Maybe I would find a post she’d made years ago about how crazy she was about Jesse. Seeing something like that would admittedly suck for me, but it might make me feel better about being involved in Alex’s scheme.
To my surprise, instead of finding the kind of post I was looking for, I ended up not finding any posts at all. Not anywhere. Eliza Roderick didn’t seem to exist online.
I frowned. Eugenie and Winnie were all over, and a cursory scroll through their profiles revealed a few pictures and videos of Eliza in the background, but that was it. It was almost impressive, considering the Rodericks had one of the most polished public family images I’d ever seen. The estate’s pages had thousands of followers, their posts drawing engagement from tourists and locals alike.
There were beautifully staged pictures of the grounds, random facts about their family history as funny anecdotes. Their crest was everywhere and the content managed to be informative, but not boring. Honestly, it was professional as hell.
That was when it clicked. The estate. The tours. The events. The immaculate social media presence for the Roderick family estate.
It had to be her. It had Eliza written all over it. Organized, thoughtful, and quietly competent, it was the kind of workthat looked effortless because someone had put an enormous amount of effort into it behind the scenes.
So sheisonline. Just invisible.
I took a sip of my drink and stared at nothing in the middle distance for a long minute as I mulled that over. Clearly, this woman didn’t want to be in the public eye as anything more than her family’s representative.
She worked hard and it seemed she did whatever her family needed. If her father asked this of her, she might even say yes.Knowing all that,can I actually do this?
Morally, probably not.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t like I had much of a choice. Maybe there was even an upside to this. If I put my back into it, I could be a better Jesse for her. A version of him that was at least close to something she actually deserved.
Alex and our fathers were racing full-steam ahead with this arrangement, which meant that all three of us were in a corner—and none of us were being given the option to get out.
CHAPTER 6
ELIZA
Ifound my father in the sitting room with the curtains thrown wide, the late afternoon sunshine pouring in. Winnie was sprawled across the sofa like a casualty of war, with one arm flung over her eyes. At least she’d finally washed her makeup off and changed into pajamas.
Someone, probably housekeeping, had left a tray of tea and toast on the table, but it was untouched except one miserable bite taken out of the dry toast. Father stood by the window overlooking the lake, his hands clasped behind his back in a stiff, formal posture.
Now that he was back from his precious golf game, I didn’t bother easing into it. “I’m not going to pretend this is acceptable.”
He turned slowly, but there was no surprise on his features. Clearly, he’d expected this. “It doesn’t matter whether or not you find it acceptable. It’s still going to save us.”
“Save us?” I echoed. “In what possible way issellingWinnie to some strangers going tosaveus, Father?”
“It’s going to save theestate,” he said sternly. “It needs repairs, Eliza. Serious ones. The west wing alone?—”
“I know what the estate needs,” I cut in. “I’mthe one who manages it, after all.”
His jaw tightened slightly but he pressed on. “It cannot continue on forever unless we have a donor like the Westwood family.”
“They aren’t donating anything,” I said sharply. “They’re using Winnie as a means to get a future Earl with Westwood blood.”
He waved the accusation away like it was no more than a minor technicality. “Oh, I’m not worried about that.”
“What?”
“I need an heir, Eliza. A male heir and money for the estate. This is a way to get both.”
Behind me, Winnie groaned softly, mumbling into the cushions as if she couldn’t care less about the subject matter presently under discussion. “Can you two not? My head isliterallysplitting open.”
I turned on her. “This concerns you, Winifred.”
“It concerns Future Me,” she muttered. “Current Me is hungover.”
“We’re talking about yourmarriage, Winnie.” I stressed the word in the hopes that it would alert her of the seriousness of this situation.
