Awakening His Shy Cinderella

by Sophie Pembroke

  Sure enough, as she pulled back, Rachel realised that the rest of the guests were linking arms and bellowing out ‘Auld Lang Syne’, with varying levels of fidelity to the lyrics.

  Damon rubbed the back of his neck with the hand that had, just moments ago, been holding her tightly against him. ‘We should probably...’

  ‘Right. Yes. Come on.’ She darted back into the ring of people, linking arms with strangers who were suddenly far less scary than the one man she knew in the room, and hoping Damon took the hint to find some other people to sing with.

  And then, when she was sure he wasn’t looking, she ducked out of the circle, and headed for the door before anyone could stop her.

  It wasn’t midnight. It wasn’t a new year or a fresh start, and she was still the same old Rachel Charles. Even if, just for a moment, she’d felt like someone else entirely.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  WHERE HAD SHE GONE? Damon scanned the room, taking in all the tipsy partygoers still hugging and dancing now the midnight celebrations were over. The band was playing again—something upbeat, a tune that wouldn’t have allowed him to hold Rachel so tantalisingly close against him.

  If he could find her.

  He vaguely remembered from the briefing before they started filming that there would be another few songs, then the host would wrap it up for the night, and welcome everyone into a brand-new year. Would Rachel come back for that last planned shot of them all clapping as the camera swooped up and away? He suspected not.

  He’d kissed her. After spending the whole evening reminding himself that Rachel Charles, his sister’s best friend, was categorically one of the few women of his acquaintance who had never given him any hint of romantic interest, he’d kissed her anyway. Which made him, officially, the worst sort of person.

  Except...the way she’d clenched her fist around his jacket. Had that been nerves or something more? The way she’d fitted into his arms, the way she’d curled against him as they’d danced, her cheek against his chest...had he really been the only one whose heart had beat double fast at the sensation?

  And she had stretched up towards him as the clock chimes rang out midnight, hadn’t she? Had he really imagined all of that?

  He sighed. Probably, yes.

  It was because she’d been talking about That Night. That one night in his life when he’d felt understood. Open. Close enough to another person for them to see who he really was inside. For her he imagined it was a funny anecdote—the tale of them searching Oxford for Celeste only to find her asleep in the library the following morning, her phone on silent as always.

  But for him, it had been a crossroads. Oh, he hadn’t realised it at the time, of course; he’d been eighteen, drunk and scared for his sister. He hadn’t realised anything much at the time. But afterwards—the next day, the next visit, whenever he saw Rachel again—he’d started to understand.

  He’d pulled away from the closeness and the connection between them that night because it had scared him. He’d known himself well enough to realise that he didn’t want the kind of expectation that came with a connection like that. Rachel wasn’t like the usual girls he spent time with; she saw deeper than they did, and that meant something. He wouldn’t be able to sleep with her then leave her behind.

  So he’d put her firmly back in the box labelled ‘Celeste’s best friend’ and kept her there. Until she mentioned that night and...

  And trying to justify his actions to himself didn’t make things any better. He’d kissed her, and she’d run away from him. That was all the information he needed.

  She’d probably been planning on a quick peck on the cheek or something, just for the cameras. And, in truth, he’d not exactly been planning anything more than that himself. But as she’d swayed closer, something inside him had changed. Her scent in his lungs, his hand at her back, her breasts pressed against him...all he’d been able to think about was kissing her.

  Celeste would tell him that this was where all his problems always started: with the inability to pass up an opportunity to charm and seduce.

  He sank onto a bar stool at one of the high cocktail tables, and watched the party continue without him, and without Rachel. Everyone else seemed to be enjoying themselves, at least.

  He should go and find Celeste. She had to have finished filming by now, right? It was—he glanced at the large clock, remembered its fakeness, and checked his watch instead—gone nine-thirty. They’d been at it for hours for a thirty-minute show, and they’d already lost half their audience.

  As the band finished up their final song, Damon let himself silently out of the side door and hoped no one spotted him leaving.

  He found Celeste stomping out of the green room, back in her usual black clothes but still with her hair and make-up TV-perfect. The scowl on her face wasn’t, though.

  ‘Where on earth did you go? And where’s Rachel?’

  ‘We got dragged in to film some New Year party show. They didn’t have enough partygoers because of some issue on the Tube, and your filming had already gone longer than it was supposed to anyway.’ The poor warm-up guy, the comedian who had to entertain the audience while they were waiting or between takes, must have more than earned his money that night.

  Celeste rolled her eyes as she pushed past him to continue stomping down the corridor. ‘Only because that man kept getting things wrong.’

  Damon hid a smile. ‘In fairness, Theo Montgomery was only reading out the answers on the cards.’

  ‘Because he’s not bright enough to actually know anything himself,’ Celeste shot back over her shoulder. Then she winced, which was not an expression Damon was used to seeing from her. Neither was the slight tinge of pink that coloured her cheeks.

  Eyebrows raised, he turned around to see what had caught her attention and found Theo Montgomery emerging from a room behind him into the corridor. From his raised eyebrows, he’d clearly heard everything Celeste had said.

