15. Jane
CHAPTER 15
JANE
I wake up groggy—and pretty certain I dreamed of Adrian painting me naked while I was covered in whipped cream. Or was it that he drew on me with whipped cream? No, I got it. He made a statue of me… out of marshmallows.
What could that possibly signify? I guess that depends on whether he ate the statue afterward or turned it into smores.
“Wake up!” Mary shouts and knocks on my door. “You’ve got to see this!”
“Go away!” I shout back.
“It’s crazy,” she says. “Come on.”
“Fine.” I get dressed and stumble out of my room.
“Living room,” Mary says.
I let her lead me downstairs, where I greet Mom—and almost trip over a vase full of flowers.
Wait a second. There are vases with flowers everywhere: on the kitchen table, on the floor, even inside the microwave.
“What the hell?” I ask.
Mom beams at me. “Seems like now that your courtship isn’t secret anymore, Adrian has sent you all the flowers he always meant to send you, in one shot.”
Yeah. Turns out the living room is just the tip of the flower iceberg. Our whole driveway is littered with the stuff.
“Can you give some of these away to the neighbors?” I ask. “I don’t think we can fit them indoors, even if we covered every inch of the space.”
“Yeah,” Mom says. “He must not realize how small our place is. But if you invited him here…”
There’d have to be an arctic chill in hell.
“I’m going to go brush my teeth,” I announce. “If someone could free my chair and a plate’s worth of space on the table, I would be much obliged.”
I do as I said and wash my face as well.
Over breakfast, Mom peppers me with questions about Adrian, the answers to which I don’t know.
Just as I’m finishing up, my phone rings.
“Is it him?” Mom demands.
I roll my eyes and pick up my phone as I head to my room and lock the door.
“Hi,” Adrian says.
“Hi,” I say, my spine tingling at the sound of his deep voice. “We just got the avalanche of flowers.”
“Ah, good,” Adrian says. “Do you like them?”
“There’s a lot to like. How many flower shops did you empty?”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
I blow out a frustrated breath. “There are enough flowers here for two weddings and a funeral.”
“Oh,” he says. “I’m sorry if I got too many. I’ve never ordered flowers personally before. It’s usually something my assistant handles.”
“Sure. Sure. So you called the flower place and said ‘give me a million flowers?’”
“No. I called, they asked if my budget would be as per usual, I asked if they could make something nice on that budget, and they assured me they could.”
If by “nice,” they meant “enough to invade my house with flowers,” then they were telling the truth.
Cringing in anticipation, I ask, “What was the budget?”
“I don’t think that would be classy for me to say.”
“A thousand?” I ask. “Two? Three?”
“How much would be too much?” he asks, sounding sheepish.
“Oh, god, you spent more than that?”
“Five,” he says. “But like I said, that’s the standard budget when my assistant deals with the florist.”
“Do they maybe provide flowers for weddings?” I ask pointedly.
“Usually, it’s for fundraisers. Speaking of which, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Fundraisers?” I ask, and realize he’s changed the topic quite expertly.
“A fundraiser, singular. It’s a big social event. They call it The Ball.”
“Never heard of it.” But it sounds fancy.
“Well, I’d like for you to go with me,” he says formally. “It would be a great place for us to be seen together.”
“I can’t go to something called The Ball. I don’t have anything to wear.”
“That’ll be easily remedied by a modiste,” he says.
My eyes bulge. “How do you know that word?”
He chuckles. “ Bridgerton . I read the book on a lark last night and have already bought the sequel.”
What? Now I want to marry him for real, which isn’t good.
“When is the event?” I ask, trying and failing not to sound breathy.
“Tomorrow. Sorry I didn’t mention it earlier. I?—”
“We only met yesterday,” I say. “Don’t sweat it.”
Met yesterday. I can’t believe it. It feels like I’ve been on this crazy ride with him for weeks.
“Does that mean you’ll go?” he asks.
I bite my lip. “I’m not sure. I’d have to do makeup and hair, plus?—”
“I’ll have a team of professionals do all that for you. Say yes.”
“Don’t forget to invite him over,” Mom shouts from behind the door.
Dammit. Was she eavesdropping this whole time?
“Did I hear someone say something about an invite?” Adrian asks.
“That was my mother,” I say with an eyeroll. “I told her what’s going on, so she’s naturally curious about my fiancé. My sister is dying to meet you too.”
“I’d love to stop by,” Adrian says. “How about in an hour? I can help you deal with the overabundance of flowers.”
