The Anti-Cinderella

by Tawdra Kandle

  “We could. Where’s Tom now?” I really wasn’t psyched about the idea of getting interrupted yet again by Nicky’s security detail.

  “He went back to his little house. He’s working on damage control and finding out what recourse we have to keep those photos from being published.” Nicky skimmed his lips down the column of my throat, breathing deep. “God, Ky, you smell amazing. What’s that scent? It’s like springtime lives on your skin.”

  I smiled, combing my fingers though his hair. “It’s hyacinth. Where I grew up, in the Brandywine valley outside of Philadelphia, hyacinth is the first flower of spring. Well, crocuses, too, but I liked hyacinth better. Their smell is just intoxicating. When I was younger, Honey and I had a competition to see who found the first bloomed hyacinth each year. When I turned sixteen, she commissioned a perfume to be made specifically for me from the scent of the flowers. She’s had it made into lotion, body wash, shampoo . . . so I have it on me all the time.”

  “Hmmmm. So are hyacinth your favorite flower? I’m filing that away for future reference.”

  “They are.” I arched my neck so that he could nuzzle the pulse at the base of my throat. “Purple and pink. But never cut ones—I only like them planted, in pots or in gardens. When you cut them for vases, they die faster. They’re too beautiful to cut. I want to love them where they belong, in the soil.”

  “Ky.” Nicky brushed my hair over my shoulder. “Sometimes I worry that maybe . . . that’s what I’m doing to you. Like cutting flowers and putting them in water for the selfish need of enjoying them . . . am I making your life brutal by wanting to be with you? Am I ruining you because of how much you mean to me?”

  I snaked my arms around his neck and held on tight. “No, you’re not. Nicky, I love flowers and plants and all things green, as you know, but I’m not some delicate blossom. I’m strong. I wouldn’t let you do anything that could hurt me—that would ruin me. I promise. And it’s not selfish if it’s what I want, too.”

  His kiss was searing and possessive, the barely banked passion fueling my own need. “Tell me that we’re not going to let all the obstacles tear us apart. Tell me that you trust me. Tell me that we’re going to figure this out. Tell me that all of this—me and all of my baggage—isn’t too much for you.”

  I leaned my forehead against him, my lips curving into a smile of promise. “I trust you. I believe in you. I believe in us. We’re going to figure it out, and neither you nor your, uh, baggage is too much for me.”

  His arms wrapped around me, drawing me even closer, and for a moment, he sagged against me in relief, his breath tickling my neck.

  “I don’t want to lose you, Kyra.”

  “Then don’t.” I laid my hand alongside his cheek. “Kiss me, Nicky, and make me forget that anything else exists.”

  When his mouth sealed over mine, the world and all of its complications vanished. There was only the two of us.

  Romantic Rendezvous Goes Viral!

  Just when we thought things were cooling off between Britain’s Prince Nicholas and his American love interest, Maine heiress Kyra Duncan, the two were spotted together near her home in New England. We found the lovebirds visiting a garden at the local college Kyra attends.

  But wait! It gets better. Just in case you thought maybe the two were just friends—nope! Our cameras also caught the pair in a heated embrace outside of Kyra’s grandparents’ estate. These photos say it all, and what they say is TOO HOT FOR PRINT!

  Sources say that things are sweeter than ever between the lovers. Should we start getting ready for a transatlantic royal wedding?

  Stay tuned!

  “Good morning, Kyra!” Sophie Kent, one of the reporters who had been a regular since the first day of coverage, called to me from her spot alongside my path to the car. “Off to the garden?”

  I smiled, pausing as I did. I was learning, and one of the lessons I’d figured out was that they were going to take pictures, and when I stopped briefly, it made for a better photo. It was that fine line between accepting the inevitable and seeking attention.

  “Yes, off to the garden,” I echoed. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

  “Very pretty.” She stepped a little closer. “Any plans for the weekend?”

