Love the One You Hate

Once that’s done, I’m ordered back to my room to get ready. Why she thinks it should take me two hours to make myself presentable, I have no idea. Rita is a miracle worker, and she can somehow wrestle my hair into a romantic updo and sweep on some makeup in less than an hour. I use the extra time to sit in a robe in my bathroom, peering out through a small window that faces the gravel drive, praying he doesn’t arrive. My stomach is a twisted knot of nerves as the sun falls completely away, leaving me with nothing but moonlight. Cars start to pull up to the house and I know I need to stand and put on my dress or I’m going to be late, but I stay there until the last possible second, convincing myself he won’t show up.

After I dress, I walk downstairs to find Cornelia standing in the receiving room, greeting her guests. I’m introduced to the professor, who grips my hand in both of hers, greeting me with a wide smile.

“Pleasure to meet you,” she says, and I find myself repeating the sentiment back to her.

She has long frizzy gray hair pushed back by a black headband, and large red glasses stand out against her thin face. Her brown and black plaid jacket is rolled up at the sleeves, revealing a surprising bright blue lining underneath. I like her immediately.

“Are you from the area?” she asks, keeping hold of my hand.

“No, actually. I grew up in Providence.”

“So did I.” She beams. “I only live here now because of my position at the university. Do you attend?”

At this point, Tori and Lydia have arrived as well and are listening in on our conversation. I don’t mind. I’m not sure exactly what Cornelia has told them about me—I know they’ve heard bits and pieces—but I’d rather they know the whole truth.

My eyes widen. “University? No. No, I work for Cornelia.”

“In what capacity?” Dr. Reynolds asks, curious.

Cornelia steps in to answer before I can, no doubt because she realizes I would botch the answer.

“She’s my right-hand woman. She’s helping me run Rosethorn, and more than that, she’s a friend and guest in my home. I’ve taken her under my wing, so to say.”

“How lovely. I can only imagine how difficult it is to manage one of these Gilded Age mansions. I’ve been telling you for years that you needed to take on a conservator.”

Cornelia drops her hand to my shoulder. “Well, with any luck, Maren will fit the bill.”

On our way into the dining room, Tori bumps into me with a wink. “You didn’t tell me you work for Cornelia. I thought you were a family friend or grandniece or something.”

I blanche. “Sorry, yeah. Yup.” I rock back on my heels a bit awkwardly. “I’m her employee.”

She laughs. “There’s nothing to feel weird about.”

I arch a brow, curious to push the subject. “You don’t mind hanging out with the help?”

She looks horrified. “Do I seem that stuck-up to you? I’ll have you know I work too. I manage an art gallery just up the road.”

“That’s awesome. I should come by sometime!”

“Oh, you like art?”

I shrug. “I think I do. Paintings and stuff?”

What’s not to like?

“We deal primarily in contemporary sculptures.”

“That too,” I assure her, having absolutely no idea what she’s talking about.

We all take our places at the table, and I’m doing an internal victory dance over the fact that Nicholas couldn’t make it in time for dinner when I spot movement out in the hall. I look over, and my jaw drops. How? How is he here?! He’s walking down the grand staircase, cinching his black tie tighter around his neck. He smooths it down against his chest and glances up, finding all of our attention on him.

He looks freshly showered and shaved, tan and horrifyingly handsome in his black suit.

How did he possibly sneak in here without me knowing?

“I’m sorry I’m running late,” he says, strolling into the room and walking right behind my chair on his path to get to Cornelia. My breath catches in my chest, and I don’t release a slow exhalation until he passes back into my line of sight.

He leans down to give her a kiss on the cheek, and she stares up at him adoringly as he rounds the table and takes his seat beside Tori.

“Nonsense. We haven’t even started. You remember Dr. Reynolds, don’t you?” Cornelia asks, extending her hand toward her guest. “From the university?”

“Of course. It’s good to see you,” he says, nodding in greeting.

Cornelia continues, “And Lydia and Tori, you know, of course. That only leaves our dear Maren. I hope you two were able to get acquainted last weekend, at the ball? I saw you talking outside.”

My attention is on my place setting as I will my heart to slow down.