Specifically, they could easily pass for the Hemsworth brothers, one of them taller and leaner, the other one muscled and smiling. Both of them blond and blue-eyed.

One has his arm slung over the other one in a casual embrace. It’s like a meme where you have to guess whether they’re dating or siblings.

“Don’t let this ugly bastard monopolize your time,” the taller one says. “We want to talk with you. We’re always eager to meet new people.”

“You smell fresh blood,” Mr. Rochester says in a dry tone.

“She’ll come back in one piece,” says the older one.

His hair’s slightly longer. You have to look carefully to catalog the difference between them. He takes my arm and leads me away from Mr. Rochester.

My heart thumps against my rib cage. I’m so far out of my depth, it’s ridiculous.

We end up standing next to the fireplace. One of them procures a glass of wine. I take a sip just so I have something to do. And wince at the sharp acidity. Somehow I always thought expensive wine would taste better than what I once tried at Olive Garden. Apparently not.

“Tell us everything,” the younger one says.

“But especially the parts that Beau would hate for you to say.”

That makes me laugh. These two are definitely out for fresh blood, but there’s something charming about it. Not that I’m going to spill any deep dark secrets. “There’s nothing to tell, really. I work for him. I help Paige with schoolwork, get her dressed, that kind of thing.”

“The nanny,” one says.

“The au pair,” from the other one. “What’s the difference between a nanny and an au pair?”

“I’m not sure,” I say honestly. “The agency that hired me placed both of them. I think technically I’m a live-in nanny, but I’m not that worried about my job title.”

“So you do live here. I wondered about that.”

I nod and take a sip. The wine burns all the way down. I can’t believe how much they spent per case of this. Does it hurt everyone like this? It’s like instant heartburn in a bottle.

“Does Beau wander around in only his boxers?” The younger one looks hungry for that piece of information, which makes me wonder again if they’re gay and together. Or brothers.

“What did you say your name was?”

They exchange an amused glance. “Where the hell did he find you?” one of them says.

“Oh,” I say, clutching the wine stem. “Am I supposed to already know who you are?”

“Only if you read Perez Hilton. Instead you’re reading… what? Elmo books? Or that series, the one with the parrot who protects the city from crime after school.”

Surprise makes me laugh. “Sometimes. I’m surprised you even know about the parrot.”