“Good gracious,” Tonya said. “Where are my manners? Please come in.”
Jasmine walked into the Parisian-style garret house in the Lower French Quarter that Tonya shared with her musician-turned-chef fiancé, Gage Toussaint. The courtyard, where they were scheduled to hold the wedding ceremony, resembled an emerald city with towering trees draped in Spanish moss, and flowering plants in massive clay pots. Strings of globe lights and lanterns were suspended from the beams supporting the second-story balcony.
“Your home is magnificent.”
“I can’t take any credit for what you see inside. Gage’s mother decorated this place.”
“Did I hear someone call my name?”
Jasmine turned and smiled at the man she remembered playing trumpet at a jazz club when she’d come to New Orleans last summer. It wasn’t until later that Hannah told them Gage was St. John’s cousin. Large gray-green eyes framed by long black lashes, a palomino-gold complexion, and delicate features, cleft chin, and cropped straight black salt-and-pepper hair made him almost too pretty to be a man.
“Yeah. It was one of your many groupies,” Jasmine teased.
Gage lowered his eyes, seemingly embarrassed. “I’m too old to have groupies.”
Jasmine kissed his cheek. “If Mick Jagger at seventy-something has groupies then you can definitely have groupies.” Gage was at least thirty years younger than the celebrated rock and roller.
“The only groupie I want or need is the woman who’s going to become my wife in two weeks.” Gage winked at Hannah. “St. John has been bragging about how much he’s enjoying married life so I decided it was time I turn in my bachelor card and marry his wife’s friend.”
Tonya swatted at Gage with the towel she’d thrown over her shoulder. “I thought you wanted to marry me because you claim you can’t live without me, not because you’re competing with your cousin.”
Gage held up his hands. “I do, my love.”
Tonya looped her arm through Gage’s. “Jasmine, you won’t get to meet Gage’s son Wesley because he’s helping Eustace cater a party tonight.”
“We’re going to begin with cocktails and hors d’oeuvres,” Gage explained, “before we serve the main meal.”
“I’m going to pass on the cocktails,” Jasmine said. “It’s the heat,” she added quickly when Hannah stared at her. Her excuse seemed to satisfy everyone as they walked into the dining room. She’d followed the recommendation to offset morning sickness by having a slice of toast, lightly covered with peanut butter and a glass of orange juice for breakfast, and subsequently experienced only mild nausea instead of the retching episodes of the day before.
Hannah took her arm. “Come with me. I’ll show you where we can wash our hands.”
They stepped into the bathroom and Hannah closed the door.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re pregnant.” It wasn’t a question but a statement.
Jasmine stared without blinking. “How did you know?”
“I didn’t until you refused to drink. When I saw you the other day I noticed your face had changed but I couldn’t figure out why. You’re carrying Cameron’s baby, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know?”
“Yes,” Jasmine repeated. “And before you ask. No, we didn’t plan it.”
Hannah’s mouth thinned until it resembled a slash in her face. “Are you getting married?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Why the interrogation, Hannah?” She was hard-pressed to keep a tone of annoyance from creeping into her voice. “I hadn’t planned to tell you about it until after my first trimester. I know I agreed to invest in the inn but having a baby may change everything.”
“How so?”
“I have to take maternity leave and then look for someone to take care of the baby once I return to work.”
