“You’re not a charity case. You have more reason to be here than any of the other people. They’re only here to get a look at me so they can gossip later.”
I give him a sideways glance. “If that’s true, why did you invite them?”
“I didn’t. Zoey did.”
That makes me roll my eyes. “It’s your house.”
“Maybe I was curious to see what you’d make of them.”
“Well, they’re paying more per night at the Lighthouse Inn than I have in my bank account.”
“You need money for something?”
“Spoken like a rich person. I need money for everything.”
A soft chuckle. “Fair enough. Spend the evening with us. Spend it with me. It’s going to be a major chore for you, I’m sure. Much worse than changing diapers and wiping hands.”
“Why does everyone think six-year-olds still wear diapers?”
“The food should be good, at least.”
Before I can reply two handsome men appear. They look like brothers.
Specifically, they could easily pass for the Hemsworth brothers, one of them taller and leaner, the other one muscled and smiling. Both of them blond and blue-eyed.
One has his arm slung over the other one in a casual embrace. It’s like a meme where you have to guess whether they’re dating or siblings.
“Don’t let this ugly bastard monopolize your time,” the taller one says. “We want to talk with you. We’re always eager to meet new people.”
“You smell fresh blood,” Mr. Rochester says in a dry tone.
“She’ll come back in one piece,” says the older one.
His hair’s slightly longer. You have to look carefully to catalog the difference between them. He takes my arm and leads me away from Mr. Rochester.
My heart thumps against my rib cage. I’m so far out of my depth, it’s ridiculous.
We end up standing next to the fireplace. One of them procures a glass of wine. I take a sip just so I have something to do. And wince at the sharp acidity. Somehow I always thought expensive wine would taste better than what I once tried at Olive Garden. Apparently not.
“Tell us everything,” the younger one says.
“But especially the parts that Beau would hate for you to say.”
That makes me laugh. These two are definitely out for fresh blood, but there’s something charming about it. Not that I’m going to spill any deep dark secrets. “There’s nothing to tell, really. I work for him. I help Paige with schoolwork, get her dressed, that kind of thing.”
“The nanny,” one says.
“The au pair,” from the other one. “What’s the difference between a nanny and an au pair?”
“I’m not sure,” I say honestly. “The agency that hired me placed both of them. I think technically I’m a live-in nanny, but I’m not that worried about my job title.”
“So you do live here. I wondered about that.”
I nod and take a sip. The wine burns all the way down. I can’t believe how much they spent per case of this. Does it hurt everyone like this? It’s like instant heartburn in a bottle.
“Does Beau wander around in only his boxers?” The younger one looks hungry for that piece of information, which makes me wonder again if they’re gay and together. Or brothers.
“What did you say your name was?”
They exchange an amused glance. “Where the hell did he find you?” one of them says.
“Oh,” I say, clutching the wine stem. “Am I supposed to already know who you are?”
“Only if you read Perez Hilton. Instead you’re reading… what? Elmo books? Or that series, the one with the parrot who protects the city from crime after school.”
Surprise makes me laugh. “Sometimes. I’m surprised you even know about the parrot.”
The taller one points to the older one. “He was on an off-Broadway production based on the children’s book series. Chicago Tribune called it subversive and funny.”
“Very far off Broadway,” the older one says with a wink. “Oliver Morrison at your service. And this is my brother, Lucas. Nothing the blogs write about us is ever true. We’ve tried emailing them, but they insist on snapping unflattering photos of us at Walgreens.”
“Our claim to fame is our parents, really.” He names a super popular actor and actress.
“Oh,” I say. “I didn’t even know they were married.”
They exchange another look. “They weren’t. Anyway, we don’t want to talk about ourselves. We’ve done that lots of times already. We want to talk about you.”
“I’m not interesting. No famous actors or actresses in my family line. No off-Broadway plays. No tabloids or blogs or Instagrams or anything really. I’m just a regular girl.”
“A regular girl who Beau Rochester can’t stop staring at.”
I glance at him, and sure enough, he’s staring right at me. Our eyes meet across the room. Zoey is practically in his lap, which I think can’t be good for his leg, but I’m certainly not going to move her. There are invisible strings that pull me toward him, even as I’m standing still. I can feel the gravity from him, though whether he’s the planet and I’m the star or the other way around, I don’t know. In his dark eyes I see his frustration with the dinner party small talk, the lingering pain from his leg, his intense desire to get a whiskey neat.
The only person I actually recognize is a famous Latino actor, but I would never want to presume. What if I’m wrong? What if I think it’s him just because he’s ridiculously good looking? Everyone looks different in a Maine sitting room compared to a red-carpet photo.
Mrs. Fairfax appears in the doorway. “Dinner’s served.”
The group makes their way to the dining room. I gather Paige from the bar cart where someone’s been mixing elaborate drinks. She’s fascinated by the striations in color, one drink full of sunset oranges and yellows with a hint of purple, another with alternating blue and green layers. It’s probably not the best part of her education that she learns about cocktail mixing, but at least she’s not drinking them. She just wants to rest her chin on the cart and watch them the same way you’d do for a lava lamp.
“Come on,” I tell her. “Time to eat dinner.”
She makes a face, and I know she’s thinking of the weird food. Now I’m a little nervous about it, too. Not because I don’t think I’ll like it, but I’m not sure what my reactions will be. These people have probably tried every food under the sun. This is the most exotic meal I’ve ever had, and it’s surely mundane to them.
Zoey appears at my side. “You didn’t drink your wine. You didn’t like it?”
I glance at the large amount of red liquid left. “Oh… umm, not really. I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s great wine. Maybe I’m not a wine person.”
She beams a sympathetic smile. “It’s not for everyone. We have an incredible vodka. It goes down so smooth you barely even know it’s there.”
“I’m not sure I’m a vodka person either.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll love it. Come on, you can sit right next to me. I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of. I want you to have a good time now that you’ve crashed our little party.”