Waking Sleeping Beauty (Book 2, Once Upon A Romance Series)

by leclair, laurie

  Her hands shook as she gingerly transferred the sweets to the awaiting silver serving trays.

  “Here, let me,” Evelyn offered, nudging Francie aside.

  Looking at her eager, dark-haired, bright-eyed assistant, Francie smiled gratefully and backed away, afraid she’d drop something. “You’re so sweet.”

  “Gosh, Francie. I’ve pinched myself black and blue this past week, wondering how I got so lucky as to work in the wedding boutique. I’m dreaming!” she squealed. “Did you peek out there? There’s a line waiting.”

  Rico interrupted, “Okay,” he tapped a finger on his oversize watch, “it’s show-time, girls!”

  Screwing up her courage, Francine wiped her damp palms on her black skirt. “Do I look all right?”

  He pinched her cheeks. “There, better.”

  With her assistants urging her toward the closed curtains, Francie prayed she wouldn’t faint. Once there, she let out a long, slow breath. “Ready?” she asked.

  “Hit it, Boss,” Rico and Evelyn said in unison as they drew back the heavy fuchsia drapes.

  Francine blinked at the swell of people and the round of applause that greeted her. Her good manners took over her nerves. She pasted on what she hoped was a warm, welcoming smile. “Thank you, please come in. We have refreshments for your pleasure. If there’s any questions, my assistants, Rico and Evelyn, or myself will be more than happy to help.”

  She recognized a few employees waiting in line, along with two managers, and many female customers. They began streaming by her. Their high-pitched voices and giggles fueled her excitement.

  “Oh, honey, we’re a hit,” Rico whispered as he stood beside her. “Oh, no, she didn’t. Look at her hair. It’s teased to Tucson!”

  Holding back her chuckle, Francie scolded him, “Not now, Rico. Later, when we’ve already sold her, all right?”

  “If you say so, but really, so yesterday. And that color.”

  She steered him away from his obsession. “Skip her. Go to the next one.”

  “Here, take this.” He shoved a tray of petit fours into her hands. Thankfully, he did leave, ushering in a pretty dark-haired young woman. “I like that scarf, honey. Did you get that here?”

  Phew! That was a close one.

  “Are you Francine King?” An older woman and a younger woman, mother and daughter duo she suspected, approached.

  “Yes, ma’am, I am.” She held out the tray and smiled widely.

  After picking up a treat with just two dainty fingers, the mother whispered under her breath, “See, I told you, you’re better looking than she is. How in the world does she think she’s going to pull this off, I’ll never know.”

  She gulped hard. “Excuse me?”

  “Francie,” someone called out, interrupting her.

  Looking around, she saw Peg pushing her way through the crowd. Marcus’ assistant waved the newspaper at her. “Francie, holy guacamole, I’ve got to tell you something.”

  With her free hand, she grabbed ahold of the gasping woman. “Peg, are you all right?” Could something have happened to Marcus?

  “Warning.” She held up the ad for the opening of the boutique. “Not good. Danger, Will Robinson, danger!”

  Just then, Francine became aware of Marcus storming toward her. “Explain,” he bit out, also holding up a copy of the ad.

  His green eyes were chips of icy anger. Her middle knotted. “What’s wrong?”

  They were making a scene, a very public one at that, she realized as several nearby customers grew silent and stared at her.

  “You authorized the ad, is that correct?” Marcus’ voice seemed to be edged with the same frost in his eyes.

  She gulped hard, nodding.

  “You approved this?”

  Peg stepped in. “Boss, it was me,” she said, nearly cowering. “My bad, I swear, scout’s honor.” She held up three fingers.

  Francine had never seen Peg act anything but confident and in control before. Something must be seriously wrong.

  Gazing from his shocked face to Peg’s, Francie grabbed the paper and read each line, beginning from the top. She didn’t have to go too far before she found it.

  Help Francine King find the groom for the wedding of her dreams!

  “No, you didn’t?!”

