The Princess Bride (6 page)

“The tycoon of the tabloids?” he asked, pursing his chiseled lips. “Well, well, you do aim high, don't you?
Mr. Marshall has all the women he wants, thank you. And if you have anything more serious in mind, forget it. His father taught him that marriage is only for fools. Rumor has it that his mother took his old man for every cent he had when she divorced him, and that it drove his father to suicide.”

“Yes, I know,” she said dully.

“Not that Marshall didn't get even. You probably heard about that, too.”

“Often,” she replied. “He actually took his mother to court and charged her with culpability in his father's suicide in a civil case. He won.” She shivered, remembering how King had looked after the verdict—and, more importantly, how his mother had looked. She lost two-thirds of her assets and the handsome gigolo that she'd been living with. It was no wonder that King had such a low opinion of marriage, and women.

“Whatever became of the ex-Mrs. Marshall?” he asked aloud.

“She overdosed on drugs and died four years ago,” she said.

“A sad end.”

“Indeed it was.”

“You can't blame Marshall for treating women like individually wrapped candies,” he expounded. “I don't imagine he trusts anything in skirts.”

“You were talking about a makeover?” she interrupted, anxious to get him off the subject of King before she started screaming.

“I was. I'll take you to my hairdresser. He'll make a new woman of you. Then we'll go shopping for a proper wardrobe.”

Her pale eyes glittered with excitement. “This sounds like fun.”

“Believe me, it will be,” he said with a wicked grin. “Come along, darling.”

They spent the rest of the day remaking Tiffany. When he took her out that night to one of the more fashionable nightspots, one of the models she'd worked with didn't even recognize her. It was a compliment of the highest order.

Lettie was stunned speechless.

“It's me,” Tiffany murmured impishly, whirling in her black cocktail dress with diamond earrings dripping from her lobes. Her hair was cut very short and feathered toward her gamine face. She had just a hint of makeup, just enough to enhance her high cheekbones and perfect bone structure. She looked expensive, elegant, and six years older than she was.

“I'm absolutely shocked,” Lettie said after a minute. “My dear, you are the image of your mother.”

Tiffany's face softened. “Am I, really?”

Lettie nodded. “She was so beautiful. I always envied her.”

“I wish I'd known her,” she replied. “All I have are photographs and vague memories of her singing to me at night.”

“You were very young when she died. Harrison never
stopped mourning her.” Her eyes were sad. “I don't think he ever will.”

“You never know about Dad,” Tiffany remarked, because she knew how Lettie felt about Harrison. Not that she was gauche enough to mention it. “Why don't you go out with us tonight?”

“Three's a crowd, dear. Mark will want you to himself.”

“It isn't like that at all,” Tiffany said gently. “He's mourning his girlfriend and I'm mourning King. We have broken hearts and our work in common, but not much else. He's a friend—and I mean that quite sincerely.”

Lettie smiled. “I'm rather glad. He's very nice. But he'll end up in Europe one day in a villa, and that wouldn't suit you at all.”

“Are you sure?”

Lettie nodded. “And so are you, in your heart.”

Tiffany glanced at herself in the mirror with a quiet sigh. “Fine feathers make fine birds, but King isn't the sort to be impressed by sophistication or beauty. Besides, the tabloids are already predicting that he's going to marry Carla.”

“I noticed. Surely you don't believe it?”

“I don't believe he'll ever marry anyone unless he's trapped into it,” Tiffany said honestly, and her eyes were suddenly very old. “He's seen nothing of marriage but the worst side.”

“It's a pity about that. It's warped his outlook.”

“Nothing will ever change it.” She smiled at Lettie. “Sure you won't come with us? You won't be a crowd.”

“I won't come tonight. But ask me again.”

“You can count on it.”

 

Mark was broody as he picked at his mint ice cream.

“You're worried,” Tiffany murmured.

He glanced at her wryly. “No. I'm distraught. My girl is being seen around town with a minor movie star. She seems smitten.”

“She may be doing the same thing you're doing,” she chided. “Seeing someone just to numb the ache.”

He chuckled. “Is that what I'm doing?”

“It's what we're both doing.”

He reached his hand across the table and held hers. “I'm sorry we didn't meet three years ago, while I was still heart-whole. You're unique. I enjoy having you around.”

“Same here. But friendship is all it can ever be.”

“Believe it or not, I know that.” He put down his spoon. “What are you doing for Christmas?”

“I'll be trying to get back from a location shoot and praying that none of the airline pilots go on strike,” she murmured facetiously.

