And that was the exact moment I stopped wondering whether marrying him had been a mistake.
The woman Patricia fired was Maria.
She had worked in the Whitmore mansion for eleven years.
Maria stood beside the kitchen doorway clutching her handbag, her eyes wet with embarrassment.
“You can leave now,” Patricia said coldly. “We have someone younger to take over.”
Then she turned toward me.
I was still wearing the silk robe Daniel had given me for our honeymoon.
“Breakfast is served at seven. Laundry every Monday. Bathrooms twice a week. Daniel prefers his shirts pressed.”
I looked down at the apron lying near my feet.
“You fired Maria because you expect me to replace her?”
Patricia smiled.
“You married into a wealthy family, sweetheart. Surely you didn’t think your role was