  Peg cringed. “’Fraid so, kiddo. I was just trying to help get the ball rolling and get more interest. You know, it will help business.” She must have read Francine’s face; she said, “Ouch!”

  Silence reigned. Tentatively, she glanced at Marcus. The muscle along his jaw jumped. She dared to look in his eyes again. Fury, she thought. “King’s Department Store is not, I repeat not, pimping you out, got it, Francine?”

  Her head swam. He did not just say that, did he?

  In the background, she heard an unmistakable sound. A woman cleared her throat again. “Francine,” she called.

  Marcus and Peg parted, turning toward the woman. “Holy crap, Batman!” Peg cried.

  As if in slow motion, Francine looked at the older, sophisticated lady stop in front of her, the paper tucked under one arm. “I’m so glad to see that you’ve come around to my way of thinking, Francine. I have a few prospects in mind for you.”

  That familiar voice lanced through her. She felt the color drain from her face. Her fingers went numb and she dropped the serving tray. Metal hit marble with a crash. “Mother!”

  Chapter 8

  “Quick, tell me what happened,” Charlie urged as she nibbled on a saltine cracker. “Before Dolly comes back. She’s been a mother hen these last few days and I’m going stir crazy with nothing to do in this house all day.”

  Sitting across from her stepsister at the kitchen table, Francine cringed. “I thought Peg would have filled you in on the gory details already.”

  “Some, but she had to hang up fast before she could finish.” She sipped her tea.

  Francie sighed heavily and toyed with the china teacup in front of her. “I felt like a ten-year-old all over again. Mother assumes I’m now in her camp and is desperate enough to advertise for a groom. Of course, she commented on the boutique.”

  “Uh huh.”

  She nodded, feeling the sting of heat prick her cheeks. The hurtful words flooded back now. “Wrong colors. Too flashy. Where in the world are my manners? I should have done it this way or that way. Ah, I could go on and on. I’ll spare you.”

  “What, she didn’t ask you to play the piano again?”

  That had her chuckling. “Very funny.” She recalled how her mother would have her play for prospective grooms. “I think I scared away quite a few with that racket.”

  “You are pretty bad.”

  “You don’t have to rub it in, you know.”

  “I told you I had too much time on my hands.”

  Francie eyed her stepsister. Even though she still couldn’t keep much down, Charlie didn’t seem as fragile as she did at the office that last day. “Then can I ask you a favor?” She held up her hands. “It’s not too demanding and right up your alley.”

  “Ask away.”

  “Can you design the wedding dress? The one for the mystery wedding. I can’t find the one I want.”

  She frowned. “The ones you’ve tried on—none are close?”

  “Peg told you.”

  “Who better to model the wedding dresses for the new website and the online ads than you?”

  Trying on the pure silk dress with the sweetheart neckline and slight ruching earlier today didn’t make her feel like a criminal this time—at least she’d had permission to do so—but it fell flat of what she wanted for her own wedding dress. “I’ve got some ideas, if you’re interested.”

  “Count me in.” Charlie rubbed her hands together.

  Smiling, Francie quickly explained her thoughts, ticking off all the details she’d come to like. She ended with, “Classic, yet modern.”

  “You don’t want much, do you?” Her grin softened her words. “Don’t worry. I’ll work on a few sket
ches over the next couple of days and get back to you. Our secret.”

  “Do you think Dolly would sew it for us?” Francie gulped hard. “It’s the timing. No one else could do it in the time frame I need. Less than nine weeks away. I’ll never get an original in that short of time. And none of the rack or sample dresses are suited for what I have in mind.” She stopped babbling and held her breath.

  Her stepsister tapped her fingers on the table. “Hmmm. I may just be able to convince her. If I start sketching, she’ll want to know what I’m doing. She is kind of disappointed I’ve had to put my design business on hold until I get someone permanently on board at King’s and have a healthy baby.” She rubbed the nonexistent bump on her belly. “Yes, she loves a challenge. But mums the word for now.”

  “Here we are,” Dolly cried, rushing into the room. “Look what I found on our doorstep.”

