ME, CINDERELLA?(33)

Brynn shook her head. “Not a clue.”

“It’s like a matrix transformation.”

“There was one of those problems on the test,” Brynn said. “I only got the first part. The second part was impossible.”

“Okay,” Eliot said, relieved to be back on stable footing. “Let’s start with that.”

The light grew red and dim as they sipped their tea and Eliot explained the basis of his work. Brynn petted the kitten in her lap and watched, occasionally asking questions or writing down notes on a scrap sheet of paper.

Eliot, in the middle of explaining one of the deeper aspects of part of his projection algorithm, looked over to find Brynn leaning on his shoulder, her eyes closed, her chest moving in the breath of deep sleep.

The poor girl. He had rambled on and on and she had tried to listen. Eliot eased her upright in her seat, but her head lolled down. She must be exhausted. Trying not to make any sudden movements, he picked her up and carried her carefully to the guest bedroom, laying her down in the oversized bed and tucking the blankets in around her chin. She slept on, her lips slightly parted, and he brushed back a strand of her hair from her face. She shifted and murmured something. He leaned close to hear what it was she was saying.

“...wonderful,” she said. “You’re wonderful. Everything...wonderful.”

Eliot couldn’t help pressing a soft, protective kiss to her temple. His hand rested gently on her head, and the kitten jumped up at the foot of the bed, curling up on her feet and purring so loud that Eliot was sure it would wake her. Still she slept on, her hands tucked against her cheeks in a prayer pose. He could not say what it was that he felt in his heart, a possessiveness that he did not deserve to feel. It was all he could do not to stay and watch her sleep, for he was afraid that if he left she would vanish again and he would not have her there with him. The kitten’s tail switched across the blanket more slowly, then came to rest. Despite hating most cats, Eliot had to admit that this one was rather cute.

Eliot stood and left them both asleep and warm in the giant bed.





CHAPTER NINE



“See, I cast the die, and I write the book. Whether it is to be read by the people of the present or of the future makes no difference: let it await its reader for a hundred years, if God himself has stood ready for six thousand years for one to study him.” - Kepler



The first night in Budapest I woke in that odd hour between first and second sleep, near midnight. The snow outside fell softly against the windows, the flakes drifting up onto the panes and crusting the glass white such as it never had been in Pasadena, and for a moment I didn’t know where I was, my self so far removed from anything close to what I called home.

Then I saw the moon outside. I exhaled, and my sense of dispossession evaporated, disappearing almost as quickly as my white breath into the air. A sense of peace came over me. I would see my mother’s grave, and I would know love. I felt as certain of this as I did anything else, and this time I did not have to walk to calm myself. Indeed, there was nowhere to go—I was where I needed to be. As I fell back into sleep, I caught myself smiling.

I woke up in the most beautiful room I had ever been in. The large canopied bed swathed with velvet fabric enclosed me in my dreams. I confess that my dreams mostly revolved around Eliot, his beautiful eyes and quiet smile. There lingered a tension between us from our former encounters, a magical feeling that I could not put my finger on—did not want to put my finger on, lest it dissipate. I knew he still wanted me, and I still wanted him, and though we had both accepted that we could not have each other, there was still a longing that I saw in his eyes which I am sure was reflected in mine.

I dressed quickly in jeans and a light sweater, splashed water on my face and brushed my teeth in the granite sink with copper fixtures. Everything here gave off an air of old elegance, of beauty enhanced by age rather than deteriorated by it. I tiptoed down the hall and down the main staircase. There was a chill in the air here that was not in my room, but my sweater kept me warm.

“Hello?”

“Brynn?” His voice came from just around the corner on the first floor. I hopped down the rest of the way down the stairs and turned the corner to see him at the stove, the countertop covered in flour. Lucky sat on the edge of the countertop, licking at a small saucer of milk. Both kitten and man were dusted lightly in patches of flour—Lucky on his tail and Eliot on the end of his nose.

I clapped my hand to my mouth to stifle a giggle.

“Before you say anything, know that we—both of us—had the best of intentions with breakfast.” Eliot came over to me and gave me a chaste hug, careful not to transfer any flour from his body to mine. I reached out and swiped my thumb across his nose to get rid of the flour. He stared cross-eyed at my fingers and caught his breath. I stepped back and surveyed the kitchen, my hands on my hips. The sinks looked like they had been hit by a tornado, with piles of plates and glasses left unwashed, sprawling over the countertops. Behind them the huge windows gave a picturesque view of the mountains covered in snow, a fir forest creeping up to the edge of the estate.