Cinderella’s Wedding Wish

by Jessica Hart

  ‘I suppose I could get something for the evenings,’ she said grudgingly, ‘but I don’t need Octavia. Her taste is quite different from mine.’

  Rafe looked at her with amusement. ‘You have lots of wonderful qualities, Miranda, but style is not one of them,’ he told her frankly. ‘Your sister, on the other hand, has it in spades.’

  ‘Why not pretend to be engaged to her, then?’ Miranda asked snippily. ‘Why bother with me if I’m such a mess?’

  ‘I prefer you,’ said Rafe.

  There was a tiny pause. I prefer you. Hardly the most romantic declaration, but Miranda felt suddenly hot as her eyes met his, and the silence seemed to sizzle around the edges.

  With an effort, she wrenched her gaze away. ‘Why can’t you prefer me as I am, then? Why do I have to be tricked out like everyone else?’ She felt scratchy and cross. ‘I can’t stand all that prinking and preening,’ she grumbled. ‘I hate pretending to be something I’m not.’

  ‘But that’s what you do every time you put on one of those dark uniforms of yours,’ said Rafe, gesturing at what she was wearing and barely able to contain his frustration. ‘That’s pretending. It’s pretending you’re not warm and intelligent and attractive and interesting and sexy. It’s pretending you’re just a dowdy mouse, terrified someone is going to notice you and make you live a little!’

  At the time Miranda had stared at him in stunned silence for a moment before blustering that he was talking rubbish, but now as she looked down at the emerald sparkling on her finger she thought again about what he had said. She had nice hands. They were slim, with slender fingers and nails that were short but well shaped and very clean, but she had never drawn attention to them with jewellery or polish, just as she never drew attention to herself with stylish clothes or make-up.

  Was Rafe right? Was she afraid to seize life with both hands? She had always been so used to her sisters and parents grabbing the attention that she had grown accustomed to not being noticed. Miranda had told herself that she didn’t need the limelight the way they did, but could the truth have been that she was scared to compete with them because she knew she would fail?

  Miranda didn’t like to think of herself like that. She wanted to believe that she was cool and capable, not terrified, not scared, not afraid.

  She wasn’t afraid, of anything, and she would prove it, to Rafe and to herself. Instinctively, she squared her shoulders. This pretend engagement had made her stupidly jittery, but that was silly. It was a straightforward arrangement. Rafe hadn’t forced her into it. She had made the choice on her own, and now it was up to her to make a success of it.

  She would keep her side of the bargain, Miranda vowed. She would be a fiancée Rafe could be proud of, and when she left everyone would understand why he was sorry to see her go. Nobody would even suspect that it had all been planned.

  Slowly, she drew the ring off her finger. ‘It’s beautiful, but I don’t think it’s really me,’ she said. She put it down on the velvet tray and pointed to a dazzling band of square-cut diamonds.

  ‘May I try that one?’

  Rafe picked it up and took her left hand so that he could slide it onto her finger. ‘It fits perfectly, Cinderella,’ he said and, although he was smiling, there was an expression in his eyes that made Miranda’s heart trip.

  ‘So it does,’ she said breathlessly.

  ‘Does that make me Prince Charming?’ asked Rafe.

  He was acting, too, Miranda reminded herself. Firmly, she brought her breathing back under control. ‘I think it must do!’ she said with what she hoped was a flirtatious look.

  ‘A very stylish choice,’ the jeweller approved.

  Miranda turned her hand this way and that to admire the dazzle of the diamonds and then smiled at Rafe, the personification of a besotted fiancée. ‘May I have this one, darling?’ At least she didn’t need to worry about whether he could afford it or not. He could have bought the whole shop without so much as a dent in his bank account.

  ‘You can have whatever you want,’ he told her, his voice deep and warm and his smile appreciative of the effort she was making.

  The diamonds flashed in the light as Miranda laid her hand against his cheek. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly.

  With one part of her mind she was aware that this was the kind of thing a girl would do when her fiancé had bought her a beautiful ring, but the other part wasn’t thinking at all. It was just that he was there, smiling at her, and her hand had lifted of its own accord.

