Page 8 of Cinderella Is Faking It

“Of course,” Defne scoffed, “I don't care what they do with my socks. I wear socks anyway and don’t think twice about it. This? I would never stop thinking about this dress if I gave it away.”

“I’m sorry did you guys come here for a debate?” They were acting like the angel and devil on my shoulders.

Neither of them had the chance to reply before my phone started blaring an old Jonas Brothers song and I scrambled to my feet to grab it from my bag. Boston area code. Could be Truman Academy. This fast? That wasnotgood news. “Hello.”

“Hi, I’m calling for Delilah Edwards.” The chipper female voice on the other end didn’t belong to the Truman principal.

“This is her,” I replied, feeling two sets of eyes burrow into the back of my head.

“Oh, perfect, hello, this is Cordelia. We swapped clothes last night.” No, no, no, no, no. Oh god. What had I done? I twisted around and furiously pointed between the dress and my phone to get Tab and Defne to understand what was happening.

“Uh-huh.” My voice screeched up my throat. “Hi.”

I had googled Cordelia after coming home last night when Parker had already been asleep. Cordelia Montgomery was the sole heir to the Montgomery hotel chain fortune, and since her father’s death a few months ago, one of the richest people in the US. Unlike most heiresses who seemed to flaunt their wealth in Ibiza and date F1 racers, Cordelia was apparently famous for being a recluse. Her mother had been fatally shot in a mugging when Cordelia had been 13 years old, and she disappeared from the public eye after that. Nobody had seen her in years. There weren’t even any socials. Which explained Rachel Sallow’s jabs last night. And the fact that nobody had ID’d me as an imposter.

“Could you come to my place? I want to talk to you about last night.”

Shit shit shitty shittest shit. I may not have been caught last night - but word clearly got through to Cordelia. “Of course,” I breathed, “my schedule is wide open.”

“Amazing! My driver will pick you up in thirty.”

“How did you-” The phone beeped at me. Hung up. “How did she get my number?” I stared at the phone in my hands.

“Who?” Defne asked.

I threw my hand towards the dress as if I hadn’t been gesticulating the crap out of myself here. “Cordelia freaking Montgomery. The woman I was mistaken for.”

“She’s rich.” Tabitha shrugged as if that was the obvious answer. “Enough money can buy you any information. Oh, stop looking at me like this. Have none of you watched any true crime ever?”

Thirty minutes later, Tabitha shoved me into a town car even after I protested because the driver was as beefy as a young Arnold Schwarzenegger, in a fitted suit, and tattooed from neck to knuckle. Plus, I had definitely never given Cordelia my address. Creep factor: through the roof. It didn’t help that the guy didn’t speak a word beside the short “Miss Edwards” greeting.

“Any idea what your boss wants from me?” I asked, trying to catch his eye in the rearview mirror but he kept 120% of his attention on the road.

We stopped in front of a gorgeous white, Victorian town house on Beacon Street. Nestled between red brick buildings, it practically glowed with decadence. The driver got out first and had my door open before I was even unbuckled, motioning me towards the building. While he unlocked the door, I dropped my location in the group chat. Better safe than sorry.

Inside, the house was very… pink. Not popping bright in a Barbie way. More in a strawberry macarons and porcelain vases, Marie Antoinette sorta way. I personally would have added a few more pastel colors, but if I ever had the kind of money for an interior designer, I’d have to ask for Cordelia’s.

My eyes were still caught on the sparkling, pink glass chandelier, when the driver opened the first door on the left and nodded his brown buzz cut for me to get in. Right. Business. I was either going to die from shame or be killed for my sins. Had to get it over with. Heart thrumming, I stepped into an equally pink home office. Cordelia sat behind a huge glass desk that was covered in piles upon piles of papers and folders and smoothie bottles. My eyebrows twitched at the mess. Cordelia herself was perfectly put together, with glossy pink lips, bangs that sharply contoured her brows, and a puff-sleeved polka dot summer dress.

“Delilah, come in, come in.” She shuffled papers aside and grabbed a stack of them before beckoning me over into the seating area by the window, which resembled a gold and pink explosion of fluffy throw cushions and velvet armchairs. “Coffee? Tea?”

“I’m good, thank you,” I replied, taking my seat across from her. I’d rather get my impending death over with.

“Are you sure? Victor makes amazing tea.” She pointed at the stoic man by the doorway, who had the kind of bulky arms that suggested any teacup would crack at the touch of his pinky. And those eyes were such a venomous shade of green, I wasn’t keen on the idea of consuming anything he prepared.

“Thank you, I’m fine.”

“Actually, now I’m craving tea. Would you be so kind?” She smiled at Victor and pulled her shoulders up.

He nodded, not breaking his blank expression. “Of course, Miss Montgomery.”

I couldn’t help myself. Once he was out of the room, I had to ask: “Personal security, driver or butler?”

“A little bit of everything, depending on what’s happening.” She shrugged. “Not a great chess player though. He cheats. A lot.”

The snort broke through before I had a chance to suppress it. Okay, I wasn’t here for chit chat. Time to get this over with. “I need to apologize. When I came out of the bathroom in your dress, someone whisked me into the dining hall. There was food and there was a speech, so I couldn’t just leave. Also, the school principal was right by the exit, and he’s the one who interviewed me, so I couldn’t just walk past him. And then this guy asked me to dance. It kind of spiraled. I’m sorry.”

Cordelia pursed her lips. “You made the news.”

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