The Cinderella Project (A Comedy of Love, #1) (12 page)

“And then you come here, after flirting up a storm—when you were
supposed
to be doing research—and ask
me
to say I’m sorry? Well I have news for you, Miss De Lanthe—that kind of thing is unacceptable.”

I was sure she was going to fire back. Ella would have. I was in too deep, though and I was too embarrassed to just admit that I was wrong and she was right. That made it all the more difficult to accept what she said next.

“I’m sorry, Nick.” Her voice was small. “I’m sorry I got too into my role. I know we talked about my professionalism earlier and I guess I took liberties I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry I ruined the night’s research.” She gulped. “It’s not right of me to carelessly misuse you like that. It’s not right of me to just attack you without understanding your reasons first.” She looked up at me with those deep, sweet eyes and I could see the beginnings of tears. I’m sure I misted up myself.

“Will you forgive me, Nick?”

When was the last time you felt a millimeter tall? It had been a while for me. There I was, all set to let her keep the argument fueled, allowing me to ignore my own guilt and use her as a scapegoat. As I realized that I’d been trying to do that exact thing, I nearly collapsed under the weight of my shame. Once again,
she
had been the real adult. I turned my head to hide my humiliation. She reached up to stroke my face gently, her fingers leaving little trails like fire across my cheeks. I very nearly kissed her the way I would have kissed Ella when she did that. Fortunately I caught myself and slumped back against my car, burying my face in my hand.

“Hey, it’s okay.” She took me in a gentle embrace. My whole body ignited at her touch. My odds of getting struck by lightning were greater than those of getting a “comfort hug” from Ella—I was supposed to be her big, strong protector who never got hurt and who never cried. With Moiré, though… No. Still, it had been an honest mistake. No reason to fall apart. I ate my guilt and “manned up.”

I fought the urge to return her hug, but instead only looked at her. “Thanks,” I said. “And Moiré, you’re right. I was a jerk tonight. I’m really, really sorry. I’m the one who needs to be asking for forgiveness. Will you forgive me?”

She smiled and stroked my cheek one more time, stoking the flame beneath my skin. “Hey, bygones be bygones, right?”

I chuckled with her. “Yeah,” I said. “And Moiré? Thanks for… keeping John out of my hair during the show.” I
wanted
to say, “Thanks for going out with me.” I remolded my words into “business mode,” and extended my hand to shake.

She didn’t take it. Instead, she pointed to the sidewalk behind me. “We walk,” she said. With a wink and a smile, she was off.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“C’mere, son. Let’s have a little ‘man to man.’ Wadd’ya think?”

“What’s up, Dad?”

“Yeah, this, uh, girl you like. Tell me about her.”

“Dude, Dad, she is
fine
. And not only that, she’s top of the class. Even makes
me
look dumb.”

“Wow. That is saying something. You sure you wanna try for a girl that makes you feel like an idiot?”

“She doesn’t make me feel like an idiot, Dad. I’m just saying she’s not some empty-headed blond that can’t even hold a conversation.”

“Hey, I like blondes.”

“Yeah… Mom mentioned that to me.”

“Well I’m still with her, right?”

“Uh… right.”

I caught up to Moiré half a block later, surprised at just how fast she could walk. When I drew up alongside her she slowed to a more regular pace and shot me a mock-congratulatory grin. I smiled back, enjoying the evening. Even after dusk the night air was warm. I drank the sweet fragrance, pretending it was coming from the surrounding flowers.

“So, you’ve got a girlfriend, eh?”

Why, of all questions, did she have to ask that?

“What makes you think that?”

“John was asking about her.”

I grimaced. “I hope you picked up on the fact that John’s not all there, right?”

She laughed. “Well, his hand was almost
everywhere
. I’m pretty sure his mind was in just one place, though.”

I squashed the rising tide of jealousy and quickly changed the subject. “How was your day?”

“What, you’re not going to ask me if I’ve got a boyfriend?” she said, feigning hurt.

“Well…” How was I to ask about Tall, Dark and Handsome from the Psych Department dinner, without giving myself away? The answer? Don’t ask. “Your friend Daisy indicated you were single the first night I was at her place. If you’ve hooked up with someone since,” I said, thinking again of her dinner date, “then he seems pretty open-minded and not at all possessive about you. You’ve never spoken of having a guy and you haven’t seemed squeamish about pretending to be a couple with a co-worker. My money is on the ‘no boyfriend’ hypothesis.”

“Well isn’t that just the nice, analytical way to put it,” she purred, amused.

