The Cinderella Project (A Comedy of Love, #1)

by Crowe, Stan

My heart fell into my stomach. She knew.

  “I suppose congratulations are in order.” Moiré smiled and handed me the letter. “I’m sorry. I know it’s a federal offense to read someone else’s mail. Promise you won’t have me arrested and I won’t tease you too much about being engaged.”

  “Sure,” I mumbled. Humor wasn’t tickling me at the moment.

  “Aren’t you a little worried, though?”

  I looked at her. “About?”

  She glanced pointedly at her watch. “It’s almost two. The note said your appointment was at three. Gatekeeper Bridal is almost an hour from here. I’m parked on the north edge of campus. Want a ride?”

  Pause. Try to think. “I couldn’t impose on you like that, Moiré. I’ll just drive myself.” Fail.

  “Where’s your car?”

  “Back at my apartment.”

  “How long would it take you to get there?”

  I thought. “Probably forty-five minutes, unless I hurried.”

  “Fifteen to my car. I win.” Moiré smirked.

  She had a point. It wouldn’t hurt to be a little late, but still. I sighed. “I’ll pay you for gas.”

  “No chance. Let’s run.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Mom, oh boy… serious problem. I need your help!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Bianca Del Rio stood up in the lunchroom today and yelled that she loved me!”

  “Well, I think that’s kind of cute, Nick. It takes guts for a girl to out her love secrets.”

  “But, Mom, you don’t know Bianca Del Rio. She is evil with a capital E!”

  “Oh, Nick. I’m sure you’re just exaggerating. I bet she’s just misunderstood and didn’t know a more… appropriate… way to get your attention. You should be grateful, really—girls rarely come right out and tell guys how they feel like that.”

  “No, Mom, you don’t get it. She vowed to the entire lunchroom that she would be the mother of my firstborn child. Before the school year was out.”

  “You know, Nick, this is one time it’s a good idea to run from a girl. I’ll go polish your spikes.”

  We were ten minutes late for my appointment at Gatekeeper, but only one other couple was browsing the L-shaped store. A salesman was helping the other guy into a tux while the girl with him looked ready to explode with excitement. A small woman in a blue suit bustled over to us.

  “Welcome to Gatekeeper Bridal. I’m Denise. How can I help the two of you?”

  I showed her my letter. She perused it briefly, thanked me for coming and happily motioned for me to follow.

  “I love this place,” Moiré said as her eyes ate up the merchandise. “Freshman year, my girlfriend Jen and I used to come here at least once a month just to try on dresses.”

  “Fun.”

  “Oh yes.” She smiled. “Nick? How long do you think you’ll be?”

  I shrugged.

  “I’m going to try on a few dresses.”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  And with that, the sales rep led me to a bench by a cluster of full-length mirrors. “You will be fitted here,” Denise said. “Your tuxedo is ready, but our tailor is running an errand. I apologize, but he just phoned us to say he’ll be another twenty minutes. Feel free to use any open dressing room.”

  I assured Denise that all was well and mentioned that Moiré could probably use some help. The woman brightened and scurried off to play dress-up with Moiré. I walked to the register to pay the balance on my tux and then returned to my little bench.

  Moiré had time for three different formal gowns before an elderly gentleman hurried in and was told I was waiting for my tux. He apologized sincerely, led me to my dressing room and then brought me the tux. I was back in front of the mirrors minutes later. He took time to discover my preferences and was a model of friendliness, insisting I call him “Fernando.” Once Fernando understood my wants he began carefully stretching a tape measure across me and putting pins in the right places. When he finished, I turned to ask Moiré what she thought. She was nowhere in sight.

  Figuring she’d gone to find another dress, I walked around the bend in the store and…

  “Holy…”

  Moiré shined from a triple-mirrored dais. She turned this way and that, admiring herself in a wedding dress. A pair of diamond studs twinkled on her ears, complemented by a white gold choker holding a pearl. The dress had a little bolero with a sleek, raised collar that made her look regal and elegant. My only option was to stare.

  “Esta bellisimo, sí?” Fernando asked. “Very beautiful, yes?”

