Runaway Cinderella

by Jenny Schwartz

  “Rude, dictatorial—”

  “If you wanted a say in the decision-making, you shouldn’t have fallen asleep.”

  “You could have woken me.”

  “I thought I did.”

  The reminder, and his wicked glance at her mouth, silenced that protest.

  Then she recalled the lack of taxis courtesy of their drivers’ strike. She had no idea where his apartment building was situated, and she shrank from the idea of literally walking the streets searching for a hotel at this late hour.

  Fuming at him and her own impotence, she allowed herself to be herded towards a lift.

  He used a security card, then punched the button for the penthouse.

  The lift whooshed upwards. Cate stared stubbornly at the floor.

  “After you.” He ushered her out of the lift and pushed open the penthouse door. Subdued lighting lit a wide open space.

  Irresistibly, her attention was drawn to the floor length windows.

  “One hundred and eighty degree views. City, river and hills. The view is why I bought this place. That, and it’s easier to lock and leave an apartment than it is a house.”

  “No garden or pets.” She understood. She’d thought the same thing when she’d rented her small flat, the whole of which could have fitted in his lounge room.

  Through the windows she saw the city lights reflecting dreamily in the wide, still Swan River. She yawned.

  “You can have the full tour in the morning. For now, I’ll show you your room.”

  “Sleep sounds wonderful.” She rubbed at her eyes, the wool of her borrowed jumper soft against her face, and made a mental note to skip the tour. She had no intentions of becoming matey with Daniel—and heaven forbid that Rob and Amie marry, and she and Daniel become family!

  The guest room was elegantly decorated in cream and gold, with yet another stunning view from the window. Cate swayed just inside the doorway. All she needed was the bed. “I’m about to crash.”

  “Go for it.” Daniel put her backpack down just inside the door, offered a casual good night, and departed.

  Guiltily, she realised she was staring after him and snuggling into the jumper, enjoying the way it smelled of him. Hastily, she stripped it off, draping it over a chair. She contemplated a shower, then gave up the idea as too much effort. Stripping off the rest of her clothes, she crawled between crisp, lavender scented sheets and slept.

  Ten o’clock found Cate drowsily awake and contemplating the muddle she’d gotten herself into. How on earth had she let herself be reasoned and charmed into staying in Daniel Garren’s penthouse? Could anything be worse? And what had gone wrong with her brain and instincts of self-preservation that for even one second she had felt his attraction?

  “I must have been mad.”

  Renewed by her sleep and determined to set the world to rights, she threw back the covers and swung her legs out of bed.

  There was a brisk knock at the door before it opened.

  Cate yelped and dived back under the covers.

  Daniel watched. He wore jeans and a white T shirt which hugged his chest. His feet were bare. Yesterday, in his business suit, he’d been formidable. In casual dress, he was devastating. His appearance was a reminder that with this millionaire it was the man himself who was powerful, not his money.

  “What do you want?” She tugged the covers up to her neck, uncaring that the action revealed her lack of sophistication. With Daniel, she felt the need for any protection she could claim.

  “I phoned Rob and he wants a word with you.”

  She glared.

  Daniel waggled a phone at her.

  She snatched it and put it to her ear. As he walked out, she poked out her tongue.

  “Cate, you should have told me you were coming.” Rob’s loved voice was warm and musical in her ear. She relaxed into its familiar comfort. “I’d have collected you from the airport. At least running into Daniel meant you weren’t stranded by the taxi drivers’ strike.” Rob hesitated. “He’s not really a bad bloke.”

  “You couldn’t prove it by me.” She seethed at how easily he’d circumvented her intention of speaking with Rob in her own time—which was definitely not naked in Daniel Garren’s penthouse. And by what right did he march uninvited into her room? “Daniel is a bossy, bullying rat.”

  Rob laughed.

  So did Daniel, entering with two mugs of coffee.

  “I have to go, sis. I’m phoning from work. But Daniel will take care of you. We can catch up for dinner, tonight. Salsa’s Restaurant at seven. Daniel will know the address. It’s Amie’s favourite. And Cate, it’s good to have you home.” He hung up.

