To Dance with a Prince (10 page)

Meredith tried not to gape. The “theater room” was really the most posh of private theaters. The walls were padded white leather panels with soft, muted light pouring out from behind them. The carpets were rich, dark gold with a raised crown pattern in yet darker gold. There were three tiers of theater style chairs in soft, buttery distressed leather. Each chair had a light underneath it that subtly illuminated the aisle. The chairs faced a screen as large as any Meredith had ever seen.

Two chairs were in front of all the others, and Kiernan gestured to one of them. Obviously she was sitting in a chair that would normally be slated for the most important of VIP's. She settled into the chair.

“Who's the last person who sat here?” She could not stop herself from asking.

If Kiernan thought the question odd he was polite enough not to let on. “I think it was the president of the United States. Nice man.”

Never had she been more aware of who Kiernan really was.

And who she really was.

A man in a white jacket, very much like the one she
had borrowed from Andy, arrived with a steaming hot bowl of popcorn for each of them. He pushed a button on the side of her seat, and a tray emerged from the armrest.

“I was kidding about the popcorn,” she hissed at Kiernan, but she took the bowl anyway.

“A drink, miss?”

Part of her was so intimidated by her surroundings, she wanted to just say no, to be that invisible girl who had accompanied her mother to work on occasion.

But another part of her thought she might never have on opportunity like this again, so, she was making the most of it. She decided to see how flummoxed the man would be if she ordered something completely exotic and off the wall—especially for ten o'clock in the morning. “Oh, sure. I'll have a virgin chi-chi.”

The servant didn't even blink, just took the prince's order and glided away only to return a few minutes later.

“My apologies,” he said quietly. “We didn't have the fresh coconut milk today.”

She had to stifle a giggle. A desire to tease and say,
see that that doesn't happen again.
Instead, she met the man's eyes, and saw the warmth in them, and the lack of judgment.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“No, thank you for your kindness,” she said. And she meant it.

She took a sip, and sighed. The drink, even without the fresh coconut milk was absolute ambrosia.

The movie came on. For the first few minutes Meredith was so self-conscious that Prince Kiernan was beside her. It felt as if she was on a first date, and they were afraid to hold hands.

Dancing with Heaven
was dated and hokey, but the dance sequences were incredible, sizzling with tension and sensuality.

Though she had seen this movie a dozen times, Meredith was soon lost in the story of a spoiled selfcentered young woman who walked by a dance studio called Heaven, peeked in the window, and was entranced by what she saw there. The dance instructor was a bitter older man whose career had been lost to an injury. He taught dance only for the money, because he had to.

Through what Meredith considered some the best dance sequences ever written, the young woman moved beyond her superficial and cynical attitude toward life and the instructor came to have hope again.

Wildly romantic, and sizzling with the sexual chemistry between the two, the instructor fought taking advantage of the young heiress's growing love for him, but in the end he succumbed to the love he had for her and the unlikely couple, united through dance, lived happily ever after.

What had made her insist the prince see this ridiculous and unrealistic piece of fluff?

When it was over, Meredith was aware of tears sliding down her face. She wiped at them quickly before the lights came up, set down her empty glass and her equally empty popcorn dish.

“Now you know what I expect of you. I'll see myself out. See you in the morning.”

 

Kiernan saw that Meredith was not meeting his eyes. Something about the movie had upset her.

He ordered himself to let it go, especially after yesterday. Not that he wanted to think about yesterday.

He'd kissed her, and it hadn't been a little buss on
the cheek, either. No, it had been the kind of kiss that blew something wide open in a man, the kind of kiss that a man did not stop thinking about once it had happened.

It was the kind of kiss that made a man evaluate his own life and find it seemed empty, and without color.

The problem was they had been pretending to be ordinary.

And between an ordinary man and an ordinary woman maybe such things could happen without consequences.

But in his world? If he went where that kiss invited him to go,
begged
him to go, the world she knew would be over.

She had trusted him with her deepest secrets. How would she like those secrets to be exposed to the world? If he let his guard down again, if he allowed things to develop between them, Meredith would find her past at the center ring of a three-ring circus. Pictures of her baby would be dug up. Her mother's past would be investigated. Her ex would be found and asked for comments on her character.

So, even though the movie had upset her, it would be best to let her go.

And yet he couldn't.

He stepped in front of her.

“Are you upset?” he asked quietly.

She looked panicked. “No. I just need to go. I need to—”

“You're upset,” he said. “Why? Did the movie upset you?”

“No, I—”

“Please don't lie to me,” he said. “You've never done it before, and you have no talent for it.”

She was silent.

He tipped her chin. “Did it remind you of your baby's father?” he asked softly. “Is that the way you felt about him?”

He remembered the sizzling sensuality between the on-screen couple, and he felt a little pang of, good grief,
envy
. But this wasn't about him. He could actually feel her trembling, trying to hold herself together.

“Talk to me, Meredith.”

“It had a happy ending,” she whispered. “I deplore happy endings! If it weren't for the dance sequences, I would have never asked you to watch such drivel!”

But he was stuck at the
I deplore happy endings
part. How could anyone so young and so vibrant have stopped believing in a happy ending for herself?

“My baby's father was older than me, twenty-two. He was new to the neighborhood, and all the girls were swooning over his curly hair and his suave way. I was thrilled that he singled me out for his attention. Thrilled.”

Kiernan felt something like rage building in him at the man he had never met, the man who had used her so terribly, manipulated and fooled a young girl. But he said nothing, fearing that if he spoke, she would clam up.

And he sensed she needed to talk, she needed to say these things she had been holding inside. And he needed to be man enough to listen, without being distracted by her lips and the memory of their taste, without wanting
more
for himself. Without putting his needs ahead of her own.

