Fairy Tale Wedding (The Cinderella Ball Series, Book #3): The Cinderella Ball Series

by Day Leclaire

  “Damn you, Rafe Beaumont,” she muttered beneath her breath. She stood in the middle of the road, soaked to the skin and dirtier than she’d ever been before in her life. “If you don’t fall in love with me after this, I swear I’ll make you pay big time.”

  Marvin stuck his head out of the window. “You do good work, Estrella! Hurry. Get in before the road washes away.”

  Slogging with uneven steps through the rapidly deepening muck, she reached the taxi. “I’m really dirty, Marvin,” she warned.

  “My cab, it will clean. Get in. Get in.”

  She didn’t waste her breath arguing further, but climbed in and collapsed against the backseat. Marvin thrust the car into gear and took off. Water runneled from her hair and dress forming a muddy pool around her half-shod feet and she wondered idly if Rafe would even recognize her. She fingered her wedding band. Grit filled the creases and she took the least dirty corner of her skirt and wiped it clean. Seconds later it gleamed a golden promise and she smiled in spite of herself.

  “Not long until we get there, Estrella,” Marvin reassured. He shot her an anxious glance in the rearview mirror. “If you don’t let the road wash out, it would help.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The road, you keep it from washing down the mountain, okay?”

  “And just how am I supposed to do that?”

  “You are La Estrella,” he said reasonably. “You must know how.”

  “Oh, really? Well, I have news for you. I haven’t a clue.” She peered outside and shivered. The rain was coming down so hard she couldn’t see the coffee trees any longer. What she wouldn’t give for a hot shower and some dry clothing. Or even a spare sandal. “Tell me about this prophecy,” she requested through chattering teeth. “How did I get involved? I’ve never even heard of Milagro until just recently.”

  Marvin fiddled with the controls for the heater and a blast of warm air issued from the vents. “The prophecy has been here a long time. It says that when the two golden estrellas—stars? When the two golden estrellas appear in the midnight sky, happiness and prosperidad will return to Milagro.”

  “I don’t understand. How does that make me this Estrella?”

  “It is your eyes, Señora. They are the golden stars. And your hair. It is the color of a midnight sky.”

  “Uh-huh.” She waited for the punch line. When it didn’t come, she prompted, “Because I have dark hair and odd-colored eyes, you think I’m the one who fulfills this prophecy? You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, Señora. To the people of Milagro the prophecy is no joke. They have waited a long time for you. We have many problems you must put right.” He flashed her a quick, deferential look in the mirror. “First you must convince Señor Beaumont to hire Manuel once again.”

  She stared in alarm. “I’m not sure I can do that. Señor Beaumont is a very stubborn man.”

  “We have noticed that about him. But you will find a way, Estrella. The villagers, we depend on you.”

  She closed her eyes, too exhausted to figure a way to set him straight. She had enough problems with Rafe without taking on the town’s troubles, as well. “How much longer?” she asked.

  “Not far.” Marvin whipped around a curve guided, she guessed, more by instinct or memory than sight. Four hairpins later he said, “This is Milagro. We go just a little further to the top of the ridge.”

  She squinted out the window but didn’t see a town, let alone a ridge. It wasn’t until they’d reached a tall stucco wall and a set of iron-wrought gates that the rain eased enough for her to realize they’d arrived at Rafe’s home.

  “La Finca de Esperanza,” Marvin announced.

  The gates stood open and he pulled through them. A long drive ended in a formal circle in front of a sprawling ranch house. The minute Marvin cut the engine, the rain stopped and the sun broke through the clouds.

  “Gracias, Estrella. You kept the road from washing away and have brought the sun.”

  “Look. I had nothing to do with ending the rain or I’d have taken care of it a lot sooner than this.” She glared at her ruined sundress. “A heck of a lot sooner.”

  She’d wasted her breath, she realized. Marvin had moved out of hearing range and busily stacked her luggage on the tile entranceway. Ella stepped from the cab and gathered her energy for the next battle.

