CINDERELLA BRIDE

by Monica McLean

  She circled around the back and raced for the woods. Low tree limbs smacked into her, scratching her face, catching her hair, tearing her clothing. The dense grove swallowed her in its darkness until suddenly, she wasn't fleeing a low-income community in North Carolina, but a burning village in a faraway land.

  The echo of an explosion rang in her ears, the crackle of huts ablaze. Children screaming. The heat of the inferno pressed against her back. The smell of sulfur seeped into the air, oppressive and suffocating, filling her lungs. Faster. Faster. She had to run, to escape.

  She raised one arm as a shield to cover her face, another to cover her mouth and nose. She ran like ashes on the wind until she tripped and fell, landing hard on her side, where fiery tongues licked her body. The smell of burning flesh filled her nostrils.

  "No," she screamed in agony. Rolling over and over, trying to smother the flames. "No," she cried out, banging her head against a tree trunk, releasing shards of pain and the flood of reality.

  Side splitting, heart pounding, Marly picked herself up on rubbery legs, only to pitch forward in a sudden wave of nausea. She braced her hands on her knees, retching in violent spasms. When it was over, she stumbled to the tree trunk and sank onto the damp ground, her body convulsing in aftershock and cold apprehension.

  No longer in the village, the Bricks nonetheless offered her yet another nightmare.

  No footsteps followed hers in the woods; no one called her name. No one knew. Not yet. Soon, though, if he hadn't already, Billy Ray would see the door she'd left wide open. And if he had an eye for detail, he might even notice Tyler's security blanket missing. Then he'd know for sure someone else had been there, another witness, another liability. Just like Linda.

  Dear God, what if Billy Ray thought it was Tyler?

  She had to get out of there, get back to the little boy asleep in her bed.

  Marly rose and took a shallow breath, grimacing at the stitch in her side. With painstaking steps, she found her way out of the woods. Once in the clearing, she crept along the back of the buildings. She passed the one she'd parked in front of and kept going to the next one. There, she paused to straighten her disheveled clothing.

  She took a step forward and froze, like a rabbit surrounded by a pack of wild dogs. Keep going, a voice cried in her mind, and Marly forced herself to listen. Taking one brisk step after another, she bridged the distance to her car, and all but leaped inside. But her hands shook so violently she fumbled with the key, stabbing and missing the ignition on several attempts.

  "Please, Hilary…" She shook her head. "Marly… You have to get out of here."

  Her gaze swept across the parking lot. Nothing moved. No one approached. But he was out there. Was be watching, waiting to make his move?

  "Come on," she urged, her voice a plea. Finally, using one hand to steady the other, she slid the key into the ignition. But there was no sigh of relief as she pulled out of the parking lot. No feeling of comfort as she drove back to Annie Lou's, her gaze alternating between the road and the rearview mirror.

  Was he following her? Would he be waiting for her at the house? When would it start and where would it end?

  At Annie Lou's, she ditched her car by the curb and ran across the lawn in a frenzied panic. Inside, she closed and lacked the door behind her before scrambling to check every window in every room, making sure they were all secured. When she finished, she stood in the middle of the living room, turning in circles with one hand over her mouth until, finally, she collapsed into a shuddering heap.

  It was happening again. History repeating itself. Another murder. Another witness. Another trial.

  "Raise your right hand and repeat after me. I, Hilary Steele … do solemnly swear … to tell the truth … the whole truth and nothing but the truth … so help me God."

  "So help me God," she whispered, closing her eyes.

  She drew her legs toward her body and huddled in a ball. She knew firsthand what happened to people who testified against murderers. They became marked targets, and they were hunted down, silenced. Just like Linda.

  She looked down at her scarred hands, a lump of fear stuck like tar in the back of her throat. "Just like me."

  Not many people got second chances at life. Though she would never have chosen it herself, fate had intervened, taking any decision out of her hands. Yes, she'd been given a second chance, but there had been a price to pay. A very dear price.

