The Reluctant Cinderella

by Christine Rimmer

  Greg waited for her to unlock the breezeway door and then went inside with her. Once safely out of sight of the street, she turned to him. He tipped up her chin and brushed a kiss on her mouth, and she thought how he was the greatest guy in the whole wide world.

  The greatest guy, truly….

  She’d never met a man like him. So kind and funny and patient and good.

  Not to mention a pure pleasure to look at. And magic in bed.

  “Thanks,” she said, meaning it. “I had a terrific time….”

  His fine mouth quirked up at one corner. “Arranging my furniture for me, you mean?”

  “That…and the Chinese. Love those pot stickers. And the wine was wonderful. The sex, too. That was…” She pretended to fan herself.

  He kissed her once more. Quick and hard. And then, with a promise that he’d call her that evening, he went out the breezeway door, shutting it softly behind him.

  Megan turned for the door to the backyard and the stairs up to her apartment. But after two steps, she paused, listening. She heard Greg’s car start up and drive away.

  And she wondered if Marti was still out there in her front yard. Why hadn’t the older woman smiled at her? Why had she held back that extra second before raising her arm to wave?

  Megan wondered…and felt about two inches tall. Marti was no Irene or Rhonda. She was a sweet woman with a smile for everyone—except, apparently, for Megan. Since Megan had moved into the neighborhood, she’d come to think of Marti as a friend.

  It wasn’t right. And Megan had to know—was Marti judging her, too?

  She whirled, yanked the door open and marched through.

  Marti was still out there, sprinkling the flowers. Megan went down the driveway, across the short section of sidewalk to Marti’s driveway and up it. Marti, looking wary, watched her come.

  “Marti?”

  At last, her neighbor smiled—kind of a forced-looking one, but a smile nonetheless. “Megan. How have you been?”

  “Better than ever. Mostly. But I do have…well, I wonder if we could talk. For a moment….”

  “Certainly.” Marti went and shut off the hose. She set it down on the grass. “Come inside. I’ve got some coffee on.”

  They sat at the breakfast table in Marti’s amazing kitchen—a kitchen a lot like the one in Greg’s new house. With top-of-the-line appliances, granite countertops and a big, curving island containing its own separate sink.

  Marti served the coffee. Megan waited until she sat down before saying, “I noticed, just now, when Greg and I drove up, that you seemed a little hesitant to wave at me.”

  Marti stirred her coffee, though the cream she’d dribbled into it had already dissolved. “I…well, Megan, I really don’t know what to say.”

  Megan’s throat tightened. Her palms felt clammy. Somehow, though, when she spoke, her voice was clipped and firm. “Try the truth, okay? How about that?”

  Marti looked miserable. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t judge you. But I am a good Catholic. I’m…old school, I guess you could say. I have never believed in divorce.”

  Megan coughed to clear her clutching throat. “You mean you don’t approve of my going out with Greg because he’s divorced?”

  “Oh, no.” Marti let out a nervous trill of laughter. “I’m not that old school. Life goes on. I understand. But Megan, what I can’t accept is a woman who steals another woman’s husband. That’s adultery. And adultery is a sin.”

  With a sick, sinking feeling, Megan understood. “You think I went out with Greg before, don’t you? When he lived in the neighborhood? When he was still married to Carly? Is that what you think?”

  “Well, yes. That’s what I heard. And from more than one source.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Something in Megan’s expression must have gotten through to Marti. She set down her cup without drinking from it. “Oh, my Lord. It’s not true, is it?”

  Megan pressed her lips together and slowly shook her head. “Never,” she vowed. “When Greg lived in the neighborhood, I never said more than two words to him, or he to me. We only got together a few weeks ago—after his divorce from Carly became final—when he hired me and my company to do some work for Banning’s, Inc.”

  Marti pushed her cup away. “Oh, Megan. I’m ashamed, I truly am. I should have asked you….”

  “Yes. You should have. And let me guess who told you that lie—Irene Dare. Rhonda Johnson. And probably a couple of other women who know Irene and Rhonda.”

