Page 172 of Faking Cinderella
“It’s not that simple—” I start, but movement behind her catches my eye, and I freeze.
Laney’s here too.
Mrs. Sullivan didn’t come alone.
“It’s true,” Laney says as we lock eyes. “You’re notMargie Johnson. I thought it was weird that you looked likeyoulast week, but that you couldn’t possibly be—but you are. Aren’t you?”
I swallow.
Laney’s parents grew their fortune on their own. They’re what my father would scoff at asnew moneyeven as he admires their business model.
She wouldn’t have had the same kind of childhood I did.
The same kind of training I did.
The same kind of expectations I did.
But she has every bit of the poise and confidence and outrage I’d have if I were in her shoes right now.
And she’s pissed.
Pissed in ways I never understood until Daphne was disinherited.
“There are reasons—” I start.
She snorts softly. “There always are, aren’t there?”
“Mar—Margie’s not hurting anyone,” Rhys says to the other two women.
I grip his shirt tighter. “I simply wanted to get to know them.”
“By lying about who you are,” Laney says.
“Do you understand how much damage you’ve already done?” Mrs. Sullivan’s voice cracks, and she swipes at her eyes. “They were never supposed to know.”
“I didn’t—” I cut myself off, shaking my head. She won’t care that they found out on their own because of the DNA tests. “You’re right. It would’ve been better if they’d never found out. But they did, and we can’t hide it anymore.”
She jerks like I’ve punched her. “The hell we can’t. You—you need toleave.”
“Does your husband know?” Rhys asks.
“Don’t answer that,” Laney says to Mrs. Sullivan.
“I won’t tell him,” I say. “It’s not my place. But Iamtelling your sons. They deserve to know the truth. Theyneedto know the truth. For their own protection.”
“You willnot—” Mrs. Sullivan starts, but she freezes at the sound of heavy footsteps approaching.
“Hey, found your phone,” Lucky says as Rhys tries to shield me again.
I make eye contact with my half brother.
The one who’s trusted me the most from the beginning.
His easygoing smile freezes on his lips, even as it fades from his eyes as he studies the group of us.
He stops before he fully reaches the little circle we’ve made, like he doesn’t want to come inside our group where it’s tense. “What’s going on?”
His mother points at me while she huddles close to Laney. “She’s not who she says she is. You can’t believe anything—anything—she’s told you.”
