Fairy Tale Weddings (2 page)

After luxuriating in a tub filled with hot soapy water, Cindy fell into a deep, natural sleep.

The following day she managed not to think about Vanessa's crazy schemes during any of her classes. Nor did she allow thoughts of Prince to invade her mind while she hurried home from school and changed into her work clothes. However, the minute she stepped into the Oakes-
Jenning Financial Services building, Cindy was assaulted on all sides by fantasies she had no right to entertain.

“Hi,” Vanessa muttered as she checked the supplies on her cleaning cart.

“What's wrong with you?” Of the pair, Vanessa was usually the one with the ready smile and quick conversation.

“Traffic was a nightmare.”

“Hey, this is New York. What do you expect?”

“A bit of sympathy would come in handy.”

“Poor Vanessa. Poor, poor Vanessa.” Soothingly, Cindy stroked her friend's arm. “Did that help?”

“A little,” she grumbled, leading the way to the service elevator. They rode it to the main floor, then transferred to the passenger one. Bob Knight, the security officer who guarded the front entrance, waved as they continued through the foyer.

Cindy leaned her weight against the back of the elevator as the door glided silently shut. She was concerned about cleaning Thorndike's office. The room would never be the same to her again. She couldn't empty his garbage without wondering what was happening in his life and knowing she'd never be part of it.

“Hey, did you see that?” Vanessa cried excitedly, making a futile attempt to stop the elevator as it began to rise.

“See what?” Cindy was instantly alert.

The moment the elevator hit the thirtieth floor, Vanessa pushed the button that sent them back down.

“Vanessa, what's going on?”

“Give me a minute and I'll tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Cindy chuckled at the way her friend
bit her bottom lip. “Have you discovered the secret to peace and goodwill for all mankind?”

As soon as the doors opened, Vanessa grabbed Cindy's arm and jerked her out of the elevator. “Look at this!” she said, shoving her friend toward a large notice board.

“Look at what?” The only thing she could see was information about some type of party.

“Read it out loud,” Vanessa said impatiently.

Shrugging, Cindy complied. “The Oakes-Jenning Christmas Ball, 7:30 p.m., Saturday, December 12. Hotel St. Moritz, Grand Ballroom. By invitation only.”

“Well?” Vanessa's arched her eyebrows devilishly.

“Well, what?” Gradually the answer seeped into Cindy's perplexed brain. “You're nuts! You couldn't possibly mean I should—”

“It's the perfect chance to get you two together.”

“But…” So many objections crowded Cindy's mind that she couldn't express them all. The first one to untwist itself from her tongue was the most obvious. “I don't have an invitation.”

“Hey, there are ways—”

“Forget it!” Cindy hoped she'd said it with enough force to cancel all further argument. She stepped back into the elevator and waited for Vanessa to join her.

“I'm not going to forget it and neither are you. It's fate…kismet. I knew it the minute I saw Thorndike Prince's picture in the paper and so did you, so don't try to argue with me.”

“I'm not arguing,” Cindy told her calmly. “I simply refuse to discuss it.”

“But why?”

Faking a yawn, Cindy brought her hand to her mouth, then glanced conspicuously at her watch.

“All right, all right, I get the message,” Vanessa said under her breath. “But you aren't kidding me one bit. You're dying to attend that Christmas Ball.”

Was she? Cindy asked herself as the night progressed. Dusting Mr. Prince's outer office granted her the solitude to think about the magic of a Christmas ball, and she realized her friend was right once again. Cindy had never thought of herself as transparent, but she would gladly have submitted to the taunts of two ugly stepsisters for the chance to attend such a gala event. Only she didn't have any stepsisters, ugly or not, and she wasn't Cinderella. But a ball…the Christmas Ball…Nowhere else would she have the opportunity to introduce herself to her prince and be accepted as his equal….

She ran her feather duster across his secretary's desk, and for the first time since she'd been hired by the janitorial company, Cindy wondered about the woman who spent so much of her day with Thorndike Prince. Ms. Hillard rarely let anything go to waste. Even discarded pieces of paper were neatly trimmed into scratch pads, stapled together at the top corners. The woman's theme appeared to be Waste Not, Want Not.