  She threw the phone to the foot of the bed.

  Daniel ignored her sulks and sat down, his hip nudging her knee. He handed her a mug of coffee. “We need to talk.”

  “Not when I’m naked.”

  A suspicion of a smile lightened his expression. “I expect it would be unsporting, not to mention ungentlemanly, to talk while you’re at such a disadvantage.” He stood, all smooth muscle and assurance. The smile vanished. “But Cate, I’m serious. I won’t let old hatreds and your pride destroy Amie’s happiness.”

  She controlled her anger, but it was a near-run thing. The coffee sloshed alarmingly in her mug. “Get out and I’ll get dressed.”

  After a long, measuring look, he did so.

  She set the mug aside with a thump and hurried into the bathroom. Her image in the mirror frightened her. She prided herself on self-discipline, but just now passion burned furiously in her eyes and coloured her cheeks. She looked like a gypsy girl about to pull a knife on a cheating lover.

  “Stab him to the heart,” Cate advised her reflection.

  Daniel’s words had stabbed her. Always sister Amie, and his mum, came first. He would destroy anyone and everyone to protect them. Six years ago, he’d dismissed Cate’s frantic eighteen year old emotions. He hadn’t believed her when she said she didn’t want to marry. He’d believed her dad’s lies that Cate was happy but nervous, that she wanted him—because those lies had meant Daniel would get the money he needed to rescue the family firm and keep his mum and sister comfortable.

  She studied her haunted eyes in the mirror. “That’s how little you meant to him. You were just a means to an end.” She’d known that forever: it shouldn’t hurt.

  She set the shower to cold and stepped in. It cooled her tumultuous thoughts and feelings enough that she relented and added warm water, taking her time to wash her hair and then dry it to a smooth shoulder-length curtain of black silk.

  Her coffee was cold by then—but a life in journalism had taught her to appreciate any and all coffee. She drank it as she dressed in black trousers and a white, uncreasable shirt. Unlike Daniel, she had no casual clothes to wear, and besides, the armour of her professional appearance might help her. She was under no illusions. She was going into battle, and if it was the last thing she did, she would save Rob from manipulative men like Daniel and her father. Her beloved brother deserved a happy life and a chance to follow his dreams.

  Daniel waited in the kitchen. He’d put on shoes and a chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. It intensified the blue of his eyes. “The cupboards are bare, so I thought we’d go out for breakfast.”

  “Fair enough.” She heard the note of belligerence in her voice and shrugged. So be it. If he thought a public setting would stop her having her say, he was in for a rude surprise.

  It was a shame, though, to let animosity spoil the pleasant short walk down one of the city’s quiet side streets. Her skin prickled with charged emotions: anger, regret, confusion. In other circumstances, she’d have slowed her steps to enjoy the warmth of the sun and to peer in the windows of a jewellery store and bookshop. Somehow in the six years she’d been gone, they city had changed amazingly.

  Or perhaps she was seeing it now through adult eyes?

  Daniel lead the way to a corner cafe with a view of the river. He ordered bacon and e
ggs, and Cate chose French toast which arrived swimming in maple syrup.

  “Cholesterol heaven,” he approved. “You look like you need feeding up.”

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Oh, but I do. I want to know what is going on in that scheming mind of yours. When Amie told me she was going to marry your brother, Rob, I knew you wouldn’t be happy to leave them alone.”

  “Me leave them alone!” She spluttered. “Your sister needs your permission to breathe.”

  His face flushed, lines deepening around his mouth. “I care about Amie.”

  “And I care about Rob.”

  “Rubbish. You just can’t bear the thought of my family and yours being united.”

  “United? Businesses are united. People marry. But you wouldn’t know about love without strings. You’re just like Dad. Everything’s big business to you. Does Amie know she’s being sacrificed on the altar of money and ambition?”

