Page 113 of The Princess and the Fraud

She hadn’t even called me on the anniversary of my mother’s death.

“I thought he didn’t give you the ring until lastnight,” I said. “Not yesterday afternoon.”

“He said he needed time to decide. Imagine my surprise—I didn’t realize he’d make up his mind so fast!”

I could hear my heart beat steadily in my ears, which was strange, since I felt on the verge of snapping.

“Fiona didn’t deserve a guy like him, anyway,” Caroline went on, not realizing that my eyes had begun to fill with something dark. “No, he needed someone who understood him.”

“Someone other than me?”

“I know they call you the Princess of Alderton-Du Ponte, but you know you’re not actually royalty, right?” Caroline glanced around, as if searching for someone to laugh with. “You with someone like Aaron Astor? This isn’t a fairytale, Lovey. You don’t get to end up with the prince.”

“Right,” I muttered with a sarcastic nod. “Because a fraud like me never gets the prince.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Now you get it, huh?”

Even though my legs still didn’t feel sturdy, I straightened from the wall, hating that I had to tilt my head back so far to look her in the eye. “You only wanted Aaron because Fiona wanted him. When did I become the threat that you would throw away our friendship over?”

At first, I thought she’d blow off the question again, to deny that she would’ve seen someone like me as a threat. “I saw you at the piano.” Her expression drained of all smugness, gaze going flat. “The night after my mother’s party. I came by the ballroom to meet you after your shift, like weplanned, and I saw you. Your hands on top of his. Your shoulders brushing. And then you lied about it. I realized then—you weren’t who I thought you were.”

Mom needed me for something, and I figured you’d want to go home and sleep after a long day.

Did you? Go straight home?It’d been a test.

“Aaron wouldn’t have been happy with you long term. And, c’mon, Lovey. You wouldn’t have been happy with him, either. You two bickered non-stop.Sounhealthy.” Caroline reached out and laid her hand on my shoulder, fingers a delicate touch, as if the conversation wasn’t as heavy as it was. “Best to stop it now. But don’t worry. I’ll send you a wedding invite.”

Her fingers didn’t feel delicate anymore. They felt like victory. Like a checkmate.

I couldn’t shove her off. Couldn’t scream. Couldn’t upend her champagne flute onto her perfect gown. At Alderton-Du Ponte,shewas the real princess. And I was nothing but a fraud.

She brushed past me, back to the music hall door. She opened it just as Aaron played the final note in the piece—had he drawn out Rachmaninoff’s concerto that long, or had he played another composition?—and the applause spilled out into the hall. Caroline looked back at me once more, flashing a glittering smile.Checkmate.

CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN

Iwould’ve thought that after the nightmare of an evening, falling asleep would’ve been impossible, that my mind would’ve been sprinting a mile a minute. The night would’ve consisted of tossing, turning, and replaying the gut punch over as if I were stuck on some deranged merry-go-round.

But last night, as soon as I pulled my covers over me, I sank into a dreamless sleep like a stone.

Granted, Ihadbeen running on fumes after pulling shift after grueling shift in preparation for the fundraiser from hell. After a week of go-go-going, after last night, I’d crashed. And if there were any night to immediately pass out and avoid my never-ending thoughts, it’d been Saturday night.

I didn’t have an alarm set for Sunday morning, since I had the day off, but at eight o’clock, my phone began ringing. It was Verdi’s “Dies Irae.”Theringtone. The Alderton-Du Ponte ringtone.

“Could you come in at noon for a meeting?” Mr. Roberts asked when I answered, voice somber. “Bring your uniform.”

Bringmy uniform. Notwearmy uniform.

I stared up at my water-stained ceiling, knowing exactly what that meant. But even still, it was as if the shock from the night before still had a chokehold on me, and I couldn’t feel anything but a budding weight of dread.

I took my time getting ready, waving a curl through my hair, styling my bangs, swiping on a bit of makeup. Despite everything falling apart, putting myself together had given me a moment of peace. I refused to go into the country club with gray under eyes and knotted hair. I refused to look anything short of put-together and respectable.

As I drove to Alderton-Du Ponte, I found myself looking at the roads and scenery closer. The houses along the winding drive to the country club were large, with exquisite lawns and expensive cars parked in cobblestoned driveways. The road itself was also well maintained, not a pothole in sight.

The irony wasn’t lost on me that the road to my mother’s dream house was dilapidated, while the road to the Alderton-Du Ponte estate was pristine.

I pulled into the employee lot, staring at the backside of the building. Before I opened my door, I pulled out my phone and sent one text to Paige.

I’m getting fired.

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