The advertisement appeared between a listing for a used dining table and a man offering six chickens in exchange for lawn equipment, which should have been our first warning.
Chapter 2
The family charity fashion show took place at one of Penelope’s downtown hotels.
The theme was rescue animals.
Marcus naturally assumed he should host.
“No,” I told him backstage.
“No?”
“You are support tonight.”
He looked genuinely offended.
“I’ve never been support.”
“Personal growth.”
Ten minutes later, a costume mix-up left Marcus wearing a giant white dog suit.
He emerged from behind a curtain covered in fake curls.
We stared at each other.
“Don’t.”
“You look magnificent.”
“Molly.”
“You have finally reached your true form.”
Because the scheduled mascot hadn’t arrived, Marcus was forced onto the runway.
The audience roared.
Instead of sulking, he bowed.
Donations immediately increased.
People began pledging money just to keep him onstage.
By the time he returned, the rescue fundraiser had nearly doubled its goal.
“They were laughing at me.”
“They were laughing with you.”
“I was dressed as a poodle.”
“You raised thirty thousand dollars.”
He became quiet.
Then he looked at me.
“You know you’re dangerous?”
“I’ve heard rumors.”
A week later, he asked to visit St. Anne’s.
I expected cameras.
He arrived alone.
The children surrounded him immediately.
Toby found the poodle video.
“You look like my aunt’s mop.”
Marcus crouched beside him.
“Your aunt clearly has excellent taste.”
He stayed all afternoon.
No livestream.
No publicist.
No photographers.
He served dinner, repaired a broken cabinet hinge, played cards with two teenagers, and allowed a six-year-old girl to put a pink paper crown on his head.
I watched from the kitchen doorway.
Without an audience, Marcus became quieter.
Kinder.
Almost shy.
That was the first moment I realized his foolishness was partly armor.
Iris was making similar discoveries.
Adrian had been twenty-three when his parents died. Marcus had been nineteen.
Adrian had inherited responsibilities immediately.
Board meetings.
Trusts.
Properties.
Family businesses.
Penelope had still been active, but everyone looked to Adrian as the serious one.
One night, Iris found him asleep at his desk over quarterly reports.
She placed a blanket across his shoulders.
He woke instantly.
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
“Your face was attached to the spreadsheet.”
“I was thinking.”
“With your eyes closed?”
“Deeply.”
She smiled.
“There may be hope for you yet.”
Unfortunately, not everyone enjoyed watching us settle into the family.
Victoria Bellamy was Penelope’s niece and a fixture at every society event. She had the polished cruelty of a woman who could insult someone while appearing to ask about their health.
At a luncheon, she lifted her champagne glass and said loudly, “Of course Molly and Iris aren’t actually engaged.”
The room went quiet.
Victoria smiled.
“They’re paid.”
I stood.
“Yes.”
Her smile faltered.
“We are.”
Whispers spread around the table.
I continued.
“We took the job because St. Anne’s House needed a new roof, heat, food, medicine, and repairs. We grew up there.”
Victoria leaned back.
“You admit you’re hired company?”
“Proudly.”
I gestured toward her.
“At least Iris and I earn our checks.”
Penelope choked on her drink.
Marcus whispered, “Please continue.”
Victoria’s expression went rigid.
“You’re bold for someone who entered this house through an advertisement.”
“And you’re comfortable judging workers while living off a family empire.”
Adrian lowered his face to hide a smile.
After that, Victoria began spreading rumors.
She called us opportunists.
Gold diggers.
Social climbers.
Something else changed during that same period.
Marcus stopped using every situation for attention.
During a livestream at a fundraiser, a wealthy guest mocked Toby’s secondhand shoes.
Marcus’s face changed.
He turned the camera toward himself.
“Tonight’s lesson,” he said calmly, “is that money cannot purchase manners.”
Then he convinced the man to donate ten thousand dollars to St. Anne’s.
I nearly kissed Marcus.
Instead, I stole his dessert.
“This is my reward.”
“I thought I was your reward.”
“You require additional training.”
Adrian surprised Iris too.
During a business meeting, an executive referred to her as “the charming help.”
Adrian closed his folder.
“She corrected the financial model you’re presenting.”
The executive blinked.
“I didn’t mean—”
“If you require decoration, buy a mirror.”
Later, Iris cornered him in the hall.
“Did you defend me?”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I corrected an inaccurate statement.”
“That sounded suspiciously emotional.”
“Don’t spread rumors.”
Our pretend engagements were becoming something neither contract had described.
Penelope noticed first.
One evening, an electrical failure trapped Marcus and me inside the pet bakery.
At least that was Penelope’s version.