“It surprises me, really,” I said. “That you don’t have a steady boyfriend. Or that you’re not married.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” She looked directly at me.

I kept my eyes straight ahead. “Those kind of things are hard to quantify, you know?
Experience has taught me that girls with obvious confidence and at least decently good looks tend to be the ones that get snatched up the quickest.”

In a low, mock-flirtatious tone she said, “So you’re saying I’m attractive?”

I stopped. She really wasn’t making this easy. “We work together on a professional level, Moiré. My opinion of you is only relevant where it regards your work abilities and good judgment.”

She smiled wickedly. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’ then.” She skipped away.

I shook my head, sighed and followed her again. When I was once more next her she gave me another sidelong glance. “So, what got you started in on writing The Book of Love in the first place?”

Hmm… interesting twist on things. She was going for gold in a roundabout way. I mentally congratulated her intellectual prowess
. I would play along.

“Well,” I said, organizing my thoughts, “How detailed do you want me to be?”

“Gory,” she said with an evil tone. “Even if it has to go all the way back to a kindergarten crush.”

I smiled. “You asked for it.”

“Oh yes.”

I gave it some thought. “Well, to be perfectly honest, it started with my parents.”

She raised her eyebrows, but said nothing.

“My parents fell in love young. They had a fairytale fling. You know, noble, charming guy meets stunning young woman and then they magically know they’re ‘meant for each other’ and go on to live happily ever after.”

“I’ve heard stories, yes,” Moiré said.

“Well…
no one ever really talks about the other side of the fairytale. No one really ever explained to me how that ‘happily ever after’ worked. I guess no one ever explained it to Mom or Dad, either.”

“So your parents are divorced,” she stated.

“Sometimes I think they should be,” I admitted sourly. “They’re still together, but their relationship consists of ice-cold ignoring, or red-hot fights. They can manage to be cordial when the situation calls for it. I love them to death—they really are great folks. It’s just… not the kind of ending I imagine they envisioned.”

Moiré nodded solemnly. “Ouch.”

I sighed. “Tell me about it. Anyway, I’ve thought about my parents’ relationship quite a bit, ever since childhood. When I started my psych degree, I took to studying their behavior whenever I was home for a visit. I’d subtly ask about their courtship, but that door was usually closed, sadly. Eventually, I managed to piece together that bare-bones account I just shared with you.

“Well, that made me wonder how two people so obviously incompatible could ever get together—to the point of marriage—in the first place. I knew that most romances start with an
initial, chemical response. It’s actually quite simple—basic biology. All life is programmed to survive. Survival instinct drives reproductive desires—think of it as nature’s version of immortality.

“When an adult male meets an adult female they evaluate one another’s mating potential—the likelihood that a potential mate will produce healthy offspring and preserve the individual’s genetic identity. In humans, that typically involves physical appearance. Men need to look fit and strong enough to find food and protect the family. In layman’s terms, that’s a square jaw, nice abs and bulging biceps. They also need to demonstrate their willingness to stay with the female and her offspring to continue providing the basic needs of life—none of that cheating stuff.

“Women are evaluated on similar criteria: healthy appearance, smooth skin and basic indications of a mate that’s able to bear and rear children—yes, chests and hips.”

I paused for breath, realizing I paraphrased the introduction to my thesis. I grinned and resumed. “Unfortunately, we’ve complicated the survival game by factoring in race, religion, economic status, mind games, age, et cetera. Simple survival instinct morphed into a psychological death trap.

“So… my parents. I’m trying to find the mental and physical responses that triggered their survival instincts so strongly that decided to become married mating partners without establishing whether they’d be likely to
succeed
in marriage. That led me to follow relationships from cradle to grave. That includes people who are still together physically, but only just. Like my parents.

“Dad always told me that the true mark of a man was his ability to make and keep vital commitments, no matter how hard keeping those commitments was. But I still wonder whether they missed glaring signs that they were
ill-suited for each other. My hypothesis is that their neurophysical responses must have been off the charts.” I didn’t add that I was also desperate to find a cure to the flat, staleness of my own engagement. The moments of happiness with Ella were fleeting at best and the time between them was growing. Ella and I were headed down the same road as my parents, but I wasn’t about to tuck my tail between my legs and chicken out. No, I had chosen my path and I
would
stay that course. I just needed to make some corrections.

Moiré nodded. “And yet, despite the problems with your parents, you’ve been dating seriously since high school. You also, presumably, want to marry. You’re even let a girl get close enough to give you hickeys.”

