CINDERELLA BRIDE Read online

  "What's this?" Marly asked.

  "Just cashed my first paycheck from the new job. I got the last two weeks of the boys' tuition here."

  "Mrs. Edwards, you don't have to give it all at once out of your first pay. Here." She reached into the envelope and pulled out a few of the sparse bills. "I'm sure there're things you're needing."

  Mrs. Edwards stared at Marly's hands for a long moment before raising her gaze. She made no move for the money.

  Marly felt a prickle of awkwardness, sitting there with her hand outstretched. Then she realized what she had done.

  She let her hand fall to her desk, gazing down at her papers in defeat. One step forward, three steps back. How would she ever foster parents' self-esteem if she kept inadvertently slipping like this? How would she ever fit in? It was worse here than it had ever been in the poverty-stricken villages in which she'd served with the Peace Corps. Every day, she felt as if she were walking on the children's jacks, watching what she said, how she said it.

  She remembered the setback that had occurred when she'd told the kids a story about her travels in Europe and they promptly took home that information. The way some mothers looked at her the following week, others averting their gazes. Even if they didn't know her horrible secret, they knew she was different—an outsider at the very least, if not the downright imposter she was.

  But despite what they thought, she didn't regard the children in the same way as the women in her mother's circle viewed their "little causes." The children were Marly's life, the only truth to the charade. She wasn't giving out charity at the center. Didn't the parents realize that?

  No, they didn't, because their pride had been battered enough by hard times and bad luck and lotteries that never paid off.

  "I-I'm sorry, Mrs. Edwards. I didn't mean to—"

  "The boys talk about you at home all the time."

  "They do?" she asked, her voice little more than a whisper. She was almost afraid to hear what they said.

  Mrs. Edwards cocked her head. "Took me a while before I got used to them jabbering on so much about Miss Marly this and Miss Marly that." She didn't smile. "But then, they started doing things they ain't never done before. Good things. Cleaning up their messes. Picking up their clothes." Her gaze skittered toward the window as she added, "Saying how you told them they should be minding their manners, respecting their mama."

  When she looked back, Marly saw the proud eyes of the single parent who worked three part-time jobs, with barely a secondary school education, to provide for her four boys. She could have stayed home. She could have scraped by on welfare. But she didn't. She worked, and she worked hard. And damn if Marly couldn't work just as hard. She wasn't going to lose her center, abandon her commitment to the children of the working poor.

  This was her life. Not perfect, not even close to any fairy tale, but her life nonetheless. And she didn't want to lose it. Not now. Certainly not now. She would find a way. She would do whatever she had to do. Anything, if it meant keeping her children's dreams alive.

  Anything, if it meant keeping her children.

  "You been real nice to let me slide by on paying up for the boys, but I got the money now." Mrs. Edwards indicated with her pencil-drawn eyebrows the envelope on Marly's desk.

  Marly agreed with a nod, placing the bills back into the envelope and depositing the whole amount into the safe behind her desk. Only about fifty thousand more of those, and the center would be set, she thought.

  God, it wasn't funny. A wave of nausea rolled over her each time she calculated the exact amount the center needed. Never mind the security system, improved meal plans and parenting workshops Marly wanted. She would have to find a fortune just to break even.

  "Mrs. Edwards?" she called as the woman was nearly out the door, waiting until she turned back around. "Thank you."

  Mrs. Edwards's lips twitched in an unfamiliar manner that might have been a smile. "Thank you, Miss Marly. Bye, now."

  Marly gazed down at her hands. At the scars. It had been eight years since the village fire that changed her life forever. Eight years since she'd escaped the terror she'd once feared would never end. Eight years of living in someone else's skin. How ironic it seemed that one person's death could give another a second chance at life.

  "Goodbye," she whispered into the empty room.