  Marti cast a penitent glance heavenward. “Megan, forgive me. I should have known better than to listen to them. And I have no excuse for believing them. Except that, seeing you and Greg today, I jumped to the conclusion that since you’re together now, you were probably getting together then.”

  “It was the wrong conclusion.”

  “I see that now. And not that it helps any, but you can be sure that if anyone else tries to lay that line of baloney on me, I promise you, they’ll get an earful. I’ll tell them in no uncertain terms that they don’t know what they’re talking about.”

  Megan felt better—and worse—after talking to Marti.

  Better, because Marti, who played hostess at the Vincente family restaurant, spoke with a lot of people on a daily basis. If anyone gossiped about Megan and Greg to Marti from now on, she would be setting them straight. That was good.

  But the fact that the rumors about Megan and Greg had degenerated into outright lies of betrayal and adultery…

  That made he feel worse. A lot worse.

  And now Greg was moving back to town. There would be no escaping to the lovely anonymity of Manhattan. If she wanted to be with him, she’d be with him in Rosewood.

  And people would talk.

  Megan got to work an hour and a half late and went straight into a meeting that lasted till noon. She decided to skip lunch. She’d grab a protein bar at her desk and make a little headway on the horror show that was her workload.

  But then she found Vanessa Banning waiting for her in one of the guest chairs outside her office. Greg’s mother was dressed to kill in a fabulous lightweight silk suit of celadon-green, and impeccable Prada pumps—Megan knew they were Prada; she’d seen them in Saks’ window just last Saturday.

  Vanessa swept elegantly to her feet. “Megan. So good to see you….” She held out her fine-boned white hand.

  Megan took it and gave it a quick shake. Cool as before. Did actual blood run in this woman’s veins? “How are you, Vanessa?”

  “Wonderful, wonderful.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, I just thought it would be lovely if the two of us could steal an hour together, get to know each other a bit. I was thinking perhaps…lunch? Could you get away, do you think? I know it’s sudden, but still, I was hoping…”

  Greg’s words from Sunday morning popped into Megan’s mind: You have to promise me never to let yourself be alone with her…

  Oh, really. He must have been exaggerating.

  Megan asked, “Did you come all the way from Montauk?”

  “As a matter of fact, no. I’ve stayed in Manhattan this past week. But I plan to return to the beach house. Very soon. As soon as I’ve dealt with what needs dealing with around here—and what do you say? Let me buy you lunch.”

  They went to a café Megan liked over on South. Unpretentious, with terrific food. A little pricey, but she figured Vanessa wouldn’t mind paying for the best.

  The meal started out just fine. Vanessa had a glass of white wine. Megan took iced tea; she had work to do when she got back to the office, a mountain of it, and she couldn’t have her brain fogged by alcohol.

  Vanessa had more questions about Megan’s family. “So your adoptive parents divorced?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you ever see them?”

  “My father remarried. We…don’t really keep in touch.”

  “And your mother?”

  “My mother lives in South Carolina now. She doesn�
��t get back to Rosewood much.”

  “Ah. I see….”

  More questions followed. Vanessa had a million of them. Megan answered honestly.

  And then Vanessa mentioned Carly. Greg’s mother took a tiny bite of her pan-seared salmon and delicately remarked how upset the “poor thing” was at the collapse of her marriage. Megan, slightly uncomfortable with the subject but willing to make the right noises, said that she really did like Carly and hoped, over time, that she and Carly might be friends again.

  “Oh,” said Vanessa, one perfectly waxed brow arching toward her hairline. “You and Carly are not only neighbors, but friends?” The cold light in her eye said she knew exactly the relationship Megan and Carly had shared—though how she would have found that out was a little beyond Megan. Not from Greg, Megan was sure.

  “We were friends,” she answered carefully.

  “Until you…stole her husband, you mean?”

  Megan set down her fork. Oh, goody. Defending herself against charges of adultery two times in one day. She had a sudden image of herself with a big red A painted on her forehead.

