Page 125 of Cinderella Is Faking It

“Touché.”

“I grew up without books. My parents just weren’t big readers. I later fell in love with reading because of my English teachers. I started making up stories because of my English teachers. I want to help kids find the story they didn’t know they were looking for, whether that’s in a book or in their own writing. I don’t want to negotiate deals or discuss marketing strategies, sit in an office and stare at contracts all day.” She tilted her head from side to side and waited for a giggling group of girls to get their drinks and leave, before she continued: “I could have gone to any school to become a teacher, I suppose, but you know me. Inquisitive by nature, so if I can learn from the best, I’ll learn from the best.”

“Would you consider giving it up when you sell your book?”

“I don’t know. I can’t even consider that yet.” She shrugged. “I’ll have to finish writing the damn thing first.”

“Alright, I’ll ask again when you do.”

We continued working side by side until the punch ran out and the overhead lights flickered on. The last students trickled out, while I handed Del empty cups and she tossed them in a big bin.

“Good night, folks. Another one for the books. I’ll see you all on Monday.” Principal Brown clapped his hands together and beelined out the door when the roughest mess was cleared up, the rest to be left for the custodians and cleaning crew.

“We never got to finish our dance,” I said and held out my hand again. “Miss Edwards?”

“There’s no music,Mr. Beckett.”

“We’ll make do.”

This time, I didn’t bother with the proper placement for my hands, letting them slip around her waist instead. After hovering in the air for a heartbeat, hers folded around my upper arms. I began swaying from foot to foot lightly, only for her head to drop against my chest. If she heard the erratic beating she caused behind my ribs, she didn’t show it. Instead, the tension rippled from her body, rigid muscles softening in my arms as I slowly turned us in a circle.

I stifled any hopeful thought that wanted to flicker up, because Delilah had few reservations about physical closeness. It was as agonizing as it was addicting.

People cleared out around us, and DJ Day hovered in the door just a moment longer than the rest, but I kept us moving. As long as we were dancing, I had her. “I did it, by the way.” She pulled her head back and blinked up at me. “After our phone call? I got there by myself.”

“Are you serious?” A big, genuine smile shot to my face. Not only because she still trusted me enough to share, but because I was so fucking proud of her. She may have needed to talk her anxieties through, but in the end, she got to the climax all by herself. She’d figured out how to quiet her mind enough to enjoy the physical side of sex without anyone guiding her through. “That’s amazing, Del.”

She laughed and shot a quick look around, before lowering her voice. “I don’t know if I would call drunkenly masturbatingamazing.”

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Downplay your achievement just because it’s something that might come easier to other people.” I tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet my gaze, because I meant it when I said: “Congratulations, sweetheart.”

“Thank you.” Her breath stuttered as our eyes locked and the air between us thickened with the understanding and familiarity that led to this very conversation.

My fingertip trailed from her chin, down her jaw, until I could wrap my hand around the back of her neck. Her lips trembled, but her eyes stayed on mine as I leaned down. She didn’t turn her head, didn’t ask me to stop, didn’t flinch until my lips brushed over hers. A desperate sigh passed from her mouth to mine before she melted into me.

All rational thought left my body when I tasted her. I crushed my mouth over hers. She whimpered into the kiss and her tongue swept over my lips, sending a hot spark through my veins. Her arms closed around my neck as she pulled herself against me. With her body pressed into mine, we kissed like two people starved by a hunger that only the other could sate.

“Stop.” She jerked back without warning and pushed me off. The word stung worse than her slap had, but I didn’t try to bridge the distance when she stumbled back. Her chest was rising fast as she closed a hand around her blue pearl necklace. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

FIFTY-TWO

Something Del had saidat the dance had wedged itself into my mind in the way something got caught between your molars. Annoying, invisible, and damn near impossible to get out, no matter how much you poked and prodded it with your tongue. You’d be stuck with it until you got your hands on floss.

That was Cordelia-me.

Not: That was when I was pretending to be Cordelia.

Not: That was part of Cordelia’s character.

Cordelia-me.

It occupied the same corner of my brain as Cordelia’s debut/farewell speech at the White Ball. She had introduced Delilah to the world as her sister. Even though they shared no blood relation, a whole lot of people now thought they did.

It had, surprisingly, only taken one email to be invited to Cordelia’s home office. Which was a cluttered mess. She sat between piles of paper, cat toys, brochures, and half-empty smoothie bottles, but based on Yelchin’s glower across her shoulder, I decided not to point out that Delilah could probably get her on a color-coded system within a few hours.

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