Page 12 of The Cousins and the Brunette

I stepped through the imposing iron gates of the Shoemaker’s mansion, my pulse skittering.

Mr. Shoemaker was already waiting at the front door, his gray eyes cold and calculating as he appraised me from head to toe. “Welcome to my home, Brynn,” he said, his voice as smooth as the polished marble floors that seemed to stretch endlessly throughout the grand foyer.

Well, isn’t this just a warm and fuzzy welcome? About as warm as a penguin’s backside.

I moved inside and tried to stare at everything in awe.

“Shall we start with bathing?” he suggested, leading me toward what could only be described as a miniature oasis, otherwise known as a bathroom. He pointed at the plush towels, clean clothing, and fancy toiletries on the counter. “Meet me in the study when you finish.” He shut the door.

I was somewhat offended, but I was dirty and I did smell. And hey, who was I to turn down a chance to wash off ten years of grime? Maybe I’d even find my real skin color under all this grime.

The shower stall looked like a luxurious spa, with gleaming white tiles and multiple shower heads that would spray water from every angle. The towels appeared soft and fluffy, and the clothing laid out for me was made of the finest fabrics.

I stripped off my dirty clothes and shoved them in a garbage bag left near the sink. Then I opened the shower door and stepped inside. I turned on the tap and watched as the hot water poured out. The steam filled the air, making everything feel hazy and dreamlike. The water ran over my dirt streaked skin, cleansing away the grime and leaving me feeling overwhelmed.

Holy crap, this is what being clean feels like? It was like I was shedding an entire layer of myself. Kay would lose her mind if she saw this place.

It would be my first shower in a decade. Before this, it had been rainwater or the icy lake within the woods outside the city. Once I’d scrubbed off all the grime and washed my hair twice, I got out and dried off.

I had never been this clean in years…it was nice. Focus, Brynn. You’re here for her, remember? Don’t get distracted by fancy soaps and water that doesn’t give you hypothermia.

Quickly, I dressed in Elizabeth’s clothing and walked down the corridor. The hallway was lined with expensive paintings and sculptures, the floors covered in plush carpets. The ceilings were high and adorned with intricate chandeliers. I noticed the marble floors glimmered under the chandeliers’ soft glow. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the cost of this luxurious mansion. Each room I passed was filled with lavish furniture and expensive decorations that seemed to mock my own poverty.

I stopped at a room with the door open. A mahogany desk dominated the center of the room. Mr. Shoemaker sat behind it, surrounded by piles of documents and expensive technology. Behind him, a set of double doors led to a balcony overlooking a manicured garden.

The room was spacious and sunlight streamed in through the large windows, casting warm beams across the walls and floor. The walls were lined with dark wood paneling and adorned with elegant paintings and bookshelves filled with leather-bound books.

I crossed the threshold. “Where’s your daughter now?”

Mr. Shoemaker adjusted the cufflinks at his wrists. “Elizabeth is away on vacation with her mother. Any other questions?”

Vacation. Must be nice to have that kind of freedom. Kay and I were lucky if we got a day off from surviving.

“No, sir.”

“Very well,” Mr. Shoemaker said, rising from his chair. “Let’s begin with your posture. Stand up straight, chin up. An Elite never slouches.”

I rolled my shoulders back and lifted my chin, fighting the urge to hunch over. My muscles tensed, not use to this rigid position.

“Better.” He nodded. “Now, walk across the room. Slow, deliberate steps. You’re not running from anything here.”

Except maybe my own dignity. This whole charade felt like a twisted game of pretend.

I took a few strides, my feet sinking into the plush carpet. It felt like walking on clouds compared to the rough concrete I was used to.

Mr. Shoemaker tsked. “No, no! You’re not stomping through a back alley. Lighter steps, as if you’re floating.”

I tried again, this time barely letting my feet touch the ground. “Like this?”

He ignored my snarky tone. “Improvement. Now, let’s work on your speech. Elites enunciate clearly and avoid contractions. Practice saying, ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance.’”

“I’m pleased to meet ya,” I drawled, exaggerating my street accent.

Mr. Shoemaker’s jaw clenched. “Again. Properly this time. And take this seriously or you can leave.”

I sighed, my chest tightening. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“That will do. Remember, you’re not just speaking, you’re performing. Every word, every gesture is part of the act.”

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