  * * *

  "Goodbye." Carter hung up the phone and loosened the knot on his tie, then pulled the tie off as he unbuttoned his shirt on the way to the private bathroom in his office. All his toiletries had found a new home in this bathroom. A week's worth of suits hung in the closet. These days, weekend meetings seemed commonplace, and most nights he didn't even bother going home, what with wrestling with the mechanics of the proposed acquisition of a regional bank in South Carolina. When he wasn't doing that, he spent his time wrestling with the mechanics of his own personal acquisition.

  Carter pulled the straight pins out of the stiff new tuxedo shirt he'd just purchased at the department store around the corner. Good thing he'd discovered the wonders of using steam to get wrinkles out, since he'd forgotten to drop off his shirts at the dry cleaners' earlier in the week.

  "Still buying your clothes off the rack. Carter?" Eva Ann had always had a way with one-liners. A quip here, a gibe there, she never seemed able to resist an opportunity for putting Carter in his place. Not since the day she'd discovered what his place had been.

  He could still see the smug look on her daddy's face when they'd served Carter with the divorce papers. "Did you really think my little girl would knowingly muddy our family lineage with your peasant ancestry?"

  The memory made bile rise in his throat. He tilted his head back and swallowed, staring up at the ceiling.

  This time it would be different.

  "Ah, Marly." He sighed, leaning his hip against the marble vanity as he threw the pins into the wastepaper basket. "Here's hoping you need this acquisition as badly as I do." He gave the shirt a brisk snap and hung it from the hook on the back of the door.

  Within twenty minutes, Carter had shaved, showered, and changed into a passably wrinkle-free shirt. I-40 provided a straight shot from Raleigh to Durham, and soon he was driving down the quiet, tree-lined streets of Marly's neighborhood.

  He found the one-story brick house easily. He'd driven by it a couple of times in the past, hoping for a peek at her in real life, not just in the photographs the P.I. had provided him. Since Marly only rented a room in the house, Carter had been rather surprised to spot her outside one day, planting pansies around the mailbox. Not exactly the kind of thing tenants did—at least none of the ones who rented from him.

  Carter hadn't even recognized her at first, seeing her in person, albeit from a distance. She was so small. Not short. Just small. Tiny, delicate. Nothing like the women in his past. He'd always leaned toward tall, well-built, leggy brunettes. Knowing that predisposition, he'd methodically gone through the P.I.'s list and crossed off every single tall, shapely brunette—regardless of whether she met his other criteria.

  Plain truth was, despite being long over Eva Ann, he couldn't afford to let another woman pick up where she'd left off. Eva Ann had discovered his weakness, exploited it and then walked out of his life. A man who didn't learn from his mistakes was a damned fool, and Carter had learned to accept full responsibility for avoiding situations with the potential for repeat performances.

  He'd fallen for a pretty face once and nearly lost everything. Good looks weren't among his criteria this time around. He knew too well that physical attraction often led to deeper emotions, and those emotions inevitably led to pain. He'd witnessed it enough times as a boy. His own mama had gone through four failed marriages all in the name of love. Maybe he was fortunate it had only taken him one try, one failure, to realize marrying for love was a modern myth.

  But Marly Alcott met all his criteria, most especially the absolute conviction that there was no possible way he would ever feel anything even remotely akin to passion for
this woman. Yes, sir. Marly Alcott was as risk-free as a Treasury bill, and just as safe an investment.

  With that thought entrenched in his mind, Carter parked his car by the curb behind a foreign compact and got out. He waved to the white-haired woman standing in the living-room window, surmising she was Marly's landlady. The curtains fell back as she withdrew, and in another minute, the front door flew open.

  Now, she was short, Carter thought, watching the woman step out onto the front steps as he walked up the brick path to the door. Even standing on the top step, she only came up to his chin.

  "Hey, Mr. King." Her gaze darted over his shoulder, no doubt to his car, and she nervously wiped her hands on an apron bearing the words #1 Grandma. "Annie Lou Andrews," she said with an outstretched hand that pulled him forward when he took it. "Come on in. Marly's gonna be right out, said to tell you. I just fixed a nice, cold pitcher of lemonade. Can I get you a glass while you wait? Won't take but a minute," she assured him, ushering him to take a seat in the living room.