  He was freshly shaved and his skin was smooth and warm beneath her fingers. If she had been thinking, she would have left it as a brief caress, but it felt so good to touch him that Miranda’s hand lingered. Still smiling, Rafe turned his head, lifting his own hand at the same time to capture hers so that he could press a kiss against her palm.

  It was a very gentle kiss, with none of the wild excitement they had shared at the door to Rosie’s flat, but Miranda felt it right down to her toes. His lips were warm and sure and infinitely exciting, and when he parted them to touch the tip of his tongue to her skin an erotic shock jolted through her.

  Heat flooded through her, swamping her with a dizzying rush of desire and driving everything else from her head. She forgot the jeweller, watching benevolently. She forgot the role she was supposed to be playing. She forgot everything, in fact, except Rafe, Rafe with his blue, smiling eyes and his warm, smiling mouth and his lean, masculine, irresistible body.

  Miranda wanted to climb onto his lap, and pull her hand away from his lips so that she could press her mouth to his, and kiss him properly. She wanted to taste that wickedly delicious tongue and twine her own around it. And that wouldn’t be enough, either. She wanted to pull off that immaculately knotted tie and unbutton his pristine shirt and drag it off him. She wanted to fall with him off the ridiculously spindly chair and make love right there on the expensive carpet.

  The yearning was so strong that the breath snarled in Miranda’s throat, and her heart pounded. She was terrified by how clearly she could imagine it, how much she wanted it. By how close she had come to losing control and simply launching herself at him.

  Terrified? There was that word again.

  Miranda caught herself up just in time. She wasn’t terrified of anything, remember?

  A little shakily, she drew her hand away. See, she was perfectly in control. Tilting her chin, she gave Rafe a brilliant smile.

  In spite of her bravado, Miranda still felt boneless and unsteady when they left the jeweller’s. Rafe opened the door for her, and his hand at the small of her back seemed to burn through her shirt.

  ‘Where are you meeting Octavia?’

  ‘Harvey Nichols.’

  ‘I’ll get you a taxi.’

  Rafe had barely lifted a hand before a black cab on the other side of the road turned right across four lanes of traffic to pull smartly up to the kerb in front of them.

  Miranda eyed him with something close to resentment, although truth to tell she was also relieved to find that irritation had dissipated at least some of that agonising awareness. It was much easier to remember that this was all just a pretence when Rafe was making arrogant assumptions about what she wanted.

  ‘What if I’d wanted to take the bus?’

  But Rafe only grinned at her expression. ‘Now, don’t spoil it, Miranda,’ he said, opening the door with a flourish. ‘Or should I call you darling? You’ve been doing a wonderful impression of a besotted fiancée so far!’

  Miranda’s gaze slid away from his. Only minutes ago she had been fantasising about ripping his clothes off and making love on the carpet, she remembered uncomfortably. What if Rafe had been able to read the naked desire in her eyes? She cringed at the thought. As if he didn’t find her amusing enough as it was!

  She lifted her chin and bared her teeth at him as she got into the taxi. ‘Just doing what I’m being paid for, darling.’

  ‘If you carry on like that for a month, you’ll be worth every penny of that twe
nty-five grand!’ said Rafe. He handed the driver a note through the window and told him to take Miranda to Knightsbridge.

  ‘I’ll meet you later,’ he said, preparing to close the door on her. ‘I’m putting you in Octavia’s hands, remember. I’ve given her a credit card, so you’re to let her use it,’ he added with mock sternness. ‘I want to see you transformed!’ And before Miranda had a chance to object, he had shut the door and banged on the roof of the taxi to tell the cabbie to drive on.

  Rather to Miranda’s surprise, Octavia was waiting for her as promised. Naturally, she spotted the ring right away.

  ‘Ooh, that is fabulous! You lucky, lucky thing, Miranda!’

  Miranda had been a little nervous about how Octavia would react to news of the engagement. Expecting scornful disbelief that she had apparently captured someone like Rafe, she had been astounded when Octavia had barely blinked.

  ‘I thought something might be up at the ball,’ she had said.

  ‘You did?’ Miranda goggled at her, unable to hide her amazement. ‘I mean…even I didn’t know then.’

