The Glass Slipper Project

by Girard, Dara

  “Am I correct?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Yanders said quickly. “Very good.”

  “Thank you.” He closed his eyes again.

  He didn’t take notes either, Isabella remembered with annoyance. Yet his papers always came back with high marks. He was arrogant, but he was smart and she could use him. He was going to be family soon anyway so she might as well get used to him.

  She continued to debate her decision as she drove to the library. Twice she considered turning back, but the thought of being able to surprise Mrs. Lyons with her knowledge of antiquing would not let her. She arrived at the library two minutes before seven, but didn’t see Alex anywhere.

  She checked the aisles, the magazine and periodical section and even the private study rooms, but still saw no sign of him. She selected a table near the front door and waited. After fifteen minutes she realized the truth. He wasn’t coming. To him, everything was a game and she’d come out the loser.

  She grabbed her things and stormed out the door.

  “Where are you going?” someone called out to her as she raced down the front stairs.

  She stopped and saw Alex walking from his truck. “What do you mean, ‘Where are you going?’ You told me to meet you here at exactly seven o’clock.”

  His eyes lit up with amusement. “Did I?”

  “Yes, you did. And I was here on time and you weren’t.”

  “I wanted to see if you would follow directions,” he teased.

  “Is everything a game to you?”

  He placed a brotherly arm around her shoulders and steered her back towards the library. “No. I’m sorry I’m late.”

  Isabella tried to shrug off his arm, but failed. She wanted to stay angry at him, but his relaxed manner and her relief made that impossible. She fought the urge to move closer. “You were late on purpose.”

  He held the door open for her, giving no explanation. “Why do I still get this odd feeling that you don’t like me?”

  “And why do I still get this odd feeling that you’re being nice to me because you have an ulterior motive?”

  He rested both hands on the door behind her, effectively trapping her in the circle of his arms. “And just what kind of motive would that be?” he asked, his voice cool compared to the heat in his eyes.

  “You want me to like you.”

  “Is that a dangerous request?”

  She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. His gaze dipped to her mouth and she felt her entire body grow warm and tense. She hugged herself and his gaze lowered from her mouth to her chest. “It’s chilly,” she said in a high thin voice. “We should go inside.”

  “Do you always get cold when you’re scared?”

  “I’m not scared. What do I have to be afraid of?”

  He raised an eyebrow, the expression full of meaning, but didn’t say a word.

  “Do you want me to be afraid of you?”

  “It might be wise,” his gaze sharpened as his voice deepened.

  “Why?”

  “Do you really need to ask that question?”

  “Excuse me,” said a voice from behind them. She carried a load of books and nodded to the doorway.

  “Sorry,” Isabella said and moved aside, the motion bringing her closer to Alex and the scent of wood polish and faint cologne. She looked at his chest then lifted her gaze to his eyes, expecting them to be amused or mocking. What she didn’t expect was the brief heated look of desire so quickly hidden she thought she’d imagined it. She took a hasty step back. “We should go inside.” She turned to the door.

  He seized her wrist. “Don’t run from me, there’s no reason to be afraid. I was only teasing.”

  “Were you?”

  “I like you, Izzy,” he said as though part of him hated to admit it. “I’m not perfect, but I’m not a bad guy.”

  She slowly turned to him. “I know.”

  Alex sighed as though a weight had been lifted. “Come on.” He gently shoved her forward. “Let’s get to work.”

  Minutes later, Alex watched Isabella in open amusement as she took out her notebook, and set her pen and colored pencils to the side. She had devised a “color-coded” method to help her remember what period different pieces belonged to.

  He rested his chin in his hand and shook his head. “No wonder you’re confused.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve made everything too complicated. Color coding is nice, but you have over sixteen colors here.” He picked up a pencil and read its name. “What the hell is mulberry?”

  “I need these colors. I read that study habits are very important in college. I never went and I want to do a good job.”

  “I didn’t go either so don’t worry about it. The key is to do what works, not just what you’re told. And color coding doesn’t work for you.” He picked up the pencils and dumped them in her bag.

  “But —”

  “And now these.” He lifted all her notes. “You’re taking a course on antiquing not history. Dates are important, but this is more artistic than intellectual. What areas interest you?”

  “I like porcelain.”

  “Excellent. That’s where we’ll start. I’ll help you identify the different markings.” He told her all about the different porcelain marks and the history behind them, how they were used in homes then their discussion slipped into the structures of houses.

  Isabella stared at him stunned. “How did you get to be so smart?”

  “I stayed out of school.”

  Her shoulders slumped, wondering if she could get him to be serious. “Oh, Lex.”

  “Really. I wasn’t a good student. I didn’t have the patience. I had good teachers, but I was bored. Besides, I knew my life wasn’t going to be like the others. Nobody expected to find a Carlton in a fancy white-collar job. We were bricklayers and plumbers. So I didn’t see much use for school, but after we left…” He stopped.

  “Go on,” she urged.

