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

“Do we have to?” Drew says under her breath. She waits for me at the bottom of the stairs while Anna shimmies her way through the crowd to Henry.

I chuckle, and we make our way to Mallory, who is quickly pouring glass after glass of cheap champagne.

“Maybe I’m still on New York time,” I say with a yawn.

“Do you think Mom even realizes how much they try to get people to drink on set?” Drew asks quietly.

“I doubt it.” But the truth is, I bet the booze mandate comes straight from Erica. She’s the brains behind this whole thing. She’s been lubricating reality television contestants with alcohol since Anna and Drew were in diapers. Even the scrolls were her idea. She said in high school a boy asked her out by pretending to read from a scroll like it was an official decree, and ever since then, she’d found the idea of this funny, a little inside joke to herself. In fact, they even sent out scrolls as the invitation to her and Dad’s wedding. It was a very elaborate affair.

Drew pours her glass on the pavement and turns to me with a fake laugh, as a camera creeps past us.

I want to just give her a hug and walk arm in arm back into the house with her and Anna. I hate that we’re not all in the same room, even though I know it’s for the best.

I open my scroll to read.

HEAR YE, HEAR YE!

You have been invited to stay at the château, where you will compete for a chance at true love at the request of Henry Mackenzie. Congratulations, and good luck in your pursuit. Henry asks for the pleasure of your company later this week. More details to come.



I roll up the scroll for safekeeping. I know it’s just a silly prop, but I feel weirdly sentimental for it already, like it’s the one little souvenir of my time here. At least I’ll always be able to say I made it past the first round. Drew reaches up and pushes a wisp of hair out of my face. “Anna’s got it bad for this guy.”

I cringe a little. “Oof, really?”

Drew laughs. “Anna’s got it bad for every guy we’ve ever met. But don’t worry. As soon as she sees how much you like him, she’ll back off.”

I smile down into my glass of champagne. I’d never admit to having a favorite between the two of my stepsisters, but Drew’s always been just a little more intuitive and easier to talk to than Anna. I love Anna, but she’s a little airy and just a teensy bit self-involved. Her moods and feelings are as fickle as an afternoon rain shower, but even though she can be a little hard to pin down, she’s always been good to me.

I mean, mostly good. Except for those few times back in high school when I was a freshman and Anna and Drew were sophomores. The two of them were busy trying to impress the older popular girls ahead of us. And then one day they were the older popular girls and suddenly, when they had no one to answer to but themselves, having their chubby half sister tag along wasn’t such a social crime.

“Is it that obvious?” I ask. “That I like him?” It’s the first time I’m really admitting it, even to myself.

Drew rolls her eyes. “You were the last to get a scroll and you strutted yourself up there, gave him a long hug, a kiss on the cheek, and whispered in his ear. You basically marked your territory. It was super hot, but trust me—if you didn’t have a target on your back, you do now.”





The next morning the house is buzzing with eighteen women doing their very specific morning routines. Smoothies, detox tea, avocado toast, yoga, Pilates, meditation. I settle for eggs with hot sauce, sliced avocado, orange juice, and a patio lounger. Last night, I tried to stay awake and flip through a few channels on the walkie-talkie, but after a marathon of filming, I hid my contraband gadget in one of my shoes and passed out.

As I’m eating my breakfast, I can’t help but overhear Addison holding court with a small group of women on the other side of the pool.

“Yeah, his mom was iconic, but the whole brand needs a major face-lift,” Addison whispers.

What? I run through the mental catalog of designers who I consider iconic for anyone who would have a son around Henry’s age. After all the excitement of last night, I completely forgot about Henry’s mysterious fashion empire roots.

“I just think it’s so precious that he’s staying in the family business,” a small redhead with corkscrew curls says in a dreamy voice.

Addison rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t say it’s precious, Chloe. More like a last-ditch effort to save a sinking ship.”

Jenny frowns. “I wore a LuMac dress to homecoming in tenth grade. I still have it. I love that dress.”

I gasp loudly. LuMac. Lucy freaking Mackenzie. Oh my God. Henry Mackenzie. How could I possibly have missed this?

From the small patch of grass where a few women are doing yoga, Anna stretches downward and waves at me from between her spread legs.

I snort. Classy. I beckon her with one hand, and she not-so-discreetly extracts herself from the group.

“Isn’t this kind of great?” she asks as she plops down on the lounger next to me and takes a swig of my orange juice. “Is this what college was like? I would have been, like, really good at sorority stuff. Kappa Gamma Boo-Hoo or whatever.”

I laugh. “No, definitely not. Especially not design school. Um, did I miss something this morning?”

She taps a finger to her lips and thinks for a moment before letting out a soft gasp. “One of the junior producers dropped off these little packets in the kitchen called the Henry Bible, and it’s—”