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

And maybe—just maybe—fate isn’t a total crock. Maybe the fairy tales aren’t all wrong.





The crew follows us as we walk back to my villa, our fingers intertwined as ours hands swing between us.

“Was that awful?” Henry asks.

I shake my head. “For a TV date, it was decidedly not awful.”

In the distance, the waves crash and there’s enough noise for me to feel comfortable asking, “I’ll see you soon, right?” It’s the closest I can bring myself to asking him if I’ll see him back at the château next week.

He brings my knuckles up to his lips. “Not soon enough.”

In front of my door, he wraps his arms around me and kisses me. It’s not a television kiss. It’s a private kiss, the kind that makes me sure that his decision is made. Henry has picked me. And I’ve picked him.

“All right, you two,” Beck says as we begin to pull apart. “Mallory, escort Henry back to his villa. And, Cin, it’s time to go home.”

Home. Home. I can’t even fathom what real life will feel like. Cell phones and television and the triplets and my stepsisters and my stepmom and Sierra and tabloids and internet. Just the thought of it all makes me feel like I’m drowning.

“Soon,” I whisper to Henry.

He links his little finger with mine in a secret pinkie promise.

Inside, my bags are packed except for the leggings, Vans, and cropped sweatshirt I left out.

When I walk back outside with my dress draped over my arm and the baby-blue espadrilles dangling from my fingers, I find Mallory smacking on a piece of gum and waiting for me.

“Where’s Beck?” I ask.

She shrugs. “We gotta go. You’re on the last flight out, and if you don’t make it, you’re stuck here until tomorrow.”

I hand her the dress and shoes. “Irina wants you to keep the shoes,” she says. “And honestly, you could just take the dress too.”

“Oh, okay,” I say. My complicated feelings about Irina are slowly growing into a soft spot, and I’d like to think she feels the same way about me.

“Will I get to say goodbye to everyone?”

She looks at me, her brow pinched together. “That’s not really how this works.”

I nod and follow her to the entrance with my two suitcases, my most faithful companions, rolling along on either side.

A black limousine is waiting for me, and the driver hauls my suitcases into the trunk as I stuff the dress and shoes in my carry-on.

“Well,” I say to Mallory, and hold my arms out for a hug.

She doesn’t move and just eyes me uncomfortably.

“I guess this isn’t a hugging situation?”

She laughs a little and shakes her head, before taking pity on me and giving me a quick side hug.

I realize that for the crew, this whole experience is a constant cycle of people going home, but I’m feeling a little more emotional than I expected; I imagined this moment would be bigger, but instead, I’m quietly heading back home to sit by my door and wait for an invitation to the final ball.

I settle into the seat, and we begin to drive toward the gates.

Leaning my head back against the leather seat, I feel a resistance growing in my chest. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go back to the real world. I also don’t want to compete with other women for Henry’s attention, but I’m not ready for whatever comes next. There were times in the last few weeks when I couldn’t even imagine this moment finally arriving. But it’s here and gone. And now so am I.

Behind us I hear a muffled rumbling and a faint scream.

“Sir?” I ask the driver. “Do you hear that?”

The driver looks over his shoulder quickly, but I can tell from his expression that we have a language barrier to contend with.

I roll down the window and stick my head out.

Sure enough, a golf cart is chugging toward us. “Cindy! Wait!” Beck screams. “Wait!”

“Stop,” I tell the driver, and he seems to know what I mean, because he slams on the breaks.

I swing my door open and begin to scoot out of the car, but Beck jogs up to the door, leaving Zeke in the golf cart.

“Scoot over,” she says. “I’m going with you.”

“To LA?” I ask incredulously.

“No, no, the airport. Hurry,” she says, motioning again for me to scoot.

She settles in and gives the driver a thumbs-up to continue on. “Privacidad por favor,” she says.

He nods once, and the privacy screen separating us from him slowly rises.

I lean over and give Beck a suffocatingly tight hug. “You wanted to say goodbye!”

She croaks a little. “No.”

“Oh.” I pull back from her.

“Well, yes, I wanted to say bye, but I’m going to see you in a couple days, so not really. I really just needed to talk to you. Privately.”

“Is everything okay?” I ask, panic ratcheting my voice higher. “Is it something back home?”

“Everyone is fine. Erica is going a little batty not being here to helicopter-stepmom produce you, but other than that, everyone is fine.”

“Okay. So what’s going on?”

She turns to me and grips my shoulder. “I have huge news for you. It’s the execs. They love you. They weren’t sure at first, but seeing the response to you—and our ratings…let’s just say their love language is numbers and you’ve got them.”