Me, Cinderella?

by Rose, Aubrey

  “Really, Dr. Herceg,” Brynn said in a small voice. “I’ll be fine. If I can just borrow your coat, maybe, for the night.”

  Eliot’s heart strained when he looked at her, so quiet and unassuming, so ready to accept whatever came her way. Something inside of him turned, decided for him.

  “Come,” he said, picking up her bag. “You’ll stay with me tonight. I have an extra room.”

  He expected her to protest, but she just yawned, her pink lips opening wide behind her hand.

  “Okay,” she said. “Oh, wait!” She turned and fled into the other room, his large coat flapping at her knees behind her. When she came back she had something in her arms. Eliot’s eyes widened when he saw what she was carrying.

  “This is Lucky,” she said, holding the kitten tightly to her heart. “Can he come along?”

  Eliot drove slowly over the dark ice patches on the road, the heater running at full blast. The kitten kept pawing at his arm, as Brynn let it crawl all over her, its tiny claws digging into the coat as it tumbled over itself. It managed to clamber out of Brynn’s hands and onto Eliot’s shoulder. Eliot felt the pinpricks of the claws and then a small tongue licking at his earlobe.

  “Get it off!” he cried, trying desperately not to take his eyes off of the road. The raspy tongue tickled his ear and he tensed his head to the side to avoid it.

  “Sorry,” Brynn said, a giggle in her voice. “He likes you.”

  “The feeling isn’t mutual,” Eliot said, grudgingly. The damn thing would give him fleas, he knew it.

  “Sorry,” Brynn repeated, prying the kitten off of Eliot’s shoulder and putting it back in her lap. “Lucky, you stay here now.”

  As they pulled up to the estate, Eliot heard Brynn gasp. With her sitting next to him, he saw the place as she saw it, a vast acreage of beauty. Surrounded by a fence of cypress trees, the gates in front opened up to what couldn’t be called anything but a castle. The stone walls stretched up high over the gardens below, the roofs pointed in spires.

  “It’s like a fairytale,” she said, her voice wondrous. “This is where you live?”

  “It’s the family estate,” he explained. “But no one has lived there for a while.”

  “What about your brother?”

  “He lives downtown, close to the government buildings.” Close to the women and nightlife and action. Eliot couldn’t imagine his brother anywhere rural, and this place came as close to the forests as you could get while still being inside of the city limits.

  Pulling up in front of the house, Brynn pressed her nose to the window in awe. Eliot opened her door and helped her out, taking her bag out of the backseat. She nestled the kitten in her arms.

  Eliot paused for a moment. “The inside isn’t cleaned up yet,” he said. “It’s been a while since anybody came over to tidy the place.”

  “Are you apologizing for not cleaning up your castle?” Brynn asked teasingly. The drive over seemed to have woken her up considerably. Eliot unlocked the front door and pushed it open, inviting her in. She stepped over the threshold and looked around. The light inside was even dimmer than in the apartments. Eliot flicked a switch and the lamps illuminated the hallway. Two great staircases curved up to the second floor, and the marble floors reflected the light.

  “Yeah, you should be ashamed. This castle is so messy.” Her peals of laughter echoed through the hallways.

  “It is, isn’t it?” he said. The pieces of furniture looked ghostly, covered in white sheets. Cobwebs stretched out from the chandelier to the rafters.

  “Just terrible,” Brynn said, a broad smile on her face. In her arms, the kitten meowed in agreement.

  “Let’s go to the study,” Eliot said. “I’ll make you some tea.” He waved her upstairs, and she went obediently.

  “The study?”

  “It’s basically where I’ve been living the past few days,” Eliot explained. They walked down the long corridor upstairs, and Eliot turned off the light behind them. At the end of the hall, flickering light beckoned from one of the rooms.

  “My study,” Eliot said, his arm spread out toward the room. Brynn’s eyes widened as she went through the doorway. It was the one room in the house that Eliot was proud of. He had built the shelves himself along the wall and lined them all with books. Leather couches and chairs made the room cozy, inviting. His oak desk sat on one end, scattered with papers. At the other end a giant stone fireplace flickered with dying light.

