CHAPTER 30: MY LUNCH WITH THE SONDERS’ SISTERS

After the hug and some lingering awkward giggles, I was given time to settle in. A maid—whose name I promptly forgot because it sounded either French, German, or Spanish, all of which were unfamiliar to me because I only ever took intermediate Chinese as part as my graduate credit—politely guided me to my room, where my PC setup hadn’t arrived yet but the bed alone looked like it cost more than my rent for a year.

"Thank you... Miss..." I stuttered, looking at her short ginger hair and freckles beauty.

"It’s Anshur Von Rodolfo, Madam." She replied with a cold face.

"Thank you." I repeated, dare not to invoke her name in case the furniture started moving.

I took the fastest yet most thorough shower of my entire empty life in an attempt to escape the creeping scent of sweats and day-old onion powder and ramen broth.

I cleaned every nooks and crevices of my body in the giant, glamourous and oddly giant bathroom that connected to my private room... It was spacious to the point that an orgy consisting of the whole Haruno Sakura’s fanbase could be hosted in here.

Nevertheless, I got accustomed after some dancing and singing, having a blast with the echo while the wet world encaptured my soul. I deep cleaned my armpits, crotch, cracks, nape, earlopes, even toes with the shampoos and other random beauty products which I don’t think I used correctly... Am I supposed to apply whitening cream on my elbow?

Just for good measures, I even considered shaving but was too afraid to touch the expensive-ass looking shaver at the sink.

As I walked out of the bathroom with nothing on but a giant towel across my smol body, I blinked twice as I realized something.

"The fuck’s am I supposed to wear?"

I started looking around, pondering life’s ultimate question.

The ginger maid, Anshur something, took my clothes away the moment I walked into the shower. I could see that behind her stern and cold face, she was trying her best to avoid breathing in my dirty molecules. So now the question remained as to what do I wear when none of my clothes were up to filthy-rich code?

I then saw something folded neatly on the mattress, and I came over to investigate.

It was clothing.

A dress, a god damn honest to god, dress.

Soft, airy, and floral. A beautiful and high class dress that made me seem like the FMC in a period K-drama who gets tuberculosis in act two. I put it on, only for the disappointment of realizing that it was not my size, it hung loosely on my frame, clearly designed for someone with more curves, better posture, and probably better life decisions.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the makeup table; filthy at first glance, eyebags heavier than those useless Chinese pandas, and hair that puffed in directions unapproved by modern physics that I couldn’t possibly comb. I looked like, uh, a Victorian ghost being summoned to attend lunch with her kins.

By the time I was ushered into the dining hall, I had already stubbed my toe on a hallway column (why was it there?) and stepped into the wrong room twice, once accidentally interrupting a staff member doing laundry. I apologized in four languages that I barely knew from the internet... But I think I could’ve just spoken English.

The dining hall was an exquisite display of beauty and elegance, fitting for two mesmerizing heiresses to eat. I fixed my gaze upon a long expanse of polished mahogany stretched, and above us, a chandelier glittered like it was forged by angels, and in the corner, there was—and I shit you not—a real human playing piano.

He was just vibing with that one shirt thingy with two long tails, white gloves and a monocle, a design that came straight out of a medieval romance story. His eyes were closed, playing what sounded like Italian (I mean, most piano songs are), not acknowledging that yours truly, the hermit crab in a dress just entered.

Hailie was already seated at the far side, smiling like sunshine, her wheelchair turned slightly to face the table, she raised her entire upper body high just to wave at me, so I waved back, trying so hard to be tender.

Eirlys sat straight-backed at the head, her profile carved in steel elegance, giving off the kind of intimidating vibes that would make you feel guilty just for chewing too loud, and I noticed she leaning over, whispering something to the ginger maid that was in my room.

As I stood there, not knowing what to do, Anshar hurriedly over to guide me to my seat. And as this was a rather lengthy table, all three of us didn’t even breathe in each other’s direction, which was a weird change of pace, because whenever I eat in a group, I either have to rest my knees on someone else or bump shoulders.

"Ms. Smith." Anshar said, which frightened me somewhat, because I’ve never been addressed by my lastname before, "I have been instructed to guide you through the lunch, please do not panic."

"Thanks." I answered.

Alright, highend dining probably wouldn’t be that difficult, let me try! I thought as I looked down and saw the most unholy, bitchless, sweatiest, stupidest thing in existence.

The cutlery.

There were five spoons.

FIVE.

And I’m not talking about normal spoons. No, one was shaped like a tiny shovel, one had a flat edge like a tongue depressor, and the others might’ve been weapons in disguise and I was supposed to stab someone with it and this is a test of character.

There were also like three forks, four knives, and something that looked like it was meant for dissecting frogs. Next to my empty plate was a napkin folded into what I assumed was a swan. I tried to unfold it discreetly, but it snapped open like a parachute and I accidentally dropped it onto the floor.

A random maid rushed to pick it up while Anshar placed a hand on my shoulder, not allowing me to bend down to pick them up myself. I almost died from embarrassment and self cringe.

On the other side, Eirlys delicately reached for her water glass, somehow someway even her fingers were delicate, with the pinky at the bottom and the thumb touching the middle finger after they wrapped.

Hailie herself must’ve been accustomed to the lifestyle, as she unfold her napkin with great precision and placed it on her thigh... Oh right, yeah, that’s how people use napkin, I remember now.