Me, Cinderella? Part 1

ME, CINDERELLA?.

A New Adult Romance.

by Aubrey Rose.

For my mom, who taught me to love books And My dad, whose grave I hope someday to visit.

One kind deed can change your life forever...

Brynn Tomlin could never afford to follow her heart. But when she sees a stranger shivering in the snow outside of the college library, an inexplicable urge leads her to buy him a hot cup of coffee. It's just a small act of kindness, a few words of conversation. Brynn should be focusing on her finals, after all, not on the man who looked up at her gratefully with piercing blue eyes.

He could have been anyone - a janitor on break, a graduate student, a b.u.m. But the man standing outside in the cold turns out to be Dr. Eliot Herceg, one of the most brilliant minds in mathematics and heir to a fortune. After years of reclusive isolation, he now finds his heart awakening to the kind girl whose name he does not know.

Brynn has spent her life trying to forget her desires, and Eliot's deep wounds have taken nearly a decade to heal. After so much hurt, will either of them be able to open their hearts again?

Before my mother died, she told me stories. I sat on her lap and listened to her spin golden fairy tales through the air. We never had much, but I didn't notice the cracks in our plaster walls when she talked about Cinderella putting on her crystal slippers and waltzing all night with Prince Charming.

"Once upon a time"...the stories always begin the same way, but from these beginnings my mother wove new tales that danced in all directions of the compa.s.s. She told me stories of castles and dragons, stories of men who flew above the clouds to reach the sun and G.o.ds who rained jealous fury upon their rivals. Stories of lovers whose pa.s.sion rose above earthly desire and changed their fate to a different end than the world had meant for them. Stories of hope and of death.

None of those stories were true, but mine is.

CHAPTER ONE.

"A mathematician is a device for turning coffee into theorems." -Paul Erdos.

My grandmother told me once that luck multiplies if you share it. So long deprived of good fortune, I had almost forgotten what luck looked like before I met him. I was only eight years old when I lost my lucky star, and thirteen black years stood between me and my younger self. When a slip of happy fate landed at my feet that night, my Nagy's voice echoed in my ears: Hand it along to the next person. Let Fortuna's wheel spin past, and it will come back all the sooner. May my luck be yours. May it multiply.

By a whim of the universe, Southern California lay trembling that winter in the middle of a freak snowstorm, the likes of which had not been seen for decades. I certainly had never known anything like it. Only the old-timers of California, pioneer grandchildren whose blood ran cool like the blood of lizards in the desert night could remember the time when it had snowed so much. Later I thought that the snow might have been meant for me. A sign, I guess. I did not believe in signs.

A high wind blew the clouds in over the mountains, washing snow over the unsuspecting city sprawl even as the sun shone down through the white haze. News reporters stood amid snow-dusted palm trees and talked for hours about low-pressure zones while intrepid tourists milled around on the chilly beaches, goosepimpled under their optimistically short beachwear.

Everyone at Pasadena University marveled at how strange the weather had decided to become this winter. Students from more northern states rolled their eyes at the in-state native kids who shivered through their fleeces, unused to the chilly stuff. Everybody wore boots and scarves and other fashionable cold-weather attire that they had been itching to take out of the closet for G.o.d knows how long.

Shuffling across the sidewalk toward the library cafe, I heaved my backpack up over one shoulder and tried not to look as clumsy as I felt. The sky was still pale with snowy clouds even as evening fell. My number theory study group had started ten minutes ago, but I needed a coffee before I could even start thinking about cosets and bijections.

A thin layer of snow covered the lawn in front of the university library, each snowflake turning end over end in perfect hexagonal symmetry until it hit the ground and was lost among the others.

That's how I felt nowadays. Lost amid a blanket of snowflakes, each more perfect and pristine than me. Completely, utterly, bafflingly lost.

School had been a walk in the park for as long as I could remember. Some grades I deserved. Some, though, my teachers gave to me for being a nice, quiet kid they never had to worry about. Inside I seethed at my reputation as a good girl. I wanted adventure. I wanted danger and challenge. I wanted to do terrible and honorable things and prove myself to be brave, just like the mythic Greek heroines I admired in my childhood - Athena, Eurydice, Artemis.

