The Cinderella Arrangement (31 page)

“
Oh, shut up
.”

The sounds of knives and forks clattering against the plates stopped as my parents’ angry faces turned toward me. My hot eyes stared back. Will beamed at me.

“Natalie! How dare you?”

“Shut up!” I exploded, shoving the plate away from me. “Both of you make me
sick
the way you fawn over him.”

I couldn’t stand hearing them talk about how he was so much better than me, but listening to Will try to lift me up was even worse.

Dad turned to William in a desperate attempt to salvage Thanksgiving dinner. “She doesn’t mean that.”

He gave him a dry laugh. “Oh, I think she does.”

I stood up and Will bolted upright. My parents’ anguished faces stared back at me. There were so many things I wanted to say to them. “All you do is make me feel bad about myself. I don’t need you anymore.”

Dad’s face went beet-red and Mom looked like she was on the verge of tears.

“I don’t understand why you’re so hateful,” Mom choked.

“I’m not the hateful one, Mom. You are.” I grabbed my purse, and they didn’t stop me as I slid open the kitchen door.

I’m done
.

“Good Lord,” Will ejaculated when it slammed shut. “I’m surprised you lasted that long without flipping out. What a disaster.”

“Thanks for coming,” I said in a sarcastic voice as he jogged next to me. “It was really great of you.” I quickened my pace, eager to get away from him.

“Natalie, wait! We need to talk.”

“About what?” I wanted to drive home and collapse in bed without anyone bothering me. I didn’t want to hear his voice because I was so close to exploding.

“What do you mean, ‘about what’? Dammit, Natalie!”

He seized my shoulders and turned me around so I could look at his perfect face and suit, his super expensive car behind him.

“You shouldn’t have come,” I said, lip quivering.

“I’m sorry! I tried to call you—Natalie?”

His mouth gaped as I suddenly burst into tears. “H—how did you do it?” I demanded through my sobs.

“Do what?”

“They love you! They love you and they hate me!” I shoved his chest. “They only saw you for five seconds. I’m their daughter and they couldn't care less about me.”

I stood there crying and watched him feel bad for something he couldn’t control.

“They don’t—they don’t hate you. It’s like I said before. You’ll never be able to please them.”

His heart broke for me, but I searched his face and tried to find some reason that this was his fault.

They’ll never love me. It has nothing to do with him
.

“Natalie, it’s their problem if they can’t see what a wonderful person you are. You’re a talented artist and what’s more, you’ve repaired my family. I don’t know how the fuck you did it, but Luke’s in Chicago with my dad, eating dinner.

“There's no excuse for my behavior, but I was fucked up at the time. I’m a fucking idiot, and I sabotaged the best thing in my life. You weren’t answering my calls. I thought you didn’t want to see me again. Can’t blame you.”

“Why did you come here?”

Will pushed himself off the car. My breath caught as he took my arms. There was no denying the electric current running through my skin the moment he touched me.

“Because I would have hated myself if I didn’t try to get you back. Because you saved me,” he took a deep breath, “and because I love you.”

It couldn’t be possible. “You love me?”

His dark eyes were like bright gems. A smile spread across his face. “Yeah, I do.”

“It’s all I ever wanted from them.” I looked at him through my tears. “Why don’t they love me?”

He held my shaking shoulders. “I don’t know. No offense, but your parents are jerks. They really are.”

“Yeah.”

 “Your parents may not love you, but I do. I don’t even think you realize how much you’ve done for me—when I saw that website—I—I’ve never met someone with so much capacity to give. I’ll always be there for you, no matter what happens. You’re the best thing in my life and I fucking love you.”

Everything in the background melted away. Just like that, all of my anger dropped away. He was right about everything—and the epiphany I felt in the kitchen freed me. They didn’t love me, but Will did. I didn’t have to worry about what they wanted, or if they approved of this or that. I didn’t have to see them ever again if I wanted. I was—
free
.

