Cinderella Undone

by Nicole Snow

  You're here for answers. Don't let him intimidate you.

  There's a light on inside. I knock, watching the lamp's yellow glow fade beneath the door, melding into his shadow as he gets up, approaches, and opens the entrance to his private sanctum.

  “What's wrong?” his blue eyes intensify the second he sticks his head out, as if he's got a built-in Geiger counter for detecting my radioactive worry.

  “Nothing urgent, really. I just came by to talk,” I lie, pulling my cardigan tight around me. Under his eyes, it's flimsy. I feel as exposed as if I just stepped before him in my underwear.

  “I thought we were clearer than ever after today.” His voice matches his eyes. Low, commanding, mysterious.

  “You're seriously calling that clear? Keeping me on the horn while you eviscerated your business partner and Lizzie's grandfather?” I can't stop. It just trickles out.

  “Kendra...” He hesitates, and for a second I worry he'll simply throw me out. Then he sighs, his huge shoulders rolling, and he motions to the leather chair across from his desk. “Have a seat. Let me pour you a drink.”

  Drinks are good, I tell myself. A surefire signal he's about to open up, give me answers, maybe even take my concerns seriously for once since he snuffed out my innocence. I slide into the seat across from him, surprised how the cold leather makes me shudder. He pulls out a bottle of expensive scotch from behind his desk with two crystal glasses.

  “Too strong?” he whispers, pushing more than a single shot toward me.

  “No. It's just...it's been awhile. Not since graduation. Dad shares your taste in ritzy booze strong enough to choke a pack of javelina, so I'm no stranger.” Smiling, I tip the glass to my lips.

  I don't tell him I could pound one round with my father and Jamie before I switched to mojitos for the rest of the night.

  Smooth fire hits my belly a second later. By some miracle I don't choke and make an even bigger fool of myself, pretending I'm used to this.

  “You understand there's no fixing things with Victor, yeah? It's not your place to ask, anyway, but I'd like you to know we're far past any bullshit family therapy will fix. He understands force. Nothing else. Now, I've got his arm pinned behind his back, and you'd better believe I'm not letting up until I hear the scream.”

  His about-face to business throws me. Those infinite blue eyes glow a little brighter as he sips his drink slowly, savoring it, a wicked contrast to how I took mine like a sorority girl trying to prove her worth.

  Why the hell does he still do this to me?

  There's no earthly reason. But then the day hearts start running on logic is the first day of the apocalypse.

  “Obviously, I'm not trying to get up in your business, Knox. I want what's best for you and Lizzie, no question. But I'd also love to know exactly what I've stepped into by wearing this.” I lift my hand slightly, wiggling my ring finger. He doesn't say anything. The scotch leaves a shadow burn on my throat, making words even harder. “You hit him hard. Do you think he'll finally roll over and leave you alone?”

  “Fuck no,” he says, so swift and blunt I blink. “We're in the 'watch your back' phase. Keep your wits and look out for daggers, Sunflower, because there will be plenty.”

  My heart drops in my stomach. Thank God for the hearty stew, or I'm certain I'd be physically ill.

  “What kind of 'daggers' do you mean?”

  “All of them. Sabotage, spies, diversions, real cloak and dagger fuckery. That's his way. Victor doesn't come at anybody straight – crooked is as crooked does. He'll keep his hands clean and let his minions drown in the mud. He'll never stop trying to take Lizzie hostage while I'm a threat to his grip on the company.” He pauses for another shot of liquid gold in his glass before he looks at me head-on. “Buckle up, darling. I'm telling you now, there will be turbulence. Victor Wright will try his damnedest to deliver a whole new level of misery you've never imagined.”

  I break his gaze, staring at my hands. The light captured in my ring's oversized stones is almost blinding.

  “You're worried?” he asks, like it's even a question. “Nothing will happen, Kendra. I won't let it. You're not the real target, and neither is my little girl. His vendetta revolves around me. Always remember. If the day comes when he decides to hurt you to get to me, it'll be his last. I promise.”

