Chapter 14

MY BREATH CAUGHT when I closed my room door, shutting out a population of giggling females. They were talking about Chelsea's Instagram feed, it was 'really aesthetically pleasing' or something. Who the fuck cares. I mean -

He asked me out. Elias DuPont the single hottest male in campus asked me out. He asked he out. For the weekend. I was going to spend a weekend with him. I'll bring my books to study - but holy hell, a weekend with Elias. He said I was worthy of his time, along with some other weird things but I chose to ignore the weird statements.

I arrived at the main entrance in five minutes early. Elias was already here. He eyed me head to toe, from my hair to the Jansport on my back.

"I approve," he said with a deep nod.

I was in a sweatshirt with baggy jeans that I'd rolled high enough so they passed off as trendy jeans. I had to pair the ensemble with ballerina flats because my grandmother saw fit to eliminate any shoes that looked remotely harsh or unisex. This unfortunately included many of my branded sneakers.

"Your clothes are so unmatching I love it," Elias told me after we got into his car. It was a Bentley this time, I know this because I was given one of these things for my sixteenth birthday. So I decided to brag about my knowledge.

"It's a Bentley," I told Elias.

He averted his gaze from the road to give me an amused expression. "Well, yes, very observant. It is indeed a Bentley."

There was a mocking edge to his voice. "Shut the fuck up," I crossed my arms. "I'm not a car person okay?"

Elias, once again did not reply like I expected. "Love it when you cuss, so perfect."

I couldn't handle it anymore. "Why are you being so weird? What's happening?"

He sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, so... disclaimer, I'm not asking you out in the conventional sense. I actually need your help, hence the desperation."

"No shit."

"You'll be perfect for it," he turned just to flash me a smile.

He either had an extremely short attention span or he was trying to avoid the topic. Luckily I was perceptive enough to realize. I wouldn't let him get away. Not this time. "You were about to elaborate on whatever dodgy job you're dragging my ass into."

Elias turned on the radio, and the car was instantly filled with rap music. He clenched his jaws, reached the end of the interstate, before he began.

"So my parents are kind of a big deal, I'm just going to say that they own a building in Silicon Valley - "

"Okay, you’re rich, we get it."

Elias laughed, it was strained. "Anyway, so they're also kind of weird and traditional. They want me to marry by 21, which is crazy if you ask me," Elias said this with difficulty. "I don't wanna settle down at 21 man, who the hell does that?"

"I hope this isn't what I think this is."

He barely paid mind to my words. "So this weekend, it's my dad's birthday. Big ass deal, my family would never miss something like this. I'm talking about extended family and all. It's going to be at Fairmont Hotel, like it has been for the past 5 years. I have really low hopes for you, Andrea," he finished his monologue with a grin.

"Basically, you're using me to bring so much embarrassment to yourself - "

" - yeah, so my family will beg me to break ties with you. Because I'm going to tell everyone that you're my fiancée. I'm going to fight with them and say that I really love you and basically threaten to wreck the family apart. It'll drive them crazy. Then after a few days I'm going to call them to tell them that I've broken up with you. They'll be so relieved that they will never ask me to marry anyone ever again. What do you think of my masterplan?"

The way he said it, he might as well be telling me he solved world peace.

"How long did you take to think of this?"

Because I could see so many things going wrong with this plan of his. But he insinuated that I would be paid. And ever since my father cancelled my credit card, I have been a little short on money.

He beamed proudly at me. "Weeks. Masterplans like these take weeks.”

"Okay,” I smiled awkwardly. “But why me?"

"Because obviously it needs to be someone who can act. It's also gotta be someone in a financially inferior position. By the way you 're allowed to drop not-so-subtle sugar daddy references. Also because if I chose a fiancée, she's obviously gotta look decent. And you look decent."

"How in fuck's name do you say these things with such a wide, unwavering smile?"

His smile promptly dropped. "Hours and hours of etiquette classes, you have no idea."

For the first time, I saw an expression other than a wide smile on Elias's face. It was such a breath of fresh air I didn't dare to interrupt his bitter scowl. But as quickly as it came, it got replaced with another million dollar smile.

"Okay, we're approaching in T minus 15 minutes," Elias noted.

Instinctively, I glanced outside the window. I've been here once, as a kid on her parents' business trip. San Jose was no small town, that much I knew. It housed Silicon Valley, a major technological hub in California's Bay area, surrounding which were lush, rolling hills.

"Just in case I wasn't clear just now. I need you to act as a deranged, filthy-mouthed, god-hating sugar baby who knows nothing about etiquette and dress codes. Try to gape at everything in my house. Shamelessly touch everyone's clothes and ask if their jewellery is real. Call all their names wrong. PDA is more than okay. I've already informed them that you're coming, they're very excited and they're letting you stay in their third guest room."

"Okay... so, I’m getting paid, right?" I asked to humor the situation. I wasn't sure if he really thought I was financially inferior. Not that it should matter, friendships are qualitative not quantitative. They just end up toxic after you dig for the size of the wealth divide.

"I'll reward you depending on how well you execute your task. It's until Sunday."

"Yay, more lunch money."