Cindy spent a bare minimum of time in Mr. Prince's office. The room required a dusting now and then and an occasional vacuuming, but other than that, it was surprisingly neat, which was something she couldn't say about the other executives' quarters. Emptying his garbage, she smiled as she noticed the name The Deli Belly, the delicatessen from which Thorndike ordered his lunch. He was apparently a creature of habit, but then they all were, weren't they?

As Cindy moved from one office to the next, she tried to contain her thoughts, but the image of a crystal ball dangling from the ballroom ceiling and the room full of dancing couples kept flitting into her mind. In every image, Cindy and her prince were at the center of the Grand Ballroom, arms entwined around each other.

“Well?” Vanessa said, startling Cindy.

She recovered quickly. “Well, what?”

“Have you been thinking about the ball?”

“It's not going to work.” It was a measure of her fascination with Thorndike Prince that she'd even given the matter a second thought. But Vanessa's scheme was impossible from beginning to end.

“It'll work,” Vanessa said with blind optimism.

“Then where's my fairy godmother?”

With a saucy grin, Vanessa polished her nails against her cotton shirt. “Hey, you're looking at her.”

“And my coach led by two perfectly matched white horses. And how about turning mice into footmen? Have you got that trick up your sleeve as well?”

For a moment Vanessa looked concerned, then she smiled and flexed her fingers. “I'm working on it.”

“Are you working on a gown, too?”

“Sure…”

“If I were a fairy godmother, I'd tackle the invitation business right away.”

For the first time Vanessa seemed daunted. “I didn't realize this was going to be so complicated.”

“And that's just the beginning.” Cindy turned back to her cart, pushing it down the wide hallway, humming as she went. It was nice to dream, but that was all it would ever be—a dream.

Cindy picked up the green metal garbage can of the assistant to the third vice president and dumped its contents into the large plastic bag on the end of her cart. As she did, a flash of gold caught her eye. Out of curiosity, she reached for it, and when she read the gilt print, her heart rushed to her throat.

Holding the paper in both hands, she walked out of the room in a daze. “Vanessa!” she cried. “Vanessa, hurry. I don't believe it….”

Her partner met her in the hallway. “What is it?”

“Look.” Reverently, she handed the folded piece of heavy paper to her friend.

“It's an invitation to the ball,” Vanessa whispered, raising round, shocked eyes to meet Cindy's. “Wow!” She waved an imaginary wand over Cindy's head. “Did you feel the fairy dust?”

“It's coming down like rain, my friend.” Cindy shook her head in wonder.

“Where did you find it?”

“In the garbage.”

“You've got to be kidding!”

Cindy shook her head again. “They must've been sent out last week.”

“And apparently Ms. Reynolds has decided not to attend, in which case you will humbly accept in her place.”

“But—”

“It's fate! Surely you're not going to argue with me
now
!”

“No.” Cindy was more than willing to accept this unexpected gift. She'd attend the ball and satisfy her curiosity regarding Thorndike Prince. She'd indulge herself this once—and only this once.

 

On the evening of December 12, Cindy's stomach was a mass of nerves. Her cousin Tony knocked on her bedroom door and called, “Vanessa's here.”

“Okay, tell her I'll be right out.” Squaring her shoulders, Cindy forced herself to smile and walked into the living room, where her family and Vanessa were waiting.

Her friend stood as Cindy entered the room. “Oh, Cindy, you're…beautiful.”

Cindy's aunt dabbed the corner of one eye and murmured something in Italian. “She looks just like her mother.”

Vanessa didn't seem to hear her. “Where did you ever find such an elegant dress?” The floor-length pale blue taffeta grown had an off-the-shoulder neckline and a fitted bodice with a full ruched skirt.

“Do you like it?” Slowly she whirled around, letting Vanessa view the full effect.

“I'm speechless.”

For Vanessa, that was saying something. Cindy's gaze rested lovingly on her aunt.

Aunt Theresa lifted her hand in mock salute. “It was nothing…an early Christmas gift.”

“She made it?” Vanessa gasped.

“I sewed it,” Theresa said, “with loving fingers.”

“Where'd you get the purse?”

Cindy lifted the small pearl-beaded clutch. “My aunt Sofia.”

“And the combs?”

Cindy's hands flew to her hair, held in place with pearl combs. “Those were my mother's.”