My pulse picks up pace, and my face feels like it’s about to catch on fire. “It’s a bad idea.”
“No, it’s not!” Mom shouts from behind the door.
How did she overhear what Adrian said? Or did she guess?
I chew on the inside of my cheek. “If you come here, you might change your mind about marrying me.”
“I won’t,” he says with great confidence.
“Fine. Come over,” I say grudgingly. “But you’ve been warned.”
Mom squeals from behind the door.
Miss Miller never thought she’d need to express this opinion, but squealing isn’t ladylike, nor are any other sounds typically produced by farm animals.
“Can I bring Leo?” Adrian asks. “I don’t have a sitter at the moment.”
“What happened to Tiffany?” I ask, doing my best not to sound jealous and probably failing.
“Long story,” he says. “The paintings and statues we discussed yesterday are now gone from the gallery, and their subjects have new employment. Hmm. I guess it’s not such a long story.”
“Why?” No way was it for me.
“I realized the artworks could be weaponized against me at the hearing. And so could the fact that their subjects were working for me,” he says. “I have you to thank for making me realize this and take steps.”
As I figured, not for me. “You’re welcome?”
“Seriously, thanks,” he says.
“Don’t mention it.” The sooner I can forget about the women he’s been with, the happier our “marriage” will be. “Take Leo and come over.”
“Who is Leo?” Mom screams from behind the door.
“See you soon,” Adrian says and hangs up.
I leave my room and give Mom a death glare. “Leo is his dog.”
“Ah, great. When are they both coming?”
“In an hour.” I mentally catalogue all my outfits, desperately trying to figure out what to wear.
Mom pales. “An hour? But the house is such a mess!”
Unbelievable. “Inviting him was your idea.”
“Make yourself presentable,” Mom orders and rushes away, issuing commands to Mary on the way.
I look into the bathroom mirror. Am I not presentable? Nope. Not compared to the women in the gallery.
Grr. I try on a few outfits until I like one enough, and then I do my makeup and hair as best I can—though I guess I could’ve asked Mom for help with the latter since she works in a barbershop. But no. Not while she’s tidying up a storm.
By the time I deem myself presentable-ish, our front door dings, and I also get a text from Adrian:
Here.
I fly out of my room—and can’t believe my eyes. Firstly, the flowers are now down to one big and beautiful bouquet, but more incomprehensibly, the place is spotless, the cleanest I’ve ever seen it.
“Who is it?” I hear Mom call from downstairs.
“Wait for me!” I shout and nearly fall down the stairs as I run down to join Mom and Mary.
“It’s Adrian,” he says from behind the door. “And Leo.”
I open up.
Adrian blinds us all with his smile.
My mutinous heart skips a couple of beats as I take in his clean-shaven face, his silver eyes and?—
“Hello, there,” Mom says coquettishly. “I’m Georgiana, Jane’s not-much-older sister.”
Isn’t the guy supposed to make that corny joke?
“Pleasure to meet you.” Adrian takes Mom’s hand and presses it to his lips.
Wow. Do I get the red-cheeks thing from Mom? Hers look like a female baboon’s butt. When she’s in heat. The baboon, that is.
Noticing Mom’s reaction, Mary rolls her eyes so expertly I’m painfully reminded of the fact that she’s on the cusp of becoming a teen, with all the angst and texting it might bring forth… unless she’s like me, in which case it will entail lots of book reading and equal amounts of masturbation.
Hmm. Seems like my current life isn’t all that different from my teenage years.
“And what’s your name?” Adrian asks my little sister.
“Mary,” she says, a bit shyly.
Clearly under the influence of the historical romance he’s read, Adrian bows to her and pantomimes lifting a nonexistent hat. “Nice to meet you, Mary.”
Now Mary blushes too—which is odd, considering her lack of interest in the males of our species. Even weirder is the worshipful expression on her face.
Someone might be rethinking the whole “boys are eww” paradigm.
“Let me also introduce Leo,” Adrian says and steps aside to display his sheep-like companion, whose tail is imitating helicopter blades.
“Be good,” Adrian says sternly and pulls Leo closer before he can knock over my mom.
“He’s so cute,” Mary squeals.
“Is she talking about the dog?” Mom whispers to me.
I don’t know either.
“Come in.” I gesture inside. “Please.”
Adrian looks around. “Won’t we get trampled by an avalanche of flowers?”
Mom’s giggle is disturbing. “I called in a few favors with the neighbors,” she croons. “And they took them.”
