by Cynthia Dane
Jasmine didn’t know Lana Andrews well, other than what she heard on the petty grapevine, but she knew she was either the saving grace of this party or their worst nightmare. Jasmine was pulling for the former. Seeing the look on Kathryn’s face alone was worth it.
“Didn’t think you would make it!” Eva cried over the thumping music.
“Traffic between here and Orlando was terrible. I should have flown instead of taking the scenic route. What have I missed?”
She sat between Eva and Gwen, her presence dominating the table. Monica stifled laughter behind her handkerchief while Charlotte mumbled about assholes who thought they owned every place they went. To be fair, Lana and her husband were real estate moguls back home. They sort of did own every place they touched. That would turn me into a huge personality too. Nevertheless, Jasmine decided to fade into the shadows before things got crazier.
“We were discussing whether or not we sucked cock recently.”
“Oh, good, I’m here just in time. Now where’s the liquor? I thought this was a party!”
The night was, dare Jasmine say it, exhausting. Everyone except Monica was partaking in a plethora of vices, from alcohol, to cigarettes, to flirting with every good looking guy who came their way. Of course, there were enough hot men in that club to burn the place down.
“It’s our friend’s bachelorette party, day one!” Gwen shouted at some guy with a little mustache and not much else little about him. The guys working at this place were ripped. “Where the fuck do we go to get… to get some…”
The guy looked around before answering her. “You want real party?” he asked with a thick accent. A thick, hot accent. “Wait here twenty minutes. We get you real party.”
Ho, boy. He was not kidding.
Next thing Jasmine knew, all seven of them were herded to a private patio where they were given three muscular, half-naked men to wait on them hand and foot. For a generous tip they would provide other services. Like ripping off their clothes and shoving their special delivery packages toward anyone who was willing to pay for the shipping and handling.
Charlotte practically cried, clinging to a bald man who was more than happy to pat her shoulder as she shoved more hundred-dollar-bills down his G-string. The only other woman there who didn’t feel guilty touching a beefcake was Lana, who claimed to have permission from her generous husband to have as much fun as she wanted. As long as she let him watch on camera. That scared the other two guys off until she climbed over the table and hunted one down. Or at least tried to. By that point she was so drunk she had to drag herself to her chair.
“For the bride, we do anything,” said a handsome, tanned man with a chiseled jaw. He leaned against Monica’s chair, doing his damndest to look down the cleavage of her dress. She’s letting him. For a woman who wasn’t even a tiny bit inebriated, Monica had zero inhibitions. Maybe Ethan was right after all. Of course he was right. When isn’t he? “You want to touch? You can touch anything you want. Maybe more.”
“Darling,” Monica said, staring at his half-erection in his G-string, “I know all about peddling flesh. If you’re offering yourself for a price, just say so. I may look innocent, but I am hardly anything but.”
“She ain’t just whistling a Dixie tune,” Gwen told the guy. She was one of the only ones left who wasn’t totally trashed. “She outdoes us all when it comes to fucked up shit.”
The guy smiled, sort of. Monica batted her eyelashes, and he wandered off, taking his chances with Lana… who was apparently less threatening than Monica.
“I wouldn’t tell on you, you know,” Eva said, cheek on the table. Her hand slapped next to an empty glass. “If you have fun in Miami… I won’t… I won’t tell Henry.” She sat up, woozy. “You know what? You should! You should fuck that macho loaf of banana bread! It’s your last chance!”
Monica gave her future sister-in-law the most perplexed look she could muster. “Why in the world would I do that? I’m not scared of being with only one man for the rest of my life.”
“Let me tell you!” Lana attempted to reach across their broad table, but ended up falling face first against an empty platter of nachos. “As the… as the only married woman at this table… let alone for ten fucking years… the secret… the secret…”
“Yes?” Monica’s eyebrows said she couldn’t wait to hear this.
“The secret is pussy.”
“I know. You’re at my place of business every other week with your husband.”
“Damn fucking straight I am. Praise be and hallelujah!”
