Page 90 of Cinderella Is Faking It

“Uh,” my lips twitched at the memory, “in a bathroom.”

“What is it with girls and bathrooms?”

Good question. I’d met Cordelia in one, too. There was nothing quite as bonding as a bathroom breakdown. “I was throwing up. My hair was longer then, and Defne took pity on me and braided it to keep it vomit-free. Tabitha was technically just vaping by the window, but she shared her gum with me when I was done. And the rest is history.”

“What made you sick?”

“Those were the days I still got drunk on overpriced gin tonics.” I shrugged and sipped on the water, which felt ten times better than any gin tonic, cooling my throat and flushing my mouth.

“I like your hair this short.”

“Thanks,” I chuckled, “do you have a Tabitha and Defne?”

“No,” he said, “I have an Isaac, and I have Julian.”

“Your brother?” I asked, because the other day it hadn’t seemed like the two of them were the best of buddies.

“Yes. He’s a dick but I know that I can trust him with my life. He’s also the only person who understands what it means to be raised by Georgia Beckett.”

“You’ve never mentioned your parents.”

“Neither have you,” he said and got out of his chair, leaning against his floor-to-ceiling windows instead, before he continued: “Georgia was always obsessed with power. I’m fairly certain it’s because she never felt like she had any, grew up poor, married rich but turned out he was a tyrannical control-freak who knew every step she made, every person she talked to, every dollar she spent. The only power she ever really had was over her sons, so she named them after Roman emperors, Julius and Augustus, and made sure they learned to take what they want, without remorse for who might get hurt in the process. The Becketts against the world until the Becketts were on top of the world.”

The bitterness in his voice cracked my chest wide open. I couldn’t imagine that kind of dysfunctional family. My mom and I weren’t super close, but there were no remarkable reasons for that. I’d just always been closer to Dad because we’d been so similar. Beck’s family situation was way more complicated than that. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. If it wasn’t for Georgia’s high expectations, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I could have done without the whole murder thing, but you know as well as I that you can’t choose your parents.”

“Murder?” The water bottle slipped from my hand, and I barely caught it before it could flood the whole table.

He turned and looked at me and I got a strange feeling that I should have googled him more intensively. “You don’t know?”

“No.”

“Georgia killed my father around 15 years ago,” he said with all the emotion of someone telling you that the sky was blue due to the particles in the air fracturing sunlight by color and blue happened to be the most visible. “She decided she’d had enough and would rather spend the rest of her life in prison than spend another moment shackled to that man. She could have easily paid for a hit or mixed up his heart medicine. I heard her mutter‘One day, I’ll blow his brains out.’so often growing up, I didn’t think she’d go through with it.”

“Oh god, Beck, I’m so sorry.” That kind of tragedy had to leave a deep mark. Even if he’d been all grown-up when it happened. I stepped around the table, ready to give him a hug, but he waved me off.

“I’ve had time to cope. I just thought you would have run a full background check on me before ever setting foot in my place. Anyway, enough of that. I’ve been thinking about our date.”

I’d get whiplash from his topic changes, but I was the last to protest when the topic of dead parents became too much to handle. I inhaled deeply, mentally saving all the information about his family, then letting my thoughts turn to our date on the exhale. “Any grand plans?”

“I’m guessing you won’t let me whisk you off to London?”

“No.”

“New York?” Beck walked towards me, not stopping until he was so close, I was forced to tilt my head back to look at him.

“No, sorry,” I said. Even though New York was more doable, I’d rather not be crossing state lines with a fake ID. “How about we stay within like a 50-mile radius? I’m sure there’s some good restaurants around here.”

“You wanted a date, not a dinner.” His hands folded around my neck, thumbs pressing in just enough for my pulse to spike, not enough for it to affect my breathing. “Anyone can buy you dinner, Blondie.”

Translation: if I was going on a date withhim,I’d know it. “Alright, no dinner. I guess you can take me on a carriage ride and sweep me off my feet.”

“I’m not Prince Charming, sweetheart,” he rasped before kissing me. My mouth parted for him on impact, allowing his tongue to sweep in. As he did, his pressure around my neck increased, air flow restricting. My eyes flew open as my body screamed for air, pulse rushing, muscles tensing, and then air rushed back into my lungs. I gasped but before I had a chance to take a full breath, his mouth was back on mine and my veins were thrumming with adrenaline. The shock that rippled through my body had set off a bright spark in my gut.

“Beck,” his name was a plea on my lips.

“Your bath is ready.”

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