Christy woke up feeling remarkably refreshed. Stretching out in a catlike manner, she forced a glance at the clock. She couldn’t even remember what day of the week it was.
Pulling on a white, lacy Victorian-style robe, Christy pushed her hair out of her eyes and made her way downstairs. No doubt Aggie will be amused to find me like this, Christy thought. She rarely ever came downstairs without her makeup, hair, and wardrobe in place.
Below, she could hear Aggie moving around the kitchen and raising such a clatter that Christy couldn’t imagine what was going on. When she stepped into the room, she wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted her.
“What in the world?” she sputtered the question. She’d totally forgotten that Curt had camped out in her sitting room for the night.
“Do you always look this good in the morning?” Curt asked, putting down the frying pan he had been about to use.
“Why are you still here?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious about her attire. She clutched the robe nervously.
“I’m fixing breakfast.”
“Where’s Aggie? I have a woman who comes in during the morning. Where is she?” Christy questioned.
“I told her that her services weren’t needed this morning,” Curt replied, expecting the storm to come.
Christy moaned. “You didn’t tell her you’d spent the night, did you?”
Curt grinned. “Of course not. I told her I was helping out and fixing breakfast.”
“You had no right,” Christy said, coming across the room. “I’m in charge here, remember? This is my house. Aggie is my help, and I pay all the bills.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Christy looked at him curiously.
“I heard that you were paying your sister’s bill. What happened to her husband?”
“They’re broke, as far as I can tell. He never stays in his law office long enough to earn a living. I don’t mind paying for Candy, though I wish it weren’t quite so convenient and helpful to Grant. He doesn’t de-serve anything good.” Christy shuddered at the memory of him touching her.
Curt’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Is Grant bothering you, Christy?”
“It isn’t anything I can’t take care of myself,” she tried to say in a reassuring voice.
After several minutes of awkward silence, Curt finally asked, “You want one egg or two?”
“I don’t want anything. I always have orange juice and coffee for breakfast and nothing else. I can get that by myself, so please just get your coat and go home.”
“My good-smelling coat?”
Christy rolled her eyes and turned to go back upstairs. Curt caught her around the waist before she made it much farther than the kitchen.
“You really are beautiful,” he whispered.
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
“Because, you know it isn’t right for you to say things like that to me. And this,” she said, motioning to the way he held her against him, “is definitely off limits. I need to get dressed.”
“You’re better covered up in this than in that blue number you were wearing the other day.” Christy’s mouth formed a silent O, and Curt smiled.
“Besides, you’re too skinny,” he said and released her.
“Once before you told me I was heavier than I looked.”
“Well, I can’t help that,” Curt grinned. “Maybe it was the heavy clothes. Now, answer my question. One egg or two?”
Christy sighed. “Can’t I win just one of these arguments?”
“Nope.”
She shook her head. “One egg.”
“How do you like it?”
“Over medium.”
“There,” Curt replied with a self-satisfied look on his face, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Go cook. I need to get dressed and put my makeup on.”
“Then I have plenty of time.” Curt chuckled and walked away. “Maybe I’ll even read the paper.”
“Why stop there? There’s a copy of War and Peace in the den.”
“Good idea,” he called over his shoulder.
When Christy returned to join Curt for breakfast, she was stylishly dressed in an attractive Armani wool-viscose suit. The classy number was not lost on Curt, who had some knowledge of fashion and the price tags that accompanied designer clothes.
“You look…” He paused, giving her a complete once-over.
“Yes?” Christy asked, hands on hips.
“Expensive.”
Christy laughed. “That’s good, because I am.”
Curt came around the table and pulled out a chair for her.
Christy shook her head. “Oh no, you don’t. I may have relented on breakfast, but I have a special place I like to start my day.” She picked up the juice he had poured for her and motioned him toward the en-closed balcony. “Right this way.”
Curt followed and nodded at the cozy sight that met his eyes. “I can see why you like it. I’ll just bring our food out here.” He left Christy to fuss over her plants and returned within a matter of seconds, balancing plates of food.
“You’ve cooked considerably more than eggs,” Christy said, noting bacon, hashbrowns, and toast.
“They looked lonely,” Curt said by way of excuse.
He could see that Christy was trying hard not to smile. She’s something else, Curt thought. Then he noticed again the way she was dressed. Sitting down on the white wicker settee, Christy looked all business and no play.
“You have someplace special you’re going today?” Curt questioned, trying to get a conversation going. Remembering his investigation, he wondered if this might break into something he should know about.
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Christy offered nothing further, and Curt realized that short of coming out and asking, he wasn’t going to find out anything more. He was surprised when, after tasting the egg he’d fixed for her, she looked up and asked him, “What about you? What do you do with your days that allows you to buy an expensive wedding dress for a woman you apparently hardly ever spend time with?”
Curt tensed. How could he explain? He couldn’t very well tell her that he was part of a billion-dollar aviation industry. Nor could he admit he was with the DEA. All she knew about him was that he’d just moved here from Florida and he could fly a plane. Just as he prepared to lie and tell her that he flew commercially, the telephone rang.
“You sure get a lot of calls,” he mused.
“This is a business phone, you know,” Christy reminded him, reaching for the portable phone.
“Hello?” Christy grinned broadly at Curt. He could tell she was up to something. “Yes, Erik, I slept quite well and so did Mr. Kyle. Would you like to talk to him?”
