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“Then I phrased it poorly.” He crosses his arms. “I mean that people in those rooms speak in code. Schools, clubs, vacation houses, old scandals, family names. You can’t learn all of it by tonight, and pretending you know it will only draw attention.”

“So I should say nothing?”

“No. You should say less and listen more.”

I sigh. “That sounds like my regular job.”

He smiles slightly. “Then you have an advantage.”

I’m not sure whether to laugh or be offended. Or just try to keep from staring at his magnificence.

“Be charming,” he says. “Be observant. Ask people about themselves. That’s the easiest way to make rich people like you.”

“Ask about themselves.”

“They love it.”

I chuckle lightly. “I’ve noticed.”

This time, he gives me a big smile. A devastating smile, and I catch myself wondering how his lips might feel against mine.

Stop it, Ella.

“Neutral topics,” he continues. “Travel. Art. Food. Culture, but only broadly. If someone mentions an artist or composer you don’t know, don’t pretend. Ask them what they love about the work.”

“That works?”

“On vain people? Always. They’ll think you’re fascinated by them.”

“What if I’m not?”

“Pretend.”

“Right.” This is all a big game of make believe, like my friends and I used to play when we were little. We’d wrap ourselves in blankets, put on our mothers’ earrings, and pretend we were going to a huge party.

I sigh as I turn my head.

On the wall beside the fireplace, above a narrow cabinet, hangs a small iron key inside a shadow box. It’s dark and old-looking, with a subtle V worked into the head and uneven teeth like broken fangs. Beneath it, engraved into a black plate, are words I’ve seen elsewhere in the house.

Mercy is the first weakness.

I hate those words.

I hated them the first time I noticed them above the old library doors, half-hidden in carved wood so ornate you might miss the cruelty if you weren’t used to cleaning around it.

Nathaniel follows my gaze.

“The key?” he asks.

I jerk my eyes back to him. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for looking.”

“I wasn’t⁠—”

“You were.”

My cheeks heat.