  "Thanks. That'd be great." He smiled the smile he'd perfected through fifteen years of calming the jitters of old ladies who came into the bank flustered over the status of their deposits. "I think I'm a few minutes early, anyway." He stretched out and slung his arm over the back of the floral-patterned couch. "Beautiful home you have here."

  "Oh," she said, raising a hand to her cheek. "Why, thank you. I'll be right back."

  Carter watched her scurry off, then looked down at his feet, chuckling.

  "You're a real charmer, aren't you?"

  He sprang up and whirled at the sound of Marly's voice from the other side of the room. Then he stiffened, his gut clenching in utter shock at what he saw.

  No dowdy, shapeless dress with a high lace collar. No schoolteacher's bun. No glasses. Nothing he'd expected—and everything he hadn't.

  Marly wore a dark-blue, strapless evening gown, her straight, shoulder-length, strawberry-blond hair caught up in combs, her ears adorned with simple pearl earrings.

  Plain. He'd thought she was plain. Carter squinted and took another look.

  She was plain. Plain face. Plain hair. Plain figure. It was all there, just arranged differently.

  Very differently.

  He swallowed—hard. Once. Twice.

  "Sorry if I'm late," she said, slipping into a pair of blue shoes by the side of the couch.

  "What? Oh, no, you're not. I'm early." He gritted his teeth, hoping Annie Lou would hurry up with his lemonade, regretting not having asked her to put a shot of vodka in it.

  He reminded himself that simple appreciation was okay—a perk, albeit an unexpected one. He appreciated the change in Marly's appearance. She looked more attractive—for Marly. That didn't mean he was attracted to her. Because he wasn't.

  Carter cleared his throat and said, "Nice dress."

  She looked startled by the compliment, as if she hadn't expected him to notice. "Thank you. Nice tux."

  He glanced down at the new white shirt tucked inside his black cummerbund. He looked like any other penguin. But Marly…

  He gripped his hands behind his back to avoid rubbing his eyes. Where had she come up with that dress? She looked every inch like Cinderella going to the ball. The dress seemed tailored, though he knew she couldn't have afforded it. Tight down to her small waist, then fluffed out, it fit some shapely curves, leaving others to the imagination. Her breasts were fuller than he'd thought, maybe because of the contrast with her tiny rib cage. He tried not to stare, but as small as she was, Carter realized she did have curves.

  He frowned, veering his mind back to the subject at hand—the dress. Maybe she knew how to sew and she'd bought the fabric. That had to be it. His future bride had hidden talents. Naturally, there would be some things the investigation hadn't turned up, some hobbies and whatnot.

  He watched her gaze search the room. "Annie Lou's entertaining me, if you want to finish getting ready. No hurry."

  "There it is," she said, reaching for the strap of her purse that hung from the back of a chair. She put it over her bare shoulder, turned and smiled. "I'm ready."

  "I'll get your coat." He turned, too, looking for a closet.

  "Carter." She laughed. "It's eighty-five degrees."

  He gazed back. Just because he didn't find her attractive didn't mean other men wouldn't, and he didn't relish the thought of other men ogling his wife-to-be, all done up like that. Why'd she have to go and sew herself an off-the-shoulder dress? "How about a wrap?" he suggested as a last resort.

  She shook her head.

  "You're—" he filled his lungs with much-needed air "—ready, then?"

  She nodded.

  Annie Lou came out of the kitchen, holding a glass of lemonade.

  "Thanks." Carter took the glass and drained it in a few swallows. "I needed that." Then he escorted Miss Marly Alcott out the door, hoping Annie Lou's parting "Good luck" had been for him, because he sure as hell was going to need it before the night ended.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  « ^ »

  Marly was going to hyperventilate before the night ended. "Is it warm in here?"

  "I can turn on the air."

  "Yes, thank you. That would be nice." She raised a clammy palm to catch the breeze, trying to settle into the soft leather interior of Carter's luxury car and will her heart to stop its incessant clamoring.

