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“No! I love it.”
Mrs. Ace scoffs. “Americans think they have better food than the French,” she says. “They always think they’re better than the French.”
“That’s not true.”
“Hmm.” Her dull black eyes meet mine briefly before sliding her gaze to Alec. “You always look so stressed whenever you come from New York. You need to be back in France for good.”
Alec doesn’t respond, and his fingers tighten around mine. It comforts me that Mrs. Ace makes Alec uncomfortable, too, and her ire isn’t directed at me alone. Maybe that makes me a bad person…
“So…Miss Jasmine,” Mr. Ace says before sipping from his wine glass. “Tell me, what do you do?”
I freeze because I know it’s the moment of truth, but the irony is that there’s no correct answer. As long as I’m not admitting to them that I’m the long-lost daughter of a billionaire, nothing I say will ever impress them. It will be a tough lunch for me, and I hope the universe shows me a little support.
Chapter eighteen
Alec
I rub small circles on Jasmine’s skin as she clears her throat and answers my father's question. “I’m a fresh graduate. I graduated from NYU.”
“Oh, that’s the same school Alec went to,” my dad said, grinning. “Is that where you met him?”
“No. I met Alec through my brother. He’s—”
“Let’s not get sidetracked here,” Mother said, bursting into the conversation. “Jasmine, the question David asked is what you did for a living and not where you graduated from. You must admit that there’s a difference, right?”
“Mom!” Alec tenses beside me, and I smile at him before turning to his mother.
“I guess you’re right. They’re two different questions, but there’s also an overlapping line, especially in my life because while I have a Bachelor of Science degree in Business Admin., I don’t have a job yet.”
“Hmph.” My mother scoffs, disappointment heavy in her eyes. Why is she being openly vindictive? She’s worse than I thought!
“How old are you again, Jasmine?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Twenty-five and jobless.” Mother picks up the wine glass and rises to her feet. “Lunch is over, thank goodness.”
“Sit down, Lillian.” Father glares at her. “It’s rude to walk out on visitors when you’re hosting lunch.”
“Visitors?” My mother asked, laughing. “This one is our son, I know that. But I don’t know who this lady is…”
“Her name is Jasmine, Mom.” Annoyance swirls in my belly.
“Jasmine…” Mother weighs the name on her tongue like she's hearing it for the first time. “Jasmine, do you know what Alec was doing at twenty-five?”
“I don’t know. School?”
“Tsk, that school is trash,” Mother says. “He was already running a foundation that racks in millions. He already does mini-side jobs that earned him peanuts.”
“How did you know that?” My mouth falls open. I did my side jobs in New York, so there’s no way she could have found out if someone didn’t tell her. My first guess is Damien.
“I’m simply trying to explain to Jasmine why being jobless is unattractive.”
“I’m not being jobless on purpose,” Jasmine answers, her voice clear and confident. “I’ve been sending out job applications; I’m positive I’ll get great news, too.”
“Hmm.” My mother nods, genuinely unimpressed, but thankfully doesn’t say any more.
I glance at Jasmine, who still manages to smile, and my heart swells with pride.
