Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
What's it like, having everyone else handle the logistics?
I guess I should get used to it.
The milk oolong is perfect. Creamy and sweet. With buttery tea cakes and fresh peaches.
It's almost relaxing, sitting on Shep's balcony, taking in the beautiful day.
No, it is, for a while. As I sip another pot and leaf through a play I read in high school. It's funny, looking at things as an adult. There's so much more in it. So much I never understood.
I no longer see A Midsummer Night's Dream as a silly romp. It is, but there's more too. After all this debauchery, everyone gets married. They commit to a normal, orderly life.
The characters pay a price for their adventures.
I guess I understand that well.
I try waiting up for Shep, but I don't make it. In the morning, I wake to an empty apartment. He's already at work.
I enjoy a fancy breakfast—more pancakes, chocolate chip this time—and never-ending cups of tea. Another close look at a famous play.
A Streetcar Named Desire this time.
God, is all theater this depressing? Why didn't I notice in high school? I guess it fit my mood then. After I lost Mom, it was hard seeing the beauty in the world.
Now—
It's hard to believe I'm better at finding joy, but I am.
I ask Lock to take me to the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. No doubt, he checks with Shep for permission, but I push that aside. I walk and talk with him. Ask all about his life, growing up in London, and what made him decide to move to America.
And if the rumors are true, about his more… broad sexuality.
He's a gentleman. Teases me but keeps things professional. Even when he whisks me to a champagne tea. And an evening of shopping—I need something for our engagement party, apparently—he keeps bringing the conversation back to me.
What I want to do.
My favorite play.
If I prefer dramas or comedies.
When Mr. Marlowe is going to take me to see the latest and greatest. And, if not, maybe he'll take me.
He claps when I pick a dress, fills my ears with tales of Shep visiting London, teases me about my desire to stop at Dunkin Donuts.
Key can prepare something much better. And there's no way he's allowing a ninety-nine cent donut in this household. Especially when it's not even fresh.
It's funny. He's funny. And it feels like we're old friends.
The day feels easy. Until I get home to dinner and I eat alone.
This time, I'm up late enough to see Shep. But he barely says hello. Just nods, changes into his gym clothes, mentions something about needing to work out frustrations.
His eyes flit over me quickly. Like he's considering another way of working out his frustrations.
But he doesn't. He leaves.
Even after a busy, full day—lunch with Dad, afternoon tea, an off-Broadway play—it's impossible to sleep. Shep is right there. In the next room. Alone.
And I'm here alone.
Why is he avoiding me?
I try to put it out of mind, but I can't. I try counting sheep, but it's useless. I try reading one of the books Dad bought me, but it's not interesting enough.
The question echoes through my mind.
I replay our last encounter again and again. Let my curiosity turn to dirtier things.
But even when I stroke myself to orgasm, it's not enough. It's satisfying.
Sure, I fall asleep. But I don't wake up rested.
I wake up wanting.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Shepard
"Shep?" Jasmine's tone is soft, but there's something else there. That assistant voice she uses. The one that masks everything in her head.
"Yes?" My body turns toward hers. It's impulse. I'm too tuned to her. Too interested.
She doesn't want me in her head or heart. I shouldn't be in her head or her heart.
I can't invite her into mine.
She turns. Motions to the zipper of her cocktail dress.
The garment is gorgeous. A deep floral print that skims her chest and falls over her hips.
She's wearing her hair down today. In its usual straight line. The one that makes her look more trendy than traditional.
I pull the zipper up her back. Let my fingers graze her shoulder blades. "Are you supposed to wear white?"
Key was going on about it, but that's a blur. The last few days are a blur.
It's consuming all my mental energy, the horrible thought of my brother ruining everything.
This hasn't even started and I already need a fucking drink.
Bourbon. Neat. Enough to dull every thought in my brain.
That's out of the question. That bastard isn't seeing me drunk and sloppy. He's not thinking he's won.
And I'm not about to lose Jasmine—
"Some people do." She turns. Looks to me. "Are you going to ask me to change?"
"No." I'm not aware enough of the rules here. I need to know them. It makes things easier. "You look lovely."
"Lovely?" She arches her back enough her chest rises into the air. Half pride, half I dare you not to look. "Am I allowed to ask if you're okay?"