Page 46 of Tempting Eden

Mother seemed to come back to herself and snapped her mouth shut before descending and greeting her guests. She wore a classic Jackie-O suit, intentionally too formal for our little dinner. Her hair was all white, a snowy bob that was beautiful in a way that only age could create. Her eyes lingered on Maria, who blushed a decidedly girlish shade of pale pink.

“It’s been too long, Georgiana.”

I could have sworn my mother’s eyes misted just the tiniest bit. “I thought it was you, but I couldn’t believe it for a moment. How long has it been?”

“Forty-two years.” Maria offered her hand.

When Mother reached out to take it, I saw her fingers trembling.

I exchanged a look with Jack. The women clasped hands for longer than socially acceptable, and far longer than Adele’s patience would endure. She snagged Jack’s arm and escorted him in gentlemanly fashion to the large dining room, all the while telling him what a hit her creative writing piece was. Mother, Maria, and I followed, though none of us said a word.

We took our seats around the grand old table that had room for twenty-four guests and could expand to accommodate quite a few more. The many chandeliers were cleaned every spring, each crystal taken down and washed by hand before being rehung. Paintings of the Rochester family lined the walls, each image seeking to outdo the last in terms of grandeur. I’d always thought the peacock and croquet portrait from 1923 was the most fabulous of them all, and Adele agreed, though Mother always referred to it as “gauche.”

Even with the paintings and glowing chandeliers, the room was immense—paneled walls and gleaming wood floors only heightened the sense of space. Mother always chose to use the most imposing room in the house to entertain visitors.

The ceiling was hand-painted over a century ago to mimic some of the most beautiful ceilings in Versailles. Sinners and saints, angels and devils, the passions, and the gods were all at play above our heads.

Rosa came in from the kitchen and greeted everyone, though her eyes lingered on Maria for a few beats longer than normal. Mother took her place at the head of the table. Adele and I sat to her right, and across from us were Maria and Jack. Rosa dropped a kiss on Adele’s head before filling her plate for her.

“Rosa, I’m a grown woman. I can make my own plate.” Adele glanced at Jack and back to Rosa with a “you’re embarrassing me in front of my fantasy boyfriend” look.

Rosa ignored her protestations and scooped some more vegetables. “You’re still my baby.”

Once everyone’s plate was full of prime rib, grit cakes, and roast vegetables, we dug in. The clatter of knives and forks ruled the room for a short while.

“So, Jack, you’re my daughter’s assistant?” Mother began, as if it was her job. The wrinkles around her eyes scrunched up as she concentrated on him. Her eyes were the same green as both mine and Adele’s, but somehow beadier. Maybe I was imagining that last part.

“Oh, here we go,” Adele muttered and speared her asparagus.

“I just want to get to know more about our guest. Is that so terrible, Adele?” Mother asked.

She spoke in her regular tone, but something was off. Her eyes kept going back to Maria, drawn there. Maria, on the other hand, made no show of hiding her open interest in Georgiana. She seemed just as drawn, but not intent on fighting it.

Jack wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Yes ma’am. Her assistant. That’s right.”

“Where did you go to school?” Mother cut a precise piece of meat before delicately placing it in her mouth.

Jack glanced at me. “Alabama.”

“And before that?”

“Jack’s from Birmingham.” Maria interjected before taking a long pull from her wine glass.

“Oh? What high school?”

“Cranham.”

Mother made a hmm noise, disapproval in the note. Cranham was one of the worst-performing schools in the city, not to mention the nation. “And when did you graduate?”

Jack put his knife and fork down, preparing for the worst. “I didn’t.”

Mother raised her eyebrows before sipping her wine. “And why didn’t you?”

I held my breath. Jack looked at ease, ready to tell the truth. I envied him at that moment. The truth meant something to him. It was immutable, the one thing all others were measured by. I, on the other hand, dealt in lies far more freely than the truth.

He looked at Adele, worry only then creasing his smooth brow. Of all the people in the room, he worried most about what my daughter thought of him. Something clicked inside me, and a warm cavalcade of emotions welled up. Desire, protectiveness, something stronger—they all swirled into a cocktail that made me almost giddy. I clutched my napkin under the table.

Jack took a deep breath and dove in. “When I was fif—”

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