Chapter 159: Paige

Chapter 159: Paige
The store is small but full of life, racks of linen shirts, flowy dresses, and soft cotton basics lining the walls, the warm scent of sandalwood and something citrusy in the air. The saleswoman greets us with a cheerful “Boa tarde!” as we step inside, her dark hair piled into a loose bun, gold bangles jingling on her wrists as she folds a stack of sweaters near the register.

Jaxon gives her a small nod, but his attention is already on the men’s section, flipping through some button-ups. I linger near a rack of sundresses, running my fingers over the fabric, light and airy, perfect for Lisbon’s heat.

"Can I help you find something?" the woman asks in Portuguese, smiling kindly.

I shake my head, returning her smile. "Só estamos a ver, obrigada." We’re just looking, thank you.

Jaxon glances over, raising a brow. "What did she say?"

"She asked if we needed help."

"And what’d you say?"

"That we’re just looking."

He smirks. "Look at you, translator extraordinaire."

I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling. "You should be taking notes."

He hums in response, holding up a black linen shirt. "What about this?"

I tilt my head, considering. "I like it. Very sexy brooding ex-criminal turned normal Portuguese citizen."

He chuckles. "That’s exactly the look I’m going for."

We browse for a while, picking out essentials—soft tees, jeans, lightweight jackets for when the nights get cooler. Jaxon insists on buying me anything I so much as glance at, even when I protest that I don’t need that many clothes.

"Princess, we left everything behind," he reminds me, holding up a pale blue dress I had been eyeing. "Let me do this."

I press my lips together, then sigh. "Fine. But I get to pick something for you, too."

He smirks. "Deal."

And that’s how I end up holding a crisp white shirt against his chest, deciding it’ll look unfairly good on him.

"You’ll wear this," I tell him.

His grin is lazy, teasing. "Is that an order?"

"Yes."

We leave the store with two bags each, Jaxon shaking his head at how I somehow ended up buying more things for him than for myself.

Next thing on our list was to get our money sorted. The meeting at the bank is surprisingly smooth.

Jaxon was tense at first, his usual distrust making him hyper-aware of everyone in the building, but I handled most of the conversation, translating where needed. The banker was an older man, kind and professional, explaining our options in slow, clear Portuguese. Jaxon mostly listened, his hand resting on my thigh beneath the desk, grounding himself in my presence.

By the time we leave, we have a joint account, a Portuguese debit card, and the knowledge that we’re officially building a life here.

"Well," I say, sliding my arm through Jaxon’s as we step onto the street. "We’re financially responsible adults now."

He snorts. "Speak for yourself."

Lunch is next, and God, I wasn’t prepared for how good the food would be.

We find a small spot on a cobblestone street, the kind of place with handwritten menus and wooden chairs that wobble slightly on the uneven pavement. The second the frango piri-piri hits my tongue—juicy, smoky, with just the right amount of spice—I let out an involuntary mmph and do a tiny bounce in my seat.

Jaxon watches, amused. "Good?"

"Good?" I repeat, eyes wide. "This is insane."

He chuckles, shaking his head as he takes a bite. "Not bad."

"Not bad?!"

"I mean, it’s good," he admits, smirking. "But the real highlight is you jumping over a piece of chicken."

I narrow my eyes at him but keep eating, savoring every bite.

When we’re done, we order pastéis de nata, the famous Portuguese custard tarts. I take my first bite, the flaky crust giving way to creamy, slightly caramelized filling, and let out a content sigh.

"This is dangerous," I mumble through my mouthful.

Jaxon hums, watching me. "You’ve got powdered sugar on your lip."

Before I can wipe it off, he leans over, brushing his thumb against the corner of my mouth. His eyes darken slightly as he pulls back, licking the sugar off his thumb.

I swallow hard.

Yeah. Dangerous.

We end the day by the ocean near our house. The beach is breathtaking.

By the time we get there, the sun is starting to set, painting the sky in gold and soft pink, casting long shadows over the sand. The air smells like salt and citrus, the ocean stretching endlessly before us, waves lapping lazily against the shore.

I take off my sandals, digging my toes into the cool sand. Jaxon does the same, rolling up his jeans slightly as we walk along the water.

"It’s beautiful," I whisper.

He looks at me instead of the view. "Yeah. It is."

I glance up at him, catching the way the sunset turns his grey eyes almost silver, softening the sharp edges of his face.

For a while, we don’t talk, just walk side by side, listening to the rhythmic crash of waves, the occasional laughter of kids playing in the distance.

After a few minutes, I speak again. "Did you ever think this would be your life?"

He’s quiet for a beat, then shakes his head. "No. I never thought I’d have a life at all."

I bite my lip, my chest tightening. "But you do now."

His eyes meet mine, and something passes between us—something heavy, something full of promise.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "I do now."

I smile, reaching for his hand, intertwining our fingers. He squeezes gently, grounding me.

We sit down on a large flat rock, watching the last bit of sun dip below the horizon. Jaxon pulls me into his side, his warmth settling over me like a second skin.

For the first time in my life, I feel truly, utterly at peace.

And I know—wherever we go from here, whatever happens next—this is home.