01 Do You Believe in Magic - The Children of Merlin

by Susan Squires

  “She’s got more boobs than I do.”

  “And she likes to let them spill out quite obscenely, so she wears her dresses too tight,” Jane said firmly.

  At least the dress had straps, wide chiffon ones. The bodice was all swaths of chiffon that intertwined over her breasts. Jane was right. She didn’t need a bra. The skirt was swirly and fell to just above Maggie’s knees. On Drew it would have revealed most of her thighs. “Let me see,” she said, craning around Jane to the mirror.

  “Absolutely not,” Jane said, turning her around. As she zipped up the dress, the bodice closed around Maggie with surprising firmness. Jane held out her hands to Drew, who spilled something into them.

  “Shoes?” Drew asked doubtfully.

  “I’ll break both legs if I wear heels like that,” Maggie said, pointing to Drew’s sandals.

  “Okay, Jimmy Choo and Manolo are out.” Drew frowned as if that left no other choices.

  “Go get Kee’s ballet slippers,” Jane said calmly.

  “The ones she wears with slacks?” Drew’s eyes opened wide.

  “Yes.”

  Drew nodded and dashed off. Maggie wouldn’t have thought Drew knew how to dash. Or how to take directions from her timid friend. But that one word had certainly been an order.

  Jane came around and put earrings into Maggie’s ears and pulled a necklace around her neck. She grabbed a chair and pushed Maggie into it, faced away from the mirror.

  “You must understand, of all people,” Maggie pleaded, in a last-ditch attempt to avoid disaster. “I don’t belong here.”

  “Funny, I think that’s just how Tristram feels.” Jane began brushing Maggie’s hair.

  “I won’t know what to say to people.” Maggie hated to admit she was pleading.

  “Believe me, you won’t have to say much of anything,” Jane said.

  “Yeah, when they see me prancing around in a borrowed dress, no one will talk to me at all.” The laughter and conversation from the terrace floated up through the window ominously.

  Jane twisted Maggie’s hair up. “I should think you’d want to support Tristram. I can see that he feels comfortable with you, and these things tend to be difficult for him.”

  Jane was right. Hadn’t she come with Tris specifically to back him up in the face of family? In the last day, though, everything had gotten confused. His family wasn’t horrible. Okay, Mr. Tremaine was a little intimidating. And Kemble had been snotty this afternoon, but only to protect Tris. Who wouldn’t think someone like Maggie wanted his money? Tris’s mother was nothing short of wonderful. Lanyon and Devin were okay for teenage boys. And the girls... well, they were all smart and funny, and... really kind to fix her up.

  “Just why is Tris so afraid of his family?” The question kind of burst out of her. She felt she had to explain. “I... I think they’re really nice.”

  Jane worked on Maggie’s hair for a minute, sticking pins here and there, before she answered. “I guess he thinks he doesn’t measure up.”

  Maggie snorted. “Every girl on that terrace is angling to give him her phone number.”

  “As if that’s what he wanted...,” Jane murmured. “There.” She stepped back as Drew let herself into the room waving a pair of shoes the color of old silver. They weren’t really ballet slippers. But they had only a little heel, and a rounded toe with a little rhinestone buckle.

  “Put those on,” Jane ordered, handing her tissues to put in the toes. She went to a dressing table and pawed through several drawers, coming up with two brushes, a jar, and a small case, along with a mascara wand. The slippers fit pretty well, considering.

  “Close your eyes.”

  “Look, there’s no use trying to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear,” Maggie sighed.

  Jane raised her brows. Maggie’s shoulders sagged. They were being very nice. Disaster or not, she couldn’t avoid this evening. “Just don’t make me look cheap.”

  “Would I do that?” Jane whispered.

  “You wouldn’t mean to,” Maggie allowed. “But I’m not cut out for makeup.” Maggie felt some sweeps across her brow bone and eyelids. A whisper of a brush across her cheeks.

  “Look up.” Two swipes of the mascara on each eye.

  “Okay, stand up.” Jane stood back herself and exchanged a look with Drew. Jane was almost smug. Drew was just blinking. Maggie turned around.

