Waking Sleeping Beauty (7 page)

Metal clanged in the distance. Francine entered the large kitchen and found Marcus pouring milk into the pan on the restaurant-style stove. She watched him for a few minutes, gathering cocoa powder and other ingredients. His short, economical movements spoke volumes.

“Marcus?” she asked, walking down the aisle toward him.

He stilled, his back stiffened. “You left them alone?”

“They’re adults. And with two broken hips, I’m sure they can’t get into too much trouble.”

Turning to her, he said coldly, “It’s not the sex I’m worried about, Francine. It’s worse than that.”

Frowning, she couldn’t imagine what he was talking about. “She lit up when Wilbur came into the room. They seem fond of each other.”

“My mother,” he said between gritted teeth, “is a die-hard romantic. I don’t want to see her get hurt…again.”

“Maybe this time it will be different.” Her voice rose in optimism.

“Five times isn’t enough?”

“Five times?”

“She married five times. Men who either can’t or won’t live up to her expectations and she’s left brokenhearted.”

Francie gulped hard. “Five,” she repeated, stunned at the number. “But your dad?”

“The first. The longest one, too.” He turned back to the pan and stirred the warming milk. “He died.”

Why did she suspect there was something more to it than that? “And the others?”

“Ah, the others… She’s so tenderhearted that she couldn’t see through the smoke and fog.” He sighed. “I guess she loved them. Sometimes the marriages came only weeks after she met them.” He smiled then. “She’s old-fashioned. No hanky-panky until after the ceremony. But, she rushed in too many times.”

Looking at his stony profile, she let the silence settle until he was ready to continue.

“The divorces were brutal. Once they found out who I was, they upped the ante.”

Her middle sank. “Money? Really?”

“Pay-offs. I’ve set up a trust for my mother, one no one else can touch, so they find other ways to get her to buy them things. Then, when it’s over, they bargain with me. Cold hard cash and fast or they drag out the proceedings and draw out my mother’s suffering.”

“Oh, Marcus.” She reached out to touch his arm. His muscles tightened. She yanked her hand away as if burned. “I’m sorry.”

“Now you see why I don’t want another romance?”

In the back of her mind, she wondered if he was speaking of himself also, warning her away from him. “To protect her.”
To protect your heart, too
.

She got the message loud and clear. He didn’t want her. But that didn’t mean it stung any less.

***

Marcus must have chased her away, he figured when she scooted out of the kitchen to go back to see his mother. Now, balancing the tray with four mugs of cocoa and a plate of cookies he’d found tucked in the back of a cupboard, he opened the door to his mother’s room.

Two things hit him at once. Wilbur sat in the corner chair, head back and snoring lightly. Francine, with a chair pulled up to his mother’s bedside, held his mother’s hands in hers, each of them chatting and giggling like school girls.

He tuned into their conversation.

“Oh my, a wedding consultant. How lovely. And did you say pink? I love that color.”

“You should see the boutique. You’ll have to ask Marcus to show you the pictures. The ad will be out Monday morning, but there are so many shots they weren’t able to use them all.”

“Tell me about the weddings.” His mother’s voice was dreamy.

“I already have contacts from when I worked in the jewelry department. I have three appointments for Monday already. One is an older bride. She’s never been married and wants the works.”

He let the rest drown out; he focused on both their faces. A jolt shot through him.

Why hadn’t he realized it before? They both were romantics and both loved weddings
.

Francine. The wedding dress he’d found her in that night. The overwhelming joy on her face in his office when she jotted down her new ideas. The look of wonder on her face after he’d kissed her—twice.

She believed in fairy tales. She believed in happily ever after.

He believed in the real world.

In that moment, he vowed he wouldn’t be a part of a fantasy any longer. Especially when it came to Francine King.

So why did his chest hurt so much after making that decision?

***

Francine fidgeted with a pillow. Monday morning was here and she couldn’t sit still.

“Girl, you’re a ball of energy,” Rico said, touching her arm. “Cool it, will ya? You’re making me a nervous wreck.” He fluffed his close-cropped hair and straightened out his false eyelash.

“Got them.” Evelyn rushed in with the bakery delivery boxes. “Ta-dah! Petit fours, just like you requested.”