  Glancing up quickly at the woman’s sudden reappearance, Francine’s jaw dropped at the sight of the man following Charlie’s cook and friend. “Marcus,” she squeaked out. She hadn’t spoken to him since the big reveal and confrontation earlier in the week. By all accounts, they’d avoided each other, he to run the store and her to keep up with the high demand for her talents as wedding consultant.

  He drew back. “Francine.” He shot her a guarded look. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” His voice could freeze water.

  “No such thing,” Dolly chimed in, pushing him toward the table. “Just like family, honey. You sit and visit while I finish up dinner. Chicken and dumplings, one of your favorites. I remember.”

  Francie gulped as he took a chair just a few inches from her. Suddenly, the space narrowed. His heat and scent drifted to her and she wondered if there was such a thing as swooning; she thought she would any minute now.

  There was something about the tall, broad shouldered man that made her heart beat faster and her blood warm. She stole a sideways glance at him. He was looking at her. Jerking her attention away, she encountered Charlie’s expression, her eyebrows raised in question.

  “It was nice visiting with you, Charlie.” She made to stand. “I see you and…Mr. Goode must have business to discuss.”

  “Marcus,” his curt voice cut through her, “and don’t leave on my account.” He reached out and grabbed her elbow to stop her from going.

  It seared through her white silk blouse. He must have felt it, too; he yanked his hand away.

  “Stay,” Charlie coaxed, glancing from Francine to Marcus and back again. “I know you can’t resist Dolly’s home cooking. Have you had a decent meal since you walked out on your mother?”

  She didn’t have to turn to know Marcus’ intent stare was on her, the way her skin prickled with awareness.

  “You walked out?” Marcus asked, obviously not hearing this before.

  Her smile, small and tight, was one of practiced politeness. She glared at Charlie for that admission. But she sensed her stepsister was trying to inform Marcus of her non-cooperation with her mother’s ideas.

  “Yes, it’s a long story,” Francine said with a dismissive air.

  “Oh, come on,” Dolly piped up, “the old battle-ax stole their trust funds. Years of lying, cheating, and domineering her own daughters.”

  The truth stung. Francine blinked to keep the fresh tears from forming. She was little more than a commodity. It was still a shock to comprehend the enormity of her mother’s desperate need to control everything and everyone around her.

  Seeing her face to face this week had hammered it home. Her mother hadn’t changed in that regard. No, she’d relished leaving Francie a list of eligible bachelors to contact for her search. Marcus had glared at the paper littered with the names of prospective grooms while Francine numbly shook her head, stunned by the gall of the woman she’d once trusted, trusted to make the best decisions for her, trusted her to be a mother, not a domineering nightmare who swooped in and took over people’s lives.

  Marcus stiffened. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “That explains a great deal.”

  Not able to speak, she nodded. She didn’t want his sympathy. Thrusting her chin up higher, she said, “I’ll survive.” I can do this! She meant it. There may be obstacles, roadblocks even. And there may be doubting Thomases all around her, but she’d show them. “I’m a King.”

  “Indeed you are,” he murmured.

  ***

  Why did she have to smell so good? he wondered as she brushed past him, her scent tickling his senses. Dolly had pleaded for his last-minute help with their meal and Francine had offered to set the table. Now, she stretched to reach the plates.

  He came up behind her, attempting to help with the china. “Here, let me.”

  She sucked in a breath. Pulling back, she leaned into him. She jerked away, bumping his chest. He groaned. Could she just touch him some more? Graze his hip once again?

  Francine sidestepped him, heading for the silverware instead.

  Mentally, Marcus kicked himself for reacting to her at all. After the fiasco a few days ago, he swore he’d stay away. When things had calmed down and business picked up, he’d walked away. But, he’d been drawn back. Out of curiosity at first. He soon found out advertising worked.

  Women were lined up to get a peek at the boutique, fawning over every detail of the hip, chic little oasis in the midst of King’s Department Store. Each day brought more and more customers. The interest should have had Marcus delighted. However, he’d scowled at the number of men lingering around her, touching her arm, and giving her their cards.