  A strange woman looked out of the mirror. It wasn’t Maggie O’Brian. She was short but well proportioned. The dress made her look graceful as it swirled just above her knees. The chiffon straps, wider at the shoulder, somehow made her cleavage look bigger than it really was. Her neck was elegant under her upswept hair. The simple studs and the sparkling stone on an almost invisible chain were diamonds. Definitely not cheap and not out of place either. And she had eyes much bigger and greener than Maggie O’Brian’s were. Did the whisper of lavender on her eyelids and the dress do that? No sign of the bruise on her cheek, or the one on her sternum. When had they gone away?

  “You are the prettiest sow’s ear I’ve ever seen,” Drew said, smiling. “Now, let’s go save Tris from the barbarian hordes.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Your brother says you build fancy cycles and cars,” the one called Dawn said brightly.

  Tris sighed. He’d bet his mother invited them because they had Celtic last names. They weren’t Drew’s friends. Too stupid. “So they say.” He looked over to Kemble and lifted his glass in salute. Good going, brother. Kemble had probably sicced the girls on him in a craven gesture of self-preservation. Now that Tris looked more carefully, he saw that it hadn’t worked. Kemble had his own three admirers. Kemble lifted his glass in a world-weary return of the salute. Tris was surprised the girls were still interested after they heard what he did. Guess it was the bad-boy factor kicking in. They all liked to think they were doing something dangerous, but at the same time they were sure they could tame the beast.

  “I hear you have lots of celebrity clients,” the one called Ashley simpered. There was no other word for her tone of voice. “Whose cars have you done?”

  Better question might be whom he’d done. Or how many times a night. Bet they didn’t want to hear that. Okay. Okay. He had to say something here. “Uh… that girl who was in the movie with the robots?”

  “Not Brenda Foxfield! Oh, my God. What’s she like?”

  His mother couldn’t honestly believe he’d be interested in these girls, could she? Not after she’d seen Maggie. But of course she hadn’t known about Maggie when she’d drawn up the guest list. Or even that he’d be here. These must have been destined for Kemble. He glanced to his mother. She was looking a warning he couldn’t miss a mile away from her royal spot near the buffet table. Better be civil to these simpering idiots. So he didn’t say, “She sucks cock like a plumber’s helper.” Since he really couldn’t remember her very well, he said, “Uh, she’s… nice.”

  “Have you ever done a car for Tom Damonde?” That was Dawn. Bet she had pictures of Damonde, shirtless, all over her dorm room.

  “Nope.” He didn’t want to give her anything, but under his mother’s stare, he relented. “He likes cycles.”

  “You built him a motorcycle?” The two girls stalked forward like ravening beasts. He lost the thread of their overlapping questions as he backed away, almost tripping over a chair. Damn cast. Even the one Kemble had ordered delivered from some medical supply store made him limp a little, though it was much smaller and lighter. Tris had arranged a little delivery from the local pharmacy of his own. A bunch of stupid things he didn’t need, just to camouflage the condoms, though he was sure whoever made up the order wasn’t fooled for a second.

  The harpies had him backed up against a table when he felt her come into the yard. One girl had her hand on his arm. They were saying something or other, but he didn’t care. Over their heads he saw Drew coming out the French doors. And there was Kee. Couldn’t they move out of the way? He knew she was there.

  God in he
aven, there she was.

  He’d never seen a woman so beautiful. It wasn’t that she was transformed. More like revealed. He moved one of the girls out of his way with one hand and pushed through them. He might have muttered, “Excuse me.” He wasn’t sure.

  “What a prick,” one of them said behind him.

  Drawn through the crowds, he saw Maggie pause on the brink of the deck, looking uncertain. Jane was behind her. Jane pointed to him. Then Maggie saw him. He was pretty sure he had another loopy grin on his face. His eyes filled. How stupid was that? But it wasn’t his fault that his heart was thumping on his ribs like a prisoner trying to break jail. He was just having some kind of physiologic reaction to her. He wasn’t getting actual tears in his eyes.

