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“What about Truffles?”
“Agnes will stay back and take care of her. I’ll make sure of it.”
She studies me for a second, as if trying to make sure I’m telling the truth. Like I’d let a poor creature starve to death.
“Where will we be staying?”
“The wedding will take place at a hotel, and Max booked us two connecting rooms.”
She lets out a little sigh. “Fine. I’ll come . . . How long is the flight? It’ll be my first plane ride.”
“It’s about ten hours, but don’t worry. It’s a smooth ride. I have a private plane.”
That doesn’t seem to appease her.
“Do we still need a passport in a private plane? Because I don’t have one.”
My eyes widen. “Damn it. Yes, of course you do. I’ll ask Max to take care of it right away. He knows someone at the state department,” I say, unlocking my screen before typing an email. “He’ll be in touch tomorrow. I know you can apply for an expedited passport if you have an upcoming trip.”
“Is the wedding venue near where you grew up?” she asks, her blue eyes searching.
A lump forms in my throat as I answer. “It’s in the only other place I called home.”
That’s one thing I didn’t consider. Going back there is nerve wracking enough, but taking Jane—letting someone in—is an entirely different story. Especially since there’s a part of me that’s not even fighting it. And that’s what scares me the most.
16
The Rosemonts
Jane
“Oh, that’s very kind of you, but I don’t need your help,” I tell Agnes, standing up from my place at the kitchen table.
She stands up as well. “Monsieur Green asked me to help you preparing ze wedding, since you insisted on doing it yourself,” she fires back, giving me a stern look.
“I understand, but that won’t be necessary.” The reason I volunteered to do the planning was to keep myself occupied and to gain some kind of control over that day. I don’t want anything too fancy or over the top. I demanded that Colton let the wedding planner go—after that UK bombshell, he owed me—but I should have specified I didn’t want Agnes leaning over my shoulder either.
“Monsieur Green asked me to. Zere’s no discussing zis. He’s our employer, remember?” she says, irritation dripping from her tone.
Agnes knows how to throw punches. She’s been pinching her lips since I got here, but I’ve felt the vibe loud and clear. With that jab, she just made it even clearer.
“I’ve already written a list of things we have to do. First, we need to figure out ze guest list, venue, food, band, decoration, and ze dress.”
“Shouldn’t I be discussing this with Colton?”
“I know Monsieur Green’s tastes better zan my own. Ze wedding is in one month, so we don’t ‘ave time to waste. I already printed out a few options for ze venue that I know Monsieur Green would love.”
Of course she did. Just like that, my intimate affair became a one-hundred-guest Malibu wedding overlooking the ocean. So much for a project to occupy my time with.
“I’ll make research about ze food, and zen we can discuss it,” she says. “It’ll be a little ‘arder with your dietary requirements, but I’m sure I’ll find something.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. She always acts like I’m on some kind of super strict diet. Every night, she makes a remark about how she was forced to make poultry, beef, or vegetables because she couldn’t cook seafood. And every night, Colton humors her, telling her he likes the new menu and that he appreciates her going to all the trouble. I swear, it’s like she’s his mom or something.
Marcie texted yesterday to suggest we go out for lunch and a shopping spree, and I’m glad she did. Even if I generally don’t mind being alone, there’s something about spending my days in this giant house with no one to talk to that triggers the loneliness thing. Plus, I don’t want to have another clothing mishap. I can’t allow a mistake like that to throw me off my game—off my part—and risk embarrassing Colton. Every actress needs a wardrobe, after all.
I swing by my room to grab my bag and give Truffles a little pat and a kiss on her fluffy head. She yawns, stirs, and curls herself in a ball before closing her eyes. At least one of us is living her best life.
Marcie picks me up in a black sedan, and I’m surprised to see someone else already seated in the passenger seat. A cold wave creeps up on me. She didn’t mention she’d be bringing someone. I just assumed we would be alone. I’m not very good at making friends, and three-girl groups always create tension.