“New Year's?”

“I have to go home and arrange a business party for my father.” She glanced at him and her eyes began to sparkle. “I've had an idea. How would you like to visit Texas?”

His eyebrows arched. “Do I have to ride a horse?”

“Not everyone in Texas rides. We live in Jacobsville. It's not too far from San Antonio. Dad's in business there.”

“Jacobsville.” He fingered his wineglass with elegant dark fingers that looked very sexy in the ads he modeled for. “Why not? It's a long way from Manhattan.”

“Yes, it is, and I can't bear to go home alone.”

“May I ask why?”

“Of course. My own heartbreaker lives there. I told you about him. I ran away from home so that I could stop eating my heart out over him. But memories and heartache seem to be portable,” she added heavily.

“I could attest to that myself.” He looked up at her with wickedly twinkling black eyes. “And what am I going to be? The competition?”

“Would you mind?” she asked. “I'll gladly do the same for you anytime you like. I need your moral support.”

He paused thoughtfully and then he smiled. “You know, this might be the perfect answer to both our headaches. All right. I'll do it.” He finished his wine.

“I've been asked to fill a lot of roles. That's a new one.” He lifted his glass and took a sip. “What the hell. I'll tangle with Kingman Marshall. I don't want to live forever. I'm yours, darling. At least, for the duration of the party,” he added with a grin.

She lifted her own glass. “Here's to pride.”

He answered the toast. As she drank it, she wondered how she was going to bear seeing King with Carla. At least she'd have company and camouflage. King would never know that her heart was breaking.

T
iffany and Mark boarded the plane with Lettie the day before New Year's Eve. Tiffany looked sleek and expensive in a black figure-hugging suit with silver accessories and a black-and-white striped scarf draped over one shoulder. Mark, in a dark suit, was the picture of male elegance. Women literally sighed when he walked past. It was odd to see a man that handsome in person, and Tiffany enjoyed watching people react to him.

Lettie sat behind them and read magazines while Mark and Tiffany discussed their respective assignments and where they might go next.

It wasn't as long a flight as she'd expected it to be. They walked onto the concourse at the San Antonio airport just in time for lunch.

Tiffany had expected her father to meet them, and sure enough, he was waiting near the gate. Tiffany ran to him to be hugged and kissed warmly before she introduced Mark.

Harrison scowled as he shook hands with the young man, but he gathered his composure quickly and the worried look vanished from his features. He greeted Lettie warmly, too, and led the three of them to the limousine near the front entrance.

“Mark's staying with us, Dad,” Tiffany said. “We're both working for the same agency in Manhattan and our holidays coincided.”

“We'll be glad to have you, Mark,” Harrison said with a forced warmth that only Tiffany seemed to notice.

“How is King?” Lettie asked.

Harrison hesitated with a lightning glance at Tiffany. “He's fine. Shall we go?”

Tiffany wondered why her father was acting so peculiarly, but she pretended not to be interested in King or his feelings. Only with Mark.

“Did you manage to get the arrangements finalized?” Harrison asked his daughter.

She grinned. “Of course. Long distance isn't so long anymore, and it wasn't that hard. I've dealt with the same people for years arranging these ‘do's' for you. The caterer, the flowers, the band, even the invitations are all set.”

“You're sure?” Harrison murmured.

She nodded. “I'm sure.”

“You didn't forget to send an invitation to King and Carla?” her father added.

“Of course not! Theirs were the first to go out,” she said with magnificent carelessness. “I wouldn't forget your business partner.”

Harrison seemed to relax just a little.

“What's wrong?” she asked, sensing some problem.

“He's out of town,” he said reluctantly. “Rather, they're out of town, and not expected back until sometime next week. Or so King's office manager said. I hadn't heard from him, and I wondered why he was willing to forgo the party. He never misses the holiday bash. Or, at least, he never has before.”

Tiffany didn't betray her feelings by so much as the batting of an eyelash how much that statement hurt. She only smiled. “I suppose he had other plans and wasn't willing to change them.”

“Perhaps so,” he said, but he didn't look convinced.

Mark reached beside him and caught Tiffany's hand in his, pressing it reassuringly. He seemed to sense, as her father did, how miserable she felt at King's defection. But Mark asked Harrison a question about a landmark he noticed as they drove down the long highway that would carry them to Jacobsville, and got him off on a subject dear to his heart. By the time they reached the towering brick family home less than an hour later, Mark knew more about the siege at the Alamo than he'd ever gleaned from books.

