Cinderella's Rebellion, page 11
Derek thought fast. He had to retrieve the prince before things got totally out of hand, but from the sound of it, it might be too late anyway.
“How has he blended in?”
“Splendidly, I’m afraid to say. I regret he’s gotten a job. As a female impersonator doing Mean Queens from Literature. So far he’s gotten rave reviews, especially for his portrayal of the wicked queen from Snow White. Instead of a poison apple, he has a cucumber. A very large cucumber.”
“Please don’t tell me…”
“I must say, I’ve never seen anyone so…orally flexible before,” Simon confessed.
“Spare me the details, please.”
“There’s more. Rumor has it he’s getting married.”
Derek stared. “Who?”
“It’s not exactly a who. More like a what.”
He thought hard and fast. “All right. Find him. And quickly. Then report back to me. I’ll handle this myself.”
The entire story was falling apart. Just like that one particular story had, ten years ago.
Hard resolve filled him. Not this time. I’ll set this story to rights, no matter what it takes. He thought of the sleeping cinder wench and his chest tightened. Even if it means breaking her heart, I must.
His minions, excellent bloodhounds as well as housecleaners, had tracked the errant prince to a small church the next day.
Derek wasted no time. He materialized in front of the little pink church. He dashed into the Chapel of Brotherly Love and skidded to a halt on the lavender carpet. His unbelieving eyes took in the scene.
The prince stood at the altar in resplendent regalia, full dress uniform, complete with silk hose, leather shoes, and a fine sword strapped to his belt. His hair was neatly cut and combed back.
Beside him his beefy bride stood, clad in a capped sleeve, eggshell white lace gown with a train five feet long and a chiffon veil. The bride was as wide as the back of a gasoline tanker.
“Stop the wedding! I object!” Derek shouted.
The four at the altar turned. Derek sucked in an unbelieving breath.
The prince’s bride stood about six feet tall, with a barrel chest and thickly muscled arms. A tattoo proclaiming “Mom” rode on his beefy left arm. A forest of dark facial fur covered his lower face. He looked like a huge, hairy, explosion of white lace.
Derek silently gave thanks Cyn had left his bed that morning to return to her condo. She had no clue about this mess. He stood at the back of the church, using the tone of voice that would make the boldest tome shake in its bindings.
“Prince Charming, what do you think you’re doing? You’re cheating on the story line.”
He marched up the aisle, heated anger rushing through him. As he approached, the prince’s face drained. The bride looked at Derek with a glint of jealousy in his dark eyes. “Is this the bimbo you ran away from?”
Derek recoiled, highly insulted.
“I am the king of IsBn, responsible for keeping order in the fictional world. And you,” Derek pinned the prince down with a scathing look, “are an escapee.”
“Hush, please,” the prince hissed to his intended. He glanced at Derek.
“I’m sorry,” the prince apologized. “I had to leave the story. I cannot be someone I am not. It’s about time I came out of the closet, er, the book.”
Derek strode up to the prince and slapped him.
“Snap out of it, man!” he shouted. “You’re a prince!”
“Actually, he’s more of a queen,” added the best man helpfully.
The bride bristled with outrage. “Stop hitting my man. Get your own.”
“I’m sorry,” the prince repeated in a trembling voice. “Cinderella’s not a bad wench. But it never would have worked out. I realized my true self when I watched those videos, those bulging biceps… And reading that book. Isn’t it better to have me be happy with someone I care about than fulfilling a cardboard role in a fairy story?”
His world was ripping apart at the bindings. Derek rubbed his left eyebrow. “We’re talking fairy tales. They’re fiction. Not real life.”
“Fairy tales do come true,” the bride added. “Mine is. I got my prince.”
Derek shot him an irritated look. “Fiction. A fantasy world upon which millions of children base their dreams. It’s not real.”
“Are you saying then I’m not real?” the prince asked slowly.
Derek paused, remembering Cinderella’s wistful expression when they first met when she wished haltingly that she was real. Torn, he glanced at the prince. At the bride.
It was beyond him now. If he forced the prince to act opposite of his nature, the story would end up as a twisted fairy tale. Cinderella would live unhappily ever after.
Derek nodded gruffly to the bride and the prince. “Go on.”
Eyes shining with gratitude, the prince stepped forward, arms outstretched as if to embrace him. Derek quickly moved back.
“No thanks necessary. Just, uh, live a happy life.”
Turning on his heel, he marched down the aisle, ruminating over the drastic turn of events. Cinderella must have a prince, a sexually pleasing prince who would keep her happy in bed. He just had to find another to fit the role. For a wild moment Derek considered taking the part. To be with her forever, locked in the story, spending the end of the tale making love in the castle, tasting the delights of her.
Never. He simply wasn’t princely material. And he could not restrict himself to a story.
Never.
Derek spent the next few hours sitting at his computer, surfing the Internet for a likely prince candidate for Cinderella. He jotted down the statistics on a few likely possibilities and then glanced at the clock.
Cyn would be home by now. He had to tell her.
Pushing back from the pinewood desk with a sigh, he reached for his cell. Derek punched in her number, mentally steeling himself for what was to come.
