Page 43 of The Maid's Secret

“Of course it would!” my mother screeched from her place by the boardroom doors. “Flora would be delighted.”

“Would she?” Magnus asked, his fierce blue eyes meeting mine.

Knowing what was expected, I nodded.

“Now, Audrey. What’s this ball you mentioned on my way in?” Magnus asked my mother.

“The Workers’ Ball,” Mama replied. “We would be honored to host you and your wife as our guests.”

“Shall I bring my son?” Magnus asked me.

“As you wish,” I replied, my head politely bowed.

“Then it’s decided,” said Magnus as he held out his Cartier pen. “A gift for the scholar,” he said, offering it to me.

“But you need it to sign the papers.”

“The papers can wait,” he said with a shrug.

I took the pen he held out to me and muttered my thanks.

Magnus Braun then clapped his hands once. “We’re done here. Let’s go,” he said.

In unison, his men in black rose, grabbing their sartorial jackets and matching black briefcases.

“See you at the ball,” Magnus said as he followed his men out of the boardroom.

—

Chapter 13

The day has finally come—the day the Fabergé will be auctioned. The relief I feel in this moment is equal to the trepidation that lodges in the pit of my stomach. So much of my life has been lived in utmost invisibility, and in the last week, everything has turned upside down. Over the course of my career as a maid, guests have barely noticed me, walked by me without a second glance, but since I appeared onHidden Treasures,my life—my very person—has become a public spectacle. I’ve felt entirely outside of myself, staging a performance instead of actually living day to day. Ironically, the more famous I become, the less I know about who I am…and the lonelier I feel.

But it will all be over soon. The egg will be sold, and Juan and I will have an excess of money for the first time in our lives. Juan, dreamer that he is, keeps talking about how our existence is going to change for the better, how all manner of things will become possible for us that weren’t even imaginable before—the wedding of our dreams, a honeymoon in Paris, buying a house with our own backyard, endless date nights at the Olive Garden, which we will be able to drive to inour very own car. It’s hard to even fathom. It still feels like a fantasy, and until this becomes real, I won’t truly believe it. They say money changes people. Will it change us for the better or for the worse? Until our lives become our own again, I won’t feel wholly myself.

Juan feels the same trepidation I do, though he’s been putting on a good game face for an entire week as our privacy has been stripped from us. Last night, while the film crew completed another “day in the life” shoot at our apartment, he kissed me very naturally as I entered the kitchen to help him with dinner.

“Do it again,” Steve ordered while the camera invaded our space.

“Do what again?” Juan asked.

“Kiss her as she walks into the kitchen.”

And so, I walked into the kitchen over and over, while Juan kissed me repeatedly only to be told it “wasn’t quite right.” With each repetition, the soul of the act was lost, and in the end, when Steve said, “That’s the winning take. Wrapped!” I could tell that Juan felt robbed, as if a very simple pleasure had been stolen from us, something we never even knew could be taken away.

Now, I’m sitting in the front seat of my gran-dad’s car as he drives Juan and me to the Regency Grand, where the auction will take place at 10:00a.m., live in the tearoom. Juan and I are already uniformed, as Steve and the crew needed us “camera ready” upon arrival. This is yet another film term I’ve added to my growing lexicon, alongside “lavalier,” “key light,” and “over-the-shoulder shot.”

As Mr.Preston pulls up to the Regency Grand, it’s immediately clear this is no ordinary day. “Molly, are you ready?” he asks.

“To be honest, I have no idea,” I reply.

On the front steps, a crowd has gathered, many of them dressed in imitations of my uniform, several wearing black wigs cut into perfectly blunt bobs like mine. Some hold posters saying,WEYOU, MOLLY!while others are clearly Bee-lievers, eager to meet Brown and Beagle.

“We can do this,” Juan says as he puts a steadying hand on my arm. “A few autographs, a few photos, then we go inside, okay?”

“Okay,” I say.

“Good luck,” Mr.Preston says. “I’ll be at the auction cheering you on.”

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