“You look more like a fairy tale princess than anyone I've ever seen. I don't know what to say.”

“For once,” Cindy laughed.

Vanessa walked around her, studying every detail.

“How are you getting to the ball?”

“My uncle's dropping me off and picking me up later.”

“Excellent plan.”

“Listen.” Suddenly Cindy's nerve abandoned her. She was living her dream just as she'd always wanted, but something deep inside her was screaming that she was being a fool—a romantic fool, but a fool nonetheless. “I'm not sure I'm doing the right thing. Sheila will probably be there.” On close examination of the brunette in the photograph on Thorndike's desk, Cindy and Vanessa had seen the woman's bold signature across the bottom of the picture.

“She might,” Vanessa agreed. “But you'll do fine.” She tossed another imaginary sparkling of fairy dust in Cindy's direction. “The enchantment is set, so don't worry.”

“What? Me worry?” Cindy said, crossing her eyes and twisting her face.

Everyone laughed, nearly drowning out the honking from the limousine in the street below.

“You ready?” Aunt Theresa asked, draping a warm shawl around Cindy's shoulders.

“Ready as I'll ever be,” she said, expelling a deep breath.

Uncle Sal was standing beside the limousine, holding open the back door. “Where to, miss?” he asked in a dignified voice that nearly dissolved Cindy in giggles.

She climbed into the back and realized that this was the first time she'd ever been seated there. “Hey, this is nice,” she called, running her hands along the smooth velvet cushion.

“We have one problem,” her uncle informed her, meeting her gaze in the rearview mirror.

“What's that?”

“I'm sorry, kiddo, but I've got to have the limo to pick up the Buckhardt party before one.”

“That won't be a problem,” Cindy returned cheerfully. “Cinderella's supposed to leave the ball before midnight anyway.”

B
ored, Thorne Prince stood in the farthest corner of the ballroom, a look of studied indifference on his face. He idly held a glass of champagne. He hated these sorts of functions; they were a waste of time. He'd been obligated to attend this Christmas party, but he held out little hope of enjoying it. To complicate matters, Sheila couldn't attend with him. She, at least, would've made the evening tolerable. Hoping he wasn't being too obvious, Thorne glanced at his gold watch and wondered if anyone would notice if he slipped away.

“Prince, old boy, good to see you.” Rutherford Hayden stepped toward him and slapped him on the back.

Thorne's response was a grim smile. He had no use for the man who was trying to ingratiate himself by means other than job skills and performance.

“Fine party.”

“Yes.” If he hoped to engage Thorne in long-winded conversation, he was going to be disappointed.

A moment of awkward silence passed during which
Thorne did nothing to ease the tension. Rutherford paused and cleared his throat. “I've been giving some thought to your suggestion regarding the Hughes account, and I—”

“It was an order, not a suggestion.” Thorne frowned. Hayden was going to trap him into talking business, and he'd be stuck with this inept bore half the night. Refusing his overtures would only heighten the growing dislike between them. In spite of his incompetence, Hayden had the ear of Paul Jenning, the company president. Apparently they'd been high-school friends and on occasion played golf together.

“I'm back,” Cindy said, feigning breathlessness as she approached Thorne. She gazed at him with wide, adoring eyes. “Thank you for holding my champagne.” She took the glass from his lifeless hand and turned her attention to Hayden. “It's good to see you again, Ruffie.” She deliberately used the nickname she knew he hated. A woman didn't empty a man's wastepaper basket for a year without learning
something
about him. Cindy was a silent witness to the habits, likes and dislikes of all the occupants of the executive offices.

Rutherford Hayden turned from Cindy to Thorne, then back to her again. “I'm afraid I don't recall your name.”

“Cindy,” she said, offering him her hand. He shook it politely, and Cindy fluttered her lashes to dazzling effect.

“‘Ruffie'?” Thorne asked, cocking one eyebrow.

“Yes, well…” Rutherford looked at the couples dancing on the ballroom floor. “I won't keep you. We can discuss this Hughes matter another time.”

“Good idea.” Thorne knew from the way Hayden's eyes were scanning the crowd that he'd move on to easier prey.

“Good seeing you again, Tami.”

“Cindy,” she corrected, taking a sip of the champagne. She smiled beguilingly up at the irritating man.