Tiffany was too busy with her arrangements to keep
Mark company that day or the next, so he borrowed a sedan from the garage and set about learning the area. He came back full of tidbits about the history of the countryside, which he seemed to actually find fascinating.

He watched Tiffany directing the traffic of imported people helping with the party with amused indulgence.

“You're actually pretty good at this,” he murmured. “Where did you learn how to do it?”

She looked surprised. “I didn't. It just seemed to come naturally. I love parties.”

“I don't,” he mused. “I usually become a decoration.”

She knew what he meant. She learned quickly that very few of the parties models attended were anything but an opportunity for designers to show off their fashions in a relaxed setting. The more wealthy clients who were present, the better the opportunity to sell clothes. But some of the clients found the models more interesting than their regalia. Tiffany had gravitated toward Mark for mutual protection at first. Afterward, they'd become fast friends.

“You won't be a decoration here,” she promised him with a smile. “What do you think?”

She swept her hand toward the ballroom, which was polished and packed with flowers and long tables with embroidered linen tablecloths, crystal and china and candelabras. Buffets would be set up there for snacks, because it wasn't a sit-down dinner. There would be
dancing on the highly polished floor to music provided by a live band, and mixed drinks would be served at the bar.

“It's all very elegant,” Mark pronounced.

She nodded absently, remembering other parties when she'd danced and danced, when King had been close at hand to smile at her and take her out onto the dance floor. She hadn't danced with him often, but each time was indelibly imprinted in her mind. She could close her eyes and see him, touch him. She sighed miserably. Well, she might as well stop looking back. She had to go on, and King wanted no part of her. His absence from this most special of all parties said so.

“I think it'll do,” she replied after a minute. She gave him a warm smile. “Come on and I'll show you the way I've decorated the rest of the house.”

 

Tiffany wore a long silver-sequined dress for the party, with a diamond clip in her short hair. She'd learned how to walk, how to move, how to pose, and even people who'd known her for years were taken aback at her new image.

Mark, at her side, resplendent in dark evening dress, drew feminine eyes with equal magnetism. His Italian ancestry was very evident in his liquid black eyes and olive complexion and black, black hair. One of Tiffany's acquaintances, a pretty little redhead named Lisa, seemed to be totally captivated by Mark. She stood in a corner by herself, just staring at him.

“Should I take pity on her and introduce you?” she asked Mark in a teasing whisper.

He glanced toward the girl, barely out of her teens, and she blushed as red as her hair. Seconds later, she rushed back toward her parents. He chuckled softly.

“She's very young,” he mused. “A friend?”

She shook her head. “Her parents are friends of my father's. Lisa is a loner. As a rule, she doesn't care as much for dating as she does for horses. Her family has stables and they breed racehorses.”

“Well, well. All that, and no beaux?”

“She's shy with men.”

His eyebrows arched. He looked at the young woman a second time, and his eyes narrowed as they caught her vivid blue ones and held them relentlessly. Lisa spilled her drink and blushed again, while her mother fussed at the skirt of her dress with a handkerchief.

“How wicked,” Tiffany chided to Mark.

“Eyes like hers should be illegal,” he murmured, but he was still staring at Lisa just the same. He took Tiffany's arm and urged her toward the group. “Introduce me.”

“Don't…” she began.

“I'm not that much a rake.” He calmed her. “She intrigues me. I won't take advantage. I promise.” He smiled, although his eyes were solemn.

“All right, then.” She stopped at Mrs. McKinley's side. “Will it stain?” she asked gently.

“Oh, I don't think so,” the older woman said with
a smile. “It was mostly ice. Lisa, you remember our Tiffany, don't you?” she added.

Lisa looked up, very flustered as her eyes darted nervously from Mark's to Tiffany. “H…hi, Tiffany. Nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you, Lisa,” Tiffany replied with a genuine smile. “I'm sorry about your dress. Have you met Mark Allenby? He works with me. We're both represented by the same modeling agency in New York. You might have seen him in the snack food commercials with the puppet…?”

“G…good Lord, was that you?” Lisa choked. “I thought he…you…looked familiar, Mr. Allenby!”

He smiled lazily. “Nice of you to remember it, Miss McKinley. Do you dance?”

She looked as if she might faint. “Well, yes…”

He held out a hand. “You'll excuse me?” he said to Tiffany and Lisa's parents.

Lisa put her hand into his and let him lead her onto the dance floor. Her eyes were so full of dreams and delight that Mark couldn't seem to stop looking down at her.

“He dances beautifully,” Mrs. McKinley said.

