Page 96 of Cinderella Is Faking It

“I have a guy.”

“You have a Porsche guy?”

“More a… vehicle guy.” He reached over, slipping one hand into the back of my neck and I had to bite my lip to keep my attention on the road. “Bikes, cars, boats. I tell him what I need, and he gets it for me.”

“You don’t need another Porsche,” I said, the argumentative parts of my brain weakened by his fingertips running along the nape of my neck.

“I do, so I can give it to you and race you.”

“Well, you better keep the receipt because-”

“There. Done. It’ll be waiting for you once we get back.” He placed his phone in the bluetooth holder and put on a playlist of summer oldies. Mr. Blue Sky filled the car, the cheerful melody making it impossible to keep the smile off my face.

“You’re incorrigible.”

THIRTY-NINE

“Don’t get me wrong,but this isn’t what I expected.”

“I know.” Which was exactly why I’d brought her here and not to the villa on the Amalfi coast. “This is the house my grandfather bought when Axent took off.”

She ran her hand over the weathered metal plaque on the gate to the front yard. Swirling letters proclaimed the house to beCasa de Camila. “Was Camila your grandmother?”

“Yes.” I tried to see the house through her eyes, not those of a boy who spent his favorite summers here. I spared no expense to keep the small cottage in top shape, gardening, housekeeping, maintenance… and years ago, my father had bought all the land behind it to ensure it would always be a beachfront property, but it was always going to be just a yellow two-bedroom bungalow with less square footage than my living room. I hadn’t even changed the bright blue window shutters or expanded the patio behind the house, although both would have made sense.

“Can we go inside?”

“No, you saw it, now we can turn around and go check into the Nantucket Montgomery Inn.” She spun around, brows drawn so deep, her glare could have pierced armor. “Kidding,” I added and grabbed our bags from the trunk. Julian hadn’t blinked twice at signing his half of the cottage over to me since it was a residential area and he laughed at the profit margin of tearing down the cottage to build a mansion to sell.

Del ran careful fingertips over the tall lavender trailing up to the house, eyes wandering over the plants, then the carved woodwork of the patio, before finally landing on the large C etched into the door. “I gather your grandfather really loved your grandma.”

I unlocked the door and motioned for her to go in first. “If he didn’t, I wouldn’t be here today.”

Inside, a vague scent of fresh linen lingered, thanks to the housekeeper who had readied the place for us. The layout was modest, with the master bedroom and bathroom on one side of the entry, the kids’ room on the other side, and the living room and kitchen at the backend of the house, with large windows granting a look at the beach.

“I hate to break it to you, but a lot of lineages are born from sex, not love.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I placed our bags on the master bed, feeling her eyes trained on my back. “They lived in Boston, but neither of them wanted more than this.” I twirled my finger to indicate the house. “A small house, kids…” I gestured to the room on the opposite side of the hall, where two twin beds were neatly made, “and a restaurant to call their own. But my grandmother was unhappy in the city. No matter how well she dressed, how successful the restaurant was, how well-mannered and eloquent she was, she was still a Mexican woman in 1950s Boston. Even on a good day, people would still make fun of the way she spoke, so my grandfather sold the restaurant, and asked my grandmother for one more year.” I slipped my hand around Del’s and pulled her down the hallway to the living room, where a hand-painted business sign hung on the wall above the sofa. “And he opened the first Axent Luxe. A luxury lounge for the richest people of the city, including three exclusive hotel rooms that were only rented to members, not the public. Everyone who’s anyone wanted a key to the Axent lounge. And all because my grandfather swore nobody would ever make fun of my grandmother’s accent again.”

“Hmm.” She tilted her head, regarding the old Axent Luxe sign with its swirling 50s font.

“What are you thinking?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again, and turned to face me. “I need you to be honest with me.”

“Okay.”

“Is this your move? Do you bring girls here and sweep them off their feet with some love story? Because that’s a really good story and I’ll be extremely cross with you if you’re just making that up to get in my pants.”

“I’ve already been in your pants, Blondie.” I shook my head at her and turned her by the shoulders to the wall behind her, to the framed black and white picture of my grandparents kissing under the Axent Luxe sign. “Camila and Frederick Beckett.”

Her features softened and she leaned in to inspect the picture closer. “They look so happy.”

“They were. Madly in love their whole lives.”

“Lucky.” She sighed. “Very few people have that. I’m glad they got their happy end.”

“Luck and a lot of work. They made many compromises throughout their lives, adjusted expectations. Having only one child instead of two. Having a vacation home on the beach instead of living there full-time…”

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