CINDERELLA BRIDE

by Monica McLean

  No cameras in sight. So far, so good. Her stomach clenched, and she twisted the purse strap tighter, not caring that her thumb was turning blue.

  "Hey," Carter whispered, turning off the car but leaving the keys in the ignition for the valet. "We're here. Marly? You okay?"

  The attendant had reached her door, opened it, and stood complacently waiting. Marly nodded. "Fine."

  Carter took the parking stub and stuck it inside his pocket. He watched Marly spin around, looking hesitant … looking too pretty in her dress. He cursed his decision to wait until after the benefit to ask her. Maybe if he'd brought it up in the car, they could have skipped the benefit entirely, gone somewhere quiet to discuss his proposal. Now they were stuck, and he'd have to count the hours, the minutes, until they could leave the fund-raiser and get down to business.

  "Second thoughts?" he asked hopefully.

  She shook her head, placed her hand in the crook of his extended arm and tilted her face up at him with a tentative smile. Her lips had a nice shape, he noticed again. He wondered if, when they were married, they would kiss every now and again, just for the sake of kissing. He supposed kissing Marly wouldn't be so awfully terrible.

  Her mouth wasn't anything dramatic like Eva Ann's full red pouter, but it had soft curves that didn't lack their own kind of appeal, mainly reflecting moods more genuine than those of his ex-wife. He was so absorbed with his analysis of her lips that it didn't register right away that their moving meant she was saying something.

  "I'm sorry. What was that?" He bent his head down to hear her, at the same time realizing he was so close to her bare neck and shoulder he could smell her scent. Sweet, like flowers after a rainfall, making him want to lean closer, to inhale deeply, to savor.

  "I said they'd better not be serving rubber chicken."

  Her offhand remark made him grin, and he straightened as they approached the entrance, but the memory of her scent remained with him.

  Inside, he recognized a few members of the chamber and had started their way, when a familiar female voice with the faintest Indian accent called his name with equal emphasis on the two syllables.

  "Reva." He swung around, beaming at the slender brunette carrying a newborn in her arms.

  "Hi, Carter. Have you seen my husband? He forgot his reading glasses. I expect he'll figure it out by the time he gets up there to give his speech."

  Carter chuckled and touched the baby's tiny fingers. "Sorry, haven't seen him yet. Boy, Sarina's grown since I last saw her."

  "Sure." She laughed with a droll roll of her large brown eyes. "What's it been? Two weeks?"

  "Yeah, but that's like two years in baby time. Hey, I'd like you to meet someone." He reached over and pulled Marly closer. When she stiffened, he lowered his hand from her shoulder to the small of her back. "Reva, this is Marly Alcott, founder of Little Learners, a day care center for economically disadvantaged children. Marly, this proud new mama's Reva Singh, who is on maternity leave from the legal department of CB&T's Raleigh branch. Also married to the Triangle regional president."

  "Good, you got the order right, Carter." Reva laughed. To Marly, she said, "He used to always say I was the Triangle regional president's wife and leave me to finish the rest."

  Marly looked up at him. "What does that tell me about you?"

  He grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "That I met Anil first?"

  "Nice try."

  "Reva, I see Anil over there." Carter waved to a tall man in a light-gray suit, who waved back, them pointed to his wife and imitated a pair of glasses with his hands. Carter nodded.

  "Aha. I think he's figured it out," Reva said with a wink. "Nice meeting you, Marly. Don't be a stranger, Carter," she called over her shoulder as she left.

  "I won't. You take care." He was about to ask Marly if she wanted to go get a drink, and possibly coerce her into leaving, when he heard someone call his name. His gaze shifted with reluctance from Marly to that of a burly surgeon he'd met while working on the Red Cross blood drive.

  "Great speech last week at the Jaycees," the doctor said. "Caught a clip on the eleven o'clock news. Got your good side." He laughed.