  “I'll survive, Knox. If we're not talking physical harm, I'm ready for anything. I'm an adult. Demanding, petty men are a fixture in fashion. I've never let them put me on a leash.”

  Although I've come awfully close with Eric Gannon's disgusting attitude. I don't mention that.

  “I believe you. You're being compensated well beyond your grade to pull this off and deal with any minor infractions.”

  “Oh? Does fake fiancée have a pay grade now?”

  His eyes narrow to royal blue lasers. “Regardless, I've told you how it goes. Why are you here at all if you're not seeking assurance?”

  “Answers, Knox. Curiosity. I want to know why you're in a blood war with higher stakes than anyone should ever face. Does this all go back to her? Is it because of –”

  “Don't even say it.” His voice slips to a growl when he warns me.

  I'm persistent by nature. “Why not? What really happened to Sam? Does he still blame you for her falling off the face of the earth?”

  “I'll always be the devil incarnate to that man. The reasons aren't important. Frankly, that's all you need to know.”

  “You do know I'm trying to help, right? Not make this harder.” I'm almost resigned to the violent resistance tightening his handsome face. Resigned, but disappointed.

  “You really want to help, Sunflower?” He eases to a whisper, leaning forward, his big hands folded.

  “Please.” I'm tempted to reach out, to feel a human connection for the first time in years.

  For a second, I hallucinate. I see the sweet young man who once held my heart in his spartan hands. He's there, wishing we could have the connection we had that night on Camelback again, swimming in the soft blue pools of his eyes.

  “Do exactly what we agreed to. Stop asking so many fucking questions. If I had answers to even half your needling, they'd change nothing. Sam's gone. I'm fucked if I don't do this. Only two facts that matter. You're wasting time hunting ghosts, and I've chased enough for both our lifetimes.”

  The trap swings shut. My old crush – really, my illusion – dies a second time, drowning in angry, unsettled blue.

  “I'd better go,” I say, looking away as I bolt out of my seat, hiding the hurt in my eyes.

  “Finally, a good idea.”

  Asshole doesn't bother standing to show me the door, or escort me back into his cavernous house. When I'm halfway down the hall with its mission-style lantern lights and alabaster marble floors, I regret not closing it behind me.

  His eyes never leave me before I turn the corner. I'll never cease being amazed at his magic. How stupid, small, and undone he's able to make me with a few precise words and a withering glance.

  It's never been harder to resist grabbing my keys, leaving this prison ring on his counter, and walking out.

  It's after one o'clock in the morning and I'm too angry to sleep. I sit in one of the many dark, ample alcoves built into his house's hand-crafted nooks.

  I think I'm imagining it at first when I hear voices. They're low, just a short distance upstairs, coming from Lizzie's room, which is at the other end of the hall, several doors down from my guest room.

  I'm confused, and then I'm concerned.

  I need to move, to shake off the venom he's left in my heart. This seems like the perfect opportunity to creep lightly upstairs for a better listen, pretending I'm walking on light, happy feet.

  “And then what happened, daddy?” Lizzie's innocent voice pierces the stillness. She must have woken up like little girls sometimes do on long nights with lots of bad juju swirling around them.

  “Then Cinderella turned the corner, clutching her glass slippers. Her Prince was now
here to be found, exiled to the Land of Not by the witch's spell. She took a deep breath. And then, in the corner from where the Big Bad Wolf was hiding, a growl.” He pauses from the fairytale mash up he's reading, and makes a thoughtful murmur. “Hmm. It's very late, peewee, and I think this next part is too scary for a Phoenix night when you need to rest.”

  “Daddy, nooo! Wanna find out the rest.”

  “You will, sweetheart, just as soon as you're rested.”

  I lean into the wall, biting my lip, trying to make this make sense. No matter how hard I try, I can't do it. It's impossible to reconcile the cold-hearted bastard everyone sees with the guardian angel who sits up with his daughter half the night, reading her bedtime stories. A yawn reminds me how good his calm, measured reading voice is at calling everyone to dreamland except this rambunctious girl.

  “Give me a second. I'll be back with warm milk and a splash of honey.” He ignores her last little protest, and I hear an audible kiss on the forehead.

