I held my phone between my shoulder and ear while pawing through my closet, which was pitifully short on anything remotely seductive. A dusty sundress from three summers ago? Too innocent. A bodycon Prisca convinced me to buy on clearance? Too tight—I couldn't breathe, let alone flirt in it.
"I'm telling you, Prisca, he's coming over tomorrow," I whispered with the kind of excitement reserved for lottery winners and drama queens.
Prisca laughed so hard I could hear her choke on something on the other end. "Girl, calm down! You sound like you're about to bake yourself in the oven and serve yourself on a silver platter."
"Wouldn't be the worst idea," I muttered, holding up a silk blouse to my chest in front of the mirror. Too office-y. I tossed it onto the bed and groaned. "I need to go shopping."
Prisca sighed. "You always say that, and then you come back with snacks and another hoodie."
"Hey, snacks are a love language."
"So is cleavage."
I barked a laugh. "You're the worst influence, you know that?"
"And yet, your only real friend in this godforsaken country," she said sweetly.
She wasn't wrong. After all the foster homes, the bullying, the language barriers… Prisca had been my one safe space. The sister I chose.
I flopped onto the bed, phone still cradled against my cheek. "I just want him to notice me. He's always been polite, but distant. Maybe this time… maybe I'll surprise him. I could wear something different. Maybe even—"
The door swung open with all the subtlety of an explosion.
"Sidney," Anne snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. She was on her own phone, but she covered the mic and glared at me as if I'd just set the house on fire. "Why are you lounging and making calls? Have you finished your duties for today?"
I scrambled to sit upright, nearly sending my phone flying.
"I—uh—was just checking in with a friend."
Prisca, still on the line, made a low whistle. "Damn, she sounds like a Disney villain."
I pressed the phone tighter to my cheek to muffle the speaker.
Anne's eyes narrowed. Her hair was pulled into a sharp bun, and her high heels clicked dramatically as she stepped into the room. Even her perfume smelled expensive and judgmental.
"Well, maybe instead of chatting about nonsense," she said with a sugary smile that didn't reach her eyes, "you should be preparing for tomorrow. My brother is coming over. And he's bringing a friend. The house needs to sparkle, the kitchen should smell divine, and I want you to be on your best behavior."
My heart did a little flip at Jake is bringing a friend. Great. Someone to ruin her plans.
"Yes, Anne," I said, standing quickly and smoothing down my wrinkled shirt.
Anne turned back to her phone call and glided out of the room like a swan on a mission.
Prisca was silent for a beat.
Then: "Well. She's a whole episode of Real Housewives in one body."
I sank back onto the bed. "You heard that?"
"Oh, I heard everything, baby girl. She needs a chill pill and a personality transplant."
I laughed, but the familiar ache crept in at the edges of my smile. Sometimes I wondered how long I could keep doing this. Cleaning up after rich people, swallowing insults like vitamins, pretending I didn't have dreams beyond this mansion.
But tomorrow gave me something new. Something small, but sparkling.
Jake.
I stood up and grabbed my tote bag. "I have to go to the market," I said into the phone. "She wants everything perfect for Prince Jake and his mystery guest."
Prisca cackled. "Let me guess. She's expecting a full five-star dinner on a housemaid budget."
"Pretty much," I muttered, already sliding on my flats.
"Get something cute for yourself while you're out," she said. "Something that says, I clean floors, but I'll step on your neck if you ignore me."
I laughed as I ended the call.
Outside, the Ontario sun was showing off again—warm, golden, and too beautiful for the mood I was dragging with me. I walked to the corner market with my hoodie zipped up and my hair in a messy bun. As I passed a reflective shop window, I caught sight of myself and stopped.
I looked… tired.
Not the dreamy girl I imagined Jake would take one glance at and instantly fall in love with. Just Sidney. The housemaid with the chipped nails and calloused hands.
I pushed open the market door and forced myself to walk like I had a purpose. Because I did. Operation Flirt-and-Serve was now officially underway.
I made my way down the aisles, grabbing the freshest produce I could find: tomatoes, onions, cilantro, garlic. The basics. Then meat—Anne hadn't specified what she wanted, but I had a feeling Jake's mystery friend might be picky. Men usually were when they weren't the ones doing the cooking.
At the checkout, I snagged a cheap tinted lip gloss from the impulse section. Cherry pink. Not too bold. Not too boring.
Back at the house, Anne was pacing the hallway on yet another call. I slipped past her with my groceries like a stealth ninja and darted into the kitchen.
I unpacked everything and got to work.
The scent of garlic sizzling in butter filled the space almost immediately, and for the first time all day, I felt powerful. There was something oddly satisfying about knowing how to create comfort from chaos—how to chop, stir, season, and taste until everything felt just right.
I settled on making stuffed chicken breasts, roasted potatoes, and a simple garden salad. Dessert? Anne hadn't asked for it, but I pulled out the ingredients for a basic chocolate cake anyway. Who didn't love cake?
As the chicken marinated, I leaned on the counter and pulled out my phone again. No new posts from Jake. But that was fine. Tomorrow, I'd see him in the flesh.
I chewed my bottom lip, thinking.
Should I greet him casually?
Or should I accidentally bump into him while carrying something heavy again?
Or maybe I should just be myself.
Scratch that. That never works in real life.
I took a breath and glanced around the kitchen. It was spotless now, glowing from the sunlight pouring in through the windows. I'd prepped the guest towels, cleaned the foyer, and arranged fresh flowers Anne didn't ask for but would absolutely claim she did.
And then I heard it—her voice.
"Sidney!" she called from the staircase.
I sighed and walked over.
She was standing at the top, phone still in hand, now off the call.
"I want the wine glasses cleaned. Properly. Not with whatever cloth you used last time that left streaks."
I opened my mouth to respond but decided better. I just nodded and turned.
Back in the kitchen, I actually did the wine glasses with extra care. Not for Anne. For Jake. For whatever tomorrow was going to bring.
Because I had a feeling it would bring more than I was prepared for.