Fairy Tale Weddings (11 page)

“I'm sure that whatever you did wasn't as bad as you think.”

“It was worse!” she cried.

“Right now you think it is,” Theresa said calmly. “Give it a year or so and you'll look back and laugh at yourself.”

Cindy couldn't visualize laughing about anything at the moment. She was hurting too much. She raised her head, sniffling.

“I've decided I'm not going to see him again,” Cindy said with iron determination, promising herself as well as informing her aunt. “It isn't going to work, and confusing the issues with love won't change a thing.”

“Did you tell Thorne that?”

Miserably, Cindy shook her head. “I didn't want to invite an argument.” She refused to spend their last minutes together debating her decision. Thorne had taken her to meet his family to show how easily she'd fit in, and the opposite had proven true. She'd enjoyed his parents. She couldn't imagine not liking the two people most influential in Thorne's upbringing. They were decent folks, but Cindy had known the minute she'd walked inside their home that the chasm that divided their lifestyles was too wide to ever bridge.

She glanced around the Territo family kitchen at the pine table with its plain wooden chairs that had once belonged to her grandmother. There were no plush Persian carpets or Oriental rugs beneath it, only worn hardwood floors. Their furniture was simple, as were their lives. Comparing the two families would be like trying to…to mix spaghetti sauce and rough red wine with lobster and champagne.

Before they parted, Thorne had asked to meet her again. Distraught and too weak to argue with him, Cindy had agreed. Now she was sorry.

“The man's in love with you,” Theresa said.

“But encouraging him will only hurt him more.”

Theresa sadly shook her head. “Are you saying you don't love him?”

“Yes!” Cindy shouted, then winced at the searing look her aunt gave her. “I love him,” she admitted finally, “but that doesn't make everything right. Some things in life were meant to be. Others won't ever work out.”

Her aunt's expression was troubled. “You're old enough to know what you want. I'm not going to stand here and argue with you. Besides, anything I say is unlikely to
change your mind. But I want you to know that you're a marvelous girl and a man like Thorndike Prince wouldn't fall in love with you if you weren't.”

Cindy shrugged helplessly. For now he might have convinced himself that he loved her, but later, after he knew her better, he'd regret his love. Because of their unusual circumstances, he looked upon her as a challenge.

She'd made her decision, and although it was the most difficult thing she'd ever done, she was determined to stick by it.

 

“Yes?” Thorne flipped the intercom switch, his eyes still on the report he was studying. Interruptions were part of his day and he'd grown accustomed to doing several things at once.

Ms. Hillard cleared her throat. “Your mother is here.”

Thorne groaned inwardly. He might be able to have Ms. Hillard fend off unexpected visits from Sheila, but his mother wouldn't be put off by her excuses. He sighed. “Go ahead and send her in.”

“Thorne.” His mother sauntered into the office, her expression resolutely cheerful.

He stood and kissed her on the cheek, already guessing that she was concerned about something. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” She unbuttoned her coat and he saw that she wore her diamond necklace. Absently Thorne wondered how Cindy would look in diamonds. No, he decided, with her blond hair, he'd buy her emeralds. He'd give her emeralds—earrings and a necklace—as an engagement present when they set their wedding date. He'd have her pearl comb repaired, too. He was anxious to give her all the things she deserved. She'd given him so much in so little time that it would take a lifetime to repay her.

“I was in town and thought I'd let you take me to lunch.”

His mother had obviously taught Sheila that trick. “What about Dad?”

“He's tied up in a meeting.”

“Ah.” Understanding came.

“Besides, I wanted to talk to you.”

Thorne bristled, automatically suspicious of her intentions. His mother wanted to discuss Cindy. He sighed, sensing an argument.

“What's the name of that nice little restaurant you like so well?” his mother asked, rearranging the small items on his desk, irritating him further.

“The Corner Bistro.”

“Right. Oh. I made reservations at the Russian Tea Room.”

Thorne managed to nod. It didn't matter where or what they ate as long as the air was cleared when they finished.