  With that ad, Peg might as well have declared King’s a dating service. He shook his head at his harsh words to Francine. It wasn’t her fault. He knew that now. But then, when her mother had arrived, he’d suspected the worst: Francine and her mother had arranged the ad and the subsequent groom-seeking.

  Now, Francie dodged him as she rushed past. “Wait, Francie, before we join them.” He nodded to Dolly gently scolding Charlie for getting up again. “I want to apologize.”

  She gripped the placemats to her as she glanced into his eyes.

  “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

  “Done?” she asked, trying to duck around him.

  He held out his arm, essentially trapping her against the counter. “I’m sorry.” He meant it.

  “You should be,” she countered. “Now will you let me go?”

  Her sudden candidness made him chuckle. Being this close to her had his blood buzzing. She was off-limits, so why did he dare to cross the line? Why did she capture his attention and interest more than any other woman had?

  She intrigued him, made him go hot all over and lose track of his tried and true practice of never, ever getting involved with his employees. “We need to work together,” he said, wondering if he’d finally convinced himself hands off Francie while conducting business.

  “At the store, of course. Away from the store, we can be polite. How’s that?”

  Why didn’t he like that? It was exactly the code of conduct he needed to observe.

  “Let’s make a deal, Marcus.” Her voice sounded like honey. “No more outside contact.”

  “Outside contact?”

  “No more taxi cab rides, or going with you to visit your mom, or meals at Charlie’s. And no more…” her gaze drifted to his mouth, “kisses.”

  Could innocent words cut you to the quick like that? He tried to recover from the sinking sensation in the pit of his belly. But she did have a point. So why did the heat of her stare contradict everything she’d just said?

  ***

  “Deal?” he asked, sticking out his hand. Hesitantly, Francie eyed his hand: long, square, solid. It was a hand you’d never find weakness in, or indecisiveness; no, nothing but confidence, firm, strong conviction. It reminded her of her father’s handshake she’d often witness. Many a deal had been sealed with just that, a handshake. His flesh skimmed hers, palm touched palm; she slid her hand in his, feeling as if his large grasp engulfed hers.

  There wa
s something there, electricity, she thought as her nerves zapped along where he touched and up her arm

  “Deal,” he said softly, too darn softly. His voice, low and sugarcoated, poured over her, sinking into every crevice.

  Reluctantly, he pulled away. “No more touching.” He seemed to make that one up as he went along.

  “Agreed.” She curled her fingers into her palm, trying to hold onto that one last forbidden touch. Skirting by him, she rushed to the table, making short, quick work of setting it. Her sister’s eyes followed her. “Alex late?” she asked, her words mere gasps as she tried to stomp down on the stab of pain shooting through her.

  “Working late. He’s setting up the West Coast division. Remember, I told you that when you got here?”

  Francie stopped for a moment, jerking her gaze to Charlie’s curious stare. How could she have forgotten the reason for the dinner invitation? Charlie’s new husband had called, begging Francie and her sister, Priscilla, to visit so he could feel reassured his wife had company while he fulfilled his obligations to his family’s business tonight—a dull, boring business dinner.

  Smiling tightly, she shrugged off her forgetfulness. “Too bad Prissy had a night shift, huh?”

  “What’s going on?” Charlie whispered, glancing at Marcus and Dolly put the finishing touches on the meal.

  “I’m under the gun,” she said, throwing a look over her shoulder, making sure the others weren’t overhearing them. “I’ve got to make this a success. I’m scared,” she confessed, in her heart of hearts knowing she spoke of both her fear of failing and not being able to take care of herself and of the feelings Marcus stirred up. “I’ve never done this before.”

  “Francie.”

  “Here we are,” Dolly chirped, leading Marcus to the table.

  “Looks delish,” Francie said, meeting Marcus’ eyes.

  “You talking ’bout the food or him?” Dolly chuckled, nudging her arm. “Oh, honey, I’d be eating him up, too, if I was your age.”