As I watched his lips form those words. I couldn’t quite believe it and yet my body felt like it was soaring. Will didn’t look away. That’s why he came here. That’s why he tolerated my parents.

He loved me.

And I love him, too
.

I couldn’t deny that warm feeling that swelled inside my chest when he smiled at me.

“Okay.” I launched up on my toes and kissed his surprised face. He wrapped his arms around my waist and backed me against the car, stunning me with his lips. Suddenly giddy, I blushed as he leaned forward to kiss me again. I didn’t think I would ever get used to this.

“Let’s go before your parents see us.”

“Okay,” I laughed.

He winked at me as he walked around to open his car door.

“Will! I love you, too.”

A look of wild happiness spread on his face. I don’t think I ever saw him look so ecstatic. He was still smiling when he got into his car.

I
smiled
to myself as I walked barefoot on the sand, my heels dangling from my fingers. The ocean roared beside me under a blazing orange sky. My bare shoulders shivered from the freezing wind that rushed over the icy water and my champagne-colored dress whipped around my legs.

Next to me, William strolled with his shoes in his hands, looking like a GQ model in his tuxedo.

“That was an amazing speech.”

He flashed me a brilliant smile. “Yours was okay.”

"Ass."

He laughed at his joke, and then sobered. "They only dated a year before marrying, right?"

"Yeah." Looking behind me, I could make out Jessica in her huge, billowing wedding dress along with Luke in his dark suit. My eyes watered and I wiped them.

“Hey, what’s this?” Will halted as he stepped in front of me.

“Oh, you know. I’m just sad that we’re all growing up.”

And moving out
.

He slid his arm around my waist. “You’ll be moving in with me in the Marina and Pacific Heights isn’t that far, babe. You’re not losing her.”

I sighed. “I know, it’s just—ah!”

Icy water suddenly rushed over our bare feet and I giggled as the wet sand gushed around my toes. Will laughed at me as the bottom of my dress was soaked and once again I marveled at how much he changed in a year. He laughed all the time. There was always a smile on his face—and Luke warmed up to him considerably. Nowadays, they were inseparable. Jessica and I joked that they were even closer than we were.

He grabbed my hand once again, and I was surprised by how fast my heart beat. Every time he smiled at me, I felt butterflies soar.

“You know what this reminds me of?”

“What?”

“Cinque Terre.”

He smiled at the memory. “Yeah.”

It was where I fell in love with him. It was where I saw the most incredible sights. Monterey had little in common with Cinque Terre. Whenever I saw the ocean, I thought about that brilliant turquoise and azure blue stretched out under a cliff of bright green vineyards.

“You’ll see it again,” he said, noticing my look. “Maybe sooner than you think.”

I grinned hard. It was my birthday in a few months. “Don’t spoil anything!”

He held up his hands. “I’m not spoiling! I said, ‘maybe.’”

Rolling my eyes, I squeezed his hand and planted a kiss on his cheek. “How’s WPF?”

WPF was the acronym for the William Pardini Foundation, which he launched months ago when we finished the website. Jessica helped write the content. The launch was one of the proudest moments of my life.

“It’s going awesome, and it’s all down to you.”

I looked at him. “Will, come on.”

“I would have never done it if you hadn’t pushed me.”

“I did it because I wanted your body,” I ribbed.

I yelped as he spun me around and held me to his chest.

“Well, it worked.” He leaned over me and paused, looking more serious than usual. “I love you.”

My passionate kiss ended any more idle talk and soon his hands were smoothing my shoulders and his eyes gleamed with the need to have me alone in our vacation rental on the beach. His gaze flicked toward it.

“Let’s go,” I whispered in his ear.

We ran down the beach, hand in hand.

* * *

I
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I
zzy

O
h God
—that’s
him
.