Half an hour later, Thorne studied his mother as they sat in a plush booth in the Russian Tea Room. Methodically she removed her white gloves one finger at a time. He knew her well enough to realize she was stalling.

“You wanted to say something, Mother?” He had no desire to delay the confrontation. If she disapproved of Cindy, he'd prefer to have it out in the open and dealt with quickly. Not that anything she said would alter his feelings toward the woman he loved. He'd prefer it if his family approved, but he wouldn't let them stand in his way.

“Sheila phoned me this morning and I'm afraid I may have done something you'd rather I hadn't.” She sent him an apologetic glance and reached for the menu.

Thorne's fingers tightened around his water glass. “Perhaps you should start at the beginning.”

“The beginning…Well, yes, I suppose I should.” She set
the menu aside. “I think you already know that I've had my reservations about Cindy.”

“Listen, Mother, I need to tell you that your feelings about Cindy mean very little to me. I love her and, God willing, I plan to marry her and—”

“Please, allow me to finish.” She silenced him with a look she hadn't used since his youth. Her words were sharp. “As it happens, I find your Cindy a delight.”

“You do?”

“Don't be a ninny! She's marvelous. Now stop acting so surprised.” She shook her head lightly. “I thought at first that she might be too shy and retiring for you, which put me in a terrible position, since I doubted you'd care one way or another what I thought of her. But as it happens, I like her. The girl's got pluck.”

“Pluck?”

“Yes. I'm pleased that you have the good sense to want to marry her.”

Thorne was so astonished he nearly slid out of the booth and onto the floor. “I have every intention of making her my wife as soon as possible. She may put up a fight, but I'm not taking no for an answer.”

His mother made a production of straightening the silverware, aligning each piece just so. “Well, dear, there may be a small problem.”

“Yes?”

“Sheila seems quite broken up by the news that I'm giving Cindy my wholehearted approval. Mentioning that you'd brought her by to meet your father and me might not have been my smartest move. I had no idea Sheila would react so negatively. I'm afraid the girl may try to create problems for you.”

“Let her.” Thorne dealt with sensitive situations every day. He could handle Sheila. He'd calm her and end their relationship on a friendly note. “Don't worry, Mother, Sheila's been well aware of my feelings for Cindy for quite some time.”

“She seemed to think you'd change your mind.”

Thorne's mouth thinned with impatience. “She knows better.”

“I'm worried about her, Thorne. I want you to talk to her.”

Thorne ran his fingers along the fork tines. “Okay. I'm not sure it'll help. I regret any emotional trauma I may have caused her, but I'm not going to do anything other than talk to her.”

“Do it soon.”

Thorne agreed, elated with his family's acceptance of Cindy. He recalled the look on her face when he'd left her. She'd clung to him and kissed him with such fervor it had been difficult to leave. He thought about Cindy as his wife and the years that stretched before him—a lifetime of happiness and love. Even though he'd considered marrying Sheila at one point, he'd never thought about their future the way he did with Cindy, plotting the events of their lives.

“I'm seeing her tomorrow.”

“Sheila?” his mother inquired.

He shook his head. “No, Cindy.”

“But you will talk to Sheila? I'm afraid she might do…something silly.”

“I'll speak to her,” Thorne promised, determined to put an end to his relationship with the other woman.

 

Thorne stared at the wall clock in the lobby of the American Museum of Natural History. Cindy was half an
hour late. It wasn't like her not to be punctual and he was mildly surprised. He had every minute of their evening planned. Dinner. Drinks. Dancing. Then they'd take a walk in Central Park and he'd bring out the engagement ring. Tonight was it.

All day he'd rehearsed what he was going to say. First, he'd tell her how knowing her had changed his life. It wasn't only singing in the shower and noticing the birds, either. Before she'd walked into his life, he'd fallen into a rut. His work had become meaningless, merely occupying his time. He'd lost his direction.

But her laughter and her smile had lifted him to the heavens, given him hope. He'd tell her that he'd never thought he'd experience the kind of love he felt for her. It had caught him unawares.

