ME, CINDERELLA?(42)

All of the world obeyed the rules laid down years ago by mathematics, at the beginning of time, perhaps even before time existed. Everything happened for a logical reason, an event set into motion another event and so on and so forth. From initial conditions, as Quentin would say. There was no such thing as magic. Or so I thought.

It only took one kiss for my orderly, predictable world to fall into pieces.





CHAPTER ELEVEN



Eliot paced the floor, waiting for Brynn to be ready for dinner. His buttoned shirt irritated him at his neck, the collar so starched and stiff that any motion felt like an itch. He felt overdressed in a suit after so many years spent in Californian casual attire. The restaurant opening specified a dress code, though, and he didn’t want to undermine Otto’s reputation among whatever crowd would be there tonight any more than he already would just by being there. He hoped that anybody who recognized him would stay far away, and he would be able to spend the evening quietly with Brynn.

He heard the click of a heel against the hard floor, and looked up to see Brynn standing at the top of the stairs. All of the breath ran out of his lungs. She wore a lilac sheath dress that flowed over and around her body, accenting her lovely curves in every place that mattered. Her hair was pinned up in a loose bun, a few wavy strands hanging over her cheeks. She looked down at him from the stairway and he could see her eyes widen similarly at the sight of him.

What a pair we make, he thought, then tore the thought out of his mind. They were no pair, and she was strictly off-limits. But it was impossible to mistake her for a girl in that dress—every movement of hers down the stairs was as graceful and womanly as a ballerina. Despite himself, he felt his entire body respond to the vision before him. Brynn stopped on the last stair. Only the slight bashfulness of her eyes indicated her nervousness.

“You look absolutely stunning,” Eliot said, and Brynn beamed.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” Brynn said. Eliot laughed. Graciously offering out his arm, he helped her down the last step of the staircase. She stopped at the door and he turned back to face her.

“Are you alright?”

Her hand tightened on his arm.

“It’s just… everything is so beautiful.” Her eyes sparkled in the light of the entryway and a nervous chatter of laugher burst from her lips. “I don’t know why I’m worried. I feel like I’ll be out of place. With you…”

“You’re absolutely right,” Eliot said. “You’re too damn pretty. Everybody will be jealous. I suggest you go back and put those sweatpants on.”

Brynn laughed, and Eliot could see the lines on her face ease with relief. He pressed his palm against her arm.

“Don’t worry, it’s just a little restaurant opening. How bad could it be?”

Eliot’s own words rang in his ears as he stood outside the restaurant with Brynn, watching the hordes of people clamoring around the place. The restaurant, overlooking the Danube, was festooned with millions of tiny lights, and media reporters lined the sidewalk outside.

“Oh dear,” Brynn said, her voice all but drowned out by the hubbub of the mob.

“I’m sure it’s better inside,” Eliot said, and pulled her forward through the crowd of people determinedly. They elbowed their way forward to the front of the line, where an aggrieved hostess and a security guard kept turning people away. Brynn looked doubtfully around as they came up to the entrance. As Eliot approached, he saw a glimpse of recognition in the security guard’s eyes as he glanced at Eliot’s scar. The guard leaned forward and whispered to the hostess.

“Dr. Herceg,” the hostess said, beaming. “How wonderful to have you here with us. And this is?”

“Ms. Tomlin,” Eliot said breezily. “My guest.” Brynn looked up at the mention of her name, not understanding the Hungarian words.

“Of course. Delighted.” The hostess waved them through, snapping her fingers for a waiter. The waiter led them through the crowded tables to the outside patio, where a single table had been set apart from the rest. A jazz quartet played on a low stage just across the patio, and Eliot pulled out a chair for Brynn so that she would be able to see them from their vantage point. Another waitress came by with a bottle of champagne for their table. Some people at the other tables turned their heads to see who was sitting down at the reserved spot. Eliot saw a flash of red hair and it was Clare at one of the tables, Clare drinking from a glass not twenty feet away. She turned to him and her lips mouthed a silent word. Eliot.

“Eliot?”

Eliot shook his head and turned back to Brynn, who was looking at him curiously. He looked back at the woman, but it was not Clare, just a woman with a red rose pinned behind her ear.