The Anti-Cinderella

by Tawdra Kandle

  I clicked the off switch and slid it into my bag. “I didn’t do it on purpose. Shelby said she’d seen this picture of us and it was super cute. I wanted to see, too. But I guess between the time she sent me the link and now, they’ve updated that site with a story. And it’s not a very nice one. As a matter of fact, it’s horrible.”

  Nicky sighed. “You can’t read that shit, sweetheart. People are going to talk. And as wonderful as you are, the sad truth is that there are always going to be people who don’t like us. And there are also downright unpleasant people who only want to make everyone miserable. Don’t let them get to you.”

  “But Nicky—this is about your work. I don’t want to mess up anything.” I twisted the edge of my coat sleeve between my fingers. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come today. I don’t want anyone to think I’m pushy.”

  “You’re not. And besides, I asked you to come. So did Carol. We want you there, Kyra. We value your input. You’re not coming as arm candy—you have something important to contribute.”

  I fidgeted a bit in my seat. “What if people think I’m being overbearing?”

  “They won’t. But if anyone does—” Nicky cast a steely glance my way. “Fuck them. They don’t know me, and they don’t know you.”

  I didn’t have time to debate the point with him, because we were pulling up in front of the hotel. I sat still in my seat and waited for Nicky to open the car door for me, taking his hand as he helped me out.

  “Smile, love,” he murmured. “Don’t let them see you’re rattled. They smell blood, this bunch. They’ll go for the kill if they think you’re vulnerable.”

  I lifted my chin, met his eyes and forced my lips to curve, hoping it didn’t appear more like a grimace than a genuinely pleasant expression.

  Nicky held my hand tightly as we hurried to the door. Once inside, I sucked in a deep breath, grateful for the relative quiet.

  “Sir, we’re right this way.” Carol, dressed in a bright blue suit, met us a few steps inside. “Ms. Duncan, thank you for being here, too. We’re so pleased that you could join us.” She leveled her gaze at me, and I knew that she’d read the article as well. I could see it in her eyes.

  “I hope I can be helpful,” I mumbled.

  “I’m sure you will be, and we appreciate you taking the time on your holiday.” She spoke with a certain intention, and I realized she was trying to show me support. I appreciated the effort, even if I still wasn’t certain I should be here.

  Nicky and I were both seated at a round banquet table, along with six other men and women. I noticed that some people gazed at me with open curiosity, while others tended to avert their eyes.

  Straightening my spine, I summoned up any inner fortitude I had left and channeled the Kyra who knew how to charm businesspeople on behalf of my grandparents. How different could this be, really? People were people. If I was polite and pleasant, what could they complain about?

  The first fifteen minutes were spent exchanging pleasantries and commenting on important topics like the weather and other meaningless niceties. I did my best to nod and smile, but I didn’t have much to add. I was beginning to feel like a bobble head doll, only there to affirm what others were saying.

  Then a woman leaned forward, pointing her fork at Nicky. “Sir, I saw your interview about the new policies in restaurants and groceries. I understand that you are looking for any ways in which to alleviate the hunger situation, but don’t you think that’s going to put at risk the very population you’re trying to protect?”

  Nicky lifted his napkin to his lips, pausing before he responded. “Mrs. Gummer, do you know how much food—how much good, viable, imminently edible food—is discarded in this country, because of policies that are ostensibly designed to protect people? You’ve seen the numbers—I know you have, because I’ve sent them to your office myself. It’s disgraceful. And the idea that it’s dangerous to stop food waste is at best a lazy response—and at worst, it’s intentionally negligent.”

  Mrs. Gummer’s thin cheeks flushed. “Sir, with all due respect, I’m not sure you’re in the best position to speak about hunger. When have you or any of your family ever gone without anything you wanted?”

  I sucked in a silent breath, waiting for Nicky to lose his cool. But he only smiled.

