ME, CINDERELLA?(32)

Eliot paused for a moment. “The inside isn’t cleaned up yet,” he said. “It’s been a while since anybody came over to tidy the place.”

“Are you apologizing for not cleaning up your castle?” Brynn asked teasingly. The drive over seemed to have woken her up considerably. Eliot unlocked the front door and pushed it open, inviting her in. She stepped over the threshold and looked around. The light inside was even dimmer than in the apartments. Eliot flicked a switch and the lamps illuminated the hallway. Two great staircases curved up to the second floor, and the marble floors reflected the light.

“Yeah, you should be ashamed. This castle is so messy.” Her peals of laughter echoed through the hallways.

“It is, isn’t it?” he said. The pieces of furniture looked ghostly, covered in white sheets. Cobwebs stretched out from the chandelier to the rafters.

“Just terrible,” Brynn said, a broad smile on her face. In her arms, the kitten meowed in agreement.

“Let’s go to the study,” Eliot said. “I’ll make you some tea.” He waved her upstairs, and she went obediently.

“The study?”

“It’s basically where I’ve been living the past few days,” Eliot explained. They walked down the long corridor upstairs, and Eliot turned off the light behind them. At the end of the hall, flickering light beckoned from one of the rooms.

“My study,” Eliot said, his arm spread out toward the room. Brynn’s eyes widened as she went through the doorway. It was the one room in the house that Eliot was proud of. He had built the shelves himself along the wall and lined them all with books. Leather couches and chairs made the room cozy, inviting. His oak desk sat on one end, scattered with papers. At the other end a giant stone fireplace flickered with dying light.

“It’s wonderful,” Brynn said. The kitten wriggled in her grasp, and she set him down. “Don’t go far, Lucky.” But the kitten seemed to know exactly where it wanted to go. Lucky jumped right up on a leather chair by the fire and curled up, its eyes closing sleepily. Brynn examined the shelves, her fingers running across the spines of the books. Eliot picked up two logs from the wood basket and threw them on the fire. The embers blazed up brightly, throwing new light into the room.

“Does this work?” Brynn stood over the old record player.

“Yes, the switch is on the side.”

Brynn started up the record player and laid the needle down in the outer groove. A sonatina’s notes lilted softly through the room. Brynn’s mouth turned up into a contented smile, and Eliot felt himself ache as he watched her. Then her eyes turned to his and he ducked his head, afraid that she might see the longing in his face.

“Would you like some tea?” he asked. He coughed in one hand, his eyes rising to meet hers, his shields up.

“Yes, please,” Brynn said.

“I’ll be right back. Make yourself comfortable.” He didn’t know what to do with his hands, clasping them awkwardly behind him as he exited the room. Surely she could see his discomfort, but she made no sign of noticing. It was a kindness to him, and he did not know what he would do if she were not so good. He fixed the tea quickly, fastidious about pouring the cream and laying out the sugar. Earlier in the morning he had bought a loaf of bread, and he cut and buttered some, thinking she might like a snack, thinking if there was anything else he could do for her. He carried the tray through the door to his study, almost dropping it when he saw where she was.

Brynn was standing bent over Eliot’s desk, examining his mathematical work. He inhaled sharply, tilting the tray. The teacups slid sideways and he righted it just in time. Nobody had seen his work in years, and it startled him to have someone besides himself at the desk. She looked up, and must have seen the look of surprise on his face.

“I’m sorry,” she said, taking a step back from his work. “I only wanted to see.”

“No, of course, it’s perfectly alright,” Eliot stammered. It was wasn’t it? Wasn’t that the whole reason he had brought her here?

Well, perhaps not the whole reason. He brought the tray to the oak desk, and set it down as carefully as he could on the corner. The kitten sat up, apparently invigorated by the sight of tea, and jumped to the floor, darting under the desk and wrapping itself around Brynn’s ankles. Brynn leaned down and picked up the kitten, cradling it in her arms.

“What does this mean?” Brynn asked, pointing to an equation Eliot had written a number of times across the page.

Eliot wiped his hand across his brow. “It’s the standard equation of a projective formula. I’ve been trying to manipulate it to be able to use it later here—” he pointed down to another equation on the page. “Do you know anything about projective algorithms?”