Book 2: Who Else Knows the Secret?

Ainslee

“Once again, Princess. This is eggshell. This is ecru. There’s a difference,” Mrs. Dotty says, holding the napkins half an inch from my nose.

“Really?” I reply, wide-eyed. “Now, you say this one is eggshell and this one is ecru? Maybe we should go back to the alabaster or the ivory…”

Mrs. Dotty, who I have dubbed ‘Mrs. Snotty’ in my head, turned so angry red she was almost purple. “We already ruled out the alabaster and the ivory, Princess.”

“Did we? I’m sorry, it’s all mixing together in my head. Maybe we should look at them again just in case,” I simper, for all the world a woman without two brain cells to rub together.

Mrs. Dotty has decided this, at least. But she is too prim and proper to say so. And she is too prim and proper to outright correct me, contradict me, or blow up at me. Since I have to approve all this crap like it matters, I’ve decided I’m going to do my level best to make this woman lose her cool. It would be