"YOU got a job as a what?"

I laugh. "You don't have to sound so shocked about it."

"I am very shocked about it," Heather says over the phone. "I mean, a farm helper!"

"It is a drastic career change," I admit, "but it's not my real job."

"What do you mean?"

I flop back onto the bed. Now that I'm officially staff, I've been moved out of the guest bedroom and into the accommodation downstairs. The staff's living quarters are much plainer and any other day I might have moped around and complained, but right now I'm too preoccupied with my thoughts to care.

Maybe it's a test. That's the only possible explanation I can think of. Before his son takes over the family business, Hayate wants to make sure he gets a taste of the hard life first. That's why he made Satoh Akai the farm manager. As an exercise in the importance of honest work and humility. It won't be the first time rich people have done such a thing; the Obamas did it, as well as the Beckhams.

Yes, that must be it. And good for him too. Can't have my future husband squandering away his fortunes. Besides, this means I'll be spending nearly every day with Akai, which means multiple opportunities to execute the Iris Monet Guide To Hooking A Man. Which means shorter time needed to achieve success, and wedding bells on the near horizon! I resist the urge to wiggle my toes in excitement.

Flipping around so I'm lying on my stomach, I pour everything out to my sister. The Satohs, the company, and my plan to snag the first-born son. I told her about the job interview, and the tales I spun up. Honestly, my quick ingenuity scares me.

I finish my tale, and there's silence for a whole minute.

"Iris." Just that one word is enough to catapult an image into my mind – Heather standing in the middle of her living room, eyebrows pinched as she presses her thumb against the bridge of her nose.

"Iris," she says again. "I don't think you understand how marriage works."

"It's business. Remember what Father said? It's all business."

"You're using him as your role model? Really? Have you learned nothing from your previous marriage?"

"I have!" I protest. "My marriage failed because Jared is a cheating jerk. Ergo, I just need to make sure Akai won't cheat on me."

Heather makes a sound of derision. "What, you'll tie him up in a basement all day?"

"Nothing that barbaric. I mean, look at you and your husband. He doesn't cheat on you. Why? Because he's in love," I emphasize. "People who are in love with their partners don't cheat."

It takes a few seconds for Heather to process this. "Your new plan is to get a rich man to fall genuinely in love with you ... while you cold-heartedly spend his money?"

I sit up, feeling defensive. "That's not what I said! When he falls in love with me, I'll fall in love back, and then we'll get married." Preferably in Paris. Or South Korea. I've heard Jeju's beautiful in winter.

"You can't plan love like that." Heather sounds the most exasperated I've ever heard her. "You can't just decide you'll love the man ahead of time!"

I'm a little stung by the hostility of her tone. "I don't get it. If he's rich and loyal and treats me nice, why won't I love him?"

"This is absurd. You and Jared's marriage; putting the lack of true love aside, it was still acceptable because both of you knew what you were getting into. It was mutually consenting and mutually beneficial. But what you've just told me, that's gold-digging, Iris. You're becoming a gold-digger."

My voice turns sulky, petulant. "You don't know for sure that I won't fall in love with Akai."

"No, I don't. But what I do know is that you are going to enter the relationship with a motive. An ulterior motive that you're not telling the poor man. What if he truly falls in love with you, and you end up getting up what you want: a proposal to be his wife? Can you honestly tell me that when he's on his knee, your rich man, you can look him in the face and say: you're everything I want, but I don't love you, and to marry you would be putting you through the most painful lie?"

"But I don't understand!" I burst out. "If he's everything I want, why won't I be in love with him? You just said – "

"If you go through with this, you'll be doing exactly what our father did to Mom."

It's like someone has taken the most awful thing in the world and slapped me across the face with it. Then stab a knife into my heart, making sure to twist as it goes in.

My hands shake. "That's not fair. You've crossed a line."

"Iris – "

But I've hung up. I can't hear anymore. She knew how much those words would hurt me. She knows better than anyone else.

But what if she's right? something inside me whispers. What if she's right, and you're wrong?

No. I can't think about that. I can't afford to think that. I'm nothing like Heather. I'm not someone who graduated with a first-class engineering degree, who's had years of work experience under her belt, who's capable of affording her own car and her own home.

What I'm doing right now is the only thing I've ever known how to do. It's the best I can do.

I don't know how to be anything else.

£

Next morning sees me rifling through a pile of clothes as I try to decide what to wear. Anita took me down to the shops yesterday, and by the end of my shopping spree I've emptied out my purse plus owe the housekeeper 80 pounds and 37 pence. I would have spent more, but Anita's blunt comments on practicality and sensibility felt like a slap on the wrist every time I reached for something.

Just looking at the no-brand, thrifted clothing fills me with despair, and my mind keeps straying longingly to the London wardrobe I left behind. I dive once more into the pile and this time emerge with a somewhat acceptable white blouse and denim shorts.

A light touch of gloss on my lips comes next, then some eyeliner. I'm still missing about six layers of make-up and Kenneth's magical touch, but this isn't half that bad. I can already picture today: Akai and I brushing the horses side by side; maybe even riding together, his arms gently around my waist as we gallop into the setting sun ...

But first, a well-constructed apology. I've got it all planned out, of course.

First, approach Akai with an air of bashful awkwardness. Before he can say anything, I'll blurt out: "I'm sorry we got off the wrong foot the other day! It's just that I value my modesty highly, and I was a bit flustered when you ..." My voice trails off here, and an adorable pinkish blush will grace my cheeks. "Believe me when I say that I felt absolutely mortified over what I did, and I'm truly sorry about what happened. Maybe I can make it up to you somehow."

