The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

Jason POV:

For the first time in my life, I woke up before the sun even had a chance to peek over the horizon. And if you know me, you know that’s practically unheard of. I’m not exactly the early bird type. But today was different. Today was monumental.

Today, I marry Ella Kingsley.

I sat up in bed, staring into the faint light creeping through the blinds. My heart was pounding like I’d just run a marathon. Not from nerves, though—at least, not entirely. It was the kind of anticipation that you feel when something big is about to happen, something that’s going to change everything.

I glanced over at the suit hanging neatly in the corner of my room. Classic black, crisp white shirt, sharp tie—simple, elegant, timeless. Just like Ella. She probably didn’t even know how much she influenced my choices.

God, Ella.

She was probably already up, pacing somewhere, maybe going over some list her dad made for the wedding. Knowing her, she’d be cool and collected on the outside, but inside, she’d be a whirlwind. I smiled at the thought. She had no idea how endearing that contradiction was.

Then again, Ella didn’t seem to realize a lot of things about how I felt.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. It wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. Marriage was supposed to be about two people who wanted to spend their lives together. But our situation? It was about deals, contracts, and proving points—to her dad, to herself, and maybe even to me.

Not that I cared about the details. She could call it a contract marriage all she wanted, but I knew what this was to me. It was a chance—a chance to show her that I wasn’t just some guy who could charm her on a bet or impress her dad with a business deal.

No, I wanted to be more than that.

I wanted to be her person.

The one she turned to when things got hard. The one who made her laugh when she was determined to stay serious. The one who reminded her that she didn’t have to carry everything on her own.

The one she loved.

But first, I had to survive today without screwing it all up.

Dylan and Max had camped out at my place the night before, calling it a "proper send-off" for my soon-to-be-gone single life.

Yeah, we’d stayed up late last night, reminiscing about my soon-to-be-gone single life. Dylan and Max treated it like the end of an era, cracking jokes, sharing old stories, and, of course, drinking like it was a college frat party. I, on the other hand, didn’t touch a drop.

How could I? Tomorrow wasn’t just any day—it was my wedding day. Showing up hungover wasn’t exactly the image I wanted to present, especially not in front of Mr. Kingsley. The man already thought I was walking on water for agreeing to marry Ella. Ruining that carefully built reputation was not on my to-do list.

As the clock had ticked closer to midnight, Max had slung an arm around my shoulders, beer in hand, and teased, "This is it, man. The last night you’re a free agent. How does it feel?"

I’d laughed at the time, brushing it off with a shrug. But deep down, I didn’t feel like I was losing my freedom—I felt like I was gaining something much bigger. Something I’d wanted for a long time, even if Ella didn’t realize it yet.

When Dylan had raised his glass for a toast, I’d joined in with my water bottle, ignoring their teasing about being the "designated groom."

"To Jason," Dylan had declared, swaying slightly. "And to the crazy, beautiful, terrifying future that lies ahead!"

Max had chimed in, "And to Ella, who’s going to need all the luck in the world putting up with this guy."

The three of us had laughed, but their words stuck with me long after they’d passed out on the couch and armchair, respectively.

Ella was going to be my wife tomorrow. Even if it was technically a contract marriage, it still meant something to me. It meant everything.

So yeah, while Dylan and Max nursed their hangovers this morning, I was up early, alert, and ready. Because I wasn’t just preparing for a wedding—I was preparing for the fight of my life.

A fight to prove to Ella that this wasn’t just about convenience or contracts.

This was about us.

I rolled out of bed, my body surprisingly energized despite the late night. As I made my way to the bathroom, I heard Max groan from the couch.

"Jason, it’s way too early," Dylan grumbled from the armchair, still half-asleep.

"Yeah, it’s not like she’s going anywhere," Max added, his voice muffled as he buried his head under a pillow.

I smirked. "That’s the problem, boys. I can’t give her the chance to change her mind."

Max peeked out from under his pillow, squinting at me. "Man, you’re really into this. You’re acting like you’ve been dreaming of this day since kindergarten."

