Unguarded (One Fairy Tale Wedding, #1) Read online

  He wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. Very tight. It felt like he was holding on to her with all his strength.

  And she wanted it. She wanted it desperately.

  They stood in the hallway, hugging for more than a minute. Then voices sounded from very close to them, as men started to leave the room just beside him as the event broke up, and Simon pulled away abruptly.

  “Sorry about that,” he said gruffly, not meeting her eyes.

  She was torn between tumultuous excitement and drooping disappointment, and the only way she could deal with it was to be tart. “What’s to be sorry for? Normal people can hug without apologizing.”

  He grumbled something under his breath, but she couldn’t make out the words.

  She shook her head at him. “Of course, if you’re a growling bear like you, then maybe hugs aren’t exactly normal.”

  His mouth tilted up just a little, and she knew that counted as a smile for him.

  THEY HAD A FEW HOURS of free time after the afternoon events before the fancy rehearsal dinner. It wasn’t really a rehearsal dinner because everyone in the wedding was invited. It was a lavish, black-tie dinner, and Charlie normally would have been excited about it.

  She liked to dress up, and she’d bought a new dress for the occasion—a fitted, sleeveless dress in dark red that broke past her knees into full, lush flounces. She loved it, and she thought she looked particularly sexy and appealing as she pinned her hair up in a pretty updo and added red lipstick.

  Surely Simon couldn’t continue to think about her as a little girl. Not when she looked like this.

  She remembered that moment of connection they’d shared a few hours ago—the tension and passion in his body as he’d hugged her so tightly—and she felt a renewed sense of hope.

  She wasn’t delusional. He did feel something for her. Her friends might be right, and he was just afraid it was wrong.

  She could understand that. It wasn’t an easy transition to make. But she was sure it was worth it.

  She needed to show him that it wasn’t wrong. In fact, it was exactly right.

  She’d spent too many years trying to see beneath the surface of guys and only finding things that disappointed her.

  It was harder to see under the surface of Simon than anyone else, but she was sure it was worth the effort.

  She wasn’t going to be disappointed in him.

  She was patting down a few flyaways in her hair when she heard a knock on her door. Simon. They’d agreed to go down to dinner together, and it was precisely the time they’d agreed to.

  Simon was always on time.

  When she opened the door, her heart gave a ridiculous leap at the sight of him in his tuxedo. He was like one of those roughly elegant movie stars of the forties—far sexier than any conventionally handsome young man, far deeper in every way.

  He stared at her for a long time, not moving and not speaking.

  “What?” she demanded after a minute. She glanced down at herself. “It might be a little over the top, but when else could I wear a dress like this?”

  She saw him swallow, and his eyes lifted to her face again.

  “Simon?” she prompted.

  “You look great,” he said at last, a lot of gravel in his voice.

  It wasn’t high praise, but he seemed to mean it, so she smiled at him. “Thanks. You ready to be charming?”

  “If you have delusions about my ever being charming, I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed.”

  “Well, then are you ready to be basically polite and not scowl at everyone you meet?”

  He gave her the slightest of smiles. “I guess I could manage that.”

  She smiled back, taking his arm as they walked toward the elevator. As they were riding down, she noticed that his eyes kept slipping lower than her face so often it was impossible not to notice.

  Her cheeks warmed as she realized he was checking out her neckline.

  Her dress was sleeveless, and it kept slipping low on the curve of her breasts, offering quite a bit of cleavage to view.

  Simon was definitely noticing.

  He wasn’t immune to her, no matter what he tried to pretend.

  She wasn’t wrong about them.

  She just wasn’t.

  The dinner was taking place in the large ornate ballroom, and she smiled as she entered. No matter how annoying Polly could be, she did have really good taste. The ballroom was set up in banquet style with beautiful sculpted centerpieces of white roses and elegant china and stemware. Three crystal chandeliers sparkled in the low light, and a string quartet offered pleasant accompaniment to the chatter.

  It felt like everyone was staring as they entered the room. Simon ran his finger under his collar, like it was suddenly too tight.

  “Don’t even think about making an escape,” she murmured, clinging to his arm as she leaned over to speak near his ear.

  “Everyone is staring.”

  “Not everyone. And it’s probably just because I’m so gorgeous.” She made her voice light and teasing in an attempt to ease his discomfort. “No one is looking at you.”

  “They’re wondering what I’m doing with you.”

  She had to admit there might be some of that in the curious expressions, but most of the people present probably had no idea who Simon even was. It wasn’t like he was a well-known personage. They wouldn’t know he’d been the trustee to her inheritance. They wouldn’t think anything was strange or inappropriate about his being with her.

  He was fifteen years older than her, but in their social circles, they saw a lot bigger age difference than that.

  She was just a woman with a man.

  They didn’t have to be anything else.

  They found their assigned seats, and Charlie was disappointed that Madison and Hannah were all the way across the room. She waved to them before she let Simon pull her chair out for her.

