We’ve exchanged a few texts since our big fight, but nothing too personal. Mostly memes we think the other person will like. He would probably be upset if I told him about last night. He’d probably think that was a good reason to come home. After how dumb I feel about getting intimate with Mr. Rochester, I might even agree, but I won’t leave Paige right now.

Instead, in the dark, curled up in the comforter, I google Beau Rochester and Zoey.

The search results make my stomach clench.

They appear at movie premieres and popular nightclubs. There’s a photo of them standing in a group with some famous actors I recognize. They all have huge grins on their beautiful faces. What did he say out in the cold? That he had committed “some truly crazy illegal stunts while high as a kite in Los Angeles.” This group seems like they’d be down for whatever.

God, I’m a fool.

Did you think you’d hook up with the playboy Beau Rochester and get your picture in the tabloids? He asked me that once. I didn’t even know what he was talking about then.

The tabloids speculate if his breakup with Zoey Aldridge is the reason he left the social scene—heartbroken and unable to bear seeing her around. Little do they know that they’re still together. I wonder if the tabloids would be interested in printing that they’re holed up in a bedroom in a Maine mansion right now.

If I fire you, you could make decent money selling a story to them.

Now I understand why some people make unethical choices. We don’t set out to become that person. It’s bitterness that hardens us. I won’t sell information about Beau Rochester, but I can understand the desire to for revenge in the face of my humiliation.

According to Wikipedia, Zoey Aldridge got her big break on this reality dating show years ago. Since then she’s been linked to multiple musicians and Silicon Valley billionaires. She has her own jewelry and perfume lines in major department stores.

And then there’s me. Orphan. Poor. Nanny.

I had the audacity to think that Beau Rochester was interested in me for anything more than a quick fuck up against the door in his study.

The next day I wake up in a slow simmering state of frustration. Even Mrs. Fairfax senses my mood, because she makes my favorite breakfast—blueberry pancakes.

We’re eating when Zoey breezes into the kitchen wearing a loose silk top and skinny jeans. “We’re having a little dinner party the day after tomorrow. Beau needs some cheering up. He’s been locked away here in the middle of nowhere for months. No wonder he broke his leg.”

“He fell off the cliff,” Paige informs her soberly.