Their party ended with only one person missing: Charlotte, who drunkenly took a hunk back to her hotel room with her. Unfortunately, she was sharing a room with Gwen, who moaned that there was no way she could stay in that room tonight. Since she didn’t want to impose on Monica, who was sharing a suite with Jasmine, she begged Eva and Kathryn to let her crash with them. This ended with scoffs and Kathryn snoring against her best friend’s arm.
“Yeah, sure, she can sleep with me.” Eva wrapped her arm around her sleeping friend and shook her awake. “Right! We’re finally sleeping together!”
“Brother,” Monica muttered. “I think they’re having more fun at my bachelorette party than I am, and I am having a good bit of fun.”
They took a limo back to their hotel, the bellhop having to help Gwen and Kathryn get to their rooms since they both kept insisting on passing out every few seconds. Jasmine would’ve been taken aback at how loudly Kathryn snored when she was blacked out drunk, but she had been to enough college parties back in her day. I’m not much better. Nadia once outdrank her into the biggest stupor of her life.
“If it makes you feel better,” Jasmine said, unlocking her and Monica’s room once they were alone. “I’m not drunk.”
“Thank God, because I babysit drunk girls all weekend enough as it is. That’s the last thing I want to do on my last weekend before I become a married woman.”
Jasmine entered the suite and picked up the room service brochure. “How does wine and popcorn with a movie sound?”
Monica pulled off her sweater and collapsed on a couch. “Popcorn, yes. I’ll pass on the wine.”
“As for the movie?” Jasmine laughed, picking up the room phone. “Fifty Shades?”
“Oh, honey.” Monica picked something out from beneath her nail. “Secretary or bust.”
“I’ve never seen that movie before…”
Monica stared at her. “That’s illegal.”
Jasmine placed their order for food and drink before scouring the Pay-Per-View list for one of Monica’s favorite movies. She soon found out why – and couldn’t say she disagreed.
Chapter 4
Jasmine and Monica were the only ones not hungover at brunch the next day. Well, Gwen sobered up and lost her headache halfway through brunch, but she still showed up stumbling and wearing the thickest sunglasses a woman could own.
Also, Charlotte remained missing.
“It truly isn’t a bachelorette weekend if everyone isn’t in pain,” Monica quipped, stirring her iced tea. “Now I’m really glad I wasn’t drinking.”
So am I. There were plans that day. It was a beautiful, sunny February day in Miami and shopping called. Jasmine checked her bank accounts on her phone while everyone around her groaned and fought over coffee. One account said she had a healthy thirty-thousand dollars. The other said she had four-million.
I don’t touch that account. That was the money Ethan gave her after their work contract ended. She was originally offered one-million dollars. Then that turned into two. Then she asked for three before she condescended to be a high-class prostitute and executive assistant. Almost in that order. Then? Ethan gave her another million as a bonus. This was after they decided to become a “real” couple.
Jasmine never did anything with that money, aside from paying off her outstanding student loan debt. That barely put a dent in it. In fact, she was already back up to four-million because of the generous interest sh
e accumulated. I guess I’m paranoid. She never wanted to think about it… but what if she needed this money to live off of one day? Jasmine had no reason to believe she and Ethan were on the road to breaking up, but she never knew for sure.
Instead, the money she would spend came from gifts he threw at her here and there. Recently she had asked for two grand to pay for her bridesmaid dress for Monica’s wedding. Ethan thought it pertinent to throw her five. Things like that added up. Jasmine had lost her shyness over sometimes asking Ethan for money, especially if it was for something as important as a bridesmaid’s dress for their mutual friend’s wedding, but she didn’t make a habit out of it. She didn’t need to. Ethan was too generous with his millions when he was in love.
So she had thirty-grand burning in her wallet. She probably wouldn’t spend more than five or so, depending on the kind of ritzy places they went to… but she was in love with the latest Louis Vuitton collection… What a time for me to behave: when I can afford designer gear.
To be fair, one of the first things Jasmine learned about living in Ethan’s world was that she had to dress expensive. Every time she went out with him, or she went upscale shopping or had brunch with someone in a high-rise restaurant, she had to wear something expensive, recent, and flattering. Her old, more comfortable and price-smart clothes languished in her personal walk-in closet, only coming out when she was home alone or going out with lower-class friends.