I look up at the half dozen or so Jumbotrons illuminated with a handsome man’s face. Dimples curve into his pale cheeks as he stares out into the crowd through a pair of insolent eyes, which are fixed into a permanent scowl. He wears a black suit that must be sweltering in the June heat. Charcoal hair sweeps across his forehead, unkempt. It’s a face I know intimately like the lines in my palm. I used to trace him in the darkness, running my fingers over his full lips, the short stubble of his beard, his high cheekbones. It was a face I wanted burned in my memory.

Then it became one I wanted to burn
out
of my head. Just the sound of him makes blood rush to my face, and here I am mentally preparing myself to beg Prince Thomas for help. I must be insane. He doesn’t have a philanthropic bone in his body, unless it involves tits and beer.

You’re doing this for your brother
, I remind myself.
Your incredibly
stupid
brother.

Thomas raises the microphone, his deep voice tumbling out of his lips. “We would like to thank you for stumbling out of your cockroach-infested hovels to spend your hard-earned dollars on cheap beer and steamed hot dogs.”

Wow
. He hasn’t changed.

The crowd doesn’t seem to know what to make of that, but there’s a smattering of laughter and applause and “PRINCE THOMAS!”

He continues in a deadened voice. “Since Daisy’s Aid’s inception, we have helped over two hundred countries feed their children. Every dollar that you spend at this event will directly contribute children in need. Once again, we thank you for supporting this great cause, but we must stress the need for donations.”

The paralysis that froze my limbs slowly ebbs away as he winds down his speech.

Keep going
.

I bounce from foot to foot, craning my neck over the sea of heads. Damn it. It’s almost impossible. Somehow, though, I manage to get a few feet from the stage by carefully navigating through the crowd with copious amounts of
excuse mes
and
sorry
.

God, I’m close enough that he could hear me if I screamed, if only there weren’t dozens of other women doing the same thing. When the hell did he reach rock star status?

“Prince Thomas!” A girl wearing a hot pink tank top crushes her breasts against the metal fence. “TAKE ME BACKSTAGE!”

Tom pays them no mind except to occasionally give them a lewd smile. I manage to get behind two of the women, and then my lungs swell.

“Tom!
TOM
!” My screams add to the cacophony of female voices, but they do nothing to distract him from the crowd.

I fight my way to the fence and lean over so it cuts into my stomach. Bodies press up against my back to fill in the gap. Tom’s just a few feet away from me, maddeningly close. I scream his name so hard that I feel a tear in my throat. Damn it. He won’t even glance in my direction, but that’s probably because I’m lined up next to these women. I must look like a nutcase.

My heart slams in my throat as Tom’s gaze sweeps over us, but he doesn’t recognize me. A girl immediately on my right wearing blonde dreadlocks and a giant foam hand loses her shit. Her plastic cup of rainbow Dippin’ Dots flies into the air, raining tiny colored balls of ice cream over my head. They melt in my hair almost instantly.

This is
wonderful
.

I picture myself with smudged, rainbow streaks in my hair. If I didn’t look deranged before, I sure as hell do now. The noise from the crowd roars behind my head like a bullhorn, drowning my voice. That’s not the case for Dreadlocks. I catch every ringing syllable of, “PRINCE THOMAS! TOUCH MY TITS!”

A surge of annoyance burns in my chest when she flails her arm, trying to get his attention, walloping me in the head with her giant foam hand.

Ow
.

It doesn’t really hurt, but I’m getting annoyed with Prince Thomas’ groupies.

There’s another blue blur across my vision. The giant foam finger swipes me across the face a second time.

“Fuck’s sake!”

She doesn’t hear a word I say. Dreadlocks is too preoccupied with the venue’s security, a beefy man who rebuffs her attempts to climb the fence.

Whump
.

This time it rips across my cheek like an honest to God slap.

Jesus fucking Christ give me that stupid thing
.

I snatch the stupid foam hand from the air, and she scowls as it flies out of her hand.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing? Give it back!”

“Nope.” I give the dreadlocked girl a look filled with acid that she returns.

