Mr. President, I Don't Love You

Settling into the mansion, I finally got why Mr. Taylor needed me around.

The young maid threw me shade while Mrs. Warner, the housekeeper, tried to smooth things over, telling me she's just green and doesn't know better, and I should let it slide, even dropping that her grandma was Mr. Taylor's grandma's cousin or something.

I laughed it off and sent her to tackle my walk-in closet.

Seriously? As if I'm here to wait on her. Dealing with her is practically in my job description.

She kept her act together for a mere two days. After a quick trip back from college, my closet was suspiciously light on some clothes and bling.

Eyes blazing, she accused me of making stuff up, claiming I didn't treat her like a human, just because I looked down on her social class.

I fired up the closet cam, and there she was, drooling over my jewels, sneaking into my outfits, and — no surprise — splitting the seams because they didn't fit.

"You're just blowing Logan's cash! Grandma wanted me to marry him, you stole my chance, and now you dare argue over a few outfits?"

Before I could snap back, the girl stormed out, crushed.

Her drama was quite the performance; even Mr. Taylor's oddball relatives weren't this much trouble.

I had Mrs. Warner on standby with some aspirin, knowing the real drama with the old ladies was about to kick off.

Barely two hours later, Logan's mom, Nancy Taylor, barged in with an entourage of fuming grannies.

They flopped down on the sofa, demanding I kneel.

"Jessie, back in the day, a woman's jealousy could have gotten you dunked in a pig cage! Being a Taylor means holding yourself with dignity. Logan has his status now, and it's no biggie even if he has an affair. Granny's decided, Bianca stays here; maid work's beneath her."

"And you! Nancy, a mother-in-law having me sort out these petty issues, lucky to even marry into our family, and not a shred of gratitude. I wonder how your mother raised you."

The Taylor aunts and grannies began their tirades, criticizing everything from my education to my family background.

I stormed into the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and slammed it down on the coffee table, "Excuse the outburst. Give you an inch, and you take a mile, thinking you can strut around because you're tight with the big guy upstairs! Plus, it's my house, my rules. Meddlers can take an early grave for all I care."

The grannies' faces were an array of expressions, I pried open their mouths and had Mrs. Warner shove the aspirin down, watching them shuffle off with shaky steps. Nancy sighed deeply, suggesting I shouldn't have clashed with them.

They're elders after all, and it's not a good look for me.

Seeing her worry, I understood why Mr. Taylor insisted I handle this circus.

Nancy couldn't muster the backbone, and he couldn't intervene too much as her son.

Curious, I asked how she's endured it all these years,

"A moment of patience saves a thousand of sorrow. Besides, I'm younger; they'll pass on in a few years, and I'll be free."

That gave me a good laugh, not hopeless, just trapped by a lifetime of decorum.

"My mom and I hold a different view. Hold your tongue, risk your health. Step back, and risk even more. Let things slide, and you're asking for trouble. Stand your ground, and the sky's the limit. I'm not around for a century; I might as well enjoy life, no point fretting over false honors."

She stared at me as if I were an alien.

then silently nodded her head, her grip tightening and loosening on my hand.

Mr. Taylor came home that night and handed me a sapphire, commending my actions.

I clutched that gem, showering it with kisses—what a score.

It was crystal clear today; he cared solely about his mother's feelings, even wanted her to take a leaf out of my book.

As for the rest of the grannies, if they don't mess with me, I won't mess with them; if they do, I'll hit back twice as hard!