Page 53 of Jane Deyre
And so much more.
Last night we shared some wine. Tonight I pour something harder. A premium, vintage brandy from my godmother’s bar.
I also light a few scented candles around the great room and make a low burning fire. The uncharacteristically cool summer night calls for it. Jane’s pale skin bathes in the flames and glows amber. Her butterscotch freckles dance around her nose.
“Have you ever had brandy?” I ask, handing her a snifter before sitting down opposite her.
“You saw where I lived. I’ve told you a little bit of my life.” A sharp pause. “Do I seem like someone who’s shared your rich, privileged life?”
I pretend not to notice the cynicism in her voice. “Follow me and take a sip. Take it slow and savor it. Let the burn last.”
The good student she is, she follows me to a tee. I watch as she swallows her first sip of the liquor. There is something both thrilling and sensual in watching someone experience something for the first time. She chokes, then scrunches her face.
“Do you like it?”
“Yeah, it’s great,” she sputters.
She’s so adorable. Such the great actress, but that little face she made gave it away. She hates it.
“Don’t worry. It takes some getting used to. Take another sip. This time let it sit on your tongue before drinking it.”
Her kissable mouth twists into a grimace, but she does as I ask. The brandy goes down without a hitch. And she twitches a smile.
“Well...?”
“Better. I kind of like it.”
Good girl.“I knew you would.” I imbibe some of mine. “And, by the way, I didn’t grow up rich and privileged.”
“You could have fooled me. Your showoff car—”
I cut her off. “It’s not mine. It belongs to my godmother.”
“And your champagne tastes?”
“They’re learned and earned.”
She lifts a brow. “What do you mean?”
“My mother didn’t come from money.”
“What about your father?”
I take a big gulp of my brandy. “I don’t know who my father is. My mother was very promiscuous. She herself couldn’t identify my father.”
She takes another small sip of hers. “What was your mother’s name?”
“Georgia... Georgia Winters. My real name is Warden Winters.”
“What did your mother do?”
“She was a hairdresser and makeup artist for Paradigm Studios.”
The gold flecks in her hazel eyes sparkle with interest. “The studio started by Edwina’s father?”
“Yes. She met Edwina on the set of one of her movies. From that day onward, Edwina requested her for all her movies. My mother adored her.” The next words spill out; I’ve had too much brandy. “She was the love of Edwina’s life...”
Her eyes widen. “Are you saying that—”