Glass Slipper Bride

by Arlene James

  “Brett Keller, you get up and get over here right now.” she ordered good-naturedly. That done, she rushed down the hall to meet them. Going up on tiptoe, she smacked a welcome kiss on Zach’s cheek, but her gaze remained targeted on Jillian, her eyes snapping with curiosity. Zach held back a teasing grin. He had no intention of enlightening anyone just yet.

  “Are Danny and Mary here?”

  “They’re here,” Brett said from the doorway. Advancing with that slow, loose-limbed stride of his, Brett looked Jillian up and down, his own curiosity held in polite check. He came to stand next to his wife, his forearm resting companionably on her shoulder. “Tbey’re out back watching the kids play in the sprinklers.”

  “Well, get ’em in here,” Zach said, suddenly enjoying himself. “I only want to do this once.”

  Brett looked down at Sharon, one dark eyebrow crooking upward. “Okay.” he said significantly, and strode away. Sharon’s excited gaze seemed glued to Jillian.

  “Won’t you come in and have a seat?” she asked formally.

  Jillian nodded and nervously reached up for her glasses, but Zach caught her hand midway and tugged her down the hall in Sharon’s wake, winking at his niece, who grinned, stuck her finger in her mouth and laid her cheek against her mother’s shoulder. When the little one shyly transferred her attention to the newcomer, Jillian smiled, receiving a tiny giggle as her reward.

  Sharon’s house was always comfortably rumpled like a made bed that someone had curled up on for a nap, and she never seemed to mind the scattering of children’s things and the sprawl. of Brett’s ever-present sporting magazines. This evening, however, she set her daughter aside and hurried around the room, snatching up toys and neatening stacks, leaving Zach to usher Jillian to the couch. “Sorry everything’s such a mess,” Sharon said to no one in particular.

  “Oh, the house is lovely,” Jillian responded, and Zach gave her hand an appreciative squeeze, then exerted himself to coax his niece onto his lap and tickle her into her usual affectionate self. He was getting his head squeezed in an exuberant hug, much to Jillian’s amusement, when the slap of bare feet on the kitchen floor alerted him that the invasion was under way. All three boys tumbled into the room, dancing and sashaying in their wet suits, showing off for company. Brett and Danny came next, ordering the kids upstairs to get changed, followed by a pregnant Mary, holding her sandy brown ponytail up off her neck with one hand and mopping her brow with a paper towel held in the other. Brett came over and plucked the baby off Zach, who kissed her feet as her daddy pulled her away. Brett turned her over his shoulder and held her in place with a big hand cupping her bottom.

  “Okay, bro, we’re all here. Let’s do it.”

  Zach took Jillian’s hand in his and propped his elbows on his knees. “Honey, I’d like you to meet my older brother, Brett, and his wife, Sharon. That’s Shelby on Brett’s shoulder there.” Brett nodded acknowledgment, and Sharon smiled and gave a little wave. “This is my younger brother, Danny, and his wife, Mary.” Danny made a little bow, his hands in the pockets of his chinos. Mary patted her rounded belly, smiling, and Zach amended his introduction. “Actually, that’s Mary and Anthony Marshall, who ought to be able to make an entry on his own sometime next fall.”

  “Or before then if he starts walking as soon as his brother did,” Mary added.

  “Which one of those three is his brother?” Jillian asked, pointing toward the stairs up which the boys had disappeared moments earlier.

  “The middle one,” Mary said. “That’s Jordan. He’s five.”

  “And Andy is six, and Tim is four,” Sharon put in.

  “Okay,” Zach said. “That’s the lot, except for Mom and Dad, who are in Montana.”

  “Uh, not quite,” Brett said, his voice deepening into that authoritative rumble that Zach knew so well. “I think you’ve missed one.”

  Zach looked at Jillian, working up his own courage as much as bolstering hers. She gave him a slight nod, and he rose to his feet, lifting her up with him. He slid an arm around her waist. “I want you to meet Jillian...Keller. My wife.”

