by Cynthia Dane
Still, that didn’t save Jasmine from any of her predicaments. She looked at Jenny’s text and shook her head, unsure of what to do. Her only recourse was to call one of the first numbers in her phone and hope for the best.
“Hey, girl,” Nala said on the other end of the line. “What’s up? Hope you know it’s only almost eleven here. Feel lucky that I had class and am bumming around campus this early.”
This early? Did people on the west coast really sleep in until noon all the time, like Jasmine sometimes heard? Or was Nala the quintessential 21-year-old college student who stayed up until seven in the morning playing co-op video games? Yeah, that. Yet she managed to bag one of the hottest tech billionaires in the Pacific Northwest. Jasmine couldn’t fault that.
“I’ll take that into consideration in the future,” said Jasmine, who was rarely out of bed later than nine. “I’m calling because I need a favor. A big favor.”
“Who do I have to kill? I’m a frightening secret agent now, you know.”
“No kidding.” Jasmine pushed herself up against the table in front of her. “I’m asking you to be my bridesmaid at my wedding.”
“What! I barely know you!”
“I know, I know… but I can’t find anyone else to be my third bridesmaid, and if I don’t find one soon, I am in so much hot water that…”
“You’re asking me to fly out there at the end of June – right after I finish school for the semester, mind you – to be a bridesmaid in some big fat wedding that I don’t know anyone at. What’s in it for me?”
“Well, uh…” Jasmine’s voice became meeker by the second. “Bachelorette party?”
“I’ll think about it. Not like I wasn’t going to go anyway, but…”
“I know, I know. Being a bridesmaid carries a bit of responsibility.”
“I’ve done a great job staying out of papers so far. You’re having a high profile wedding, right?”
“Probably.” Jasmine fielded the photography requests to Jenny, who was better at vetting which magazine spreads would be the best fit for the Coles. “I know you and your boyfriend aren’t into popularity of any kind.” Jasmine was jealous. Here in her neck of the woods, that wasn’t an option. “I’d really appreciate it, though.”
“Like I said, I’ll think it over. I’ve gotta get to class now, though. Talk to you later. Good luck with the wedding stuff. Let’s game sometime soon. Your boyfriend against my boyfriend.”
That would be a sight. Last Jasmine checked, Nala’s boyfriend was a “professional hobbyist” in the gaming world, whereas Ethan hadn’t picked up a controller until he started getting serious with Jasmine. Even then, he still sucked whenever he played.
Jasmine remained at the table for a few more minutes, staring at the place settings and debating what she should wear for the luncheon the next day. She had a feeling Adrienne would later text her with some flawless suggestions. Whether Jasmine felt okay taking such suggestions was another matter.
I do it for Ethan. She stood, hoisting her purse strap over her shoulder as she turned and headed out. Jasmine glanced at her engagement ring, twinkling in the fluorescent lights of the cafeteria. I do it because I love him and I want him to succeed. What is it to me? I have no…
No, she couldn’t go there. She couldn’t remind herself that she had no other friends, no ambitions, and nothing to put her name to. For as long as she would have her name, anyway.
Chapter 11
The Winchester Estate was one of the largest, most secluded estates in the area. Few had the privilege of having an audience there. Appearances were everything, as had been drilled into Jasmine’s head that past week, so there was no question that the four of them would pile into Ethan’s recently washed and waxed limo and roll up at exactly a quarter ‘til when they were expected. There was no “fashionably late” when someone like Hyacinth Winchester was involved.
She was the widow of Frederick Winchester III, the grandson of a banker who made his first million in the early 20th century before turning his eye to investment properties. The Winchesters didn’t own as many tracts of land and businesses today, having sold most of them off for exorbitant prices over the following decades, but they still had their name on many buildings in the region. Not just Winchester Academy, either. They had wings at universities, hospitals, real estate offices, and even dedications at City Hall. Of course, there was Winchester National, now known as The First Bank, which continued to be helmed by Hyacinth’s son, Frederick Winchester IV. Little Frederick V was only eight, but he already spent most of his weekends doing homework in his father’s office, learning the ropes as he prepared to don the mantle of patriarch one far away day from now.
