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He turns his head toward the shadow box. “It’s an old Vexley symbol. Lock. Key. Ownership. That kind of stuff.”

I stare at the iron key again.

A lock only matters if you control the key.

I don’t know why that thought slips into my mind so clearly. Maybe because everything in this house feels locked. Doors. Rooms. People.

Nathaniel pushes away from the desk.

“Avoid politics,” he says, bringing us back to the lesson. “Religion. Money.”

I look at him. “Aren’t galas about money?”

“Yes. But talking about it is considered gauche.”

“Gauche? Doesn’t that mean ‘left’ in French?”

“You speak French?”

“Un peu.”

“Well, you’re right. It does mean ‘left’ in French. In English it means ‘awkward’ or ‘unrefined.’”

“Like me.” I look down.

“Hey.” He rises, walks around his desk, leans down, and lifts my chin, forcing me to look into his amazing green eyes. “You are neither awkward nor unrefined. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I thought that.”

I sigh. “I hope I don’t let you down.”

“You won’t.” His voice is low, almost hypnotizing.

“I won’t,” I echo.

He walks back to the desk. “Compliment people. Appearance works if you’re careful. Dress. Jewelry. Shoes. Nothing too intimate. If a woman is wearing emeralds, tell her they’re beautiful. If a man has clearly spent too much on his watch, ask about it. Men love explaining watches.”

“Noted.”

“If you’re asked what you do, which you probably won’t be, say you work for Vexley Holdings, which is technically true.”

I blink. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Tonight I’m a guest of the Vexley Foundation with no history. No poverty. No sick mother. No apron. No room in the servants’ wing. No burner phone in my pocket.

I look down at my hands.

This is one night. An escape from my real life. I should be grateful. Maybe I am. A part of me—the stupid part, the tired part, the part that used to dream before bills and illness and Vexley House taught me better—wants to enjoy it.

A beautiful dress. A ballroom. Lights. Music.

Just for tonight, I can pretend.

Not that I belong.

But that I could.

“Ella.” Nathaniel interrupts my thoughts.