  “It’s wonderful,” Brynn said. The kitten wriggled in her grasp, and she set him down. “Don’t go far, Lucky.” But the kitten seemed to know exactly where it wanted to go. Lucky jumped right up on a leather chair by the fire and curled up, its eyes closing sleepily. Brynn examined the shelves, her fingers running across the spines of the books. Eliot picked up two logs from the wood basket and threw them on the fire. The embers blazed up brightly, throwing new light into the room.

  “Does this work?” Brynn stood over the old record player.

  “Yes, the switch is on the side.”

  Brynn started up the record player and laid the needle down in the outer groove. A sonatina’s notes lilted softly through the room. Brynn’s mouth turned up into a contented smile, and Eliot felt himself ache as he watched her. Then her eyes turned to his and he ducked his head, afraid that she might see the longing in his face.

  “Would you like some tea?” he asked. He coughed in one hand, his eyes rising to meet hers, his shields up.

  “Yes, please,” Brynn said.

  “I’ll be right back. Make yourself comfortable.” He didn’t know what to do with his hands, clasping them awkwardly behind him as he exited the room. Surely she could see his discomfort, but she made no sign of noticing. It was a kindness to him, and he did not know what he would do if she were not so good. He fixed the tea quickly, fastidious about pouring the cream and laying out the sugar. Earlier in the morning he had bought a loaf of bread, and he cut and buttered some, thinking she might like a snack, thinking if there was anything else he could do for her. He carried the tray through the door to his study, almost dropping it when he saw where she was.

  Brynn was standing bent over Eliot’s desk, examining his mathematical work. He inhaled sharply, tilting the tray. The teacups slid sideways and he righted it just in time. Nobody had seen his work in years, and it startled him to have someone besides himself at the desk. She looked up, and must have seen the look of surprise on his face.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, taking a step back from his work. “I only wanted to see.”

  “No, of course, it’s perfectly alright,” Eliot stammered. It was wasn’t it? Wasn’t that the whole reason he had brought her here?

  Well, perhaps not the whole reason. He brought the tray to the oak desk, and set it down as carefully as he could on the corner. The kitten sat up, apparently invigorated by the sight of tea, and jumped to the floor, darting under the desk and wrapping itself around Brynn’s ankles. Brynn leaned down and picked up the kitten, cradling it in her arms.

  “What does this mean?” Brynn asked, pointing to an equation Eliot had written a number of times across the page.

  Eliot wiped his hand across his brow. “It’s the standard equation of a projective formula. I’ve been trying to manipulate it to be able to use it later here—” he pointed down to another equation on the page. “Do you know anything about projective algorithms?”

  Brynn shook her head. “Not a clue.”

  “It’s like a matrix transformation.”

  “There was one of those problems on the test,” Brynn said. “I only got the first part. The second part was impossible.”

  “Okay,” Eliot said, relieved to be back on stable footing. “Let’s start with that.”

  The light grew red and dim as they sipped their tea and Eliot explained the basis of his work. Brynn petted the kitten in her lap and watched, occasionally asking questions or writing down notes on a scrap sheet of paper.

  Eliot, in the middle of explainin
g one of the deeper aspects of part of his projection algorithm, looked over to find Brynn leaning on his shoulder, her eyes closed, her chest moving in the breath of deep sleep.

  The poor girl. He had rambled on and on and she had tried to listen. Eliot eased her upright in her seat, but her head lolled down. She must be exhausted. Trying not to make any sudden movements, he picked her up and carried her carefully to the guest bedroom, laying her down in the oversized bed and tucking the blankets in around her chin. She slept on, her lips slightly parted, and he brushed back a strand of her hair from her face. She shifted and murmured something. He leaned close to hear what it was she was saying.

  “...wonderful,” she said. “You’re wonderful. Everything...wonderful.”