Hyacinth, meanwhile, was the matriarch, and would continue to be so until the day she died. At nearly eighty, she was still shrewd, sophisticated, and willing to do whatever it took to continue her family’s name. Now there’s a wife to aspire to be. Hyacinth was more of an arranged match than love. Her parents and Frederick’s parents knew each other well, and heavily pressured their children to marry. It worked out for them. Hyacinth’s ability to see trends in the stock market and other financial institutions complemented her husband’s charisma and ability to rouse workers into productive fervors. They were the first members of the family to become billionaires, and unlike anyone in that limo heading deep into the countryside, they had generations to perfect the lifestyle. Even Ethan sweated a little once he saw the three layers of security outside the main gate. We only have two guards at our gate.
The Winchester Estate had the looks and means of a greater country club than the one Ethan belonged to. Fields of freshly cut green grass sprawled around them, meticulously lined with rose bushes, evergreen trees, and tracks of water that meandered into larger streams. After they passed through the security of the inner gate, they came upon the mansion – the biggest in the county.
Thirty-eight bedrooms. Who knew how many baths and half-baths. Fountains gilded in gold and gardens of the rarest blooms that could grow in the area. Jasmine read that Hyacinth dabbled in cross-breeding flowers and boasted petals that could not be seen anywhere else in the world. Jasmine saw some of them now, outside the tinted windows of her fiancé’s limousine.
“Everyone on their best behavior,” Adrienne muttered. She brought her assistant as her date. Guess Ethan was right about them. “We’re creeping close to late by Hyacinth’s standards.”
Adrienne was the only one of them who had personally met Hyacinth before. Not even Ethan, who was about to ask for millions of dollars in investment money, had met Mrs. Winchester in the flesh. That was Adrienne’s job. She had taken this deal as far as she could on her own, and now it was everyone’s job to follow through on what she had established. Jasmine had heard all of the stories so far, some of them not until they got in the car and started the long drive. “She’s had men killed, you know.” “First Ladies since Betty Ford have come to her for style and decorum advice.” “She has rarely left her palace since 1986, but that doesn’t stop her from appearing in half the papers at any given moment.” “She has seen every layer of bullshit possible. I nearly pissed myself when we were introduced.”
If Hyacinth Winchester was expressing enough interest in Thomas-Cole to invite them for lunch, then she had a lot of faith in them already. To want to meet Jasmine as well meant she was taking a personal interest in them. Jasmine didn’t have asthma, nor any panic disorders, but she felt her chest tighten as they rounded the palace, following the hand signals of personnel telling the driver where to park.
A butler awaited them. Adrienne and Ethan got out first, the latter turning to help Jasmine out. The warm breeze on this warmer day almost made her sweat. Not today. She was determined to show no weakness of any kind in front of Hyacinth. The woman could literally live in the fires of Hell and Jasmine would walk in wearing polar bear fur and not sweat.
“Ethan Cole and Adrienne Thomas!” the butler cried into the massive foyer. At first Jasmine thought she heard an echo, and the
n she realized that other butlers were calling out, one after the other, until the announcement finally met Hyacinth’s ear – wherever she was. As soon as they were given the motion to head inside, Jasmine looped her arm around Ethan’s, willing herself to walk in equal step with his longer strides.
She wore a white sundress speckled in a daisy motif. The pale yellow flower petals accentuated her fair skin while the dark green stems matched the sash Adrienne tied around Jasmine’s waist before they left home. Her shoes were feminine but not impractical – they didn’t want to risk Jasmine stumbling or making too much noise when she walked. While it was not uncommon for women to show exposed arms, both Jasmine and Adrienne wore sheer sweaters to give the illusion of modesty. Jasmine wore no jewelry aside from diamond studs and her engagement ring.
Her hair was the hardest thing to decide. Adrienne always wore her hair up, and while they decided that would be a good look for Jasmine, they didn’t want to have the same hairstyle. They decided to leave it down, but with her more errant strands pulled back and pinned behind the ears. Ethan merely had to wear one of his best suits and make sure his hair was perfectly combed. Men don’t realize how easy they have it.
