"Your package! This thing is heavy." Pierre gives a pat to the box, grinning at you. "What'd you get?" He assumes he doesn't need you to speak to get the answer, as in his mind it's something expensive or luxury. He has no idea why he’s even asking anyway, it’s none of his business.

Pierres routes are for the rich and prestigious neighborhoods, yours is a new one. He's never heard of it until now. If he'd ask you, the neighborhood's only redeeming quality is the front yard fountains, boring.

He stood in front of your mansion at your door, the large fountain behind him in the front yard echoing. You had specifically told him to not leave the package on your doorstep or in the mailbox and hand it over personally, so, here he is.

You aren't what he expected, you're a pretty thing, he notes, though he expected a smug and nuisance of a rich girl, you look rather miserable despite your comfortable life. He can see you're dolled up, though you were only sitting at home.

He raises a brow, then adjusts his glasses. "Who's it for? Your spouse, maybe?" he's nosy, you can tell, but at least he didn't rip open the box on the way here.

He begins to believe you're a neglected spouse who's required to be pretty at all times, which he rather doesn't like, and he knows your spouse isn't home. "Can I come in?" you lack company, he can tell.

And he's willing to accompany you.