As soon as Hayden was out of earshot, Cindy handed the glass back to Thorne.

“Now,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “I won't disturb you any longer,” she murmured sweetly. “You can get back to your pouting. But you really shouldn't, you know—it causes age lines.”

Thorne's mouth sagged open with complete astonishment. “‘Pouting'?”

“It's true,” she said without blinking. “You're a disappointment to me, Thorndike Prince.”

Thorne hadn't the foggiest notion who this young woman was, but he gave her points for originality. “I'm devastated to hear it.”

“I'm sure.” She decided that if he didn't have the common sense to recognize her as his Cinderella, there was nothing she could do about it.

“Just who
are
you?”

“If you haven't figured it out yet, then we're in worse shape than I thought.”

“Cindy who?” He studied her closely and couldn't recall ever meeting her.

“You should know.”

“We've met?”

“Sort of…” Cindy hedged, her nerve flagging. “All right, since you're obviously not who I thought you were, I guess it won't do any harm to tell you. I'm Cinderella, but unfortunately, you're not my prince—you're much too cynical.”

“Cinderella?”
Thorne felt laughter expand his chest and would have let it escape if she'd shown the least bit of amusement, but she was dead serious.

“You needn't worry,” Cindy said. “I won't trouble you anymore. You can go back to your brooding.” With that,
she sashayed off, leaving him without even glancing over her shoulder.

Pouting! Brooding! Of all the nerve! No one spoke to him like that! A Prince neither pouted nor brooded!

Gradually the anger wore away. A hint of a smile hovered at the edges of his mouth, and before he knew it, Thorne found himself grinning. He forced back the desire to laugh outright. He didn't recall that the fairy-tale Cinderella had such grit. This one did, and almost against his will he sought her out in the crowded room. He saw her standing against the wall opposite his own. Her eyes met his, and she raised her champagne glass in a silent toast. Her eyes were a brilliant, bottomless shade of blue, and even from this distance he could see them sparkling at him.
Alluring
. That was the word that flashed into Thorne's mind. She was the most appealing woman he'd seen in ages.

From the way her gaze held his, he saw she was interested—and interesting. It wasn't unusual for a woman to approach him; he was intelligent enough to know he was considered a “good catch,” and many a debutante would like to sink her claws into him. He knew that in time this woman, too, would return to his side to strike up another conversation. He'd play it cool, but given sufficient incentive he'd forgive her for insulting his pride. Although she was right; he
had
been pouting. But brooding—now that was going too far.

 

For her part, Cindy was acutely disappointed in Thorndike Prince. He was everything she'd expected and nothing she'd hoped. A contradiction in terms, she realized, but she could find no other way to describe her feelings. He was so cynical—as though the beauty of this lovely evening and
the Christmas season left him untouched. For hours she'd been studying him. At first she'd been captivated. Only later did her fascination begin to dim. Whimsically, she'd built him up in her mind, and he'd fallen far short of her expectations. He was her prince. Her hero. The man of her dreams. She'd imagined him gallant and exciting and had found him bored and cynical. Twice he'd looked at his watch and once…once, he'd even had the audacity to
yawn
. Life seemed so predictable and mundane to Thorndike Prince.

In spite of her disappointment, she refused to waste this precious evening. She'd announced who she was. Mission accomplished. She'd better forget about her prince, but there wasn't any reason not to enjoy the ball. Cindy intended to have a marvelous time and not surprisingly she did just that as she mingled with the guests, matching names to faces. Feeling a bit smug because she knew their secrets and they knew none of hers, she danced, nibbled on the hors d'oeuvres and tapped the toe of her high-heeled shoe to the beat of the orchestra music.

 

An hour
. Thorne had been waiting an hour for the mysterious Cinderella to return, but she'd stayed on the other side of the ballroom. Except for the silent toast she'd given him earlier, she'd granted him little more than a disinterested glance now and then. Once, she'd danced with James Barney, a young executive, and Thorne had been hard-pressed not to cross the room and inform her that Barney was no prince! But the thought of taking that kind of action was so utterly irrational, Thorne was stunned that he'd ever entertained it.

At one point, the sound of her laughter drifted over to
him, and Thorne was sure he'd never heard anything more musical. She intrigued him. He discovered he couldn't stop watching her. An unreasonable anger began to build inside him when she danced with two other men.

