If the Shoe Fits (Meant To Be #1) by Julie Murphy

“I plan on it,” he says.

I walk into the château, trying to do my best supermodel strut without looking like a wounded animal. (What they don’t tell you in the pamphlets is that half of fashion school is pretending you’re a runway model. Sierra’s walk is honestly America’s Next Top Model level of fierce.)

I open the door, and from the other side I hear a pained groan.

“What the…”

Anna reaches out and yanks me into the foyer.

“Shhhh.” Drew holds a finger over her lips.

“We’re not supposed to be here,” Anna whispers. “But we couldn’t miss your entrance.”

“You look incredible,” Drew tells me.

My stepsisters pull me in for a three-way hug, and it feels so good to be alone with them for even a brief moment.

“Did they really make you two introduce yourselves as twins?”

Anna rolls her eyes. “They’re making a bit of it. People keep calling us twins, and then we correct them and say that we’re almost twins.”

Drew shrugs. “It’s annoying, but hopefully it will help us stand out.”

“Honestly, it’s a little creepy,” I say.

“You little awkward weirdo!” Anna says. “Stop trying to change the subject. What was going on out there?”

I know that I should keep my secret about Henry to myself. But I can’t help it. Not with Anna and Drew. “I sat next to him on the plane,” I say quickly.

Their jaws drop in unison.

“You. Sat next to the suitor on the flight from New York?” Drew asks, spelling it out slowly and quietly.

I nod.

Anna sighs with delight. “I think he’s super cute, and please know that I definitely want him for myself, but oh my gosh, if that isn’t fate, I don’t know what is.”

“There’s no such thing as fate,” I tell her.

“Anna, stop pretending he’s your type,” Drew tells her. “You like them a little dirty and underemployed.”

Anna pouts for a second, but then nods thoughtfully.

“Stop it,” I say. “Both of you. It wasn’t fate. It was just a coincidence.” I don’t believe in fate. I can’t. I refuse to believe that first Mom and then Dad dying was part of some grand scheme. If that’s true, whatever’s at the end of my rainbow isn’t worth what it will have cost me.

Anna sniffs the air.

“What?” Drew asks. “What is it?”

Anna crosses her arms. “Smells like fate. Looks like fate. Must be fate.”

Zeke peeks his head in from the courtyard outside. “Ladiessssss,” he says. “Your presence is required outside. Ya know, where the cameras are?”

“Take a chill pill, Zeke,” Drew says in a you-work-for-my-mom voice.

Anna swats at her. “Be right there, Zeke dear.”

Both Drew and I eyeball her as the door shuts behind him.

“What?” Anna asks.

Drew narrows her gaze. “Don’t think I don’t see you flirting with a crew member. Mom would kill you.”

I laugh as we head outside, thankful to not be the center of attention for a moment.



Meeting the suitor in advance of the show isn’t expressly against the rules, but I’m also pretty sure it’s frowned upon. A few seasons ago, one contestant had a one-night stand with the suitor at a mutual friend’s wedding weeks before filming, and the rest of the contestants would not let it go. She was constantly accused of having an unfair advantage, and they made her life in the house a living hell. So if Henry wants to keep our transatlantic flight a secret, I’m on board. Besides, we’re only acquaintances. I don’t even know him.

Which is why, when he joins us in the courtyard, I don’t make any attempt to swarm him like most of the other women. I glance around to find Addison and Sara Claire hanging back as well.

Sara Claire smiles at me, but she seems guarded in a way she didn’t just hours ago. Addison, however, is sending out her usual don’t-even-look-at-me vibes.

The courtyard is as decked out as I remember it being on television. Sadly, it turns out that both the ice sculptures and champagne fountain are fake. Still beautiful if you don’t stand too close, though. There’s a small bar set up off camera with a guy in a bow tie, black vest, and black jeans lazily pouring bottle after bottle. I can see how this all makes for great TV magic, but in person, it just feels like a wedding reception you’d try to leave early.

Over the course of the night, the house staff comes around with trays of drinks, and soon everyone is talking louder, like we’re in the middle of a concert. One white woman (who has the longest extensions I’ve ever seen and can’t stop talking about how she drinks mimosas with every meal) falls into the pool, and Henry has a heroic moment as he helps her out and wraps her in a towel. He’s met with a chorus of bitter fawning. Another contestant named Brenda, a white Spanish teacher from Nebraska with Shirley Temple curls and clawlike red fingernails, bursts into tears when someone interrupts her attempts at salsa dancing with Henry.

To say emotions are running high would be an understatement. It’s almost too much for me to take.

I find Stacy by the outdoor fireplace sitting next to a sobbing East Asian woman in a forest-green satin gown.

“Is everything okay?” I ask as I approach.