Page 76 of Unwillingly His

“I was an aristocrat. I was born and bred to be an aristocrat. The only career I was prepared for was being a wife to another aristocrat. I have no skills, no experience, and nothing but my willingness to learn. Unfortunately, five years of experience supervising event planners and choosing themes for parties does not constitute a successful resume. So I’m having to do... what do Americans call it? Pull myself up by my bootstraps?”

I couldn’t help but giggle a bit. “That is what we call it, at least, I think. Have you found any good leads?” I asked, looking at my stack of papers, which so far had been full of jobs I wasn’t qualified for, entry-level positions that required degrees that I didn’t have, and positions doing exactly what Emma was trying to do—waiting tables.

I was delusional to think that that would cover rent anywhere in the city.

“Nothing,” Emma said, leaning her head back. “I have had to sell the few possessions that Mother and I still had, all of them going to different consignment stores across the city. More than once, I was accused of stealing my own family heirlooms.” She rolled her eyes. “But that has given me enough to put Mother and me up in a small apartment, but the money is running out quickly, so I need to get more coming in immediately.”

I felt for her.

Worse than that, talking to Emma was making me realize exactly how much of an uphill battle I had before me.

I had no safety net anymore. If I tried to leave Lucian and stand on my own feet, I would crash and burn.

I had no real-world skills. I literally had no idea how to boil water, let alone hold down a job. My mother had always bragged about the “career” that I had when I was twenty, but that was just being a social media influencer.

Truth be told, I didn’t even work at that. I didn’t make a lot of money, and I had no real talent or even the business to monetize it properly. I just banked on the fact that I was pretty and rich.

I was no longer rich, so why would anybody want to listen to what I had to say?

How long until I had to sell my own clothes? Would I even be able to sell my own clothes, or would Lucian keep all of that, as well as the rest of my family’s estate and inheritance?

There was always the option of using my beauty while I still had it to my advantage, but if that was what I was going to do, why not just stay with Lucian?

At least he was good in bed and knew how to make me come.

Emma looked like she was barely holding it together, and if she couldn’t, what made me think I could?

“Have you gotten any interviews?” I asked, hopeful that Emma could shed some glimmer of hope on this dire situation.

“I’ve had a few interviews.” She nodded. “But none that were acceptable.”

“What do you mean acceptable? Like they didn’t pay enough?”

Emma tipped back her head and laughed, a light musical laugh that I was sure was taught to her in the finest boarding schools in Europe—probably a finishing school that taught her how to laugh, when to laugh, and when to reach out and sympathetically touch someone’s hand. My thoughts were racing, and I could feel my breath speeding up. The last thing I wanted to do was have a panic attack in the middle of this cafe.

“Unfortunately, dear, nothing pays enough. I don’t even know what is enough anymore. I don’t think I ever did. My childhood did not prepare me for the realities of life. I was brought up never to look at a price tag. I never thought about money. I don’t even really understand how it works. All I know is that so far nothing has paid enough to cover basic living expenses for two people. I’m going to have to try to find three or four jobs but right now, I can’t even find one that doesn’t include some shady backroom deal with a manager who wants to grope me. God forbid Mother or I get sick. The health care here may be state of the art, but I don’t know how normal people afford it.”

“That sounds awful.” I wished I could help her. “Are you just looking at waitressing jobs?”

“No, I’ve been looking for anything I can find, but I have no skills or training. I can have delightful conversations, but I never even learned how to type.”

“Because it ruins your nails.” I nodded.

In certain circles, that made complete sense, though now, looking at my life through a different lens, it felt ridiculous.

“Because it would ruin my nails.” She nodded as if she felt as jilted by our class’s restraints as I did.

“So if you’re looking for work, I take it that your parents left you in the same type of situation that my brother left me in.”

How did I tell this woman that no, my father had not left me destitute, but every penny I had or that he had was stolen by a man who wanted to keep me as a trophy wife?

That I had the option to live my life in the same level of opulence that was taken from her.

She and I were both raised to be wives of billionaires.

That opportunity was taken away from her, and I was fighting it just because I didn’t choose the billionaire.

That made me feel so ungrateful and spoiled.

---