Cindy's Prince

by Bush, Christine

  Would she ever know or understand the motive for what happened? She was sure these events were related to Jimmy and his unsavory friends. But how? Why?

  Until Cindy knew that, she wouldn’t know or believe the storm really over. The peace, she feared, was more like being in the eye of a hurricane, with the worst yet to come.

  Before she climbed into bed, she slipped into the kids’ room and kissed the tops of their tousled heads. One way or another, she’d find a way to make sure they were safe.

  ****

  Rain fell when Prince picked her up the next day, so the roof to the Aston was securely up. Their ride was made much more intimate in the little space of the car. He was not as calm as usual, in fact, he seemed nervous.

  She watched him as he drove, which was becoming a habit. Looking at the strong planes of his profile, she knew now how his jaw worked when he thought, how his eyes crinkled when he laughed. His neatly trimmed hairline arched around the contours of his ear. She liked looking at that ear.

  His ear? She grinned as she registered the thought. Man, she had it bad. She, Cindy Castle, self-proclaimed independent, self-reliant woman was sappily extolling the attributes of a man’s adorable ear. What exactly was happening to her? When had she crossed even further over that line? Good thing no one could hear her thoughts. Good thing her secret was safe.

  “You’re staring at me,” Prince said, keeping his gaze focused on the road ahead. There was a quirky, half smile on his face. “I’m hoping that means you kind of like me, and not that I have spinach in my teeth. Or toothpaste in my ear.”

  “No spinach or toothpaste in sight.”

  “What a relief.” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “I worry about that.”

  “I doubt it.” She laughed, and then turned serious. “I just wanted to say I appreciate your help with the security watching over the kids, over me. I like to handle things myself. But I don’t know how exactly to protect them, since I have no idea what is going on.”

  “Accepting help isn’t such a bad thing, Cindy. Helping is what friends do. I’d do anything to keep you and your family safe. I want you to know and understand that.”

  They were stopped at a red light, and he turned his face toward hers. Their gaze met, a tremor resonated from her core. Feelings cascaded like an avalanche; fear, excitement, gratitude, confusion.

  Prince smiled, as if he sensed her struggle.

  He leaned over, gently, quickly. His lips touched hers. The kiss was as soft as it was brief. Yet, it unleashed something indescribable.

  “Don’t worry, my Cindy. Everything will be all right.”

  The light turned green, and he turned toward the road again.

  Next to him, Cindy’s heart soared like a comet. Could this be true? Could she accept this all encompassing feeling of warmth and connection? Could she love? Or would she, like a comet out of control, catapult out of orbit, out of the secure and familiar world she knew, with no way back?

  Her fingers went instinctively to her lips, still burning from his kiss. She wished she knew the answers.

  ****

  On the soccer field, Prince was known for taking risks. He could dive through the air, ripping victory from the determined feet of his competitors in a dramatic explosion of daring and skill. He challenged the most aggressive of foes in their pursuit of a goal, his footwork as complex as it was fast. His defense was renowned. His courage was legend.

  Prince liked to win. He liked to excel. But with soccer, it was only a game. On the field he could do this with a clear mind, pushing himself to the limits. Because the truth was, while he enjoyed winning, losing at soccer wasn’t earth shattering. He didn’t care particularly if he lost. No emotion was at stake.

  Like so many things in his life up to now, he walked through each day, enjoying all life had to offer, but not really caring.

  What had Cindy asked him so many days ago? What are you passionate about?

  At the time, he had no answer. But he had changed. He had turned a corner.

  He was passionate about the brave and intriguing woman sitting next to him in the car. He was passionate about the darling and expressive children she accepted as the vertex of her life. Love woke him up. He was now also passionate about finding a way to make his mark on the world, on finding a way to use the benefits he had been given to make society a safer, healthier, happier place.

  His father, he knew, would be adamantly against his decisions. But his father’s threats were no longer important. His father’s criticisms didn’t matter. However his father chose to react, he would deal with it.

  Now, his own choices and plans mattered. He had goals. He had dreams. And Cindy was a part of those dreams.

  There was something about that feeling leaving him vulnerable. Charging forward took a different kind of courage when the stakes were so high.

  Prince glanced over at Cindy, watching the wind from the open window whip her hair around as they traveled. She laughed. He loved to see her laugh.

  Her very presence in his life had made changes in him. Were there changes in her? Independent and feisty, she fought anything reeking of help. She had her own issues, and heaven knows, she had a right to them. Would she ever trust him? Would she ever be able to share her life?

  She had finally taken his help with the security people, when the children’s safety was at stake. She helped Connie welcome the offer of funding and assistance for the clinic, for the good of all the local families she cared so much about.

  Cindy had taken his help with the apartment clean-up, when she was thick in the pain of seeing the remains of her destroyed writing dream. He remembered the forlorn look when the trash bags went out the door.

  Prince swallowed hard, as he pulled the car off the highway, and down the final street toward Highfield Manor. Would she accept and embrace the world where he had grown up? Or would she generate a higher wall between them?

  Prince had come to respect and understand so much of her world. He saw the depth of her values, her love of community, of children. Instead of hiding from life’s problems, she met them head on, giving the world what she could. And she loved.

