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I swallow and pause before I speak. I don’t want to accidentally give the game away. “I’m sure she’s perfectly fine, thank you.”
He laughs and Jess squeezes my arm soothingly. “Oh yes, I’m sure she’s just peachy. I’m more concerned about whichever one of your hotels she decides to destroy next.”
I breathe out slowly. Everything he’s saying is true, but it still feels like a blow to the chest. He continues before I have the chance to think of a retort. “And I always thought that your Emily was rather a stunner. At least by all accounts that I’ve heard.”
“Yes?” I say through gritted teeth. The table has gone quiet, and everyone is listening to our exchange with a mixture of curiosity and discomfort.
He laughs again and looks Jess up and down before returning his gaze to meet mine. “Well…it’s just that she’s not much of a looker, is she? I never knew you went for girls who are so…plain. So common.”
I stand up so quickly that my chair rocks. The man sitting next to me makes a gab for it to stop it from falling backwards. I’m so furious that I see red, and all I can think about is defending Jess from this disgusting man.
I don’t stop to think about why I feel so strongly, or why the look of pain and resigned sadness I see flicker across Jess’ face makes my heart hurt so much more than anything else I’ve experienced. It even hurts more than my brother’s best “I’m not mad, I’m disappointed” look.
I open my mouth to lash out at De Haverland and wonder briefly if I’d get away with slapping the stupid smug grin off of his face. I snap
back and he too rises to his feet.
He laughs at my rage and I’m about to vault over the table when Jess grabs my arm and leans her body into mine. She stares straight across at him.
“Oh darling, leave it alone. Don’t forget that gossip is the domain of the…small-minded.”
There’s a ripple of laughter around the table and I turn to stare at her. She looks remarkably cool and collected, and I feel a surge of pride and admiration.
De Haverland turns a mottled shade of red and purple, clearly furious. I smirk at him, enjoying how speechless with rage he is. I wrap my arms around Jess again and kiss her deeply, to a chorus of wolf whistles and a disgruntled “eww, gross” from one of the glamor girls.
This dinner party is really shaping up to be one to remember.
Twelve
Jess
When Francis De Haverland stomps off, I could practically sing. I can’t believe that his attempts to intimidate and embarrass us have failed so spectacularly.
We’re left in the company of high society ladies. They’re all dressed to the nines. Without even looking at a price tag, I know that these dresses must cost more than three months rent. I make a note to myself to be careful not to spill anything.
The ladies here are intimidating for sure. I can tell immediately that I don’t belong. But they aren’t half as intimidating as De Haverland. Honestly, I welcome the change.
The discomfort of not quite being in place isn’t nearly as bad as being actively scrutinized.
I have a chance to take in some of my own scrutiny. Despite the fact that the ladies are all dressed in the latest and most expensive fashions, I sense some envy.
I suppose that this sort of thing always forces you to keep up with the Joneses. I look around to see who is the head of the pack, but then I pause. Is it us?
As I look closer at the women around the table as we chat, I do notice some strange things. There are longing looks and glances when they think we won’t notice.
We’re not just trying to keep up with the Joneses. We are the Joneses.
I’m taken aback as it all sinks in. I’ve never been in this situation before. Then again, I’ve never been on a ship like this pretending to be a rich woman’s girlfriend either.
It makes sense that they would notice Ashley. She’s rich and gorgeous. I know she has a bit of a reputation of acting out, but she’s been nothing but wonderful this whole trip.
As the other women look at Ashley, I can’t help but feel myself get a little jealous. I feel a prickle of defensiveness as they look at her.
I want to jump up onto the table and yell to the whole room that she’s mine. I freak myself out with the thought. Where did that come from?
She’s not even really my girlfriend. I don’t know why I’m all of a sudden concerned about this. I shake my head in an attempt to get the thoughts loose.
I don’t even know what I’m really jealous of. Maybe I’m just method acting. Can you accidentally method act?