  The announcement bomb whistled overhead, landed and exploded with a scream. Sharon literally leaped over the coffee table to be the first to get her hands on them, hugging and weeping all over them while Brett shoved the table out of the way and gave everyone room to gather around. When they emerged from hugs, laughter and exclamations some minutes later, the boys were back downstairs in various stages of dress, having been summoned by the commotion. Shelby had her fist in her mouth, trying to sort it all out as she perched on her father’s shoulders. Zach sat down and pulled Jillian down next to him, his arm sliding up to drape about her shoulders in a motion that seemed wholly natural.

  “When did you get married?” Mary demanded.

  “This morning,” Jillian replied softly.

  “This morning!” Sharon exclaimed. “Zachary Keller, why didn’t you let us know?”

  “We didn’t want to make a fuss,” Zach said, crossing his legs.

  “What I want to know is why you aren’t off on your honeymoon?” Dan asked, for which Mary smacked him on the shoulder.

  It was the moment Zach had dreaded, and to his distress, heat climbed up his throat. Jillian, bless her, came to his rescue.

  “It was either a honeymoon or an apartment big enough for both of us,” she said flippantly. “We spent the afternoon moving, actually, and now we only have to unpack it all and settle in.”

  “You gave up the bolt hole?” Brett teased.

  “Well, we’re still in the same building,” Zach said, and the conversation was off, quickly becoming a girls and guys things, with the ladies talking all at once to one another and the guys breaking off to raid the refrigerator in the kitchen for cold drinks.

  He got all the “sly devil” and “about time” cracks, and some stern advice concerning informing his parents. Zach cravenly asked Brett to break the news, promising he’d explain everything in detail later. The “details” encompassed an abbreviated version of the truth. Jillian worked in his building. They got close when he was brought in to help her sister, Camille Waltham—yes, that Camille Waltham—deal with a former fiancé. “Things just sort of snowballed,” he admitted sheepishly.

  “She’s not a model, is she?” Dan asked carefully, sipping cold beer from the can.

  “No, actually, she’s a sculptor,” Zach told him with an unexpected surge of pride. “She does some remarkable stuff, and she’s got an exhibit coming up at this place in Deep Ellum called the Art Bar, I think.”

  “That’s great!” Brett said. “Interesting, real interesting.”

  Zach smiled. This was going far more smoothly than he’d expected, almost too smoothly. He listened to the women’s laughter in the other room and the screech and tumble of the kids, and it struck him that it was a perfect fit, he and Jillian, his brothers and their wives, a house full of kids. He’d always felt part of the family, of course, part of the gang, but somehow it was different tonight. If felt...complete. But how could that be? The marriage was a sham. This was all a desperate act on his and Jillian’s part. How could it feel so right?

  The women came into the kitchen, talking and laughing in a tight trio of instant friendship. Sharon stopped and slapped Zach lightly on the cheek. “Do you know what this jerk fed his bride on their wedding day?” she asked his brothers. “Barbecue sandwiches. Sandwiches!”

  “That’s more’n I fed you,” Brett said, winking at Zach.

  “At least you ordered a nice supper,” Sharon said. “We just didn’t get to it, is all.”

  Danny and Mary hooted. Brett elbowed Danny and made some crack about his wife carrying proof that their seven-year honeymoon still wasn’t over. “And he still hasn’t fed me yet, either,” Mary said to much laughter. “Maybe I ought to stop feeding him”

  It was all good-natured, if slightly colorful, banter, but Zach couldn’t help feeling that he ought to put a stop to it somehow. He looked at Jillian, hopi
ng she wasn’t offended, only to find her looking at him, a soft, wistful expression in her big blue eyes. Was she wishing, maybe, that their marriage was real? She’d made it plain from the beginning that she hadn’t wanted to go through with it, painfully so. Not that he could blame her. First he’d refused to make love to her—a decision he knew was the right one, given the circumstances—then he’d created a rupture in her relationship with her sister, abandoned her to face it alone and come to her aid only when it was almost too late. He couldn’t blame her for balking at his solution to her problems, but might she change her mind if he showed her that he wanted more than a temporary arrangement?

