C 17, PT. 1

Jasmine propped herself against the doorjamb as the morning sun filtered into her new office. She initially chose the smallest room in the penthouse—what she later learned was the maid’s quarters. Since this was a temporary working space, there was no sense in decorating one of the main rooms. She couldn’t explain that to Sarai, who was appalled and went over her head to get Roth’s approval to claim the second-largest room in the penthouse for her office.

During the interview with the interior designer, Cazandra, she requested a simple, minimalistic design. All she needed was a space to file paperwork and hopefully write a book once they got through the holidays. She should have known that with Sarai involved, her instructions would be treated more like suggestions. If she had an inkling of what they intended, she would have stopped them.

She assumed her office would blend in with the rest of the home. Neutral colors, elegant furniture, and maybe a unique wallpaper to give the space some personality. But she had chosen Cazandra for her unique style. She should have known the designer wouldn’t play it safe.

The room bore no resemblance to the white slate it had been before Cazandra got her hands on it. The walls were deepest black, without a lick of gloss to soften them. Even the ceiling had been painted to create an insulated, cavelike feel that was a stark contrast to the bright and airy penthouse in the clouds. The door was matte black with gold knobs and an elaborate door knocker that would lead most to assume it was the entry into a different wing rather than a single room.

Her office had always been the most important room to her, no matter where she resided, yet she had never made the effort to make the space her own. Not her apartment in Chelsea or the library she shared with Dad. Even though she now owned the estate at Tuxedo Park, she had yet to move even a lamp. She had never truly settled anywhere. She’d always known she was passing through. She wanted to treat this penthouse with Roth the same way, but Sarai and Cazandra hadn’t allowed it. Throughout her life, many things had been custom-made for her—clothes, makeup, jewelry. But, none of that had been for her, it was for the Hennessy image. But this… This haven called to the depths of her soul.

She advanced into the room and paused beside the desk, a work of art built into a sleek curve that faced a bookshelf where her books as Minnie Hess and Thalia Crane were proudly displayed. A new computer she hadn’t requested waited patiently for her to fill the empty screen with words. She hadn’t written in what felt like months, and she desperately needed the escape. This room created a physical portal that allowed her to slip into her fantasy world. Once she crossed the threshold, she was no longer Jasmine Roth with all of her emotional baggage and weight of responsibility on her shoulders. This was a sanctuary for creativity. Reality wasn’t allowed to intrude here.

She never would have chosen such a bold and unapologetic design. It was too individualistic, unorthodox, and revealing. Anyone who caught a glimpse of this room would know more about her than she would ever voluntarily divulge. This office didn’t fit with her respectable public persona. This room was a brooding, dark fantasy—the part of herself that she went to great lengths to keep hidden. Cazandra indulged both sides of her personality—the cynic and the romantic, in unforgiving black and shades of pink. If they had told her the color scheme ahead of time, she would have given it a hard pass. Who knew the colors worked so well together?

She looked up at a floating masterpiece—an intricate flower made of layers of transparent dark glass hanging upside down. A soft pink light made it look as if the flower was burning from within. It set the tone for the fantastical, moody room with its plush fuchsia couch, metal accents, and jewel-toned paintings in black frames. It was the little touches like the soft pink back panel of the bookshelf that made her heart sing. The tiny rose arrangements of every shade of pink imaginable tied everything together beautifully.

Her trinkets from Tuxedo Park had magically appeared and been staged with great care. She walked over to the shelf and rearranged glass figurines, a waving Chinese cat, and her snow globes. The mermaid she picked up in Copenhagen looked more miserable than ever.

“Same, girl,” she murmured.

Maybe love just wasn’t in the cards for some women. In her case, it could be a generational curse. She ran her fingers over the pink alabaster jewelry box she inherited from her mother and opened the lid. Diamonds, precious gemstones, and costume jewelry winked up at her. She surveyed the familiar rings, necklaces, broaches, and bracelets she had poured over as a little girl. She wished she knew the story behind the signet ring with the letter J and what looked like multiple promise rings. She slipped on her favorite one, a heart shaped ruby with a diamond halo. When she was six, she made the mistake of asking Maximus if he had given the ring to her mother. That was the first time she witnessed him lose his temper. She learned never to ask questions about Elena and never wore her mother’s jewelry in his presence.

Her mother had quite the collection for a personal assistant. The more valuable pieces were in the safe at Tuxedo Park. Although her father wouldn’t admit it, she suspected once upon a time, he’d been head over heels for her mother and bought her whatever her heart desired. But after their relationship deteriorated, he was embarrassed and resentful of what he’d given her and didn’t want to discuss it. She assumed he was responsible for at least a portion of her mother’s jewelry, though there were signs, like the signet ring and other pieces, that Elena had other suitors along the way. Maybe some of these pieces were from her last lover, whose child she’d been carrying in that fatal car crash?

**This is a raw draft of Bitter Confessions. Please do not share or distribute.

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