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)
It feels good, having her so close. Better than it should.
For a moment, it feels like we really can be more than this.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jasmine
I wake up alone. And sore.
My body is still buzzing. But the coldness of the empty bed—
This is confusing.
No, it's simple. Shepard will fuck me. He won't love me. I need to find a way to understand it.
Sure, I say the words again and again, but—
I need to believe it. To know it the way I know the climax of Macbeth. The way I know I love my father.
I go through my morning routine, dress in comfortable clothes, move into the main room.
Key is waiting with breakfast and tea. Oolong, perfectly steeped, a new pairing that enhances the flavors of both items. Eggs with scallions. Toast with chives and goat cheese.
Simple, strong, creamy.
She has a note too. From Shep. He's busy today, doing God knows what. But he wants me to pick a location for our trip. We need to visit one of Jeff and Marcus's chocolate factories. To prove we appreciate his gift.
And we need to sell it too. To seem like the most happily engaged couple to ever live.
That's a stretch.
But I guess it's not so bad picking between London, Paris, Rome, and Tokyo.
There are certain perks to this arrangement.
Orgasms. Fine tea. Trips abroad.
The only thing lacking is love.
Just that one little thing.
"Jasmine, you have thirteen days," Mai says. "You need to find something now."
"You only get married once," Quyen argues. "She can't wear a dress that's all wrong."
They look to me to pick a side, though I'm not sure why. They've been having this argument for the last twenty minutes. For our entire ride from their hotel (my first stop after breakfast) to this row of shops.
This is the first shop of many options. From the current status of conversation—
It's going to be a long day.
"This is beautiful." Mai points to one of the dresses in the window. A lace mermaid gown by a famous designer. With a five-figure price tag. "But so much money. It's a waste."
"Her husband makes that in a day," Quyen argues.
"More like a few hours," I say.
They look at me with wide eyes. It's like they're characters in a cartoon with exclamation points over their heads. "It's that much?"
Did they not realize?
"I knew Shepard was from a good family, but wow." Mai looks at the price tag. Her posture changes as she looks around the store. It's no longer out of reach. It's well within her grasp.
Money changes things. It always changes things. I don't want it to change the way they look at me, but I guess I don't have a choice.
"It's his money," I say. "Not mine."
"His money you can spend on a dress. On your wedding." Realization spreads over Mai's face. "Who is planning this?"
"One of his assistants." I'm not helping my case.
Quyen shakes her head. "An assistant? Jasmine, you trust his assistants to plan the most important day of your life?"
"This is the most important day of my life?" I ask.
She nods of course. Picks out a dress that's much more ornate. Lace flowers cover visible boning, a trumpet skirt, a bow at the waist. It's couture. High fashion. Weird.
"You're bold." She motions to the dressing room. "You deserve a bold dress."
Mai waves it away. "Bold is another way to say ugly. When was the last time someone called a new haircut bold as a compliment?" She looks at me, her thoughts visible on her face. Besides, no one thinks Jasmine is bold. She's a good girl. Studies hard, never complains, sacrifices for her family. "Why not wear that?" She points to another gown in the window. One an even, ahem, bolder design.
A tight bodice, a peacock tail, and no skirt. Like a superhero in an impractical bridal outfit.
But Quyen loves it. "She has great legs."
Mai laughs that much is true. She scans the rows of dresses, looking for something more… normal.
She finds something aggressively normal. A simple ivory sheath with no detail.
Quyen shakes her head not in a million years. She joins her sister at the rack. Finds a more exciting version of the same dress.
Still a simple sheath, covered in thick lace. "Have you picked a style?" she asks. "Or a venue? We need to know what's appropriate."
That's a great question. One that should be on my mind. What is our venue? If I had all the time in the world, I'd pick…
I don't know. I've never thought about where I'd get married. More about who and what happened after.
Immediately, my head fills with images of Shep's home back in California. The park where we used to spend our time. The giant redwoods we'd visit a few times a year.
The fancy hotel in San Francisco where we tried to order drinks.
The pictures of my parents wedding. A simple ceremony in the park in traditional Vietnamese attire.