“Thank you,” Francine cried, reaching out for the stack of boxes. “Now, we can put these out and, in five minutes, open the curtains.” Her voice squeaked as her stomach flip-flopped.

Her hands shook as she gingerly transferred the sweets to the awaiting silver serving trays.

“Here, let me,” Evelyn offered, nudging Francie aside.

Looking at her eager, dark-haired, bright-eyed assistant, Francie smiled gratefully and backed away, afraid she’d drop something. “You’re so sweet.”

“Gosh, Francie. I’ve pinched myself black and blue this past week, wondering how I got so lucky as to work in the wedding boutique. I’m dreaming!” she squealed. “Did you peek out there? There’s a line waiting.”

Rico interrupted, “Okay,” he tapped a finger on his oversize watch, “it’s show-time, girls!”

Screwing up her courage, Francine wiped her damp palms on her black skirt. “Do I look all right?”

He pinched her cheeks. “There, better.”

With her assistants urging her toward the closed curtains, Francie prayed she wouldn’t faint. Once there, she let out a long, slow breath. “Ready?” she asked.

“Hit it, Boss,” Rico and Evelyn said in unison as they drew back the heavy fuchsia drapes.

Francine blinked at the swell of people and the round of applause that greeted her. Her good manners took over her nerves. She pasted on what she hoped was a warm, welcoming smile. “Thank you, please come in. We have refreshments for your pleasure. If there’s any questions, my assistants, Rico and Evelyn, or myself will be more than happy to help.”

She recognized a few employees waiting in line, along with two managers, and many female customers. They began streaming by her. Their high-pitched voices and giggles fueled her excitement.

“Oh, honey, we’re a hit,” Rico whispered as he stood beside her. “Oh, no, she didn’t. Look at her hair. It’s teased to Tucson!”

Holding back her chuckle, Francie scolded him, “Not now, Rico. Later, when we’ve already sold her, all right?”

“If you say so, but really, so yesterday. And that color.”

She steered him away from his obsession. “Skip her. Go to the next one.”

“Here, take this.” He shoved a tray of petit fours into her hands. Thankfully, he did leave, ushering in a pretty dark-haired young woman. “I like that scarf, honey. Did you get that here?”

Phew! That was a close one
.

“Are you Francine King?” An older woman and a younger woman, mother and daughter duo she suspected, approached.

“Yes, ma’am, I am.” She held out the tray and smiled widely.

After picking up a treat with just two dainty fingers, the mother whispered under her breath, “See, I told you, you’re better looking than she is. How in the world does she think she’s going to pull this off, I’ll never know.”

She gulped hard. “Excuse me?”

“Francie,” someone called out, interrupting her.

Looking around, she saw Peg pushing her way through the crowd. Marcus’ assistant waved the newspaper at her. “Francie, holy guacamole, I’ve got to tell you something.”

With her free hand, she grabbed ahold of the gasping woman. “Peg, are you all right?”
Could something have happened to Marcus?

“Warning.” She held up the ad for the opening of the boutique. “Not good. Danger, Will Robinson, danger!”

Just then, Francine became aware of Marcus storming toward her. “Explain,” he bit out, also holding up a copy of the ad.

His green eyes were chips of icy anger. Her middle knotted. “What’s wrong?”

They were making a scene, a very public one at that, she realized as several nearby customers grew silent and stared at her.

“You authorized the ad, is that correct?” Marcus’ voice seemed to be edged with the same frost in his eyes.

She gulped hard, nodding.

“You approved this?”

Peg stepped in. “Boss, it was me,” she said, nearly cowering. “My bad, I swear, scout’s honor.” She held up three fingers.

 Francine had never seen Peg act anything but confident and in control before. Something must be seriously wrong.

Gazing from his shocked face to Peg’s, Francie grabbed the paper and read each line, beginning from the top. She didn’t have to go too far before she found it.

Help Francine King find the groom for the wedding of her dreams!

“No, you didn’t?!”

Peg cringed. “’Fraid so, kiddo. I was just trying to help get the ball rolling and get more interest. You know, it will help business.” She must have read Francine’s face; she said, “Ouch!”