All this while, I'll have kept my eyes lowered to the ground. But now I'll look up at him shyly, and deliver the finishing one-liner – "Are you free for lunch?"

It's the perfect tactical strategy. Not only will I convey a demure sort of attractiveness, I'll also succeed in securing myself a first date. Excellent!

Akai is already waiting for me by the barn. Dressed in covered shoes, khakis, and an old linen shirt, he seems more comfortable than the last time I saw him in a suit.

Clearing my throat, I prepare to launch into my speech, but Akai speaks first.

"Are you sure you want to wear that?"

I look down at my outfit. "What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing." He hesitates. "I'm just not sure it's appropriate."

Whoa, whoa, whoa. What is this? Have I just stepped back into the 16th century? Can't a girl wear shorts to do outdoor work without being discriminated? We are in summer after all, and Hayate never specified attire. Why would he take issue with –

A light bulb pops off in my head. Ah. I get it.

He's scared he can't focus. After all, he probably doesn't see many beautiful women around, even less so women of my calibre. The denim shorts and my long, toned legs ... I can see how it's overwhelming for any man.

"Why? Do you find it distracting?" I tease.

There's a long moment of silence. The tiniest muscle twitches in Akai's jaw.

"Not at all," he says at last. "Please. Wear whatever you deem fit."

Pushing open the barn door, he enters the building and I hurry after him. "By the way," I begin, "I'm really sorry we got off the wrong foot the other day."

Akai starts pulling on a pair of rubber gloves.

"You see," I persist, "I value my modesty highly, and I was a bit flustered when – "

The acrid smell of rotten eggs hits me squarely in the face like a giant garbage truck. It chokes my airways with such force that it sends me physically reeling. Clamping both hands over my nose, I retch violently.

"What the hell is that?"

Akai glances over. "It's cow dung. Aren't you used to it?"

"Why would I be used to the stink of cow dung?" I gag again. Jesus, this smells exactly like the time our neighbour's sewers got clogged. I almost sued him for olfactory harassment, until Martha pointed out that a) not only was there no such thing, but b) it wasn't even our neighbour's fault.

A frown takes shape on Akai's face. "Didn't you tell Mr Satoh you handled cattle before?"

Right. I did say that.

"Masks are over there, if you need one." He jerks his chin at a shelf near the wall.

I take a step toward the masks, then stop. What am I thinking? I can't wear a mask! Not when I've spent the whole morning on my make-up!

I turn back. "I'm fine. I'm used to. Smell. Of. Dung." Maybe if I speak like a robot, I won't have to take such deep breaths.

"You forgot your gloves," Akai points out.

I scurry to where they are and return with a pair. The gloves are this horrid yellow shade that clashes with my blouse and for a second I contemplate not putting them on. But if we're dealing with literal bullshit ... I shudder as rubber squelches over my skin. They feel nothing like the pearly white riding gloves I used to wear.

Akai passes me a pitchfork, and the second he lets go the equipment hits the ground. Gosh, this is heavy. I struggle to lift it up, and all the time Akai is watching me with an impassive look on his face. I feel the pressure to come up with an excuse.

"The thing is, I used, uh, a different tool, back at my old employers. A lady's pitchfork. Much lighter."

"I see." I honestly can't tell if Akai believes me or not.

The barn is wide and roomy, with high windows that allow ample sunlight in. The stalls and coops are currently empty of any animals.

"We keep two cows and four chickens here," Akai explains. "They're currently out in pasture. I'm not sure how your old routine was like, but here it's pretty standard stuff – mucking out, changing water, putting new feed and so on."

I find myself nodding along. Even though I have absolutely no idea what he's just said.

Akai walks over to a large area dotted with black piles. It's where the stench is the strongest, and it takes me a minute to realize that I'm looking at cow manure.

"Stack the cow dung in that wheelbarrow over there, and then we can spread it over the pasture as fertilizer."

Akai rolls up the sleeves of his linen shirt and starts scooping. For a second I'm mesmerized at the way his arms move with each flex of his muscles. His hands are rough, tanned; nothing like Jared's pale, smooth ones.

He stops, raising an eyebrow. "Yes?"

I snap out of it. "Nothing. Just uh, thinking about how grateful I am. To get a job. Here." I jab my pitchfork at a pile of cow dung and suddenly remember about my apology plan. Where did I stop? Ah, yes. Being flustered.

"As I was saying. I was flustered at the way you suddenly ... well." I shoot a sideways glance at Akai, but his gaze is focused entirely on cow poop. "Believe me when I say that I feel mortified over what I did, and I'm really sorry about what happened. Maybe there's a way I can make it up to you."

As I'm saying this, I'm lifting the cow dung up to toss it into the wheelbarrow. Here's a tip: don't wear sandals on a gunky barn floor. Even if they're beige ones with pretty daisies that make you think how cute! and wow, only 4 pounds 99 pence? when you first lay eyes on them in the local thrift store.

There's a breathless second as fork, shit, and me obey the inexorable laws of gravity – and then my back smacks against the barn floor and all I'm seeing is ceiling. The pitchfork misses my head, clattering down a couple of inches away. The cow dung, however, was more on-point. It hits my chest dead centre and splatters all over my bare legs.

Ooze seeps into my hair and bile rises fast in my stomach.

I don't move for a long minute. Right now, I want nothing more than a large hole to open up and make me disappear.

Footsteps. Akai peers down at me politely.

"Would you like to change your clothes now?"