  True, she had found Carter rather appealing on sight, but that was before she'd seen him in a tuxedo, before she'd truly looked at him.

  Masculine strength was carved into his every feature. His ebony tuxedo fit his broad shoulders and tall frame as if the finest tailor had created it expressly for him. The snowy whiteness of his shirt contrasted with his golden tan, and he'd centered his formal bow tie perfectly. He wore the entire sophisticated ensemble with the easy assurance of a man who was thoroughly accustomed to it.

  Marly couldn't take her eyes off him, couldn't stop her pulse from racing or the heat from spiraling through her. The instant following her first full-length view of him in Annie Lou's living room, she'd wanted to beeline back to her bedroom and fabricate a story to explain why she couldn't attend the fund-raiser after all.

  This had never happened to her before, this total lack of composure. But then, it had been a long time since anyone had asked her out, longer still since she'd accepted an invitation. Maybe that explained why she'd grown quivery and unsteady at the sight of a man—any man—in her living room. Or maybe it was this man in particular. This man who gave new meaning to the term "drop-dead gorgeous."

  And now she was alone with him, in his car, on the way to a charity fund-raiser. Marly lifted both hands to the air vent. She didn't know if this was her lucky break or the end of the line, but the stakes were high, too high to risk making any mistakes.

  She couldn't allow her unexpected attraction to Carter to cause her to lower her guard in public. Not when a man like Carter was sure to garner his fair share of attention at the banquet—attention she could ill afford.

  Marly rarely attended large gatherings, and never without good reason. She only hoped her reasoning skills hadn't short-circuited tonight.

  Through her peripheral vision, she saw his hands clench the steering wheel, the sharp precision with which he used his turn signal. She stole a sideways glance and noticed tension in his handsome profile, a slight twitching of muscle as he worked his jaw.

  "You must get pretty tired of going to all these fund-raisers." She attempted to use small talk to break the silence, to ease her own tension while pondering the source of his.

  "Sometimes. Depends on how much sleep I've had the night before."

  "Did you get enough last night?"

  His gaze flickered toward her, then turned back to the road. "Hardly."

  "You've probably been burning the midnight oil with the proposed acquisition."

  "You know about that?"

  He grinned, and her heart stopped. His eyes crinkled up at the corners when h
e smiled, and his mouth … oh, God, his mouth…

  Panic welled in her. She had to get out of there, away from him. She hadn't bargained on this, hadn't foreseen any of it. Eight years of living alone, and she'd never once wanted for what she couldn't have. She'd never wanted more than to look. She'd never wanted to touch. Ever.

  Until now. Damn it.

  How was she supposed to keep her wits about her, to stay alert for any signs of danger, with all this shifting and settling inside her?

  "Marly?"

  "I—I read about the acquisition in the paper the other day." She turned to look out the tinted window, staring at the reflection of her pinkie finger against the glass to avoid looking at him. "They used to be a savings and loan, didn't they? That bank in South Carolina."

  "A few acquisitions ago."

  "That's what I thought."

  "You must follow the news pretty well to remember that."

  "Some things, I guess." She fumbled with the purse in her lap, twisting the strap around her thumb.

  Silence filled the air. At a stoplight, she felt Carter watching her.

  "You seem nervous," he said.

  "A little."

  "Why?"

  She lifted one shoulder, staring straight ahead. "Because," she started, then stopped. She couldn't very well explain that between his effect on her and her apprehension over the impending gathering, she was about ready to jump out of the car. "I guess because I need to talk to several people tonight. I'm trying not to think about it. Besides, I know I've got your ear the whole way back." She gave a shaky laugh. "Maybe you should be the nervous one."

  "Oh, I am. Believe me. I am."

  The light turned green, and Marly glanced at him, bracing herself for his devastating smile. But he wasn't smiling now. In fact, the muscle in his jaw had started twitching again.

  They rode in silence the remainder of the way.

  Outside the hotel, elegantly dressed men and women milled around. Handshakes, hugs, kisses. So familiar. So distant. Over the years, Marly had learned to fake it, but she'd never learned to like it.