The Cinderella Arrangement

by Vanessa Waltz

  You’re damn right I am.

  The door swings open and I jump in the chair. The post-it flies into the air and flutters back to the ground as Tom stands in front of me, his tie loosened around his neck. I remember snaking my fingers through a tie just like that, and yanking his head close, his hot lips on my mouth.

  Stop thinking about sex.

  He looks at me as though he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “You’re here.”

  “In the flesh.”

  “Why?”

  I sigh. “I was trying to contact you.”

  He steps inside, closing the door behind him. “So you decided to beat on my groupies?”

  “I didn’t beat her.”

  “You totally were. I was screaming at you both for at least thirty seconds before you finally paid attention.”

  “That’s an exaggeration. Things just got out of hand”

  A smirk lifts to his haunted eyes that still, even after all this time, burn with desire for me. “Isobelle,” he says in his rich voice. “You couldn’t have just sent an email?”

  Damn, it’s hard to be in a room with him. “Like I haven’t tried a hundred thousand times. Do you even read your own emails?”

  He grabs the arms of my chairs, and my heart jumps from his closeness. “Maybe you should have made the subject lines a little steamier.”

  “Don’t be gross.”

  “My team forwards all intimate emails directly to me. I have a wall papered with nudes and tits sent to Prince Thomas.”

  “Jesus!”

  “It’s just a joke. Relax.”

  “Good.”

  “I always delete the nudes after wanking to them.”

  “For the love of God, Tom.”

  It was such a waste of time meeting him. There’s laughter in his eyes, but it doesn’t help looking at them because they are the same shape as Emma’s. Our daughter. The baby he doesn’t know exists.

  His tone softens. “Where have you been all this time?”

  My pulse jumps in my neck.

  Don’t get angry. This isn’t about you.

  I swallow it down. “I’ve been exactly where you sent me: the greatest country in the world.”

  “Greatest country in the world? I can’t even challenge a mate to a duel. How fucked is that?”

  “Yes, what a loss. Poor Thomas can’t wave his sword around. I’m not even going to touch the Freudian aspects of that.”

  His eyes narrow. “Dueling is a sport. A highly respected sport in some circles.”

  “You call it a sport, I call it a dick-waving contest. The bigger the sword—”

  He makes a rich sound at the back of his throat, his smile tugging at my chest. “You have first hand experience with my sword, love. You know damn well it’s not small.”

  How did we end up talking about his dick?

  Focus.

  “I need your help—”

  Tom rolls his eyes. “You’re a lousy negotiator, you know that, right?”

  “Yes, please, tell me all about negotiating. You of all people should know what that’s like.”

  His smile twitches.

  “I mean, it’s not like you can just buy anything you want.”

  “I don’t remember you being this cheeky when we were together.”

  When we were together.

  Just like that, the levity dies in my soul.

  Tom straightens, releasing the arms of my chair as I let out a sigh.

  “Well that sucked the fun out of the room.

  Like there was any to begin with. “This isn’t about us. It’s my—”

  “Then I’m not interested in what you have to say.”

  The chillness in his voice freezes my chest, but I shoulder on. “Yes, you are. Otherwise you wouldn’t have followed me here.”

  He gives me a stiff smile that’s full of pain, and he grasps the door handle. Fuck, he’s leaving! How did this happen?

  “Tom, wait!”

  He wrenches the door open, speaking to the door. “I thought you wanted me, not something from me.”

  I wasn’t prepared for this—not that heart-wrenching tone in his voice or the quick rejection of the door slamming in my face.

  “Mom, I tried.”

  “I just don’t understand,” she says, her tone aghast. “He loves you. Why wouldn’t he listen?”

  The phone is hot against my ear as I try to one-handedly feed the baby in her high chair. Half the applesauce I shovel in my baby’s mouth dribbles down her chin. I scoop it back up and feed her. “Because he doesn’t love me, Mom. You remember what he did to us, right?”

  “Of course I remember, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t changed. You’ve heard about Liam.”

  I shake my head. “I only know what I’ve seen through tabloids.”

  “You have to try again.”

  I gape at the wall, unaware that my mother can’t see my father. “I don’t know what else I can do, Mom. I’ve got Emma to take care of and work.”

  Plus there’s the fact that I can barely take care of myself.

  “This is your brother we are talking about!”

  I grind my teeth. “I know, but he knew the risks when he snuck into Anglefell. He wasn’t supposed to be there. I love James to death, but I’m not exactly in a position to help him.”

  Emma grins toothlessly as a gush of brown bursts from her lips. It sprays all over her tray. “Oh, Emma. Please eat.”

  My mother is like an angry cat, hissing in my ear. “This. Is. Outrageous. You need to talk to him, Isobelle.”

  “I tried. I supposed I can try again, but you’ll have to be patient.”

  “You will, or I’ll call him myself and tell him about Emma.”

  Emma wrenches the spoon out of my limp grip and promptly sticks it in her mouth. I wrestle it out of her tiny hands. “That’s not for you to tell him. Look, I have to feed Emma. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Mom dissolves into tears. My heart wrenches with every shaking breath that crackles through the speaker.