  I forced my shoulders to relax and gave a little laugh. “Oh, yes, big weekend ahead. Lots of writing of reports and binge-watching TV. I’m a wild woman.” Instantly, I regretted the last part of what I’d said. I had learned that some reporters liked nothing more than to take real quotations out of context and make it sound as though I’d said something completely different.

  Before I could do anything else to get myself in trouble, I made a beeline for the car. My hand was on the door, about to open it, when Sophie spoke again.

  “Just wondering because it’s come to our attention that Prince Nicholas has a clear calendar this weekend, and there’s buzz he’s planning a trip to the states. Anything to add?”

  I kept my head down and my eyes on the steering wheel as I opened the door and climbed into the car. “No comment.”

  Backing out of the driveway, I waved to the small knot of reporters there and headed to the college. Once I was a little bit down the road, I clicked on my bluetooth car speaker and called Shelby.

  “Hey, it’s the chick who’s doing a strip tease for Prince Nicholas in her grandmother’s garden.” She giggled.

  “Stop. I’m going to hang up on you.” I rolled to a stop at an intersection. “You sound better. The flu finally let up?”

  “Finally being the operative word. Mom says it was the Florida sunshine and healthy air that healed me. Vivian says it was the food she made me. Aunt Gail says it was the flu, and the flu runs its course. I think she’s probably right.”

  “So Florida is where it’s at, huh? Have you decided to go ahead and stay down there for the rest of the month?”

  “If you’re okay with it, yeah, I think I will. It’s been a nice break, especially . . .” Her voice trailed off, but I knew what she had been about to say.

  “Especially now that the reporters are back in full force, you mean. Yeah, you’re not missing anything but stress and mess up here. So stay down in Florida as long as you can.” I turned at the next light.

  “You should come down, too. You could come stay with us, or you could visit your sister and your grandparents at the beach. It would be good for you.”

  “Funny you should say that.” Slowing, I pulled into the parking lot of the project plots. “Because I was thinking that maybe if I was to be at Honey and Handsome’s next week, you might mosey over and say hello.”

  “Mosey? Since when did I become a cowboy? But are you seriously coming down?” Shelby’s voice took on an added lilt.

  “It’s not for public knowledge, but yeah. Nicky came up with this idea before he flew back to London last month, after Honey’s birthday. His family still owns the house next door to my grandparents, and it’s private—fenced, set back from the road, not viewable from the beach, which is private . . . we got spoiled with our little bit of time together in Maine, and now we want more.”

  “So . . . you’re flying to Florida? When?” Shelby demanded.

  “Friday. But I’m going to be sneaky about it. I had to enlist some help, in the form of my project partner, Ed. He’s going to drive me from the garden down to the airport in Boston. I’m hoping I can get enough of a head start on the media that they won’t have time to set up any ingenious new ways to violate our privacy in Florida. No rented bucket trucks or anything like that.” We’d learned that several enterprising photographers had done just that—rented a bucket truck for the day and then parked it just far enough away that they weren’t trespassing. The result had been the pictures of Nicky and me in the garden—and thanks to new high-powered lenses, not much had been left to the imagination.

  “Look at you, being all Mata Hari.” Shelby sounded impressed. “What did Ed have to say about the plan?”

  I laughed. “I had to spend fifteen minut
es explaining to him who Nicky is and why the media was so interested in us. Once I got him to understand that, he was more than happy to lend a hand. Or a car.”

  “Awesome. So you’ll fly to Florida, go to your grandparents’ house, and Nicky will be the boy-next-door once again. It’s like going full circle. Back to the beginning. Think he’ll kiss you on the beach?”

  “Probably not on the beach, since we can’t be sure of privacy there, but he damn well better kiss me in the house alongside the beach. Otherwise, I’m making a long trip for nothing.” I pulled the keys out of the ignition and released my seatbelt, but I didn’t leave the car quite yet. “And I’m not actually staying at Handsome and Honey’s house. They’re going to be in California, touring vineyards all weekend, and Bria’s going to the Keys with Lisel and a bunch of their friends. As far as the press knows, I’m staying at my grandparents’ house, but in reality . . .”