  I nodded stupidly.

  “When will you marry?”

  “December. I mean, October. Wait. No.” I tore my eyes away from Moiré but only half-turned to the older man. His eyes were mischievous. He seemed to know something I didn’t. Or maybe it was something I didn’t want to admit.

  “Esa mujer no es mi novia, señor.” That woman is not my girlfriend, sir.

  “No?”

  I could only mutter “No.” No, she wasn’t my girlfriend. She was just a little too late for that.

  He smiled wide and we watched as Denise helped Moiré make a few adjustments. Finally, satisfied with herself, Moiré lightly stepped down to the floor and promenaded toward me. I bowed reflexively at her majestic beauty. She smiled magnanimously and held out her hand. Three years of romance novels took over; I took the hand and brushed my lips across her knuckles. It was only proper.

  Her eyes engaged me in a whole new way. “Well?” she asked, giving me a look.

  I had no words. I had no power to move.

  “That’s what I thought.” She smirked and hit me with a wink.

  Without another word she walked daintily away to disguise herself as an everyday woman. My eyes wouldn’t let go of her. Her backward glance and smile turned my insides to jelly.

  “Señor Cairn,” Fernando said, “ella te quiere.” She loves you, Mister Cairn. “Suya amor está en sus ojos.” Her love is in her eyes. “You should marry her quickly. Have many beautiful children.”

  Don’t tell me that, Fernando. Please don’t tell me that.

  I needed to ground myself in reality. I should probably ditch this monkey suit. Willing my legs to move, I began trudging back to the dressing room.

  “Hello? Anyone? I’m here for my dress!”

  I froze. That was Ella’s voice behind me and it was getting closer.

  “Hey, you in the tux. Do you work here?”

  I bolted without thought, hoping all the mirrors didn’t reveal my true identity.

  “Nick? Nicky? Is that…?”

  Too late. But I was in the dressing area by now. I grabbed the door handle of my dressing room.

  Locked.

  For the love of Peter.

  The next knob was locked as well.

  “Nick? Is that you?” I felt my guts turn to ice.

  A rustling from the far end of the dressing area caught my ear and I bounded down the corridor in two steps.

  I knocked quietly but quickly. “Moiré,” I hissed. “You in there?”

  Another rustle. “Nick? Yeah, I’m just about to get changed. I won’t be a minute.”

  “I need in. Right now.”

  “That’s a bit… forward for you, Nick.”

  “Please! Now! It’s my fiancée!”

  The lock fumbled and the door whipped open. I dived inside and nearly knocked Moiré into the far wall. She dodged gracefully and shut the door without slamming it, locking it quickly.

  Ella called for me again.

  “Wow, Nick. You’re pale.”

  There was no way I’d explain my way out of this. A smart man would have just turned around and greeted his bride-to-be with a warm kiss. Too late for that.

  When Ella knocked on the door behind me, it might as well have been Death himself.

  “Oui?” Moiré said out of nowhere. I was impressed with her accent.

  A pause. “Nick?”

  “Nicol
as qui? Sarkozy?”

  Moiré knew French, huh? Wow. We were a regular little linguistics team here.

  “Pardonnez-moi, mademoiselle,” Ella said. Now we just needed a little Swahili and we were set. “Je cherchais quelqu'un.”

  “Mon nom n'est pas Nicolas,” Moiré answered. I only caught the part about my name.

  Ella muttered something and then said, “Ah. excusez-moi.” I heard her walk away. When I was sure she was beyond earshot, I slumped heavily against the wall and slid to a stop on the stool.

  “Un… believable,” I groaned. “There’s no way that just happened.”

  “Busted,” Moiré mocked.

  She earned the glare.

  She returned an impish look. “Teasing, Nick. Oh and pardon my French.”

  “Har, har. Clever save, though.”

  “I thought so.”

  I flushed as suddenly I remembered my situation. Thankfully, Moiré had only taken off the choker and was starting in on the veil.

  “Sorry to barge in on you like that. And Moiré?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t forthright about my engagement. I… I just didn’t want it cluttering things up between us.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “Professionally, I mean. The Code. I’ll explain later.” Sure. Once I admitted it to myself.