Finally, when he could tolerate it no longer, Thorne reached for a glass of champagne and marched across the room.

“I think you should explain yourself,” he said without preamble.

At first Cindy seemed too shocked to speak. “I beg your pardon?”

“I'll have you know, I never brood.” Her blue eyes gleamed like sapphire as a smile raised her mouth in the most sensuous movement he'd ever witnessed. “And this business about being Cinderella—that's going a bit overboard, don't you think?”

“No, but please call me Cindy. Cinderella's such an outdated name.”

She laughed then, the sweet, musical laugh that had fascinated him earlier. He stared at her, unable to look away. It took all his restraint not to pull her into his arms. He didn't completely understand his reaction—he hadn't drunk
that
much champagne. “Would you like to dance?” he asked.

She nodded, and Thorne escorted her onto the floor, his hand at the small of her back. Then he turned her into his embrace, holding her at arm's length, almost afraid of what would happen if he brought her body against his. Maybe she'd disappear, vanish into thin air. He half expected to wake up from this trance and find the entire company staring at him while he whirled around the room all alone.

Although Thorne maintained the pretense of dancing,
all his concentration was focused on merely looking at his intriguing partner. On closer inspection he found her to be truly lovely; she was more than pretty, she was beautiful. Innocent yet enticing. Her skin looked as soft as silk and felt as warm as a summer's day. He didn't dare think about what that marvelous mouth would taste like. He resisted the instinct to bring her closer, although their movements were awkward and strangely out of sync.

Finally Cindy stopped dancing and dropped her arms. She shook her head. In the space of a few hours, her prince had managed to shatter every illusion she'd dared to form about him. “Not only are you a terrible disappointment to me, but you can't dance worth a darn.” She stared at him, defying him to disagree with her.

Thorne didn't—she was right. Without saying a word, he brought her back into his arms, but this time he held her the way he'd wanted to from the first, pressing her body intimately to his.

Cindy slipped her arms around his neck and laid her head along the line of his jaw. The music was a favorite Christmas melody, and her eyes drifted shut as she wrapped herself in the enchantment of the song.

They moved as though they'd spent a lifetime practicing together for this one night. No man had ever seemed more in command as Thorne led Cindy from one end of the dance floor to the other without missing a step, guiding, leading, dictating every action.

“Do you always hum along with the music?” Thorne asked unexpectedly.

Cindy's eyes flew open and she nearly stumbled over his feet as her step faltered. “I'm sorry…I didn't realize.”

Thorne chuckled; he cradled the back of her head and
urged her temple to its former position against his jaw. “You were only slightly off-key,” he murmured.

Cindy could feel him smile and she relaxed, not wanting to disturb the wonder of the moment.

Maybe she'd been wrong. Maybe, just maybe, he could be her prince after all. Thorne was holding her just as she'd dreamed and judging by the way his arms tightened around her at the end of the song, it felt as though he didn't want to let her go.

“Would it be selfish to request another dance?”

“Cinderella's prince did,” Cindy whispered.

“Then I should, don't you think?”

It was all Cindy could do to nod. They danced again and again and again, neither speaking, each savoring the delight of being held. The only thought in Thorne's mind was the woman in his arms.

The only thought in Cindy's was that fairy tales could come true; she was living one.

“You say I'm a disappointment?” he ventured as the dance ended and the orchestra took a break. He had to discover everything he could about her.

Cindy lifted her head. “Not anymore.”

Thorne felt the full dazzling impact of her blue eyes. “Not anymore?” he repeated, smiling despite his effort not to. “Have we met before tonight?” He was sure they hadn't; he wouldn't have forgotten her or those incredible eyes.

“Never,” she confirmed.

“But you know me?”

Cindy lowered her gaze. “Yes and no.”

“You
are
an employee of Oakes-Jenning?”

The corners of her mouth quivered as she tried to hold
back a smile. “Did you think I'd crashed your precious party?” That was so close to the truth she quickly averted her eyes.

Thorne ignored her obvious enjoyment of this one-sided conversation. “How did you know Rutherford Hayden's nickname is Ruffie?”

“The same way I know you hate tuna salad.” Cindy turned to look at the tables loaded with a spectacular assortment of salads, meats and cheeses. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like something to eat.”