Tuesday—November 24th, 2020

What people didn't know about Francesca Bridgerton was that she lied all the time.

She lied to her neighbor, Mrs. Kern, when she assured her that she walked her dog three times a day and watered her plants while she went to Atlantic City to win the money for her son's sad operation (or for her own elective plastic surgery—Francesca wasn't sure).

She lied to the Ladies of the Hamptons Admissions Committee that she cared about her future and her education, but she would rather focus her life around becoming the perfect housewife to her future husband.

She lied to Jessa from Trig when she assured her that Ralph from that time at Flo's Diner would call her. Jessa traveled a lot with her parents on weekends and because Francesca was Francesca, Jessa would let her use her empty place when Francesca needed to escape Bridgerton Manor.

She had lied to Mom every time she'd told her she'd stayed the night at Jessa's when really Francesca had stayed over at her boyfriend's house. She lied to herself that she needed to lie about her whereabouts. She hadn't been a virgin since she was fifteen and she had the strangest feeling that her whole family was aware of that, even though nobody ever brought it up.

She often spent the night with John until he would leave in the morning for his early arithmetic class. Francesca lied to him that she thought accounting was a worthwhile subject to study.

She lied to Mica when she won their chess game in the Square Park, and the price of her loss was her supposed obligation to answer Truth to Mica's midnight question. Mica said she'd watched five men trip over themselves from checking Francesca out while she merely glared at them. Mica wanted to know how many boys Francesca had slept with. 13, Francesca had said, when the truth was minus eleven.

She lied to John when she promised him he'd been her first. He hadn't. Her first had been that exchange student who only stayed in Great Hamptons for about two months. Francesca couldn't even remember his name.

She lied to the three different men—and one girl—at Flo's Diner today, who eyed her in the wall mirror and then wanted to sit in the empty chair opposite hers. Francesca pretended she didn't understand a word of English. They could go sit themselves elsewhere. Francesca placed her feet up on the empty chair, to reserve it for Mica.

She lied to Flo, the earthly diner owner, that she even consumed anything of hers while lounging around in the chairs, killing time.

She lied to Eloise when she told her she had gotten over that time they fought and Eloise said she deserved a much better twin. Francesca never forgot anything bad people said about her. It stuck to her like tattoos, like unseen proof that she wasn't a good person and that people only liked her for her looks.

She lied to Violet that she had no memory of her dad so Violet wouldn't feel the need to comfort her or anything, when it was clear that she was the one who needed more comforting in that house. Well, her and Tony.

She lied to Daphne when she said that she believed her business would make it through. It's not that Francesca didn't think Daphne could pull it off. Just that Daphne was lenient to self-sabotage.

She lied to Benedict when she told him she liked that painting he'd made of her—she looked like a donkey in a dress.

She lied to all the related parties when she let them believe John called to check in on her whenever they weren't together. John never worried about Francesca. He knew she was with his sister.

She lied to every single person in her life, every day, when she pretended to attend classes at the Community College. She had dropped out before her first semester was over and had no intention of coming back.

All in all, she lied more than she could account for—not that she'd ever want to do that.

When Mica finally joined Francesca at Flo's, she was breathless and red-cheeked from running in the cold. She collapsed in the chair Francesca had reserved for her and Francesca handed her the hot chocolate Flo comped for her. "Get up," she told Mica. "We gotta go."

"Why, Fran?" she pleaded. "Why? I only just got here."

Francesca grabbed her free hand and they were off. "Trust me," she said.

Mica didn't ask where she was being led to. "Was it so necessary to make me miss the Street café study session with that cute boy from my art class to freeze to death on a Tuesday morning?"

It would not be a lie for her to say she liked the cold. It was what Francesca yearned for most—to shiver.

"Can you just let me have this today?" she asked. "I just wasted two hours of my life on a counseling session with a high school counselor. I was forced to withstand this pain in order to appease my family. It was a great sacrifice."

"Liar. Your mom told me it was your idea. She said you seemed 'out of sorts' and that she was proud you were taking steps to finding your true calling."

"Why do you keep calling my mother?!"

Mica shrugged. "She's good talk."

Francesca stopped them at a fence in front of a schoolyard playground. The school building behind it was massive, dank and dirty, graffiti-covered, with bars on the windows. The playground was all blacktop surrounded by dilapidated fence grating.

"I think we should get married here," she told Mica.

"Oh, my darling Franny, you're making me swoon from the gritty romance of it all," Mica teased but her tone of voice was all wrong. Sharp, a bit bitter even.