  A for Adulteress.

  How had this happened? All of a sudden she was living in an old-time novel, playing the part of the evil temptress, the heartless seducer of nice women’s husbands. It was so not a role she’d ever imagined herself in.

  Uh-uh. The pleasant hefty girl down the block, the one you could count on. That was more Megan’s style.

  She was getting a headache. And her stomach had suddenly clenched tight. “No, Vanessa, I did not steal Greg from Carly. They were already divorced when Greg and I started seeing each other.” She placed her napkin at the side of her plate. “And I think maybe we—”

  Vanessa didn’t even let her get the whole sentence out. “Oh, now. Let’s not get huffy. Put your napkin back in your lap and finish your lunch.” She took a tiny sip of her pinot grigio. “Relax. Please.” She smiled. A friendly smile.

  Wasn’t it?

  More general talk followed. Megan began to enjoy the meal again and to think that it was all going along fine, after all. That moment about Carly…just a rough patch, soon forgotten.

  But then, as Vanessa signaled for the check, it all went straight to hell. No detours. No chance to get out gracefully.

  “I’m assuming you won’t want dessert, now will you?” Vanessa asked. “You are really much too fat, you know.” She clucked her tongue as Megan stared at her blankly in disbelief. “Yes.” Vanessa sighed. “Too fat. With no background. An ambitious, dumpy little nobody from nowhere, USA.”

  Megan realized then that she should have gotten up and walked out back there at that first cruel remark regarding Carly. But no. She’d let herself be lulled by the absurd hope that she might somehow get to know and like Greg’s mother.

  She’d stayed till the bitter end. And now the seemingly pleasant little getting-to-know-you lunch had veered abruptly off into nightmareland.

  Megan heard herself sputtering, “I…I don’t—”

  Vanessa cut her off with a bored wave of her bloodless hand. “Really. I’m sure you know perfectly well why I drove all the way up to Poughkeepsie today. I felt it was time for us to come to an understanding. I want you out of my son’s life. He’s a Banning, after all—in spite of that ridiculous, romantic egalitarian streak of his. He deserves so much better than some ordinary little businessperson like you. He needs to marry someone of his own circle—or go back to that pretty wife of his, for heaven’s sake. At least she tries, the poor thing. She’s not of our circle, but she does work hard to be the kind of wife Greg needs. Either. I can live with either, Carly, or someone more suitable. But not with you. Really. He must get rid of you.”

  Nightmareland. Oh, yeah. No doubt about it. Megan’s head pounded and her stomach ached. She never should have agreed to have lunch with this woman; she should have listened to Greg.

  And right now, all she wanted was out of there. She stood. Her napkin dropped to the floor. She left it there. “Greg told me not to be alone with you. Now I see why.”

  Vanessa gazed up at her, eyes like twin cubes of ice. “You will never by accepted by his family, or by anyone else who matters. Much wiser just to walk away now, don’t you think?”

  “Goodbye, Vanessa. Thank you for lunch.” Megan hitched her tote on her shoulder and got out of there.

  Chapter Fifteen

  For the rest of the afternoon, Megan tried valiantly to keep her mind on her enormous workload and off the big problem of her relationship with Greg—and Greg’s astonishingly awful mother. And the fact that Megan was now widely considered to be a cheap, low-down husband-stealer in her own hometown.

  It just, well, it wasn’t working out for her.

  Her life was a big fat mess. She’d finally found a wonderful, sexy, thoughtful man with a great sense of humor who only wanted to be with her as she wanted to be with him….

  And all she could think of was how she couldn’t bear another date with him where someone from the neighborhood might see them and think all the wrong things about them. How, if she ever had to be in the same room with Vanessa Banning again, one of them would not come out alive.

  At four, as always, she picked up the kids. Michael had been allowed—with a long list of special instructions—to go back to day camp that day.

  The doorbell rang at five. The kids were all in the living room, watching one of the DVDs Greg had brought the day before.