  “For God’s sake, Isobelle. Make him understand we need his help.”

  I could never make him do anything. “Fine. I’ll do my best.” In between taking care of my one year old and working at the frozen yogurt store. “I gotta go.”

  I end the call and toss the phone on my kitchen table, turning my full attention to Emma.

  I don’t do shame.

  It’s a useless emotion that gets in the way of happiness. It refuses to let us forgive ourselves. Move on. It’s hard enough to deal with your own shame. Choosing to be a single mom? I might as well be sitting under a dump truck for all the judgment people threw my way.

  Sometimes it’s hard to embrace the right thing, because it’s really fucking hard. I didn’t have to be a single mom. I chose it because I knew it was the best thing for my baby, and I make no apologies.

  But for the first time I feel it in my heart. The little dagger of shame.

  He should know. The time for secrecy is past. He deserves to know.

  And he will. I’ll send him an email with the subject line promising a lesbian orgy.

  Emma grabs the plastic cup of applesauce and spills it over her tray, and then she splays her grubby little hands, splashing them in her breakfast. She shrieks with joy, her round face widened by a huge smile. Her front teeth pushed through a few weeks ago. It’s freaking adorable.

  “Mama!”

  “You’re having so much fun, aren’t you Em?”

  She sticks her fingers in her mouth. Sighing, I grab a clean washcloth and run it under the sink, wiping the gobs of breakfast from her tray. She bounces in her seat as I clean her face and hands.

  “Maa!”

  Two short arms reach out for me, hands opening and closing. Emma makes a whine.

  “You want to be picked up?”

  Ding-dong.

  The doorbell chimes as I loop an arm around Emma’s waist and lift her out of her high chair. Maybe it’s the neighbor coming to bitch abou
t the baby again. It’s not that I’m not sympathetic, but there’s only so much I can do when the walls are paper-thin. She’s a baby. They cry.

  Steeling myself, I march toward the door with Emma bouncing in my arm. A tall, dark shadow looms in front of the warped glass. I fling the door open, prepared to apologize to Ms. Fitzgibbins, but instead there’s a man.

  And he’s Tom.

  “Hi!” Emma’s high voice attracts his attention.

  His scowling eyes widen like saucers as he takes in the baby at my hip. He points at her, lips moving soundlessly until he clears his throat.

  “What the hell is that?”

  Oh. Fuck.

  Tom looks like he went to sleep in his slacks and rolled out of bed. There’s no tie at his neck. His shirt is wrinkled. And his face has that pinched look, as though he hasn’t slept.

  “Um that is my baby.” My cheeks burn. Hell, I can feel my whole face on fire as though Tom’s a tiki torch. “Our baby.”

  “Did you say what I think you said? Our baby?”

  “Yes.”

  He mouths the words over and over again, trying to make sense of them. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means I got knocked up right before you kicked us out of the country. Her name is Emma. She’s thirteen months old, and I never told you about her.”

  The shame. It’s back in full force. I swallow it down as he approaches me, fury etched in every line of his face.

  “Why the hell would you do that?”

  “Don’t you dare get angry. You’re the one who forced me out, which I counted as a blessing because there was no way I’d raise my child in that environment.”

  “Cut the crap, Izz. I should have known about my daughter, and you know it. Fuck, I’ve a right to be in her life!”

  Emma slaps my hand. “Fuck!”

  Oh my God.

  I glance down, astonished. Tom looks extremely shocked for a moment, and then a reluctant smile cracks his face.

  “Fuck!” she says again, giggling.

  I glare at him. “Nice going, Daddy.”

  He pales at the word. “I want to hold her.”

  My heart slams against my chest as Tom glares at me, daring me to say no. “Sure. Let’s go inside.”

  The door shuts behind him, Tom looking completely lost as he looks around his surroundings. I lift Emma from my hip, and he gathers her in his chest. His eyes glaze over as she smiles at him.

  “I’ll—um—make some tea.”

  Tea always makes everything better, right?

  He nods and I put a pot of water to boil on the stove as he walks from room to room, Emma gurgling happily in his arms. He looks like he expects a camera crew wearing Punk’d t-shirts to pop out of nowhere.

  “This is where you’ve been all this time while you raised my daughter?”

  My eyes narrow. “Yes.”

  “Where’s the nanny?”

  My laughter bounces off the kitchen tiles. “I don’t have one.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Why not?”

  “Because they’re expensive, and I don’t need one. Tom, I didn’t seek you out because I need help with Emma.”

  The kettle comes to a boil, and I grab two mugs, stuffing bags of Twinings in each before pouring the hot water. Then I bring the steaming cups to the living room. Tom sinks down in my rocking chair, Emma cradled against his chest. He’s still royally pissed.

  His voice cracks like thunder. “You do need help with Emma.”

  “We’ve managed just fine on our own,” I snap. “That’s not what this is about—”

  “You took my baby away. I mean, damn it Izzy. You stole the first year of her life from me.”

  “It had nothing to do with you.”

  “The fact that you hid her from me says otherwise.”

  “I put Emma’s needs above my own, and that meant getting the hell out of Anglefell and yes, keeping her from her father.”

