Once she’d made her decision—the third one in as many days—she acted purposefully. She had her scarf wrapped around her neck by the time she entered the kitchen. She paused to button her coat.
Her uncle took one look at her and asked, “Where are you going?”
Sal so rarely questioned her about anything that his brusque inquiry took her by surprise. “I’m…The museum.”
“You’re not meeting that Prince fellow, are you?”
Her aunt pinched her lips together tightly and slammed the kitchen drawer closed, obviously annoyed by Sal’s interrogation.
Cindy’s gaze flew from Theresa back to her uncle. “I, uh, yes, I planned to meet Thorne there.”
“No.”
“No? I don’t understand.”
“I don’t want you to have anything to do with that rich, spoiled kid.”
“But, Uncle Sal—”
“The discussion is closed.” Sal’s hand pounded the tabletop, upsetting the saltshaker.
Cindy gasped and took a step backward. “I’m twenty-five years old! It’s a little late to be telling me I can’t meet someone.”
“You are never to see that man again. Is that understood?”
“Cindy is more than old enough to make up her own mind,” Theresa inserted calmly, her back to her husband.
“You keep out of this.”
“So the big man thinks he can speak with the authority of a supreme court judge,” Theresa taunted, her face growing redder by the second. “Well, I say Cindy can meet her Prince anytime she wishes.”
“And I say she can’t!” Sal yelled.
“Uncle Sal, Aunt Theresa, please…”
“He’s not good enough for you,” Sal said, more calmly this time. “Not nearly good enough for our Cindy.”
“Oh, Uncle Sal—”
“Cindy…”
The compassion in her aunt’s eyes was so strong that Cindy forgot what she wanted to say.
The room went still. Her uncle stared at the floor and Theresa’s eyes glistened with tears.
“Something happened.” Cindy knew it without a doubt. “It’s Thorne, isn’t it?”
Her aunt nodded, her troubled gaze avoiding Cindy’s.
“Is he hurt?” She felt alarm bordering on panic. “Oh, you must tell me if he’s injured. I couldn’t bear it if he—”
“The man’s a no-good bum,” Sal interrupted. “You’re best rid of him.”
It was all so confusing. Everyone seemed to be speaking in riddles. She glanced from her uncle back to her aunt, pleading with them both to explain and to put an end to this nightmare of fear.
“I think we’d better tell her,” Theresa said softly.
“No!” Sal insisted.
“Tell me what?”
“It’s in the paper,” Theresa said gently.
“I said she doesn’t need to know,” Sal shouted, taking the evening paper and stuffing it in the garbage.
“Uncle Sal!” Cindy pleaded. “What is it?”
Theresa crossed the room and reached for Cindy’s hand. The last time Cindy could remember seeing her aunt look at her in exactly that way had been when she was a child, and Theresa had come to tell the five-year-old that her mother had gone to live in heaven.
“What is it?” Cindy asked, her voice low and weak. “He’s not dead. Oh, no. Don’t tell me he’s dead.”
“No, love,” her aunt said softly.
Some of the terrible tension left Cindy’s frozen limbs.
Theresa closed her eyes briefly and glanced over her shoulder to her husband. “She’ll find out sooner or later. It’s better she hear it from us.”
For a moment it seemed as if Sal was going to argue. His chest swelled, then quickly deflated. He looked so unlike his robust, outgoing self that Cindy couldn’t imagine what was troubling him.
“Sal read the announcement in the paper and brought it to me.”
“The announcement?” Cindy asked. “What announcement?”
“Thorne’s marrying—”
“—some high-society dame,” Sal broke in. He shook his head regretfully as though he would’ve done anything to have spared Cindy this.
“But I don’t understand,” Cindy murmured.
“It was in the society pages.”
“Sheila?”
Her aunt nodded.
Cindy sank into a kitchen chair, her legs unable to support her. “I’m sure there’s some mistake. I…He took me to meet his family.”