Silence reigned. Tentatively, she glanced at Marcus. The muscle along his jaw jumped. She dared to look in his eyes again.
Fury
, she thought. “King’s Department Store is not, I repeat not, pimping you out, got it, Francine?”

Her head swam.
He did not just say that, did he?

In the background, she heard an unmistakable sound. A woman cleared her throat again. “Francine,” she called.

Marcus and Peg parted, turning toward the woman. “Holy crap, Batman!” Peg cried.

As if in slow motion, Francine looked at the older, sophisticated lady stop in front of her, the paper tucked under one arm. “I’m so glad to see that you’ve come around to my way of thinking, Francine. I have a few prospects in mind for you.”

That familiar voice lanced through her. She felt the color drain from her face. Her fingers went numb and she dropped the serving tray. Metal hit marble with a crash. “Mother!”

“Quick, tell me what happened,” Charlie urged as she nibbled on a saltine cracker. “Before Dolly comes back. She’s been a mother hen these last few days and I’m going stir crazy with nothing to do in this house all day.”

Sitting across from her stepsister at the kitchen table, Francine cringed. “I thought Peg would have filled you in on the gory details already.”

“Some, but she had to hang up fast before she could finish.” She sipped her tea.

Francie sighed heavily and toyed with the china teacup in front of her. “I felt like a ten-year-old all over again. Mother assumes I’m now in her camp and is desperate enough to advertise for a groom. Of course, she commented on the boutique.”

“Uh huh.”

She nodded, feeling the sting of heat prick her cheeks. The hurtful words flooded back now. “Wrong colors. Too flashy. Where in the world are my manners? I should have done it this way or that way. Ah, I could go on and on. I’ll spare you.”

“What, she didn’t ask you to play the piano again?”

That had her chuckling. “Very funny.” She recalled how her mother would have her play for prospective grooms. “I think I scared away quite a few with that racket.”

“You are pretty bad.”

“You don’t have to rub it in, you know.”

“I told you I had too much time on my hands.”

Francie eyed her stepsister. Even though she still couldn’t keep much down, Charlie didn’t seem as fragile as she did at the office that last day. “Then can I ask you a favor?” She held up her hands. “It’s not too demanding and right up your alley.”

“Ask away.”

“Can you design the wedding dress? The one for the mystery wedding. I can’t find the one I want.”

She frowned. “The ones you’ve tried on—none are close?”

“Peg told you.”

“Who better to model the wedding dresses for the new website and the online ads than you?”

Trying on the pure silk dress with the sweetheart neckline and slight ruching earlier today didn’t make her feel like a criminal this time—at least she’d had permission to do so—but it fell flat of what she wanted for her own wedding dress. “I’ve got some ideas, if you’re interested.”

“Count me in.” Charlie rubbed her hands together.

Smiling, Francie quickly explained her thoughts, ticking off all the details she’d come to like. She ended with, “Classic, yet modern.”

“You don’t want much, do you?” Her grin softened her words. “Don’t worry. I’ll work on a few sketches over the next couple of days and get back to you. Our secret.”

“Do you think Dolly would sew it for us?” Francie gulped hard. “It’s the timing. No one else could do it in the time frame I need. Less than nine weeks away. I’ll never get an original in that short of time. And none of the rack or sample dresses are suited for what I have in mind.” She stopped babbling and held her breath.

Her stepsister tapped her fingers on the table. “Hmmm. I may just be able to convince her. If I start sketching, she’ll want to know what I’m doing. She is kind of disappointed I’ve had to put my design business on hold until I get someone permanently on board at King’s and have a healthy baby.” She rubbed the nonexistent bump on her belly. “Yes, she loves a challenge. But mums the word for now.”

“Here we are,” Dolly cried, rushing into the room. “Look what I found on our doorstep.”

Glancing up quickly at the woman’s sudden reappearance, Francine’s jaw dropped at the sight of the man following Charlie’s cook and friend. “Marcus,” she squeaked out. She hadn’t spoken to him since the big reveal and confrontation earlier in the week. By all accounts, they’d avoided each other, he to run the store and her to keep up with the high demand for her talents as wedding consultant.

He drew back. “Francine.” He shot her a guarded look. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” His voice could freeze water.