“What hickeys?”

She stuck out her tongue. “You told me about the hickeys after Prom.”

“I told you no such thing.”

She rolled her eyes. “You told me about the hickeys.”

“You got me. But that was just a crush. She caught me off guard that night.

“As for marriage, I’ve seen some really wonderful marriages. My parents may have botched it, but that’s no reason for me to think the whole thing is wrong. It’s my hope that one day, I’ll
have
one of those great marriages I’ve seen.”

“It’s your choice,” she said. “At least half of it is, anyway.”

“I thought you were a Pride and Prejudice fan,” I said, turning to her.

“Fan? Possibly. But that doesn’t mean I agree with everything the characters have to say. For one, Charlotte was dead wrong, in my opinion.”

I stroked my chin. “So you don’t believe marital happiness is just a matter of chance?”

“I know
you
don’t believe that, either,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Oh,” I replied, “what if I do? And how is it you think you know so much about me?”

She smiled thinly. “Hey, pal, I’m a psych major too, don’t forget. Just because I’m an undergrad doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes and ears, or that I can’t put two and two together. Whether you realize it or not, you’ve made it pretty clear that you think there’s something other than dumb luck that makes a marriage work.”

I licked my lips, thoughtful. Wasn’t I already choosing the happier path in my engagement? I was loyal to Ella. I was kind to her and I was willing to live with the fact that Ella—like me—still had some room for improvement. I chose to forgive her complaining, irresponsible attitude, as well as the fact that she often ignored my needs. I could turn a blind eye to the way she often
walked the borders of flirtation with other men; I was sure that would change. So… what of choice, then, if even in choosing well, you lost? Perhaps Charlotte was more right than Moiré would want to admit.

Moiré said, “Think about those great marriages you mentioned. You said you wanted one, right?”

I nodded. “Who doesn’t?”

“Well
, tell me about your ideal version of marital bliss.”

W
e resumed walking. I stared up at the sky, pondering silently until we finally reached Rotary Club Park. Moiré seemed content with that. We planted ourselves in the swings and Moiré smiled.

“Give me a push, while you’re thinking,” she said.

I stared stupidly at her. “You’re… kidding me, right?”

She frowned. “What kind of a Prince Charming are you if you’re not even willing to help a pretty lady out? Most guys would jump at the chance of pushing a girl on a swing. If nothing else, it’d give them a really good excuse to put their hands on her.”

I half-stood. “Whoa, you’re not asking me to—”

She laughed heartily and then kicked off the ground, swinging upward in a long arc. Embarrassed, I sat down again.

“So,” she said between laughs and passes, “have you figured out your ideal marriage yet?”

I thought for another moment and then nodded. “I think so, actually.”

She stopped and turned in her swing to look at me, her eyes effortlessly melting my will. My heart alternated between spasms and a dead stop. Ella used to do that same thing; it usually resulted in serious lip-lock. I suddenly wondered what Moiré’s lips tasted like.

I shuddered and rebuked myself for the thought. I forced my gaze to the ground. I was
engaged
! I had to remind myself that Ella was my sworn love. Ella. Ella.
Ella.
Not Moiré. I took a few deep breaths, before answering.

“Well,” I began slowly, “I guess my ideal is pretty simple.”

“Promise I won’t laugh,” she said.

“I knew you wouldn’t,” I replied
. “My ideal marriage is one in which I love my wife with my all and take care of her every need and desire—within practical reason—and in which she feels and does the same for me. We’ll eventually have kids and find all that happiness and joy those parenting magazines talk about.”

She raised her eyebrows at the mention of
the magazines, but didn’t voice the question in her eyes.

“Research.”

She nodded.

“So… that’s it, I guess. Just mutual love, trust and respect.”

She smiled softly. “You’re sweet, Nick.”

I bit my tongue before I could blurt, “And you’re gorgeous
.”

I suddenly realized that I was making things worse by fixating on potential problems. I closed my eyes and forced myself to let go of my tension. I got out of the swing and knelt on the grass
; she followed suit. This was wrong. This was dangerous. Then it hit me that, yes, it was okay to be friends with Moiré. I could choose how I saw her; romance was not required.

Carefully, I opened my eyes and willed myself to see her the way I should. She looked back in silent appraisal. Perhaps she sensed my intent? Finally, I realized that deep in my heart there was a real, true friendship with her that went beyond that initial “mating evaluation” I’d mentioned. For the first time since I’d met her, I felt totally
relaxed with Moiré De Lanthe.