CINDERELLA BRIDE

by Monica McLean

  Marly sighed and kicked off her shoes. She'd overcome greater obstacles in her lifetime. Surely she could survive a loveless marriage. Couldn't she?

  Well, for starters, she could stop overanalyzing every little thing. Every word, every gesture, every feeling. She touched her fingers to her lips, remembering the times Carter had kissed her, wondering how long she would have to wait before he kissed her again.

  "It's hopeless," she whispered into the empty room. Shaking her head, she retrieved her To Do list from the top desk drawer and scanned the remaining items.

  Her first order of business had included ordering a new security system for the school. That done, she'd crossed various other tasks off the list throughout the day, leaving only a few.

  Intending to pare the list down even further before she left for the day, Marly reached for the phone and called the local food distributor to increase their rations.

  "Is this a one-time order, Miss Alcott?"

  "No, it's permanent, so if you wouldn't mind updating our standing information, I'd really appreciate it."

  "Will do. Anything else?"

  "Oh, I almost forgot. I have a new name. I'm Marly King now."

  "A newlywed?"

  "That's right."

  "Well, congratulations."

  "Thank you." Despite herself, she smiled as she hung up the phone, skimming her To Do list for the next item.

  "Looks like you got yourself a little windfall there, Miz King." Billy Ray Cameron's voice washed over her like an icy waterfall.

  Marly's smile faltered. How the hell had he gotten inside the building? Had she forgotten to secure the door after the last child had left? Her heart clamored an erratic rhythm. God help her, she couldn't remember.

  An overwhelming sense of panic suffused her. Each time she saw him, Billy Ray appeared more menacing, the wild, unbalanced glint in his eyes more evident. All survival instincts told her to run. But she couldn't. Not this time. She had to play out her role. It was the only way.

  "Hello, Mr. Cameron." She forced a congenial tone. "Are you here with Tyler?"

  Billy Ray's eyes narrowed with suspicion as he approached. Planting his palms facedown on her desk, he leaned forward so their gazes were level.

  Her blood ran cold. She almost stopped breathing altogether.

  "If I remember right, I done already warned you once about messing with me." He tilted his head to the side and pursed his lips in a patronizing gesture. "Do you need a Yankee translation?"

  Marly shoved back in her chair and jackknifed to her feet. No fear. No fear. No fear. "I—I understood you perfectly. I take it you haven't found Tyler."

  "You take it right."

  "Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr. Cameron. This is just awful. Have you called the police yet?"

  "No, and I'll give you three guesses why not."

  "Guesses? Why, I don't know."

  "Well, maybe if you think real hard—" he tapped his temple "—it'll come to you."

  She frowned. "I don't know what you're implying, Mr. Cameron, but if there's something I can do to help—"

  "As a matter of fact there is." With measured steps, he rounded her desk, coming dangerously near her, before stopping. "The police seem to think I'm hiding Tyler, but you and I both know he ain't with me, don't we?"

  Marly didn't respond.

  "Yeah, that's right. We do," he said, answering his own question. "So now why don't you start by telling me exactly what you know, Miz King."

  "I'm sorry?" God, she was shaking something awful.

  "What you're holding back."

  Her hand fluttered to her throat. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand—"

  "Cut the crap, woman." Billy Ray slammed his knuckles down on her desk. "I'm on to you."

  Marly lifted her chin. "I've told you before, Mr. Cameron, and I'll tell you again—"

  "I ain't buying it."

  She didn't like the way he was staring her down, the cold glint of his eyes piercing out from the sunken pits in his skull. Try as she might, she couldn't eradicate the image of him pulling the knife from his ex-wife's body, the way his lips had twitched from the effort.

  A sudden wave of nausea rolled over her. She wanted to scream but knew she couldn't. She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. It was just her and Billy Ray and—

  "Excuse me, is this a private conversation?"

  Marly's heart thudded with relief at the sight of Carter standing in the doorway. She'd never been happier to see another person in all her life.

