I paced the floor on the back patio the following evening, grinding my fingers into submission because they wouldn’t stop shaking. I had done something stupid, and although it had seemed like a good idea at first, it was easy to see how this could blow up in my face. I had no idea why I let Henrietta talk me into it, and now, I felt like I couldn’t back out. I had seen his picture, spoken with him, and would meet him in a few days. What would I do if he called me again?

“You really need to relax.” Henrietta sighed as she sauntered outside, sucking a lemon wedge.

“How can I? I don’t know what to do,” I wailed.

She pulled up a wicker chair and sank into it. “Just be yourself. He’ll love you.”

I rushed over to her and gripped her arm as I knelt next to the chair. “But that’s the problem. I can’t be myself. I have to be the woman he saw on that website.” I sank to the floor when the weight of my decision fell heavily on my shoulders. “Who could love anyone like me? I don’t have money, or fame, or a nice house, or…” I sighed, feeling the weight crush me as my list of things-I-didn’t-have grew.

“He doesn’t need to know any of that,” she said and waved me off.

Despite my anxiety, I couldn’t help but feel excited, except for one thing: I didn’t know how to act rich. I couldn’t go to the Colonial Regent Hotel as Anna Ramsey from the poor house, the Sampson estate housekeeper I couldn’t talk about my mom or sister without giving myself away. And I definitely didn’t know how to dress up and play nice. I’d seen many movies and read plenty of books, but nothing I’d read made me feel even a little prepared for the following Tuesday.

“Henrietta, you gotta help me. I don’t have anything to wear. And what if I have to eat? I don’t know a dinner fork from a salad fork. Or a serving spoon from a teaspoon. I can’t even walk in heels.” I was near to having a nervous breakdown. My legs felt numb underneath me, and I struggled to stand.

“I see your point,” Henrietta said as she looked me up and down. “Well, I can teach you.”

“You’d better. You got me into this mess.” I laughed nervously. My voice sounded strange, and I felt my chest tightening the deeper into this mess I got.

“We’d better get started,” Henrietta said as she flew out of the chair. “There’s lots to do.”

I had a strange feeling Henrietta loved making a doll out of me. She was only eighteen—barely past her pre-teens, freckle-faced, prom-dating period. Rehearsing with me for a potential wedding was as close to one as she would get in a while, and her excitement and enthusiasm slowly rubbed off on me.

The first thing she did was take me to the dining hall, where the table was laid with utensils and cutlery. I had been there before, but my job didn’t allow me to meddle with the silver. Now that I was staring at them, I felt overwhelmed. One place setting had three plates, two glasses, knives, and several spoons and forks on either side of the plate, all arranged in order of size.

“Why does anyone need this many forks? Or spoons?” I quizzed. I rubbed one of my feet against the other as I stood uncomfortably beside the table.

“That is something you need to know,” Henrietta began. She picked up one of the forks from the end and continued. “You begin on this side and work your way in.”

“There’s an actual order?” I asked and folded my arms. “Why couldn’t one be enough?”

“It’s the proper thing to do,” Henrietta explained patiently. “It’s always been like this, and if you want to appear like one of us, then you have to learn these things. He may not ask you out on Tuesday, but what if he chooses you?”

Her words hit home. What if he really did choose me? I decided to pay closer attention to her as she pointed out salad forks, soup spoons, butter knives, steak knives, and other information I didn’t think was possible to remember in one sitting. It was too much to absorb in one go.

“You simply need to remember to work your way in,” she said when she witnessed my boredom with her teaching. “You won’t be served everything at once, and if you aren’t sure, watch someone close to you.”

“That’s true,” I admitted, although the thought had not yet occurred to me. “Or I can decline dinner,” I joked.

“For how long, though?”

I groaned and followed her from the dining hall to her bedroom. She walked directly to her closet and returned with a few pairs of stilettos.

“You’re kidding, right?” I stated with awe.

“Nope.” She grinned. “You need to learn how to wear these babies. It’s not as hard as you might think.”

I picked up a pair of strappy sandals. I turned them over and measured the length of the heels. “Is it possible to walk in these?” I was accustomed to loafers and flat shoes that often rubbed my Achilles heels or squeezed my toes. Many came from Goodwill, and I was lucky when I could get a pair that fit me just right. But these… I had never worn anything remotely close to these.

“Let me show you,” Henrietta chirped and took them from me. She slipped into them easily and walked around the room like it was the most natural thing in the world. “See? Nothing to it.”

Watching her walk gave me a false sense of security. “It doesn’t look so bad. Let me try.” Luckily for me, we wore the same size shoes, so it wasn’t hard getting my feet into them. I stood. So far, so good. I looked down at my feet and smiled because my feet looked sort of sexy in them. “Hmm,” I grunted in pleasure and started to walk. The third step I took almost landed me on the floor. My right foot twisted, and I dipped and clawed at air until I felt the bed linen grasped tightly in my palm. “What the—”

Henrietta fell against the chair, laughing, as I struggled to stand again. I stood in one spot for a while, then took baby steps like I was on ice. I didn’t let go of the bed, and as I walked, I made sure there was something to hold onto before I moved forward.