  The one she’d undoubtedly wage with her husband.

  As though the thought alone had summoned him, Rafe appeared in the doorway. Without a word of acknowledgment, Marvin deposited the last of her suitcases and disappeared around the side of the house. Apparently, his odd view of honor kept him from hanging around.

  Ella drew in a deep breath, wishing she looked a little better. At the very least, a little cleaner. “Hello, Rafe.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Rafe stood for a long moment without speaking, a lit cigarette held negligently between his fingers. He lifted it to his mouth and inhaled, his gaze switching from Ella to the damp luggage at his feet.

  “You want to come in?” he asked with gentle irony, flicking the still-burning butt into the garden. “Or would you prefer I hose you down first?”

  “That might be wise. Pushing cabs out of potholes during a downpour can be a bit . . . messy.” She glanced in the direction he’d thrown the cigarette. A thin plume of smoke drifted up through the bright red hibiscus blossoms decorating a nearby bush. “Dad mentioned you’d taken up smoking. I told him he must be mistaken.”

  “You always did have too good an opinion of me, amada. I’ll have to see what I can do to correct that.” He stepped from the threshold and gestured toward the open doorway. “Welcome to my home. You can shower and change before we talk.”

  “Thanks, I’d appreciate that.”

  “After which I’ll return you to the airport.”

  A dozen arguments leapt to her lips, but she suppressed every one of them. She had no intention of quarreling on the front doorstep. She’d save that for his study or library or wherever else he conducted private discussions.

  It turned out to be an office.

  “You look much better,” Rafe commented when she joined him a full hour later.

  “Thanks. I feel much better, too.”

  She’d taken her time preparing for this meeting, keenly aware she’d only have this single opportunity to convince him she should stay. The outfit she’d chosen was one of her favorites, a short, fitted skirt in bridal ivory and a matching silk shell. To counterbalance the rather formal effect, she’d kept her hairstyle loose and simple by brushing it into a glossy cloud that framed her shoulders. She also kept her jewelry simple, limiting herself to a pair of gold earrings and her wedding band.

  “I think that shower rated as a religious experience,” she commented, glancing around the room.

  It was decisively masculine, trimmed in mahogany, starkly furnished and smelling of smoke. By conducting their interview here, Rafe had trapped her within the boundaries of his territory. It was a calculated maneuver, she realized, one designed to make it more difficult to turn the tables on him.

  Still she had no choice but to try. “I appreciate your hospitality.”

  “I’m pleased I could accommodate you.” He gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat and tell me why you’ve come. I assume it’s to discuss my plan in regard to your parents. If so, you’re wasting your breath.”

  She did as he requested, glancing at him curiously. “Plan?”

  “You’re right,” he conceded with a shrug. “To call it a plan is an inaccurate assessment of my intent. Perhaps threat would be more precise.”

  Comprehension dawned. “You mean your threat to destroy my parents financially if they don’t end the Cinderella Balls.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Have I made any other threats?”

  Her mouth quivered on the verge of a smile. “No. I believe that’s the only one. At least toward us. I can’t speak for anyone else, however.” She tilted her head to one side. “Have t
here been others?”

  “Not that I can recall.” Amusement lit the stormy depths of his eyes. “To the best of my knowledge, you and your parents have the honor of being the first.”

  “I’m relieved to hear it,” she murmured dryly. “Of course, I’d be more relieved if we were also the last. Better yet, I’d prefer for you to give up the practice altogether.”

  “I’m sure you would. But enough of this, Ella,” he said with a hint of impatience. “If you haven’t come in an attempt to change my mind, or to offer me a written guarantee that the balls will end, then why have you come?” He reached for the half-empty pack of cigarettes littering his desk and shook one free.

  “It’s quite simple, Rafe.” She fought the nervous dread knotting in the pit of her stomach. If she didn’t miss her guess, her gallant host was about to become an infuriated husband. “I’ve come home.”

  His brows lowered ominously and he froze in the act of lighting his cigarette. “Pardon me? Did you say, home?”