  Eliot couldn’t help pressing a soft, protective kiss to her temple. His hand rested gently on her head, and the kitten jumped up at the foot of the bed, curling up on her feet and purring so loud that Eliot was sure it would wake her. Still she slept on, her hands tucked against her cheeks in a prayer pose. He could not say what it was that he felt in his heart, a possessiveness that he did not deserve to feel. It was all he could do not to stay and watch her sleep, for he was afraid that if he left she would vanish again and he would not have her there with him. The kitten’s tail switched across the blanket more slowly, then came to rest. Despite hating most cats, Eliot had to admit that this one was rather cute.

  Eliot stood and left them both asleep and warm in the giant bed.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “See, I cast the die, and I write the book. Whether it is to be read by the people of the present or of the future makes no difference: let it await its reader for a hundred years, if God himself has stood ready for six thousand years for one to study him.” - Kepler

  The first night in Budapest I woke in that odd hour between first and second sleep, near midnight. The snow outside fell softly against the windows, the flakes drifting up onto the panes and crusting the glass white such as it never had been in Pasadena, and for a moment I didn’t know where I was, my self so far removed from anything close to what I called home.

  Then I saw the moon outside. I exhaled, and my sense of dispossession evaporated, disappearing almost as quickly as my white breath into the air. A sense of peace came over me. I would see my mother’s grave, and I would know love. I felt as certain of this as I did anything else, and this time I did not have to walk to calm myself. Indeed, there was nowhere to go—I was where I needed to be. As I fell back into sleep, I caught myself smiling.

  I woke up in the most beautiful room I had ever been in. The large canopied bed swathed with velvet fabric enclosed me in my dreams. I confess that my dreams mostly revolved around Eliot, his beautiful eyes and quiet smile. There lingered a tension between us from our former encounters, a magical feeling that I could not put my finger on—did not want to put my finger on, lest it dissipate. I knew he still wanted me, and I still wanted him, and though we had both accepted that we could not have each other, there was still a longing that I saw in his eyes which I am sure was reflected in mine.

  I dressed quickly in jeans and a light sweater, splashed water on my face and brushed my teeth in the granite sink with copper fixtures. Everything here gave off an air of old elegance, of beauty enhanced by age rather than deteriorated by it. I tiptoed down the hall and down the main staircase. There was a chill in the air here that was not in my room, but my sweater kept me warm.

  “Hello?”

  “Brynn?” His voice came from just around the corner on the first floor. I hopped down the rest of the way down the stairs and turned the corner to see him at the stove, the countertop covered in flour. Lucky sat on the edge of the countertop, licking at a small saucer of milk. Both kitten and man were dusted lightly in patches of flour—Lucky on his tail and Eliot on the end of his nose.

  I clapped my hand to my mouth to stifle a giggle.

  “Before you say anything, know that we—both of us—had the best of intentions with breakfast.” Eliot came over to me and gave me a chaste hug, careful not to transfer any flour from his body to mine. I reached out and swiped my thumb across his nose to get rid of the flour. He stared cross-eyed at my fingers and caught his breath. I stepped back and surveyed the kitchen, my hands on my hips. The sinks looked like they had been hit by a tornado, with piles of plates and glasses left unwashed, sprawling over the countertops. Behind them the huge windows gave a picturesque view of the mountains covered in snow, a fir forest creeping up to the edge of the estate.

  “What exactly is it you are trying to make?” I asked.

  “Pancakes. It seemed so simple at the university dining hall,” Eliot explained. “I found a recipe in a book, but I must have added too much water. Then I tried to put more flour in to rebalance, you understand.”

  I nodded seriously, my suppressed grin threatening to come to the surface.

  “And that’s when I realized we were out of eggs. And this little one—” he said, frowning and pointing with a batter-covered spoon, “would not leave me alone. I had to give him cream to get rid of him!”

  “That is a shame.” I petted Lucky on the head, and he purred happily, rubbing himself on my hand. He already looked happier than when I had found him yesterday.

  “My mother always used to make such delicious palacsinta,” Eliot said, sitting down with a sigh in one of the kitchen chairs. “Like pancakes, but stuffed with things, you know.”