Even today she wore a designer dress that hugged her body, and shoes she had to have fixed so they weren’t quite so high. The only piece of her ensemble she was enamored with was her purse. Jasmine would never get tired of having high-quality purses that stayed firm and beautiful even after six months of abuse.
Although she was sober enough to drive them all home if necessary, her style was still nothing compared to the likes of Kathryn, Lana, Eva, and even Monica. They were all used to dressing like this. It was second nature for them. Some of them grew up that way, and then there was Monica, who studied the world of the rich and elite better than Jasmine ever could. Now she understood what Ethan meant by going to Monica for advice. She was the only one they could ask who wouldn’t judge them for it – because she had been there.
“All I want to do is take a screwdriver and jam it right here.” Eva pointed to her temple. “I’m getting too old to binge drink.”
“You are the youngest one here,” Kathryn pointed out.
“By like…what, a year?” Eva gestured to Jasmine. “She barely drank last night. I’m doomed, and I’m only a tender twenty-five… wait… twenty-six… fuck, I don’t know how old I am anymore.”
“If it’s any consolation, I don’t know how old you are either. I’m eternally twenty-eight.”
“I’m ready to go shopping.” Gwen shot up from her seat, hoisting her tote bag strap over her shoulder. “We need to buy this one some sexy lingerie for her honeymoon.” She patted Monica’s shoulder. “Whatever she thinks she has already isn’t good enough. She needs some second and third opinions.”
The hungover women waved them away. “You all go on ahead. We’re gonna sit here and contemplate the errors of our lives.”
Jasmine followed Monica and Gwen away from the brunch table. “See you for dinner?” Monica asked.
“Yup.”
Jasmine was somewhat relieved that shopping wasn’t going to be a huge group affair. Not that they wouldn’t break off into smaller groups, anyway, but Jasmine wasn’t in the mood for the ensuing high school drama. I bet these women were vicious in high school. If a rich daughter didn’t go to boarding school somewhere far away, she went to the region’s most expensive, fanciest academy. If I had kids, where would I send them? Jasmine wasn’t going anywhere near that question right now!
Her, Monica and Gwen hit up the Miami Design District near them downtown. Jasmine foolishly assumed it would be an afternoon pastime, but it quickly turned into a hardcore sport as if they were wandering around New York instead. I’ve never been to Miami before… so I had no idea it could be this luxurious in terms of shopping! Jasmine should have known better by now. If there was a place to drop thousands of dollars, women like Monica and Gwen knew about it.
Jasmine didn’t buy nearly as much as her friends. She still felt funny dropping mad cash on scarves, shoes, and, yes, lingerie. Because heaven forbid they didn’t drop into the top-tier lingerie boutique that had both common lace and silk cuts as well as borderline bondage gear. Heaven forbid they didn’t shop for both.
“You would look really nice in something like this,” Monica said, draping a lacy crimson negligee against Jasmine’s arm. “You have the assets to fill it out well.” She said this while Gwen raided a bunch of corsets in the background, sobbing because she could never find ones that fit her breast to waist ratio, and yet here they were!
“You think so?” Jasmine fingered the fine lace, ignoring the exorbitant price tag for something this simple. It better be handstitched for this price. “I don’t normally wear red this dark. Sort of washes me out.”
“Oh, I think it would be very sensual on you.” Monica lowered her voice. “Ethan would love it.” She winked, walking away to make sure Gwen hadn’t destroyed every corset she put her hands on.
Jasmine stared at the crimson negligee, wondering if what Monica said was true. Ethan would like anything I wear… but would he think this is the best? She glanced at Monica. Normally she wasn’t bothered by the fact Ethan used to be in a relationship with Monica. He was the one who ended it, after all, and Monica was on cloud nine with her new lover. Her soon-to-be husband. There was no way those two would ever have something like that again, and there was no evidence that they wanted that. But sometimes it got weird. Jasmine would stand there, imagining Ethan and Monica together, doing the kinky shit they both loved more than Jasmine did. Monica knew Ethan well enough in that capacity to confidently say, “Wear this. He would like it on you.” Of course, it was Monica’s job to be that observant about men. A man she once considered a boyfriend? Oh, she knew everything.
