Page 27 of Cinderella Is Faking It

My stomach soured at the implication, and I picked up my phone, taking it off speaker. I needed to hear him say that shit directly to me. Because I wasgoodwith money. I didn’t spend too much on coffee because I had a budget. I had savings because I’d been budgeting for years. Most of my books were secondhand, and my biggest splurge was a new Ruby Woo lipstick every couple of months. I wasn’t as frugal as him, but I wasn’t irresponsible. “Ask me outright. Ask what you want to know,” I hissed at the phone.

Parker was silent for a moment before he let out a deep sigh. “Shit. I’m sorry, babe. I’m sorry. Forget I ever said that.”

“Ask me.”

“No, look, I had a really long shift. This guy got in my head.”

Of course, the exhaustion was at fault. Of course, Beck was at fault. God forbid he actually owned the fact that he was so insecure about his own finances that he projected it on me. “Ask. Me.”

“Does he pay for your company? Or, I don’t know, like, cover your expenses?”

“You think I’m a call girl?”

“Shit, Del, I don’t know, ok? You were fired from aschool. Who gets fired from aschool? And then you get this mysterious letter of recommendation and that guy in the park looks-” I didn’t hear the rest of it, because my blood was rushing through my ears, and I just managed to hang up before turning around and diving for the toilet. I’d barely eaten all day, so I was dry-heaving bile, stomach convulsing. I’d finally found a new job despite what I’d done to Roger Childs, and he was still hanging over me, ruining a perfectly good relationship.

When I opened the door for him, Victor took one look at me, told me to wait in the car with the cat, and moved the rest of my stuff into the trunk by himself.

* * *

Three little knockswoke me the next morning. I blinked against the light streaming through milky curtains, eyes dragging over the pastel blue and gold tapestry and stucco ceiling. I’d somehow woken up in Versailles.

Someone knocked against the door again, and my eyes landed on my suitcase next to it, memory pieces clicking back into place.

“Yeah?” I croaked, pushing myself upright. Somehow, I was surrounded by all my own throw pillows, but I was wearing a summer dress as a nightgown. My packing skills had clearly tanked after that phone call.

“Good morning,” Cordelia cooed, slipping through the door, cradling-

I blinked. Rubbed my eyes. Blinked again.

Fitzwilliam had turned into a purring, fuzzy ball in Cordelia’s arms, letting himself be cradled like a baby for belly rubs. Belly rubs! I was barely allowed to touch his back.

“This handsome guy somehow found his way to my bedroom last night.” She smiled and sat at the foot of my bed, scrunching her nose up at the lovey-dovey cat that had replaced my demon spawn overnight.

“That’s Fitzwilliam,” I said, “also known as Fitz, Fitzi, Demon, Satan, Ghostface, and Killer Cat.”

“What?” She laughed and ruffled her hand over his head in a way that would have cost me a finger. “He’s such a cutie.”

I pulled the neck of my dress down, revealing the deep red marks he’d left last night when I’d forced him into his carrier. “He’s a menace to society.”

“Oh, come on.” She sat him down on the bed, but he climbed right back into her lap, carefully pawing her arm. And I remembered the way he’d sat between my legs during those fifteen minutes of raw nerves after my second Truman interview, trying to calm me down.

“Cordelia?”

“Hmm?” She didn’t even look at me, giving Fitzwilliam boop after boop on his little pink snout. He just yawned, completely unbothered.

“I’m glad he likes you. If you don’t mind, I think it would be great if he could roam the whole house instead of staying cooped up with me.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” A big, bright smile flashed over her lips. “Oh, also there’s a package for you downstairs.”

“Did you order more clothes?”

“No, all the ones I ordered for you are in your closet already.” She nodded at the double doors that led to the walk-in closet. I’d explored mysuitelast night and it was rightfully called a suite. The large bedroom, overlooking the small garden and the Charles River behind it, had a huge bathroom with a clawfoot tub on one side of it, and an even bigger closet filled with shoes and purses and dresses on the other side. Right across the hall was a smaller room that had been turned into a study, a smaller bathroom, and a guest bedroom. As in: My guest suite had a guest bedroom in case I ever had people over. “I don’t know what’s in this package.”

“I didn’t order anything,” I said.

“It says it’s from August Beckett,” she trilled and got up, Fitzwilliam jumping after her on her way to the door. “Technically addressed to me, but I figured you’re the intended recipient.”

“What?” I pushed myself off the way-too-comfortable mattress, feet slapping against cold floorboards as I followed her. I caught a glance at myself in the mirror by the bathroom door though. I’d not taken my makeup off last night, and my hair was both oily around my face and a dry bird’s nest atop my head. Great. And Cordelia had been her usual perfectly made-up self with her hair in a braid and a pink polka dot dress.

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