  “I don’t think that’s germane to the topic at hand, but of course, you’re right. I don’t have to worry about where my next meal comes from. I could toss out enough unused food on any given day to feed a village and never feel the lack. But simply because something doesn’t directly affect me doesn’t give me the right to ignore its existence. In the mid-twentieth century, when Hitler was practicing genocide, the majority of people in Great Britain were unaffected. But we still cared, didn’t we? We still sent soldiers there to liberate the camps, didn’t we?”

  “Are you likening what the Nazis did to our own government’s policies, sir?” A man with a thick moustache lifted his eyebrows. “That’s rather outrageous, don’t you think?”

  “People are dying.” Nicky shrugged. “The power to alleviate suffering lies within the hands of the government. It’s not such a leap when you look at it that way.”

  An older lady with long white hair inclined her head toward me. “Sir, perhaps we’re making your guest uncomfortable with this subject. She’s been very quiet.”

  Nicky shook his head. “Kyra knows as much about hunger, food sustainability and farming as I do, if not much more. She’ll be happy to tell you her angle on the topic.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but the lump in my throat kept me from saying anything. All I could see were the words from that article I’d read.

  Uncomfortable for everyone there . . .

  “Ky.” Nicky prompted. “Why don’t you share a little about other options we have to addressing the hunger problem? Tell everyone about what you’ve been studying.” His eyes encouraged me, and even though I still didn’t want to speak, I knew I couldn’t disappoint him, either.

  “I, ah.” I cleared my throat. “I study sustainable farming practices. We’re working on how to improve techniques so that farms can produce better, more wholesome food without a devastating impact on the earth.”

  “Are you now?” The same gentleman with the moustache tittered. “I find that amusing. My family has been in agriculture for generations. I doubt you could have taught my father or grandfather anything about being more efficient farmers.” He hmmphed. “That’s the problem with universities these days. They think they’re discovering new topics and wisdom, but really, it’s just old rubbish repackaged.”

  I drew myself up to sit straighter. The derision in this man’s tone burned away the worry and regret I’d been clinging to, the fear that had been keeping me silent so far. Inclining my head, I echoed his earlier words.

  “Are you likening the education system to Waste Not’s proposed food repurposing, sir? If you are, then bravo. I can see you really get it. You understand that something doesn’t have to be new to be valuable and useful.”

  His face froze. “Young lady—”

  But I wasn’t finished. “You’re not entirely wrong that some of the things I’m studying in school aren’t altogether recent discoveries. In fact, some of what I’m exploring is nearly a hundred years old. And others are ancient ways that our more recent ancestors stopped using when they were convinced that better living through chemistry was the way to go. But what we’ve learned is that in trying to make our food stronger and more resilient, we’re killing the earth and poisoning her people.”

  Mrs. Gummer made a rude noise under her breath, but Mr. Moustache—I still couldn’t remember his name—regarded me with interest. My eyes flickered to Nicky, wondering if I’d gone too far, but he was sitting back in his chair, his arms crossed, his face alight with pride and encouragement.

  But at the tables around us, I noticed more than one person listening to the interchange, and several had out telephones and were madly tapping away. I swallowed hard and worked to k
eep my voice even.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to be . . . pedantic. As Prince Nicholas mentioned, I’m studying agriculture, and maybe I get a little too passionate about it.”

  Around the table, people shifted in their seats, possibly in relief at the idea of dropping a sensitive topic. As the conversation went in another direction, I didn’t look at Nicky. Instead, I focused on the embroidery of the tablecloth and the bland smile I was determined to keep on my face.

  “Thank you for allowing me to be here.” I’d repeated the same phrase four times in the past five minutes, as people stopped to speak to me. The luncheon was ending, but nearly everyone was milling about the room, chatting. Nicky had excused himself to speak with Carol and her assistant, leaving me feeling alone and awkward. I had sensed in the rigid, formal way he’d spoken as he’d moved away that he was frustrated with me, but I was at a loss as to what else I could have done.

