Princess, Without Cover (8 page)

“I thought it might make you smile.” It was his turn to shrug lightly.

“But how did you find time?  You were with me almost every minute!”  Her eyes were wide as she stared at him.

“I do what every un-married male does when he needs help. I called my mom.” 

He grinned widely as she continued to examine her new surroundings.  Her clothing was folded neatly on a stack of new dark wicker shelves in the corner.  There were even a couple of framed still-life prints hanging above the bed and crisp white eyelet curtains to match the bedspread. The crudded-over window had been washed and sparkled in the sun.

  The room had definitely felt a woman’s touch.  Sydney felt a surge of gratitude for the distant relative that she had never even met.  Stephen’s mother had clearly spent hours redecorating this space for her.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t think of it before. I’m a guy.  I just don’t think of things like that.  But I called my mom to ask her what might cheer you up and she took over.  Do you like it?  Is it okay?” He eyed her anxiously, not sure if she would be upset that he had invaded her personal space.

She rushed to him and hugged him as tightly as her wounded ribs would allow. 

“Stephen, this is literally the sweetest thing that anyone has ever done for me.  Ever.”

She hugged him again, ignoring the protesting twinges that came from her ribs.

“Thank you so much! This is the most thoughtful birthday present anyone has ever given me!” Her eyes shone and he stared at her in shock. 

“Your birthday?” 

Color flooded his cheeks as he spoke. She nodded in response.

 “Sydney, I’m so sorry- I had no idea!”

Sydney studied him curiously for the source of his embarrassment.  He had no way of knowing that the first thought that sprung into her mind this morning was the fact that she was another year older now.  She was 18.  And that being attracted to Stephen didn’t feel quite so criminal.

“It’s alright,” she murmured gently. “How could you know?  I didn’t tell you. But this is perfect.  You couldn’t have done better even if you had known.”  She sat gingerly on the bed, enjoying the lush softness of her new down comforter. 

“Syd, you’re moving pretty slow. I know you’re hurting worse than you’re letting on. Let’s get you settled into bed.  The doctor said you needed to rest, so that’s what you’re going to do. Are you hungry?  I’m going to get you settled in here and then I’ll make you something to eat.”  He hadn’t even waited for her answer before he moved her bag out of the way and started turning down her bedding.

“Sydney?” He looked at her questioningly.

“Um, I’d be a lot more comfortable in my nightgown, but it hurts to raise my arms over my head.” At his concerned look, she quickly added, “But that’s really the only thing that hurts.  Everything else is just an ache. No big deal.”

“Right.  Broken ribs are no big deal.”

He stared at her in amusement.  She knew that she was stubborn in her efforts to pretend that she was fine, but she was also well aware that it was in Stephen’s nature to worry.  She’d given him enough to worry about lately and hurried to reassure him again.

“They really aren’t a big deal.  They healed up quickly. They must be healed- the doctor took the tape off of them yesterday. They only ache when I move wrong.”  He couldn’t say anything to that and she knew it.

He sighed in resignation. “What do you want me to do?”

“Well, it would be great if you could help me maneuver my nightgown so that I can slip into it.” She looked at him hopefully.

“Um, sure. I can do that.”

He stared at her hesitantly, his thoughts unreadable.  If she didn’t know better, she would think that he didn’t want her to take her shirt off.  And she had to admit… being in such cramped quarters with him while she was taking off her clothes wasn’t going to help put a damper on the attraction that she was trying hard to ignore.

She sifted through the clothing in her hospital bag and found the thin gown that she was hunting for. She held it out to him, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the slight tremor in her hand.

He took it from her and stepped closer.

“So… How do you want me to go about this?”  He looked from the gown to her in such consternation that she burst out laughing- and then had to hold her ribs.

“Ow, ow.” She gasped, still laughing.  “Don’t make me laugh.”

“I didn’t mean to.” He gazed at her in such droll amusement that she had to laugh again.

“Oh, God.  Stop. It hurts.”  She wrapped her arms around her body and tried to still the quakes of amusement that threatened to erupt into laughter.  Every time she looked at him, the humor bubbled up again.  She couldn’t help it.  He looked so helpless holding her nightgown in his long masculine fingers.

