I'd ever heard. Ten seconds passed. My mother opened her mouth, then closed it. My father looked at his shoes, then at the car. Fifteen seconds. They looked at each other, searching for a single fact, a single memory that didn't involve a gala or a grade report.
Twenty seconds hit. Nothing.
I slowly clapped my hands, the sound mocking in the quiet park. "This," I said, my voice trembling with bitter triumph, "is what you know about me. Absolutely nothing."
I turned away from them and looked at an elderly lady standing nearby, who had been watching the scene with sad eyes. "Granny," I said softly, "can you please tell me something about your kids?"
The woman blinked, then a small smile touched her lips. "Of course, dear. I have a son, he's forty now. When he was a kid, he loved the color blue and always wanted to be a photographer. He is one now. And his favorite food? Still pizza, every Friday night."
I turned back to my parents, whose faces were pale.
"That is the difference," I said. "That woman knows her son's soul. You only know my price tag. Please... if you really do care about me, even a little bit, then just let me live my life."
I didn't wait for an answer. I grabbed Keifer's hand, turned my back on the Mercedes and the millions of pesos it represented, and started walking.
"Let's go home, Keifer," I whispered.
"I've got you, Jay," he replied, his grip tightening on mine as we walked away from the only world I'd ever known, and toward the only one that mattered.
After the incident at the park, we gathered our picnic blanket and the near-empty basket, walking home in a heavy, charged silence. Every time I thought about my parents' blank stares when I asked them to tell me one thing about myself, a fresh wave of bitterness washed over me.
When we reached the apartment, my eyes landed on the clothes I ran away with. They were relics of a life that felt like a cage.
I didn't think twice. I took the clothes outside to the small concrete patch behind our building. I threw the silk blouses, the branded jeans, I grabbed a bottle of lighter fluid we used for the grill, soaked the pile until the scent was overpowering, and struck a match.
The flames roared to life instantly, consuming the threads of my past.
"Jay Jay!" Keifer shouted, rushing toward me and wrapping his arms around my waist to pull me back from the sudden heat.
"Let them burn, Keifer!" I cried out, my voice cracking as I watched a thousand-dollar dress curl into black ash. "I don't want them! I don't want anything that connects me to that house or that name!"
Keifer held me tight, his chest heaving against my back. He didn't try to stop the fire anymore; he just held me while I shook. He understood that this wasn't just about fabric—it was an exorcism.
"They're gone, Jay," he whispered into my hair, his grip grounding me. "The clothes, the expectations... all of it. It's just us now."
I watched the last of the fire flicker, the smell of burning expensive wool filling the air. I felt lighter with every spark that drifted away. When the flames finally died down into a heap of grey soot, I turned around in Keifer's arms and buried my face in his chest.
"I only want to be the girl who wears your oversized t-shirts," I whispered into his shirt. "I only want to be a Watson."
Keifer pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes. He wiped a smudge of soot from my cheek with his thumb, his expression softening into that rare, tender look he only saved for me.
"You've been a Watson since the moment you stepped into that diner and told me you weren't leaving," he said firmly. He leaned down and kissed my forehead. "Now, come inside. You smell like smoke and rebellion, and we still have those sandwiches to finish."
I let out a small, breathless laugh, allowing him to lead me back into our tiny sanctuary.