“This is so stupid,” I finally said out of frustration and fell onto the bed. “Why can’t I wear regular flat sandals?”

“Because,” Henrietta said as she came around to my front and held my hands, “heels add to your…femininity.”

“My what?”

“You know, it makes you look sexier. Okay,” she said. She hurried to the closet and returned with a pair of loafers and flip flops. She slipped into the loafers and turned about for me to examine her. Then she replaced them, first with the sandals and then with the heels. She strutted around the room like she was on a catwalk and spread her arms wide for my evaluation.

“Okay, okay, I get your point. They do make a difference. But you’ve done this all your life. It’s easier for you. How can I learn to do this in a matter of days?” My face sagged with discouragement.

“Do you think all the women in heels feel comfortable wearing them? Sometimes they can’t wait to be alone to slip them off. And I would know.” Henrietta giggled, sounding even younger than her eighteen years.

“Really? So, it isn’t just me?”

“Not at all. It just takes some practice,” Henrietta encouraged.

I groaned and stood. I took one belabored step after another. After twenty minutes of feeling like an invalid, I gave up. “This is too much for my feet in one day.”

“Fine. Let’s do something else,” she quipped, enjoying my torment a little too much.

“Like?” I winced as I slipped the heels off. My feet slowly unfolded, and I tried to stand normally without my soles pinching. “I don’t need to know everything today.”

“I know, but the more you practice, the more natural it will feel when you have to do it.” Henrietta folded her arms and tapped her foot as she waited for me to move. “Well? Do you want to marry a billionaire or not?”

“Not,” I whispered, and a part of me meant it.

“Okay,” she said as she lowered her body to the easy chair. “I guess we can forget about your sister and your mother and the fact that you won’t be able to help them—”

“Okay!” I snapped. I didn’t want to think about the rest of what she might say. “I’ll do it.”

For the next couple of days, Henrietta drilled as much as she could remember into my head. I learned about music, wines, and how to dance. She helped with my speech, my walk, and my posture. Several times, I felt like the girl in Princess Diaries, especially when she forced me to walk with the book on my head. I was tired, and so many times, I felt like it wasn’t worth it. Henrietta kept reminding me of the shelter and the life I had before I got a job at her house. That always worked well to motivate me.

But by Tuesday, I was a basket case. I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking, and sweat beads continuously popped up on my forehead. But both Henrietta and I felt like I was ready to meet Raymond Jameson.

“You look so beautiful,” she gloated as she clapped her hands and gazed at me with tear-filled eyes.

“Stop, Henrietta. You’re going to make me cry too,” I replied in a cracked voice. My eyes burned from the imminent tears, and I batted my lashes to keep them from ruining my make-up.

She allowed me to use the car, though she rode with me just in case anyone asked any questions about why the housekeeper was using the family car. She squeezed my hands when we arrived at the Colonial Regent—a show of support. But I had never felt so limp in all my life. I wore her black, A-line dress that fell to my ankles and a pair of her strappy sandals as well. A pair of earrings, a hair clip, and a matching black purse completed my get-up, and I sucked in a lungful of air as I stepped from the car.

I had never been to the Colonial Regent before, and I couldn’t help gaping as I walked inside. The ceiling reminded me of a cathedral I had been to when I was younger, and my head fell back as I looked at the artful painting that covered the ceiling. I realized then how wealthy Mr. Jameson must be to afford to stay in a place like this, and my nerves got the better of me again.

“Excuse me, miss,” someone said over my shoulder.

I turned and saw a young man about my age dressed in a blue uniform and a peaked hat. “Yes?” I answered nervously and played with the small purse I clung to dearly.

“Welcome to the Colonial Regent Hotel. We are happy to have you here. How may I assist?”

I knew he was the bellboy, but a smile crossed my face slowly after his simple display of charm. “Yes, I am here to… I am one of the women…I’m not sure how I should say this.” I didn’t think about what I’d do after I got to the hotel, and now that I was there, I felt sorely inadequate.

“Would you like to book a room?” He smiled at me still, and his hands directing my attention to the front desk.

“No, I’m not here for a room,” I told him. “I’m here to see Mr. Jameson.”

“Oh,” the boy replied as his eyes widened. He looked me over, like it was his job to assess the women who walked into the hotel for that reason. “Right this way,” he said as he led me across the lobby area, down a short hallway, and to a room at the end. “You can wait here.”

“Thank you,” I told him and smiled.

He nodded and turned to walk away. I stood in the hallway, hesitant to open the door, staring at the brown barrier I needed to cross that could mean the difference between life in a shelter and a strikingly different one that included lots and lots of money.

“Would you like me to escort you in?” the bellboy asked.

