The Heir Affair

off-kilter.
“Right, meant to tell you, that one’s the wonky one,” Cilla said impassively, pouring a cup of tea.
“I thought this was the wonky one,” I said, wriggling and feeling my chair clunk unevenly.
“They’re all the wonky one,” said Gaz as he bustled out with a purple frilly apron around his waist and a plate of petits fours. “Now, get stuck in and tell me what you think. Be kind. But truthful. But mostly kind?” He twiddled his fingers hopefully and then disappeared back into the kitchen.
Bea ignored him. “The sheer nerve of making you try that hard for a crumb of attention,” she marveled. “And now she’s made you so grateful to be speaking that you’ll do whatever she asks. Stay at her knee as long as you can, Bex. You’ll be a master manipulator in no time.”
“I don’t want to be a master manipulator,” I protested. “Literally nothing has ever sounded less appealing to me.”
“Then you suffer from a shocking lack of imagination,” Bea said, pointing firmly at me and then letting that finger fall onto one of Gaz’s petits fours. It was beige with a little green ball on top. She studied it suspiciously.
“This is silly.” Cilla frowned as she stirred sugar into her tea. “Surely babysitting the brothers isn’t your job.”
“That’s what it feels like,” I said. “That, and doing internet deep dives on Georgina. I read an amazing rumor that she had an affair with Elvis Presley, but no one could prove it.”
“And why would she have wanted them to? All those jumpsuits.” Bea shuddered, then bit into Gaz’s confection and gagged. “What have I just put in my mouth?”
Gaz scurried back out, clearly only having pretended to leave. “A surprise savory curry petit four! My greatest strength, wrapped up into a dessert package.”
“Who on earth would want a savory curry petit four?” Bea squawked.
Gaz looked offended. “People willing to have their worldview expanded.”
“Like, say, the judges on Ready, Set, Bake,” Cilla said, shooting me a glance that said, He’d best not quit his day job.
I nibbled at one. “You know, that’s actually good,” I said. “Once you aren’t expecting it to be sweet, it’s less shocking when it tastes like a samosa.”
Gaz looked pleased. “Wait until you taste tomorrow’s batch,” he said. “Pork-pie flavor!”
“You are an affront to my sweet tooth,” Bea called after his retreating figure, and he turned to blow a kiss along with an exceedingly rude gesture.
“How’s the new gig?” I asked, turning to Cilla.
“Planning this Dutch state visit is giving even my gray hairs gray hairs. We’ve crammed a year’s worth of logistics into half that time,” she said. “Spoiler: You’ll get to wear a tiara again.”
“If Eleanor lets me go. If I fail at this assignment, she might put me on house arrest.” I glanced at Bea. “And how about you, what’s going on at your…job?”
My voice trailed up in a telltale way that Bea did not miss. She drummed her nails on the table and leveled me with a glare. “What do you think a person with my job might have going on?” she asked.
I looked to Cilla for help. “Lots of…typing,” she offered.
“And conference calls,” I said. “Many, many calls.”
“You’ve described every office job in the world,” Bea said. “Be more specific.”
“Er. Making…lists,” Cilla offered.
“Checking them twice,” I added.
Bea set her lips in a thin line. “So you think I’m Father Christmas.”
“But with horses that you teach to do cute walks,” I said.
Bea slammed her hand on the table. The petits fours jumped. “You two have no idea what I do for a living,” she said. “Nor the finer points of dressage. I knew Bex was a lost cause, but I expected better from you, Cilla.”
“My aunt once married a man she thought was a landscape architect, but it turns out he worked for MI5,” Cilla said. “Might you be doing something like that?”
“Come on, Bea,” I said. “Put us out of our misery.”
“No. You can marinate in it,” Bea said. “Back to the topic at hand.”
“Gaz’s baking career?” I asked innocently.
Bea actually snapped her fingers in front of my face. Cilla swatted her hand away.
“Leave it, Bea. She’s just been in a sex scandal.”
“Please. Everyone has been in a sex scandal,” Bea said. “Someday I’ll tell you about the time Penelope Eight-Names offered me an antique urn in exchange for a threesome with me and Gemma.” She raised a brow. “After her wedding.”
Gaz poked his head out the patio door. “I’m listening.”
“What more could there possibly be to that story?” Cilla said, popping a petit four into her mouth. “Mmm, that one’s coffee.”
“Well, we don’t know if she got the urn,” Gaz said.
I rubbed my face with my hands. “Look,” I said. “I get that it was insane to think Nick and I could cruise back into town, and that nothing would change. We might look the same on the outside, but on the inside, everything is—”
“A savory curry petit four,” Bea said drily.
“Basically,” I said. “Freddie clearly doesn’t want us all up in his business. But I don’t know how to respect his personal space and do as I’m told by Eleanor.”
“Freddie is a grown man, and he’s going to have to learn to deal with you, seeing as you don’t appear to be going anywhere,” she said.
“That makes me sound so appealing,” I said.
Cilla and Bea exchanged unreadable looks. “You’re not meant to be appealing to him, Bex,” Bea said. “You’re meant to be an unremarkable part of his day. He needs…to grow accustomed to your face.”
“Thanks, Professor Higgins.”
“You actually are my Eliza Doolittle,” Bea said. “But my point is that by keeping yourself scarce, every encounter feels fresh. Remind Freddie of how dull you actually are.”
“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Cilla jumped in, giving Bea a dirty look. “But Bea’s right that avoiding each other hasn’t fixed anything. Compel him to deal with you, like you did with Eleanor.”
“There is nothing less sexy than being tiresome,” Bea said.
“I wouldn’t be too certain,” called