  "Yeah, it is, so butt out," Billy Ray said.

  "I believe we're finished," she corrected.

  "I don't think so."

  "You heard the lady, Cameron."

  Billy Ray swung his gaze to Carter. "I'm sorry," he said with exaggerated patience. "Have we met before?"

  "Carter King." He tipped his head back. His voice was deep and quiet, like wrapped thunder. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

  Billy Ray's eyes narrowed on Marly. "This ain't over," he said, his voice low but not low enough.

  Carter unfolded himself from the door and came to stand at his full height. "If you've got business with my wife, I suggest you go through me from now on." He was much larger than Billy Ray, taller and broader. But even more than his obvious strength, Carter King radiated power. It oozed from every pore of his body, and even Billy Ray appeared to take note.

  The shifty drug lord retreated slowly, then pivoted on his heel and strode from the room. Carter kicked the door shut behind him. Marly breathed a sigh of relief and all but ran into Carter's arms.

  "Thank you," she whispered against his chest. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't shown up." She was shaking so hard, like a quivering mass of jelly. He held her close, and she closed her eyes, wanting to crawl inside his skin, to absorb some of his strength.

  How much more could she take without giving?

  * * *

  Marly pressed a glass to the refrigerator's water dispenser. "Can I get you some?" she asked Carter without turning around.

  "No. Thanks."

  They'd barely spoken after Billy Ray had left, aside from Carter's suggestion that they go out to dinner and Marly's request that they go home and change first. Some wedding day. She frowned into her water and took a tentative sip.

  "I talked to the psychologist this afternoon. She says Tyler's behaving normally for a child who has just lost a parent. He's coping better than most."

  "He's seen more death than most."

  "That's true. Marly?"

  "Hmm?" She took a bigger swallow.

  "I want you to consider calling the police."

  She sputtered and nearly dropped the glass.

  "I know what you said before—"

  "No, Carter." She put the glass down on the counter and spun around, nearly colliding with her new husband.

  Carter's hazel eyes were dark and intense, reflecting the determination of a powerful businessman unaccustomed to hearing no for an answer. "Marly, this is the second time he's come around, and I have to tell you I don't take too kindly to any man harassing my wife, let alone two-bit scum like Billy Ray Cameron."

  "I understand, but I don't want to involve myself ay more than I already have."

  "Don't you think Billy Ray's going to want to involve the police? Even if it's just to get the heat off himself?"

  She shook her head. "He isn't going to draw attention to Tyler's disappearance. He … thinks Tyler knows something incriminating. He can't afford to let the police find him first."

  "How do you know this?"

  Marly shrugged. "I just do."

  His jaw set with the hard edge of frustration. "And you're sure Tyler doesn't know anything?"

  "I'm sure."

  Carter leaned against the island in the center of the kitchen and crossed his arms. "Okay, look. I still think you should consider telling the police Cameron's hounding you."

  "But I don't want—"

  "Marly, you don't have much choi
ce, with Cameron so damn intent on involving you."

  "No, don't say that. I have a choice. No one can make me…" She swallowed down a knot of fear. No one could make her testify again. No one could force her involvement. She wasn't a fifteen-year-old girl this time, required to obey her mother's decisions, but a grown woman in charge of her own life and her own life's choices.

  So why did it seem that the more things changed, the more they stayed the same? She could run, but she could never hide. And in the end, she was still the same little mouse, backed into a corner.

  Carter reached out and tugged her toward him. She went to him willingly and stood in the vee of his long legs, her hands resting on his shoulders, his hands on her waist, as if it was the most natural position in the world.

  He gave a heavy sigh and said, "You're right. No one can make you."

  Marly worried her lip as she studied the chiseled planes of his face. He was extraordinarily handsome, this man who was now her husband. She dropped her hands to his chest, staring at the splotchy pigment of her scars.

  "There's something I have to tell you," she said, choosing her words carefully. "About the fire and my friend … Hilary."