  Carter turned to introduce Marly, but she'd slipped away from him. He gazed around the room and then over his shoulder, trying to locate her. Finally, he spotted her in a crowd of people by the bar.

  "Hey, Carter. Long time no see."

  "Why, Carter King. Fancy meeting you here."

  In times like this, it really was irritating to know so many people. For a split second, Carter wanted to tell them all to just leave him alone tonight, that he wasn't in the mood to socialize, that he had important business matters needing his attention. But that wasn't the Carter King who'd made it to the top by virtue of his people skills. That wasn't the Carter King who stayed at the top because people liked and trusted him, because despite his cutthroat reputation for negotiation, he was still an all-around nice guy.

  "Hey, Ellen. Nice to see you again," he said, trying to sound as though he meant it, knowing that at any other time he would have.

  * * *

  Carter King was a born charmer, Marly determined, listening to snatches of conversation drifting her way. Balancing two glasses of white wine, she stared at the circle that had formed around him. She didn't need to hear every word he was saying. His tone alone told her he was performing in the center ring.

  She slowed her steps, taking in his tall, athletic build, his blond hair styled more like a male model's than a businessman's. She couldn't believe she'd pictured him a squat, balding man with zero personality. But then, that was exactly the kind of man she'd expected to be the president of a large regional bank, the kind of man who would need a date for this benefit.

  It wasn't a date, she reminded herself. In philanthropy circles, total strangers phoned each other all the time to attend functions together. Not unlike high society, people wanted to see and be seen. It didn't hurt for a well-known businessman to be seen with a humanitarian.

  Carter had no personal interest in her. And she couldn't afford to have a personal interest in him or any other man, even if she wanted to, even if the mere sight of him made her stomach flutter, even if his touch awakened yearnings in her she'd long ago forgotten—no, especially because of that.

  Obviously, they both had their agendas for this function, and hers didn't include cowering in the shadows, giving in to the awkward and painfully shy little girl who still lived inside her.

  She'd already scouted the site for any sign of video cameras or press photographers. Either they hadn't arrived, or they'd come and gone. Regardless, she couldn't afford to be careless. If the wrong people ever recognized her… She shuddered at the thought. She would keep an eye out, taking care to avoid the media at all costs.

  Noting that Carter was still chatting away where she'd left him, cocktail glass now in hand, Marly squared her shoulders and started threading through the crowd in the opposite direction. She needed to get away from him so she could concentrate on the reason she'd agreed to come in the first place. Her center.

  She dumped the contents of one wineglass into a potted plant and ditched the glass on the hors d'oeuvre table beside it. One hand free, she stopped to fill a plate with assorted canapés, then continued on her way.

  * * *

  From across the room, Carter saw Marly's sapphire form grow smaller, until it was nothing but a blur, and then disappear. Seconds passed, minutes that felt like hours. Every time he tried to find her, someone stopped him. He moved in five-step intervals, never able to cross more ground than that in one shot. It was ridiculous. At last, he spotted her strawberry-blond hair several feet in front of him and decided to expedite the formalities.

  "Carter!"

  "Hey, Alan. Nice to see you. Catch up with you later." He brushed past the mayor, waved to his wife.

  "Mr. King!"

  "Mrs. Reynolds." He kissed the woman's cheek. "Lovely dress. Be sure and send your husband my regards." He was
close enough to hear Marly's voice up ahead, talking about her center and their mission.

  "Carter!"

  He wanted to scream. He smiled, instead, trying not to clench his teeth. "Why, Linda Sue, don't you look like the blushing bride. Best wishes."

  By the time he reached the spot where he'd last seen Marly, she had disappeared again. Groaning, he shook his head. He scanned the crowd, but she was nowhere in sight.

  "Damn it, Marly," he said with a sigh, bracing one hand on his hip, the other against the wall.

  "Looking for me?" asked a soft voice behind him.

  Over the rim of her wineglass, Marly watched Carter reel around and blink as if relieved.

  "You're still here," he said, exhaling a deep breath.