  ‘It was just something about the way you and Rafe were dancing together,’ said Octavia carelessly. ‘Not that my nose isn’t severely out of joint,’ she went on, wagging a perfectly manicured finger at Miranda and pretending to sound cross. ‘Now I’m going to have to find myself another billionaire!’

  She had taken it so well, in fact, that Miranda felt guilty about not telling her the truth, but they had agreed that not even Rafe’s grandmother would know that the engagement wasn’t a real one. As Rafe pointed out, if it came out that they had been fooling everyone, he could wave goodbye to any chance of ever being taken seriously.

  ‘What we need is to make sure everyone knows about our engagement without looking as if we want any publicity,’ he said. He had proposed leaking the news to a journalist, but Miranda had pooh-poohed that idea.

  ‘I’ll just tell Belinda and Octavia, and swear them to secrecy,’ she said. ‘It’ll be all over town in no time at all.’

  Sure enough, a snippet had already appeared in the gossip column of an evening paper, and an extraordinary number of school friends Miranda hadn’t heard from for years had rung her up to congratulate her enviously and angle for invitations to the wedding.

  Belinda was beside herself with excitement and was already pestering Miranda to set a date and pick a designer for her dress. Octavia had been rather more restrained, though her eyes had lit up when Rafe had handed her a credit card and charged her to transform Miranda’s wardrobe.

  ‘And you’re not to let Miranda take charge of this,’ he instructed her. ‘She’ll just choose the cheapest thing there is and give what’s left to a dogs’ home!’

  Now Miranda hugged her sister and let her admire the ring, but she was conscious that Octavia had been preoccupied recently, and that, although she was as lovely as ever, she wasn’t her usual frivolous self. She hadn’t been paying her little sister enough attention, Miranda thought guiltily. It would be good to spend a day together and find out what was going on.

  ‘Is everything OK, Tavvy?’ she asked as they stepped onto the escalator. ‘You look tired.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m fine,’ said Octavia with a fair assumption of her usual nonchalance. ‘It’s just such a bore having to get up for work every morning! This working business certainly cuts into partying time, doesn’t it?’

  To Miranda’s delight, Octavia had suddenly announced after the ball that she had got herself a job. ‘It’s only temporary,’ she warned when Miranda congratulated her. ‘I’m only doing it to show Simon I’m not completely useless! He told me I wouldn’t last a week.’

  Simon, it appeared, knew just how to handle Octavia. Miranda was hopeful that her sister would come to realise what a kind, decent man he was, but even she had to admit that the quiet, steady Simon was an unlikely match for her frivolous little sister.

  ‘How is Simon?’ she asked now.

  ‘How would I know? I never see him.’ Octavia tossed her hair back and lifted her chin. ‘Not that I’d want to, of course! It’s not as if he’s any fun.’

  ‘Right,’ said Miranda. She was tempted to smile at the way Octavia kept insisting that she wasn’t attracted to Simon, even though the truth was glaringly obvious to everyone else, but then she remembered how steadfastly she had refused to admit just how attractive Rafe was. She was in no position to mock Octavia for protesting too much, after all!

  ‘Anyway, enough about boring old Simon,’ said Octavia with forced gaiety. She waved the credit card Rafe had given her in front of Miranda’s face. ‘We’ve got shopping to do!’

  CHAPTER NINE

  B Y THE time they met Rafe for a glass of champagne as agreed, Miranda was exhausted and her feet were aching. Shopping was much harder work than being a waitress, she had decided. Octavia had bullied her in and out of a seemingly endless series of outfits, and then made her spend hours choosing the perfect accessories until they were both laden with carrier bags.

  All she wanted now was to sit down, but Octavia made her change before Rafe saw her. ‘Put on the pale blue dress,’ she ordered, propelling her across the hotel lobby towards the Ladies. ‘And don’t forget the shoes!’

  Too tired to argue, Miranda did as she was told, and even she had to admit that it was a lovely dress when it was on. A vibrant cobalt-blue, it was little more than a sleeveless shift that relied on the fabric and the beautiful cut for its effect. From the front it was very simple, but the back had a stunning strap detail that left a lot of her back bare. It meant she couldn’t wear a bra with it, and the silk lining slithered seductively against her skin, making her feel as if she were naked somehow.