  Tom says nothing, feeding me a look full of poison.

  “You would have taken her from me. I would’ve never seen her again. She would have been raised to become something she doesn’t want to be in a country where she’d never be free. I did the best thing for her.”

  A very sour look contorts his face, and then Emma makes a fussing sound. He glances at her, frowning.

  “She’s tired. Give her to me.”

  “I can put her to bed,” he says coldly. “Where’s her crib?”

  Sighing, I point upstairs. The stairs creak as he climbs them. I follow them as quietly as possible. He walks into the nursery, and bounces the baby, trying to lull her to sleep. Emma’s face screws up into a howl, and Tom looks stricken.

  “She likes being sung to.”

  “What?”

  “I’m serious. Just sing something.”

  He hums an indistinct tune, the sound growing as he gets more into it. His voice cracks slightly as he attempts a high note, and then I realize he’s trying to sing Hello from Adele.

  The baby cries harder.

  “Oh come on,” he tells her. “That’s a good song.”

  Not with you singing it.

  He tries another song, a French lullaby that does the trick. Tom holds her as though she’s made of glass, and when her eyes close he lowers her into the crib. The floor creaks as he leans over the crib, touching her round cheeks, the soft, downy brown hair.

  “Tom? Can we talk?”

  He straightens, raking a hand through his hair. “Yeah, whatever.” Tom keeps glancing at the baby, as though to remind himself that she’s real.

  “Tom.”

  Shaking his head, he follows me out the nursery and downstairs. He sinks into one of my moth-eaten armchairs, his face still frozen in an expression of shock.

  At least he’s quiet.

  I sit on the couch, grabbing my mug of tea. “Like I said before, I need your help. Do you remember my brother James?”

  Irritation momentarily crosses his face. “Of course I remember.”

  “Well, he’s locked up in one of your jails for illegal entry.”

  Tom wraps his hands around his mug. “I see.”

  “And I know that Liam is trying to sort through all the prisoners his father put in jail for stupid reasons, but it could take weeks, months, even before my brother is even looked at. And—and I was thinking—why are you smiling?”

  “Nothing,” he says, clearly trying to suppress a smirk. “Please, continue.”

  What the hell is he laughing about? Unsettled, I keep talking. “Right. Well, I was hoping you would use your connections to help me out.”

  He touches his chin, glancing at the ceiling. “I guess I could bring it to Liam’s attention.”

  I sit up straight. “Would you do that?”

  “It’s totally within my power to expedite the process. I think.”

  Now he’s pretending to be unsure just to annoy me. Lovely. “You’re a damn prince, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not sure I’m fond of your tone. You didn’t even say please.”

  I stare at him. “Please help me free my brother.”

  He looks at me, his face cracking with an evil grin. “No.”

  “No? What do you mean, no?”

  “I mean I don’t feel like doing it.”

  Unbelievable. “You realize he’s in prison because you exiled us. All he was trying to do was visit his girlfriend.”

  “Right. It’s my fault he decided to illegally enter the country he was just kicked out of.”

  I stand up, shaking, and he rises from the chair. I storm out of the living room, but he snatches my wrist. He pulls me close enough so that I can’t look away from his playful gaze. It’s been a long time since I’ve had my personal space invaded like this, as though from a lover. Blood rushes to my very surface of my skin, and I’m not sure if it’s from anger or attraction.

  Maybe a little of both.

  “I may be willing to come to some sort of arrangement.”

  “Like?”


  “A life for a life.”

  I jump as he trails a finger up my arm. “What does that mean?”

  “You and the baby will come home with me. You’ll stay in my manor. You’ll be my wife.”

  I take a step away from him, even though it does nothing to stop the blood pounding in my head. “No.”

  “Emma is my daughter. She’s a princess. She belongs at home with her people.”

  “Her people? You realize I’m one of those people, right? I grew up there.” I shake my head at his widening smile. “No, Tom. The answer is no.” He keeps smiling. “I’m not marrying you!”

  “I think you’re going to change your mind pretty quickly.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I’m not leaving New York without my daughter. I’ll do whatever it takes to get you both back home.”

  No. There’s no way I’m going to change my whole life just to—

  Just to save your brother.

  “It’s not happening. Ever.”

  He smirks. “You’re forgetting that I always get what I want.”

  “Not this time. You’re in America, remember? No one cares if you’re a prince here.”

  God, why does he keep smiling?

  “I know that.”

  “Then how are you going to make me change my mind?”

  A heavy silence follows my words, broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock. It’s maddening to see how calm he is. I’m ready to explode, but he looks confident.

  Like he’s already won.

  “It doesn’t matter, love. I’m going to be in your life whether you stay or go.”

  Sign up to my newsletter to find out when the rest of my secret baby romantic comedy comes out! If you would like a taste of the first royal romance in the series, I’ve included the first chapter of Dirty Prince right after this!

  Bonus Content: First Chapter of Dirty Prince

  Daisy

  Well, this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

  My brain pounds with the ten thousand warnings I read on the travel advisory website before deciding to take the journey here anyway.

  The Department of State warns U.S. citizens of the risks of travel to Anglefell.

  There’s no way I should go through with this.