Page 97 of Austen Persuaded

Racing to the restroom, I braced myself, but after I stared in the mirror for a while, my stomach seemed to settle, if only slightly. I splashed water on my face. My head was spinning, and I looked horrendous. I had to meet Jacqueline in under an hour. And her latest boyfriend and his … daughter, I think. What were their names? Chris, maybe. Or Christine. I shook my head slowly as I swished some toothpaste around in my mouth and tried to run a brush through my hair. Staring at my rumpled appearance, I decided to text Rafael for help.

Annie

Can you come to the apartment asap? Need to look presentable in under an hour. Meeting Jacqueline and her guests.

Rafael

Oh, hell. Only for you, darling. I’ll be right over.

I love you. Don’t panic.

Annie

Love you.

An hour later, I was speedwalking into the Four Seasons, my head still swirling with pain and a bit of queasiness that I barely noticed, so deep in thought about what was coming. Years had passed since I’d seen my mother, who refused to visit me in what she called the pitiful Midwest.

“Darling,” called a high-pitched voice. That was Jacqueline’s socialite voice, the public one that she thought sounded more sophisticated and philanthropic than her real voice. Or at least the one she used with her daughter—who knew the real Jacqueline. It was strange that she spoke so differently in different settings, but I’d long ago grown accustomed to it. “This is my darling Anastasia. She is late, but we will kindly forgive her, of course. You know I am kindness itself, dearest Ricardo, am I not?

“Indeed,” said Ricardo, assessing me from head to toe in a leisurely fashion. “How could anyone not forgive such a beautiful face … that is so like her mother’s?” He smiled at Jacqueline and linked arms with both her and the younger woman on his other side. “Anastasia, I am Ricardo. I’m sure your mother has told you much about me and Caroline, my lovely daughter.”

Caroline was apparently the other woman on his arm, and she yawned. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

I forced a bright smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Ricardo and Caroline. And Mother, you look well,” I added politely.

Her eyes flashed. “Well. Yes. Do show us into the restaurant, Anastasia. We are quite famished.”

My brows furrowed as I looked around.

Does my mother assume I’ll be their damn tour guide?

I’ve been to the hotel before, since Brandon stayed here, but—oh, man, I hope he’s not still here now.

After a beat though, I realized I didn’t care that much one way or the other. I was long over him.

“Anastasia, did you hear—” My mother’s voice became a bit more shrill.

“Yes, sorry,” I mumbled. “Right this way, everyone,” I said like a tour guide, pointing in the direction of the only restaurant within sight.

As the morning hours passed, so too did my enthusiasm for, well, anything. Even the news about my literary agent job hadn’t impressed my mother. In fact, she seemed disgusted by the turn of events. Caroline had looked a bit sympathetic and had congratulated me, while Ricardo had merely smiled and eyed me with an odd kind of interest. Jacqueline’s reaction shouldn’t have surprised me, but for some reason I’d always held out hope that I could one day secure that elusive approval from her. Didn’t everyone want that? Apparently working was beneath us, especially working on commission.

“It’s so … common,” my mother said, wrinkling her nose.

My hand shook as I sipped my drink, wishing it was stronger. “If by common you meannormal, then yes.” I wanted to add that many people would kill for a job in publishing. I didn’t consider it a cutthroat industry per se, but one needed a hefty dose of both luck and talent to succeed.

“Don’t be obtuse,” Jacqueline said sharply. When Ricardo and Caroline looked startled, she smoothly changed her tone to one of honey and innocence. “Why work so hard and waste your youth, your beauty, for pennies? At least Caroline will be working for a good wage as a surgeon,” she said. She looked around, appearing to be genuinely confused as to why I would pursue what she deemed a dead-end job.

I wanted to scream that publishing jobs were coveted, that they were far from awaste, that I wouldn’t be working for pennies—though it wasn’t about that. “Mother—”

“Did you not follow my advice with that wealthy young man from New York—”

“No,” I said, fighting back tears. “He isn’t a good man. I told you that. Hepropositionedone of my best friends. While I was sick.”

“Well—” Jacqueline started, and then apparently she decided to change course because her tone became quiet and scolding. “Let us not speak of such coarse things at the table, Anastasia. I raised you better than that.”

Somehow I survived the rest of the meal, only to be dragged along to a jazz concert in the park, of all things. Caroline’s idea, probably. She seemed normal-ish. I was mortified when my mother insisted on an elaborate setup with several large beach umbrellas and ornate wooden chairs, while the rest of the attendees sat on blankets or cheap folding chairs.

“Anastasia, I need to powder my nose, and I believe you do as well. Please show me to the ladies’ room.”

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