Cinderella's Rebellion, page 12
“Everyone who remains in the real world grows old, Cyn.”
She put a hand suddenly to her face. “But I’m…”
“Everyone.”
She ran to the looking glass hanging on the living room wall. And stared into her reflection. He trailed behind her.
“Don’t you see? You’re a storybook character. Youthful. Fresh. Perpetually ageless,” he said gently. “If you remain here, you’ll wrinkle, especially in the Florida sun. It’s brutal. Your skin will prune, grow leathery as an old boot. You’ll get lines around your eyes and spend a fortune beating back that which you cannot restrain. Not even with regular Botox® injections.”
Her beautiful blue eyes sparkled with tears. Anguish pinched him. But judging from her reaction, it worked. Cinderella finally saw the light. The harsh yellow scorching Florida light, erasing her beauty and youth and turning her into a dried raisin in the sun.
Within the pages of her fairy tale, she’d never fret about growing wrinkled. Or gaining a couple of rolls around the midriff or worrying if her husband would trade her in for a younger, zestier model. Cinderella would remain eternally youthful, beautiful and plastic.
The thought depressed him beyond belief.
With sudden, startling insight, Derek realized she was right. He had hidden inside his magic kingdom of books. He didn’t want to grow old and wrinkled, but couldn’t return to the chaos of a book where he’d be youthful, but perpetually confused as well. The kingdom offered safety. Predictability. Youth.
He tore his gaze away from Cinderella as she walked over to the sliding glass doors and stared at the ocean. Derek studied himself in the mirror on the wall. The one resembling the bad queen’s mirror in Snow White. He looked at himself.
Really looked at himself.
Not a spare ounce of fat. Hard, lean muscle, taut flesh stretched over it. Hair shining and gleaming, lying against broad shoulders. A well-defined chin, eyes clear and bright and a forehead unwrinkled, stamped with intelligence.
He saw himself living in the mortal world. Derek hesitated and waved his hand, transforming the mirror into a magical forecast of the future.
Himself living in the mortal world, forty years into the future. Hair turned silvery gray. Taut flesh sagged. Two chins, not one. Rheumy, watery eyes. A mouth that thinned. Derek opened his mouth and bit back a horrified gasp.
Dentures.
With a shaking hand, he dispelled the image, restoring the mirror to an ordinary mirror.
His mind drifted to Cinderella and the real world. What if he fled the kingdom and remained here, with her?
Cinderella stood at the sliding doors, staring out at the serene, glassy ocean, her thoughts guarded.
Derek stared at the lovely lines of her profile, seeing them soften, the inevitable lines forming, the enormous blue eyes clouding with age. Cinderella growing old. With him by her side. Suddenly the mirror’s aged image of himself didn’t look so frightening. Or so nasty.
Not with him by her side. Both of them growing old and wrinkled together. Walking hand in hand on the beach. Smiling into each other’s rheumy, clouding eyes. Quibbling about early bird dinner specials and fighting over the remote control.
“Yeah right,” he muttered. “Stop sounding like a romance novel.”
Still, he could not escape the thought.
Remaining in the mortal world tempted him. He’d have to get a job. Perhaps he could manage a bookstore. The idea warmed him as he envisioned directing customers toward different volumes, cataloging and shelving the latest arrivals. Even expanding his horizons to read non-fiction. Perhaps a self-help guide on Men Who Love Women Who Love Cynical Men.
Guilt lurched through him. Torn between his feelings for her and duty, he teetered on the edge of indecision. Derek squelched his emotions. He was King of IsBn. He could not afford to fall in love, even though he had. He could not be with her.
His empire demanded quiet perfection. Millions of characters trusted him, relied on his powers to keep the kingdom running as smoothly as a well-oiled printing press. He must return Cinderella to her tome. Order must be restored.
His damn feelings for her didn’t matter. Not when it came to the importance of keeping the world of fiction stable.
But oh, how it ripped him apart to think of losing her. Needing to hold her, her closeness, inhale her sweet scent, he went to her.
