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She hadn’t hugged Julius and Matthew to make him jealous. She was so relieved to see a familiar face that she’d reacted without thinking, and despite their intentions (which she still couldn’t wrap her mind around), she’d never seen them as anything but friends. Roth knew that. What the hell was wrong with him?
As she approached the alcove, her attention was on the massive family portrait on the wall. She failed to notice the small figure in a gold armchair until she was almost upon her. A girl in a red velvet dress sat cross-legged with her head bent over an open book on her lap. Jasmine stopped in her tracks, the sight so reminiscent of her own childhood she thought she was seeing things. When the girl turned the page, she let out a relieved breath.
She glanced over her shoulder at the crowd mingling in front of the dining room before turning back to the girl who had yet to acknowledge her presence. Either she was totally engrossed in her book or deliberately ignoring her. Remembering how terrified she’d been of saying the wrong thing at parties like this, her mouth quirked in a sad smile. Not much had changed.
“I saw you dance with Grandpa.”
The voice was so soft she thought she was hearing things. Then the girl lifted her head, enough for Jasmine to get a glimpse of those distinctive Trentham eyes, pale skin, and rosebud lips before her head ducked down again, hair falling forward to conceal her features.
“Don’t judge me too harshly,” she said with a grimace. “I haven’t danced in years.”
The girl turned another page in her book.
“Do you dance?”
No answer.
“What’s your name? I’m Jasmine.”
When she still didn’t get a response, she regarded the girl thoughtfully. Although Sullivan had mentioned his granddaughter, her age, name, and sex hadn’t come up in her Google search. The Trenthams were taking great care to keep her out of the spotlight. Maybe she’d been told not to speak to anyone.
Once more, she glanced over her shoulder. The crush in front of the door looked like a headache. She turned back to the girl.
“What are you reading?” By now, the silent treatment wasn’t a surprise, but it got her wheels turning. As someone who didn’t read books in genres as socially acceptable as thriller and mysteries, that question always got her back up. She considered the girl for a moment before using a card she’d never used in her life. “I’m an author.”
The girl’s head snapped up, blue eyes round and riveted. “You are?”
“Yes.”
The girl’s look of awe warmed her heart. She would have died to meet an author at her age.
“What do you write?”
“Romance and fantasy.” When the girl’s eyes lit up, she raised a brow. “Now, will you show me what you’re reading?”
There was only a slight hesitation before the girl flashed a familiar cover that tickled the back of her memory.
“Uncharted Waters,” she said gravely. “That’s a good one. First time reading it?”
The girl hesitated before shaking her head.
“Am I terrible for wanting Amir’s mother, the queen, to die for being an evil witch?”
The girl’s eyes flared in surprise before she let out a giggle. Though the delightful sound was drowned out by the adults in the distance, the girl clapped a hand over her mouth as if she was worried about being too loud.
“How old are you?”
“Twelve.”
Jasmine tried to remember how old she was when she picked up Uncharted Waters. If she remembered correctly, this book had jump-started her sexual awakening. Twelve seemed far too young, but she’d always read several levels above her age group, and it seemed the Trentham heir did as well. If the girl spent as much time reading as she had, she was probably at a high school reading level by now.
“Can I read your books?”
She focused on the girl, who had unfurled from her hunched position and was now sitting up, legs swinging, her lovely face animated and curious.
“You might be able to read my fantasy,” she drawled. “But first...”
“Yes?”