  “Yes, home.” She stood and leaned across the desk, plucking the cigarette and match from between his fingers. “I always thought smoking a nervous habit. A crutch. But that can’t be right. You aren’t in need of a crutch, are you, Rafe?”

  Keeping her gaze fixed on him, she snapped the cigarette in two and blew out the match, tossing them both into a nearby ashtray.

  Her perfume drifted toward him like the smoke from the match, filling his lungs with a seductive scent instead of an acrid one. With a muttered exclamation, he shoved back his chair, leaving his pack of cigarettes behind.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Ella? And I want the truth.”

  She took her time reseating herself. “It’s quite simple.” She crossed her legs and smoothed the silk skirt along her thighs, keenly aware he watched her every movement. “You married me. Now you’re stuck with me.”

  “You know why I married you,” he informed her through gritted teeth.

  “Yes, I know. You want me. Well, guess what?” She held his gaze, her feelings reflected in that one forthright look. “I want you, too.”

  He reached for his cigarettes again, freezing at the betraying gesture. With a growl of annoyance, he grabbed the pack and viciously crumpled it. “This isn’t going to work,” he announced, tossing the crushed remains into the trash. “I’ll arrange a return flight for you first thing in the morning.”

  She shook her head, her hair swirling in a graceful arc around her shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere. Not yet. Not until we’ve sorted this out.”

  His fist crashed against the teak tabletop. And that’s when she saw it. He still wore his wedding band. It caught the rays of sunlight streaming in the window and sparkled in a bright, golden promise.

  “We sorted out our differences two months ago,” he rasped. “If you’ll recall, our marriage ended as rapidly as it began.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” She steeled herself to deliver her next little bombshell, somewhat bolstered by the sign of commitment he carried on his finger. “You see, I have no intention of releasing you from your vows until I’m convinced you have no feelings for me.”

  “Feelings? Our marriage has nothing to do with feelings,” he practically roared. “Our marriage is a travesty, one of my own making, I admit. But at least I had the good sense to walk away before it went too far.”

  She leaned forward in the chair, her hands clutching the armrests in a white-knuckle grip. “Well, I refuse to walk away. I’ve loved you for years and I’m not going to ruin my one chance for happiness because you’re too pig-headed to take a chance. If you want to get rid of me, you’ll have to physically throw me out.”

  He surged to his feet. “Do you think I won’t?”

  “You may try.” She stood, as well. “But we both know what will happen the minute you put your hands on me. If you carry me anywhere, it won’t be out the front door. It’ll be to your bed to finish what we started two months ago.”

  “Don’t tempt me to prove you wrong!”

  “Let me make it easy for you.” She opened her arms. “Go ahead, Rafe. I’m all yours. Pick me up and we’ll see whether we end this on the front steps or in your bedroom.”

  Fury exploded in his diamond-hard eyes, along with a blazing passion. He started around the desk toward her, his strides eating up the distance separating them. She knew a momentary twinge of fear, but it died as swiftly as it was born. He could fight and struggle and snarl all he wanted. It wouldn’t do any good. What existed between them couldn’t be denied any more than it could be controlled. A single kiss would shatter every purpose but one.

  To finish what he’d started on their wedding night.

  He slung a hand around her waist, hauling her against him. “You shouldn’t have come back. I swear, you’ll regret it.”

  “Don’t you understand? That’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

  With a frustrated groan he seized her lips with an avid greed and gave back a wealth of passion. If he’d thought to employ restraint, it was rapidly lost beneath the ardent response his touch elicited. Her desire was as genuine as it was unchecked. Not once in all the time he’d known her had she tried to conceal her feelings for him. Never coy, never shy, never reluctant, she gave with unstinting generosity.

  “Rafe, please.”

  Her urgent whisper scorched the air between them. He backed her toward his desk, ripping her blouse loose from her waistband. She didn’t protest. He lifted her onto the edge, thrusting the short skirt to her waist and stepping between her legs. She held him tighter. With a harsh groan, he palmed the pale expanse of thigh between the top of her stockings and her lace-trimmed panties. Her silken lips beneath his mouth threatened to destroy him, just as her silken skin beneath his fingers nearly unmanned him.