  “Mom was able to put me in a great technical high school. It helped me learn a trade and also develop a business background. I had an idea for my own business and my mother helped me with the funding. I spent a lot of time in the library learning what I needed to do, plus talking to people in the field.”

  “So that donation to the library was real.”

  “Everything I do is real.”

  “How much did your mother invest?”

  “Enough,” he said vaguely, then, “Now let’s talk about figurines.”

  “No, I want to know how you got to be so rich.”

  “All my money is legal,” he snapped.

  “I didn’t mean —”

  “Sure you did. You were curious how some blue-collar, high school graduate could penetrate the walls of the upper-class.”

  “I want to know because I want to be rich, too. If you’d remove that huge chip on your shoulder you wouldn’t have to be so defensive all the time.”

  His jaw twitched then he lowered his gaze and sighed. “You’re right. I am defensive.” He met her gaze. “I have a lot of money, but I still don’t fit in. I don’t always do or say the right thing and sometimes…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I embarrass my mother and sister. They wish I were a bit more ‘refined.’”

  “Gabby will smooth out any rough edges.”

  He grinned. “That’s what I’m planning.”

  She returned the expression. “So now that your ego has been stroked, will you tell me your secret?”

  “How much is it worth to you?”

  She thought for a moment. “Do you still like caramel-fudge brownies?”

  “With the thin white icing?”

  “Yes.”

  He leaned forward interested. “Go on.”

  “How does an entire batch sound to you?”

  “It sounds as if it’s missing something.”

  “What?”

  “If I remember correctly. Those brownies always came with strawberry milk.”

  “You can buy you
r own milk.”

  He sat back and held up his hands. “No deal.”

  “Okay. A batch of brownies and strawberry milk.”

  “The way you make it. If you get someone else to make it I’ll be able to tell. Is that a deal?” He held out his hand.

  She hesitated then shook it. “Deal. Now tell me the secret.”

  “It’s no secret. I started a reconstruction business. Bought some properties and rented them.”

  “You succeeded so young.”

  “Only to you, I worked very hard.”

  “I thought you came back for revenge.”

  “Part of it was that. Mom told me we had to leave because someone wanted us to. I wanted to come back and have whoever that person was try to mess with me.” He shook his head. “No more questions. It’s time to get back to work.”

  To her surprise Alex proved to be a patient tutor. Although it took her three tries to identify the proper markings on a porcelain washbowl from the 18th century, not once did he taunt her. He repeated the lesson until she understood. By the end of the session she wondered if she’d completely misjudged him. How could the arrogant, condescending man at the party be this patient, gentle man?

  When the librarian, Mrs. Grace, loudly announced the library would soon be closing, Isabella and Alex both jumped.

  “Is that woman going deaf?” Alex said.

  “No.”

  “She’d do better in an intensive care unit. She’d have people up and walking in no time.”

  Isabella stifled a giggle. “That’s not nice.”

  He winked at her. “No, but it’s still a funny thought.”

  “Ten minutes to closing!” Mrs. Grace announced again.

  Alex stood. “We’d better leave before she bursts an eardrum.”

  Isabella felt an odd sense of disappointment as she gathered her things.

  “You did very well,” he said.

  “You’re being kind.”

  “I’m being honest.” He placed a finger over her lips. “Stop contradicting me.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We’ll meet again on Wednesday.”

  “I have Mrs. Lyons —”

  “I know when you have Mrs. Lyons. We can meet before or after.”

  “Are you sure you’ll have the time? I know you’re planning your engagement party.”

  “I have time. I don’t plan anything. I hire other people to do that for me.”

  He held the door open for her and they stepped out into the warm spring evening. The scent of wildflowers filled the air. As they descended the steps, they both noticed an old worn key lying in the corner crack. Alex stopped then began to walk past, but Isabella bent and picked it up. “I wonder what it opens.”

  Alex stopped and turned. He watched her as she stood under the soft lights of the parking lot, staring at the key. The image seemed to unlock something inside him that he didn’t want to acknowledge. “I don’t know.”

  Isabella held it out to him. “I know. Why don’t you make up something?”

  He took a step back. “I can’t.”

  “Of course you can. You always have a story or response in class.”

  He shook his head. “No, I can’t.”

  “Oh.” She let her hand fall to her side. “I guess when you have everything there’s no reason to dream anymore.”

  He sent her a curious glance. “I don’t have everything.”

  “But you will soon.” She took his hand and placed the key in his palm, closing his fingers over it. “You never know. You might think of something later.”

  “Maybe.” He shoved the key in his pocket. “Next time let’s meet at the house. I’m doing some work there.”

  “Okay.”

  Alex watched her get in her car and drive off, then took the key out of his pocket and smiled.

  Chapter 11

  At their next meeting, Isabella walked from the cottage to the main house. She saw Alex’s truck, but no sign of him. Once inside she heard sawing, and dust and fresh paint assaulted her nose. She walked around curious at what changes had occurred and ended up in the kitchen. Or what used to be the kitchen. It was now a giant hole. No appliances or cabinets had been installed and all of the walls had been painted a nice cream yellow. She heard movement in her old sewing room and went to investigate.