University certainly challenged me, but rather than hunting golden-horned stags or transforming mortals into boars, I labored to figure out proofs for combinatorial theorems while juggling two jobs. Instead of being at the top of my cla.s.s, I struggled to even pa.s.s. Everyone said I was supposed to find myself in college, but I seemed to be straying farther and farther away from who I was, running faster and faster just to stay even with everyone else.

As I got closer to the library, I saw a man sitting outside on a bench, looking just as lost as I felt. He was bundled up in a black coat, his knitted hat pulled down over his ears, and he stared down just in front of his feet, as though trying to count the snowflakes that fell around him. I smiled as I walked by the bench, but he didn't even look up. I paused at the door and looked back at him, thinking that maybe I ought to ask if he needed directions, but he didn't move an inch, his gaze unwavering, his shoulders slumped. Must be the weather.

Pulling open the heavy gla.s.s door of the library cafe, I reveled in the blast of warm air that greeted me. My nose began to run and I pulled a handkerchief out of my pocket to wipe my face, feeling the sweat already starting to form on my neck under my scarf. G.o.d, I hated the cold. Everybody talked about how glorious the seasons were in the northeast, but I would just as soon have moved to the equator and forgotten what fall colors ever looked like. It was just my luck that I had moved to Southern California and gotten a freak snowstorm.

"One coffee, please," I said, pushing over my student card. The cafe barista swiped my card through the register.

"Sorry," she said, handing back the card. "There's not enough on here."

"Not enough?" Dammit, I didn't get my next paycheck until tomorrow. I dug through my pockets for change, pulling out a handful of nickels and dimes and dumping them on the counter. The barista looked at me disdainfully under lidded eyes.

"Um, let me see," I said, counting out the change. s.h.i.t. I didn't even have enough for coffee. I didn't have a d.a.m.n dollar to my name after tuition and books.

"One second," I said, turning to dig into my backpack. I dropped the nickels that were in my hand. "s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t."

I bent down to pick up the nickels and got my first lucky break of the night. Right next to my shoe was a five dollar bill, just sitting on the floor! I picked it up reverently and looked around to see if there was anybody who might have dropped it, but the cafe was empty apart from me and the barista. She coughed and shifted her weight onto her back foot, evidently irritated at waiting for me to get my act together.

Five dollars! Five whole dollars! This was a windfall I couldn't squander. I looked up at the cafe menu, my mouth watering at the possibilities. I had gotten into the habit of skipping dinner, but maybe today I could splurge and get a bagel. My stomach growled at the possibility. But no, I should wait and buy bagels at the store. Everything was overpriced here except the coffee.

I scanned the menu again and resigned myself to just the caffeine injection. It was enough to know that I could buy something if I wanted to. My eye wandered to the cafe window. The man was still sitting on the bench, as still as a statue. I could see his breath coming out in small white puffs, and for some reason my heart wrenched in my chest.

"Two coffees," I said impulsively, handing the five dollar bill over to the barista. My hands trembled slightly as I picked up the cups. What was I doing?

I pushed open the door with my shoulder bravely and exited the warm cafe, one coffee in each hand. For an instant I wavered. What if he didn't want it? What if he thought I was a weirdo? I set my shoulders and walked over to him. He must be freezing, sitting out in the cold.

"Here," I said, offering him the steaming cup and putting on my most well-meaning smile. He looked up at me and my breath caught in my throat.

A scar ran down the right side of his cheek, the white seam visible all the way from his hairline to his chin. That wasn't what made me gasp, though. Dark frowning eyebrows framed his piercing blue eyes and a shock of almost-black hair threatened to escape from under his wool cap. He was younger than I thought when I walked past him, probably less than ten years older than me. And handsome. I gulped.

He must have thought my reaction was to his scar, for he immediately angled his face away from mine, the white seam disappearing from my view. A defensive expression rose up on his face, and he looked at me suspiciously, one brow slanted up.

"Um, I thought you might want something to drink..." My words trailed off lamely as I held out the coffee to him. I never could talk around handsome men. His expression softened and he reached out to take the proffered cup.

"Thank you," he said. The slightly accented words came out low, growling even, and as he took the cup, his long fingers brushed against mine. Again my heart jumped in my chest and I pushed down the strange feeling that was twisting up inside of my body. You don't know who this man is, Brynn. He could be a serial killer, for all you know.

