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 warms the room. Eases the tension in my mind. I've heard these stories so many times. They're home.
The whole not knowing where I'm getting married thing… I can deal with that.
No, I can pick a place. I'm not sure what I want, what says Jasmine Lee, not just a rich man's wife, but there's one thing that comes to mind.
The place that's been my sanctuary the last few years.
I change out of this dress. Find my cell in my purse. Text Shep.
Jasmine: Can we talk about the location for the wedding?
Shep: I reserved a theater.
Jasmine: A theater?
Shep: Yes. A two-thousand seat one. We'd have to do it Monday, when the show is dark. But it's not a problem.
Jasmine: Oh.
Shep: Oh?
Jasmine: Yes. Oh.
Shep: You don't like it?
Jasmine: No. I do. But since when do you enjoy theater?
Shep: Is there some place I do enjoy?
Jasmine: Besides the bedroom?
Shep: Unless you'd like to invite our guests there.
Jasmine: It's almost big enough.
Shep: They'll get a certain idea.
Jasmine: It's what my aunts think. That I'm marrying you for the sex.
Shep: Every man's fantasy.
Jasmine: Really?
Shep: I know it's not my sparkling personality.
My lips curl into a smile. He's actually teasing me. It's rare. Precious.
Jasmine: Not the money?
Shep: There are other rich men.
Jasmine: There are other skilled men.
Shep: You're treading dangerous ground there.
Jasmine: Will it hurt your ego? If I suggest you aren't the best I've ever had.
Shep: What do you think?
Jasmine: It's probably the only way I can hurt you.
Shep: There are lots of ways you can hurt me.
That's hard to believe. Shep is so guarded. His heart is behind a five-thousand-pound safe.
It's how he wants it.
I respect that.
I want to respect that.
He isn't going to love me. No use in daydreaming of pillow talk and walks on the beach.
Shep on the beach… that's a funny image.
Jasmine: The theater is perfect. Do we have a plan for the honeymoon?
Shep: It's a surprise.
Jasmine: Will I like it?
Shep: I'm not sure it will matter. Since we'll spend all that time in bed.
Jasmine: Is that a no?
Shep: You didn't answer the question.
Jasmine: Which one?
Shep: If I'm the best you've ever had.
Jasmine: Don't tell me you're insecure.
Shep: No. But if you don't answer, I'll have to force you to admit it.
Jasmine: Is that supposed to loosen my tongue?
Shep: No.
Mmm.
Yes.
So much yes.
All the yes.
"Send your dirty texts later," Quyen says. "You've barely started."
My blush spreads to my chest. Is it that obvious? How do we get to dirty so fast? I guess it is the only way we connect.
"Excuse me." I drop my cell in my purse. Slip into the heels. Let her help me into the next dress.
It's her pick. An enormous princess dress. The skirt is the size of my old shower. The bodice is fitted. It even has that v at the bottom.
The light fabric twirls as I spin. It's the kind of dress. One that demands movement.
"How will he kiss you?" Mai laughs. "You can't barely move past the thing." She tries to move closer, to reach for my hips, but the skirt is in the way.
"It's beautiful. Let him strain himself," Quyen says.
It is beautiful. And I do feel like a princess. But not like me. "It's not it."
They exchange a look of victory. Somehow, they both take this as a win.
They help me out of the dress. Then they move to the wall. To something behind the stack of dresses.
"This is just an idea," Mai says. "I think you should stay modern. Wear something new. Practical. But your father—"
"He would love it," Quyen says.
She holds up a black dress bag. Unzips it to reveal a traditional Vietnamese wedding gown. Like the one in my mom's pictures.
It's not modern. Not here. Not even in Vietnam. Nowadays, most women wear a white western dress for the ceremony. They may change into their Ao dai later. But they keep the opulence for the pictures.
Still… it looks so much like what my mom wore.
I nod. Let them help me into it.
So much like the sheath. Soft red fabric that skims my skin. Long, elegant lines.
Beautiful. Traditional. Bold.
"It's too modest," Quyen argues.
"And you look like one of those girls." Mai mutters something about a friend of hers who just refuses to assimilate.
"But like your mother too." Quyen blinks back a tear. "So much like her."
"She would want modern," Mai says. "She wanted you to fit in. Like a normal, American girl."
"She would want something grand. Something big. That makes you feel like royalty." Quyen turns to me. "What makes you feel like royalty, Jasmine? It's your dress. It's your day. It's your chance to stand in front of everyone and declare your love for your fiancé. Do it in a way that feels honest."
For once, Mai agrees.
I can't stand up and scream this is a normal marriage, really. Or for God's sake, stop telling me how my wedding dress should make me feel. And don't add the pressure of pleasing my late mother on top of it.