  She warmed me with an assenting grin. “That’s fine. I figured it out when I saw that letter congratulating you and talking about your fitting.” She glanced beyond the door. “Have you thought about introducing us?”

  “NO!”

  Moiré jumped.

  “Sorry. It’s just… well…,” I gestured around, “my fiancée—Ella—would never buy the ‘this ain’t what it looks like’ line if she caught us like this. I really should go.”

  Moiré moved aside and unlocked the door. I thanked her and edged past her. I closed my eyes to avoid acknowledging that our noses were flirting with millimeters of separation and that our lips weren’t too far behind.

  Stumbling into the hall, I inhaled deeply and staggered to the entrance to the dressing room. I leaned against the wall for a moment, to catch my breath. Moiré had followed me, still jesting with those eyes. And still in that dress. I needed out.

  “Moiré? I need to get someone to unlock my dressing room. Stupid me managed to lock myself out. All my stuff is in there.”

  Her mouth played with a laugh, but didn’t let it out. “Okay. I’ll come with you, just to make sure you don’t lose your way.”

  “I think I’ve got this,” I said sardonically and then made my way toward the register.

  Rounding the store’s corner, I seized all over again. Denise was playing Judas to me, pointing back toward my position while Ella was making noise about whether a man of my description had come in.

  “Yes, he was scheduled for a fitting today,” I heard the old woman say. “He came in earlier, just after some other gentleman and Fernando fitted him. I haven’t seen him since he went back to change. He may have left by now.”

  Ella wasn’t waiting for Denise to finish. I jerked behind the corner as Ella’s angry eyes were swinging my way. I wished dearly for my old track spikes.

  “Fernando,” I said as I power-walked past the tailor. “Gracias por todos. Necesito que me prestes esto esmoquin. Voy a traer de vuelta más tarde. Hay mujer locisima detrás de mi. Corremos!” Fernando, thanks for everything. I need to borrow the tux. I’ll bring it back later. Crazy lady back there—gotta run!

  Fernando nodded knowingly and stepped into the middle of the aisle. My gut told me he was going to run interference for me. Vaya con Diós, Fernando. And bless you.

  “Nick?” Moiré asked from the dressing area, obviously confused as I blew by her.

  “No time! Fleeing!” And I broke into a trot. “Meet me… somewhere!” I called behind me as I dashed out into the open-air mall. Then I was flying down the sidewalk through the mall. I had no idea where I was going; naked survival instinct was driving me now.

  “Nick? Nick!” It was Ella.

  Great.

  A winding staircase came into view across the small street and I sprinted for it, heedless of traffic. Cars screeched to a halt, honking. I leapt onto the stairs and raced up and around to the mezzanine that overlooked the whole stretch of the mall; this would at least keep me out of the road. Part of my mind was screaming, “Hide, you idiot!” but my feet ignored my brain; it was blind adrenaline now.

  “Nicholas Cairn! Get back here right now!”

  Her voice was still too close. First the foreign language skills and now she was a sprinter? What else did I not know about Ella? I continued to run, weaving through dozens of startled shoppers, ignoring the curses thrown at my back.

  Just as I was passing a stuffed animal kiosk, a woman finished browsing and pushed her stroller into the lane without looking. I hurdled the stroller expertly and was rewarded with a loud ripping sound.

  Good thing I’ve paid for this.

  Something familiar tugged at the edge of my hearing. I slowed just enough to safely glance behind. Ella was losing ground so I slowed a bit more, trying to figure out what I was hearing. There it was again.

  “CHINCHILLA!”

  What?

  I juked right and looked down over the mezzanine’s rail without breaking stride. Below, Moiré was also dodging through the crowds. She caught a glimpse of me and yelled again.

  “GO TO THE CATHEDRAL!”

  “WHAT?”

  “KA—THEE—DRAL!”

  I could do that. St. Mary Magdalene’s was only a block or two from the far edge of the mall. That place was big enough to hold a football field; plenty of places to hide. If I could only ditch Ella...

  “NICHOLAS CAIRN! STOP!”