Curt nearly spit out his coffee and Christy started to laugh. Curt waggled a finger at her and said, “You’d better tell him the truth.”
“No, Erik, Mr. Kyle slept on the couch,” she said and paused. “No, I suppose it wasn’t nice, but neither was saddling me with this babysitter.” The lightheartedness left her voice as Curt heard her ask, “How’s Candy?”
There was a long pause, and Curt watched Christy’s eyes fill with tears. “Yes, I understand,” she said weakly. She struggled with her emotions.
Without a word to Christy, Curt took the phone and talked to Erik. After assuring Christy’s brother that he would take care of her, Curt hung up the phone and went to sit beside her. She was crying softly into her hands, and Curt simply pulled her into his arms.
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. Christy clung to him like she had that night on her porch. How he wished he could bear her pain and somehow relieve her of losing someone she loved. He knew that pain very well. At times it still came back to haunt him. At times it felt like yesterday.
Christy lifted her face and opened her mouth, but Curt put his finger against her lips, then reached up and wiped the tears from her eyes with his handkerchief. This done, he leaned forward and without warning, pulled her forward as he pressed a kiss against her lips.
For a moment Curt felt her melt against him, then without warning she pushed him away and jumped to her feet.
“Get out of my house. You are just like all the rest. I thought there was something special about you, but you’re no different.” She stormed out of the room and would have run for the haven of her bedroom, but Curt stopped her.
“You’ve got me all wrong. I’m not like those other men. I believe in faithfulness, and I would never consider having an affair.”
“What do you call what just happened? Sure it was just a kiss, but what happens next?” Christy asked angrily.
“I guess that’s up to you,” Curt said softly.
“I won’t be the other woman in Debbie’s life,” Christy replied a bit sadly. “I’ve had to deal with too many ‘other women’ to become one myself. I just can’t do it, so don’t ask me to.”
“I’m not,” Curt assured her.
“You’re not?” Christy questioned. “Did I read too much into that kiss? Was that intended as a brotherly kiss of friendship? Did I just imagine your heart pounding like it was going to come out of your chest?”
Curt smiled slowly. “No,” he answered. “That was no friendship kiss.”
Christy nodded. “At least you’re being honest about that.” She turned to leave him, but Curt put out his hand and held her fast.
“I’m not going to marry Debbie,” he said, shocking himself almost as much as Christy.
“You’re what?”
“You heard me. I’m not going to marry Debbie. She’s got someone else,” Curt added, grateful that it was the truth.
“I’m sorry,” Christy said, knowing the heartache he must be feeling.
“You are?”
“It’s hard to lose someone you love and plan to spend the rest of your life with,” Christy replied. “At least that explains your actions.”
Curt pulled her with him to the sitting room. “Tell me what you mean,” he said, guiding her to a seat on the sofa.
“I just meant that what with your breakup being so fresh and Debbie having someone else, you couldn’t help yourself. You were lonely, I was hurting, and you kissed me. Just that simple.”
“Really?” Curt questioned with a raised brow. “Was that all it was for you?” He prayed that she wouldn’t say yes.
Christy blushed and turned her face. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, I do,” Curt replied. “I didn’t kiss you because I couldn’t have Debbie. Yes, your pain might have prompted the start of the kiss, but it certainly had nothing to do with the end of it.” Christy started to get up, but he pulled her back down. “Talk to me, Christy. Tell me that kiss meant nothing to you.”
“I don’t want it to mean anything to me.”
“That’s not answering my question.”
Christy fidgeted with the button on her jacket. She realized there was no other way to deal with the situation than to just be honest. “It meant something,” she finally whispered.
Curt reached out and stilled her hand. “Tell me what it meant to you.”
“No,” Christy said, jerking her head up to meet his eyes. “I can’t. I don’t want to feel anything for you. Can’t you understand that? I’ve been hurt too many times. My father had his mistresses and was never there for me. My mother was content with her open marriage and lovers. The great love of my life was married to another woman. Even my sister’s husband has had one affair after another and tries to force himself on me whenever the notion takes him.” She put her hand to her mouth as if realizing that she should never have said anything.
Curt’s eyes blazed in anger. “I kind of figured it must be that way. But I assure you, it won’t be that way anymore.”
She put out a hand. “I don’t want to feel anything for you, Curt. I’ve seen too many relationships sour. I’ve seen the mockery people have made out of marriage. I can’t bear to become a part of that.”
“What do you mean, become a part? You are a part of it. You’re at the very center of it. You design the wedding dresses that women wear to begin their marriages. You’re at the very heart of the entire ‘mockery,’ as you put it.”
Christy shook her head. “No, I’m not. I’m a part of the fairy tale. I’m a part of the dream. I make beautiful wedding gowns that a woman will only wear once, maybe twice if she repeats her vows later in life. Maybe she’ll pass the dress down to her daughters. Whatever else, that gown represents the rose-colored glasses, the perfect picture. That gown is before the madness and the mundane. Before the broken promises.” Christy paused and got to her feet. This time Curt didn’t attempt to stop her.
“I make a dress as beautiful and as intricate as I can. I sew my own dreams and wishes into every gown and dare to hope that this might be the one couple who will truly love and cherish each other until death separates them.”
“But don’t you want that for yourself? Don’t you want to find that one person with whom you can make those dreams and wishes come true? Don’t you want the fairy tale, too?”
Christy turned and looked at Curt for a moment. She blinked back tears before answering. “I’m not Cinderella, and there is no glass slipper.”