“If I had married Michael, my baby's father, it would have been a disaster,” she said. “I can see that now. As hard as it was for me and my mom to make ends meet,
it would have only been harder with him. You want to know how bad my taste is in men? Do you want to know?”

He saw the regret in her eyes and the pain, and he wanted to know everything about her. Everything.

“He didn't even come to the funeral.”

She began to sob.

And he did what he should have done yesterday in the car, what he had wanted to do.

He pulled her into his chest, and ran his hand up and down her back, soothing her, encouraging her.
Let it out.

“I loved him, madly. I guess maybe I held on to this fantasy he was going to come to his senses, do the right thing, come back and rescue me. Prove to my mother she was wrong. Love us.”

If he could have, he would have banished the shame from her face.

“Kiernan,” she said softly, “he didn't care one fig about me. Not one. And I fooled myself into thinking he did. How can a person ever trust themselves after something like that? How?”

He loved that she had called him his name, no formal address. Wasn't that what was happening between them? And what he was fighting against?

Deepening trust. Friendship. Boundaries blurring. But as he let her cry against him, he knew it was more. Mere friendship was not something that would put his guard up so high. And mere friendship would never have him feeling a nameless fury at the man who had cruelly used her, walked away from his responsibilities, broken her heart as if it was nothing.

His fury at a man he had never met abated as he
became aware of Meredith pressed against him, felt the sacredness of her trust, and this moment.

He was not sure that he had ever felt as much a man as he did right now.

“You deserved so much better,” he finally said.

“Did I?” She sounded skeptical.

He put her away from him, looked deep into the lovely green of her eyes. “Yes,” he said furiously, “you did. As for trusting yourself? My God, cut yourself some slack. You were a child. Sixteen. Is that what you said?”

“Seventeen when Carly was born.”

“A child,” he repeated firmly. “Taken advantage of by an adult man. His behavior was despicable. To be honest? I'd like to track him down and give him a good thrashing!”

She actually giggled a little at that. “Maybe the dungeon?”

He felt relieved that she was coming around, that he saw a spark of light in her eyes. “Exactly! Extra rats!”

“Thank you,” she said, quietly.

“I'm not finished. As for not trusting yourself? Meredith, you have taken these life experiences and made it your mission to change things for others. Do you remember what I said to you when you thanked me for not allowing you to fall off the horse?”

“Yes,” she whispered, “You said it's not how you fall that matters. You said everyone falls. You said it was how you got up that counted.”

He was intensely flattered that she had heard him so completely. He spoke quietly and firmly. “And how you are getting up counts, Meredith. Helping those Wentworth girls honors your baby. And your mother. And you.”

She gave him a watery smile, pulled away from him,
not quite convinced. “Oh, God, look at me. A blithering idiot. In front of a prince, no less.”

And she turned, he could tell she was going to flee, and so he caught her arm. “I'm not letting you go, not just yet. Let's have tea first.”

Just in case he was beginning to think he was irresistible, she said, “Will it have the little cream puff swans?”

“Yes,” he said. “It will.”

He guided her out of the theater and to the elevator at the end of the hallway and took her to his private apartment.

“It's beautiful,” she said, standing in the doorway, as if afraid to come in. And maybe he should have thought this out better.

Once she had been in here, would he ever be completely free of her? Or would he see her walking around, pausing in front of each painting like this, always?

“Is it you who loves Monet?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Me, too. I have several reproductions of his work.”

“I understand,” Kiernan said, “that he was nearsighted. That wonderful dreamy, hazy quality in his landscapes was not artistic license but how he actually saw the world. You know what I like about that?”

She looked at him.

“His handicap was his greatest gift. Your hardships, Meredith?”

She was looking at him as if he had a lifeline to throw her. And he hoped he did.

“Your hardships are what make you what you are. Amazingly strong, and yet good. Your goodness shines out of you like a light.”

He turned away to look after tea. But not before he
saw that maybe he had said exactly the right thing after all, but maybe not enough of it. She did not look entirely convinced.

He had tea set up on the balcony that overlooked the palace grounds and the stunning views of Chatam.

“Instead of allowing your falls to break you,” he insisted quietly, sitting her down, “you have found your strength.”

“No, really I haven't.”

Now he felt honor-bound not to let her go until she was convinced. Of her own goodness. Of her innate strength. Of the fact that she had to let go of all that shame. Of the fact she was earning her way, by the way she chose to live her life, to a new future.

“I want to know every single thing there is to know about you. I want to know how you've become the remarkable woman you are today.” And he meant that.

She looked wildly toward the exit, but then she met his eyes. But just to keep him from feeling too powerful, then she looked at the tray of goodies a servant was bringing in.

“Oh,” she said. “The cream puffs.”

“I know how to get your secrets out of you, Meredith.”

“There's nothing remarkable about me.”

“Ah, well, let me decide.”

She mulled that over, and then sighed. Almost surrender. He passed her the tray. She took a cream puff, and sighed again. When she bit into it and closed her eyes he knew her surrender was complete.

They talked for a long, long time. It was deep and it was true and it was real. He felt as if they could sit there and talk forever.

It was late in the afternoon before Meredith looked at her watch, gasped, and made her excuses. Within
seconds she was gone. Kiernan was not sure he had ever felt he had connected with someone so deeply, had ever inspired trust such as he had just experienced from her.

Kiernan sat for a long time in a suite that felt suddenly cold and empty for all the priceless art and furniture that surrounded him. It felt as if the life had gone out of it when Meredith had.

Without her the room just seemed stuffy. And stodgy.