“Okay.” She took a deep breath, quelling the remnants of laughter.  “If you can help me slide my shirt off and then help me ease my nightgown on over my head, it would be extremely helpful.  I can show you how the nurse and I did it this morning.”

 He held her nightgown out helplessly and she burst into laughter again.

“At this rate, I’m going to need more pain pills,” she sighed after the laughing fit had subsided. “Okay, let’s try this again.”  He remained silent, afraid that anything he said would make her laugh and cause her pain again.

She began to shrug her arms out of her shirt and he lunged forward to help.  He grabbed the back of her collar and tugged it up over her head as she bent over to make it easier to slide it off.  As gentle as he tried to be, it still hurt.  A second later, she stood in front of him in only her lacy white bra and he stood with her shirt hanging limply in his hands.

She dared a glance into the mirror hanging over the battered dresser, flinching as she came face-to-face with her unpregnant body.  She had become accustomed to her swelling belly and the absence of it was a shock, causing her to gulp hard.  Large yellowish-blue bruises adorned most of her torso like an abstract painting. She was a walking bruise.

She was also surprised by her silhouette.  She had thought that she would be plumper than she was… but she hadn’t been hungry lately and it had clearly taken a toll on her. The twenty pounds in baby weight appeared to be gone and through the mottled bruising, she could clearly see her ribs.

“God, Sydney.” Stephen stared at her in sympathy, his eyes taking in her battered appearance.  “You need to rest.” Sydney noted that to his complete credit, his eyes didn’t even flicker down to her chest and to the way the top of her breasts were peeking out from her bra.  He was a complete gentleman, through and through.  She was too tired to worry that he just wasn’t interested in looking.

As carefully as he could, he helped her ease into her nightgown, pulling it over her head and tugging it down to cover the rest of her bruised body.  She sank gently onto the bed and carefully leaned back onto the pillows, closing her eyes.

“I didn’t realize how tired I actually am,” she sighed.

Stephen slipped from the room to grab a 7-Up for her from the kitchen.  He knew that she didn’t have the stomach flu, but it just seemed like a logical thing to do. He poured it into a glass and stuck a straw in it before he carried it back to her room.

She was already asleep. He gazed at her for a moment longer before he backed quietly out, closing the newly hung door softly behind him.

CHAPTER FIVE

A year or two ago, a biographer had approached her father, wanting to document his rise to power, wanting to put to paper the years leading up to the Randall Ross that the world knew now.  He had declined. Graciously, of course, because it wouldn’t do to give the impression that they weren’t grateful for public interest and support, but it was still a decline, nonetheless.  He had privately told Sydney and her mother that he wanted to wait until he had become president. Yes, he was just that ambitious and confident.

Sydney rifled through photos in the small box that she had brought with her when she moved. It had been carefully sealed with gray utility tape until today, marked ‘Sentimental Items’ with a thick black marker.   She had always been the kind of girl who kept flowers from dances, love notes from old boyfriends and ticket stubs from great movies.

She used to stick them in little ornamental jeweled boxes that her father would bring home from business trips or the big heavy ornate chest that she had gotten as a gift from the Ambassador to India. When she had left that day five months ago, she had hurriedly taken a few handfuls of these memories and shoved them in a plain cardboard box.  They were all she had now.

Everything from her prior life was documented with pictures. She used to insist on it.  Her life was a fairy tale, right?  There was no reason to not want to freeze each moment in time so that she could look upon it later and smile.

In the ones scattered in her lap, her parents smiled the same picture-perfect fake smiles, a beautiful blonde Barbie and a charismatic dark-haired Ken. Barbie always had her head turned a certain way, in what she knew was her most flattering pose.  Ken had silver at his temples, but was still a handsome, elegant man with power radiating from his ultra-white politician’s smile and sincere brown eyes.  

Looking at her parents caused Sydney to cringe.  It was hard for her to remember her previous life. For the past months since she had left them behind, she had felt like a ghost… someone who had died and no one, especially not her parents, could see.  And now, for the two weeks since she had left the hospital, she had been living in a tattered, dinged up corner of her consciousness… the place least damaged from her loss, from her life, from her reality. 