  An innocent woman had died because of her, and eight years later, the grief of that loss still weighed on her soul day and night. Eight years later, she still felt as though she were living on borrowed time in someone else's life.

  Marly raised her trembling hands to her face. She wouldn't do it. Not again. She wouldn't get involved.

  This time, there would be no second chances. This time, it would be for real. What would happen to her children? To her center?

  No, she wouldn't do it. She couldn't, damn it. She didn't want to die.

  Not again.

  * * *

  For the fourth time, Carter flipped between radio stations, only to hear the same message broadcast across the air waves: "Local businessman Billy Ray Cameron was brought in for questioning today in connection with the stabbing death of his ex-wife, Linda Cameron. Police officials discovered Mrs. Cameron's body late last night when they responded to a neighbor's complaint of loud music coming from her apartment. No arrests have been made at this time. Authorities declined further comment. In other news…"

  Carter snapped off the radio and rubbed the tense muscles in his neck. He'd called himself a fool at least a dozen times on his way over to Marly's center, but he hadn't turned the car around. Though he'd sworn he would shred his Cinderella Candidates file and forget all about her, he hadn't seemed able to do it. Not yet.

  He had to try again. Just one more time. He had to try to convince her that his proposal wasn't as farfetched as it sounded, that they could make it work and that it would be mutually beneficial for both of them. If she still said no, he would admit defeat and get on with his life.

  To his surprise, the playground was empty when he pulled his car into the lot, and when he went to the double doors, he found them locked. Luckily, a teacher in the hallway caught sight of him through the glass and approached. Still, she wore a wary expression on her face and didn't open the door when she asked his business.

  "I'm here to see Marly Alcott."

  "Is she expecting you?"

  He was about to lie and say yes, just to gain entrance into the fortress, when the teacher crooked her head and asked, "Aren't you Carter King?" At his nod, she opened one of the doors a crack. "You're the one who drove up here in the limousine and scared the living daylights out of us."

  Carter tried to look duly sorry. "That was me, but I'm a fast learner. See." He gestured to the parking lot and his hunter-green Caravan, the vehicle he'd intended for his "family," should he ever have one.

  Just then a pigtailed girl came running out screaming, "Miss Nancy! Aaron cut in front of me at the water station."

  "Did not!" said the red-haired boy behind her.

  "Did so!"

  "Come on in." Miss Nancy opened the door, amid the children's bickering. "Turn right at the end of the hallway. First door on your left." She locked the door behind him, then herded the children back inside the classroom.

  Carter started down the hallway, taking in the hand-painted Sesame Street

  murals on the walls. Bulletin boards displayed the children's own creations, from fingerpaint swirls to construction paper cutouts in geometric shapes. There were some crayon drawings, too. One in particular caught his eye. Two stick figures, one big and one small, stood holding hands on a line of green grass. Above their heads was a big red heart. A caption below read: "Daddy and me, by Nicholas."

  Something twisted deep inside Carter, and he pressed a tight fist to his gut. Only, it didn't help. Nothing would. Not with reality staring him in the face, the reality of a lonely, dismal future.
A childless future.

  With a stab of pain, Carter realized he couldn't keep up the facade much longer, pretend he wanted a child only for inheritance purposes. Not with the unbearable emptiness that ripped at his soul day and night.

  In the years since Eva Ann had left him, he'd immersed himself in his work. He'd driven himself so hard for so long, working late into the night every night, until figures and columns blurred before his weary eyes. He'd fallen asleep at his desk so many nights he finally started keeping a change of clothing at work. Then it became a week's worth of clothing.

  Carter had needed the breakneck pace, the mind-numbing facts and figures. They helped him stay focused on one goal and one goal only: reaching the top. And he'd reached it, all right, in record time, only to discover what a bleak place it was when he had no one to share it with.

  All this time, he'd told himself it didn't matter. God, how he'd tried to believe it. But it did matter. He was alone, and it hurt like hell. Like it or not, the need for love and acceptance was still inside him, like an open wound that would never heal.