  She was everything he could ever want in a woman. If he could wrap himself in this moment, he would. But he couldn’t bring himself to take her on his desk with such callous disregard. “Not here,” he muttered with a groan.

  “You know I won’t refuse you.” Her eyes burned with her need. “You’re my husband.”

  “And you’re my wife. At least in name.”

  “You could change that.”

  “Not here,” he repeated. “And not now.”

  He closed his eyes and leaned into her softness, gathering the remnants of his control. Her breasts cushioned his face and he could feel her heart fluttering beneath his cheek. He took a deep breath and reluctantly pulled back. Holding out his hand, he helped her off the desk.

  To Ella’s dismay, her fingers were notably unsteady as she straightened her clothing. Not that she was the only one affected. From the corner of her eye she caught Rafe reaching for his cigarettes. It took a split second for him to remember what he’d done with them. When he did, he released a harsh sigh of frustration.

  Tucking her blouse into her skirt, she gave Rafe a direct look. “Well?” she asked with a determined show of mettle. “Did we settle that particular question?”

  Furious color raced across his peaked cheekbones. “Eres mío!” he whispered roughly. “You are mine. And your fate is sealed. I give you one week. You understand? One week!”

  Before she could decide whether to consider that good news or bad, a brief knock sounded on the door behind them before bursting open. Marvin and a small, lovely Tico woman stood there, their mouths agape.

  “Perdone, Señor,” the woman said with a gasp. She started to leave, but then stole a second, closer look at Ella. “Marvin! Tiene derecho! Es La Estrella. Está aquí! Por fin, está aquí.”

  “Chelita, what’s going on?” Rafe demanded. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  She gestured toward Ella, a becoming flush tinting her cheeks. “The Señora. She is La Estrella. I did not believe Marvin, but he is right. She has come to fulfill the prophecy. She has finally come.”

  “The prophecy? You think Ella—” Rafe turned and glared at the cabdriver. “What are you up to, Marvin? What rumors ar
e you spreading about my wife?”

  “They are not rumors, but truth,” Marvin protested. “Look at her, my friend. She is the prophecy, come as promised. Just because you are too blind to see what is right before your eyes, does not mean the rest of us are.”

  “She is not the fulfillment of some prophecy, she’s Ella Mont—” He shut his eyes, cursing beneath his breath. “Ella Beaumont. My wife. Not La Estrella.”

  But he was talking to thin air. Chelita and Marvin had vanished from the doorway, the sound of their excited, chattering voices growing ever more distant.

  “I guess I should have mentioned that,” Ella said hesitantly. “Marvin got it into his head that I’m the fulfillment of some prophecy and I haven’t been able to convince him otherwise.”

  “That’s just great.” He paced the room like a caged beast. “Marvin and my housekeeper are two of the biggest gossips in the area. By the end of the day it will be all over the village that I harbor La Estrella beneath my roof.”

  “Is that so bad? If it gives them hope—”

  “Hope? What good will hope do them?” Rafe questioned caustically. “Will it fill their children’s bellies with food? Will it get the coffee crop picked? Will it put colones in their hands? I don’t think so.”

  “The coffee crop?” She frowned. “Marvin seemed terribly upset about something to do with the coffee fields. But he spoke in Spanish and I didn’t understand.”

  Rafe sighed, his mouth set in grim lines. “The workers are on strike. Marvin’s nephew, Manuel, has told them not to pick the beans.”

  No wonder Manuel had been fired. And how interesting that Marvin had neglected to mention that part. “Why are they striking?”

  “Because I plan to sell Esperanza.”

  “Sell your plantation?” She stared in disbelief. “But, it’s your home. It’s been in your mother’s family for generations. Why—”

  “Enough, Ella.” He cut her off brusquely. “This need not concern you.”

  “But it does concern me,” she argued. “If I’m to live here—”