Page 11 of Too Good to Be True

With that, breathing not another word nor gifting us with another look, they left the room, Richard closing the door like he didn’t want someone passing and seeing us in there.

Slowly, I turned my head to regard my sister.

She read my expression.

“It takes a while for them to melt,” she explained.

“Have they melted toward you?” I demanded to know.

She shrugged.

Meaning: No.

Right, we’d get into that later.

I pressed on. “Rules?”

“I told you they dress for dinner.” She suddenly appeared panicked. “Did you bring clothes to dress for dinner? They’re sticklers about it. Cocktails at six thirty sharp, seating at seven fifteen, also sharp. The men wear suits and ties, the women, cocktail dresses at least.”

I didn’t mention we weren’t on a cruise ship, and it was just plain weird that we’d be expected to dress up for dinner for ten days straight (for goodness’ sake, I’d had to pack two suitcases for this shindig). I didn’t do it now, and I didn’t do it when she’d asked me to come and told me what to pack.

I just said, “Yes.”

My sister showed immediate relief, the extent of which worried me.

“Portia—” I started again.

“You’ll get a tour,” she said. “Either from Daniel or Richard, not one of the staff. After tea, you’ll be shown to your rooms to rest and freshen up and prepare for dinner. You aren’t allowed to, um…wander the house until you’re shown what areas are accessible and what are off limits.”

“We’d hardly go poking around their home without permission,” I noted.

“They just wanted me to make sure you wouldn’t,” she returned.

“Please assure them we’re not going to ramble around the house looking for Instagram-worthy photo ops or filming video to splice into TikToks,” I told her.

“That’s another thing. No social media. At all,” she replied.

I pressed my lips together, because…obviously.

“Right, of course,” Portia mumbled, “I just…well, I promised them I’d make things clear.”

“When you speak to them, you can share you did just that.”

“For the most part you’ll be guided where you need to be by staff,” Portia stated. “Until, you know, you get the lay of the land.”

“We’ll be the perfect guests,” Lou promised.

Even though she gave a slight nod to note she’d heard the words, Portia barely looked at her.

I let that slide too and asked, “When are we going to meet Daniel?”

“He’s at work,” she told me.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” I told her.

“He’ll be here by cocktails.”

I nodded, wondering how she was there on a Friday afternoon. She had a job too, and it was in London.

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