  Damon stepped towards him, hand out for Theo to shake, which he did.

  ‘Mr Montgomery. I’m Damon Hunter, Celeste’s brother—we met earlier? I just wanted to take this opportunity to apologise for my sister.’

  ‘No need,’ Theo said. ‘Trust me, I’ve heard worse. You stayed for the whole filming?’ He sounded amazed at the prospect.

  Damon shook his head. ‘No, I just follow my sister around to make the necessary apologies. And now that’s done, I’m heading home.’

  ‘Where’s Rachel?’ Celeste asked again, obviously ignoring Theo. ‘I said we’d give her a lift home.’

  ‘She, uh...she left early,’ Damon said. It was the truth, after all, but apparently he couldn’t avoid sounding guilty as he said it.

  Celeste’s eyes narrowed. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘What makes you think I did anything?’ He turned to Theo. ‘Does it make you feel any better that she treats everyone this way?’

  ‘A little,’ Theo admitted.

  ‘You always do something,’ Celeste replied. ‘Let me guess, you were flirting with some other woman at the bar and leaving her all on her own?’

  ‘I can promise you that absolutely was not the case. I was attentive, friendly, we even danced together.’ And then I kissed her and she ran away. Which made him feel sleazy and awful—not least because he was still reliving that kiss in his head. The way she had felt against him, how sweet her lips had been...

  ‘Rachel danced?’ Celeste asked, astonishment in her voice. ‘I have never once, in ten full years, seen my best friend dance. There is something else going on here, and you are going to tell me all about it on the way home. Come on, let’s get to the car.’ Then, belatedly, she turned to Theo. ‘Thank you for having me on your show, Mr Montgomery. I’m very sorry that the question team screwed up so many of your answer cards.’

  Then she spun around and stalked down the corridor, obviously expecting Damon
to chase after her. He sighed, and turned back to Theo.

  ‘Once again, apologies for my sister’s attempt at an apology.’

  But Theo, surprisingly, was smiling. ‘No need. She certainly livened up the experience—and I’m pretty sure our researchers will be stepping up their game if we ever have her on again.’

  ‘I think if is the important word in that sentence.’

  Theo laughed. ‘You might be right. Goodnight.’

  ‘’Night.’ Damon turned and headed after Celeste, steeling himself for the grilling he was about to get in the car. Maybe he should have just lied and told her he’d been flirting with another woman. He had a feeling that would have gone down much better with Celeste than the truth.

  He practised telling her what had happened in his head.

  I kissed your best friend.

  Yeah, no. That wasn’t going to go down any better with Celeste than it had with Rachel.

  He sighed. Nothing about this evening had turned out how he’d expected. And yet, as he remembered dancing with Rachel...he couldn’t honestly say he wanted to change any of it.

  * * *

  Rachel could hear the Christmas carols playing on the shop floor, along with the chaos of a department store at the beginning of December as customers fought to find the best presents, most flattering party outfits and, of course, the best seasonal deals. In her tiny office—okay, fine, converted cupboard—at the far end of the homewares floor, she was mostly protected from the fuss and bother outside. She didn’t have a shift on the tills until tomorrow, the window displays were all perfect, and that meant she could get on with designing, writing and scheduling Hartbury & Sons’ seasonal messages.

  When she’d brainstormed her seasonal campaigns back in August, she’d been excited to get started. But, as so often happened, the everyday requirements of her job and her family had taken over, and now here she was at the start of December and she still had most of her Christmas posts still to write.

  Hannah and the store’s board of directors were an old-fashioned bunch when it came to marketing. When it came to most things, actually. A couple of half-page adverts in relevant newspapers once a season and they thought they were done. After all, as Hannah always said, Hartbury’s was an institution. They didn’t need to advertise.

  Except, as Rachel had tried to explain to them so many times before, the world was changing. Yes, people might have heard of Hartbury’s, but unless they gave them a reason to visit, unless they showed them why they were still relevant to a new generation of shoppers, getting new people through the doors was only going to get harder. She’d eventually talked them into hiring a company to set up and manage the online store, but only because they could see that would give them actual sales from people living in corners of the world too far away to just pop down to Hartbury’s—first she’d had to remind them that such places, outside London, actually existed but she’d got there.

  Hiring an online marketing team, or even a social media manager, though, that was a step too far. Which meant it fell to Rachel to bring the store into the twenty-first century, whether she liked it or not.

  She looked at the new images she’d created for her social media campaign, and wondered if they were just a little...blah. She’d gone for classic festive images, the sort that Hartbury’s always used in their adverts, or around the store, but now she was thinking that maybe she could do something a little more...personal. Maybe she’d go and take some new photos of her finished window displays, and use those. Hannah tolerated the window displays because they delighted the kids, which meant the parents were happier while shopping, but Rachel knew she’d personally prefer something more traditionally Christmas. She’d probably hate the idea that Rachel’s displays were representing the store online, but since Hannah didn’t use social media, she might never notice.