Stephen had been her savior, her guardian.  He had turned into her best friend and had let her wander in her parallel universe, with only gentle admonitions to eat or to rest.  He hadn’t imposed, advised, judged or instructed.  He had simply allowed her to immerse herself in quiet grief and silent reflection.  He instinctively knew that it was what she needed to recover.  And it was.  Today, for the first time, she felt like a living person again.

Loud, staccato knocking dragged Sydney back into the present. She knew she had to answer it because Stephen was out.  She padded lightly into the living room, clad only in a t-shirt and running shorts. She opened the door to find the unpleasant presence of Detectives Wills and Daniels on their doorstep. It was also unexpected.  She hadn’t spoken with them since their rude interview at the hospital. 

“We’re sorry. Did we wake you?” Detective Daniels’ face was impassive, but he didn’t sound sorry.  Or even slightly concerned.

“No.  May I help you?” she asked coolly.

During the past couple of weeks, she had more than enough time to consider the way they had treated her and she didn’t appreciate it. It didn’t matter who her parents were or weren’t, no one should be treated that way in the midst of a crisis. Now was as good a time for any for her breeding to rear its head. 

“We have a few more questions for you… about your accident.”

“Clearly, I assumed it was about my accident.  I’m not in the habit of meeting with the police otherwise.” She tilted her head back slightly, sticking her nose in the air, purveying them as though they were idiots.

Detective Daniels’ raised a dark eyebrow.  “Hmm. Someone ran out of milk for her cereal this morning.”

“No, someone just had time to consider the way certain detectives treated her last time, and
someone
doesn’t appreciate it.”

Her tone exhibited every ounce of rich girl breeding that she could muster. Cool, unflappable, superior.  It wasn’t how she felt, but there was no way they could know that. She had years of practice at exhibiting her public persona.

“Please… won’t you come in?” Exercising that practice, she was the polite hostess now, swinging the door wide open and gesturing with her arm.  “Have a seat.”  Polite as she was, her voice was still cool.

They both looked around the room with the practiced observation of detectives, taking in the scant furnishings, bare walls, small television, scruffy oak desk piled with paper in the corner and a hibernating, boxy computer monitor.  The sheer curtains framing the open windows fluttered in the hot breeze, accenting the lack of air-conditioning. 

She knew that the room screamed Minimal Living but it didn’t concern her and neither did their opinion of it.  She had spent the earlier morning hours scrubbing the worn wooden floors until they shone.  The little house might not be fancy, but it was lemon-scented and clean.

“We’ll stand, thanks.”

Detective Wills once again pulled out her little pad of paper as she stood in place, rocking back and forth on her heels.

“Ms. Ross, we’re not your enemies here.  We’re simply trying to answer the question of who tried to kill you. Any help you can give us furthers that cause.”

The detective’s voice was sincere, even if it did lack warmth.  Sydney briefly wondered if she was a lesbian. Normal women didn’t have such large biceps. Not that she cared about the woman’s sexual orientation, because she didn’t. 

But she did have to concede that the detective was right.  She was only hurting herself by making an enemy out of the police.  Even if she did feel that they had been influenced by her parents.

“Okay,” she answered flatly.  “I’ll try to remember as much as I can. But honestly, it’s just not there for me to recall. It happened so fast that I really didn’t see anything.” 

Detective Daniels’ stepped forward.  “Actually, we’re not here to ask about your accident.  We’re here to ask you some questions about your relationship with Christian Price.”

Surprise filtered through her, although she didn’t know why. She should be used to it, at any rate. She had been surprised a hundred times in the past six months.  Beginning with her pregnancy. That had been a big one. This was nothing compared to that.

“Christian?  What about him? We dated for a few months.  Obviously, we had a sexual relationship. I’ve known him since our Freshman year. He didn’t want to be a dad, so we broke up.”

“How long would you say your relationship lasted?  Exactly.” Detective Daniels’ bright blue eyes studied her carefully, interested in her answer.