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A gentle hand shakes me awake. I’m having a wonderful dream. It’s me and Alec in a huge fairytale palace with crowns on our heads while his parents sit around the dining table talking and laughing with us. We are the picture of a perfectly happy family. I don’t want to wake up.
“Jasmine!” The shake becomes more forceful, and my eyes drift open to meet Alec’s pretty blue ones. He’s crouched on the floor beside me, smiling into my face with eyes full of affection. My heart expands.
“It’s nine a.m., Jas,” he says softly. “It’s time to get up.”
We tried to sleep on the flight here, but neither of us could catch any rest. We spent the night talking about our childhood and getting to know each other more. I didn’t think I was tired until my body hit the bed.
I sit up, admiring the quiet luxury around me. “Are we in your parents’ house?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I usually stay at their mansion whenever I’m alone in France, but I want you to be comfortable. That’s why I brought you here. It’s my house.”
“It’s lovely.” I hold out my arms, and Alec climbs into bed with me.
“We have lunch with my parents by noon. We must be there on time.”
“Do they know I’ll be there?”
“Yes. I told them.”
A shudder runs through me at the thought of lunch with Alec’s parents, and I squish it again. It’s been a significant source of worry, but I shouldn’t let it bother me. His parents are humans, just like the rest of us. Being a billionaire doesn't grant you god status.
“I should shower then.”
“Yes. There’s a makeup artist and stylist outside to help you prepare.”
“What?” My head rears back with shock. “What did you say?”
“A makeup artist and stylist…” he squints at me.
“What do I need that for?”
“To prepare you for lunch. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but my mother judges appearances also. I want you to make a great first impression.”
“Oh, so you’re saying I cannot style myself. You’re saying that, by myself, I don’t measure up to your mother’s expectations. I have to conform to what I’m not.”
“Jasmine,” Alec groans. “I’m not saying that, please.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Americans and French dress differently, and even worse, there’s a stringent fashion caste between the French high-class society,” he says. “My mother is very critical about things like that, so we must get that out of the way. The stylist I employed has styled my mother on various occasions, so she knows what my mother likes.”
I take a deep breath and nod, even though I’m still uncomfortable with the idea. “Jasmine, please let’s hold each other’s hands and do this together. We know there may be resistance, but we can get the inconsequential bits out of the way.”
“Okay.”
“Thank you. I love you.”
“I love you.”
Thirty minutes later, I sit in the living room with a plate of chips while the makeup artist, Cleo, works on my face. She’s a friendly lady, and we both agreed on a soft, minimalist look, which suits my aesthetic well. When she finishes my makeup, the stylist takes over.
We spend the next thirty minutes reviewing all the dresses on the rack. I feel like a runway model. We’re about to give up on finding the perfect dress when I try the last outfit, and everyone gasps.
“Jasmine.” Damien walks towards me, his eyes shining with awe. “You look magnificent.”
“Thank you. I love it.” I twirl in front of the mirror, admiring my reflection.
“Madame Lillian will like this,” the stylist says, dousing my mood. I understand we’re doing this to impress her, but I’d rather not be reminded. The stylist completes my dress with an elegant fascinator and matching shoes. Now, it’s time to go.
As we walk to the car, Alec’s eyes won’t leave my body. “You know I’m tempted to call this lunch off just because of you.”
“Stop it.” I swat his arm as we enter the backseat.