It was a substantial walk from the foyer to the atrium Hyacinth awaited them in. Two butlers led them, their form, their stature impeccable and reminding Jasmine that she had to walk straight as well. Remember, don’t say anything unless spoken to. Normally, such a suggestion from Adrienne would have offended her. Yet Jasmine was relieved. She didn’t want to speak. She was freaked out enough as it was. It would be a miracle if she could eat their three-course lunch.
The atrium was a conservatory built before Jasmine was born. Green plants grew where it should have been impossible – indeed, the humidity was a bit much. Yet at Hyacinth’s age, she probably appreciated it.
Ah, yes, Hyacinth Winchester.
She sat at the head of a table, wrapped in a fur stole and sporting thin red feathers in her silvery hair. Her wrinkles spoke of great experience. Her set gaze, however, nearly bowled Jasmine over the moment their eyes met. The woman was probably short in stature, but sitting on her throne in the conservatory… it was hard to tell.
“Mr. Cole and Ms. Thomas,” the head butler announced. The party of four gathered at the other end of the rounded table. Five place settings were already put out. “Your noon luncheon has arrived, madam.”
“I see that.” Curt, surly, and not giving a single fuck. That’s what Jasmine expected, and that’s what she got. “Bring them forward.”
Ethan went first, taking Hyacinth’s extended hand and kissing it softly. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Madam Winchester.” Always the seductive charmer, Ethan had no problem fitting in when he had to. “Allow me to introduce my fiancée, Jasmine Bliss.”
Jasmine met those beady black eyes again. There wasn’t a bit of milk in them. Even if Hyacinth’s eyesight had degenerated with age, she still saw and observed everything.
“Madam,” Jasmine said, as sweetly as she could. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Hopefully that would be the only thing she had to say.
Hyacinth paid her little mind. Yet in that single interaction, Jasmine saw the judgment firmly ruled without further defense. “I see. Leave it to a young man with no good breeding to decide to marry a pretty thing like you. If he were my son, I would have rather he marry the most dire of good breeding girls than the sweetest thing like you. Do you think your youth will last forever? Do you know what will happen the moment you get the slightest bit old? He’ll leave you for someone else. At least if he cheats on a good match she can still keep her dignity. What will you have? Nothing. You will have nothing.”
Jasmine was happy to step back and let Adrienne go next. She introduced her submissive beta-male assistant and they subsequently sat down for lunch.
“This is a lovely tablecloth,” Adrienne said, letting her fingers run along the stitches. The silk tablecloth was covered in handstitched lace creating intricate patterns that were both hypnotic and stunning. “Is it French?”
“Why wouldn’t it be French?” Hyacinth huffed. “Of course it’s French. Hand stitched by Pierre Beauvau, of the Beauvau family going back to the 16th Century. My mother acquired it when I was a little girl. It’s priceless.”
“Naturally.” Adrienne accepted the wine making its way around the table. “It’s absolutely exquisite. I’ll have to check in with the Beauvaus the next time I’m in France. I have the dowdiest tablecloth at the moment.”
Hyacinth glared at her. “You do that. Tell them I sent you and watch them quake at the sound of an American’s name. I would greatly enjoy it.”
Jasmine was not asked to speak for the duration of lunch. Neither was Adrienne’s date, who was silent and merely there to be Adrienne’s +1, regardless of what they did in their personal time. Oh, he took some notes here and there. Covertly, beneath the table. Jasmine wondered if she should as well, but didn’t want to look uncouth.
She employed everything Adrienne taught her. Proper eating etiquette, posture, endless silence, and always projecting a pleasant aura when she could put her mind to it. This is going to be the end of me. Jasmine spent so much time focusing on her own behavior that she could barely focus on what was going on at this prestigious meeting. Adrienne did most of the talking, but Ethan would occasionally answer a question regarding the company’s financials. He did not talk down to Hyacinth – not that it was in his nature to talk down to women in a business setting – nor did he assume she could not understand the terms and figures he threw at her. Hyacinth would continue to eat and drink, one ear open to him while she barked at her staff and looked at Adrienne as if she were trouble.