Jasmine sighed. If she got this, she better not think of Monica while Ethan tore her apart… but then she thought about Ethan tearing her apart and decided to buy the negligee.
Once that monkey was off her back, she threw herself into spoiling the bride on her last weekend of supposed freedom. If Monica was going to toss a red negligee at her, then Jasmine was going to find the sexiest black bra and panty set that existed and insist that her friend model it for them – which Monica declined, gracefully. The modeling, that is. She was more than happy to find a set in her size and purchase it, alongside two corsets, three garters, a new sheer robe for relaxing in, and enough bra and panty sets to name after the days of the week. The black one better be Saturday. Jasmine snuck back when nobody else was looking and bought a set for herself. Hey, I keep thinking about them, I must want them! She could apparently be dangerous in an upscale lingerie boutique.
***
It was early evening, back in the hotel suite and an hour before the night festivities when Jasmine saw something that both unnerved her and almost sent her to her phone to call Ethan.
She had taken a shower to wash off the shopping grime that accumulated when she scuttled from one boutique to another, trying on shoes, salivating over bags – of which she bought two new ones – and slipping coats on and off in the seventy-degree weather. Just because it was near tropical in Miami didn’t mean it was anything but cold and rainy back home.
When Jasmine came out of the bathroom and wandered toward her small bedroom, she saw Monica’s door ajar, complete with woman sitting on the end of her bed, head in her hands and phone clasped to her ear. She couldn’t see Jasmine from that angle.
“I feel like I’m falling apart,” she mumbled, wiping something from her eye. “I’m so stressed out. You don’t even know the half of it.”
Jasmine stayed behind the door. I shouldn’t be doing this. Move on. Pretend she saw nothing. That was the appropriate thing to do, right? And
yet…
“Don’t patronize me, please.” Rarely did Monica sound so snippy. Then again, Jasmine reminded herself that this was the woman who held a loaded gun to her abusive ex. “Fuck off, Henry!”
Jasmine held in a gasp.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry…” Monica pushed her hair out of her face and sat up straight, eyes puffy and not a drop of makeup anywhere on her skin. “It’s the hormones. Everything is overwhelming me between this weekend and the wedding… I’m sorry.”
All Jasmine heard for a few seconds was sniffing.
“Just tell me you love me. Please.”
Whatever Henry said must have cheered Monica up, for she put on a smile and finished wiping the tears from her face. Jasmine turned to leave. Monica caught sight of her and flushed in embarrassment.
Jasmine couldn’t hustle to her bedroom fast enough.
Chapter 5
“Hold still.” The silk sash tightened around Jasmine’s waist, throwing her off balance in her stiletto heels. Before she could tumble into the floor-length mirror in front of her, Ethan snatched her in his arms and straightened her.
“Oh my God,” Jasmine heaved, still wobbly in her heels. What made me think these were a good idea? Probably the fact that they were cute, open-toed, and wrapped around her ankle in such a way that they complemented the skirt that flared above her knees. “I’m gonna die before the wedding is even over.”
Ethan made sure she was steady before releasing her. Jasmine saw him in the mirror, charming in his full tuxedo with a sapphire-blue cummerbund. Usually Ethan saved the tuxes for charity dinners, but the wedding of the year worked just as well. At least he got to pick out his outfit. To be fair, so did Jasmine. All Monica requested was that her bridesmaids wear the same shade of red and have their dresses approved by her. Jasmine chose a halter dress with a bust-boosting sweetheart neckline, a likewise heart-shaped waistline, and a cute skirt that showed off her calves. She accessorized with the ruby jewelry set Ethan had given her over the first few months of their relationship. Necklace dangling, earrings sparkling, bracelet clutching, ring glistening, and barrette fitting snug in her wavy black hair. When it came to colors, everyone agreed that red was best – although the grapevine said that Monica’s favorite color was actually black. Hence it being the accent color, along with white, at the wedding.
