Just as he raised his glass to his lips, Jax kicked his shin under the table and a big splash of Merlot soaked his pink-and-white pinstripe dress shirt. “Merde! You little bitch!”
“Stop being an asshole,” said Jax, raising an eyebrow. “And don’t tell mother.”
She didn’t actually need to say it. She already knew they wouldn’t. Neither Mad nor J.C. would say a word—the Rousseau children had bonded over their absentee parents years ago, and their union as siblings was much stronger than the relationship any of them held individually with Liliane.
Anyway, Jax had no idea what would happen with Gardener, though she’d liked it very much when he had told her that their kiss wasn’t a “blip” or “just a kiss.” Like him, she didn’t know where they were going or where that sweet kiss would lead. But also like him, she knew in her heart that it wasn’t insignificant, and it was like a precious, sweet secret to know they both felt that way.
She had gone to sleep last night thinking about tonight—how she would pick him up at eight and drive them both into the city, to a bar near his old precinct. He told her, “The fries are greasy, but the beer is cold. Think you can handle it, Duchess?” She’d asked if they’d be meeting some of his friends, and he said they’d likely run into some people he knew. What she wondered the most, as she drifted off to sleep, was how he’d introduce her tomorrow. As his friend? As more? What was she to him? Oh, she knew it was too soon to put labels on the newness of their petite romance, but it made her feel excited to wonder, so she thought about it all the same.
This morning, she’d forced herself not to daydream about her date anymore and spent a couple of hours checking out “Sailing-Themed Movie Parties” on Pinterest, where she discovered some awesome ideas to share with Skye. Over the last few days, her excitement for Skye’s party had doubled and tripled, and a possible new life had started taking shape in Jax’s head: it included making her home at Le Chateau, seeking out friendships with women like Skye and Daisy, and producing a television program filmed on-site in Philadelphia. The more she thought about it, the more right it felt, though the pieces weren’t laid out just so and ready to be snapped together.
First and foremost, Le Chateau didn’t belong to her. It belonged to her mother. She would have to buy it from her mother to officially make it hers. Though it hadn’t been appraised in ages, Jax guessed the house was worth around seven million dollars, and while she could certainly buy it outright from her trust, it would deplete the trust by about a quarter after taxes were paid. Still, she could afford it. But common sense asked why a single woman required a seven-million-dollar, six-acre, eight-bedroom, twelve-bathroom estate with a grand ballroom, swimming pool, gym, studio, and theater. For a family of six, it had been ostentatious. For her? By herself? It bordered on ridiculous. Not to mention that her mother was mercurial—there was no guarantee that Liliane would sell it to Jax. She didn’t like the house and never had. It wouldn’t surprise Jax if she was eager to be rid of it once and for all.
And while she was hopeful that Skye and Daisy were potential friends, especially after today’s luncheon, the reality was that both women had been raised in working-class families, while Jax had been raised on Blueberry Lane. Would their sensibilities about life be vastly different? Would the three women be able to connect, or would Skye and Daisy see Jax as an entitled trust-fund brat who had taken a life of luxury for granted? Or worse, would they see her as a big-shot Hollywood producer whose life felt too removed from theirs to see her as a friend? Could she convince them that she was also just a down-to-earth girl who was thinking about relocating and needed friends just as much as anyone else?
And what about producing a TV series on location in Philadelphia so she could make her home here, where she had friends and family and felt safe? It wasn’t like a movie: a big one-time project that had a beginning, middle, and end. It was more like a job—an ongoing gig that could last for years if the show found an audience. Not to mention, would