  She peeked inside and saw it had been turned into a workroom. Alex was sanding a wood door supported by a workbench. Each deliberate movement strained his tight jeans and accentuated the muscles under his sweat-soaked gray T-shirt. Impressed by his focus she decided to tease him.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she said, imitating Mariella’s voice

  Isabella bit her lip when she saw him stiffen.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” she continued.

  He slowly spun around. When Isabella saw his face covered in sawdust she burst into laughter. He grabbed a rag and threw it at her. She laughed harder.

  He shook his head then chuckled. “Where did that mean streak come from?”

  She pointed to her watch. “You’re late.”

  He walked up to her and raised her wrist to read the time. He swore. “I’m sorry.”

  Isabella rested a hand on her hip. “Yes, well how can a woman compete with a door?” She gestured to what he was working on.

  “Just give me a few minutes to clean up.”

  “No rush. Let me see what you’re doing.” She walked around to get a better look and blinked amazed at the intricate woodwork.

  “Where is this going?”

  “It’s the door for the back.”

  She ran her hand lightly over it. “But it can’t be, it’s gorgeous.”

  “This house has a lot of hidden treasures.” He looked at her, then said, “You don’t believe me, do you? Come here.” He took her hand and led her to the main staircase. “This woodworking is original.”

  She touched the railing seeing its beauty, but feeling hollow inside. “I wish I could feel the same way about this house as you do, but when I see these stairs all I wish is that I could see my father come down them one more time. I wish I could hear my mother scolding Daniella for causing scuff marks in the kitchen, and to see my sisters playing jump rope in the backyard.”

  “At least those are good memories. I didn’t have a father in my life for long. My mother spent most of her time crying rather than laughing, and Sophia had no place to play. This house means everything to me.”

  Isabella sat on a step and stared up at him. “What is so important about this house?”

  Alex glanced away and shrugged. “It’s beautiful.”

  “So? There are many beautiful homes. What drew you to this one? It is just wood and…”

  “No, it’s much more.”

  “Why?” she pressed.

  “Because my great-grandfather helped build it.”

  Isabella stared at him openedmouthed. “No wonder you want to live here.”

  “Yes.” He sat beside her and although she was acutely aware of him — the feeling of his arm brushing against hers, the scent of sweat and sawdust and his own unique smell — Isabella didn’t mind his presence and made no motion to move away. “The Carltons have never owned anything,” Alex said. “We’ve always been laborers and workers who built things we could never afford. I didn’t want my life to be like that. We don’t pass down much in my family. My grandfather kept some journals where he liked to sketch pictures and he sketched this house and wrote about it.”

  “Now everything makes sense.” She grabbed his hand and turned it upwards. “I’d wondered why a wealthy man would have calluses. You want to honor your great-grandfather by renovating this house, using your hands the way he had.”

  He stood abruptly. “No, I’m not that sentimental. I just like working with my hands.”

  Isabella also rose to her feet and they stood eye to eye. “I see.”

  He searched her face, his voice deep with regret. “I wish you loved the house as much as I do.”
/>   “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Gabby loves it.”

  Alex dropped his gaze. “Yes, I know.”

  Isabella squeezed his arm then headed for the door. “Come on, Lex. I have some class notes I want to go over.”

  He seized her arm and spun her to him. “I want you to call me Alex.”

  She stared up at him surprised by his serious tone. “Why?”

  “Because Lex was a boy. I’m a man now.”

  She glanced down at his chest then up at his eyes, her mouth quirked with humor. “You think I hadn’t noticed?”

  “I just want to make sure.”

  “You don’t have to. I know.”

  “Good. I’m glad you understand.”

  “I do.” She turned and walked to the door. “Come on Lex. Let’s go over our notes.” Before she could get outside she was swept into the air. She cried out in alarm.

  Alex held her in his arms and stared down at her. “What’s my name?”

  She playfully draped an arm around his neck. “You know, you frightened me at first, but this isn’t a bad idea. I don’t mind you carrying me to the truck.”

  He tightened his grip and lowered his voice in warning. “Izzy, say my name.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “What will you do to me if I don’t say it?”

  “I don’t know,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I know what I want to do to you.”

  “What would that be?” She instantly regretted her bold challenge. Although she didn’t know what he wanted to do to her, she knew what she wanted to do to him.

  She wanted to pull him close and taste his lips and slip her hands under his shirt and feel his chest. She wanted to capture his ear in her mouth and press her lips against the curve of his neck and stoke the heat in his beautiful brown eyes and burn herself on the feel of his hot flesh against her fingertips. She swallowed, not trusting herself to move in case she betrayed her feelings. She could feel his racing heart; it beat in tune with her own.

  He bit his lip then unceremoniously released her. “You shouldn’t ask questions like that. Just call me Alex, okay?”

  Isabella stumbled back her heart fluttering like a trapped butterfly. “Yes, I promise.”

  “Fine.”

  She waited for him to move to the door, but he continued to stare at her in a manner that made her insides tremble. “You’re angry with me.”