  Good grief. What was he thinking? He didn’t want to be married, either. Did he?

  Suddenly he wasn’t so sure. But was it because his family’s easy acceptance, their obvious approval, somehow colored his feelings? Or did his feelings for Jillian go beyond liking, protectiveness and physical attraction? Was he falling in love with his wife? He watched her pull her glasses down on her nose, their lenses adjusted now to the indoor lighting, and very much feared that he was.

  “Let me hug your neck one more time, sugar,” Sharon crooned, wrapping her plump arms around Jillian’s neck. “It’s so good to have you in the family.”

  Jillian gratefully returned the embrace, a bittersweet happiness invading her. Zach’s family had accepted her wholeheartedly, without a single distrustful question or suspicious remark. If only Zach could accept her so completely. He laid a hand on her shoulder, and she pulled away from Sharon’s parting hug, moving with him down the sidewalk toward the street.

  “Y’all have a good weekend,” Brett called. “We’ll see you on Monday evening.”

  Jillian gave him a wave over her shoulder and let Zach hand her down into the car. He hurried around and got in behind the wheel as his brother and sister-in-law backed into the house and closed the door.

  “That went well,” he said, starting the engine.

  “They’re wonderful people.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “You’re so alike, you three brothers. Brett’s a little heavier. Daniel’s a little taller. But one glance and anyone would know you’re brothers.”

  He hung an arm over the steering wheel thoughtfully. “You know, it’s funny. When we were kids, we fought like bandits. Not that we hated one another or anything—just your normal sibling competition. Now, though, they’re my very best friends.”

  Jillian sighed. “I used to think that one day Camille and I would be best friends, but somehow that never happened.”

  Zach sent her a glance that looked surprisingly guilty, but then he reached for the roof latch. “Let’s put the top down.”

  She smiled. “And crank up the radio.”

  Laughing, they did just that. The radio was so loud that they turned some heads as they drove by on their way back to the apartment, so loud that it was impossible to talk over it. They let the valet park the car and went up to the apartment in silence, the tension growing tighter and thicker with every moment. It was their wedding night. Any normal couple would be looking forward to bed. As exhausted as she was, however, Jillian was dreading the moment she closed that door and lay down to sleep—alone.

  She tried to tell herself that it was just like any other night, several of which she’d already spent in the same residence with Zach, but he hadn’t been her husband then. Attraction hadn’t matured into love. She thought of all he’d done to help her: putting up with Camille’s high-handedness, repeatedly standing guard, letting her tag along while he searched for Janzen, defending her against Gerry’s criticism, subtly building her confidence and, finally and most incredibly, marrying her to keep her safely away from Jan and give her a place to stay, lying to his own family in the process. Was it any wonder that she loved him? If only he could feel the same way about her. If only she weren’t so pathetic and...waifish.

  “Penny for your thoughts.”

  She looked up, surprised to find that they’d come to a halt in front of the apartment door. “Oh. Uh, actually my mind’s a complete blank. I-I guess I’m just tired.”

  “It’s been a busy day,” he agreed, fishing in his pockets for the apartment key. “Darn,” he said after a moment, “I knew I should have put that key on the ring right away.” He dug around a moment longer. “I can’t believe this. I don’t have my key!”

  Jillian opened her pocketbook. “I have mine.” She looked through the meager contents of her bag, found the key on its little chain with its small red tag and handed it to Zach. Their fingers brushed as the key was transferred, a tiny electric spark snapping between them. Both jerked away. The key fell to the floor. Zach stepped back and bent to pick it up, then turned to fit it into the lock without ever looking up. In moments, they were in the apartment.

  A half-dozen boxes were scattered around the room, their contents poking up and spilling over. Throw rugs lay rolled against the walls. Furniture warred with workout equipment for position. Still, it was a pretty apartment, much better than the dark cubby Zach had been living in. She silently vowed to make it as comfortable and homey as she could before she had to go.