The fairy tale had ended. For good.
With quiet despair, she stared at her beloved turquoise ocean. A huge lump tightened her throat.
Derek was ordering her back to the story. She could refuse to return. Run away. But the real world held nothing for her anymore. Because of him. She wouldn’t have him, the one man she loved, the only man she wanted.
Derek had taught her passion, made love to her with utter tenderness and ruthless sensuality. He claimed her body.
He claimed her heart as well. But it didn’t matter.
If Derek didn’t want her, she didn’t want the real world. What was the point? He was right. The real world didn’t give happy endings, only sour disenchantment.
At least in her fairy tale, she could have pleasure. Even if the sexual pleasure was delivered by a handsome stranger who only pretended to love her.
Having a man who faked love in the story was better than this horrific anguish of having one who couldn’t care in real life.
From behind, she felt two muscular male arms slide around her. Shocked dismay gripped her. How dare he? Her world was collapsing and he wanted to embrace her?
She struggled against his grip and wrenched free. Cyn turned and assumed an expression of utter blankness. The spark of life finally died from her, as if it never truly existed.
She felt more plastic now than she had in the story.
Cyn headed for the kitchen as he followed. She went to the closet and removed a whisk broom. It looked brand new and never used. She hated doing housework. With dull resignation, she began sweeping the kitchen floor.
His hand laced over hers, staying the broom’s motion. “Honey, what are you doing?”
She shot him an icy look. “I’m preparing for my role in the story. I’d better get used to doing housework again. So leave, Derek. When you find me a new prince, call me. Until then just leave me the fuck alone. Go. Now.”
She did not look up as he silently closed the door behind him.
Chapter Twelve
Derek found the perfect candidate for Cinderella’s prince. The next day he phoned her, inviting her over to the castle to meet him. She sounded dispassionate, lifeless. The distant chill in her once perky voice broke his heart.
When she arrived, Cinderella greeted him stiffly and promptly took a seat on the plaid living room sofa to study her potential husband. Derek gave the prospect the same scrutiny.
The romance cover model was slightly short at five feet, eight inches, but his muscled body was well-proportioned. He had long, black hair drifting down his back and a classically handsome face. Perhaps a bit more tough than aristocratic, but Derek reasoned he would fit the part. He began the interview with simple questions.
“What experience do you have in playing a prince?”
The young man lifted his gaze skyward as he appeared to search his memory. “Mmmm, let’s see… I did a cover once for The Prince’s Passion. It made the USA Today list. And I dressed up and played the role of a nobleman for a Romantic Times convention a few years back. Had to dress in all that velvet robes and stuff. Itched like hell.”
Derek frowned. “I can outfit you correctly. Do you dance?”
Immediately the young man began jerking his hips from side to side and flailing his arms. He looked like someone shoved a live electrical wire down his shorts.
“No, no! Waltz.”
“I can line dance,” the young man offered. “And I did a few cowboy covers before the romance market went all soft on westerns.”
“Waltz,” Derek repeated impatiently. “You know,” he gestured with his arms. Dick nodded.
“Do you have what it takes to be the model for all the girls who dream about marrying you in their fantasies?” Derek demanded.
“I can be very romantic,” Dick said.
“Okay,” Derek said. “Here’s the deal. You go into the story, replace the prince, marry Cinderella and stick to every line in the book. No deviations. No editing your character, creating your own script or wandering off from the printed material. You stay in character and in the story. Period.”
Dick nodded. “I need something in return.”
“What?”
“Profits.”
Hmmmm. Difficult. “Why would you need real money? You’ll be rich in the story beyond your wildest dreams.”
“I need money for my sister. She wants to send my nephew to college. So I’ll set up a trust fund for him,” Dick explained.
“I think we can work something out,” Derek said slowly. “I’ll give you a contract with 10 percent of the royalties. Split future movie rights in half. Deal?”
“Deal. Where do I sign?”
Waving his hand, Derek produced a thick sheaf of papers more imposing than the federal budget. “Sign here.”
