I don’t know what to make of Finley. One minute she can barely stand being in the same room as me and the next, she’s acting like I hurt her feelings. She appeared almost disappointed when I asked her to be my fake girlfriend.Is it possible she wants to be my real girlfriend?And if that’s the case, then why is she prickly all the time? I suppose I won’t learn the answer until we get to know each other better.
For my last shot of the day, Finley has decided I should be a duke. She walks to the costume rack and pulls out a pair of fitted trousers, riding boots, and yet another blousy white shirt. Actually, this one is more frilly than blousy. “Roll the sleeves up like it’s been an exhausting day,” she orders. “And leave the top four button undone.”
“What have I been doing all day that’s made me so tired?” I ask. I seriously have no idea what a duke does to wear himself out.
Finley shrugs her shoulders before tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. She repeats this gesture often and it’squite endearing. “I don’t know. Just pretend that lording it over people has done you in.”
I laugh out loud. “Lording it over people, huh?”
As Finley walks away, she says, “Margaret and Bob love the snooty duke theme. Margaret has loaned me several books in the genre but I haven’t read them yet.” She confides, “I don’t think bodice rippers are my jam.”
“They’re not mine, either,” I assure her. That comment makes her chuckle.
“I wouldn’t think so,” she says. “I think they’re geared more toward women.”
Instead of going into the bathroom, I stand behind the costume rack to change. I take off the ripped jeans and put on the duke’s pants. “If they’re geared toward women, why don’t you like them?” I want to know.
She’s quiet for a long beat before answering, “I feel like women are always second-class citizens in them. You know, they’re being betrothed by their fathers or ordered around by societal dictates. That stuff makes me uncomfortable.”
“I get that,” I tell her. “But I think it has more to do with the fantasy of it all. You know, being forced into something and then discovering it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”
“I don’t think real life is likeBridgerton,” she says.
“What isBridgerton?” I lean over to put a boot on and nearly lose my balance.
“It’s a show on Netflix. The story comes from bodice ripper books that have been turned into a television show.”
“And you don’t like the show?”
“I haven’t watched it,” she says. “Allie says it’s good though. She says if I can catch up to the current season, we could watch it together. I just haven’t gotten around to starting it.”
I don’t know what comes over me, but I suggest, “Maybe we could watch it together. That’s something friends would do, right?”
“I … um …”
Finley doesn’t finish her sentence, so I add, “And we’ve decided we’re friends, right?”
“Yes?” It’s more of a question than a statement of fact.
I hurry to put on my duke shirt before stepping out from behind the costume rack. Finley takes one look at me and inhales sharply.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Did I put this on backwards or something?” I didn’t know if the laces on the pants went in the front or back.
Her silky blonde hair moves from side to side. “No. You look fine.”
“Again with the fine,” I tell her. “I thought I looked darn good.”
Finley turns around and leads the way to another set. The background looks like a gentleman’s library. There’s an oriental rug on the floor and on top of that is a chaise lounge. Gesturing toward the little sofa, she says, “Recline on that and let’s see how you look.”
Instead of moving I stare at her blankly. I’m not quite seeing her vision.
In response, she sits down on the chaise and shows me what she wants. “You need to exude sexy entitlement. You know,” she says, “Like it’s just so hard and rewarding being you.”
I snort under my breath. “You seem to have a good grasp on what this genre entails for someone who doesn’t read it or watch it.”
“I’ve seen all the renditions of the Jane Austen movies,” she says matter of factly. “My mom was a hugeMasterpiece Theaterfan. She practically forced me to watch them with her.”
“And?” I ask. “Did you enjoy them?”