  “Now, listen.” He sucked in a harsh breath, shook his head. “I was wrong last night. You haven’t changed at all. I remember you when you were eighteen. A spoilt rich kid who decided she wanted to play house, and your daddy was prepared to buy you a husband. Why did you pick me? Because I’d been kind to my young sister’s friend? Or had I the glamour of an older man?” His smile was savage.

  She opened her mouth to answer, but he talked over her.

  “And I needed your father’s money to save the family company, to ensure my mum and Amie’s security, and so I prostituted myself by agreeing to your father’s proposal: the loan I desperately needed to keep the company afloat, if I married you. And then, you jeopardised everything by running away. Did you get cold feet? Did the fantasy become too real, a real man too much for you?”

  “Stop it.” Her voice shook with passion and the pain of memory. “You don’t understand anything. You never did.”

  They both ignored their breakfasts. She didn’t know about Daniel, but if she tried to eat now, she’d be sick. Her stomach was in knots.

  “You’ve twisted it all. Maybe that’s how you justify your behaviour to yourself.”

  “Cate.” Warning and threat, just by saying her name.

  She drew a steadying breath, telling herself she wasn’t intimidated. She was a journalist. She knew how to tell a story, and unlike Daniel, she got her facts right. Well, let him hear the truth. She’d tell him she knew just what he was. He certainly wasn’t the injured innocent he claimed to be.

  “When I was twelve, Mum died.” She saw Daniel’s jolt. Of course, he’d known the facts of her life, but knowing and facing them were very different things. Not that she would use her mum’s death to score points. No, but as a journalist she’d learned that strong stories didn’t shy away from emotion. Her story began with her mum’s death, and the fundamental changes it caused in Cate’s life.

  “It’s hard to remember, but before then, Dad encouraged me to be a tomboy. He was proud of my daring. He kicked the football around with me as well as with Rob. He took us snorkelling and surfing. When Mum died in the car crash, Dad changed. He wanted to wrap me in cotton wool. He sold our home and bought an executive residence with a housekeeper’s flat. I tried to be what he wanted. I didn’t rebel. I worked hard at school, and I burned up my energy in sports. I played netball and volleyball, and most of all, I ran.”

  Daniel had to understand how desperately she’d tried to meet her dad’s expectations. If he couldn’t understand that, then he’d never understand the emotional pressure she’d caved in to, and ultimately run from. She’d lost one parent she loved, and back then she’d been terrified of losing, or disappointing, another. Her dad had used her love for him against her.

  “When I was eighteen, I thought I was free. Would you believe, I planned to study medicine? I had the grades for it, and Dad never complained about paying for Rob’s law degree.”

  She could recall her excitement, the anticipation of adulthood. She stared at her plate of French toast before raising her eyes to Daniel’s.

  He was sitting unnaturally still, almost frozen, only his blue eyes blazed with emotion.

  Not that she could read his thoughts. She glanced away, looking at the city street busy with morning traffic. “But instead of university, Dad said I was to marry you. He knew I was getting too old for him to control, and he looked at you controlling your mum’s life and your sister’s, and he thought you could control me, too. I tried to argue. I tried to talk with you. No one listened. So I ran away.”

  “Oh God,” Daniel said.

  She avoided looking at him. Her emotions were too close to the surface. But she heard the shock in his voice. It was unmistakeable. As a journalist she’d heard that flat, blank tone at the site of the worst accidents. She kept going. “I knew Dad would honour his loan to you. After all, you were willing to keep your word. It was me who ran.”

  “Caty.” Daniel reached across the table.

  But she withdrew her hands, hiding their tremble in her lap.

  He left his hand on the table, palm up. “Where did you go? You were eighteen.” He swore. “All I thought of was the business, what I would lose if Matt withdrew the loan offer. I blamed you.” That stunned note again, and then a deeper note, one resonant with anger and disgust. “I never even asked if you were safe.”

  “I had my passport. Remember, you’d booked a honeymoon in Shanghai so you could continue your business talks with the Chinese steelmakers? I found an advertisement asking for volunteers to work in Africa. I had no ties. No reason to stay in Australia.”