  "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

  "I do, because I want you to understand. It's just a little hard, even after all these years. You see, it was a bomb that started that fire."

  Carter frowned. "What are you saying?"

  "They killed her."

  "Who killed her?"

  She drew a shaky breath. "I don't know where to begin, except at the beginning. Hilary … witnessed a murder. Her testimony sent three men to prison. All three were major underworld players. One of them was her father. They blamed him for the foul-up and later killed him in prison, making it look like a suicide.

  "Next was her mother. A Boston blueblood. She was a conceited, self-absorbed socialite who never really understood how the other half lived." She frowned, a mixture of anger and pity welling inside her. "She died when Hilary was in college. Car bomb. Of course the investigators said it was a faulty starter.

  "Hilary joined the Peace Corps and fled the country, but in the end, even she underestimated the long arm of the underworld. They planted a bomb in her hut. We were both in there. If I hadn't left to go get water…"

  "Shh, don't say it." Carter felt strangely uneasy as he held his wife. His hands traced over the gentle curve of her waist to grip her hips.

  Just thinking about her near brush with death troubled him. She'd become an integral part of his life in such a short time. The thought of losing her, past or present, didn't sit well with him.

  "I'm sorry," he said.

  "Me, too." She fingered his tie. Her lower lip started to tremble, and she bit down on it. "Carter, I'm sorry I didn't tell you this earlier. I should have…"

  "Hey, it's okay." Her lips were red from gnawing, and he lightly traced the contours with his index finger.

  "No," she whispered. "It's not okay. You still don't know what I'm trying to get to, and I'm still afraid to tell you. But you have a right to know…"

  He frowned. "Know what?"

  Marly's eyes filled with tears she quickly blinked back.

  "Marly, what is it?"

  "I saw him," she whispered. "It was me, not Tyler. I saw Billy Ray at Linda's that night. I saw him pull his knife from her body."

  Carter felt the air being sucked out of his lungs. "You were there?"

  Marly nodded, covering her mouth with both hands. He shoved a rough hand through his hair and swore, pulling his wife to him. "Tell me everything."

  He listened intently as Marly filled in the missing pieces of the puzzle, and suddenly everything made sense.

  "You didn't go to the police because of what happened to Hilary."

  "I couldn't."

  "Marly, look at me." He took her hands in his. "Billy Ray is no underworld figure. He's a small-town hood, and the local authorities could squash him like a bug."

  "Then why haven't they squashed him yet?" She pulled her hands away. "I'm not getting involved, Carter, so don't even try to make me—"

  "I would never make you do anything."

  "You made me marry you."

  He could tell from her pain-stricken expression that she regretted the words as soon as she'd spoken them.

  "I—I'm sorry. That didn't come out right."

  He shrugged. "It's true."

  "It's also true that you've done nothing but help me, and I don't want you to think I'm not grateful … for everything. That's why I had to tell you. I just hope you can understand—"

  "I do, but I want you to understand something, too. There's a killer running around loose. He's managed to evade the law for years, and you, sweetheart, have the evidence to fry him. No, I'm not going to force you to go to the authorities, but I want you to think about it. I want you to think long and hard, and whatever you decide I want you know that I'm behind you. You're my wife now, and I would never let anyone hurt you. I swear it."

  "I believe you. And Carter, about what I said just now … I don't want you to think I'm going to throw that in your face for the next ten years."

  "Ten?" He raised an eyebrow. "Lady, you're going to be married to me for a lot longer than ten years."

  "You forgive me, then?"

  "Yeah."

  She trailed her fingertips across his jawbone, her gaze traveling over his lips. "Sometimes I'm not sure you're quite real."

  Carter swallowed. "Oh, I'm real, all right."

  "Can you believe we're really married?" she whispered.

  "No. Can you?"

  She shook her head. "Carter?"

  "Hmm?"

  "There's something I've been wanting to do…" She raised herself up on her tiptoes and brushed her mouth over his.