  He wasn't fool enough to think Marly would ever love him, but she was more likely than any other woman to accept him for the man he was. And if he could just convince her to help him raise his child, he would settle for that much.

  Bracing himself, Carter strode down the hallway toward her office. He found it easily enough—her name was stenciled in an arch above the doorway. He peered inside. The room itself was small, furnished with only a desk, some filing cabinets and a round table in the corner where Marly stood.

  She wore a pale-peach sweater and a matching pleated skirt, with her hair pinned up in that same donut shape he remembered from the other day on the playground. Her glasses completed the schoolteacher ensemble. Forehead creased in concentration, she gripped a folded section of the newspaper in one hand, a coffee mug in the other.

  He hesitated, his fist hovering in the air, until finally he cleared his throat and knocked twice on the open door. "Got a minute?"

  Marly gasped and jumped back, spilling her coffee all over the newspaper. "Oh, God. It's just you."

  He would have taken offense if she didn't look so relieved. "You were expecting the bogeyman?"

  "Very funny," she said, reaching for a stack of paper towels.

  "I'm sorry. Here, let me help you with that." He took the drenched newspaper and started to throw it into the wastepaper basket by the door.

  "Wait." She grabbed his arm. "Don't throw that away. I—I'm still reading it."

  "But it's ruined."

  "It'll dry." She took the soggy remains from his hands, cleared off a space on her desk and lined it with paper towels, before laying out the newspaper as if it were the Holy Grail.

  "So what are you reading about?"

  Her gaze flickered toward him. "Billy Ray Cameron. The police brought him in for questioning today."

  "Yeah, I heard on the radio. It's on all the stations. Murder this time, huh?"

  Marly nodded, smoothing the pleats of her long cotton skirt. "His ex-wife, Linda." Her gaze alternated between him and door. "How did you get into the building?"

  "One of your teachers recognized me from the other day."

  "Oh. Okay."

  She seemed to relax a little. But not much. Carter peered at her, one eyebrow raised in speculation. She was awfully jittery for some reason.

  "Please stop looking at me like that," she said, rubbing her arms.

  "Like what?"

  "Like I'm some kind of feasibility analysis."

  Carter frowned at her choice of words, at her accuracy.

  "Look, was there something I could help you with?" Marly asked. "I don't mean to be rude, but I—"

  "You know why I'm here."

  She stared at him across the barrier of her desk. "No, I'm afraid I don't."

  He turned his palms upward in supplication. "I think it's a feasible plan."

  "You still want to marry me?" Her voice sounded shaky, almost uncertain.

  "Does your center still need a donation?"

  "You know it does."

  "The offer still stands, Marly. We could help each other." Their gazes locked and held for several long seconds, and Carter thought he detected some inner battle waging behind those pale-blue eyes. She was tempted. He could tell from the way she stood, biting her lip and wringing her hands. He could also tell that something had changed since he'd seen her last, if the dark smudges underneath her eyes served as any indication. Had her center's financial picture grown worse?

  He took a step toward her. She took a step back. He didn't press. "Tell me your reservations, Marly."

  "I—I wouldn't know where to begin." She stared at a spot just over his shoulder.

  "I'm a perfect stranger. You've already told me that much, and I've told you about my friends Reva and Anil, and their arranged marriage. Their very successful arranged marriage."

  "Carter—"

  "Just admit the idea isn't as crazy as it sounds. We would make a good team—"

  "Linking a lending institution with a nonprofit organization. A businessman and a Good Samaritan."

  "If that's how you want to look at it."

  "Isn't that how you're looking at it?" she asked in a small voice.

  Carter straightened and met her gaze dead on. "Make no mistake about my motive here. I want a family, and I want you to be the mother of my children. That's it. Don't go looking for ulterior motives where there aren't any."