"Not you and me get married here, Mica. Me and he." Francesca pointed to the other side of the street where a runner had just stopped to drink from a water bottle. He was tall and muscular, and when he reached an arm up the white T-shirt he was wearing clinged to his stomach showcasing his six pack. He moved his head to the left and presented his beautiful face for the girls full viewing pleasure.

Mica's eyes met Francesca's. "Okay. He's worth missing an art class for," she said, smiling.

"Isn't he?" Francesca said. "Do you know who that is?"

"Should I?"

Francesca stomped her foot on the ground, annoyed. "Have you not read HG this morning?" she exclaimed, grabbing her phone to shove it in Mica's face. "Read it. Quickly."

Mica read.

What Everyone Sees But Nobody Talks About Nº375

When the subject is men, we women find ourselves with divided opinions.

Truth time: it is not our fault.

When we're at pre-school, we are taught a very simple, very damaging lesson that sticks with us for all our lives: you know that jackass that used to pull your hair and push you in mud ponds? Yes, him. Every girl knows that one. Well, your mothers, teachers and aunts carry the heavy responsibility to convince you that this jackass, in reality, REALLY LIKES YOU.

Yes, girls. You heard it right. If he is giving himself the trouble to pick on you it's definitely because he has a CRUSH.

So then, once you get a little older and a new boy comes along and starts slamming you against the locker, or putting gum on your hair, or tripping you on the halls, you naturally start to feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

And that, ladies, is how your life becomes a succession of failed relationships—and again it's not your fault because you have been taught to fall in love with jackasses.

Congratulations to us— we have all played ourselves.

It has come to my attention that the current most acceptable term for 'that-jackass-you-secretly-love' seems to be "player". Yes, we are disguising a very bad personality problem as something desirable, yet unattainable. And when the topic is players, I have come to the conclusion that the average young woman of GH has the unrealistic idea that she is going to be the chosen one to tame the heart of one them.

So because I am a great sport, I'm going to give you a clue.

A player (lower-case) is a youthful, immature young man who flaunts his exploits, behaves with utmost idiocy and thinks himself dangerous to women.

A Player (upper-case) knows he is dangerous to women. He doesn't flaunt his exploits because he doesn't need to. He knows he will be whispered about by men and women alike, and in fact, he'd rather they didn't whisper about him at all. He knows who he is and what he has done; further recountings are, to him, redundant. He doesn't behave like an idiot for the simple reason that he isn't an idiot. He has little patience for the foibles of society and in all honesty, most of the time I can't say I blame him.

Why am I telling you all of this? Well, ladies, I'm sure you don't need me to tell you this but some so-called heartbreakers have very recently set foot in town. Spotted during what looked like a very serious conversation with Anthony Bridgerton was no other than the late Mr. Hastings's son, Simon Basset, now heir to Global Hastings and all that it entails. While it is common knowledge that his father was the reason that drove Simon Basset out of the tons, nobody quite knows how deep that goes.

Not even me; make of that what you will.

But yet another prodigal son has returned home. Gareth St. Clair was seen about town for the first time in two years.

So here it is. If the description above fits the man you have a crush on, I beg you, beware. You are not the chosen one. There are rules for this type of thing and you are not going to be anyone's exception. That is not how the world works. We don't live in fairytale land. So don't let yourselves fall for the wrong man, yet, again. Look for someone who is your friend first. Someone you can count on. Someone who is always there for you.

Or you might just live to regret it.

Don't say I didn't warn you,

Hamptons Girl

"So that's... Simon Basset?" She concluded, raising her eyes just in time to watch the man resume his run and disappear in the next corner. "Handsome and rich? I wouldn't want to be him. He's going to be all everyone talks about. Not a minute of privacy."

"What could you possibly need privacy for, Mica?" Francesca teased. Her friend was the most open and honest person she knew. "Are you planning something on that pretty head of yours? A date? Something more?"

"Oh shush."

"No, I mean it. You should go for it. Seduce him, by all means."

Mica laughed out loud. "I couldn't seduce a guy like that if my life depended on it."

"You could."

Their eyes met and Francesca would've blushed if she wasn't always in control of her emotions. She wished that for once she could say something true, that she could share her feelings with her friend.

Look for someone who is your friend first. Someone you can count on. Someone who is always there for you.

She wished that she wasn't such a coward.

Instead she said: "You two would be like a power couple. And I would be the one who brought you two together. Nothing would make me happier, you know."

Mica looked down at her shoes. "Nothing, uh?"

"You should know to trust me, Mica," Francesca insisted. Even when I'm lying, she added in her head.