“Okay,” Dick said laconically, jamming his large hands into his jeans pockets.
Derek bristled, noting how Cinderella kept glancing at those very large hands. He clutched the contract like a life raft, suddenly reluctant to let go of it. And her.
“Just one thing before I sign.” Dick’s interested green gaze shot over to Cinderella. “Do I get to have sex with her?”
Before Derek could answer, the silent Cyn spoke from the couch, her voice harsh.
“The story ends with the prince marrying Cinderella and they live happily ever after. In my book, happily ever after means a good fuck.”
Derek ached at her shockingly crude words, the impersonal, cold tone in which she delivered them.
“Cool,” Dick said, giving Cinderella a long, frankly male appraising look. “You and me, it’s a date. In the romance world, I’m known as King Dick, but I’ll settle for being an ordinary prince. Hope you like it real rough, babe. I sure do.”
Derek felt a sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach at the thought of this brute tearing off her clothing, and slamming into her, hurting her. Covering her beautiful white skin with purplish bruises. A sudden protective feeling overpowered him. He narrowed his gaze at Dick.
“I’ve changed my mind. The prince must be woven from a girl’s fantasies. A gentleman and considerate as well as a good lover. I don’t think you’re the one…”
“Just a minute, Mr. King of IsBn,” Cyn interjected. “I’ll decide for myself if he’s the one or not.”
She gave Derek a cynical look. “Who cares about a girl’s fantasies? I want to know if he’s good in bed. Maybe I would like it rough.” She pointed to Dick’s crotch. “Unzip, and let me see what kind of material I have to work with.”
Dick gave a half-shrug. “Okay.” He unzipped his jeans, very slowly, and tugged them open. His long, very substantial penis flopped out. It resembled a large German bratwurst.
“Does this qualify me to be the stuff of a girl’s dreams?” he asked.
Looking distinctly unimpressed, Cinderella gave a half-shrug. “Looks big enough. I guess that’s how you got your nickname.”
Dick nodded regally, as if acknowledging her rightful praise. He very carefully tucked his very considerable length back into his jeans and zipped again.
Cinderella looked dispassionate. A sudden, cruel light came into her beautiful blue eyes. She looked…cynical.
With a start, Derek realized he had seen that particular expression before. In the mirror.
What the hell had he done to her? In forcing her to abandon her belief in a fairy tale ending in the mortal world, he’d turned her into a hard-bitten pessimist.
Just like him.
“Fine with me as long as you can perform to my satisfaction in the bedchamber, prince,” she mocked. Cinderella clapped a hand on Dick’s groin. “Since you’ve got the equipment, it looks like a good start.”
The vulgar gesture startled Dick and troubled Derek. His heart twisted. She had gone from a loving, innocent girl who regarded lovemaking as something beautiful and special to a hardened woman measuring a potential husband by his man part.
Suddenly the whole idea began looking rather shabby. A low growl fled his lips. Derek clenched white-knuckled fists.
A wild streak of pure male jealousy shot through him. The image of Dick mounting his Cinderella, her nude body pressed beneath his into the royal mattress, feeling each luscious inch of that silky skin, making her cry out with pleasure as he spread her legs, positioning her for entry of his…
“Dick,” Cinderella said. The hardened edge had returned to her expression again. “You’d better live up to your name.”
Waving his hand, Derek produced a fat Montblanc® pen. He slapped the papers down on the glossy coffee table. “Your contract,” he told Dick, offering the pen.
Dick went to take the pen but Derek could not release his tight grip on it. Uncertainty and doubts seized him as he studied the sullen Cinderella, sitting once more on the couch. Her expression remained hardened, but her lower lip wobbled precariously, as if she were about to break out in tears.
How could he abandon her to a story where she’d become unhappier than with anything the moral world doled out? How could he allow another man to even touch what he had claimed in heated passion? Duty warred with a tangle of confusing emotions. He was king of IsBn. His duty was to maintain order in the kingdom of books. Personal needs must be sacrificed.