  “You’re shacking up with the prince. Scandalous, Ky. Just scandalous.” Shelby giggled. “Does that mean you’re sealing the deal this weekend? Giving over the goods? Going all the way?”

  “None of your business,” I replied loftily. “But in the interest of full disclosure to my best friend . . . I’m in a better place to go there now than I was before. I trust Nicky. He really . . . he’s not messing with me. He’s not playing around. It’s not as though I’m just another girl to him. I seriously believe that.”

  Shelby sighed. “I really believe it, too. I haven’t asked you this before, Ky, because I didn’t want to be one more person putting pressure on you, but where do you see this going? Should I get my passport updated so that I can be at a wedding in the UK some time soon?”

  I fiddled with the keys in my hand. “I think that’s rushing things. In a perfect world, we’d take the time to get to know each other even better—maybe by living in the same time zone for a little while. I’m grateful for the time I have with Nicky, whenever it happens, but I’m also aware that it’s not real life, you know? When we’re together, we’re not living in the actual world—we’re in this set-apart place, so it’s like a vacation romance. I want to know that we can make it work when we’re both dealing with jobs and the daily stress of life.”

  “That sounds like it would require one of you to make a big move—and in this situation, I have a hunch it’s not going to be Nicky relocating,” Shelby observed. “His work, such as it is, can’t be done over here.”

  “Don’t think that hasn’t occurred to me. I don’t want to jump the gun and assume that something’s going to happen when I’m not sure about it yet, but in the back of my mind, I’ve been playing with different scenarios. I know that Honey and Handsome would understand if I had to make some changes to our agreement—about me working for them after I finish my degree. But I don’t want to ignore my commitments, either.” I stretched backward to tuck the keys into my front pocket. “It’ll all work out, somehow. But right now, I’m at the garden, and I need to get to work before Ed kicks me off my own project.”

  “Can’t have that happen. You’ll let me know when you’re down here, right?”

  I nodded, even though I knew she couldn’t see me. “Nicky will have to fly back before I do, so I thought you could come over after that for a little beach time. You can bring Vivian if you want. We can hang out and have some fun.”

  “I’m all over that. Talk to you later, chick.” She paused. “And Ky? For what it’s worth, I think you’re handling all of this beautifully. Try not to let it get to you—all the what ifs and hows. Just let it happen. Everything is going to work out. I have a feeling.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right.” I reached for the door handle. “Because even though I’m trying to be smart and make the right choices . . . it’s hard when my heart is involved. And I haven’t said this even to myself yet, but Shel—I think I’m falling in love with Nicky.”

  “Of course you are, you dweeb,” she laughed. “You’ve been halfway in love with him for months now. Anyone can see that. But don’t sound so worried. Falling in love is a good thing. It’s—all wondrous and romantic and shit. Embrace it. Let it happen. Because I’m pretty sure you’re not alone. I think the prince is head-over-heels for you, too.”

  I thought about Shelby’s words for the rest of the day. It made my stomach flutter to believe it, even in my own heart, but I was pretty sure she was right—if I was in love with Nicky, he was feeling the same way, too, unless he was an incredible actor.

  I couldn’t understand why, because I was nothing special. I was confident enough to be secure and content in my own person, to know that I had something to offer the world at large, but on the other hand, Nicky could have any woman he might want. The idea that he would choose me—that he might love me—both exhilarated and terrified me.

  Being alone at home to brood with my own thoughts didn’t help. I missed Shelby’s presence, her cheerful whistling and our constant back and forth of witty repartee. I also missed her input as I began to pack for my trip to Florida. It was painfully clear that I’d ignored my wardrobe for the past few years; the last time I’d bought a new bathing suit, it had been for spring break in my freshman year of college. I knew Nicky wouldn’t expect me to be dressed to the nines when it was just the two of us, but then again . . . it was going to be just the two of us. I wanted to look sexy in whatever bathing suit I wore for lounging at the pool. I wanted some pretty new lingerie for our nights together.

