“Thank you.”
“I still think it’s not that simple.”
“I didn’t ask what you thought.”
“You absolutely did. You called me at eight thirty on a Saturday.”
Jasmine conceded this with a tilt of her head and drank her coffee, and for a few minutes they sat in the easy silence of people who had been through enough together that silence was enough. The coffee shop filled up around them. A child knocked a pastry off a table and yelled about wanting to go home. The barista called out names in a voice that suggested she’d rather be elsewhere. Jasmine felt her shoulders come down a fraction.
Then she heard it.
“Oh my God, is that Jasmine Caulfield?”
She kept her face neutral as a young woman materialized at the edge of their table, phone in hand, already recording.
“Trouble in paradise, Jasmine?” the woman asked, with the bright, performative concern of someone who was absolutely not concerned. “Are you and Nate calling off the wedding?”
The coffee shop did not go quiet, but it tilted. Jasmine was aware of several heads turning.
“Sorry?” she said pleasantly.
But Eden had already picked up her phone, and the look on her face was the one that meant something had happened. Jasmine reached for her own phone. She’d had it on silent since leaving the house, and now she discovered notifications stacked up on the screen.
Her heart slamming against her ribcage, she unlocked the phone.
The video was everywhere. Someone had gotten a clear shot of them from across the restaurant last night, the angle catching the set of Nate’s jaw and the careful flatness of Jasmine’s expression in a way that told a very clear story.Nate Aaron and Jasmine Caulfield: Trouble Already?one headline read. Another had gone withWedding Bells or Warning Signs?A third:The Honeymoon’s Over Before It Began.
The woman with the phone was still standing there.
“We’re having a lovely morning, thank you,” Jasmine said, in the voice she used for situations that required warmth applied like a very firm lid. “I hope you enjoy your weekend.”
The woman hovered a moment longer, then moved away, sullen but out of steam, which was the best possible outcome for a situation like this.
“This is bad,” Jasmine whispered to Eden, nausea climbing up her chest.
Eden was scrolling. “It’s trending. Not at the top, but trending.” She turned the phone so Jasmine could see, and Jasmine looked at the numbers and felt the cold wash of failure move through her.
Her phone lit up with Nate’s name. Third missed call. She hadn’t noticed the first two.
She stood up from the table. “I have to call him back.”
Eden waved her toward the door.
Outside, she found a patch of quiet beside a planter and called him back before she’d fully decided what she was going to say. He picked up on the first ring.
“Have you seen it?” he said, no greeting, already moving.
“I’ve seen it.”
“Where are you?”
“Silver Lake. With Eden. What are you thinking for damage control?”
“I’m thinking we put out something today. A photo, a story, something that counters the narrative before it hardens. Dove’s already working on it.” A pause. “I also think we need to talk about last night.”
Here it was. She’d known it was coming. “What about it?”
“You started it.” His voice was measured, but she heard the edge underneath it. “I was gone for ten minutes on a legitimate call, and you made it into something, and now we have a trending story about our engagement falling apart.”
