Page 50 of The Reverse Cinderella

“That time when you said Gary was the best man that you’d ever met and he couldn’t possibly be humping his secretary to which I replied Gary was like any other man with a twenty year old gorgeous and underqualified secretary. Screwing her,” Tiffany replied with some venom.

“Besides that!” Piaget furiously whispered. There was no need to bring up how stupid she had been.

“I don’t know. But there is no way that Maxwell Ramesly is homeless,” Tiffany rearranged an hors d’oeuvres tray, perfecting what was already perfect.

“Who?” Piaget asked, stunned. Maxwell Ramesly was huge. The Ramesly family was up socially from the Forrester family. It was rich. They had estates and vacation homes. They had a private jet. They owned so many businesses, pharmaceuticals, insurance, hospitals and more. Maxwell Ramesly had been on the cover of GQ. Piaget knew it because Gary had complained bitterly about it. Suddenly, she knew why Max had looked so familiar.

“Maxwell Ramesly. OftheRameslys,” Tiffany rolled her eyes. “It was very funny of you to say he was homeless. How did you manage to snag one of America’s most eligible bachelors?”

Piaget realized that Tiffany was jealous of her. For the first time ever, she had something that was considered better than what Tiffany had. Yet she didn’t know how she felt about Max anymore. He’d lied to her. At the very least, he’s omitted his entire identity. Piaget’s stomach turned sour. “I had no idea.”

“Seriously!” scoffed Tiffany.

Their mother opened the door and hissed around it. “Tiffany! It is the mark of a poor hostess to make her guests come to thekitchen. It’s ten past and dinner should be served before it gets overdone.”

Neither Tiffany nor Piaget commented on the fact that mother was calling herself a guest in her daughter’s home. Mother never frequented the kitchen as she found it beneath her. Both daughters hurried out to the dining room to do the polite and Piaget found herself seated between Max and Earle Milton.

Earle wasn’t a bad guy. He came from a good family, with old oil money. He was a friendly, nice guy who always tried a little too hard. He still carried his baby fat and had started a nice comb over in deference to his balding plate. Everyone liked Earle in a family pet sort of way. His mother managed his life nicely and someday, when she snagged a wife for him, Piaget was sure the wife would manage his life nicely as long as she could manage Mrs. Milton as well.

Mrs. Milton and Piaget’s mother were good standing friends which meant they shared a polite social call at each other’s homes every month where they commented on the cheesecake, discussed the latest diet fads and dished the gossip while lamenting or praising their offspring’s achievements as the moment required. This was the reason her mother had been promoting Earle to Piaget.

Piaget looked around and the table was a little off. Mentally, she gave a quick tally. One more male than female. The numbers weren’t even which meant they hadn’t expected her to bring Max. Which meant Earle was a set up. They were hoping that she would be the next Mrs. Milton.

Considering her circumstances and his limited mental scope, they probably thought it was a fair trade.

Piaget made polite conversation with Earle who, to give him credit, was interested in her schooling and attempt at running for mayor. He offered to be a sponsor which she accepted since she would desperately need cash for the campaign and there was no way she was going to ask anyone else here for donations. Although politics was long known to be an acceptable thing to do, Piaget somehow suspected that when it came to her, they would think it was quaint that she was trying her hand at the political arena and then firmly ignore her. After all, what did a former housewife know about politics?

Piaget turned to Max and greeted him sweetly. “Are you enjoying your dinner,Mr. Ramesly?”

Max winced. “We should talk about that.”

“Wrong tense. We shouldhavetalked about that,” Piaget took yet another large sip of wine. How she had missed the good stuff. All she had done was push food around her plate and drink the wine. She had the feeling she might be sloppy drunk before the night was through. Good. It would make it easier to deal with her mother.

“I didn’t want to say anything because I knew that you might treat me differently,” Max whispered near her ear.

Piaget gave him a cool look and a little sarcasm. “Really? You think I might have treated you differently? Why might you have thought that?”

“Alright, we need to talk,” Max took the wine out of her hand, forestalling her next large sip and pulled Piaget to her feet. He kept her hand firmly in his and another on her back, pushing her along the huge dining room table, heading for the hall. “Excuse us.”

Part of Piaget wanted to make a scene right there in the dining room, but she knew it wasn’t done. Her mother would be angry and she had no right to embarrass Tiffany at her party. Besides, Piaget did want to have this out. Anger was simmering and she wasn’t a redhead for nothing.

Piaget and Max ended up in Charles’ study where she jerked her hand out from his and slammed the door closed. Her voice was seething as she threw her hands in the air. “Treated you differently? Why would you think that? You’re a Ramesly! One of the most prestigious families. Your family owns pharmaceuticals and insurance. Your family could buy my family without a blink. You’ve gone to Harvard. You’ve done extreme sporting as your hobby. You’ve been on the cover of GQ! You dated a different girl every week! Why would I treat you differently?! Why would anyone?!”

“I’m not that person anymore,” Max ran a hand through his hair in frustration, but it didn’t have the same effect on his shorn locks. “I’ve changed.”

“Really? Why on earth are you posing as a homeless person? Was it a big joke? Who does that?” Piaget hugged herself, angry and hurt. “Hanging out with Adam and his friends. What was that?”

“It’s not a joke!” Max took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “It’s not a joke. I am homeless. And I like Adam and his friends. They’re a lot of fun.”

“You, homeless? One of the Ramesly’s?” Piaget snorted. “Even Tiffany told me I was stupid for believing that one.”

“It’s true,” he insisted. “It’s a long story but you need to believe me, I haven’t lied to you.”

“I don’t know what to believe! I don’t know anything about you,” Piaget ignored the stricken look on Max’s face and headed for the door. “Let’s just get through this weekend.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Max asked.

Piaget paused at the door, leaning her head against the wood as her hand rested on the knob. Her heart twisted in her chest and she remembered all of the outrageous stories he told the kids at the bar and the advice he gave them. She remembered all the times he walked her home and flirted with her, telling her about the stars in that book of his. Piaget remembered his kindness to the homeless people like Ed, always making sure he had something to eat. She remembered amazing kisses, and touches and looks.