An hour later, he found himself sitting in her not-so-pristine kitchen. Dishes piled in the sink, and dust layered the floor. Derek studied Cyn as she plopped onto a cushioned chair at the table cluttered with bills, magazines and books.
“What did you want to tell me? It sounded urgent.”
He simply had to make her understand. Oh how he hated what he must do. But duty ruled over his heart. He was King of IsBn and knew he must adhere to the story line.
Very gently, he told her, “Cinderella, I’ve run into a glitch with your story line. Your prince escaped from the tome, and found another. I’m searching for a replacement for you.”
Confusion dimpled her lovely, unlined brow. “He found another? Another fairy tale character?”
Derek gathered her soft, small hands in his and gave a reassuring squeeze. “No, actually, a fairy. He’s gay, Cyn. Your prince was gay.”
Relief showed on her expression. “I said so myself. Now I guess I’m proven right. So we’ll both be escapees from the fairy tale.”
“No. You must return,” he said quietly.
“But Derek, now that we’ve found each other, my happily ever after is here, in the real world. With you.”
He hated to sour her look of eager joy. “It’s not real, Cyn. I’ve been layering a fantasy for you, a script in which I’m your prince.”
“No,” she whispered. “It’s very real, Derek. It’s more real and truthful and honest than anything I’ve ever felt. Don’t you feel it? Remain here, with me.”
Very gently, he removed his hands, hating to dampen the shining look in her blue eyes. “I can’t. And neither can you, sweet, fair Cinderella. I must return to my kingdom. And you to yours, to your story. There is no other way. You must go back.”
“Leave the mortal world when I’ve found you, my real-life prince? I can’t, Derek.”
“Don’t you see? This isn’t real life. I can never, ever, be the prince of your dreams. It was all written. Real life is heartache and confusion and a helpless, out of control feeling.”
She gave him a singularly sweet, trusting look. “That helpless, out of control, feeling? It’s love, Derek.”
Recoiling, he shook his head. Love? It could not be. He would not, could not, ever afford to be out of control again. He had to rule the kingdom. Keep the characters in line.
Break her heart.
Derek dragged in a heavy breath, hating himself for what he must do.
“Cyn, you’re living out a fantasy. Real life isn’t a fairy tale. Real life is paying the bills and doing the laundry and you have to scrub the floors and yeah, you’re going to have to sweep out the damn chimney hearth.”
He felt his heart twist at the pleading look in her eyes. “I don’t care. Please Derek, let me stay. Or come with me into the story. I’ll return, I promise. My happily ever after can’t be happy without you. You’re the only man I want.”
Torn between duty and desire, he hesitated. Oh how he wanted her. He wanted her so badly letting her go proved to be more painful than when he’d made the drastic leap ten years ago to IsBn.
“I can’t,” he said quietly. “I can’t be your prince charming. Never, ever. It’s not within me.”
Derek felt a pressure settle on his chest so tight he could barely breathe. He hated hurting her. But he simply must make her see reason.
“I’m not princely material, Cyn. I can’t squeeze myself into a story line where I’m forced to assume a role that doesn’t fit. A role totally out of character for me.”
“You played it so well for me up until now,” she protested.
Derek glanced away. “It was a role I assumed to coax you back into the story. And you see how it’s ending. I’m not the handsome prince who will rescue you.”
More the ogre trolling beneath the bridge, callously willing to break your heart to achieve his own means…
“Then be any character you want, Derek. Just be mine,” she implored, a pleading look in her sapphire blue eyes.
He inhaled deeply, knowing the time had come for the full truth. Damn, he had hoped to avoid this, but she deserved to know.
“I don’t want to play any character, Cyn. I already did.”
Time seemed to hang suspended between them. Derek fisted his hands, feeling sweat gather on the back of his plaid shirt.
She gave him a quiet, searching look. “I knew there was something very different about you. You’re no more real than I am. Because you’re an escapee from a book, just like me.”
Chapter Eleven
His darkest secret was out. She had guessed it, clever cinder wench. A weight lifted from his chest. He glanced away, shame-faced and feeling absurdly vulnerable. The past he’d unsuccessfully tried to bury resurfaced with alarming speed.
“Yes, it’s true. I’m an escaped character. I was a Scottish warrior in an historical romance novel.”
Familiar pride tensed his shoulders. Once, he was noble, fearless and a character fit to fulfill any girl’s fantasies. And then… Derek cringed inside, remembering.
Her gaze at him was filled with understanding sympathy.
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“A romance novel that was written by an author under deadline pressure to submit revisions.”
Taking a deep breath, he plunged ahead and explained. “The publisher worried I wasn’t alpha enough for the audience. And marketing did a poll among their readers and found they loved heroes with hairy chests so suddenly I grew a forest of chest hair. The publisher thought Gaelic wasn’t a romantic language so my author had me speaking Italian when I made love. Then the art department complained I didn’t have enough body definition for the cover. She added more musculature. And then the publisher said readers like a hero with an impressive man tool.”
Cyn’s fascinated gaze flicked down to the large bulge in his blue jeans. “She made it bigger?”
He nodded. “The only change I didn’t mind.”