  Simon was stewing. She could see it in his face. He was afraid people were thinking they were a couple.

  And she had no idea what she could possibly do to change that.

  They chatted with people at their table, most of whom were friends of the groom. So none of them knew Charlie from before, and every one of them assumed she and Simon were together.

  Charlie could see it bothered him every time someone made a comment that implied they were romantically involved, even the most casual kind of comments. He wasn’t correcting them, but she could see he was holding himself back.

  He didn’t want to hurt her feelings again, but he also didn’t want anyone to think he was with her that way.

  As the evening progressed, he grew more and more frustrated about it. She could see the tension on his face.

  When dessert was finally served, the dinner broke up, and people started mingling throughout the ballroom. Charlie took Simon’s arm and led him across the room, trying to reach Hannah and Madison and their dates so they could have some natural conversation and hopefully Simon would relax.

  Unfortunately, they were waylaid by Polly before they could.

  “Finally,” Polly said with a wide, white smile. “I finally get to talk to your mysterious escort.”

  Charlie’s smile was strained, and she could feel Simon’s body stiffen beside her. “This is Simon Shae.”

  “Simon,” Polly gushed with that same overly bright smile. “Tell me all about yourself. Were you really friends with Charlie’s parents? And how on earth did you manage to change your relationship so naughtily?”

  Charlie’s spine stiffened. There was no excuse for that kind of question. Polly was being catty on purpose and evidently thought she could get away with it this weekend because she was the bride. Charlie gave her a cool look, but her voice was light and pleasant as she said, “What kind of question is that? Instead of prying into other people’s business, you might want to pay attention to your own. Jim looks like he might have had too much to drink.”

  Polly looked over to where her husband-to-be was l
aughing uproariously with a couple of pretty, very young women, and with a snarl Polly turned and walked away.

  Charlie let out a breath. “Sorry about that. She was always that way, I guess, but it seems to bother me a lot more now than it did before. I guess I’m just not used to it anymore.”

  Simon didn’t answer. He was standing stiffly, staring blindly in front of him.

  “Simon?” she prompted, holding on to the lapel of his jacket.

  He took a step back from her.

  “Simon?” she repeated, more impatiently this time. “You’re not going to let what she said bother you, are you? She’s just kind of a bitch like that.”

  He still didn’t answer.

  “Hey, hey, look at me.” Her voice was soft but sharp. She reached up to turn his face so he was focused on her. “Don’t you dare let her bother you.”

  “It’s not her,” he said at last.

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s everyone. Everyone thinks we’re together.”

  “So?” Her heart was racing now, and she knew something important was going to be said, was going to happen. And she heard herself saying something she never thought she’d say. “Who cares what anyone else thinks? We can be together if we want.”

  He took a clumsy step back. “But we’re not together.”

  “I know that. I’m just saying we could be. It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter. You’re... you’re...”

  “I’m what?” she snapped, her voice still soft so no one else could overhear them. “I’m not a child. I’m not anywhere close to a child. And if you dare to treat me like a child, then we’re going to have a real problem.”

  “I wasn’t going to say you’re a child.” His voice was gravelly and just as soft as hers was.

  “Then what?” she demanded. “What exactly is your problem about strangers assuming we might be together? What’s so wrong about that?”

  “What’s wrong with it? What do you think is wrong with it? This isn’t a game, Charlie. It’s not a game. Why the hell would you even want someone to think something so... wrong?”

  She stared at him for a moment, bombarded with a wave of grief and embarrassment and guilt.

  Guilt.

  Because he had suddenly made her feel wrong for wanting what she’d wanted.

  She didn’t know what to say.

  “Charlie,” he murmured thickly, as if he’d read something in her face. “Can we just—”

  “Just what?” she asked sharply. “Drop it? Is that what you want to do?”

  For a moment there was a struggle on his face between divergent emotions. She could see the conflict, and then she saw what came out on top.

  He controlled his expression. “Yes,” he said. “I’d like to drop it.”

  His return to his stoic restraint hurt—the fact that he could rein in whatever he was feeling so easily when all her emotions were welling up to the surface. “Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to drop it. When you act like there’s something wrong with just the hypothetical idea of us being together, it makes me feel...”

  His eyes had narrowed, and his hands were fisted at his sides, like he was forcing them to stay in place. “Feel what?”

  “Feel like you’re only seeing a small part of me. The fact that I was my parents’ daughter. That I was young when we first met. It makes me feel like all those guys I date who are only seeing my money—not the whole me, not the real me. You’re only seeing part of me too, and it hurts just as much. I’m not young now. I’m an adult. A woman. And you’re not seeing me that way.”

  His control was breaking. His mouth twisted, and his eyes were strangely fierce. “Charlie, I can’t,” he rasped. “I can’t see you that way.”

  She stared at him for a moment to see if he would add more to what he’d said, somehow make it better, make it less of a heartbreak.

  But he didn’t. He stood in front of her, so tense he was almost shaking with it, and he said nothing at all.

