Page 127 of Cinderella Is Faking It

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, halfway through my single scoop of caramel fudge, while Cordelia was swirling gummy bears and whipped cream around in her bowl.

She pulled her shoulders up. “Because I don’t get a vote here.”

“Vote on what?”

“Your feelings for Beck.”

“Excuse me?” I scoffed. “This doesn’t change what he did in the first place.”

“No, it doesn’t.” She scooped a mountain of ice cream and gummy bears and rainbow sprinkles into her mouth.

“I can’t have feelings for him,” I said, knowing exactly what look that would earn me from her. Because I said‘can’t’not ‘don’t’. Because even if I hated everything he’d done and had planned to do in the name of a business merger, I couldn’t pretend that I had detached myself from him. How could a person willing to manipulate me, and get rid of Cordelia, be the same person who put my own name on a car registration just to make sure I wouldn’t get arrested for Grand Theft Auto?

“I’m not saying you should be with him. I’m on your side, no matter what you decide to do.” Cordelia set down her spoon and folded her hands under her chin to look at me across the new dining table, replaced after that night with Julian. “I think, there are actions that are inexcusable, and then there are mindsets we can grow out of.”

“You think someone can grow out of planning to abduct you and lock you up for the rest of their life?”

“Yes.” Cordelia let that one word sink in. “I think a lot of people are raised to believe that anyone with disabilities and mental health issues is worthless, and that can lead to harmful action. But I do believe that people’s concept of health, and its worth, can change. Which will lead towards a change in their actions. If I didn’t believe that people can change, I’d be running a high security prison, not a social organization. The question is whether a person has previously crossed a line they can’t uncross. That’s something you have to figure out for yourself.”

“That sounded rehearsed.”

“I’ve actually thought about the same thing a lot since he emailed me.”

“And?”

“And he hasn’t crossed my lines. His brother has, may he rot in hell, but I know first-hand that a shared last name doesn’t mean you’re on the same page about how much money a person’s life is worth to you.” Cordelia picked her spoon up again. “Planning to commit a crime and actually committing it are two very different things. You don’t know if he would have gone through with his plans.”

“He didn’t stop his brother when he waved a gun around. Victor did.”

“You didn’t see yourself. You were barely standing up, bleeding, throwing up. Beck tried to get you out. He prioritized the person he loved over anything else going on in that room.”

“He tried to get me out because he still needed to marry me-as-you.”

“Did he?” Cordelia’s voice was all innocent and chipper, as she shoveled another mountain of rocky road onto her spoon, but she knew exactly what she was asking.

FIFTY-FOUR

I opened the door,not sure who to expect as the source of incessant knocking on a Wednesday night, but it definitely hadn’t been Delilah. Her hair was hanging limp and soaked around her face, and her wet jacket stuck to her like a second skin.

“Jesus, Blondie, you’re drenched.” I stepped aside to let her in. She left a trail of puddles on the hardwood floors.

“Yeah, well, the idea of getting me a car was good. There’s just no parking anywhere.” She unwrapped her scarf, holding it up like a wet rag. “Also, Henry didn’t take me off the approved visitors list even though I told him to last time. I feel like that’s a security oversight.”

I threw the scarf over the coat rack, not giving two shits whether it would ruin my jackets. Delilah’s hands trembled and her cheeks had taken on a bright pink hue as she fumbled with her zipper. I couldn’t care less about keeping an appropriate distance, and covered her hands with mine to undo the zipper. I peeled her out of the jacket, my knuckles grazing over her bare underarms. “You’re freezing.”

“Again. Parking,” she stuttered. “Had to walk five blocks.”

“You should get out of those clothes.” Even the shirt underneath her jacket hadn’t been spared. I’d have to get her a better parking spot, and an umbrella, and possibly a better jacket. For now, I boxed her into the living room, where the gas fireplace flickered on high. “Let me find you something dry to wear. Do you want a bath? Tea?”

“No, actually, I came here with a purpose.” She sniffed and pulled her bag around, digging through her number of colorful pouches. “Ha. Good thing I laminated it.”

She dropped her bag on the sofa and held up a small rectangular piece of plastic. Her picture was on it, but I had to pluck it from her hands and hold it up to the light to read her neat, tiny handwriting. “August Beckett Library Membership Card?”

“It has my photo and everything.”

“I can see that. Did you draw a logo for a fake library?” I narrowed my eyes at the letters AB drawn onto the pages of an open book.

“That card is very real. It gives me access to your library, whenever I want.”

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