Naturally she'd be surprised by the suddenness of this proposal. She might even insist on an extended engagement. Of course, he hoped they could set the date immediately and begin to make the necessary arrangements for their wedding—a church wedding. He didn't want any rushed affair; when he made his vows to Cindy he wanted them spoken before God, not some fly-by-night justice of the peace. He intended their vows to last a lifetime.

Growing impatient, Thorne pulled the newspaper from his briefcase. Maybe if he read, the snail's pace minutes would go by faster. He scanned the business news and reached for the front page when the society section slipped to the floor.

Thorne retrieved it and was astonished to find Sheila's face smiling at him benignly. Interested, he turned the page right side up and read the headlines.

SHEILA MATHEWSON ANNOUNCES PLANS TO MARRY THORNDIKE PRINCE
.

Thorne roared to his feet. The paper in his hand was crumpled into a wadded mass. So
this
was what his mother had come to prepare him for…. And worse, this was the reason Cindy hadn't shown up.

T
he minute Cindy walked into the apartment, Aunt Theresa and Uncle Sal abruptly cut off their conversation. Cindy studied their flushed faces; it wasn't difficult to ascertain that they'd been in the midst of a rousing argument. When Cindy arrived, they both seemed to find things to do. Her aunt opened the refrigerator and brought out a head of lettuce and her uncle reached for a deck of cards, shuffling them again and again, his gaze on his hands.

“I'll be in my room,” Cindy said, granting them privacy. She was sorry they were fighting, and although it was uncommon, she knew from experience that it was best to let them resolve their differences without interference from her.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Cindy eyed the clock. Thorne would be heading for the museum by now, anticipating their meeting. Only she wouldn't be there. She'd allowed him to think she'd agreed to this date, but she hadn't confirmed anything.

Coward! her mind accused her. But she had no choice, Cindy argued back. Every time she was with Thorne, her objections melted like snow under a springtime sun. She was so confused, she didn't know what she wanted anymore. Oh, she loved Thorne. But he was so easy to love. It would be far more difficult
not
to care for him.

Shaking her head vigorously, Cindy decided she couldn't leave Thorne waiting. That was silly and childish. It simply wasn't in her to let him waste his time worrying. She'd go to him and do her utmost to explain. All she'd ask him for was some time apart. A chance to test their feelings. Everything had happened so quickly that it would be wrong to act impulsively now. True love could wait, she'd tell him. A month was what she planned to suggest. Just a month. That didn't seem so long. Thorne would have to promise not to see her until Valentine's Day. If he truly cared for her, he'd agree to that.

Once she'd made her decision—the third one in as many days—she acted purposefully. She had her scarf wrapped around her neck by the time she entered the kitchen. She paused to button her coat.

Her uncle took one look at her and asked, “Where are you going?”

Sal so rarely questioned her about anything that his brusque inquiry took her by surprise. “I'm…The museum.”

“You're not meeting that Prince fellow, are you?”

Her aunt pinched her lips together tightly and slammed the kitchen drawer closed, obviously annoyed by Sal's interrogation.

Cindy's gaze flew from Theresa back to her uncle. “I, uh, yes, I planned to meet Thorne there.”

“No.”

“No? I don't understand.”

“I don't want you to have anything to do with that rich, spoiled kid.”

“But, Uncle Sal—”

“The discussion is closed.” Sal's hand pounded the tabletop, upsetting the saltshaker.

Cindy gasped and took a step backward. “I'm twenty-five years old! It's a little late to be telling me I can't meet someone.”

“You are never to see that man again. Is that understood?”

“Cindy is more than old enough to make up her own mind,” Theresa inserted calmly, her back to her husband.

“You keep out of this.”

“So the big man thinks he can speak with the authority of a supreme court judge,” Theresa taunted, her face growing redder by the second. “Well, I say Cindy can meet her Prince anytime she wishes.”

“And I say she can't!” Sal yelled.

“Uncle Sal, Aunt Theresa, please…”

“He's not good enough for you,” Sal said, more calmly this time. “Not nearly good enough for our Cindy.”