  He watched her face soften and her lips smile. She wanted him. He knew it. And he was so damned grateful she wasn’t looking around for Kemble that his knees started to shake. She took a step toward him, onto the terrace. He wasn’t the only one who had noticed her. He saw one guy set down his drink and begin to move in her direction. Now there was another one moving in from the other side. Lord, he was about to be cut out twice in one day. He hurried over to the terrace, sloshing his drink. Thank God he got there first. Probably because he was willing to make a fool of himself by practically running. Small price.

  “How do you like our handiwork?” Drew was talking to him.

  “Go away,” he said, never taking his eyes off Maggie.

  “Well,” Kee humphed, “that’s gratitude if I ever heard it.”

  Drew smiled knowingly and dragged her off. “Come on, sister. I need wine.”

  Tris stood over Maggie. She looked up at him, and it was like there was this physical connection between them that made everything else unimportant, at least to the Tris half of the duo. Tris had such a big lump in his throat he wasn’t sure he could speak. He didn’t know what to say anyway. Maggie wasn’t saying anything either. She was just looking at him with the biggest eyes. They were greener than he’d ever seen them.

  Get yourself together, boy. One of them had to say something. Unless of course, he just dragged her right up to the library and did what he really wanted to do. She doesn’t want to do it right now. She wants to enjoy the party. Okay. Okay. Just say what’s on your mind.

  No, no! Scratch that. Don’t say what’s on your mind. Disaster.

  Say what she wants to hear. What did she want to hear? What all women wanted to hear. Though in this case it was true. “You’re...” He cleared his throat and tried again. “You’re especially beautiful tonight.”

  She smiled. “So are you.”

  There. That wasn’t so hard. But now it was his turn again. Panic. All he could think about was the way the little chain around her neck lay across her collarbone. She looked so fragile. He wanted to protect her. From everything. Forever.

  She was looking up at him expectantly.

  Okay. Okay. “Would you like something to drink? The... the bar has pretty much anything you want. Wine. White and red. Several kinds. Or beer. Martinis. Mojitos. Gin and tonic. Or ... Jack if you like....” He held up his own glass. Shit. Now he was running off at the mouth.

  She broke her gaze from his and looked around the garden doubtfully. “Guess most of the girls here don’t shoot whiskey.”

  No, no, she could not start worrying about not being like these other girls. She would never be like them. And that was good. He glanced around and saw several of them shooting glances like daggers at her. “Why should we care about them?” Was his voice a little too harsh? He chanced sliding an arm around her back and felt a jolt to his heart. It stopped, then galloped on like an engine with dirty valves. He swallowed as she glanced, startled, up to him. Had she felt it too? Whatever she felt, she allowed him to maneuver her through the crowd to the bar.

  “Shot of Jack for the lady,” Tris growled at the bartender. Then he smiled at Maggie. “In honor of the very generous bottle she produced two nights ago when I most needed it.” Had it only been two nights since he’d sat at her kitchen table shooting whiskey and popping Vicodin? He felt higher now than he ever felt that night.

  Good thing about bartenders, they keep a straight face. “Up or on the rocks?”

  “Straight is fine,” Maggie said, her voice a little breathy. Tris liked it that way. If he had his way she’d be even more out of breath before the night was through. How long would this party last? Midnight? Some stragglers until two? When did the staff finish cleaning up?

  Tris thought he might die if he had to wait that long. And he’d shortly have to fend off Kemble. He didn’t doubt it for a minute. The Prince of Wales was used to getting what he wanted. How could he not want Maggie?

  *****

  Tris was acting so strangely. They sat at a table, sipping whiskey. Tris barked at anyone who approached, which resulted in a hasty retreat. When six-four of muscled, angry man barked at you, even though the tux hid the tattoos, you didn’t stick around to annoy him further. But when Tris tried to talk to her, he couldn’t seem to control what came out, so he mostly just kept quiet and stared at his drink, or at her.

  That was okay. Maggie didn’t know what to say to him either. They both knew what was going to happen tonight. And Maggie was feeling light-headed with how right that felt. She was glad for the expression on his face when he first saw her. She would have to thank Jane later. They had made a mostly silk purse out of a sow’s ear. She felt like Cinderella at the ball. Tomorrow she’d be plain Maggie O’Brian again in jeans and boots. But that was tomorrow.

  Maggie was jogged out of her reverie by two looming men. She glanced up to see Kemble and Mr. Tremaine. They each held a plate of food and utensils. Tris glared at them.

