“They will love you. You’re kind and adorable and smart. Of course they’ll love you.”
She frowns. “Of course you say that. You’re paid to like me.”
I sit up straighter in the armchair. We’re sitting in one of the living areas, a Monopoly board open between us, way more pieces of property and stacks of cash on her side than mine. “Hey. I like you for yourself. Not because I’m paid to do it.”
“But I gave you so much trouble with the schoolwork.”
I circle the coffee table and sit next to her on the leather couch. “You are a brilliant little girl, and it’s an honor to get to see you every day. I’m not mad one second about the schoolwork. You had a hard time, and you pushed through. That’s something to be proud about.”
“I don’t want to go to the dinner party.”
I look away, not sure how to handle this. “Well, I guess we could talk to Mr. Rochester about it and see what he thinks. But I feel like if you’re invited, you should go. It could be fun.”
“Mama had dinner parties.”
My heart sinks. “She did?”
“Big ones like this. With fancy food. I never liked the fancy food.”
Mrs. Fairfax works past noon today on dishes full of paella with king prawns, chicken, and mussels. There’s also a hanger steak with greens and a saffron risotto. In other words, I’ve never eaten most of what’s being served tonight. “We can find something to snack on before the dinner starts. That way you’re not hungry.”
“Why can’t you come and sit next to me?”
Because I wasn’t invited. Because I’m the help. I don’t know how best to explain this to Paige. Noah would probably have something snarky to say about class systems, but I just feel lower than dirt right now. “I’m sorry, honey. I wish I could.”
It’s not entirely true. I don’t want to sit and watch Zoey Aldridge fawn over Mr. Rochester. Or worse, watch Mr. Rochester fawn over her. Though I am curious about the food and the decor. I’m curious what it would feel like to be rich.
“If you’re not allowed to go, then I’m not going to go.”
I have to grin at her impassioned response. “You’re loyal, and that’s a good thing. I appreciate it, but you belong there. You belong right there with your uncle Beau. Just think, he might need your help getting something and not want to look weak in front of his friends. You could help him out.”
She considers this. “I did like looking at the cake. It’s so tall!”
“So it’s settled,” I say. “You’re going.”
“I’m gonna wear my Electric Company shirt,” she says in a warning tone. The shirt is very soft from being washed so many times. The yellow ink threatens to fall off.
“That sounds like a great idea. Very festive.”
I’m determined to keep a smile on my face throughout the evening. It should really be like any other evening where I work taking care of Paige. This is my job. I was a fool for ever thinking of it like anything else. It’s only a small, sad amount of vanity that has me changing my clothes in late afternoon. Of course I don’t put on anything fancy. I don’t even own anything fancy. I’m windswept from walking outside, so I put on a fresh black T-shirt and jeans, wash my face, and brush my hair into a ponytail. It does not make me look like Zoey Aldridge in the least.
The doorbell rings for the first time at six thirty. And it continues to ring until there are eight new people in the house. Luckily the table is long enough to hold everyone.
I walk Paige downstairs right before dinner starts. She’s vibrating with nerves and excitement. People stand around in one of the formal sitting areas, a fire burning. Zoey holds court in a gorgeous black dress and high heels. Mr. Rochester sits in an armchair, facing away from us.
Paige squeezes my hand, and I give her a gentle squeeze back.
“See?” I whisper. “There’s Uncle Beau.”
A few of the people standing with glasses of wine look our way. I feel a flush heat my cheeks. I don’t want to be noticed by them. Maybe it’s immature of me, but I want to push Paige into Mr. Rochester’s arms and then run away. Instead I stand there because she needs me. Even if I end up looking like a forlorn fool in front of these rich people.
I crouch down to meet her eyes. “What’s wrong, honey?”
Her eyes are wide as saucers. She doesn’t answer. I think she’s frozen in fear.
Mr. Rochester turns to face us.
“Paige,” he says, and it seems to break the ice. She runs to him and buries her face in his arm. She still looks shy with the group, but at least she’s found her anchor.
I give him a grateful smile and then step into the hallway.
“Wait,” he says.
Run, my mind supplies, but instead I freeze. A deer in the headlights. Nothing good will happen to me inside that room. The command in his voice holds me in place. I’m out of sight right now, and I stand very still, hoping he’ll think I’ve already left.
“Jane.”
I’m Jane, now. The way he became Beau. It’s a boundary that we don’t need to cross.
I take a step back to the doorway, hoping that he needs me to fetch something. An innocuous errand for me to run. Anything but what I suspect will happen next. “Yes, Mr. Rochester?”
His full name reminds him of his place. And mine.
He quirks his lips. “Come join us.”
“Oh no. I couldn’t possibly.”
“Why not? I’m sure my friends want to meet the woman I’ve been spending so much time with.”
It’s like a bomb goes off in the room. Not the explosive kind. The magnetic kind that shuts down electricity in an entire city. The casual movements stop. The murmurs between people go silent. A few eyebrows rise. Zoey Aldridge wears a frozen gorgeous smile.
I don’t even know what my face is doing, but it can’t be good. How could he just come out and basically imply that we’re having sex in a room full of people I don’t know?
“You’re allowed to come now,” Paige says, full of excitement about this new development.
Which somehow makes it worse.
“I don’t know,” I stammer. “I’m not dressed for a party.”
“It’s just a casual affair,” Mr. Rochester says. “You don’t mind, do you?”
He addresses the question to the group, but he looks right at Zoey. She manages a graceful demur. “I’m not sure she’d be comfortable with us. We’re a rowdy group when we get together.”
“She can handle it,” he says.
Paige comes to grab my two fingers and drag me into the room. I did want to experience this party, to feel what it’s like to be rich, but not like this. Not as the help. Not while I’m being paraded as Beau Rochester’s convenient sex partner.
“What are you doing?” I whisper at him while Paige wanders over to the bar cart, examining the colorful liquids, the amber and burgundy, the rarer aqua blue and chartreuse.
“You need to eat dinner. Why not eat with us?”
“I would rather starve.”
“Are we that evil?”
“No. Not because of that. Because I’m this charity case now.”