“Oh, Uncle Sal—”

“Cindy…”

The compassion in her aunt's eyes was so strong that Cindy forgot what she wanted to say.

The room went still. Her uncle stared at the floor and Theresa's eyes glistened with tears.

“Something happened.” Cindy knew it without a doubt. “It's Thorne, isn't it?”

Her aunt nodded, her troubled gaze avoiding Cindy's.

“Is he hurt?” She felt alarm bordering on panic. “Oh, you must tell me if he's injured. I couldn't bear it if he—”

“The man's a no-good bum,” Sal interrupted. “You're best rid of him.”

It was all so confusing. Everyone seemed to be speaking in riddles. She glanced from her uncle back to her aunt, pleading with them both to explain and to put an end to this nightmare of fear.

“I think we'd better tell her,” Theresa said softly.

“No!” Sal insisted.

“Tell me what?”

“It's in the paper,” Theresa said gently.

“I said she doesn't need to know,” Sal shouted, taking the evening paper and stuffing it in the garbage.

“Uncle Sal!” Cindy pleaded. “What is it?”

Theresa crossed the room and reached for Cindy's hand. The last time Cindy could remember seeing her aunt look at her in exactly that way had been when she was a child, and Theresa had come to tell the five-year-old that her mother had gone to live in heaven.

“What is it?” Cindy asked, her voice low and weak. “He's not dead. Oh, no. Don't tell me he's dead.”

“No, love,” her aunt said softly.

Some of the terrible tension left Cindy's frozen limbs.

Theresa closed her eyes briefly and glanced over her shoulder to her husband. “She'll find out sooner or later. It's better she hear it from us.”

For a moment it seemed as if Sal was going to argue. His chest swelled, then quickly deflated. He looked so unlike his robust, outgoing self that Cindy couldn't imagine what was troubling him.

“Sal read the announcement in the paper and brought it to me.”

“The announcement?” Cindy asked. “What announcement?”

“Thorne's marrying—”

“—some high-society dame,” Sal broke in. He shook his head regretfully as though he would've done anything to have spared Cindy this.

“But I don't understand,” Cindy murmured.

“It was in the society pages.”

“Sheila?”

Her aunt nodded.

Cindy sank into a kitchen chair, her legs unable to support her. “I'm sure there's some mistake. I…He took me to meet his family.”

“He was using you.” Sal came to stand behind her. He patted her shoulders awkwardly, trying to comfort her. “He was probably using his family to give you the impression that he was serious so he could get you into bed.”

“No!” Cindy cried. “No, it was never like that. Thorne didn't even suggest…not once.”

“Then thank God. Because it's where he was leading. He's a smart devil, I'll say that for him.”

Theresa claimed the chair next to Cindy and took her numb fingers, rubbing them. “I refused to believe it myself until Sal showed me the article. But there it was, bold as can be. It's true, Cindy.”

Cindy nodded, accepting what her family was telling her. No tears burned for release. No hysterical sob rose up within her. She felt nothing. No pain. No sense of betrayal. No anger. Nothing.

“Are you going to be all right?” Theresa asked.

“I'll be fine. Don't worry. It was inevitable, you know. I think I knew it from the beginning. Something deep inside me always realized he could never be mine.”

“But…oh, Cindy, I can hardly believe it myself.”

Cindy stood and hugged her aunt close. “You fell for the magic,” she whispered. “So did I for a while. But I'm not really Cinderella and Thorne isn't really a prince. It had to end sometime.”

“I hurt so much for you!” Theresa whispered.

“Don't. I'm not nearly as upset as you think,” Cindy told her. “I'm going to study for a while.” Cindy was fighting off the terrible numbness, knowing she had to do something. Anything. Otherwise she'd go crazy.

Sal slipped an arm around his wife and Theresa pressed her head to his shoulder. “Okay,” Sal told his niece softly. “You hit those books and you'll feel better.”

Cindy walked back to her room and closed the door. It seemed so dingy inside. Dingy and small. She didn't feel like studying, but she forced herself to sit on the bed and open her textbook. The words blurred, swimming in and out of focus, and Cindy was shocked to realize she was crying.

