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 is spring.
But does the park represent some deep part of me? And which park? Which says Jasmine Lee is more than a rich man's wife?
Does that even matter?
It's not a real wedding. We aren't really in love. We aren't really professing our desire to stay together forever.
"We're still deciding," I say.
My aunts exchange a look. One that means that's not good.
"Are you sure you're not pregnant?" Mai asks.
"It's okay if you are," Quyen adds. "You wouldn't be the first—"
Mai cuts her off. "Your dad would be so happy."
"I know." I laugh, despite the awkwardness. "He's very excited about grandchildren."
They exchange another look I know well. One that means is that really going to happen? Or will he be gone first?
Not something I can consider at the moment. It's enough to plan this wedding.
"What do you want, Jasmine?" Mai takes both dresses and leads me and Quyen toward the dressing room. My aunts wave the attendant away.
Quyen comes into the stall with me. Though stall is selling it short. It's a huge space, the size of my old bedroom, with a three-panel mirror and half a dozen hooks.
"I will pick out a few more options," the saleswoman says. "And you have undergarments?"
"She doesn't need a fancy bra with this figure," Quyen says in Vietnamese.
Mai laughs and tells the salesgirl we're settled. Then she goes off with her, no doubt to help her pick dresses that don't demand too much attention.
"My sister is a good sister. A good aunt." Quyen helps me out of my boots, sweater, jeans. "You're like her. Practical. Smart. But you're like me too. Romantic." She smiles softly. "Mostly, you're like your mother. Pragmatic with this idealism you don't want to admit you have."
"I don't know about that."
"See." She unzips the fancier sheath. "You don't want to admit it. But I know it's there. This rushed wedding… it's because you… well, if you ask me, it's because you love the sex."
"Oh my God." I turn bright red.
She motions for me to raise my arms. Once I do, she steps onto the chair and pulls the dress over my head. "It's okay. It always starts that way. Your uncle… he's quite the—"
"Please don't finish that sentence."
She laughs. "It started that way. Physical. But it's not possible for it to stay that way. You learn to understand each other. Trust each other. Love each other."
"I…" Well, I can't tell her no, he'll never love me, but you're right, the sex is great. "We do understand each other." Kind of.
She helps me into the dress. Steps off the chair. Pulls the zipper. "It's the passion that pushes you. And the practicality that keeps you there. You are a smart woman, Jasmine. You see a good thing when you have it." She turns me to the mirror. "Beautiful."
"What do you mean?"
"You do have the frame. With taller shoes."
"About seeing a good thing?"
"He's rich and handsome and he looks at you like you're a princess. Of course, you're marrying him."
"I…" Still can't tell her no, no, it's about money, but not the way you think. "He looks at me like I'm a princess?"
She nods. "Maybe it's your body. Maybe he's thinking about what he'd like to do to you later—"
"Oh my God." Somehow, my blush deepens.
"But he does. When no one else is looking—"
"If you see him—"
"When he thinks no one else is looking."
"Oh." I try to focus on my reflection. To assess the dress objectively. To think only of how things appear. "Really?"
She nods. "I may not know much, but I know the way men look at women."
"You know a lot."
"It's true." She laughs. "I know a lot. Everything. Including this."
"I, uh…" Is it possible? That Shep really does look at me with devotion? That he's not just pretending?
Maybe she's seeing what she wants to see.
Maybe he's a better liar than he seems.
Maybe he's thinking with his cock.
He's devoted to making me come. And that's not a bad deal. It's really not.
I turn. Focus on the dress. Elegant. Simple. Boring. "I don't think so."
Right on cue, the saleswoman knocks on the door. "We have more options, Miss Lee."
"Come in," I say.
Quyen opens the door. The saleswoman hangs two dresses. Then four more. She places white shoes on the carpet, next to one of the ornate chairs (it's more throne than chair, really). "To see how it fits with heels. Or if you wear flats and hem. Some women want to look up at their groom."
"He's very tall," Mai says. "She will."
"He's not that tall," Quyen argues.
"You don't think anyone is tall." Mai shakes her head. Tells the story of a Warriors player coming into her restaurant. He was so tall he bumped his head on the door. But Quyen still thought he wasn't tall.
Quyen returns with her own story, about the time they met a famous actor who is known for standing on boxes so he's eye to eye with his leading ladies. But Mai thought he was tall.