  “I can’t—” Daniel threw money onto the table and pulled her out of her chair and out of the cafe.

  She breathed in the fresh air gratefully. It steadied her, and brought her back to the present in which he still held her hand and was walking them fast back to his apartment. She had thought he’d dispute her version of events, but he’d believed her. She didn’t know what to do with that response. She’d been angry at him for so long.

  “Relax.” She pulled at his hold, but his grip only tightened. “It all turned out for the best. You got your money, saved the family company and your mum and sister. You’re a big success. And I found my purpose in life in Africa.”

  He stabbed at the apartment’s lift button. His mouth was a grim line. The doors opened, and he hauled her inside forcefully enough that she bounced against his side.

  “Hey!”

  “Just be quiet.” He spaced out the words.

  “I’m the one with the right to be angry here.”

  “Are you?” He pulled her hard against him. “And how do you think I feel?” He forced up her chin so she stared into his glittering blue eyes. “I find I was party to forcing an innocent eighteen year old girl to run to Africa. Africa! You could have been killed.”

  She shook her head, bemused at the force of his emotions, but unable to break the intensity of their locked gazes. “I was at an orphanage.”

  His mouth twisted. “An orphanage. Hell, Cate, could you make me feel any worse?”

  “I was happy there.”

  He released her hand.

  She put both palms flat against the warmth of his chest and pushed, giving herself distance. “The lift has stopped.”

  The doors were open and the lift waited patiently at the penthouse. Cate escaped through the open doors, then waited for Daniel. It needed his security card for the door to open.

  He swiped the card automatically, his attention on her. “You couldn’t have been happy.”

  “I was. Eventually.”

  He sighed and his shoulders shifted as if settling a weight. “Come and tell me about it.”

  She hesitated. It would be easier to take her backpack and leave. She could book into a hotel. She’d seen two from the cafe. She looked at him.

  He waited, leaving her free to decide.

  “You could just read the book.” Her flippant comment lacked force. She crossed to a butter yellow leather lounge and sank into its cushiony embrace.

&nbs
p; “What book? You wrote a book?”

  She smiled at his disbelief. “Haven’t you heard of Lion Cub Courage?”

  “You really wrote a book.” He sat down on the sofa beside her, close but not touching. “No one told me.”

  Her smile went awry. “Who would?”

  “Amie. You and her were friends for years. School friends.”

  “We lost touch. No, I lost touch,” Cate corrected herself. “I left my whole life behind, just keeping contact with Rob. Besides, my book wasn’t a bestseller, although it paid for my journalism degree.”

  “You’ve been busy.”

  “Mmm.” She tipped her head back and stared at the sun-streaked ceiling. “I found that I liked writing. Years ago I wanted to be a doctor to heal people, but I’ve learned since then that different hurts need different healing. Sometimes people need a sense of kinship and a happy ending. Good writing cheers the heart, or at least, makes you realise you’re not alone.”

  He moved, abruptly bringing her focus back to him.

  “I’m sorry you were alone, and lonely.”

  “It wasn’t for long.” She rejected his sympathy, and smiled at her memories. “The orphanage was for AIDS orphans, but it wasn’t a sad place. The kids responded to the nuns’ warmth with their own outpouring of love and laughter. I felt needed, and yet, free. I started recording the highs and lows, and the strangeness of Africa, in a blog. The blog became popular and an editor suggested I put it into book form.” She shrugged. “I did, and then I named it after the children. They have the courage of lions.”

  “I’ll have to read it.”

  “There’s no need.” The book wasn’t just about the kids. Re-reading it now, she knew how much it revealed of her own youthful search for a place to belong, and the courage to reach for her dreams.

  “I think there is.”

  She looked at him doubtfully. Had he ever known her uncertainty and search for identity? He always seemed so definite.

  “The one thing I regret about the book was not being able to give the all the proceeds to the orphanage, but Sister Lucy urged me to invest in my future. She said she dreamed of education for all her children, including me.”