The Gorgeous Swap

Prologue

PROLOGUE

Maria Elizabeth Jane C. Watson sighed. Her servant didn't get her.

"I told you what I wanted. I said fuchsia," she drawled in her silky British accent. "Not pink."

Her servant was flustered. "But Miss Watson... Pink was the only color of flats they had in stock in Target..."

"Also that," Libby continued. "Target is the American department store. I said, mall."

"But, Miss Watson, at least I still got you pink..."

"I said fuchsia. Pink is pink. Fuchsia is fuchsia. Now what will I wear with my dress, hmm?" the teenage madam huffed in frustration.

When Libby's parents got her the servant, they said he was 'highly educated'. And then he showed up with a pair of pink flats when she specifically asked for fuchsia.

"Perhaps you are color blind," she waved her hand to dismiss the servant. "You're efforts were appreciated. Go now."

"Yes, Miss Watson."

"Oh, and get me some tea. Chamomile shall do."

"Yes, Miss Watson."

"And when you are done with your chores, you may return to your apartment."

"Yes, Miss Watson." And he scurried off.

Libby sighed once more. One more day in wretched America to see her overly enthusiastic cousin get married to a man named Bob. And then she would leave for London, with the nice gloomy weather and most importantly, Harrods. Harrods with the imported chocolates section and the amazing smells of the Rotisserie.

She missed London.

Suddenly, the servant hurried in with a steaming cup of fresh Chamomile tea. She sniffed then took a sip.

"Ew," she said calmly in the most ladylike manner she could muster. "What is this mess, burnt rubber?"

The servant looked at her, bewildered. "Chamomile tea, Miss Watson, like you asked."

"Blasted Americans," Libby grumbled. She then threw the drink, including the cup, into the trash. "You may now go to your home."

"Thank you Miss Watson," the servant said. He had cringed when she said 'blasted Americans'. Technically, she had offended him. He was an American. "Good-bye, Miss Watson."

"Cheerio," she replied absentmindedly, the taste of the disgusting Chamomile tea still lingering on her tongue.

* * * * *

"That little madam!" John said savagely. "'Pink is pink. Fuchsia is fuchsia.'" he mimicked Libby Watson some more. If her parents had not promised him the money, he would not have taken the job.

His mind wandered back to the day when he applied for the job.

"Hello," a kind looking woman had said. She was elegant, with big fat pearls strung around her neck. She'd wore a pink blazer and a black pencil cut skirt and black pumps to match. "Are you..." she consulted a paper. "...Jonathan Sylvester?"

He'd nodded.

After a lot of questions, Mrs. Watson had leaned in. "You seem fit for the job. How about... three thousand U. S. dollars for three days?"

John had almost fainted. "Three thousand?"

"Yes. You're thirty-seven years of age, a grown man. I think you can handle Libby. She's just sixteen, you know. But she can be quite a handful," Mrs. Watson had told him.

John hadn't listened to that part. His mind had been only concentrating on the fact that he'd have three thousand dollars just for being a servant. And only for three days, too!

"I'll take it."

"Thank you, Jonathan."

"DAD!" a voice called, interrupting his thoughts.

His sixteen year old daughter came running down to meet him.

"Oh, god, Dad. Ella just pooped on your bed. And it STINKS. Like, legit."

John laughed. His daughter was so different from Miss Watson.

"And then, and then...!" she was out of breath. "And then Uncle Jamie came in and sat on the bed and he was, like, 'Whoa there! What the damn thin' is tha'?!' And then Ella just came in, as if on cue, jumped onto Uncle Jamie's lap and, and...!" she was laughing too hard to continue.

"Okay, okay," John said.

Her pretty face turned serious. "How was work, Dad."

John forced a smile on his face. "Great. Everything's fine."

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HAVE YOU SEEN THE AMAZING COVER @fairygarden MADE? ISN'T IT GORGEOUS??? THANKS FOR THAT:)

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