ME, CINDERELLA?(37)

“Of course,” she said. “Anything for Eliot. A few clothes is far less than his proper due.”

“Due?”

“Otto and I owe him a great debt. But that’s another story for another day.”

Anxious though I was to hear any scrap of information about Eliot, I let the subject go and happily suited up in wool stockings and a dress under the demure black coat. The wool stockings kept my legs surprisingly warm, and the black leather heeled boots made every step comfortable, despite the heels being higher than what I normally wore. Marta looked me over once, her fingers brushing my hair down, before hooking her arm through mine to leave the shop.

“Perfect,” she said. “And just in time for lunch!”





If the clothes cost more than I had spent in my lifetime, the lunch was just as extravagant. Marta took me to a charming bistro at the heart of the city, again leaving her car double parked on the road. Marta saw my embarrassed look back at the car, and laughed at me as we entered the cafe and sat at one of the front tables.

“You are just as proper about cars as Eliot,” she said.

I struck upon the opportunity. I wanted to know more about Eliot, and his brother’s sister seemed to know everything.

“Why is he proper about cars?” I asked.

“Well, you know…” she said, the smile fading from her face into a look of pity. “His wife.”

My heart sank in my chest, and I tried to hide my expression of disbelief. The world around me seemed to dim and blur, and I could hear my blood pounding in my veins. Sweat beaded under the collar of my coat. I couldn’t breathe.

“He— he has a wife?”

“Oh, he didn’t tell you about her?” Marta sipped a lemon water, her focus drifting over to the waiter. A shock of tears rose up behind my eyes and I looked away, out toward the street, where dozens of people passed by, completely unaware that my heart was breaking. I berated myself for wanting, for hoping. Of course everyone would have thought I was his mistress. And I might have become one, unwittingly. My being went numb with terror at the thought.

“No,” I managed to choke out. Marta turned back to me and leaned forward.

“Terribly sad. Do you want to know something?” Her voice was a conspiratorial hush. I didn’t want to know anything more, in fact, only wanted to jump out of my seat and run, but Marta kept talking like nothing had happened. “When he lost her, he blamed himself for it.”

“L—lost her?”

“In the car accident. He was driving, but of course it was a bad road, icy. They never do maintain those back roads too well. Not enough salt to keep the ice away, even if the paparazzi hadn’t been chasing them around it would have ended the way it did. Just a bad patch of ice, anyone would have hit it.” Marta didn’t notice my exhale, my fingers wiping away the unshed tears from my eyes.

A rush of conflicting feelings jostled for place in my heart. Relief, that Eliot didn’t have a wife—guilt, for feeling relief. A newfound hope that I crushed down inside myself with caution, for I knew I couldn’t get too close to him. And an overwhelming sense of sorrow, not just for Eliot’s loss, but for the burden on himself that such a loss must have created.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” I managed to stammer out words, even if I didn’t know what I was saying.

“Of course you didn’t, poor thing, he doesn’t talk about it with anyone. Too proud, too distant. Otto is the same, in many ways. Keeps to himself.” Marta sipped at her water and snapped her fingers above her head. “Waiters aren’t worth a damn here. Are you alright?” She had just now noticed the expression of shock on my face.

“I’m fine.” I wasn’t, but that wasn’t Marta’s fault. I couldn’t help but think of how guilty Eliot must feel. Marta reached across the table and took my hand in hers,pressing her palm down sympathetically.

“Well, I’m so glad he’s found himself someone to keep company with.”

I extricated my fingers from her grasp and took a sip of the water in front of me. It tasted faintly bitter and I swallowed, my eyes downcast.

“I’m just here for the internship,” I said. In my heart, though, I hoped against hope that I could be more to Eliot than a student.





CHAPTER TEN



Eliot passed the time in his study, working on his projective algorithm problem. He knew that he was on the cusp of something, but he couldn’t figure out exactly how to make it work. Each avenue he tried got cut off at the crucial pass, and then he would have to start over again with a new guess.

Brynn came back from the lunch later in the afternoon. He opened the door to her knock, only to see her carrying a half dozen shopping bags in each hand. He waved to Marta in her car as she sped off down the driveway. A tension inside of him released when he saw Brynn again, safe and whole. He leaned forward to take her bags from her and was surprised when she kissed him on one cheek, then the other. His heart stirred at the pressure of her soft lips against his skin, and he wished he had taken the opportunity to shave while she was gone.