"You're welcome," I said, quickly pulling my hand back and wrapping it around my own coffee. The warmth spread through my fingers, but it was nothing compared to the electric heat that I had felt touching his hand. After a moment he tilted his head up toward me, and I realized I had been standing there in silence, just watching him.

"Is there something I can do for you?" he said.

"No, that is-" I stumbled over my words, blushing furiously. "I mean-"

"Do you often buy strange men coffee?" The accent in his words reminded me of my mother. Eastern European. His voice lifted in a teasing lilt, but his face was deadly serious, his scar giving him a menacing look. The incongruity made my already-fl.u.s.tered brain even more confused. Maybe he thought I was. .h.i.tting on him. Should I be hitting on him? Oh, G.o.d.

"Um, no," I said. "I just thought... I mean, you looked like you might need one."

"You think I am a b.u.m?" He raised one eyebrow, his accent more p.r.o.nounced. Definitely Eastern European.

"No! I mean, maybe. But that's not why I got you coffee. I was just getting myself a cup, and I thought you might like one. You know, to keep you warm." I couldn't stop myself from rambling. "It's really cold out here. That's all."

He smiled for the first time, and the rush of relief that swept through my body warmed me as much as the coffee in my hands. His eyes crinkled at the corners, a genuine smile. A kind smile. I felt my body heating up under the coat, and I wanted to tear the d.a.m.n thing off.

"Come, sit," he said, and despite my misgivings, I complied, the bench chilling my legs through my jeans. A strange man sitting alone-what was I thinking? I comforted myself with the thought that the library was just behind us. A strange thrill of pleasure ran through me as I sat next to him, and danger too-he hadn't seemed so tall when I was standing, but now that I was beside him I had to tilt my head up to meet his gaze. Despite this, I felt more safe than vulnerable, as though he would protect me if anything were to happen at that moment. I did not know why I felt as though I could trust him.

A line from one of the books my mother used to read ran through my mind: "...and the prince, tall, dark, and brave, fought off the wolf and chased it into the snowy night." I shook my head and the words flew away into the darkness.

"You're a generous girl," the man said. "Even to an ugly old b.u.m." He winked, and I blurted out the first thing that popped into my head.

"You're not old!" I said. He was in his thirties, if not his early twenties. "And you're certainly not ugly!"

"Oh! Is that so?" A twinkle shone in his eyes, and I flushed at my own admission. He must know that his looks were to die for-strikingly dark features against his light blue eyes, his strong jaw dotted with day-old stubble. Even with a scar running down the side of his face, he was achingly beautiful. Especially with his scar. It made his already fierce eyes look even more p.r.o.nounced, and gave an edge to his otherwise perfect beauty.

I felt a rush of desire for something I would never possess, and shame that I had the bald temerity to desire it. Of course my words had come out wrong. They always did.

"I... I mean..."

"You don't have to say anything," the man said. "But thank you. It's not so often I get complimented, I just want to savor it." He took a long sip of coffee, inhaling with pleasure and set the cup aside on the bench. "So do you think I am a b.u.m?"

His words were a question, but I did not know what he was asking, or if he was still joking; his smile had turned into more of a smirk. His coat looked expensive now that I could see it up close, and his watch glinted gold underneath his sleeve. Definitely not a b.u.m.

"No, you're not!" I said, blurting out the words before I could temper them. I quieted myself before I spoke again. "It's just... everybody has a hard time sometime." Something else my grandmother taught me.

The joking expression fell off of his face so quickly that I thought I might have imagined him smiling. I shifted awkwardly, the cup of coffee heating my fingers against the numbing cold.

"You're right. This is a hard night for me." He looked off at the dusky sky, his eyes reflecting the falling snow. Snowflakes dotted his face, melting immediately on his cheeks and dusting his dark lashes with white crystals. He did not seem to notice, his gaze straining to see something too distant to be visible. Then the look was gone, and his eyes came back to mine.

"But a hot drink and a beautiful woman make all the world of difference."

My breath caught in my throat and I put my handkerchief up to my nose to hide my look of surprise. Beautiful was the one adjective I could definitively say didn't apply to me. Especially now, my face flushed with the cold and my nose dripping like a busted water pipe. He must be joking. He must. But the way his gaze swept over my face appreciatively made my stomach roil with hope.

"Are you a student here?"