  What now? Megan thought as she went to the door. Another neighbor looking for a chance to tell me what a slut I am? Or maybe just Vanessa, back for round two?

  Megan threw open the door, ready to do battle—and found Greg, still in his business clothes, a huge bouquet of flowers in his hand.

  “I know, I was here yesterday. But for some reason, I just can’t stay away.”

  She looked in his dear face and instantly wanted to grab him, hold on tight and burst into a flood of hurt, angry tears.

  He must have picked up on her misery, because his expression darkened. “What’s happened?”

  She swallowed down the building emotion and ushered him over the threshold. Once he was safely inside with the door shut behind him, she confessed, “Bad day. Really, really bad day.”

  He set the flowers on the hall table and took her gently by the arms. “Tell me. Everything.”

  She blinked to make the stupid tears go away, and gestured toward the living room where The Incredibles was playing. “The kids are here….”

  He brushed a kiss across her mouth. In spite of her distress, the familiar thrill shimmered through her at the tender caress. He asked, “And Angela comes home…?”

  Megan sniffed. “In forty-five minutes or so.”

  “Good. We can talk then.”

  “Yeah.” She forced a brave smile, thinking that maybe she could get him to see how they needed to slow down a little. That she really couldn’t take being the biggest man-stealer in Rosewood.

  Biggest in the literal sense. Just ask his mother.

  He was nodding as he reached for the flowers. “In the meantime, these could use a drink.”

  She took them from him. “They’re gorgeous. Thank you….”

  “My pleasure.”

  Megan put the flowers in a vase and they joined the kids in the living room for the last half of the movie. It was a great little film, but she had trouble concentrating on it. She kept going over how she would manage to explain to Greg that she was absolutely nuts for him—but, for a while, they needed to rethink spending so much time together.

  Angela came home right on time. Megan got her vase of flowers and led Greg through the breezeway and up the back stairs to her apartment.

  “This is nice,” he said, surveying her Pottery Barn furniture and teal-blue walls hung with her own work. “Really nice.” He looked so pleased, his expression so open and vulnerable. He sent her a warm smile. “Hard to believe this is the first time I’ve seen your place….”

  She had one big living are
a, the kitchen divided off by a long jut of counter, her dining table on the living room side. She set the vase of flowers in the center of the table and gestured at the comfy buff-colored sectional sofa. “Beer or wine?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He sat. She got them each a glass of cabernet and joined him on the sofa. He raised his wineglass. “To us.”

  It was, at that moment, not the best thing he might have said. She didn’t mean to look stricken, but she must have.

  Without taking a sip, he set his glass on the old leather trunk that served as her coffee table and asked, too quietly, “Okay. What the hell is going on?”

  She didn’t know where—or how—to begin, so she knocked back a big gulp of wine. A little false courage, she decided, wouldn’t hurt.

  “Megan. Damn it. Talk to me….”

  Her silly mouth was trembling. She pressed her lips together to make the trembling stop. “I…had lunch with your mother today.”

  He swore under his breath. “You what?”

  “Vanessa showed up at my office. She wanted to take me to lunch.”

  “And you went?” He swore again. “Megan, I told you to stay away from her.”

  “Greg. She’s your mother.”

  “Yeah, she is. Technically. Her blood runs in my veins. But that’s it. An accident of birth. In the ways that count, she’s never been any kind of real mother to me. I keep as far away from her as possible as much of the time as I can. She’s not a nice person, Megan. She’s a self-absorbed, small-minded snob. And I’m guessing, from the brokenhearted look on your face, that today she took the gloves off and showed you what a complete bitch she can be.”

  Megan swallowed fiercely to keep the tears at bay. “She, um, she…said she wanted me out of your life. She said I had no…no background. That I was a nobody, a dumpy little businessperson who didn’t belong in your world. She said that she could deal with you going back to Carly. Or getting together with a woman more, um, worthy of you. But what she couldn’t take was your being with me. She said I would never be accepted by your family, and she thought I would be better off to just walk away now….”