  “What are you doing here?” he growled. Whoa. She would never dare talk to Mr. Tremaine that way.

  “We came to see that the lady got something to eat,” Mr. Tremaine said, rather mildly under the circumstances. “Since you seem to be neglecting her needs.”

  Tris looked stricken. He started to get up. Kemble pushed him down as Mr. Tremaine set his plate in front of her. “Now, now, brother dear. The quickest way to make us go away is to say, ‘Thank you for being so thoughtful.’ ” Kemble was grinning.

  “Kemble, go get Miss O’Brian some wine to go with dinner.”

  Kemble gave a mock salute and retreated to the bar.

  “I... I could have gotten her wine,” Tris managed, feeling lame in more ways than one.

  “You’d rather stay here, I can tell. Perhaps your leg is giving you pain.” This was rather pointed.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Maggie exclaimed. “I forgot all about your leg. And here we are drinking with you probably still on pain pills....”

  “He’s fine,” Mr. Tremaine said firmly. “Just very engrossed in the conversation, I expect, right, Tristram?”

  “Right,” Tris said, not meeting his father’s eyes.

  His father looked at Tris rather strangely then back at Maggie. “I’m in a bit of a quandary.”

  “Sir?” Maggie asked. Did this man usually look a little befuddled? She’d bet not.

  “Well, I like you very much, Miss O’Brian. I discovered that at dinner last night. But if I tell you that in front of my son, he’s likely to take a dislike to you. Which would be unfortunate.”

  But he just had said it in front of his son. And that was nice. But why would he think...?

  “Is it that hard between you?” she asked.

  Mr. Tremaine barked a laugh. “I was right to like you. And no.” Here he glanced to his son. “I hope not. Thus my decision.” With that, he executed a little bow. “Don’t be too angry with Kemble,” he said to Tris as he left. “He’s envious of you, you know.”

  Kemble was fast approaching with a glass of white wine and one of red. He set the white wine in front of Maggie, under Tris’s glare. “White, to go with the lobster, I thought.” He handed the other to Tris. “And Bordeaux for the red meat fan.”

  Maggie glanced to her plate. Yup. Lobs
ter. And Kemble had gotten steak from the grill station set up at the barbecue for Tris. “That was very thoughtful, Kemble. Thank you.” You had to give credit where credit was due.

  “Which is my cue to disappear,” Kemble said, and did just that.

  “That was odd,” Maggie said.

  “Very,” Tris said thoughtfully. Then he broke his mood of speculation and said, “Guess you just charm everyone.”

  “I see a whole lot of people here who appear ‘Maggie O’Brian resistant,’ ” she half laughed. His father liked her. That couldn’t be bad, could it? Maybe he hadn’t heard about what happened today. Maybe he never had to know how different she really was. If his father liked her, and his mother liked her, and Tris still liked her tomorrow, then maybe ... maybe this could be more than just a one-night stand....

  *****

  Tris was going nuts. It was ten. They’d finished eating. The party wouldn’t be over for hours. How would he stand it? Maggie had been fidgeting for the last hour, glancing at him, glancing away. Would she just make a run for it if he couldn’t start acting charming pretty soon? Or at least like a real date? He spied Lanyon’s piano, which had been dragged out onto the terrace. All right. Maybe some dancing would assuage his urge to just drag Maggie upstairs. Women loved dancing. The kid himself was over trying to put some pretty lame moves on the two girls Tris had dodged earlier. They appeared to be treating him like a particularly annoying puppy.

  “Lanyon,” he called, startling Maggie, whose gaze darted around the party like he’d yelled “fire” or something.

  Lanyon set his lips, glaring at Tris. But he did come over. “What?”

  “Music,” Tris said, like he was asking for water after days in the desert.

  “Mother said ten thirty.”

  “Now.” Tris swallowed. “Please. Something you can dance to....”

  “Guys with broken legs don’t dance,” Lanyon said, staring pointedly at Tris’s leg.

  Right. “Something... uh... slow.” Maggie was about to protest. “I can do slow dancing.”

  “Wow,” Lanyon said. “I get to play at the prom. I can hardly wait.”