Page 85 of Cinderella Is Faking It

Del:

By tonight

Tabitha:

-shrug emoji-

Defne:

Long-sleeved in July? Idk Macy’s?

Tabitha:

It’s way too hot for long sleeves.

Right… I hadn’t caught them up on the most recent details of the Beck situation yet. I clicked on the button that started a video call on the GC. Tab picked up immediately. She had her headphones on, the phone angled at her face from below as she huffed and swayed from side to side, sweat dripping down her face. Somewhere in the background the Peloton instructor yelled at her. It took Defne a moment longer to pick up. When she did, she was pushing a white veil from her face. “Uh, anything you want to tell us Defne?”

“Oh, yes, I booked that commercial for that new jewelry brand. Or rebrand? I don’t know. Just getting fitted for the wedding scene.”

Being friends with a budding actress/model sure sobered one’s perception of Hollywood glamour. Then again, jobs around here were limited, and she couldn’t move to New York until she finished grad school. “What’s up?” Tabitha asked.

I took a deep breath then shared the details of why exactly I needed a dress that covered my thighs and wrists. Not the Julian of it all, but the rest… Defne’s eyes had grown to the size of saucers while Tabitha huffed faster, paddling harder into her workout.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Tabitha huffed through her workout, “he looks like he fucks.”

“I’m more surprised by Del,” Defne said.

“What do you mean he looks like he fucks?” I asked.

“I mean… there’s people you sleep with and there’s people you fuck. You usually pick men you sleep with. August Beckett looks like he fucks.”

“And you can tell just by looking at them?”

“Yep,” Defne chirped.

“Yeah,” Tabitha bit out through clenched teeth.

“Neither of you felt like you should share this information with me? Like three boyfriends into me complaining about my sex life?”

“Delilah, you don’t look like you fuck,” Tabitha laughed, and groaned as the instructor yelled a loud ‘release’ in the background and she leaned back, her pace slowing.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again, because I couldn’t argue with her on that front. Ballet flats and all.

“Back to the fashion issue at hand,” Defne said, “how bad is it?”

I raised my unbandaged wrist to the camera. The twin cuffs of bruises had subsided from dark blue to purple and green, but they were still too starkly contrasted against my pale skin to cover them with a bit of makeup.

“Oh, that’s not bad at all, darling, I can take care of that for you.” An older woman with cherry red curls piled into a beehive popped up behind Defne.

“Defne,” I hissed.

“I told you, I’m at work!”

“I have seen and heard so much more scandalous things, honey.” The woman tsked at me. “I have the perfect dress for you. Size four?”

“Yes.”

Two hours later, Defne, still wrapped in layers of white tulle, watched me as the owner of the bridal shop, Janice, stitched the sleeves in place. “See? No problem at all.”