  I was smart enough to know that an impulsive shopping trip right now would be a disastrous idea. The press would scent a last-minute excursion to the mall in Bangor—which was the closest shopping center to me—like a shark scented blood, and they’d begin shadowing me all the time.

  However . . . a little on-line shopping might be in order, I decided. I hated buying a bathing suit without trying it on, but I’d just have to make an educated guess and a leap of faith. I’d bring my old one in case my educated guess was a disaster.

  An hour later, I had confirmations that several packages would shortly be winging their way to my grandparents’ home in Florida. I shot both Honey and Bria a quick text, letting them know that I’d ordered a few things and that they should not open the boxes when they arrived. I was fairly certain I could trust Honey, but Bria was another story.

  On Thursday night, I noticed that the reporters who usually left once I cheerfully assured them that I was in for the evening lingered just a little longer. I knew they couldn’t see into my bedroom, but just in case, I made sure all of the blinds were shut tight as I packed the last few necessities in my suitcase. And just to be on the safe side, I waited until the dark of midnight to sneak the bag into my car’s trunk.

  The next morning, I could have sworn every reporter watched me with an extra dose of suspicion. I was careful not to do anything out of the ordinary; I locked the front door, but I didn’t give into my need to double check the locks and the lights. I didn’t want it to appear that I wasn’t going to be back home in a few hours.

  “Good morning, Kyra,” Sophie greeted me. “Prince Nicholas was seen at the airport in London last night, boarding a flight to the US. Will you be seeing him while he’s here?”

  I’d made it a practice not to lie to the press. I avoided, I gave them the standard and innocuous no comment, and I ignored, but I never told an outright fib. I had to tread carefully here. If I pretended that I hadn’t heard the question or evaded it too pointedly, they’d know something was up.

  “Is the prince landing in the northeast? I don’t think he’s going to be in Maine on this trip.” I summoned up what I hoped was a regretful and brave smile. “Sorry.”

  “Kyra, are you heading to meet the prince?” Another reporter was bolder than the rest and asked the question directly.

  I pointed to my car. “I’m heading to the garden, as usual. And if I’m late, my project partner isn’t going to be happy with me.” I waved. “I’m sure I’ll see you later. Have a good day.”

  Apparently, my attempts at diversion weren�
��t wholly successful, because more than a few of the photographers jumped into their cars to trail me. I forced myself to drive at the speed limit and to take my normal route, although just before my usual turn, I took a right onto the campus, crossing over the boundary that kept the reporters from following me. Just about a mile within was a student parking lot that mostly deserted now, as very few students were on campus during the summer term. I spotted Ed’s light blue pickup truck and pulled alongside of it, jumping out as quickly as I could. Opening the trunk of my car, I tossed my suitcase into the bed of the truck and covered it with the worn blanket back there.

  A few minutes later, I was at the spot where I’d lost my press tail, glad to see that they were still lingering there, waiting for me. I grinned and waved as I turned back to the main road that led to the garden.

  The journalists weren’t allowed to go any further than the parking lot there, but it didn’t stop them from yelling out my name when I got out of the car.

  “Kyra! Where’d you go? Were you trying to shake us?”

  I laughed and shrugged. “Had to drop off something on campus. Remember, I am a student. Spending my days dodging all of you isn’t my real job.”

  They chuckled good-naturedly, shaking their heads, but I noticed that they didn’t leave. Instead, all three cars parked near mine. Yeah, they definitely had decided something was off today. I crossed my fingers that my plan would let me successfully elude them—for a little while, at least.

  When I crossed past the tree line into the garden, Ed was standing at the end of a row holding a shovel. He greeted me with his normal grunt.

  “How are the tomatoes looking in the experimental plot?” I asked him. “I sprayed neem oil on the control plants yesterday. The aphids were getting bad on them.”

  “So far, so good. We have more blossoms on the experimental ones, but the control plants are bigger. I guess we’ll see.” He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice, as though he expected to see spies in the trees. “Did you drop your bag?”