  "Then tell me why you want me. I don't understand. Of all the women—"

  "Look around." He gestured to the artwork on her bulletin board, the long rectangular framed print of more than a dozen babies that hung on her wall. "It's not too difficult to figure out. If there's a prime candidate for motherhood in this town, it's you."

  Marly smiled, but it was a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Carter couldn't put his finger on it, but he somehow sensed this wasn't the same woman he'd taken to the charity ball. She'd changed subtly. Or not so subtly. She was less spirited, more withdrawn. And nervous. Very nervous for some reason.

  "Is something wrong?" he suddenly asked.

  "Wrong?" She turned her back and began straightening the artwork on the bulletin board. "What do you mean? Besides my center's increasingly dismal finances—"

  "I'm not talking about the center. I'm talking about you." In two steps, he traversed the length of the office and stood beside her. Close enough to smell the flowers, close enough to remember how she'd felt with her lips pressed against his, to remember the curve of her breast—

  Carter reached out and stilled one of her hands, turning her around to face him as he grasped the other. Both were stone cold and shaking. His gaze flew to hers. Were his wayward thoughts that obvious?

  She hastily took back her hands, rubbing them on her arms. "I—I'm just a little cold."

  She wasn't cold—she was afraid! Of him, Carter belatedly realized. Damn it, he never should have kissed her. Now he would never be able to forget it, never be able to look at her without wondering, without wanting to do it again. Without scaring her. Damn. Carter raked his fingers through his hair. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

  "It doesn't have to be like this," he said, more to himself than to her. He would curb himself. He swore it—he wouldn't jeopardize their marriage in any way. He wouldn't force himself on her. He would wait until she was ready, be the perfect gentleman. He would give her whatever she wanted, but take only what she offered, never pushing her further than she wanted to go. If only she would agree…

  "Carter…"

  He swallowed. "I can get you a cashier's check today."

  "I—I don't think so." She stepped back. "You'd better go now. I have a lot of catching up to do. My work. I've fallen behind this week. I … I can walk you out."

  Carter frowned. He didn't want to believe negotiations had come to a close, that it was over and he had lost. But one look at Marly's determined expression, and he knew it was true. She'd obviou
sly made up her mind, and no amount of sweet talking was going to sway her.

  "That's all right. I know the way," he said, turning to leave. He paused at the door and turned back. "I made it this far by never giving up, Marly. I'm not a man who takes defeat well. But at this point, you've made your position pretty clear, and it doesn't look like you're going be swayed by anything I say or do. So I guess I have no choice but to wave the white flag. Don't worry … I won't be back."

  He strode down the hallway, deliberately averting his gaze from the bulletin boards, the red crayon heart clearly etched in his mind, the caption stamped on his soul forever.

  Carter King had never been afraid of anything in his life, but he was afraid now. The idea of spending the rest of his days alone scared the hell out of him, but he knew only a miracle would change Marly's mind. It was time to accept his fate.

  Past time.

  * * *

  The second time the black limousine snaked by Annie Lou's house, Marly broke into a cold sweat. Letting the curtain fall away, she took a step back and stifled a cry as she bumped into Annie Lou.

  "What is it?" the older woman asked, grasping her arm to steady her.

  "Billy Ray. His limo's circling the block."

  "Are you sure it's him? Maybe it's Carter King again. Didn't he—"

  "No." Marly shook her head. "Carter knows better. It's Billy Ray."

  Annie Lou pursed her lips. "Where's Tyler?"

  "Downstairs."

  Just then, a knock sounded at the door. Their wide-eyed gazes met and held in stunned silence. Annie Lou leaped to action first. "Quick." She urged Marly toward the stairs. "Remember the plan."

  "But—"

  "Go. Hurry."

  Marly nodded and ran for the stairs to her room. There, she found Tyler on the floor, playing with some toys she'd brought home from the school.

  "It's time, sweetheart," she said, tugging his hand. "Just like we practiced, okay?"

  Tyler's eyes widened, but he nodded his assent. They scrambled down to the cellar, and Marly hoisted him up, into the damp crawl space underneath the living room.