“I paid good money for that!”

I roll my eyes and turn my back on her, which ends up being a big mistake.

Thump
.

A soft cushion hits the back of my head, and then another fierce blow follows. She’s got another damn foam hand, except it’s not a hand. It’s a spongy sword, pointed right at me.

What the hell? They have swords at this thing? Oh, because he’s a prince.

I can’t roll my eyes hard enough. Then I see a ten-year-old kid standing behind her, looking crestfallen.
She stole it from him
.

“Wow. You’re—”

Pathetic
, I want to say, except the finger slaps me across the face again. Dreadlocks laughs like a maniac, and blood roars in my ears, mingling with the sound of her hyena-like shrieking.

My foam hand swings in a wide arc, and the finger bends as it hits her, knocking the smile right off her face.

The huge illuminated screens dance with Thomas’ surly appearance. An acid tone creeps into his voice. “From the looks of you, you all have food to spare.” Thomas’ lip curls at the crowd’s good-natured laughter.

I’m only half paying attention to the screens as Dreadlocks lets out a cry of rage, hitting me back. I parry the blow with my makeshift sword, and then suddenly I’m embroiled in an intense, totally serious swordfight with a stranger.

“While the children starve, make sure you donate. Again, from the bottom of our hearts, we thank you for your donations. Hold on. Ladies…
Ladies
! You two! Do not fight over me.
Please
stop fingering each other
.”

The booming voice registers in my brain, and I lower my foam hand. Fingering?

A thunderous laugh shakes through my feet, and I glance at the stage. Tom’s still smirking at his little joke. And holy shit, everyone’s staring at me.

Thomas reappears on the Jumbotrons, wearing an amused smile as he points into the audience, straight at us. He walks closer to the edge of the stage. “This is a concert for starving children, shame on you both.”

Dreadlocks takes the opportunity of my distraction to give me one last hit at the back of my head. I whirl around at her and she almost grins an apology. I shove the foam hand against her chest as security moves through the packed crowd, heading toward us.

Oh great. Am I going to be arrested?

Dreadlocks lets out a crazed scream as a burly guard grabs her middle. Then a meaty guard takes my upper arm as Tom reaches out his hand and beckons.

“Bring her to the stage!”

Oh my God.

The crowd hoots with delight as the security guard drags me toward the stage. This must be some sort of bizarre dream. The drunken crowd parts for us, jeering as Tom eggs them on.

Oh my God
.

He hasn’t recognized me yet. What am I going to say?

His voice continues to boom through the gigantic speakers. “Come along, now. In my country, we make an example of brawlers. Help her on the stage.”

They laugh at me, but the sound rolls off my shoulder. I’m at the stage. He’s standing above me. I can see the pattern on his midnight blue-and-gold tie, the colors of Anglefell. The home I abandoned. The man I left behind.

My heart jackknifes into my chest as the guard gives me a boost to the stage. Tom’s insolent gaze sweeps over me as he offers his hand.

“Such
unladylike
behavior.” He shakes his pretty head.

I slide my hand into his as the crowd’s roar dulls to minor buzz. Smiling, he clasps his fingers around me and pulls, his gaze finally focusing on mine.

A current flows through the heat of his skin into mine like a live wire, primed for explosion. We did more than hold hands the last time we were together. It rolls through my mind like a highly graphic film.

Recognition dawns on his face, still frozen in an expression of amusement. The smile falters, and his eyes soften.

I climb the stage, my body trembling as Tom’s accusing stare stabs me. He holds the microphone to his lips, apparently speechless.

The words come to me at a rush. “Tom, I need your help. We need—”

“Take her backstage,” he says to security without tearing his eyes from me.

“Yes, sir.” The security guard tugs at my arm, leading me to the back and through draped, black fabric as a thousand jeers of a riled up audience follow me.