  "Of course I'm still here. Where would I go?" No sooner had she taken a sip than he reached for her elbow, plucking the glass from her hand.

  "Would you mind terribly if we left?"

  "Right now?" Marly frowned. They hadn't even served dinner yet—not that she was hungry anymore after those canapés—but still…

  "Please," he beseeched.

  "O-okay."

  "Thank you." Carter deposited her glass on the tray of a passing waiter. "If I have to smile one more time, I swear my face is going to crack," he muttered.

  She looked up at the angular planes of his face as they navigated a straight path toward the hotel's entrance. "You looked like you were having a good time."

  Carter grimaced. "Wait here. I'll get the car from the valet."

  She shrugged and watched him dash across the parking lot, a natural rhythm to his stride that displayed his physical fitness. Of course, with a body like his…

  Sighing, Marly reached for her purse and unzipped it to extract the three business cards she'd managed to weasel. They were long shots, but if even one of the leads paid off and landed some fast cash for the center, she might have a chance of getting a good night's rest in the near future. What a luxury that would be, for the first time in months. She looked over the names, then put the cards back in her purse as Carter pulled up to the curb.

  Although relieved they were cutting out early, she couldn't help but wonder about him. She probably could have managed to make it through dinner. So what had provoked him to call it quits before the end of cocktail hour? Come to think of it, he hadn't seemed overly enthusiastic to start with. Maybe he'd only intended to put in a quick appearance and then take off. Or was it something else?

  Why did she keep getting the undeniable feeling something was troubling Carter this evening? She barely knew the man, yet somehow she could sense his tension.

  Carter stepped out and circled around the front of the car to open Marly's door. She slid onto the comfortable seat and dropped her head back on the rest. "Thank you."

  He rounded to the driver's side. "Are you hungry?" he asked, buckling his seat belt before popping in a compact disc. "We could grab something to eat."

  Marly shook her head, brushing her hair against the leather upholstery. "I'm okay. You can just take me home," she offered, figuring the sooner he unloaded her, the sooner he could resolve whatever was on his mind. The sooner she could reel in her senses, stop the unrelenting shivers that kept dancing up her spine every time she looked at him. The sooner she could shove all this wasted attraction into a box and burn it as she'd burned the bulk of her worldly possessions eight years ago.

  Carter didn't appear too relieved by her suggestion, judging from the way his jaw set.

  "I—I meant, it's okay if you want to—"

  "This wasn't a very good idea. Maybe we should have just skipped—"

  "Oh, no," she interjected. "It wasn't entirely a wash. I got three business cards, and I still get to bend your ear the whole way home."

  He turned to glance at her.

  She smiled, a little uncertain.

  Then he shook his head and chuckled, and her smile widened. She thought of the Shorewood crowd as well as the crowd they'd just left, and wondered if there wasn't a glint of something more genuine in Carter. Wishful thinking, she was sure, if not downright dreaming. But then, a woman could have dreamed a lot of things about a man like Carter.

  She closed her eyes as they pulled out onto the street, thankful when the soft beat of New Age music filled the car and dimmed the sound of her beating heart.

  The benefit made her remember how, as a young girl forced to socialize at her parents' parties, she had often relied on her imagination for confidence. And what a vivid imagination she'd had. She would pretend to be a princess—not just any princess, but the most beautiful of them all. All the guests had come from miles around just to talk to her … only, they didn't want to be rude and monopolize her time, so it was up to her to try to speak with each person at least once. That way no one would feel neglected.

  The game hadn't changed much. Only, tonight she'd added a handsome prince. She still had a vivid imagination.

  "Can't bend my ear if you fall asleep," Carter said.

  One eye popped open. "Who's asleep?"

  He turned to her briefly, raising an eyebrow. She thought again of the Shorewood set, the snotty way they could make the same gesture. Carter didn't strike her as snotty, despite his wealth. He seemed nice enough. That was his charm—he was nice to everyone. And most of the healthy females at tonight's benefit had probably lusted after him. Not just her.

