Page 142 of The Girlfriend Clause
“Well,” she said. “They’ve certainly put you somewhere lovely.”
And clearly somewhere above my pay grade, as far as she was concerned.
“Yes, thank you,” I said. “It’s beautiful.”
Why did I thank her?This was all Liam. His money, his choice. His decision to have me there. Was that what was getting under her skin?
Bonnie crossed to the desk and set her tablet down beside my etiquette folder, her smile tightening another notch.
“I just wanted to run through a few details for tonight. The welcome dinner starts at seven sharp—black tie. It’s being hosted byLe Comte and La Comtesse de Lavigne,with the Stewarts co-hosting.” She glanced up, assessing. “That meanscount and countess. They’re very traditional, though thankfully the evening’s more champagne and canapés than state dinner, so you should be all right.” A faint exhale escaped her. “Let’s keep everything elegant. No surprises.”
“Of course.” What did she think I was going to do, get drunk and vomit on the host? “I’ve seenBridgerton, I know how to address a duke.”
“No dukes in attendance.” Her smile was ice. “Your gowns should be hanging in the wardrobe. Liam had them pressed and sent up ahead of time.”
I don’t know why they hadn’t just shipped me over with the luggage too—pre-ironed and ready for inspection. She probably would have done it if she’d thought she could get away with it.
She hesitated, then brushed an invisible speck from her sleeve. “I’m sure you’ll manage beautifully. You’ve always struck me as, well… adaptable. In every sense.”
The way she said it, it didn’t sound like a compliment. A sharp, subtle sting that wouldn’t leave fingerprints, just an invisible bruise.
Was she jealous?I’d never picked up that there was anything between her and Liam. And anyway, this thing was fake, so why would she be? But maybe my instincts were off. Maybe they had something going on behind the scenes.
I’d certainly missed all the signs with Rudy. And the other ones.
Not that Liam was my boyfriend.
But there was something odd about how she was behaving. I’d done everything they’d asked. Signed the papers, agreed to all their weird clauses.
So why did she seem to dislike me somuch?
“Anything else I should know? I would hate for something not to beelegant.” The tang of sarcasm didn’t escape her.
Bonnie looked down and pursed her lips before raising her chin again to look me in the eye. “No, Andrea. But please, just remember why you’re here.”
She gathered her tablet, gave a stiff nod that managed to feel like a dismissal, and slipped out. I was left with the sense I’d just been politely put in my place.
I grabbed a plate of snacks and the etiquette guide, then shuffled into the bedroom in my socks, sinking back onto the bed. Part of me wanted to hurl the thing off the balcony, but another part—the smaller, more pathetic one—wanted to prove her wrong.
Why did I care what Bonnie thought? Or whatanyonethought, for that matter? I hated that I did.
I opened the guide and forced myself to read, swallowing the irritation that rose with each bullet point about titles and posture. My chest was still tight from earlier—the petty line I’d tossed at Liam like a grenade still echoing in my head.When would I ever learn to shutup?
But I didn’t have time to spiral. I had to focus.
Bonnie thought a salesgirl from Datchet would never cut it—that I’d trip over the silverware and humiliate him. That everyone would take one look and see what I was—a placeholder in borrowed clothes.
Did Liam think the same? He hadn’t seemed that way when he was with me in Oxford.
I kept reading, the paper whispering under my fingers.
They were only people—people with wealth and entitlement—but people all the same.
You’ve got this, Andrea. This is for Eliza’s future… and to keep a roof over our heads. It’s just a script to learn, nobiggie.
Still, my hands were shaking as I turned the page, the words swimming in front of me. I blinked hard and tried to clear the tears.
Never say “toilet.” “Bathroom” or “washroom” are coy. One “uses the loo,” preferably without announcingit.
