I became a son-in-law in the United States

In the room, Mrs. Rose stood in front of the mirror, holding a pair of pearl earrings in her hand, comparing them to Gia's earlobes.

As a mother, she rarely dressed up her children; this was the first time Gia had dressed up since she grew up.

As for Catherine, she nearly died when she gave birth to her, so she didn't have much love for the child and was even somewhat indifferent to her.

After glancing at it, Mrs. Rose sighed slightly.

"This is too bland; it's not suitable for you."

After saying that, she put the earrings back in the jewelry box and then took out a pair of diamond earrings.

These earrings are teardrop-shaped and are a brand new item I just bought from Paris this year; they're about two carats.

Bathed in the sunlight streaming through the window, the diamond earrings refracted a delicate, shimmering light.

Mrs. Rose looked at them and seemed quite satisfied. "Darling, wear a pair today."

"You know, Mrs. Whitney's salon is frequented by discerning people; they scrutinize everything you wear..."

Jia nodded and sighed slightly.

She had known these so-called upper-class ladies since childhood and knew them all too well.

They secretly price everything you wear and then decide how they treat you based on those prices.

Well, it was a really boring game.

If you're not good enough, they'll look down on you and mock you.

Great, they say you're a nouveau riche with no taste.

As a qualified wife in high society, your only task is to ensure they can't find fault with you.

This time, Mrs. Rose did not hesitate and hung the earrings on Gia's body. Then she took a step back and her eyes lit up.

Eighteen-year-old Jia was stunningly beautiful, just like me when I was young.

"Darling, you are so beautiful... You should be the First Lady..."

After she finished speaking, she stood there and examined her for a moment before reaching out to tidy up Jia's hair and the wrinkles on her shoulders.

Today, Jia changed into a white evening gown. The skirt reached her knees, the waistline was very low, and a string of trendy silver tassels hung in the middle.

The cleavage was cut just right, revealing a section of the collarbone and the near-perfect lines of the neck, making her look both dignified and elegant.

Rumor has it that this dress was a handmade creation by a Parisian designer, using three-dimensional tailoring and an overall style that leans towards the elaborate Rococo style, and was prepared by Mrs. Rose long ago.

After all, in the elderly couple's plans, their daughter would eventually be thrust into the social arena.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Rose quickly changed her clothes as well.

It was a deep blue velvet evening gown, with a brooch pinned to the chest, revealing a stunning figure.

The most striking thing is that there's a sapphire under the brooch, rumored to be the prized possession of a fallen European royalty—in short, it's very tasteful.

After the two women were dressed, Mrs. Rose stepped forward and patted her daughter's shoulder and back.

"Gia, do you remember the rules of high society that I taught you before?"

Jia thought for a moment and nodded. She already knew these things without her having to say them, because Wellesley College also taught this.

In the 20s, especially in the ladies' living rooms, how to speak was an art.

"In short, remember, when you see Mrs. Whitney, always wait for her to extend her hand first before you do."

"If she doesn't reach out, just stand there and keep smiling."

"If it's a hand kiss, remember not to actually touch her arm with your lips, just a centimeter away is enough. Mrs. Whitney was very averse to this."

"Gia," Mrs. Rose paused, "did you understand what I just said?"

Jia's eyelids twitched, but she didn't say anything. She thought it was over, but little did she know that it was just the beginning.

Roosevelt, however, spoke at length, more aristocratic than European nobles, recounting all sorts of etiquette until it made one's scalp tingle.

"Also, remember to lower your voice by half a degree and slow down your speech by half a beat. If you speak too fast, people will think you are an uncultured wild girl."

"And most importantly, don't bring up your father's election campaign. If someone asks you about it, just say, 'My father wants to do something for everyone,' and smile. Don't say anything else."

Jia was speechless: "I understand."

Just then, the grandfather clock in the living room struck three, and Benson walked in to tell the two that the car was already parked at the door.

Seeing this, Mrs. Ross took her handbag from the coat rack and then straightened Gia's collar one last time.

"Now that you're married, it's time to learn how to be a wife."

After saying that, she pulled her daughter's collar down half a centimeter, vaguely revealing two round little white rabbits.

Soon, the car departed from Brookline, passed through the tree-lined Federal Avenue, and after winding around a side road, headed towards Lighthouse Hill.

Whitney Estate is not on Beacon Hill, but in the more secluded Back Bay area, which is also an affluent neighborhood and one of the most expensive areas in old Boston.

Once you enter the back bay area, the scenery changes noticeably.

The streets were lined with rows of elm trees, their canopies intertwining overhead, creating a deep and mysterious atmosphere, and even the sunlight seemed green.

A few minutes later, the car arrived at Berkeley Street, which was lined with large villas and occasionally manor houses.

Each building is quite large, and each has its own history. With the erosion of time, the estate reveals a calm and serene atmosphere. This is Boston's paradise.

When the two arrived, several cars were already parked in front of the door, all of them the latest and most fashionable models.

There were the latest Lincolns and Packards, with two uniformed male servants specifically assigned to park and open doors for people—it was incredibly impressive.

Putting everything else aside, even old Joseph himself couldn't pull off such a grand spectacle.

This refined elegance is not something money can buy; estates in the Back Bay are generally not sold to people like old Joseph.

The two got out of the car, and a handsome male servant greeted them attentively, while another person led the way.

"This way, madam," he said, glancing at Mrs. Ross as he did so.

As they walked up the stone steps, the servant pushed open the door, and the two entered the reception room.

Before them lay a black and white marble floor, all imported from São Paulo, Brazil, while a crystal chandelier overhead cast a warm yet restrained light. The male servant left, and a female servant came forward, taking their coats and bags and leading them on their way.

The corridor is filled with various displays of the Whitney family, including portraits of ancestors, military uniforms from the Revolutionary War, and so on—it's all very formal.

After walking for a while, the two finally arrived at the banquet hall, where they could hear low conversations and the clinking of porcelain.

The two hadn't arrived yet, but the banquet had already begun.

P.S.: Tuesday has arrived again before we knew it! It's a do-or-die match, so I'm asking for some help from the pros to keep reading! Thanks!