  He didn’t seem to understand the position I was in right now. If I spoke my mind and was open about my thoughts, I ran the risk of alienating people not only from me but from him and his work. I had to be subtler. I had to be diplomatic. And if that meant stifling my own strong opinions . . . well, that was the price I’d pay for being who he needed me to be.

  “Ah, the lady who has so much to say about farming techniques.” An older man who I’d seen sitting at a nearby table approached me, his expression inscrutable. “I’ve been wanting to speak with you.”

  I stretched another fake smile across my face. “Hello. I’m Kyra.” I extended my hand before it occurred to me that maybe he was some of kind of aristocracy and I was committing a faux pas.

  But he didn’t even blink as he gripped my hand and gave it a brief shake. “Martin Barrett, Ms. Duncan. A pleasure.”

  I frowned. That name was familiar. “Are you . . . Sir Martin?”

  He laughed. “Does my reputation precede me?”

  “Ah.” I shook my head. “I remember Nicky—uh, the prince—mentioning a few people who would be here at the luncheon.”

  “Well, only believe a quarter of what he said about me.” Sir Martin lowered his voice and leaned closer to me, as though confiding a secret. “He doesn’t agree with me much these days, but I’ve known Nicholas since he was born. I went to school with his grandfather.”

  “That’s nice.” I sounded insipid, but I didn’t know what else to say.

  “We don’t see eye to eye on some of his new ideas about farming and food supply,” Sir Martin went on. “I think science and technology have only helped us in finding new ways of growing and preserving food. This movement for more naturalism and less processing—well, it’s ridiculous. Mankind is meant to move forward. Genetically modifying our food is the next step in making it better. I fall in with the Americans in that way, but I’m fighting a battle here in Britain against the naturalists. And Nicholas is among those leading the charge.”

  “Of course he is.” I tossed up my hands. “And he’s right. In the states, we’re battling against GMOs and other types of artificial food manipulation. In fact, being hands-off and non-interventionalist is the basis for my graduate thesis.”

  “Non-interventionalist?” He snorted. “I believe I’d call that anti-science.”

  “Not at all. It’s simply a new way of looking at things—or maybe more accurately, a rediscovered way of living with the land instead of trying to control the land.”

  A glint of interest shone in the older man’s eye. “I pride myself on having an open mind, Ms. Duncan. Tell me why I should reconsider my position. Convince me.”

  I took a deep breath and glanced around us. No one was really paying any attention to what I was saying, and I knew that Nicky and Carol had been particularly intent on changing Sir Martin’s mind. If there was a way I could help without making it a big deal, maybe that would make Nicky happy.

  I spent the next ten minutes explaining to my new friend what I did in Maine, the soil projects we were working on and the idea of natural farming. If he’d shown any sign of disinterest, I would’ve quickly cut it short, but he didn’t. Instead, he asked intelligent, pertinent questions that led me to believe he was fascinated with the subject at hand.

  “Sorry to interrupt.” Nicky slid up next to me, his hand a light touch on my arm.

  “Nicholas.” Sir Martin inclined his head. “Your young lady has been educating me on some of the finer points of new farming techniques. She’s quite amazing and very passionate about her topic. And frankly, she’s an incredible young woman.”

  “Oh, no, not really.” I shook my head. I didn’t want Nicky to think I’d been over here talking about myself. “It’s not that big a deal. Sir Martin was kind enough to let me share about what I’m studying. He’s been very patient, listening to me rattle on.”

  “I’m sure he has been.” Nicky’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, and the uneasiness I’d felt all morning stirred again in my gut. “Unfortunately, Sir Martin, I need to steal Kyra away just now.”

  “Of course, of course.” The older man beamed down at me. “We’ll talk again soon, I hope. I’d like to hear more about your work.”

  “Thank you, Sir Martin. I’m looking forward to it.” With one last nod of my head, I allowed Nicky to steer me through the crowd of people who were also preparing to depart. I maintained the bland and benign expression that I’d begun to see as my mask.

  “Are you ready to go now?” Nicky’s voice was even and distant at my ear, and his hand rested on the center of my back, between my shoulder blades. “The car’s waiting.”