"Yes," I said, stuffing the handkerchief back in my pocket and retreating my hand back to the coffee cup. It was much easier to avoid awkwardness while holding something, I found. "Actually, I have to go to my study group. I'm already late."

"What subject are you studying?" He had turned to face me, his knee lightly pressed against mine. The touch made me dizzy with a desire that came from some unknown depths in my body. It scared me and thrilled me at the same time. Immersed in my studies and my work, I didn't have time for a relationship. At least, that's what I told myself.

"Math."

"Ah! Mathematics!" He reached out and clasped his hands around mine, which were still holding the coffee cup. I would have pulled them away, but his blue eyes hypnotized me with their sudden intensity, and his long fingers held mine firmly, as though I belonged to him. Every nerve in my body jumped at his touch, and my heart pounded in my ears. The steam from the coffee rose between us and mingled with the white of our breaths. His face bent down, just above my own.

"It's the most beautiful of subjects," he said. "As beautiful as nature is beautiful. As beautiful as..."

What was he doing? I froze in my seat, my hands still ensconced by his. He looked at me as though he saw my soul inside of me, his gaze familiar and possessive. At that moment, I knew he wanted me, desired me. I could feel threads of attraction stretching across the small s.p.a.ce between us as tangibly as if they had been visible, hanging in the cold white air.

It was over in a second. He pulled back quickly, as though he had touched his lips to coffee that was too hot, and the connection was lost.

"I'm sorry," he said. He released my hands, and I almost dropped my coffee all over my lap. None of my muscles were listening to me anymore. Not after the touch of his hands on mine.

"Sorry?"

"I shouldn't have. It was presumptuous. I'm not..." His stare was lost again in the distance.

"Not what?"

"Not whole. Not ready. I don't know." He shrugged his shoulders, obviously distraught but trying to hide it. "Excuse me. Thank you, thank you for the coffee."

"It's okay. Really."

He looked up at me, and I saw a deep longing in his eyes. Not knowing what I was doing, I reached out and touched his cheek on the side of his face that was scarred. My thumb rested on his cheekbone, and with my hand obscuring his face the scar was erased from view, peeking out only slightly from under my palm. I caressed the white seam. His dark hair fell over my fingers and his eyes flashed dangerously, as though he were not the prince after all, but the wolf.

His strong fingers closed over mine, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb. I instinctively leaned forward into his pressure but stopped as he opened his mouth to speak. He paused, seeming to change his mind about what he would say.

"You're a lovely girl." His voice was nearly a whisper, and I heard in it a note of sorrow so deep that it made me want to throw my arms around him. I could tell he was hurting, that he wanted me and the wanting hurt him somehow. I didn't know how, I didn't know why, but I recognized the pain in his gaze as easily as I recognized my own face in the mirror each morning.

A student walked around the corner of the library into view, and I instinctively sat back upright, realizing the insanity of the situation. This was a man I did not know at all, a stranger in the snow, and I was ready to fall into his arms as quickly and easily as if I had known him all my life. I stood up from the bench, scared by the intensity of my attraction to him, unlike anything I had felt before.

"I have to go," I said. "My study group."

"Yes, of course," he said, still sitting. He did not seem anxious at all to see me go, but as I moved past him his hand shot out to stop me, catching me by the elbow.

"May I ask your name?" he said.

I hesitated for only a split second. "Valentina," I replied. "Valentina Alastair."

"My name is Eliot. Thank you for the coffee, Valentina," the man said. He let go of my arm and I walked quickly toward the library, forcing myself to only look ahead. I thought that if I turned to look at him, I would not be able to leave him. But at the library door, I gave into curiosity and let myself glance back at him.

There was n.o.body there. He had vanished, like a snowflake that falls onto your cheek and melts into water before you feel it touch your skin. Above the bench there was a wisp of white breath that curled into itself, fading, until it dissipated into the air. Under the bench no footprints left any indication to where he had disappeared. The sheets of snow whipped along the sidewalk and brushed away any trace of the man who held my hands in his so possessively.

The snow continued to fall and I blinked once, hard, then went inside.

CHAPTER TWO.

"Dr. Herceg! Dr. Herceg! Wait!"

Eliot turned to see the department chair fairly skipping to catch up to him.

"Eliot, please," he said, shaking Patterson's hand in greeting.

"Eliot. Yes. Excellent. I'm so glad I could catch you," he said.