 

“I want a retraction and I want it printed in today's paper, Thorne stormed at the society-page editor. The poor woman was red with indignation, but Thorne was beyond caring.

“I've already explained that we won't be able to do that until tomorrow's paper,” the woman said for the sixth time.

“But that could be too late.”

“I apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you, Mr. Prince, but we received Ms. Mathewson's announcement through the normal channels. I can assure you this kind of thing is most unusual.”

“And you printed the wedding announcement without checking with the alleged groom?”

The woman sat at her desk, holding a pencil at each end with a grip so hard it threatened to snap. “Let me assure you, Mr. Prince, that in all my years in the newspaper business, this is the first bogus wedding announcement that's ever crossed my desk. In the past there's never been any need to verify the event with the, uh, alleged groom—or bride for that matter.”

“Then maybe you should start.”

“Maybe,” she returned stiffly. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do.”

“You haven't heard the end of this,” Thorne said heatedly.

“I don't doubt it,” the editor responded.

Thorne did an abrupt about-face and left the newspaper office, unconcerned with the amount of attention his argument had caused.

On the street, he caught the first taxi he could flag down and headed back to the office. As it was, he was working on a tight schedule. He'd already attended an important meeting early that morning—one he'd tried to postpone and couldn't. The minute he was free, he'd had Ms. Hillard contact the PI, Mike Williams, and he'd paced restlessly until he'd learned that Mike was out of town on a case and not expected back for another week.

The detective could well be his only chance of finding Cindy. Mike had gotten close once, but after Cindy had shown up outside his office building, Thorne had done as she requested and asked Mike to halt his investigation. After all, he'd gotten what he'd wanted—Cindy was back. Now he wished he'd pursued it further. He had no more
chance of finding her now than when she'd left him the night of the Christmas Ball.

A feeling of desperation overpowered him. When Cindy hadn't appeared at the museum, Thorne had spent the evening calling every Territo in the phone book—all fifty-seven—to no avail. By the time he'd finished, he was convinced she'd given him a phony name. Either that, or she had an unlisted number. From there he had no more leads.

Thorne dreaded returning to his office. No doubt there'd be enough phone and e-mail messages to occupy his afternoon—and he was supposed to be working on a merger! Thank goodness it was almost completed. Still, this was not the week to be worrying about Cindy. He had neither the time nor the patience to be running around New York looking for her.

Ms. Hillard stood up when Thorne entered his office.

“Yes?” he barked, and was instantly contrite.

“Mr. Jenning would like to talk to you when you have a moment.” Her eyes didn't meet his and Thorne felt a twinge of guilt. He'd been abrupt with her just now, but it was tame in comparison to his treatment of Sheila. She'd been to see him first thing that morning and he'd hardly been able to look at her as the anger boiled within him. The woman had plotted to ruin his life. It was her fault that he couldn't locate Cindy. He'd said things to Sheila that he'd never said to anyone. He regretted that now.

Perhaps he might have found it in his heart to forgive her, but she'd revealed no contrition. It almost seemed as if she was proud of what she'd done. He hadn't been the only one to lose his composure; Sheila had called Cindy the most disgusting names. Even now, hours later, Thorne burned with outrage.

In the end, he'd ruthlessly pointed at the door and asked her to leave. Apparently she'd realized her mistake. She began sobbing, ignoring his edict. He'd told her firmly that he planned to marry Cindy and nothing she could do would change his plans. Then, not knowing what else to do, Thorne had called in his secretary.

“Ms. Hillard,” he'd said, his eyes silently pleading with the older woman. “It seems Ms. Mathewson needs to powder her nose. Perhaps you could show her the way to the ladies' room.”

“Of course.”

Mentally Thorne made a note to give his secretary a raise. The older woman had handled the delicate situation with finesse. Tenderly she'd placed her arm around the weeping Sheila's shoulders, and with nothing more than a few whispered words she'd directed her away from Thorne's desk and out of his office.