Oh, you sillies.
*I* am the butler.
At least at home. It's become a running joke. Ben and I take turns fetching juice late at night. We really adored having a butler when we stayed in New York but none of the guys here will go for it so we split the job in half.
Please.
My silver spoons are not in my mouth, they're all in a drawer, bent by Jacob, straightened by Ben. I may call myself a princess but most of that is simply wishful thinking.
The lot of you, on the other hand, well, let's just say thanks. You're learning. Instead of a hard time about sleeping in Lochlan's bed, you all wanted to know if I actually had a butler here at the new house.
Seriously, wow.
We're making progress.
