She's Not Cinderella

How to Clean a Chocolate Fountain

My blurred vision gradually cleared as I took in the scene before me. I was wearing a fancy dress, sprawled out on the sofa surrounded by popcorn, with Jordan lying on the armchair and Peter face down on the floor. An overturned chocolate fountain pooled in the centre of the room, and the luxurious fur carpet was littered with crisp crumbs. On the TV an advert for indigestion tablets played, and I switched it off, remembering what had happened last night.

William had taken me out, and I had stomped off, taking the waiter with me.

I pulled up the chocolate fountain and went to the bathroom to take a shower. Most of the chocolate had solidified, and I snapped off a chunk, eating it appreciatively as I took off my spoiled dress and hopping into the jet shower.

Hopping out, I wrapped a towel around my dripping hair and threw on an oversized t-shirt and trackie bottoms and pulled a vacuum cleaner out of the storage cupboard. Cleaning up reminded me of my dad.

At the sound of the vacuum Peter and Jordan woke up slowly.

"What the hell." moaned Jordan groggily, stretching and getting up.

"Morning." I said fake-cheerfully, packing up the vacuum and smoothing out the pillows.

Jordan hopped up.

"We need some music!" he grinned, and leapt over to the stereo system, scanning the CDs the agency had chosen for me.

"Ooh, you have an amazing CD collection!"

"I don't really feel like it, Jordan." I groaned, flomping onto the sofa.

"Nonsense." he pulled out a CD and inserted it. Roar by Katy Perry boomed out through the walls.

Peter sat up suddenly like an enthusiastic puppy.

"I love this song!" he grinned, and they both began to sing along.

I moaned and complained, but ended up joining in, and the three of us stood in the middle of the lounge singing our hearts out like idiots.

"That was so refreshing! Can I use your shower? I have chocolate in my hair." asked Jordan, as the song changed to California Girls.

"Sure."

Suddenly, the doorbell went. Curious to see who would come calling at seven in the morning, I strode over and opened the door.

"Adeline!"

Shit. I slammed the door in his face.

"Adeline, you can't be serious. The working class need to be put into their place." he said weakly, as if even he didn't believe in what he had just said.

"Oh for god's sake." I muttered. "Go away! I don't have time for dicks like you."

"You can't leave the house without my limo." he said smugly, and I swore I could hear his smirk.

"Actually, Peter has a car."

"Peter? Wasn't his name Jordan?"

"Peter was the name of the waiter you were so rude to last night."

"He stayed at your house?"

"Yeah, well duh."

I heard him exhale heavily, and there was a slight creak as he leant against the door.

"I'm sorry, Adeline. I shouldn't have treated him that way. It's just... I..." he trailed off desperately, and I raked a hand through my hair.

"You what?" I asked softly, opening the door.