  I frowned, glancing back over my shoulder. “What’s the matter?”

  His eyes were flat. “Nothing at all.”

  “Yes, there is,” I insisted, stopping in my tracks and turning to face him. “What did I do wrong? Did someone say something?”

  At last something akin to interest flared on his face. “Something wrong? How could you have said something wrong, when you barely expressed any opinion at all? You were perfect, Kyra. Which was what you wanted, wasn’t it? To make everyone else in the world happy, no matter what it took.”

  A few people standing near us turned their heads, avid curiosity in their eyes. I felt my cheeks flush, and I reached out to grip his wrist. “Nicky, I wasn’t saying—”

  He shook off my hand. “We are not doing this here.”

  Through clenched teeth, I ground out, “I’m not the one who started anything here.”

  Without answering me, Nicholas turned around and began stalking toward the exit, leaving me to follow, painfully aware of the stares and the whispers all around me. I straightened my back, lifted my chin and made a point of moving with as much grace as I could muster. Which, let’s face it, wasn’t a whole lot, given who I was and the heels I had on, but I did my best.

  Nicky waited just outside the door, staring straight ahead. He opened the passenger side door of the car for me, and I slid in, saying not a word. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harold in the back seat, studiously not looking at us. The man’s eyes were darting here and there, ever vigilant, but I knew he was trying to give us at least the illusion of privacy.

  Not that it mattered an iota. His jaw still clenched, Nicholas pulled away from the curb and drove through the streets, never so much as glancing my way. I stared through the windshield, hoping that I appeared to be calm on the outside when I was anything but inside.

  The minute we were inside the Kensington Palace walls, Nicholas headed for his own cottage. Slowing to stop by the door, he lifted his gaze to the rearview mirror.

  “Harold, I’m going to leave you here while I take Kyra to my sister’s place. I’ll be back within a few moments.”

  The policeman nodded. “Of course, sir. Good afternoon, miss.”

  I managed a semblance of a smile. “Thanks, Harold.”

  No sooner had he closed the car door that Nicholas was off again, peeling around the corner to Alex and Jake’s apartment.

  “Nicky, I don’t know what your prob
lem is. I don’t know what I did to set you off, but—” The beginning of a sob rose in my throat, and I swallowed it back. “But I don’t like being treated this way.”

  “You didn’t do anything. What on earth could you have done?” He turned in his seat to face me, but his eyes were focused somewhere beyond me. Whatever it was that had shaken him up, he’d regained his composure now—or at least he was putting on a good show of it. He was full-on Prince Nicholas mode, without a hint of my Nicky in sight. Something inside me shriveled up, and I felt an urgent, compelling need to get away as fast as I could. I didn’t know how to deal with him this way. He was unfamiliar.

  “All right, then.” I reached for the door handle, fumbling to open it before I mortified myself with tears or screaming. It was a toss-up as to which might happen first. “I’d better go inside. I need to pack before I leave tomorrow.”

  “Probably a good idea.” Nicholas shifted to face the front again and gripped the steering wheel.

  “That’s it, then? Am I going to see you tonight? Or tomorrow, before I leave?”

  He shook his head. “I need a little space, Kyra. I have to . . . I just need some space.” He exhaled through his nose. “Safe travels. We’ll talk soon.”

  I paused in the midst of swinging my legs out of the car, but I didn’t look at him. “Will we? Or is this it? Because if this is the last time I’d going to see you, I’d like to say something. I’d like to say . . . thank you for these last few months. It’s been like living in a different world. Not always a good one, but different, and I think it changed me. I’d also like to say fuck you, Nicky, because you made me fall in love with you. You made me want to make plans for the future, to believe that we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. I wasn’t going to tell you that, not now, not this soon, but if this is the last time we’re going to be together, I want you to know it. I want you to know that every time you touched me, kissed me, looked at me like I was the only woman in the world—every time you loved me—it meant something to me. I thought it did to you, too, but I’ve been wrong before.”