  A pair of cops looked up, but I was past them before they could drop their donuts. The slap-slap-slap of Ella’s shoes went quiet for a few seconds, but when she started running again, I could hear others running with her.

  Dear Diary, today I killed my engagement and got myself arrested. Weather is fine; wish I were.

  I pressed on harder and I heard them falling behind. Just for good measure, I tipped over a chair at one of the outdoor café tables; that should slow them down. Maybe.

  Stores, people, kiosks all blurred together. My heart threatened to hammer a hole in my chest. My dress shoes reminded me they were made for dancing and standing around. So this was what it was like to be chased by the Devil. Note to self: despite it all, I felt more alive than I had in a while.

  The mezzanine wound lazily to the right and I saw an escalator and an elevator in front of me. I glanced over the railing again, surprised to see Moiré ahead of me, heading out of the shopping plaza by the east avenue. Dang. Quick little filly, especially in a dress.

  Turning my attention ahead, I saw the escalator was barred. Orange road cones blocked my way like dwarven construction workers and debris littered the top of the stairs. A sign said, “Escalator closed for remodeling.” I slammed into the elevator door to stop myself; I didn’t feel a thing. I crushed the “down” button and willed the elevator to move. Hey, it worked in the movies, right?

  Turns out, I wasn’t in the movies.

  Any ground I’d gained was disappearing quickly, while the elevator decided whether it really wanted to heave itself to the upper level.

  “Stop right there!”

  Time’s up.

  I scrambled away from the elevator, shoving aside a few more people as I flew around the curve of the sidewalk. To my horror, the curve hooked hard around a building only to dead-end in a small balcony flanked by decorative street lamps. I had maybe fourteen seconds if I was lucky.

  I ran to the balcony rail, frantically looking at the street below. I guesstimated a ten, fifteen-foot drop. There were no convenient awnings to jump onto. The store next to me was vacant and locked. Ella and her boys were closing and I didn’t feel like breaking my legs. There! A long, low planter might break my fall. No, too narr
ow a target. I couldn’t think clearly through my adrenal haze. Seven seconds—only enough time for instinct. I whipped off my jacket, rolled it up tight as I could and wrapped it around one of the lamp poles. I employed my best death grip and awkwardly hitched myself over the guardrail.

  The first cop appeared. I swore he was starting to reach for his gun.

  Three cheers for unintentional suicide attempts.

  Then I was falling, fighting hard to brake myself with shoes designed to slide. I hit the ground hard amid a chorus of gasps. Without thinking, I barrel-rolled over the planter (another rip) and flattened myself behind it, praying it was enough.

  From above I heard Ella yelling in surprise and the cops muttering something that was probably meant to soothe her. Their voices faded after half a minute. I could only hope they’d assumed I was gone.

  People were gaping. A small crowd was starting to gather. Blast. This would give me away for sure. I carefully poked half my head up above my hiding spot. The coast was clear, so I got to my feet.

  Brushing myself off, I looked around at the crowd all pointing and talking. I decided to try an old trick I’d seen on TV once.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” I said in a loud, clear voice, “you have all been privileged to be part of a real live chase scene. Look around and you may even see some cameras. Thank you all for participating.” I made a grand bow and an old woman started clapping. Soon, everyone was clapping. I heard women wondering aloud whether I was “that handsome on the screen,” and several pulled small note pads from their purses.

  “No autographs please,” I blurted. “We’re not done here. Thank you again and have a great day.” I bowed quickly and looked for an exit.

  “Police! Stand where you are!”

  Game on!

  I parted the crowd like Moses did the Red Sea and they sent me off with cheers as I broke for the main thoroughfare. Soon I was clear of the shopping plaza, but the sidewalks were still packed and I was out of places to hide. That left one option—a straight sprint for the cathedral. And so it was me hoofing it at speeds nudging the sound barrier while Ella and her police escort bulled their way up behind me. I hopped cars, pirouetted between bystanders and even put a hole in a small hedge (do not try that at home, kids—it really, really hurts), but finally, the Cathedral of St. Mary Magdalene came into view across a long, cobble-stone courtyard.