  Could he ever dream of that love being extended to include him? Or would she pull herself out of his life? His throat tightened at the thought, and his chest felt as if a giant fist was squeezing his heart.

  He would not be afraid. He would charge forward. But unlike the soccer games where a loss could be laughed off with a round of drinks and a few jokes at the club, losing here felt like life and death.

  He would take her to see his world, and he would dare to tell her what he had done, and hope she would see it as an act of love, and not as a violation of her trust. If he had pushed too fast or too hard, he’d have to find a way to deal with it.

  Because he wouldn’t give up.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Cindy’s silence spoke volumes as they pulled the Aston Martin off the road and up to the gates of the Highfield estate. He watched her take in the high wrought iron fence, the formidable stone pillars, the long tree-lined drive leading through the property. Overhead, leaves rustled in the gentle wind, their autumn reds and yellows bright in the sunlight.

  Prince was used to the picture. He had always taken it for granted. But how did it look to Cindy, seeing this postcard-perfect world? He watched her, and saw no emotion to give him a clue.

  The main house slipped past, as they moved behind it along the black ribbon of drive. They drove past the red clay tennis courts, the large estate pool looking open and inviting on this “too hot for fall” day.

  The guest house came into view. The building was much smaller than the main house, but elegant in style, with its ivy covered walls, peaked roof, and stately stone wall surrounding its private pool. Truth was, he liked the guest house. Though he didn’t plan to stay there forever, the place was “home” for him, far more than the expansive family estate house had ever been.

  As they walked to the door, she was quiet. But she was sm
iling, which he took as a good sign. Her dress today was navy blue with dark green polka dots. With the usual full and flowing skirt, it swayed when she walked, especially when she twirled as they reached the door.

  “This is lovely, Princeton.” She gestured toward the stone walls, the ivy, the fall plantings. “Peaceful, inspirational even. It’s a work of art.”

  He grinned as he opened the door and waved her in. “While I confess to enjoying it, I can’t claim any of the inspiration that brought it to be. The gardener does that. Her name is Rosetta. But speaking of art and inspiration, there is something I want to talk to you about.”

  They were inside now, and she was glancing around the spacious room. She was still smiling. In a minute, they would approach the dining room, and his surprise. His confession. He had left it all out in plain sight, so he couldn’t procrastinate one more minute. He had to tell her what he had done.

  Prince swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the aggravating lump lately forming in his throat when his emotions were at stake. What would she think? What would she say?

  ****

  Cindy didn’t know what to think. Piles of paper were everywhere. She looked from the messy, cluttered dining room she had just entered, back to the extremely sleek and decorated look of the living room. The rooms didn’t match.

  Prince was immersed in a project, maybe, brought home from work. The corner of the room was used as an office. She noticed the sleek wooden desk. Next to it, Cindy saw the usual equipment; computer, printer, fax.

  Along the walls she saw a series of green plastic trash bags, some of their contents evidently unpacked and roughly sorted. On the table, papers sat in strange untidy stacks, some rumpled and uneven.

  In the center of the table sat paper towels, a stack of rags, a bottle of spray cleaner, and several dispensers of scotch tape. Whatever had he been doing here?

  Her librarian “neatness” gene had to respond. “What a conglomeration, Prince! What are you doing here?”

  “If you think this is a mess, you should have seen it before. This is actually extreme order. A kind of rescue operation.”

  He looked sheepish. She could see a bit of color rising in his cheeks. She hadn’t seen that since the day she had drawn whiskers on him in the library. The look was endearing, though she didn’t doubt for a moment he’d hate hearing that. “Well, it must have been something very worth rescuing,” Cindy said quietly, finding herself curious as to what had rated so highly.

  “Irreplaceable. Important. Much too important to be relegated to green trash bags, I decided.” His voice was low.

  Cindy looked at the trash bags and then at the piles. Memories swirled in her head. Recognition dawned. She noticed then, the faint odor of strawberry permeating the room. Her spilled lotion. She stared at the top page in the nearest pile and recognized the first page of one of her stories. This was the work destroyed, thrown away, work she had mourned for.

  Instantly, Cindy’s vision blurred. Tears gathered, no matter how she tried to blink them away. She sat quickly then, burying her face in her hands, her hair falling over her shoulders. Feelings shot through her, making her unsteady. The reaction to the loss of her creations surfaced again, mingled with the joy of seeing her pages again, relief her hard work had not been relegated to disintegrate at the bottom of a trash dump.

  Cindy was not unrealistic, she had no illusions the work could be saved, and seeing the mangled piles, she accepted this as true. But she couldn’t help the happiness soaring through her veins at his attempt. Amazement and affirmation flowed through her, because he had deemed her work important enough to try.

  Cindy lifted her head and looked at him then, standing across the room with a look of pained expectation on his face. She couldn’t believe how much she wanted to ease that pain, to let him know how much his caring mattered. “It was a beautiful idea, Princeton. I can’t believe you tried to save my work. Thank you.”

  “I have been sure you would see it as interfering, as violating your privacy,” Prince said, the lines in his forehead easing. “I’m very relieved you trust my judgment.”