I jumped because I hadn’t realized he was still there. “Oh, that’s not necessary,” I replied and waved him off playfully. “I’m a little nervous.”

He came over, and I stepped away to give him room. “It’s not my place, miss, but you shouldn’t be. You look lovely.”

His kind words gave me a little bit of hope. “Thank you,” I whispered timidly.

He pushed the door in and stepped aside. And then he was gone and I was alone in a world I didn’t know. If I thought I was nervous before, I was dead wrong. I didn’t know the word until I got inside and saw the other women. A buzz filled the room as they spoke in hushed tones, making up small groups of three or four. The few who weren’t in groups were either on their phones or staring at themselves in their pocket-sized mirrors. I stood just inside the door for a few seconds, and that may have been my greatest mistake.

Everyone turned to see who the newcomer was, and I saw in their eyes more than I cared for. Some stared like they were compelled to and couldn’t find the will to look away. The others who looked away started speaking again, but by the way they glanced repeatedly at me, I could only assume some of the conversation revolved around me.

I walked slowly to the closest seat, mindful of the heels I wore, and sat gingerly. Not long after, one of the girls from the group closest to me approached me.

“Davina Rosewood,” she said, and extended her hand, which seemed more like an order than a friendly gesture.

“Anna Ra…,” I replied, and cleared my throat as I caught myself. “Anna Bolton.”

“Bolton,” she echoed, loudly enough for the other group members to hear. “I’ve never seen you before. Where are you from?”

She was fishing for information I didn’t have to give, and I tried to dodge the question. “I’m not from here.” She waited for more, but I wasn’t an idiot. She wanted to look me up, and she would find nothing under the name Anna Bolton. At least, nothing related to me.

“I see,” she replied with a condescending air. She looked me over but not with the admiring gaze I had received from the bellboy. Her eyes were filled with disdain and mockery, and I shrank from them. “You don’t stand a chance. He already chose me.”

My heart sank after she spoke, and my eyes felt dry as I forgot to blink. A smile spread over her bright red lips, revealing two rows of perfect white teeth. She was beautiful, slender, and obviously wealthy. She returned to her group, and every now and again, I’d see them looking at me and giggling.

A few minutes after our exchange, another woman sat next to me. “Don’t pay Davina any mind,” the woman said. “She thinks she’s all that, but don’t listen to her. Raymond hasn’t made a choice yet.” I breathed then, grateful I still had a chance. “I’m Elizabeth,” she said and rocked into me, like we were old friends. “So, where are you from?”

She had a different face, but the question was still the same. When I surveyed the room, everyone was watching me. I cleared my throat and tried to ignore them. “What does it matter?” I asked without looking at her.

“Because, my dear, it will matter to him. Don’t you know Raymond? He is a hard nut, that one,” she whispered. “If you aren’t impeccable, he won’t even notice you.”

I knitted my brows and turned to face her. “Are you implying something?”

“No, no,” she hastened to say and patted my hand. “But we’ve never seen you before.”

“I wasn’t aware there was a location requirement.”

“Oh, there isn’t. We come from all over. Take Sonja,” she said and nodded at a girl with shoulder-length hair so blonde it was nearly white. Another beauty who stood out. “She is from Denmark. And Gayle”—she pointed to a blonde woman who sat alone— “she is from California. We know almost everyone here, or we can trace their family. I heard Davina say your name was Bolton?”

“Yes,” I confirmed, but my nerves tightened as I spoke.

“Which one? I know some of them.”

She waited with patient expectation for my answer, but I had none to give. “I do believe I am here to be questioned by Mr. Jameson. Not every other curious woman here.”

She laughed, but it was obviously fake. She patted my hand, and then stood. “Well, good luck then.”

She walked away, but I had never felt more like the black sheep in any gathering. Every now and again, I received the odd look from someone or heard my name whispered. I even saw one woman busily searching the internet for what I overheard to be information about ‘my family.’ They didn’t even try to be discreet—they had money and didn’t care. More than I wanted, my intimate knowledge of what it meant to be rich and pompous was increasing. They didn’t like newcomers and were suspicious of people they couldn’t trace or manipulate. No one else spoke to me after Elizabeth, but one thing was painfully clear: if they could see right through me, why wouldn’t he? One look and he would see I was a fraud. It would be better to leave while I still had some dignity left.

I wasn’t thinking when I stood, and as I walked away, my left foot twisted and I stumbled and fell to the floor. If I had hoped for a smooth exit, it crashed with me. The women snickered as I clawed my way to my feet, and when I felt I was on sure footing again, I hurried out. I felt the sting of hot tears at the corners of my eyes at the laughter that erupted when I reached the door. I didn’t have their sympathy, and all I wanted was to get out of that damned room. I groped at the door, making an already embarrassing situation even more so, and when it finally swung open, I rushed into the hallway. Tears blinded me as I fled, and when I reached the corner that led to the lobby, I ran head-on into a man who nearly knocked me off my feet.