  I have to scramble toward my room, ducking next to a portrait of the Grand Canyon and hoping I'm out of sight. But Lizzie buys me more time with another question, one which stops him in his tracks when he's halfway left her room.

  “Milk just like grandma makes, daddy? I like it!”

  “Actually, she got it from somebody else. My old man used to do it for your aunt and me when we were your age. Always put us out like kittens. Count to thirty, baby girl, and daddy will be right back.”

  There's an edge in his voice when he talks about his dead father, a longing and a regret too subtle for a four year old to understand.

  Damn. It can only mean the asshole is still human in there somewhere, besides being an amazing dad.

  If he'd stop living the Count Dracula stereotype – rich as sin, nocturnal, and moody – he'd probably win my sympathies despite being a total prick. Tonight, I suppose he has.

  I wait until I hear him in Lizzie's room again before I race down the hall, gently push my door shut, and flop into bed.

  For now, I'm in this.

  Rattled emotions are no excuse for savaging a happy family. And although it shouldn't be possible after the psychic lashing he just gave me, I keep hoping he'll show a fraction of the humanity reserved for his little girl.

  If I could just see him smile once, or talk to me again like the last four years never happened, it might make this worth it.

  It takes forever to fall asleep. When I do, my dreams are pure longing. Scenes from a dead past I should have stopped mourning.

  Five Years Ago

  It's after our star gazing trip to Camelback when I finally break down.

  There I am, struck by the teen rage fueled meltdown I've been trying to contain all night. Every tear is rattlesnake venom.

  I'm not alone. For some unholy reason, I'm with a man who's older, wiser, and far kinder than I think I deserve in this state.

  He's gone miles beyond anything I expected to cheer me up, and it still isn't enough.

  It hurts to miss prom. Rejection stabs deep. I can't believe I've been tossed aside by a gamer idiot like a piece of trash. I'm not worth a night away from fighting imaginary wars on a screen.

  My self-esteem is hanging by a thread, and the only reason it hasn't snapped is the huge Marine in the driver's seat next to me.

  Knox keeps his eyes on the road, waiting for me to talk when I'm ready. I don't know that I ever will be. We're halfway home and I'm drying my tears.

  I don't notice he's pulling over until I wipe my eyes for the dozenth time, blinking away enough crud to see. “I...I'm really sorry, Knox. You've been good to me. It's just so...so disappointing. Still. It hurts real bad.”

  “Let it out,” he tells me, his voice low, laying a brotherly hand on my shoulder. “You want to cry half the night, do it. I'll be here. We'll pretend it never happened. Keeping secrets is all I've ever been good at.”

  His words are balm. Even when they're gross exaggerations. His chiseled physique and rebellious wisdom tells me he's good at plenty besides just playing therapist.

  His reassurance is my anchor. I grab on and it settles me so I can look at him feeling halfway human. The immense warmth in his eyes, full of empathy and moonlight, nearly sets me off a second time.

  “Walk with me,” he says, flicking the switch for the locks.

  “What? Out here?” It's almost eleven o'clock.

  “Yeah, five minutes. Promise. I'll have you home before curfew, before your folks decide to carve you up for an early jack o'lantern.”

  I smile at his dorky joke. “You're ridiculous. I'm not turning into anybody's pumpkin.”

  It's remarkable Afghanistan hasn't destroyed that side of him, or the bawdy military humor men become accustomed to when they're far from home and fighting for their lives. If it were anyone except Knox Carlisle out here with me, I'd never put a pinky outside our vehicle in this place, this time of night.

  We're parked near a desolate strip of Camelback not far from the exclusive Scottsdale resorts tourists and big money love to pile into. Our feet crunch desert rocks. We step into the grey zone between desert and civilization, where the sparse growth enjoys more color and life, courtesy of plants escaping the resorts.

  I guess I do feel a little better moving around, but I'm still not sure why we're out here among the saguaros. Not that I mind the view, considering it's Knox's tight-end and hulking shoulders rippling in front of me. The very tips of what I think are new tattoos peak above his collar.