“Not bad,” her gruff husband agreed. “Is he gay?”

“Mark?” Tiffany chuckled. “Not a chance. He's quite a success story, in fact. His parents are Italian. He came to this country as a baby and his father held down two jobs while his mother worked as a waitress in a cafeteria. He makes enough to support both of them now, and his
three young sisters. He's very responsible, loyal, and not a seducer of innocents, just in case you wondered.”

Mrs. McKinley colored. “I'm sorry, but he was an unknown quantity, and it's very easy to see the effect he has on Lisa.”

“I wouldn't worry,” she said gently. “He's just broken up with his long-time girlfriend and his heart hurts. He's not in the market for an affair, anyway.”

“That's a relief,” the older woman said with a smile. “She's so unworldly.”

Because she'd been as sheltered as Tiffany herself had. There were great disadvantages to that overprotection in today's world, Tiffany thought miserably. She stared into her champagne and wondered why King had declined the invitation to the party. Perhaps he was making the point that he could do nicely without Tiffany. If so, he'd succeeded beyond his wildest dreams.

She got through the long evening on champagne and sheer willpower. Mark seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. He hardly left Lisa all evening, and when she and her parents got ready to leave, he held onto her hand as if he couldn't bear to let it go.

They spoke in terse, quiet tones and as she left, her blue eyes brightened considerably, although Mrs. McKinley looked worried.

“I'm going over there tomorrow to see their horses. You don't mind?” he asked Tiffany as the other guests were preparing to leave.

She stared up at him curiously. “She's very young.”

“And innocent,” he added, his hands deep in his pockets. “You don't need to tell me that. I haven't ever known anyone like her. She's the sort of girl I might have met back home, if my parents hadn't immigrated to America.”

She was startled. “I thought you were grinding your teeth over your girlfriend?”

He smiled vaguely. “So did I.” His head turned toward the front door. “She's breakable,” he said softly. “Vulnerable and sweet and shy.” His broad shoulders rose and fell. “Strange. I never liked redheads before.”

Tiffany bit her lower lip. She didn't know how to put into words what she was feeling. Lisa was the sort of girl who'd never get over having her hopes raised and then dashed. Did he know that?

“She dances like a fairy,” he murmured, turning away, his dark eyes introspective and oblivious to the people milling around him.

Harrison joined his daughter at the door as the last guests departed.

“Your friend seems distracted,” he murmured, his eyes on Mark, who was staring out a darkened window.

“Lisa affected him.”

“I noticed. So did everybody else. He's a rake.”

She shook her head. “He's a hardworking man with deep family ties and an overworked sense of responsibility. He's no rake.”

“I thought you said he had a girlfriend.”

“She dumped him for somebody richer,” she said
simply. “His pride was shattered. That's why he's here with me. He couldn't bear seeing her around town in all the nightspots with her new lover.”

Harrison's attitude changed. “Poor guy.”

“He won't hurt Lisa,” she assured him, mentally crossing her fingers. She saw trouble ahead, but she didn't know quite how to ward it off.

He studied her face. “You're much more mature. I wouldn't have recognized you.” He averted his eyes. “Pity King didn't get back in time for the party.”

She froze over. “I didn't expect him, so it's no great loss.”

He started to speak, and suddenly closed his mouth. He smiled at her. “Let's have a nightcap. Your friend can come along.”

She took his arm with a grin. “That sounds more like you!”

 

The next day, Mark borrowed Harrison's sedan again and made a beeline for the McKinley place outside town. He was wearing slacks and a turtle-neck white sweater and he looked both elegant and expensive.

As Tiffany stood on the porch waving him off, a car came purring up the driveway. It was a black Lincoln. She fought down the urge to run. She didn't have to back away from King anymore. She was out of his reach. She folded her arms over the red silk blouse she was wearing with elegant black slacks and leaned against a post in a
distinctive pose to wait for him. It surprised her just a little that he didn't have Carla with him.

King took the steps two at a time. He was wearing dark evening clothes, as if he'd just come from a party. She imagined he was still wearing the clothes he'd had on the night before. Probably he didn't keep anything to change into at Carla's place, she thought venomously, certain that it explained his state of dress.

“Well, well, what brings you here?” she drawled, without any particular shyness.

King paused at the last step, scowling as he got a good look at her. The change was phenomenal. She wasn't the young girl he'd left behind months before. She was poised, elegant, somehow cynical. Her eyes were older and there was no welcome or hero-worship in them now. Her smile, if anything, was mocking.