Page 13 of The Cousins and the Brunette

For the next hour, Mr. Shoemaker drilled me on Elite etiquette. How to sit, how to eat, how to laugh politely at boring jokes. My head spun with all the rules and expectations. It was like learning a whole new language, one made of fake smiles and empty pleasantries.

“Now,” he said, “let’s practice small talk. Pretend we’re at a charity gala. Engage me in conversation.”

I cleared my throat, desperately searching for something Elizabeth might say. “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it? Perfect for...polo?”

Mr. Shoemaker pinched the bridge of his nose. “Elizabeth doesn’t play polo. She’s more likely to discuss her humanitarian work. Try again. But you’re on the right track.”

I felt my cheeks burning with embarrassment. I’d never felt so out of place, not even when scrounging for food in dumpsters. At least there, I knew who I was.

I took a deep breath, trying to channel Elizabeth’s compassionate nature. “I’ve been volunteering at a local shelter recently. The work is challenging, but incredibly rewarding. Have you been involved in any charitable causes lately?”

Mr. Shoemaker’s lips curved into a thin smile. “Yes, I approve. Now, let’s work on your posture again. Straighten your back, chin up. You’re not cowering in the shadows anymore.”

My muscles tensed as I forced myself to stand tall. It felt unnatural, like I was trying to stretch myself into someone else’s skin. Every minute of this charade grated against my very being.

“Good. Good.” Mr. Shoemaker nodded. “Walk with me. We’ll tour the mansion. You need to familiarize yourself with your new surroundings.”

We strolled through opulent hallways adorned with priceless artwork and glittering chandeliers. I wanted to touch the ornate vases and delicate figurines, but I kept my hands clasped tightly behind my back.

“This is the main dining room.” Mr. Shoemaker gestured to a cavernous space monopolized by a long, polished table. “You’ll be expected to use the proper utensils for each course. We’ll cover that tomorrow.”

My stomach tightened at the thought of learning the use of the proper etiquette for forks and spoons. How did people live like this, with so many rules governing every little action?

After what felt like hours of winding through the corridors and vast rooms of the mansion, we finally reached a set of double doors. Mr. Shoemaker pushed them open, revealing a bedroom larger than any place I’d ever lived in.

“This is Elizabeth’s room,” he said, his voice oddly flat. “You’ll be staying here during your...training.”

I stepped inside, overwhelmed by the sheer luxury of this beautiful bedroom. A massive four-poster bed sat against one wall, draped in silks and velvet. A vanity table gleamed with silver-backed brushes and crystal perfume bottles.

“Get some rest,” Mr. Shoemaker said. “We’ll continue tomorrow.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone in this alien space. I sank onto the edge of the bed, my fingers digging into the soft comforter. The burden of what I was attempting to do crashed over me like a tidal wave. How could I ever pull this off? How could I pretend to be someone so completely different from myself?

My mind buzzed like a hive of angry bees, each thought stinging with doubt and fear. What if I slipped up? What if the Porters saw through my act?

I thought of Kay, of the life I could give her if I succeeded. My chest constricted. I had to do this. For her. For us. No matter how much it felt like I was losing myself in the process.

The bedroom door burst open, and three men clad in dark uniforms swarmed in, their grips ironclad as they seized me. My pulse hammered against my throat; my instincts screamed to fight, but survival demanded cunning over brute force.

Well, shit. So much for a relaxing evening of existential dread.

“Please, no!” I cried out, feigning terror as Elizabeth would, complying with their rough movements as they blindfolded me.

They were quick, practiced, their hands moving with swift precision. The air grew colder once we traversed the mansion’s dark hallways.

“Keep quiet,” one of them hissed.

They guided me through a side door. The chill night air hit me, the scent of impending rain and the unmistakable rush of adrenaline.

“Where are you taking me?” My voice quivered, not entirely feigned.

I stumbled forward, shoved into the back of a van. The engine growled to life, like a beast ready to devour the distance between safety and the unknown.

A midnight road trip with the world’s least charming chauffeurs.

“Relax, sweetheart. You’ll find out soon enough,” one of the men said.

I swayed when the van sped away. I sat in the backseat bound and blind.

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