Stealing Cinderella(18)
“We would be so honored,” Narcissa replies coyly.
“There isn’t anyone else from this area who might have attended?” Thorsen repeats.
“I can’t think of a single person,” Narcissa says. “To my knowledge, we were the only family from Cranbrook with the honor to attend.”
“Very well.” He clears his throat, but the undercurrent of hostility remains. “I’ll be on my way then.”
“You must come back.” Narcissa follows him out the door, their voices disappearing from my reach.
I shut the attic door and run to the window again, peeking through the glass. My stomach roils when I spot the familiar heel in his possession. It’s definitely mine. But why is he bothering to return it? And why does my heart feel like it’s going to explode when I lay eyes on him?
Today, he’s in a navy sports coat and matching trousers, a pair of shiny brown Oxfords jutting out from beneath the hem. And right now, it’s not difficult to understand why I got him mixed up with Prince Aston. He’s incredibly tall, and every part of his body seems extraordinarily large, from his hands to his feet. If I had to venture a guess, I would bet money he’s an actual descendant of Odin himself.
My breath seems to get caught in my throat when I look at his face. He’s wearing the customary scowl I’ve noticed in all his media pictures. From their perspectives, he’s moody and reclusive. The articles paint him as someone who rarely speaks unless he’s forced to, which explains his behavior at the ball. Yet I can’t help but wonder what made him that way? I don’t believe anyone would choose to be so miserable all the time.
Narcissa continues to fawn all over him, touching his arm and admiring his car. She’s probably making offers to sacrifice Lavinia’s firstborn and send him straight to Valhalla if she can have some sort of royal title herself.
With every passing second, tension bleeds into Thorsen’s face until inevitably, he shrugs her off and locks himself in his car, speeding away. It isn’t but a moment later when Narcissa returns to the entry, where Lavinia assaults her with questions.
“Do you think he’ll come back? What are we going to do about the shoe?”
“We’ll have one made,” Narcissa conspires. “Whatever it costs. Don’t you worry, darling. We’ll get us a prince yet.”
8
Ella
Two weeks have passed since the excitement of the ball, and I’ve fallen back into my routine with the exception of Narcissa breathing down my neck. She’s been making me work triple duty every day, insistent that the Norwegian prince will return at any moment to haul Lavinia back to his kingdom. I’ve hardly had a moment for myself, and worse yet, I haven’t been able to get to the sanctuary in days.
“House bitch!” Lavinia summons me. “I spilled some crumbs. You better clean them up. His Royal Highness could be here at any moment.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes and grab the broom while she and Magnolia flip through a magazine with a few articles on Thorsen. They’ve been doing so much research on the man I might actually find it in my heart to feel sorry for him if he ever does cross their paths again.
“I don’t know.” Magnolia studies his photograph. “He seems so stuffy to me. He’d hardly be tolerable with that cold demeanor.”
“You’re just jealous,” Lavinia snaps. “I’d hardly have to worry about tolerating him. I’d be rich, you daft cow. That means I could spend my time however I want. Besides, I think that broody, silent thing he has going on is hot. All women love a bad boy.”
“Maybe I could take up with his brother,” Magnolia muses. “Imagine that. Two royal sisters.”
“Not likely.” Lavinia shoots laser beams into the competition. “I’m going to be queen someday, which means you would be there to serve me. I’d get to tell you what to do, and you’d have to do it. Same with you, house bitch.”
“Maybe your job at the palace can be tending the fire,” Magnolia adds bitterly. “Since we know how much you love it.”
Fear licks at my throat, and warmth tickles the mangled skin on my arms where white-hot pain once singed my nerves. I can still feel it every time I see a flame, and much to their amusement, I’ve never fully recovered from the incident. But reacting would just give them what they want.
As far as I’m concerned, Lavinia can run off with her prince and take the whole lot of them with her. Even though the idea makes my chest feel weird, I refuse to give it too much thought. I won’t be going anywhere. In fact, it would be the best day of my life if they moved away.
“Do you think she’s gone mad?” Magnolia snaps her fingers at me. “She looks odd.”
“She hasn’t gone mad.” Lavinia sighs. “She’s just a moron, like you.”
I put away the broom and finish the rest of my chores for the afternoon, and by some miracle, I have an hour to spare before dinner. It isn’t much, but I know exactly where I want to go.
“Hello, Alfred.” The tiny kitten greets me with a head bop, purring as he nestles into my arms.
I find a comfy place on a hay bale in the barn, letting Alfred snuggle up against me as I close my eyes and soak up his comfort. People have often accused me of being too much of a bleeding heart when it comes to animals, but I can’t help who I am. Something about how these innocent creatures depend on us wrings every ounce of love and compassion from my heart.