I laughed lightly but didn’t respond. How could I explain to them what Ella really meant to me? They wouldn’t get it. Dylan and Max were great friends, but they didn’t know the Ella I did—the one who could light up a room with her wit, who was fiercely independent, who made me want to be better, even if she didn’t realize it.

After a quick shower, I stood in front of the mirror, towel slung over my shoulders. The nerves were starting to creep in, but not because of the wedding itself. It was the idea of spending a lifetime—or even just a year—trying to convince Ella that this wasn’t just a game to me.

As I returned to the living room, fully dressed, Dylan stretched lazily, finally sitting up. "Alright, lover boy. What’s the schedule? Are we just here to make sure you don’t bolt?"

I rolled my eyes. "Very funny. No, we’re here to make sure she doesn’t bolt."

Max raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Dylan, sensing the shift in my mood, stood and patted my shoulder. "Relax, Jason. You’ve got this. She agreed to marry you, didn’t she?"

"Yeah," I said, forcing a grin. "She did."

But she didn’t agree because she loved me. She agreed because she wanted her freedom, and marrying me was the price she had to pay.

"Alright, get up," I told them, shoving Max’s legs off the couch. "You two need to get ready. And no, you can’t wear jeans to the ceremony, Max."

He groaned but stood up anyway, muttering something about the sacrifices of friendship.

As I watched them shuffle toward the bathroom, I couldn’t help but think about the day ahead.

Today, I would marry Ella Kingsley. And no matter what the contract said, I was determined to make her see that this wasn’t just a temporary arrangement for me.

This was forever. At least, I hoped it would be.

By 8:00 a.m., I was already showered, dressed, and pacing my living room, glancing at the clock every other minute. The fools—Dylan and Max—were still dragging their hungover selves through the painful process of getting ready.

"How hard is it to put on a tux?" I muttered, glaring at Dylan as he stood in front of the mirror, squinting at his bow tie like it was some kind of alien artifact.

"Harder than it looks when your head feels like it’s been run over," Dylan groaned, fumbling with the fabric.

Max, who had finally emerged from the bathroom, still drying his hair, smirked. "Chill, groomzilla. We’ve got time."

"Time?" I shot back, exasperated. "The wedding starts at 9:30, Max. Do you understand what happens if we’re late? Mr. Kingsley will have my head on a silver platter, and Ella—"

Ella.

I paused mid-rant, her name settling in my chest like a steady drumbeat. It was her day, too, and I’d be damned if anything—or anyone—ruined it.

Max raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Don’t get your cummerbund in a twist. We’ll be ready."

I didn’t bother responding. Instead, I grabbed my phone and checked for any messages, my mind spinning with a thousand different thoughts. Was Ella nervous? Was she excited? Did she regret this entire arrangement?

A part of me wanted to call her, just to hear her voice, but I stopped myself. The last thing she needed was me adding to her stress.

"Yo, Jason." Dylan’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I turned to see him grinning, his tie finally in place. "You’re really wound up, huh?"

"Wouldn’t you be?" I shot back, running a hand through my hair. "This isn’t just any wedding, Dylan. This is the wedding. Kingsley-level perfection. No room for error."

Max snorted, grabbing his jacket. "Relax, man. You’re marrying her, not hosting a board meeting. Besides, Ella’s cool. She won’t care if things aren’t perfect."

I sighed, knowing he was right—at least partially. Ella wouldn’t care about the small stuff, but this wasn’t just about the details. This was about showing her—and everyone else—that I was ready.

Ready to be her partner, even if it started under unconventional circumstances.

By 8:15, I’d had enough of waiting. "Get your stuff together," I ordered Dylan and Max, my tone leaving no room for argument. "We’re leaving in five."

"Bossy much?" Dylan muttered, but he grabbed his shoes and followed Max out the door.

As I locked up behind us and stepped into the crisp morning air, I took a deep breath.

This was it. Today, Ella would become my wife.

And no matter how this started—no matter what doubts or secrets lingered—I was determined to make her mine, for real.