Why then did it feel like his heart was being turned back, dog-eared like the page of a well-thumbed novel? He never knew he could feel like this. Not even when his creator wrote him the most passionate, turbulent love scene. Derek searched his mind and realized with shock he couldn’t even remember the details. Or the heroine’s name. Or her face.
He loved Cinderella. Every inch of her creamy, pale skin, her lethally sharp brain, her shiny-eyed belief in the best.
Her perfect, bare feet she seemed reluctant to slide into shoes. Or a glass slipper.
If she was willing to embrace an uncertain future, and whatever life had to offer, why couldn’t he work up the courage to do the same?
And give up his kingdom? All he had achieved since escaping his own story ten years ago? Derek thought about the tumultuous chaos of his old story, and weighed it against the uncertain future of the real world. And the safety of IsBn.
Dick shuffled his feet. “Maybe signing this isn’t a good idea. I should have my agent look it over first.”
The man’s words snapped Derek out of his morose ruminations. He had obligations. Responsibilities. He thrust the pen at Dick.
“Sign it now or no deal,” Derek ordered harshly. “It’s just a contract. You’re getting published in a book. You’ll be famous. In bookstores. Isn’t that what you always wanted? Don’t worry about the fine print.”
A glimmer of male interest lit Dick’s eyes as he glanced at Cinderella. “Yeah, and I do get to get laid every night. After we get married, anyway. Okay.”
Dick signed the contract, dropped the pen. The tiniest of sighs escaped Cyn’s lips. Then the hardened light returned to her blue eyes.
“Well, that’s that. Come on prince, let’s get this over and done with. If you’re ready, Mr. King Genie of IsBn, zap us back into the book.”
She stood, taking her place next to Dick’s. Derek’s throat went dry.
He raised his hands, his heart aching as he prepared to return her to her story forever. Duty. Honor. Order. It meant everything to him.
It meant nothing to him, if he couldn’t have her by his side. He loved her. Trusted her implicitly, even to lead them into a future filled with tormenting uncertainty.
His tormented gaze locked with her unhappy one. She held up a trembling hand.
“Wait!”
Cyn’s lower lip trembled. “Just one thing. One question before I leave you forever, Derek. If I were…if I were…to grow old and gray and fat, my flesh sagging, my chins wobbling…would you love me?”
Derek dropped his hands. He went to her, stroked her silky cheek, wiped away a crystalline tear leaking from her luminous blue eyes.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I would love you no matter what you looked like. No matter how gray your hair, how sagging your flesh, or how many chins you had.”
A delicate frown knit her pale forehead. “Even if my boobs drooped down to my knees?”
Derek winced, and then gave her a lopsided grin. “I would adore your droopy boobs.”
He took a steadying breath and blurted out the words his heart knew were true. “I would adore them enough to stay here, Cyn. In the mortal world, if only you would remain with me.”
Tears of joy sprang to her eyes. “Oh Derek, I will. You convinced me that life must be lived to its fullest. It’s not a fairy tale prince I need, but a man who loves me no matter what, even if my flesh is sagging and my hair turns gray.”
She ran toward him. He caught her in his arms, showering mad kisses over her lips, her cheeks, her perfect single chin.
“I can’t let you go,” he groaned.
“You won’t,” she moaned.
“I love you,” he gasped between heated kisses.
“I love you more,” she countered, wrapping her body around him.
“Even if my hair grows gray and I get a spare tire wide enough for a tractor trailer, and…” He stopped, glanced downward. “I’m not able to perform as well as I can now?”
She stopped kissing him, pulled back, looking a little disappointed. Then she brightened. “There are always the little blue pills.”
“True. I hadn’t thought of that,” he agreed.
Dick’s jaw dropped down. The man looked very confused. Derek glanced at him. “There’s still the main problem, my lovely, fair Cyn. The story needs you, Cinderella.”
Her look of besotted adoration turned to thoughtfulness. “But not precisely me, Derek. A Cinderella. If you managed to replace my prince, who agreed to play the role, why couldn’t you…”