Jasmine survived lunch. They were given a second type of wine for dessert. Hyacinth explained that it also came from France, since her European tastes were a lot like Ethan’s – when she held a country dear in her heart, it stayed there forever. Only a matter of time until Ethan started hording Italian wines. Well, more so than he did already.
“So, about this wedding of yours,” Hyacinth finally said in Jasmine’s direction. She didn’t doubt that it was directed at the both of them, but it was Jasmine she glared at. “How long have you two been dating, exactly?”
Ethan answered on their behalf, giving a figure that started from their first date instead of when they were official. “We had planned on having the wedding next June, but the papers…”
“Yes, the papers botch everything. How unfortunate.” Hyacinth continued to stare at Jasmine, gesturing for a waiter to refill her guest’s wineglass. “And how are those wedding plans coming along? I may be able to rouse myself to go if it’s not too far away from here.”
Jasmine froze, tongue trapped against her throat. “Ah…”
“Everything is coming together,” Ethan said.
“That’s wonderful. I’d like to hear that from her, if you don’t mind. Or can your fiancée not speak? I swear I heard her formulate words earlier.”
For probably one of the first times in his life, Ethan flinched, his cheeks pinking and brow beginning to perspire. Lord. Jasmine took a deep breath and spoke through a smile. “As Ethan says, madam, things are coming along. We will be hosting the wedding at the estate. A garden wedding.”
“Garden, you say?” That piqued her interest. Jasmine had forgotten about the cross-breeding flowers. “Intriguing.”
“Oh, yes. Ethan has one of the most beautiful flower gardens I’ve ever seen.” Jasmine quickly corrected herself, as Adrienne was about to mouth something ridiculous at her. “Until today, that is. I daresay that your beautiful flowers out front don’t compare to anything else in the world.”
“Those things? I save the best ones for out back. Do go on.”
“Well, there’s…”
Slow motion had never been so torturous. Yet that’s exactly what happened when Jasmine extended her hand to finger the stem of her wineglass. Not that she should have. It was a nervous tic. A habit. Something for her
hands to do while she tried to speak coherently and with the confidence of someone like Adrienne.
Yet her hand didn’t quite wrap around the stem. Instead, her fingers missed entirely and knocked right into the full glass.
Wine spilled all over the handstitched lace of the tablecloth. From France. An heirloom from Hyacinth Winchester’s mother. Spilled it right out and covered half the white lace in a deep, toxic red.
More than one person leaped up from the table, gasping in absolute horror. Hyacinth was not one of them. She merely spared Jasmine a look that said, “Look what you did.”
Chapter 12
Jasmine couldn’t get out of bed Tuesday. The shock and mortification over what she had done at the Winchester Estate had her get through the rest of the weekend in a haze. Like she was on drugs, and not the fun kind her parents brazenly lit up when they thought nobody was looking.
By the end of Sunday, however, she had heard the full extent of the damage she caused. Hyacinth gave Thomas-Cole some money, but it was only a quarter of what had initially been discussed. Ethan had been billed for the extensive care necessary to salvage the family heirloom. Twenty-two thousand dollars. For a wine stain removal. Apparently it was done by hand too.
Adrienne was making an emergency trip to Seattle, where an old business acquaintance still owed her a sizable sum of money. It was her hope that she could collect and supplement what they lost from Hyacinth, but there were no promises. If they didn’t have the money by the start of June, they were in trouble regarding some enterprise they wanted to expand. Jasmine stopped listening at that point. She was too sick over what she had done and ruined for her fiancé.
He kept telling her that it wasn’t her fault. “She was looking for any reason to not give us money. I don’t want her money anyway.” That’s what he said Sunday, after Jasmine had to collapse on the bed and never get up again. Her shame weighed heavily upon her. And the sour looks Adrienne kept giving her! “Please don’t hold yourself responsible. The money to fix her tablecloth doesn’t mean anything to me. The odds of you seeing that woman again are negligible.”
