Sleeping with Beauty by Donna Kauffman Page B

with Homely People Club. Not to mention the ‘Don’t Hate Me Because I’m Beautiful, Hate Me Because I Can Program My VCR’ T-shirt.”
    Lucy laughed. “Don’t you mean, ‘not beautiful’?”
    Grady’s smile shifted to one of pure affection. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I got it right.”
    “Aw, Grady,” she said, her bottom lip wavering just a little. Then she reached out and punched him on the arm. “Don’t pull that ‘special moment on
Friends
’ thing on me right now. I don’t want to meet the godmothers with tears leaking down my cheeks.”
    He rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “Make up your mind, will ya? Hey, dry your eyes fast.” He motioned behind her with his chin. “The pageant directors triumvirate is approaching.”
    “‘Pageant directors’?” She turned to look out her window, and gasped. “It’s them.” Glancing back at Grady, she made a
tsk
ing sound. “‘Pageant directors,’ honestly. You’d better behave.”
    “Boy, remind me to not answer the phone next time you call for a favor.” He got a better look at the trio of older women as they closed in on his car. “Wow, I take it back about the pageant thing. What the hell is that one on the right wearing, anyway? No wonder their pictures aren’t up on the website.”
    Lucy’s attention darted from the godmothers to him. “‘Website’? What were you doing on the Glass Slipper website?”
    “Making sure you weren’t being sold into white slavery.”
    “What?”
    Or worse, that they’ll make you into something you’re not. The world has enough Debbie Markhams. It only has one Lucy Harper.
“Smile, they’re here.”
    The tall, severe-looking one reached for the door handle. Grady guessed that one was Mercedes. She reminded him of the sort who’d left ruler marks on more than a few sets of knuckles.
    “Welcome to Glass Slipper. Ms. Harper, I presume?”
    Lucy nodded, smiled nervously, went to step out of the car . . . and began choking.
    Grady reached over and undid her seat belt for her.
    Smiling sheepishly, she looked back at him. “Thanks. For everything.”
    He nodded.
    “I mean it. I’ll be fine, you know.”
    “I know,” he lied.
    And then she was stepping out of the car and into the waiting arms of her Barbie Boot Camp drill sergeants. They’d been through the stress of puberty, peer pressure, the drama of high school, the freedom of college, and somehow becoming responsible adults anyway, all with their tight bond still intact.
    So it was silly to worry about a two-week beauty camp. And yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d finally crossed a boundary that would change things between them forever.
    He watched her walk down the stone path, praying he was wrong. Halfway down, she tripped and went sprawling into the grass.
Ah, Luce.
Grinning and shaking his head, his hand was already on the door. He’d been her rescuer for so long, he was out of the car without another thought. But before he could take another step, he watched Lucy scramble to a stand. She shoved her hair from her face, and he could tell by her goofy smile that she was making fun of herself, deflecting the embarrassment he knew she was really feeling.
    He sank back against the car as the godmothers helped Lucy brush off her pants before continuing down the path and up the stairs. And he realized that his resistance to this idea wasn’t about her getting hurt. It was about him getting hurt.
    If she gained enough confidence, she might abandon the security their friendship provided. And that might mean she no longer needed him.

    W elcome to Glass Slipper,” Aurora said, gesturing to the sprawling Victorian with the deep, shaded porch that wrapped around the house. “We’re so glad you’re here.”
    Still recovering from her less-than-graceful entrance, Lucy forced a smile and nodded, but furtively she was scoping out the grounds. Other than a few people bustling along the shaded walkways that led from the house to