“He was using you.” Sal came to stand behind her. He patted her shoulders awkwardly, trying to comfort her. “He was probably using his family to give you the impression that he was serious so he could get you into bed.”
“No!” Cindy cried. “No, it was never like that. Thorne didn’t even suggest…not once.”
“Then thank God. Because it’s where he was leading. He’s a smart devil, I’ll say that for him.”
Theresa claimed the chair next to Cindy and took her numb fingers, rubbing them. “I refused to believe it myself until Sal showed me the article. But there it was, bold as can be. It’s true, Cindy.”
Cindy nodded, accepting what her family was telling her. No tears burned for release. No hysterical sob rose up within her. She felt nothing. No pain. No sense of betrayal. No anger. Nothing.
“Are you going to be all right?” Theresa asked.
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. It was inevitable, you know. I think I knew it from the beginning. Something deep inside me always realized he could never be mine.”
“But…oh, Cindy, I can hardly believe it myself.”
Cindy stood and hugged her aunt close. “You fell for the magic,” she whispered. “So did I for a while. But I’m not really Cinderella and Thorne isn’t really a prince. It had to end sometime.”
“I hurt so much for you!” Theresa whispered.
“Don’t. I’m not nearly as upset as you think,” Cindy told her. “I’m going to study for a while.” Cindy was fighting off the terrible numbness, knowing she had to do something. Anything. Otherwise she’d go crazy.
Sal slipped an arm around his wife and Theresa pressed her head to his shoulder. “Okay,” Sal told his niece softly. “You hit those books and you’ll feel better.”
Cindy walked back to her room and closed the door. It seemed so dingy inside. Dingy and small. She didn’t feel like studying, but she forced herself to sit on the bed and open her textbook. The words blurred, swimming in and out of focus, and Cindy was shocked to realize she was crying.
“I want a retraction and I want it printed in today’s paper, Thorne stormed at the society-page editor. The poor woman was red with indignation, but Thorne was beyond caring.
“I’ve already explained that we won’t be able to do that until tomorrow’s paper,” the woman said for the sixth time.
“But that could be too late.”
“I apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you, Mr. Prince, but we received Ms. Mathewson’s announcement through the normal channels. I can assure you this kind of thing is most unusual.”
“And you printed the wedding announcement without checking with the alleged groom?”
The woman sat at her desk, holding a pencil at each end with a grip so hard it threatened to snap. “Let me assure you, Mr. Prince, that in all my years in the newspaper business, this is the first bogus wedding announcement that’s ever crossed my desk. In the past there’s never been any need to verify the event with the, uh, alleged groom—or bride for that matter.”
“Then maybe you should start.”
“Maybe,” she returned stiffly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”
“You haven’t heard the end of this,” Thorne said heatedly.
“I don’t doubt it,” the editor responded.
Thorne did an abrupt about-face and left the newspaper office, unconcerned with the amount of attention his argument had caused.
On the street, he caught the first taxi he could flag d
own and headed back to the office. As it was, he was working on a tight schedule. He’d already attended an important meeting early that morning—one he’d tried to postpone and couldn’t. The minute he was free, he’d had Ms. Hillard contact the PI, Mike Williams, and he’d paced restlessly until he’d learned that Mike was out of town on a case and not expected back for another week.
The detective could well be his only chance of finding Cindy. Mike had gotten close once, but after Cindy had shown up outside his office building, Thorne had done as she requested and asked Mike to halt his investigation. After all, he’d gotten what he’d wanted—Cindy was back. Now he wished he’d pursued it further. He had no more chance of finding her now than when she’d left him the night of the Christmas Ball.
A feeling of desperation overpowered him. When Cindy hadn’t appeared at the museum, Thorne had spent the evening calling every Territo in the phone book—all fifty-seven—to no avail. By the time he’d finished, he was convinced she’d given him a phony name. Either that, or she had an unlisted number. From there he had no more leads.