  Making her feel sexy.

  Miranda shivered slightly, and the silk slithered some more.

  Slipping on slingbacks with kitten heels, she concentrated fiercely on brushing out her hair. ‘And leave it loose!’ Octavia ordered. She inspected Miranda critically when she had finished, and then, apparently satisfied, handed her a lipstick.

  ‘Don’t even think about arguing,’ she warned.

  ‘For heaven’s sake!’ Miranda rolled her eyes, but leant obediently towards the mirror to outline her mouth carefully. ‘Now can I have a glass of champagne?’

  ‘You can.’ Octavia linked an arm through hers. ‘I can’t wait to see Rafe’s face.’

  Rafe was waiting for them in the bar. He had been keeping an eye on the door, and he got to his feet, smiling, when they appeared at last.

  Then he stopped dead, and stood staring. Was that Miranda? The only thing he recognised about her was that very straight back as she walked towards him. She was looking slender and very chic in a little blue dress that stopped above the knee and revealed those spectacular legs, and her hair swung shining to her shoulders. She had been stunningly elegant at the ball, but today she looked younger, brighter, sexier.

  Rafe’s mouth dried.

  He didn’t even notice Octavia until she prodded him out of his stupor. ‘Well?’ she demanded. ‘What do you think?

  Think? How could he be expected to think?

  Rafe couldn’t take his eyes off Miranda. ‘You look…you look…’

  Unable to find the words for how she looked, he simply gave up and reached for her instead. Taking her by the waist, he pulled her towards him and kissed her full on the mouth. Her hands full of carrier bags, she swayed into him, and her lips parted on a tiny gasp, and she tasted so sweet and so right that his head reeled.

  Without thinking, his hands slid down over her hips and curved around her bottom to pull her closer. The carrier bags dropped unnoticed from Miranda’s hands and she lifted them against his chest, curling her fingers into his shirt as she melted into him with a soft, inarticulate murmur deep in her throat.

  If it hadn’t been for Octavia loudly and pointedly clearing her throat, Rafe would have lost control then, but as it was he retained just enough sanity to remember that he was kissing Miranda in the middle of a busy bar an
d that unzipping the blue dress and peeling it off her right there and then was probably not an option.

  Reluctantly, he lifted his head and let Miranda go.

  ‘Well,’ said Octavia, grinning, ‘that lipstick was a waste of time, wasn’t it? She looks gorgeous, though, doesn’t she?’

  ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ said Rafe, but his voice sounded very odd, as if it came from someone else altogether, and he was excruciatingly aware of Miranda beside him, her face flaming, and carrier bags scattered at her feet. She was trembling slightly, and Rafe didn’t blame her. He needed to sit down himself.

  Octavia laughed. ‘I think you just did!’ she said, and deposited the last of her own bags around a chair before she plopped herself down into it. ‘Now, where’s that champagne you promised?’

  What had he done? Rafe asked himself that several times a day over the next two weeks. On one level he was able to function quite normally. He smiled, he talked, he made conversation. He went to work and ran business meetings and even managed a tricky but ultimately successful negotiation.

  But inside he was in turmoil. He had asked Octavia to transform her, and that was what she had done, with spectacular success. Rafe was intensely proud of Miranda. He knew she was uncomfortable with the idea of dressing up, but she was sticking to her part of the bargain. Every day, she wore one of the outfits that Octavia had insisted that she buy, and she looked wonderful in them all. It was like seeing a butterfly struggling out of a chrysalis. Couldn’t she see what the clothes did for her?

  Everyone else certainly could, and that was the trouble, Rafe admitted to himself. If he was honest, he wished now that he had never sent her off with Octavia and that credit card. There was a shameful part of him that wished Miranda had stayed just as she was, brisk and practical, dowdy and prim. He had had her to himself then.

  Now it was like the ball all over again, but every day. Wherever they went, she was noticed. The women looked at her clothes, and the men looked at her figure with hot eyes that made Rafe clench his jaw.