  “So, uh, as much as I love to look at cacti and all, are we almost there? I don't want to step on a scorpion in these sandals.”

  Knox stops, and does a slow turn. He's wearing an expression like hot death. “Okay, Princess. If you insist.”

  Surprise rips out of my throat as he picks me up. I'm laughing, overwhelmed by being so high in the night, so suddenly.

  I'm not looking up at his warrior shoulders anymore. I'm on top of them. Safe and secure, hoisted up high by my own personal bodyguard like something from a fairytale.

  He moves faster without me slowing him down. Laughter brings happy tears, replacing the anguish mere minutes ago. We run deeper into the desert, careful to avoid bigger rocks, until we're so close to one of the three story resort casitas we're able to see tiny shadows moving in the window lights.

  “Right here,” he says, coming to a sudden stop. “Takes forever to find them sometimes, but when you do, they're all over.”

  He isn't kidding. A cluster of tall saguaro cacti shield a tangled, secret oasis ahead. Desert flowers pulse vibrant color into the night. White desert stars, purple willows, red-violet blooms at the ends of each cactus.

  Each kind is beautiful and breathtaking. They're also close to drowned out by the yellow sea nearby.

  Desert sunflowers explode in a large, crowded ring. I'm in awe. If he wanted mother nature to do the hard part putting away my childish problems, he's succeeded.

  “Congrats, Kendra. You're a perfect match,” he says, lifting me off his shoulders, gently to the ground. He points at my tank top, a perfect and brilliant mirror of the same color splashed across the desert ground. “Mean it in the best way, woman. I've hiked these trails a thousand times, every God forsaken nook and cranny in the valley. Always found a few big blooms this time of year, usually tucked around these resort kennels for rich people.”

  He says it without so much as a self-conscious smirk. He was born in money, and then dipped in whatever polish makes a human Adonis. “It's beautiful, Knox.”

  I turn to face him slowly. We hug. Our eyes lock when I look up, my arms around his waist, and for a moment, I'm lost in the moment, in him, in something I can't even understand well enough to put into words. “Thanks for bringing me out here. I do feel better.”

  “Don't thank me yet. You still don't get it,” he says, reaching up and patting my cheek. “Didn't just stumble over rocks in the night for the view, darling, as gorgeous as it is. I want to teach you a lesson.”

  If I rearrange th
ose words in my head, it's easy to imagine he's talking about me. Just for a second, I do, closing my eyes a little too long. “Oh?”

  “You are this place, Sunflower. Good and tough as every flower strewn all over the desert in front of us. They don't mind the heat when it comes, or the monsoon, or even the fucking bugs who swarm in and try to chew them up. They're back every year. Stronger, brighter, more beautiful.” I can't break the spell in his face. His eyes have never tried harder to hook my soul. “Chin up, darling. Never take shit from any man, any group, anybody trying to make you less.”

  “Okay,” I say softly, trying not to let my seventeen year old feels stop my heart. “Understood.”

  “Yeah, I hope so,” he says, turning around, beginning our slow, rambling walk to the road. “Because I'll keep reminding you anyway, Sunflower. Every time we hang out, you'll remember who the hell you really are. That's my job now.”

  Outstanding advice.

  No, amazing. Heartfelt. Touching.

  Like nothing no one's ever given.

  I drift on behind him in the quiet night as the desert echoes with its own subtle music.

  Seventeen year old me found her way home with a smile on her face after what should have been the biggest disaster of her short life.

  She never once imagined the man who piled on the hurt and degradation the most over the years would be the one who said never take it.

  6

  Intrusions (Knox)

  I don't see much of her the next week. That's intentional.

  It's harder than I imagined sharing dinner night after night, watching her make my little girl smile, weaving herself into my life like she was meant to be its fabric.

  Worse than my nightmares every time I catch her when she isn't looking. Every time I step close enough to see the emerald in her eyes, catch her scent in my house, my truck, clinging to my fucking shirts. Her perfume is a delicate lunacy, and I'm exactly ten more sniffs from needing a damn straitjacket.