  And her window displays were good. Even Damon said so—

  ‘Dammit!’ Rachel picked up her notebook and made another tally mark, then checked her watch. Five minutes that time. She’d gone a whole five minutes without thinking about Damon Hunter, and That Kiss. That might be an actual record, the longest she’d managed since she ran out of the studio on Tuesday night.

  Now it was Thursday, and she was still spending more time thinking about him than anything else. Not a great sign.

  Celeste had called the next day to apologise for whatever her brother had done to offend or annoy her, but Rachel had told her it was nothing. In fact, she’d lied and said she’d just had a headache.

  She could tell from the sceptical silence on the other end of the line that Celeste hadn’t believed her, but it was clear that Damon hadn’t told her what had happened either, and Rachel was determined she wasn’t going to spill.

  She’d been the besotted girl before, the one who thought a guy truly liked her only to find out it was all a joke—or at least, that she wasn’t important enough to be serious about. In fact, she’d been that girl twice. Once in high school, when she figured it was normal to be that naive. But the second time had been only last summer, with Tobias, and that time Rachel really should have known better.

  This time, she did know better. Damon had been in her life for a decade and at no point had he given her even a hint that he saw her as anything other than his big sister’s best friend. He wasn’t cruel enough to pretend to like her for a bet, or to laugh off any relationship between them as a joke as Gretchen’s friend Tobias ultimately had, but she also wasn’t going to let herself believe it was anything more than a spur-of-the-moment impulse. A New Year’s Eve kiss in the moment and then forgotten about.

  By him anyway.

  Forcing herself to refocus, Rachel turned back to her social media work—until a knock on the door broke her concentration again.

  ‘Rach?’ Her dad stuck his head around the door. She looked up and scanned his expression, his complexion, looking for signs of how he was feeling, whether the medicine was working. As ever, there were no firm answers. ‘Ah good, I’ve found you. Um...can I come in?’

  ‘You can try.’ Rachel looked around at her tiny cupboard office, and wondered exactly where her dad thought he was going to stand. By the time the desk, chair and precariously balanced bookshelf were accounted for, there wasn’t really any floor space left.

  He settled for hovering in the open doorway, giving Rachel a view past him of the shop floor and all the Christmas shoppers she was trying to avoid.

  ‘Am I needed on the shop floor?’ she asked, when her father stayed silent.

  He shook his head. ‘No, no. Just...your stepmother thought you’d been a little bit down the last couple of days. She thought you might be worrying about what to wear for the Christmas party.’

  ‘I’m not—’ Rachel started, but her father kept talking over her, desperate as ever to make everything all right again without ever understanding what the real problem was.

  ‘So we bought you this!’ He pulled a pine green and red tartan monstrosity out of the bag in his hands and held it up for her to appreciate.

  She didn’t know how they’d managed it, but her dad and Hannah had found a dress she hated even more than any of the ones her stepsisters had made her try on the other day. This one would cover her from neck to mid-calf, with the green and red tartan pattern swamping her completely. The fabric looked stiff and uncomfortable. And the whole thing was capped off with a bright red satin bow, as a five-year-old might wear.

  ‘Isn’t it lovely?’ Her father looked down at the dress lovingly. She imagined he was seeing her as a little girl again, wearing it. Or maybe the heart medication he was on had affected his sartorial taste somehow. ‘Hannah has such exquisite taste, and I know you’ll be grateful she was thinking of you.’

  There was just the edge of desperate hope in his words, the same tone she’d been hearing ever since her father remarried two years after her mother died. The subtle reminder that he was do
ing all this for her, really. That he wanted her to be happy. That he needed them all to be a family.

  Her father was genuinely fond of Hannah, loved her even. But Rachel had often wondered if he’d have remarried so quickly if it hadn’t been for her. He’d been falling apart after his wife’s death, and all anyone seemed to say was that a teenage girl needed a mother, a family.

  So he’d found Hannah, and Rachel had spent the last fourteen years not fitting in with the family he’d chosen for them. To start with, because she hadn’t been ready to leave the memory of her mother behind. She’d been awkward, difficult—really, she’d been fourteen, that was all. Gretchen and Maisie were both younger, and their parents had been divorced for years. Rachel and her dad had moved into their family home, but otherwise nothing had really changed for them.

  But for Rachel, everything had changed. And most days, she still lived with the fallout.

  Wait for Dad’s test results. If they’re clear, I’ll talk to him about finding my own place to live. One step at a time.

  Rachel swallowed her true feelings about the tartan monstrosity, and tried not to think about the cranberry-red wrap dress with the forest animal pattern she’d worn to the party the other night. The dress Damon had bought her, because it made him think of her.

  Her family looked at her and thought, Cover her up with tartan, or Hide her away in the corner, or even Embarrass the hell out of her.

  Damon looked at her and thought she deserved a dress she loved, one that felt like the way she saw herself.

  Surely that had to mean something, didn’t it?

  Her father was still waiting for her verdict on the dress. And she’d promised herself—and Hannah—that she’d try to keep the peace, try not to be difficult, while his health was so delicate.

  ‘It’s very festive,’ she said, carefully picking her way around the truth. ‘It was so kind of Hannah to think of me like that.’