  “This was a dear thing to do,” she whispered over the lump in her throat. “That night was so dramatic and emotional. Like a violent death. But now I can go through it calmly and rationally, and collect a few ideas before I have to throw it away.”

  He cleared his throat. “You have to know, Cindy, that I am a Highfield. And we succeed in what we do. You do not have to throw away this work.”

  She stared as he stood before her, serious and intense. “What are you talking about? Look at these piles!”

  The piles on the table were spotted and blotchy, some opened and smoothed after crumpling, some roughly taped together, even with pieces missing.

  “Well, some are not salvageable. But some have been, at least reassembled well enough to read.” He shuffled his stance. “And they’ve been read.”

  Prince motioned to the fax machine on the desk. “In fact, two of them have been submitted to a fellow Princeton alumnus, who happens to be an editor at a New York publishing house. I sent them by fax, page by page. The taped ones were a little tricky. But it worked. And he liked them a lot. He’s got a contract drawn up for you, as soon as you’re able to sign.”

  Eyes like saucers, Cindy stared back. Her heart pumped wildly. “What did you say?”

  Prince cleared his throat and repeated his statement.

  “You saved my stories?” At first, elation filled her.

  “You sent them off, without even asking me?” The elation was replaced by anger, outrage, a feeling of the world spinning out of her control. “An editor wants to buy them? To publish them?” Feelings of amazement, joy and excitement joined the ranks.

  So many feelings. How can a person process all these feelings, and not come apart at the seams?

  She stood frozen to the spot, staring at the man who was in front of her. To his credit, he didn’t interfere, he just watched her warily, looking relieved the truth was out.

  Her life’s dream was to see her work in print. Her love of children’s literature ran deep and pure, and her desire to add her own stories had been a goal her whole adult life. Prince was, with his initiative and his contacts, opening a door she would have knocked on a long time on her own.

  The fact he cared so much was endearing. The warm feeling in her heart he had a part in that dream was gloriously assuring.

  But having him involved filled her with fear. Her whole life had been a lesson on independence. She had learned trust left a person open to betrayal. She had learned women whose hearts are led by love are doomed to pay the price. Too often, she’d seen this heartache in her mother, her aunt, her sister.

  Depending on someone was a risk having a price tag she had never been willing to pay, not with the kids, and not with her heart. She crossed to the pile on the table, running her hand over the still slightly rumpled pages, her fingers touching the taped edges, some still oily surfaces soaked in lotion.

  Prince had saved her work.

  There were two different types of men. There were men who broke into houses, doing evil, destroying things along the way. She didn’t know why her work had been destroyed. But she knew why it had been saved.

  Her precious stories had been saved by the other kind of man, saved by a man who wanted to do good things. Prince wanted to counteract the evil.

  He should have asked, though she wasn’t sure what she would have said if he had. Would she have the courage to submit her work, especially in such a unique way, and in such damaged condition?

  Cindy lifted her gaze then. He had been standing statue still, watching her think. She had a choice, she realized in that instant. A person could focus on the joy, or a person could focus on the fear. Looking at him, she wanted more than anything in the world to believe absolutely in the happy ever after endings promised in her stories. But she didn’t.

  Cindy did believe, though, the man standing in front of her had good intentions, a good hea
rt. For now, it would have to be enough. Moving toward him, she said, “I can’t believe you did this for me.”

  “The stories meant a lot to you, Cindy. That matters.”

  His voice sounded rough, as if words were getting stuck in his throat. Just like hers. “I also can’t believe you did this without asking me. Asking your friend. Submitting my work. You just can’t go around doing things like that.”

  “Guilty. I got carried away. First, I was just trying to save it. Then the rescue became a challenge. Then a mission. I wanted him to see the stories. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  A scowl crossed her face. “Just because he’s your friend doesn’t mean he has to like my work.”

  Then Princeton laughed. “Goes to show what you don’t know, Cindy Castle! This guy is a heavy hitter because he does nothing unless he knows it will lead to success. Knowing me got your work read, but that friendship means nothing about getting a contract. Only work he thinks will sell can do that. You’re the one doing him a favor, not the other way around.”

  Cindy could feel the heat and redness rising in her cheeks. Could this be true? “Thank you, Princeton,” she said softly.

  Crossing the space between them in a few strides, he wrapped his arms around her.

  Her head rested against his shoulder, her cheek pressed against the soft cotton of his golf shirt. Cindy felt his strength in those iron-muscled arms, and smelled the scent of his aftershave.

  “Anything I can do for you, I will do, Cindy,” he whispered, his face against her hair, holding her tight.

  Prince put his fingertips under her chin the, raising her face to his, and softly, reverently, brought his lips to hers. Leaning into him, her arms rose to encircle his neck, as she kissed him back. Mouth meeting mouth, body to body, heart to heart, she lost herself in his kiss.

  Her head still shouted objections, her logic spouted concerns about their different worlds, and her doubts about trust and commitment chanted away. For the moment, however, she pushed away the voices, and let the feelings of love flow. Whatever the future held, she would capture the beauty of this moment for a long time to come.