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His lips tighten as he waves a hand dismissively. “Regardless of what some study says, you are Jasmine Callahan now. There are certain expectations that come with our family name. Behaving like a well-educated and proper lady is one of them.”
“Well, it’s a good thing my last name is Rivera then, isn’t it?”
Sperm Donor gives me a smarmy smile. “Not for long. I’ve expedited the name change process. The judge should sign off on it by the end of the week.”
My jaw drops. “Excuse me? You can’t just change my name.”
His bushy eyebrows rise. “But I can, and I will. Until you’re a legal adult, the law says otherwise. Take it as the gift that it is, Jasmine. Being a Callahan will afford you certain privileges.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I never asked to be a Callahan and I don’t need any privileges that come with it.”
He narrows his icy blue eyes. “Stop being such a foolish little girl. You’ll learn to appreciate it soon enough. Once you and your sister get to school, you’ll need our family name behind you.”
Peyton sneers. “Daddy is right, Jasmine. You’d be eaten alive at Windsor if you showed up as... yourself.”
I give her a look that says, I can handle myself, remember?
I sigh. “What’s the deal with this Windsor place? Based on the uniforms hanging in my closet, I’m guessing it’s some kind of private school for rich assholes. Am I close?”
My stepmother places her hand over Sperm Donor’s forearm when his face reddens. “Jasmine, dear, Windsor is an elite prep school. Anyone who graduates from there is practically a shoo-in for the Ivy Leagues.”
I consider that for a moment. I’ve always dreamed of going to UCLA but never thought it’d be possible, despite the fact that I’ve maintained a 4.0 GPA. I could only imagine how many doors would open for my sister and me if I had a degree under my belt from such a reputable university. It’s not an Ivy, but it definitely carries prestige. The last time I checked, their admissions rate was less than fifteen percent.
“Where is it?” These two seem like the type to ship their kids off to boarding school and the one thing I won’t do is leave L.A. I need to keep an eye on Belle.
She takes a sip of wine. “We’re quite fortunate that it’s local—only about ten miles from here. You’ll love it there—it’s a beautiful facility. Only students from the upper echelon of society are admitted. It’s an honor to be accepted. You’re really fortunate things happened when they did—they never accept students after the first trimester begins, no matter how generous a donation may be. Your father had to pull some strings to get you enrolled so last minute.”
I stiffen. “I’m fortunate things happened when they did?” I couldn’t care less that I’m shouting right now. “What things are you referring to exactly? My mother’s death?”
“Well... yes,” she sputters.
Is this bitch serious right now? I’d give anything to be sitting on the couch with Belle and my mom, eating a bowl of Ramen for dinner instead of being at this monstrous table with a gourmet meal.
I fly out of my seat so fast, it topples over. “Fuck. You.”
Peyton and her mother gasp as Charles shoots out of his chair and yells, “Jasmine! Apologize to your mother this instant!”
I point to the uptight blonde before me. “She is not my mother.” I move over to the younger version of her. “And she is not my sister.” I nod to him. “As for you... we may share DNA, but I don’t need a daddy either—I’ve gone my entire life without one and I’ve been just fine. And how many times do I have to fucking tell you people, call me Jazz!”
His face is so red, it’s turning purple. “Go to your room right now, you disrespectful little shit!”
So much for the no cursing rule. Maybe that only applies to people without dicks.
I scoff. “Gladly.”
I’m angry with myself for losing control, but I saw red when Madeline talked about how convenient my mother’s death was. I know I’ll need to suck it up for Belle’s sake and be on my best behavior but I need some time to cool down first. The last thing I see before stomping up the stairs is Peyton’s smug smile, telling me she’s enjoying every minute of my misery. I’m definitely going to have to watch out for that one.
CHAPTER TWO
JAZZ
The next morning is filled with one primping session after another. It seems Madeline Callahan has made it her personal mission to make me look like a proper young lady. The house manager woke me up at the crack of dawn, commanded me to shower, then led me down to the salon where my new stepmother and a team of stylists were waiting to pounce. Yes, there’s an actual salon in this house, complete with adjustable height chairs, washbowls, nail stations, the works.
Madeline says the salon is an “absolute necessity” because a lady must never go out in public without looking her best. I swear the woman thinks we’re Kardashians or something. Shit, I wouldn’t be surprised if she knew them considering they live around here somewhere. I indulged her this time because I’m trying to be flexible for Belle’s sake, but the bitch is crazy if she thinks I’m going to get up early every day to have my hair and makeup professionally done.
First of all, I have no desire to stick out and that’d be rather difficult if I looked as if I just stepped off a catwalk. Secondly, restful sleep is a rarity for me these days. I need every spare moment I can get if I actually manage to shut my brain down long enough to doze off.
My hair is now fully brunette—not a trace of purple, which Madeline says is against Windsor’s dress code—and perfectly blown out. My skin has been waxed, exfoliated, and moisturized to the extreme, and the nails on my hands and feet are painted a glo