  A fine tremor coursed through his body.

  "Is this okay?" she asked, as if unsure about some kind of etiquette.

  "Yeah," he murmured, bracing himself as she stepped a little closer into the juncture of his thighs. Surely he could withstand a few minutes of her sweet torture.

  "Good." She threaded her hands into his hair. "I couldn't wait much longer."

  Whoosh. Her words ignited him like a match dropped in kerosene. He was hard in an instant and wanting her badly.

  Marly might have been waiting for kisses, but he was waiting for more. Much more.

  How honored would his new bride feel if she knew he wanted to make love with her on the kitchen counter?

  Just one more second, then he would end this, before things could get out of hand. Just one more second.

  Her breasts brushed his chest, and he slid one finger inside her suit jacket, grazing her nipple. It pebbled at his touch, and Marly shivered, pressing closer against him.

  Just one more second, and then he would pull away. Her hands moved down his shoulders, rubbing his upper arms. Each puff of breath sounded increasingly labored. Just one more second… She moved her hips against him.

  Ah, hell. Who was he kidding? One more second and he'd have her on the kitchen counter.

  Carter gripped her hips, savoring the way her body molded to his. It felt like ripping off the top layer of his skin when he set her away.

  "On second thought," he managed to say, "it is getting late. We should probably get going. You must be hungry."

  She looked a little disoriented as she shook her head. "Not really."

  "No? I'm starving."

  "All right," she agreed with a smile, but as she moved away, he saw it falter.

  It still didn't register that anything was wrong until she was halfway down the hall to their bedroom. A sniffle. That was all it took. "Marly?"

  No response.

  "Marly, what's wrong?" He started after her.

  "Nothing. I'm just going to change. I'll be right out." She ducked into the bedroom.

  He followed, before she could close the door.

  The room was bathed in semidarkness, with only one bedside lamp burning. He didn
't bother turning on any others. Marly stood by the windows, her back turned.

  He knew she wanted to be alone. He also knew he couldn't leave her.

  Carter crossed the room and stood behind her, listening to the sniffles. "Married less than eight hours, and already I can tell when you're crying from the very first sniffle."

  "Great."

  "Not so great when I don't know why." He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Talk to me."

  She shrugged. "It's so hard to believe we're really married, that this is our wedding night."

  "It does feel pretty strange, doesn't it?"

  "Yeah." Her voice cracked.

  "You want to talk about it?"

  She shrugged again. "I guess all young girls have this idea of how it's going to be, you know, their wedding … their wedding night. They dream about these things…"

  Marly felt Carter's hand on her shoulder, nudging her around to face him. "Tell me your dreams," he said, his eyes searching hers.

  She shook her head. "I can't."

  "Why not?"

  "Because they're just girlhood dreams. I'm a grown woman and a realist now."

  He shrugged. "Tell me anyway."

  "No, you'll laugh."

  "I won't. I promise." He was silent, waiting.

  "Carter, it's embarrassing," she finally whispered.

  "So? We're married now. We have an entire lifetime of embarrassment ahead of us." He grinned. "How did you imagine your wedding? A big ceremony?"

  She sighed. "Yes, but only because my parents wouldn't have let me have anything else."

  "Did they have a lot of friends?"

  "Tons," she said, and then hastened to add, "while I was growing up, anyway. The numbers dwindled later, and of course, as you know, my parents passed on." Hilary Steele and Marly Alcott had that much in common—no family or close friends.

  "I'm sorry."

  "Thanks. It's funny, when I was little my life was filled with dreams. I always imagined a big church wedding, pews filled with people who'd come from all over just to see me walk down the aisle. Some of them I'd met before. Others I hadn't."

  Carter closed his eyes. "Okay, I can see it. So what did you wear?"

  Marly embraced the distant memory. "An ivory dress. Nothing fancy, not by today's standards. Kind of traditional, old-fashioned. Lots of silk and lace."