When Elias mentioned he had a 'house' in San Jose, he really meant to say that he had a sprawling mansion in the heart of Silicon Valley. Located at the end of Dawson Lane, the property seemed to stretch several acres, containing the main house with a separate and equally lavish guesthouse, a thirty-six car garage, and staff quarters. The DuPont estate featured two outdoor pools (saline and freshwater), tennis courts, a koi pond, a dribbling zen fountain and a greenhouse to sustain his grandmother's exotic collection of plants.

I didn't even need to pretend to gape.

Upon entering the palace of gilt and marble Elias called home, we were greeted by an animal.

It was a regal Husky, one that pounced on Elias and tried to lick me afterwards.

"You don't have to worry about pissing anyone off, by the way. Feel free to break their antiques and stuff. Basically just be the worst nightmare of a Christian family obsessed with etiquette."

"Sure," I said, still giddy from the luxury and grandeur of this place. "What's the dog's name?"

"Neckbeard."

"...what?"

Elias laughed easily. "Kidding. But dude, Neckbeard would make a cool name. This is Bartholomew."

"Who named the dog Bartholomew?" I raised an eyebrow, unsure if I should find the situation funny.

The guy beside me shrugged. "My dad, to be honest. Dog’s named after my dead uncle. My dad needed a way to cope with his brother’s loss."

"So he named a dog after his dead brother."

Elias nodded as he petted the dog's head for the final time before he got up from his squatting position. "Sorry, haven't seen Barty in a long time. Come on, I'll give you a tour of this place."

This place was part fortress and part Versailles - these are after all French people. Elias gave a brief history of his great grandfather escaping the French revolution something-something. There were rooms and anterooms filled with magnificent antiques polished and theatrically lit on display. Oceans of expensive fabric swathed the windows, and a silent crew of servants moved around the house, dusting, cleaning, offering its occupants tea of coffee on silver service trays.

The DuPonts had an indoor pool too, a sparkling Olympic sized pool in the basement, basketball courts on the roof, the gym, the sauna, the Van Gogh room (so named because it contained several paintings of the afore-mentioned).

Elias told me to make myself comfortable and to avail myself to anything in their modern kitchen whilst he took a quick shower.

The guest rooms were situated on an opposite wing from the bedrooms of occupants in the house, meaning Elias would be far from me, not that it was an issue. I would be the first to admit that the DuPonts' third guest room was hardly the cupboard under the stairs like I had thought it would be. The room was beautifully decorated and adorned with everything a guest could want: a four-poster king-size bed with pillowy duvet, a spacious closet, a high-end entertainment center, disposable toiletries, along with material gifts with my name inscribed in neat handwriting, signed by a Valérie DuPont. It even had an en suite bathroom.

I settled onto the bed, before I promptly realized that my bag was resting against the desk. When I first arrived, my bag had been taken by a gloved butler, I guess he did his job dutifully. I honestly wanted to lie back and sleep.

But according to Elias, I had a little under 2 hours until everyone got home, at which point a grand dinner with his immediate relatives would commence to celebrate the DuPont heir's 'inevitable marital status'... little did Mr. and Mrs. DuPont know what was in store.

I took my time in the bathroom, carefully selecting the right essential oils and a green tea bath bomb. For someone who grew up in relative lavishness, I daresay wasn't spoilt rotten. Truthfully, I'd spent most nights at away from home. I'd spent half my nights in downtown flats with an unimaginable array of noises that go bump in the dark, the other half not sleeping at all.

When I was done, I tied on a bathrobe and returned to my room, where I'd set out my outfit for meeting the DuPont parents.

It was a gamble, truthfully. They may love my clothes, or they may hate them. My clothes, you see, were hand chosen by Grandmother who was VERY puritanical in nature. Hence my clothes inclined severely towards the conservative end of the scale.

If his parents were trendy people who cared about image, they would frown at my old fashioned garb. If his parents valued religion over material goods, they may just... fall in love themselves. I spotted Elias seated on the edge of my bed. I fastened my bathrobe.

He was, to all appearances texting someone. When he spotted me, he tucked his phone away and got up.

"Hey, is the room okay?"

"More than okay," I said sincerely. "Is Valérie your mom?"

Elias nodded to confirm.

"Tell her thank you," I gave him a tight lipped smile. "I also wanted to ask if your parents were... conservatives?"

"Yeah man," Elias nodded with a serious expression. "They're always talking about politics at the dinner table. They're capitalists at heart. Hey, if you could make yourself sound all SJW that'd be way cool."

I blinked at him. "No, I mean in terms of clothes. Would they disrespect me more if I wore nun clothes or whore clothes?"

Elias seemed to appraise my form, hidden beneath a thick bathrobe. "You really don't have to do anything outside your comfort zone. By the way, don't get me wrong. I love my family and all, and if possible I wouldn't want to hurt them in any way. But you have to understand that I got desperate. I've tried everything but they still want me married by 21."

"It's okay, Elias, I understand." I shot him a quick smile.

"My parents would definitely feel more uncomfortable if you dressed inappropriately."

My lips curved upwards, deviously. "Well fuck me, I need whore clothes, stat."

We seemed to twist our heads to look at the wall clock at the same time.

"We have an hour and a half, max," Elias said slowly.

“Perfect. Let’s go shopping.”