ME, CINDERELLA?(68)

Eliot pulled the sheets back over her body, averting his eyes in the dim light. After the hot bath, he’d had to undress her, stripping off her wet clothes. Remembering the way her body looked, naked and beautiful, made him ache with desire as well as shame. He should not have seen her, but he had. The curved lines of her hips, the pinkness of her skin… Eliot shifted his weight on his feet, uncomfortable with the longing, entirely too familiar, that strafed his heart whenever he saw Brynn. It was some time before he could fall back asleep at her side.

Brynn woke up the next morning after the family doctor had already left. Eliot was dozing in the chair beside her bed, a book in his lap. He heard her stirring and leaned forward to see her eyelids flutter and open slightly.

“Eliot?” She coughed slightly.

“Brynn.” Eliot placed his book on the end table.

“Where is he?” She looked around, as though expecting someone to jump out of the shadows. “The hunter. What happened?”

“He’s gone. The police took him away. How do you feel?”

Brynn coughed. “Awful.” She coughed again, clearing her throat, and looked down, then quickly pulled the covers up to her neck.

“Eliot, I don’t have any clothes on!” Her voice sounded shocked with indignation.

“I’m sorry, I had to… you were entirely soaked…” Eliot stammered. He hadn’t expected her to react like this.

“Well, get me something to put on!” Brynn had the covers up to her chin, and was flushing bright red.

Eliot brought her the underwear that had already been through the dryer, and a robe.

“I don’t have anything too suitable for you,” he said. “But I’ll call the apartments.” He kicked himself mentally for not already having done so.

“Have you told them? The other students?” Brynn seemed mortified.

“No. Well, I told them that you had fallen on my property and were being looked after by my doctor,” Eliot said. “Not quite the truth.”

“Not quite a lie,” Brynn said. Her fingers clutched the robe above the blankets. “Can you look away?”

Eliot averted his face. When Brynn gave the okay, he turned to find her bundled in the robe, standing at the bedside.

“The doctor said you should rest,” Eliot said.

“I’m fine,” Brynn said, but her stance was unsteady.

“For my sake, please, stay lying down.”

“You have to go, don’t you?” Brynn asked. “You’re leaving.”

“Brynn—”

Tears streamed down her cheeks and she hugged her arms to her chest tightly.

“You said you loved me,” she said. Eliot stepped over. At first he thought she would shy away from his embrace, but she leaned into his chest. Her shoulders moved only slightly as she sobbed. In his arms she felt so fragile, like a beautiful, ornate vase already broken and repaired once, ready to shatter. He could not be the one to shatter her.

“Oh, Brynn,” Eliot said. He pressed his cheek down onto her hair, caressing her shoulders, her back. Her sobs grew quiet, slow, and then stopped altogether. When she pulled away, he dug into his pocket for a handkerchief to offer her.

“I’m ruining all of your handkerchiefs,” Brynn said, a noise between a laugh and a sob escaping her throat as she pressed the fabric to her face. He waited until she had wiped her nose dry. She stood before him so sorrowful and proud that if he had not fallen headlong for her already he would have done so again in an instant. Her eyes shone brightly underneath a glaze of tears, her hair damp and wavy, stuck to her cheeks in places. Eliot felt the last of his resolve melt away as he looked at her.

“I’m not leaving, Brynn,” he said. Inside his mind he heard the gates drop, letting himself open up. He took her hand in his. “Please. The doctor said that you need rest.”

Brynn sat down on the edge of the bed, her hand trembling under his.

“You won’t leave?”

“No.” Eliot sighed in relief as Brynn tucked her legs up back under the blankets. She spent a few seconds arranging the pillows behind her, then leaned back.

“Okay, see? I’m resting.”

“I don’t see your eyes closed.”

“Are you really staying here?”

“Yes. I’ll be right here.”

“Eliot?” The way she said his name sent shivers through his arms, his hands. He longed to take her up passionately and kiss every piece of her, every last beautiful part, every crease and curve. Instead he sat down on the edge of the bed beside her and clasped his hands on his lap.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.” As Eliot looked up toward her another flood of tears brimmed her eyes and spilled over. She had the handkerchief to her face. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have gone off, you said it was dangerous and I didn’t listen, I—” She choked on the last word and wiped her nose again between sobs.