Pulse racing, I let him take me through an air-conditioned hallway, where the members of the rock band are milling around. I think I recognize a teenybopper who might be a pop star. Then he brings me into a changing room. There’s a single chair and a giant mirror facing the vanity. There’s an inspirational post-it note stuck on the mirror: Just KICK Monday in the FACE!

“Stay here and don’t touch anything.” The guard glares at me before leaving.

The small room echoes with my sigh as I wind my finger around a strand of hair and tug violently. I seriously need to get it together.

A crumpled piece of yellow paper on the floor catches my eye, and I bend over to pick it up. Another post-it: Friday is a GAZELLE. You’re a TIGER. Take it down!

You’re damn right I am
.

The door swings open and I jump in the chair. The post-it flies into the air and flutters back to the ground as Tom stands in front of me, his tie loosened around his neck. I remember snaking my fingers through a tie just like that, and yanking his head close, his hot lips on my mouth.

Stop thinking about sex.

He looks at me as though he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “You’re here.”

“In the flesh.”

“Why?”

I sigh. “I was trying to contact you.”

He steps inside, closing the door behind him. “So you decided to beat on my groupies?”

“I didn’t
beat
her.”

“You totally were. I was screaming at you both for at least thirty seconds before you finally paid attention.”

“That’s an exaggeration. Things just got out of hand”

A smirk lifts to his haunted eyes that still, even after all this time, burn with desire for me. “Isobelle,” he says in his rich voice. “You couldn’t have just sent an email?”

Damn, it’s hard to be in a room with him. “Like I haven’t tried a hundred thousand times. Do you even read your own emails?”

He grabs the arms of my chairs, and my heart jumps from his closeness. “Maybe you should have made the subject lines a little steamier.”

“Don’t be gross.”

“My team forwards all intimate emails directly to me. I have a wall papered with nudes and tits sent to Prince Thomas.”

“Jesus!”

“It’s just a joke.
Relax
.”

“Good.”

“I always delete the nudes after wanking to them.”

“For the love of God, Tom.”

It was such a waste of time meeting him. There’s laughter in his eyes, but it doesn’t help looking at them because they are the same shape as Emma’s. Our daughter. The baby he doesn’t know exists.

His tone softens. “Where have you been all this time?”

My pulse jumps in my neck.

Don’t get angry. This isn’t about you
.

I swallow it down. “I’ve been exactly where
you
sent me: the greatest country in the world.”

“Greatest country in the world? I can’t even challenge a mate to a duel. How fucked is that?”

“Yes, what a loss. Poor Thomas can’t wave his sword around. I’m not even going to touch the Freudian aspects of that.”

His eyes narrow. “Dueling is a sport. A highly respected sport in some circles.”

“You call it a sport, I call it a dick-waving contest. The bigger the sword—”

He makes a rich sound at the back of his throat, his smile tugging at my chest. “You have first hand experience with my
sword
, love. You know damn well it’s not small.”

How did we end up talking about his dick?

Focus
.

“I need your help—”

Tom rolls his eyes. “You’re a lousy negotiator, you know that, right?”

“Yes, please, tell me all about negotiating. You of all people should know what that’s like.”

His smile twitches.

“I mean, it’s not like you can just buy anything you want.”

“I don’t remember you being this cheeky when we were together.”

When we were together
.

Just like that, the levity dies in my soul.

Tom straightens, releasing the arms of my chair as I let out a sigh.

“Well that sucked the fun out of the room.

Like there was any to begin with
. “This isn’t about us. It’s my—”

“Then I’m not interested in what you have to say.”

The chillness in his voice freezes my chest, but I shoulder on. “Yes, you are. Otherwise you wouldn’t have followed me here.”

He gives me a stiff smile that’s full of pain, and he grasps the door handle. Fuck, he’s leaving! How did this happen?

“Tom, wait!”

He wrenches the door open, speaking to the door. “I thought you wanted me, not something from me.”

I wasn’t prepared for this—not that heart-wrenching tone in his voice or the quick rejection of the door slamming in my face.