19. Jane
CHAPTER 19
JANE
I stare at my surroundings in awe.
If the palace-like venue had a theme, it would be something like “blue blood.” Even the parking valet and the waiters look richer than their usual counterparts. The actual whales downright exude wealth—and make me realize that Adrian is pretty down to Earth in this regard… in comparison to his peers, of course.
“Thoughts?” Adrian whispers.
“This is basically the ton ,” I whisper back. “And I’m a milkmaid.”
He rolls his eyes. “You’re a diamond of the first order.”
“It’s water, not order,” I say as butterflies somersault in my belly.
“Water?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.
“The brilliance of a diamond is called its water.”
Before he can retort, Adrian frowns at something behind me. When I turn, I see a woman smiling at us like a shark.
With her amber eyes, silky black hair, and small face, she reminds me of what I could’ve grown up to look like if I had eaten caviar all day from kindergarten on, had had a personal trainer since grade school, and had swum in a pool of gold coins from birth.
But no. In no alternate universe could I manage to look this haughty. If it’s true that it takes ten thousand hours to master a task, that must be how long she’s had to stare at people down her nose to get this good at it.
“Adrian,” she says, her voice dripping with hauteur. “Why would you bring your assistant to The Ball?”
His assistant? Hey, she could have called me his cleaning lady.
Miss Miller finds the term “cleaning lady” quite misleading—maids clean, ladies manage the household. Having said that, even more incongruent would be the term “cleaning gentleman.” Oh, and since we’re on the subject, the term “crazy cat lady” also raises a lot of questions, like: Why isn’t she in Bedlam or locked up in an attic? Are all the cats there to rid her of the mice in said attic, or is she crazy in such a way that she uses them as an aloof source of protein?
“Jane, meet Sydney,” Adrian says, sounding more formal than I’ve ever heard him. “Sydney, meet Jane.” He turns to me. “Sydney is Piper’s mother.”
Oh, crap.
He turns to Sydney. “Jane and I have been secretly dating for the last six months, and as of yesterday, we’re engaged.”
Double crap.
Until this moment, Sydney hadn’t truly looked at me, but now that she’s turned those intense amber eyes on me, I’d rather go back to the good old days when she didn’t think me worthy of her notice.
She turns to Adrian, and her fake laugh reminds me of the time Mom tried practicing laughter yoga—which sounded a lot like Jack Nicholson’s portrayal of the Joker. “I hope our daughter inherits your wonderful sense of humor.”
Adrian sighs. “Why would I be joking about that?”
Feeling a little petty, I flash Sydney the ring on my finger.
Her faux joviality is gone without a trace. “You’re getting married,” she says, enunciating every word.
Adrian crosses his arms over his chest. “Marriage is a common step after getting engaged.”
Her eyes narrow. “So now you are able to get married?”
Does she want him to tell her outright that he’s fine with getting married, just not to her?
Frowning, Adrian turns my way. “Sydney and I are going to talk in private for a moment.”
I nod because what else can I do? Even if what Adrian and I have were real, Sydney would still be in his life forever, or at least until their daughter moves out. He needs to stay on talking terms with this woman, and for the next three years, so should I.
Just as they walk away, an unfamiliar middle-aged man approaches me, a champagne flute in his hand.
“Hello.” He raises the flute. “I’m Tristan Astor.” With that, he extends his hand to me.
I shake the proffered hand. “I’m Jane Miller. I’m sorry… The way you said your name made it sound like I should know it, but I don’t.”
“Oh.” His cheeks flush. “I’m Sydney’s father.”
Ah. Now that he says it, I can see some resemblance—his hair is the same shade of black, and his eyes are amber. So Sydney’s last name is Astor. That could be handy in case I feel like cyberstalking her.
“I saw you talking with her a moment ago,” he continues. “So I assumed you were part of the same circle.”
He thinks I’m part of the ton? I’ll take that as a compliment.
“I’m not part of their circle,” I say. “However, since you’re Piper’s grandfather, our paths might cross again, so we might as well get to know each other.”
He looks confused. “How are you connected to Piper?”
Before I can answer, a voice even haughtier than Sydney’s says, “Tristan, dear, is that a contender to be wife number four? Or is it five?”
I turn to check out the speaker, a middle-aged lady who looks like she has a team of plastic surgeons on speed dial. She could also easily play an evil dowager baroness in a show about Victorian England.
“Juliet,” Tristan says through his teeth. “Tired of your boy toy already?”
Juliet glances at a guy about Adrian’s age, then turns back to Tristan. “I’m not actually here to quarrel.” She points at Adrian and Sydney in the distance. “Do you think they’re reconciling?”
Tristan shrugs and gestures at me. “Maybe Jane has a clue?”
Juliet peers at me and forces one of her perfectly styled eyebrows into a simulacrum of a question mark. “You know my daughter?”
Ah. So this is Sydney’s mom, and it seems like she and Tristan aren’t together. Probably because her name isn’t Isolde, and his name isn’t Romeo.
“I just met Sydney a second ago,” I say, and don’t add that it wasn’t a pleasure in the slightest. “I came with Adrian.”
“Oh,” both of Sydney’s parental units say in unison before examining me as if I were a bacterium and they had just invented the microscope.
“ You came with Adrian?” Juliet continues peering at me. “As a date?”
“I’m his fiancé,” I say, figuring it’s best to treat this like ripping off a Band-Aid.
They both gape at me in shock, especially Juliet.
“I thought it’d be just a matter of time before he’d wake up and marry Sydney,” Juliet says, more to Tristan than to me.
“And I thought he didn’t want to marry her because he was afraid of the commitment,” Tristan says. “But he’s marrying someone else?”
Do I need to be a part of this conversation?
Juliet’s eyes zero in on me. “Do you have a child with him also?”
“Not that I know of.” Grr. What does that even mean?
“Then why?” they ask in unison.
“You’ll have to ask Adrian,” I say, and thank my lucky stars because in that moment, I spot him coming our way.
Poor guy.
He’s just gotten out of the Sydney frying pan, just to get tossed into the fire of Tristan and Juliet.