Thorne dreaded returning to his office. No doubt there’d be enough phone and e-mail messages to occupy his afternoon—and he was supposed to be working on a merger! Thank goodness it was almost completed. Still, this was not the week to be worrying about Cindy. He had neither the time nor the patience to be running around New York looking for her.
Ms. Hillard stood up when Thorne entered his office.
“Yes?” he barked, and was instantly contrite.
“Mr. Jenning would like to talk to you when you have a moment.” Her eyes didn’t meet his and Thorne felt a twinge of guilt. He’d been abrupt with her just now, but it was tame in comparison to his treatment of Sheila. She’d been to see him first thing that morning and he’d hardly been able to look at her as the anger boiled within him. The woman had plotted to ruin his life. It was her fault that he couldn’t locate Cindy. He’d said things to Sheila that he’d never said to anyone. He regretted that now.
Perhaps he might have found it in his heart to forgive her, but she’d revealed no contrition. It almost seemed as if she was proud of what she’d done. He hadn’t been the only one to lose his composure; Sheila had called Cindy the most disgusting names. Even now, hours later, Thorne burned with outrage.
In the end, he’d ruthlessly pointed at the door and asked her to leave. Apparently she’d realized her mistake. She began sobbing, ignoring his edict. He’d told her firmly that he planned to marry Cindy and nothing she could do would change his plans. Then, not knowing what else to do, Thorne had called in his secretary.
“Ms. Hillard,” he’d said, his eyes silently pleading with the older woman. “It seems Ms. Mathewson needs to powder her nose. Perhaps you could show her the way to the ladies’ room.”
“Of course.”
Mentally Thorne made a note to give his secretary a raise. The older woman had handled the delicate situation with finesse. Tenderly she’d placed her arm around the weeping Sheila’s shoulders, and with nothing more than a few whispered words she’d directed her away from Thorne’s desk and out of his office.
Sighing, Thorne sank down in his chair and looked over his messages. Paul Jenning had asked to see him, probably about his upcoming retirement and his not-so-secret proposal that Thorne succeed him. But even though this was what Thorne had always wanted, he couldn’t feel excited about it. If only he knew how to contact Cindy…
“Have you been in his office yet?”
Cindy didn’t need to guess whose office Vanessa was referring to. Her coworker hadn’t stopped talking about Thorne from the moment Cindy had arrived for work. “Not yet.”
“Are you going in there?”
“Vanessa, it’s my job—nothing more and nothing less.”
The other woman pushed her cleaning cart down the hallway, casting Cindy a worried glance now and then. “How can you be so calm? Aren’t you tempted to booby-trap his desk or something? As far as I’m concerned, Prince is the lowest form of life. He’s lower than low. Lower than scum.”
Cindy pressed her lips together and said nothing.
“You’re taking this much too calmly.”
“What do you want me to do?” Cindy asked, losing patience.
“I don’t know,” Vanessa returned. “Cry, at least. Weep uncontrollably for a day or two and purge him from your system.”
“It would take more than a good bout of crying to do that,” Cindy mused. “What else?”
Vanessa looked confused. “I’d think you’d want to hate him.”
Cindy wasn’t allowed that luxury, either. “No, I can’t hate him.” Not when she loved him. Not when she wished for his happiness with every breath. Not when everything within her was grateful for the short time they’d shared. “No,” she repeated softly. “I could never hate him.”
They paused outside Thorne’s office. “You want me to clean it for you?”
“No.” Cindy didn’t need to think twice about it. From this night forward, Thorne’s office would be the only contact she had with him. It was far too much—and yet, not nearly enough.
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
The outer office, which Ms. Hillard occupied, was neat, as always, but Cindy brushed her feather duster over the desk and around the computer keyboard. Next, she plugged in the vacuum cleaner. With a flip of the switch it roared to life, but she hadn’t done more than a couple of swipes when it was suddenly switched off. Surprised, Cindy whirled around to discover Thorne holding the plug in his hand.
“Can’t this wait?” he snapped, tossing the plug onto the carpet. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m working in here.”