This fast? Were they sexual favors?
“I owe you one,” Adrian says and steps inside, pulling Leo behind him.
“Come to the kitchen,” Mom says and leads our guests up the stairs.
Mary and I follow, with me appreciating Adrian’s butt and Mary hopefully thinking about anything but that.
“This is for you.” Adrian hands Mary a box of candy I didn’t even notice him carrying.
Holding the box like a treasure, Mary mumbles a shy “thanks” under her breath—peculiar behavior from the most outgoing child on Earth.
“Did you make these?” I ask when the box is opened, revealing gorgeous chocolates. The box and the candy look too fancy to have been handmade, but with Adrian, you never know.
“No,” he says. “These are To’ak chocolates. One of my favorites.”
“I should make tea,” Mom says. “Or coffee.”
“I prefer coffee,” Adrian says. “Thanks.”
“Tea for me,” I pipe up.
“I’ll take coffee too,” Mary says.
Mom and I look at her like she’s grown coffee beans on her eyeballs. When she tasted coffee a year ago, she said, and I quote, “Why is everyone so obsessed with such a bitter and gross substance?”
As Mom brews the coffee and makes the tea, Mary sits at the kitchen table, sneaking peeks at Adrian when she thinks no one is watching.
It’s official. She’s got a crush. But does it have to be on my fiancé?
In Mary’s defense, Adrian is a very crush-inducing man.
“Should I set out some candles?” Mary blurts.
“How romantic,” Mom says. “Please do that, hon.”
When Mary departs, I ask, “Should we feed Leo?”
Adrian looks at his furry friend with a grin. “He’s eaten, but he’ll never say no to more food.”
I walk up to the fridge and scan for something that a dog would like before I spot it. “Peanut butter?”
Leo’s ears perk up, but he stays with his back to us for some reason.
“Peanut butter is the elixir of the canine gods,” Adrian says in “Leo’s” voice.
I take the peanut butter out and spread it onto a paper plate.
“Here.” I set the plate on the table next to Adrian. “Your dog, you give it to him.”
“Ah, yes, my favorite treat delivered by my favorite human,” Leo says excitedly.
Before Adrian gets the chance to place the plate on the floor, Mary walks back into the room holding the candles. She looks at the dog’s snout with a shocked expression.
“That was Adrian speaking for Leo,” I explain. “You’re not hallucinating.”
“That’s not it,” Mary says. “He’s eating one of Mom’s orchids.”
By the time we all examine him, it’s too late. The potted plant has been chewed and swallowed.
Wow. He even grazes like a sheep.
“Will he get sick?” Mom asks Adrian worriedly.
Pulling out his phone, Adrian asks, “What kind of orchid was that?”
“Moth,” Mom says.
He does a quick search and exhales in relief. “It’s safe for both dogs and cats.” Looking at Leo, he adds, “But you’re still being a bad dog.”
The look on Leo’s face could be found in the dictionary under “innocent.”
“I’ll get you a replacement orchid,” Adrian tells Mom.
“Just not a million,” I chime in.
“No need,” Mom says at the same time. “Thanks to your dog, Jane and you met. An orchid is a small price to pay for future grandchildren.”
I was wondering how long before my family would make me want to fall through the floor. Turns out it took entire minutes.
Adrian’s handsome face takes on a fond expression. “It’s been months since our meeting, but I remember it like it was yesterday.”
He’s so good at lying. You’d think he were really talking about months ago, when in fact, it was yesterday that we met.
The kettle whistles.
Adrian goes back to his seat and starts checking something on his phone. Mary lights the candles over the stove, while I hand Mom the box with teabags and begin pouring water into the kettle—which takes forever thanks to our crappy water pipes.
A blur of white catches my attention, so I turn toward the table—and gape, as many things happen faster than I can blink.
Leo whooshes forward, clearly going after the plate with peanut butter that we all forgot about during the orchid incident.
At the exact same time, Mary approaches Leo and Adrian, carrying the lit candle.
Oh, no! In his haste to execute the perfect heist, the dog bumps into Mary, which causes her to lose her footing just enough for the candle to come into contact with Adrian’s hair.
Kill me now. The smell reminiscent of burned chicken tells me I didn’t hallucinate what I just saw.
“Oh, my God!” Mary screams.
“Fuck!” Mom shouts.
Yep, all are very reasonable assessments of the situation.
Mind-bogglingly, despite having his hair on fire, the man is still lost in the oblivion of his phone.
