surprise me given the house’s grandeur, but I suppose it surprises me that we’ll be eating formally with just five people, all of whom are blood relatives except for me.
I can firmly say rich people are just weird.
Still, I consider it an experience, and I have moments of overwhelming awe as I take in the opulence of the place. We move past a music room with a black-and-white harlequin tiled floor and a beautiful piano in the middle of it. The formal dining room is exquisite with a crystal chandelier over the table so massive, I’m actually nervous to sit under it. The table is long, seating—upon quick count—thirty-two with a glorious arrangement of fresh flowers in the center at least three feet in diameter and just as high.
All the place settings are thankfully at one end, and there’s a lot of gleaming china and crystal twinkling, making me far more nervous than the chandelier. I’m terrified of breaking something.
Alexander moves to the end of the table, taking the head chair. Pointing at the other chairs, Helena directs us where to sit. She places herself on one side of her husband and her daughter on the other. Declan is next to her, and she orders me to the chair beside Marissa, directly across from Declan.
Not quite sure of my expression, but my anxiousness calms slightly when Declan gives me a reassuring smile before taking his seat. I slowly lower down beside his sister, who has so far ignored me since our introduction.
A swinging door opens, and my mouth gapes as five dressed waitstaff, complete with white gloves, serve the first course—a French onion soup. Another person enters with a bottle of sparkling water to top off crystal glasses, and another comes in with choices of red and white wines.
I’m completely overwhelmed with the pageantry of what should be a simple family meal, yet when I glance around at the Blackwoods, I can tell this is a regular Tuesday in their home.
Helena places her napkin on her lap, then glances at her son. “So, Declan… how did you think the board meeting went?”
Declan fills his mother in on the details I’d heard over the past two days. I have no clue if she’s actively involved in hotel operations or is just making polite conversation, but she seems to be listening as she offers well-placed murmurs of agreement as he talks.
His father seems to ignore the exchange, concentrating on his soup and intermittently checking his phone. I try to enjoy my own bowl, but I feel awkward sitting so close to his sister in silence.
So I make an attempt to engage her by asking, “Marissa… do you work within the Blackwood company as well?”
Shooting me a sharp glance, she snaps, “Of course I do.”
I don’t have time to be shocked by her dismissal of my attempt at communication because she addresses her brother. “Did you manage to ratify my budget proposals for next year?”
Declan stares stonily at his sister. While he was engaged in conversation with his mother, there’s no doubt by his expression he’s not happy about her question.
“Could you possibly be any more impolite to a guest in our home?” Declan asks. It takes me a second to understand his question.
Then it hits me hard. His anger at his sister has naught to do with her question, but rather because of the way she so rudely brushed me off.
I fight the urge to shrink in my chair as conversations cease. All eyes are on Marissa, which puts me in the crosshairs since I’m beside her and my question led us here.
Marissa waves a hand dismissively. “I answered her question. What more do you want? It’s not like I have anything in common with your hired help.”
At this point, I struggle not to laugh. Because she’s not wrong about that. I can tell I have absolutely nothing in common with this snobbish, two-dimensional woman, but it’s comical all the same.
But it’s not quite so funny anymore when Declan’s mother shifts in her seat to look at her son. “I told you it was not a good idea to bring help to the family dinner.”
I genuinely don’t know whether I should be offended, but then Declan’s father seems to want in on the conversation. Except he’s oblivious to what is playing out as he glances up from his phone and says, “Your budget proposals for the interior design of a hotel are not important enough to discuss at a board meeting.”
I can