Cindy was too stunned to react. It was obvious he hadn’t even looked at her. She was, after all, only the cleaning woman.
She turned, prepared to leave without another word, but in her rush, she bumped against the side of the desk and knocked over a stack of papers. They fluttered down to the carpet like autumn leaves caught in a gust of wind.
“Of all the inept…”
Instantly, Cindy crouched down to pick them up, her shaking fingers working as quickly as she could make them cooperate.
“Get out before you do any more damage or I’ll have you fired.”
Cindy reared up, her eyes spitting fire. “How dare you speak to me or anyone else in that demeaning tone?” she shouted. She had the satisfaction of watching Thorne’s jaw sag open. “You think that because you’re Mr. Almighty Vice President you can treat other people like they’re your servants? Well, I’ve got news for you, Thorndike Prince. You can’t have me fired because—I quit!” With that she removed the feather duster from her pocket, shoved it in his hand and stormed out of his office.
Eleven
Thorne moved quickly, throwing the feather duster aside and hurrying out of his office. So this was Cindy’s terrible secret. He’d never been more relieved about anything in his life. A flash of pinstriped coveralls and red bandana caught his attention in the office across from his own and he rushed in.
“Cindy, you crazy idiot.” He took her by the shoulders, whirled her around and pressed her close to hug the anger out of her.
She struggled, her arms flailing ineffectively, but Thorne wasn’t about to set her free. Her cries were muffled against his broad chest.
“Honey, don’t fight me. I’m sorry—”
She gasped, braced her palms against him and pushed with all her might until she broke free. If Thorne had been surprised to find Cindy cleaning his office, it was an even greater shock to discover that the woman he’d been holding wasn’t Cindy.
“I’m not your ‘honey,’” Vanessa howled.
“You’re not Cindy.”
“Any idiot could see that.” Disgruntled, she rearranged her bandana and squared her shoulders. “Do you always behave like an ape-man?”
“Where’s Cindy?”
“And you’re not exactly the love of my life, either,” Vanessa cont
inued sarcastically.
Thorne rushed from the office and down the hall, stopping to search every room. Cindy was gone. Vanished. This was how it happened every time. Just when he thought he’d found her, she disappeared, sending him into agony until she stumbled into his life again. No more. They were going to settle this once and for all!
He rushed back to the other young woman, leaned both hands against the office doorway and shouted, “Where’d she go?”
“I don’t know if I should tell you.” She idly dusted the top of Rutherford Hayden’s desk, obviously enjoying her moment of glory.
“You—what’s your name?”
“Vanessa, if it’s any of your business.”
Thorne clenched his fists, growing more impatient. He wasn’t going to let this impertinent Vanessa person keep him from the woman he loved. “Either you tell me where she is or you’re out of here.”
“I wasn’t all that keen to keep this job anyway,” Vanessa said, faking a yawn. She sauntered to the other side of the office. “Do you love her?”
“Yes!”
“If that’s the case, then why was your engagement to another woman announced in the paper?”
“Sheila lied. Now, are you going to tell me where Cindy went?”
“So, you aren’t going to marry this other woman?”
“That’s what I just got through telling you. I want to marry Cindy.”
Vanessa raised her index finger to her lips, as if giving the matter consideration. “I suppose I should tell you, then.”
“Could you do it fast?”
“I was the one who brought Cindy your picture and told her you might be her prince.”
“We’ll name our first daughter after you.” Thorne said the words from between gritted teeth.
“Fair enough,” Vanessa said with a sigh. “Take the elevator all the way to the basement, go left, then at the end of the corridor go left again, and it’s the first room on your right. Have you got that?”
“Got it.” Thorne took off running. “Left, left, right. Left, left, right,” he mumbled over and over while he waited for the elevator. The ride to the basement had never seemed slower, especially when he realized that he had to change elevators on the main floor. When he couldn’t locate the service elevator, the security guard, Bob Knight, came to his aid.
Fairy Tale Weddings Page 13