“Adrian!” I pour all the water that made it into the kettle onto a gross rag that mom uses to save on paper towels. “You’re on fire!”
Adrian finally pulls away from his phone, his eyes widening.
I cross the distance between us in one leap and smack his burning hair with the wet rag.
The fire seems to have stopped, but I smack Adrian with the wet rag one more time, just to be sure.
“Are you okay?” I ask Adrian, who looks stunned.
“I think so.” He touches the spot that was just on fire. “What happened?”
I glare at the dog—who’s devoured the peanut butter already and is chewing on the paper plate itself. “Someone was being a bad dog.”
“It was my fault,” Mary says sheepishly. “I shouldn’t have come so close to you with the candle.”
“Hey,” I say. “I was the one who tempted the dog with the peanut butter.”
“It’s okay,” Adrian says. “I’m totally fine.”
I bet this is another lie, just as expertly executed as the previous one. Yeah. It would’ve been ironic if, instead of his hair, his pants were on fire.
“I’m so sorry,” Mary murmurs mournfully.
Swallowing the last bit of the plate, Leo finally picks up on the tension in the room and whines.
“I can fix this.” Mom stands up straighter and examines the charred section of Adrian’s hair the way Superman would a falling plane. “You’ll just end up with a shorter hairdo.”
Before anyone can so much as put in a word edgewise, Mom herds Adrian into the bathroom, makes him sit on the closed toilet seat, and pulls out her scissors and clippers.
“You might want to take off your shirt,” Mom says. “Else your collar will be itchy.”
Seriously? There’s no way he?—
Adrian unbuttons his shirt and takes it off like it’s nothing.
Underneath, he has nothing on, of course, so my eyes feast on his hard muscular chest, his six pack, and his oh-so-lickable arms.
God help me. I might need a change of panties.
There’s a gasp nearby.
Oh, crap. Mary is looking at the same droolworthy muscles as I am.
“Go watch the dog,” I say to her, and then I position my body in the doorway to block her view. A ten-year-old is much too innocent to be exposed to something like this. She’ll be ruined for all other men.
Heavens. Miss Miller feels a scandalous womanly condensation in the part of her anatomy that an unmarried lady shouldn’t even think about.
Mom starts turns on the clippers, and the buzzing noise dampens my libido… a little.
“This reminds me of that horrible scene in Thor: Ragnarok ,” Mary whispers from behind me. “When they cut Chris Hemsworth’s hair with a device that looked like the blades of a blender.”
I ignore Mary because I’m annoyed at how close Mom is getting to my fake fiancé. Relatedly, does she need to put her boobs in his face when trimming the top of his head? Why is she even cutting that? The burned hair was in the back.
Whatever.
After fifteen minutes that feel like a month, Mom’s hair buzzer stops.
“Have a look,” she says.
I know she’s talking to Adrian, but I’m only human, so I check him out—and blow out an annoyed breath.
If someone burned and then cut my hair, I would surely look hideous. But for Adrian, his already-sharp cheekbones now look like they could cut steel, and the angularness of his face has become more angular somehow, daring my fingertips to trace over his features and my tongue to?—
“Great, thanks,” Adrian says with merely a glance at himself in the mirror.
“That’s it?” I demand. “You won’t even bother asking for another mirror so you can see how it looks from behind?”
It looks amazing, of course, but he doesn’t know that.
“I trust Georgiana.” Adrian gestures at the nearby shower. “Do you mind if I wash the hair off?”
“Of course not,” Mom says breathily but doesn’t move. Nor do I.
After waiting for a couple of beats, Adrian smirks. “I might need a bit more privacy, if you don’t mind.”
Cheeks red, Mom thrusts a big towel into his hands and rushes out of the bathroom, almost trampling me.
There’s the click-clack of Adrian locking the door, which is good, because when the shower starts, I feel very tempted to go inside—in case he needs some help getting soap on his back, of course.
“How does it look?” Mary asks us with the same intonation she uses when asking things like, “Do you think global nuclear disarmament will happen in my lifetime?”
“How about we wait at the table?” I suggest.
She and Mom both nod and we take our seats. The tea and coffee have cooled by now, so Mom warms them in the microwave. Finally, the bathroom door opens, and Adrian joins us, smelling fresh and looking like his haircut cost a grand.
“Thanks again, Georgiana,” he says as he sits down. “Between the new look and my beautiful fiancée, everyone at The Ball will be dying of jealousy.”
Help! I’m a melted puddle, and I can’t get up.