  She gave a jerky nod, accepting the truth of what he’d told her.

  She’d been wrong last year on her twenty-fourth birthday, when she’d had the revelation about him caring about her for real. The real her. The whole her.

  He did care about her, but he didn’t see all of her. He didn’t want all of her.

  She couldn’t say anything.

  Couldn’t even form a word.

  She couldn’t do anything, but she also couldn’t stay here and try to have a conversation with him.

  So she turned on her heel and walked away from him. She left the ballroom and made her way to the elevator, which she rode back up to her room.

  Maybe her dreams had been hopeless from the beginning.

  It wasn’t always the beast who needed to transform. Sometimes the princess did, but the beast just wouldn’t see that she had.

  Four

  Charlie couldn’t even come close to sleeping.

  It was well after midnight when she went up to her room, so she took a quick shower and changed into her pajamas, but when she turned the lights off and got under the covers, she just lay there awake, staring up at the ceiling.

  If a relationship with Simon were even a remote possibility, something would have happened earlier. Their argument might have been vague, but it had been obvious what it was about. He’d told her nothing would ever happen between them—just as clearly as if he’d said the words out loud.

  He didn’t want her that way.

  He didn’t think about her that way.

  And he wasn’t going to change his mind.

  She needed to just give this up.

  It had been a year, and she’d given it a chance. She’d given him a chance. Now was the time to accept that he didn’t want what she wanted. It might feel to her like they were perfectly suited for each other, but he didn’t feel the same way.

  He probably wanted a woman older than her, more stable than her, more mature.

  A woman of substance.

  Not a pretty piece of fluff like her.

  She brooded on all these truths as she lay under the covers, turning from side to side to flat on her back and then to her side again.

  It was time to stop being silly.

  It was time to stop being young.

  It was time to accept that the world wasn’t what she wanted it to be. To embrace reality. To acknowledge that a world filled with flawed people was never going to be good.

  She was twenty-five years old.

  She wasn’t a fanciful girl anymore.

  A world that had taken away her parents wouldn’t balk at taking away Simon too.

  She was staring wide-eyed at a darker shadow on the ceiling, wondering why it was darker than the rest.

  It was one o’clock on Saturday morning in February, and she was all alone.

  No family.

  No husband.

  No prince to carry her off into the sunset toward a happy ending.

  Just a stubborn beast who might stand guard over her but would always end up pushing her away.

  If this were a fairy tale, it was one that taught a bleak lesson and not the kind that would make a frothy movie. The kind of traditional tale that cynics brought up to prove that fairy tales weren’t for the fainthearted.

  She didn’t like that kind of fairy tale.

  She didn’t want to live in that kind of story.

  She wanted something else.

  Without even realizing what she was doing, she hefted herself out of the bed. She wore silky pink shorts and a thin white camisole and wasn’t really dressed for public viewing. But she didn’t think about that. She didn’t think about anything.

  She grabbed her key card and a condom from her purse—just in case—and walked out into the hall. Took ten steps over to the door next to hers and knocked on it loudly.

  Her head was roaring with adrenaline, and her vision was slightly blurred.

  She had no idea why she was doing this.

  Except for
one truth.

  She didn’t like this story, and so she wasn’t going to submit to it.

  Maybe it meant she was silly and young and hopelessly naïve—maybe it meant she wasn’t any good at guarding her heart like she was supposed to—but she wanted a happy ending.

  And she still didn’t believe it was impossible, even when so much of the world did nothing but beat you down.

  She kept knocking on the door until it swung open.

  Simon stood across the threshold, wearing nothing but gray boxer briefs. Dark bristles shaded his jaw, and his hair was mussed. His expression was confused and urgent. “Charlie? Charlie, what’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” It was a stupid thing to say, but her throat was painfully tight.

  “Nothing? Are you okay?” He reached out to pull her into his room, and then his hand slid up to cup her face. His dark eyes searched hers almost frantically. “Sweetheart, tell me what’s wrong?”

  He’d never called her that before, and the old-fashioned endearment made her heart leap dramatically.

  “Nothing is wrong,” she managed to say, leaning her face into his big, warm hand. “I wanted to talk.”

  She saw the succession of emotions register on his face. Worry. Relief. Confusion. Discomfort.

  His eyes drifted down to her body and lingered there before they returned to her face.

  “You want to talk?” he asked, slightly rough.

  “Yes. To talk.”

  “Can we talk in the morning?”

  “No. We can’t.”

  His eyes drifted down again, and she looked down at herself to discover that her breasts were visibly free and unencumbered beneath the thin fabric of her camisole. Her nipples were prominently displayed, and the waistband of her little shorts was riding low on her hips.

  His gaze returned to her face. “This isn’t a good time.”

  “Why not?” She had a sudden jab of fear as she glanced behind him into his dark room. “You’re... you’re alone, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I’m alone!” He sounded outraged at the question, but it was a legitimate one. He was single and sexy and virile. He was free to date whomever he wanted.