A handwritten note slid under the locked door.
SNACKS OUTSIDE. DO NOT BURN THE EMPIRE.
I shouted toward the hallway.
“THIS IS KIDNAPPING WITH PASTRIES!”
Marcus laughed.
With nothing else to do, we started making dog biscuits for the next fundraiser.
They were terrible.
Flour covered the counters, my sweater, Marcus’s hair, and eventually half the floor.
After laughing for ten straight minutes, Marcus became quiet.
“People think I’m ridiculous because I don’t care.”
I looked at him.
“Don’t you?”
“Sometimes.”
He wiped flour from his hands.
“After my parents died, Adrian became responsible for everything. Everybody told him he had to be strong. With me, they expected entertainment.”
His smile faded.
“So I became entertaining. If people expect you to be a joke, you never have to disappoint them by failing at anything serious.”
That landed harder than I expected.
“You aren’t useless.”
His eyes lifted.
“No.”
“You’re just badly managed.”
He laughed softly.
Then he reached toward my face and brushed flour from my cheek.
Neither of us moved.
His hand remained near my skin.
The room became strangely quiet.
Then from outside the locked bakery came a familiar scream.
“KISS HER!”
I jumped back.
“Your bird has terrible timing.”
Marcus grinned.
“Archimedes has excellent instincts.”
Iris and Adrian had been trapped elsewhere during the outage.
Apparently Penelope believed in equal-opportunity emotional manipulation.
Their location was the records room.
In darkness, Adrian admitted that after his parents died, nobody ever asked whether he was frightened. People asked whether documents were signed.
Whether accounts were stable.
Whether Marcus was behaving.
Responsibility became easier than grief.
Iris handed him an emergency cookie.
He took one bite.
“This tastes like cardboard.”
“You’re welcome.”
By morning, something had changed between them too.
Then Victoria found the weak point.
One afternoon, Iris and I entered the conservatory while Marcus and Adrian spoke nearby.
We heard only part of the conversation.
“At first it was just the contract,” Marcus said.
“I know,” Adrian replied.
“I don’t think I’m built for this family thing.”
Victoria appeared behind us.
Her voice was almost tender.
“That must hurt.”
I turned.
She smiled.
“Being reminded you’re temporary.”
The words found exactly the place I had tried not to examine.
Iris looked at me.
That night, we packed.
No confrontation.
No accusations.
We simply remembered what we had originally agreed to.
One month.
Pretend.
Paid.
Temporary.
By midnight, we were back at St. Anne’s.
The next morning Penelope called.
“You stole my parrot.”
I looked toward Archimedes, who was eating cereal beside Toby.
“He followed us.”
“You also took one of my dogs, four orthopedic pillows, and apparently a diamond slipper.”
I looked down.
One glittering shoe sat beside my suitcase.
“That may have been accidental.”
Penelope sighed.
Then her voice softened.
“Marcus hasn’t spoken since you left.”
I said nothing.
“Adrian worked all night and completed nothing useful.”
Still nothing.
Finally Penelope said, “Those boys are idiots.”
Archimedes shouted, “IDIOTS!”
“See?” Penelope said. “Even the bird understands.”
That afternoon, Marcus and Adrian arrived at the shelter.
Marcus carried flowers.
He immediately slipped on a section of freshly painted floor and fell into a bucket of blue paint.
I crossed my arms.
“Finally developed some personality?”
He stood dripping blue.
“I had planned a sophisticated entrance.”
“You achieved unforgettable.”
Toby pointed.
“Is he your clown boyfriend?”
“Not confirmed.”
“He looks confirmed.”
Even Marcus laughed.
Adrian entered carrying boxes of school supplies.
Within five minutes, children had placed three stickers on his suit.
He did not remove them.
Instead, he sat at a homework table and helped a twelve-year-old with algebra.
Iris watched him.
Eventually he approached her.
“When you heard me say I wasn’t built for family—”
“You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“Yes, I do.”
She waited.
Adrian took a breath.
“I didn’t mean I didn’t want one.”
“What did you mean?”
“That I was afraid I would fail at it.”
Iris studied him.
“That was nearly an emotion.”
“It was unpleasant.”
“Good. Keep practicing.”
Marcus stepped in front of me.
Blue paint still covered his sleeve.
“At first, this was a contract.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“I know.”
“Then it became the best part of my life.”
“That sounds like something you’d post online.”
“I wrote a version for social media.”
Of course he had.
“I deleted it.”
That stopped me.
Marcus gave me a nervous smile.
“I thought you’d prefer the unedited version.”
For the first time, I believed maybe the man beneath the performance was finally choosing to stay visible.
