Page 7 of Cinderella Is Faking It

Page gasped a little giggle. At least my charm was working on some silly assistant even if Del didn’t want anything to do with me. Yet. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“That’s all I ask for.”

“I’ll get back to you with her reply as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, Page. I appreciate it.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Beckett.”

I hung up to see Isaac’s shit-eating grin, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Really? Fate?”

“Oh, hello darling, do you need some jolly help with that?” I mocked him with my best English accent. “Maybe later you can let me be your tampon.”

“Wrong country.” He tsk-ed and pushed out the door. “I just realized something. You’re basically a prostitute.”

“If that’s the case, you should pay for my companyandmy drinks tonight.” He’d pay for the drinks anyway. He’d tapped out before our 60 minutes were up. If he’d made it, I would have paid. It had started as a challenge of who tapped out first, but the fact that Vortex was two minutes from my office, but 45 minutes from Boston Memorial, and his job required more triple shifts, meant that I outlasted Isaac every single time. I’d stopped giving him shit for it though because he once collapsed 20 minutes in. Only to find out he’d spent almost 72 hours without sleep. He’d seemed fine one moment and then his lights went out. He was a pediatrician, so his game face was unmatched. If he tapped out after 30 minutes, he tapped out. No questions asked as long as he paid the bar tab.

“You’re shackling yourself to a woman, not knowing whether you’ll ever get laid again. Your cock might be worth 20 billion dollars, but it does have a price.” The old lady walking past glared at us, but Isaac shot her a big grin, a wink and a ‘hello darling’ and I fucking swear, her wrinkled cheeks blushed.

“If the sex sucks, I can always come over and introduce myself to your nurses.” Besides, people had gotten hitched for much more frivolous reasons than a business worth 20 billion.

“They wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole. You’re not nice enough.” He laughed. “Then again, you do believe in fate now.”

“Shut up before I drag you back and wipe the ring with your ass.”

FOUR

“It’s gorgeous,”Defne swooned.

“It looks heavy.” Tabitha tilted her head of short brown curls sideways.

“I wish I had another occasion to wear it,” I said, running a hand down the ball gown hanging on my closet door. In daylight, it was even more stunning than it had been at dinner last night, the waves of blue fabric shimmering in all shades from aquamarine to dark violet.

Thankfully, Parker had been asleep by the time I’d made it home, and back at work by the time I woke up. Thank God retirement homes served breakfast at like 7am or I would have had to explain last night to him - and I wasn’t sure I even had a good explanation. This way, I could just hide the dress in the closet.

My two best friends, however, had come over first thing to marvel at the gown that cost more than both their cars combined. Granted, they had crappy cars, but still… They were perched on my bed between all my throw pillows, staring at the masterpiece of sequins and pearls. I’d lost the necklace somewhere in my sheets last night, but I hadn’t found it and hadn’t gotten the chance to check under the bed yet, for fear of getting my arms sliced off by Fitzwilliam.

Defne clapped her hands together. “Oh, Del, it could be your old, borrowed and blue for your wedding.” Both Tabitha and I turned to look at her with incredulous expressions. I had started seeing Parker all of three months ago and I hadn’t even used the L-word yet. (Parker had once - on our second date.) Tabitha, on the other hand, generally thought weddings and marriage were bullcrap. “I’m just saying.” Defne shrugged.

“Google says you can get ten grand for it.” Tabitha tapped away on her phone, then snapped a picture of the dress.

“Hey, am I in that?”

She waved me off. “I’ll edit you out. There. Posted on stories. Maybe someone will bite right away.” She tossed her phone behind herself on the mattress. Despite treating that thing like an old toy, it was also part of her job. She had somehow made a living out of being the gruffest yoga teacher online. No crystals or meditation music, no pastel yoga shorts, just one woman yelling profanities at her camera while doing the downward dog.

“I think you should keep it. The blue must look lovely on you.” Defne blinked her long lashes at me. If Tabitha threw rocks to make a point, Defne smothered you in cotton balls. She was 24, three years younger than me, still in grad school, and posted daily puppy videos on the GC.

“It makes no sense for me to keep it.” I dropped onto the mattress between them.

Defne patted my shoulders. “But it’s pretty.”

“No job, no money,” Tab pointed out. “Designer dress, lots of money. It can tide you over in case Childs keeps-”

“No!” I yelled at her loud enough for Fitzwilliam to poke his head out of the cat tree. I was not going to think aboutthat. My stomach churned at the mere mention of his name, and I pushed down the memories threatening to resurface. I was done with that version of myself.

Defne pouted at the dress. “If you’re strapped for cash, I can send you that site where you can sell your worn socks.”

“You would rather keep selling your worn socks to men that jerk off in them than sell a designer dress?” Tabitha had her phone back in her hands but blinked at Defne.

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