  “What do you normally have for breakfast?” I asked.

  “Oh, just tea and bread with butter and honey,” he said. “And a side of bacon. The butcher has such fresh cuts here. Much better than in America.”

  My stomach grumbled, and Eliot raised his eyebrows.

  “Sounds good to me,” I said. “How about you make us some breakfast while I clean this up?”

  Lucky meowed in apparent agreement and I got to work on the dishes while Eliot put a kettle on for the hot water. He happily fried up thick slabs of bacon, and the kitchen filled with the rich, heady scent of the meat. We sat down at the countertop with large mugs, the windows to the backyard now showing the first rays of sunlight coming over the mountaintops.

  “What a gorgeous place,” I said. I sipped my tea. Eliot brought over the plates full of bread, honey, and bacon.

  “Sometimes I forget how beautiful it is,” Eliot said. There was a sadness in his voice. “We can go and walk the grounds later today, perhaps. I don’t want you going out into the woods on your own.”

  “Why not?” I bit into the loaf of bread, sweet and buttery and crusty. My stomach calmed down as I continued to feed it the most delicious bacon I had ever tasted. I bit off the fatted parts first, leaving the crisp meaty bits for the end.

  “Poachers.” Eliot sipped his tea and put the cup back down on the granite countertop. “Among others. The deer are out, now, and the poachers come too close to my house for comfort. They’re not allowed, of course, but when they track a deer past the boundary line...”

  He shrugged. “Let’s just say that they don’t care too much about whose property is whose.”

  “They wouldn’t shoot me, though!” I caught Eliot staring at my carefully dissected bacon. While he averted his eyes, I hastily ate the rest. My food routines would seem strange to anyone, and I didn’t want Eliot to think I was weird.

  “Of course not. At least, not on purpose. But always wear something bright to go out. I’ll make sure Marta knows to buy you a brightly colored coat.”

  “Marta?”

  “My brother’s wife. I called and asked if she might take you shopping today for some warm clothes.”

  “Oh.” My mind raced. “But, I really can’t. I mean...”

  Eliot looked at me, all questions in his eyes. How could I tell him that I was too poor to buy breakfast, let alone a coat?

  “I think I’ll be fine once the heater is on in the apartments,” I finished lamely.

  “Nonsense,” he said. “You’ll freeze just walking to the academy from there. I really sho
uld have known. You can’t ask a girl who lives her whole life in California to pack warmly for Hungary.”

  “But,” I protested, my skin growing warm. “I mean, it’s just... I really don’t have the money, you know.”

  A flash of realization crossed his eyes, but Eliot waved his hand in the air casually.

  “Of course, but Otto owes me a debt from long ago. I’ve already arranged it.”

  “But—“

  Eliot took my hand in his, and I felt a rush of warmth from the pressure of his palm over mine.

  “Please, Brynn. It’s no trouble at all, and we can’t have students traipsing around the city dressed for summertime.”

  I swallowed, nodding.

  “And that reminds me, you’ll be needing money for lunches and things.” He dug into his pocket and brought out a handful of bills. “I noticed you hadn’t changed any of your money yet.”

  I took the money from him, startled with the generosity that he pressed on me.

  “I’ll...I’ll pay you back.” I looked down at the bills. There were a half dozen 10,000 forint marks. I had no idea how much that was in dollars, but it felt like a lot.

  “Of course, but no rush, no rush.”

  “Who’s the guy on the money?” The face looking back at me from the red and blue bill resembled Jesus, a man wearing a crown of crosses with a beard and long hair.

  Eliot peered over. “Him? That’s Saint Stephen. Some say he was the first king of Hungary, although really there were others before him. He ruled over the country when the Pope gave us independence from the Roman Empire.”

  “So he’s famous here?”

  “Well, we get a holiday for him. You’re always famous if you have a holiday. That way people are sure to remember you, if only because they get a day off.” Eliot winked.

  “The only saint we have a holiday for is Saint Patrick,” I said, tucking the bills into my pocket. “And I’m pretty sure people think he was a leprechaun.”