  A small dining area lay on the right of the entry, the kitchen behind it. Down a little farther on the left was a small nook with a closet for extra storage space, it’s bifold doors standing open. The desk stood in front of it, partially blocking the small entry hall. An idea occurred to Jillian.

  “You know, we could push the desk into the closet with the kneehole in the front, then we could just open the doors to sit at it. What do you think?”

  “Hey, that’s a good idea. An office in a closet, sort of. Might even be room for a small filing cabinet and a few shelves.”

  “Then you could put your workout equipment in the dining area, and if we moved the TV to that wall you could still watch it while you lift weights.” She pointed to the space now occupied by a weight bench. Zachary nodded.

  “Better and better.” He paused. “Uh, you’re sure, though? I thought you might want to get a dining set.”

  “Oh, not for two months,” she said flippantly, wincing inwardly.

  He looked away. “Right. No point in that.”

  “We can make do for meals at the bar between the kitchen and living room,” she went on lightly, but she had forgotten something in her rush to appear unmoved by the prospect of ending her marriage. “That is, we could if we had bar stools.”

  “Good point. I’ll see what I can do about that tomorrow.”

  “Don’t go to any trouble,” she said quickly. “It’s only for—” Somehow she couldn’t say it again. He did it for her.

  “Two months. Yeah.”

  “We’ll probably be eating off our knees in front of the television anyway,” she said too brightly.

  He nodded, mumbling, “That’s what I usually do.”

  What he would do if his life was still his own, he meant. She bowed her head, biting back the urge to apologize for the mess she’d made of everything, his life included. What good were apologies when nothing could be changed by them?

  “I’m, uh, bushed,” she said, suddenly eager to escape. “I think I’ll turn in.”

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  “Well, good night, then.”

  “Good night.”

  She headed across the living area toward the setback that opened onto both bedrooms and the single bath between them. As she moved toward the room on the right, the master, Zach said, “Hey, sleep as late as you want tomorrow.”

  “But we have so much to do yet,” she argued, looking around them.

  “We have the whole weekend to get this place into shape. One late morning won’t hurt anything.”

  The whole weekend, alone together. “All right. Do you need anything before I go to sleep?”

  “A pillow would be nice.”

  She walked into the room and took a pillow from the bed, his bed. She carried it back out to him and handed it over, careful not to touch. “Anything else?”<
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  “No, I’ll grab a sheet out of the box in the bathroom. Anything else I might need can wait until morning.”

  Nodding selfconsciously, Jillian backed into the room and reluctantly closed the door, alone. On her wedding night.

  Zach clutched the pillow to his middle with one hand, feeling empty and bereft. Life seemed damnably unfair at the moment. He was married to that woman, blast it all. He ought to be in there with her, undressing her slowly, indulging them both in the physical pleasures about which his brothers and their wives joked so easily. So what if it was only temporary? He deserved something for all the trouble he was going to, didn’t he?

  The resentful thought soured even as he justified it with a litany of the ways his life had changed since he’d met Jillian Waltham. Jillian Waltham Keller. A sudden fierce possessiveness pushed aside all else. She was his wife. His wife. The funny thing was that it didn’t seem strange at all. His family had certainly found no reason to question it, despite the fact that the marriage was totally unexpected. As a matter of fact, they had liked her, very much.

  He carried the pillow to the couch and dropped it there before going to open the vertical blinds on the large bank of windows set in the outside wall. This apartment had a lovely view, not the downtown vista of lit skyscrapers found on the opposite side of the building, but the parklike serpentine of Turtle Creek and the twinkling, undulating sweep of neighborhoods and street lamps that glowed amber in the hot black night Zach sat down on the couch and tugged off his boots, letting them lie where they fell. It was a comfortable piece of furniture, the leather butter soft and silky, the cushions deep and springy, a great improvement on the stiff cot on which he’d been tossing and turning these past nights, but he knew he wasn’t going to sleep again tonight. It was his wedding night, and the woman with whom he wanted to share it lay alone behind a closed door. Might she welcome him if he went to her? She had once before.