  "I'm ready to listen if you're ready to talk," he said.

  She could have happily melted into his soft, southern drawl, but she straightened, instead, determined to set her overactive hormones aside and get down to business. Then she looked at him, and her pulse began thudding again.

  Why couldn't he have been a squat, balding man with zero personality?

  She took a deep breath. "Well, you already know we didn't get the government funding for the next fiscal year."

  "You've tapped all the government resources?"

  "No. It was just the main one that fell through, the one that gave us the seed money. I thought … I thought … I didn't think." She pulled a loose comb from her hair before it fell and stuffed it into her purse.

  "You're learning."

  "I'm trying."

  "How bad is it?" His voice was cool, impassive, distracted. Marly wondered if he had left some unfinished work at the bank and it was bothering him. Maybe that's what had compelled him to leave early. Workaholics were like that. Her father—

  "We have a considerable cash crunch," she whispered, rubbing her temple, trying to veer her thoughts back to the subject at hand. "No two ways about it."

  Carter's gaze flickered her way. "So what's the game plan?"

  "I got a tip last week. There's going to be a notice of fund availability in the Federal Register in another month. A grant that's perfect for us. I'm going after it, of course, but I don't know how long it would take to actually see any money even if we're awarded. And that's still an if. I was so counting on getting funded with that last one." She shifted in her seat, adjusting her purse on her lap. "I seem to be an expert at counting my chickens before they hatch."

  "Everyone makes mistakes, Marly."

  "Even you?"

  "Especially me."

  His jaw had taken on that hard edge again. She wanted to reach over and touch him, the way she did with the kids at school, to soothe away the unknown source of tension. Instead, she clasped her hands in her lap. Carter was hardly a five-year-old boy; he was a virile man who no doubt had more than enough sources of comfort available to him.

  "Let me tell you about Little Learners," Marly said, shifting in her seat.

  "Ah, now we're getting to the good part." Carter smiled. "Why don't you start by telling me what makes Little Learners different?"

  "Well, in a lot of ways, it isn't any different from other, more costly centers. We have the same activities, events, field trips. We're open from six to seven to accommodate working parents. We serve breakfast, lunch, dinner for the kids who stay late and two snacks. All the teachers have degrees in
early childhood development. The atmosphere is nurturing, bright and cheery. For all appearances, it isn't any different."

  "But it is, isn't it? It must take a lot more work to keep your center on par with the others."

  She nodded. "There's the funding, of course, but there's so much more. The children … they come from families that couldn't otherwise afford such quality care, and so often, they're disadvantaged not only economically but psychologically."

  "What do you mean?" Carter asked, not looking at her.

  "I can't even begin to tell you how many former crack babies, physically abused and emotionally neglected children we've had. Not all, but enough. My center gives these children a head start in a society where the odds are stacked against them."

  Marly shook her head. If she lost the center, she didn't know how she would face herself in the mirror every morning for the rest of her life. How would she live with the knowledge she'd failed not only the children but the woman who'd given her freedom, her second chance at life? How would she ever repay such a debt?

  She didn't realize they'd come to a stoplight at a busy intersection until Carter's quiet words made her look up from her lap.

  "I understand."

  "You do?" she whispered, wondering what he understood and if he would please explain it to her. In the shadowy interior of the car, she thought she saw Carter smile, a sardonic, self-deprecating smile. It was so odd and out of place that she turned in her seat until she faced him, searching his expression for some hint of explanation. He opened his mouth as if to speak, just as the car in back of them honked.

  The light had turned green. Marly's gaze slipped as Carter stepped on the gas. When she looked back, that uncharacteristic smile was gone, as if it had never been there at all. Maybe the shadows had played a trick on her.

  "So, do the parents pay anything or is the center completely funded through donations?" Carter asked, picking up the conversation as though it had never broken.

  "They pay tuition on a sliding scale, a percentage of their income up to a fixed ceiling."