“What else?”
“The market for Scottish warriors was getting saturated. So the author tried to please them by changing me again.”
“Why did you leave the book?”
Familiar humiliation filled him. “The publisher wanted the author to add a paranormal element. So I became a Scottish warrior who was a genie by means of my magical claymore.”
Cinderella’s admiring gaze flicked downward to his groin. “Magical claymore, indeed,” she murmured.
“Then they fretted that the market shifted and cowboys were popular. So she added a ranch on the highlands and had me taming wild stallions with my magic powers.”
“Hmmm. Still, it could have worked…”
“There’s more.” His shame-faced gaze dragged up to meet her puzzled one. “I became a Scottish warrior genie cowboy who time traveled to Regency England and married a female vampire who had amnesia and thought she was a werewolf.”
He had abandoned his author, picked up his magical claymore and fled to assume power. Because he simply could not stand the noisy chaos and nonsense anymore.
“Oh Derek,” she said softly. “At least in my story line, lame as it was, I wasn’t confused.”
“So you see Cyn, this is why I escaped. I used my magic powers to leave the book and seize control of IsBn. Someone had to, because there was no order. No logic. And I’ve been there ever since.”
“That’s why you always wear plaid. I wondered.”
He leaned back in the chair, relief filling him. “Yes. But I lost the accent. Had a difficult time ordering my minions around. They couldn’t understand me.”
She seized his hand, pressing it to her breasts with an earnest look. “Oh Derek, can’t you see? It’s fate. We’re both escaped characters. Stay here, with me, in the real world. We’ll create our own story, make up the chapters as we go along.”
The aching pain in his chest returned. Derek gently removed her hands, knowing what he must do.
“I have a duty to perform, Cyn. So must you. You must return to the story. There’s no happily ever after here for you. Or a life with me.”
She couldn’t believe what he was saying. Derek was rejecting her. Somehow she must make him believe in the fairy tale coming true. Cyn noted the proud line of his taut jaw, the smooth, firm muscles. He was well written indeed. They made a marvelous match. Surely he could not let her return after all they had shared.
Her greatest fantasy about life had come true. She’d met the real prince, who had conquered her body as well as her heart. Surely he could not let the dream end. No. He simply couldn’t.
“Let me be your heroine, Derek. I believe in happily ever after! We can make it work,” she cried out, desperate.
“But I don’t believe.” The smile he offered was chillingly cynical and froze her blood in her veins.
Hot tears finally spilled beneath her lids. Unsuccessfully, she tried choking them back. Cyn squeezed her eyes shut and felt the warm touch of his fingers gently, oh so gently, tracing the twin tracks of salt water coursing down her cheeks.
“The story is what matters most. In your story, you’ll never grow old, you’ll always be young and beautiful and although you experience unhappiness in the beginning, everything works out in the end. It seldom does in real life.”
“I can’t Derek. I won’t.”
“Why not? You have everything. A happy ending. A castle, a prince…”
“I don’t want a guaranteed happy ending. I want you. I want the real world, with its unpredictability and messy wonderfulness. Where I can make my own happy ending.”
The idea of returning to the cold, dusty hearth, her bitchy stepsiblings, the stepmonster from hell and living within a book’s bindings depressed her enormously. Hopeful expectation filled her. She still believed in the fairy tale, only with him. Surely, she could make him see reason…
“No Cyn. It doesn’t work that way in the mortal world. Hell, sometimes it doesn’t even work that way in a book. Stop believing that this is all going to end up just fine. It’s not because I have a duty to perform and I can’t let go of it. Not even for you,” he told her.
“If you loved me, you would stay with me,” she whispered, feeling her heart twist with grief.
Dark torment flashed in his eyes, suddenly replaced by arctic blankness. Derek drew back, speaking in an authoritative tone she’d never heard him use before. “Stop this, right now. You’re living in a fantasy that will never come true. I escaped from my book and created order. You escaped from yours and create chaos. You must return.”
Cyn glared at him. “Return to a story line where there’s an artificial happy ending with a stranger? I want life, not lines in a book where I know what comes next.”
“You’re living in a fairy tale fantasy,” he snapped.
“And you’re more one-dimensional than I am! You want to protect yourself from the world and its pain by living through books. You’re hiding away, Derek,” she shouted back.
His sweet, innocent, but feisty Cinderella had driven a nail right into his Achilles heel. Fury boiled inside him. She was wrong. Of course he was not hiding. He was protecting the book world, not using it as a dust cover.
“At least I know what reality is and what is fantasy,” he growled.
Derek frantically sought a reason, any motivation for her character to return to the story line. She didn’t want a happy ending. Made no sense to him. He studied her and it struck him how truly beautiful she was. Not one single laugh line…
And then he knew exactly how he would coax her into returning to the story.
“You know, you’re right about life. But there are certain things that are predictable.” Derek told her.
Wary distrust flared in her eyes. “Oh?”
“Predictable in the passage of time.”
“Brilliant observation,” she noted sarcastically.
“And how people…age. Grow old. And gray and wrinkled.” Derek gave her blonde, silky tresses a pointed look then flicked his gaze to her unlined brow.
