Happily Ever After...: His Reluctant Cinderella / His Very Convenient Bride / A Deal to Mend Their Marriage

It took a few seconds for the words to penetrate through his brain, for him to remember the conversation they had been halfway through before time slowed, before his brain had gone into lockdown and his body into overdrive.

‘No,’ he admitted, running one hand through his hair. It was a relief in some ways to spill the feelings he had carried around for so long, locked inside so tight he barely recognised them himself. Clara was unconnected; she was safe.

In this context at least.

And she was invisible, hidden away behind the curtain; it felt as if he had the seal of the confessional. That he could say anything and be absolved.

‘Rafferty’s means everything to Grandfather, to Polly too. But it bores me. Merchandise and pricing and advertising and thinking about Christmas in June,’ he said slowly, trying to pick his words carefully as he articulated the feelings he barely admitted to himself. ‘Polly and I owe my grandfather everything and all he wanted, all he wants, is for me to take this place over. To take my father’s place by continuing his work, accepting my great-grandfather’s legacy. I didn’t know how to tell him I didn’t want it. Not ever. What kind of spoiled brat breaks his grandfather’s heart?’

She didn’t reply. How could she? But her silence didn’t feel hostile or loaded.

‘I tried.’ He leant back against the wall and gazed unseeingly at the ceiling, the long years of thwarted hopes and unwanted expectations heavy on his conscience. ‘I really, really tried, worked here after school and every holiday, gave up my dreams of studying medicine and struggled through three years of business management instead. I even did an MBA and I took up the role awaiting me here—and every day, for six years, I hated coming to work.’

He sighed. ‘But ironically Polly loved it. I hoped that if Grandfather saw how well she did then he would switch his attention to her. But he’s old-fashioned. He doesn’t even realise how much he’s hurt her by leaving the company to me.’

‘You have to tell him.’ She sounded so matter of fact. As if it were that easy.

‘I know. Unfortunately last time I tried he ended up in hospital.’ Raff tried to make his voice sound light but he knew he was failing.

‘What’s your plan? To spend another six years here hating every moment, you miserable, Polly miserable?’

‘No!’ he protested. Her words cut a little deeper than he liked. After all, he had taken the path of least resistance, hoping it would all work out somehow. He had only postponed the inevitable.

He had run through every possible conversation in his head. None of them ever ended well. If he had to he would just walk away, refuse to be involved, but the old man had lost one son already. If only there was a way to keep the family together and live his own life.

If only he could make his grandfather see...

Unless...

‘I could invite him to the ball,’ he said, his brain beginning to tick over with ideas. ‘Let him see for himself what I’ve been up to.’

‘Will he be fit?’ She didn’t sound convinced.

There was the flaw. ‘It’s five weeks away. He’ll be back home this week and resting. If I make sure he’s escorted at all times, order a special low-fat dinner and keep him away from the wine he should be okay. He never was the sort to dance the night away. I could take a table, fill it with business cronies. He’d enjoy that.’

‘And then what?’ She still sounded doubtful.

He was over thirty. It was time to be a man, banish the guilt-ridden small boy, eager to please whatever the cost. ‘Then, after the ball, when he’s seen the difference we make, the difference I make, I’ll talk to him again. Honestly and firmly.’

It wasn’t a foolproof plan by any means. Nor was it an instant answer. Raff would have to stick around for nearly two months—but he’d planned for that after all, booked Clara for up to six weeks.

It felt like the best shot he had. And regardless of whatever his grandfather decided his own decision was made.

It was only now that he realised just how heavy his burden had been: guilt, expectations, responsibility weighing him down. He wasn’t free of it, not yet, but freedom was in sight. It was strange how talking it through with someone, sharing his burden, had helped.

Would anyone have done or was it Clara herself? Raff wasn’t sure he wanted to explore that thought any further.

‘It could work.’ She sounded a little more enthusiastic. ‘You better make sure your presentation is spectacular.’

‘Our presentation,’ he said silkily. ‘You’re the one who promised we’d be there, agreed to all this. I want your help with every aspect. You don’t just get to turn up late and leave early, Cinders. You have to work for your dress and glass slippers.’

Talking of which, she had been a long time getting changed. ‘Are you okay in there?’

‘Ah...’ she sounded embarrassed ‘...is Susannah there?’

‘No, why?’

‘Can you find her?’ Embarrassment was replaced with curt impatience.

Raff’s mouth quirked. ‘Are you in need of help? Maybe I can assist? I am fully trained, remember?’

‘Raff Rafferty, please find Susannah right now.’

Grinning, Raff sauntered to the door and looked around. No sign. ‘I can’t see her,’ he called. ‘I can page her but she might be at the other end of the building, or I can help. Your choice.’

He could almost hear the wheels turning as Clara deliberated her choices.

‘Okay. But not one quip, and no looking.’

Interesting.

‘I’m a professional,’ he assured her. But he didn’t feel professional as he walked over; he felt more like an over-eager schoolboy who’d been promised an over-the-bra fumble. Inappropriate, he scolded himself.

And yet he couldn’t stop thinking about creamy, bare shoulders and those three little freckles.

Deep breath. Focus on the job at hand. Raff pulled the curtain a little to one side and stepped into the changing room.

Where he stopped still. He didn’t want to stare, he knew it was wrong and yet, and yet...

‘Well, don’t just stand there.’ Clara gestured to her side. ‘Help me. It’s stuck and have you seen the price tag? I can’t exactly yank it.’

She was wearing a floor-length strapless dress in a shade of blue so dark it almost looked black.

Revealing both her shoulders and a generous amount of cleavage, the dress clung as tightly as a second skin, emphasising the dip at her waist, the curve of her bottom, the length of her legs. Raff swallowed.

‘The zip,’ she said with killing emphasis as he remained static. ‘It’s stuck.’

Trying, with little success, to get some air into his suddenly oxygen-deprived lungs, Raff walked over. It seemed to take an eternity. He was a fool, to think he could walk in here, to the intimacy of a room where clothes were discarded, a room of lingerie and limbs and clinging silks. A fool to think he could step so close to naked arms, inhale the light floral scent she wore, watch one curl tumble down onto a bare shoulder. To touch her.

‘Just here.’ Hadn’t she noticed the effect she was having on him? ‘Can you see?’

Raff put one hand onto her ribs, holding her still as with utter concentration his other hand worked at the tiny zip, trying to free it from the thread that held it prisoner. Her skin was hot, burning him through the silk; he wasn’t sure whether he could really hear her heart hammering or whether it was his imagination.

Or if it was his heart he heard, deafening him with its beat.

‘I think I’ve got it.’ His voice was gruff. ‘There!’

As he freed the thread the zip shot down with alarming ease, his hand skimming her waist, her hip, and as it did so the top of the dress collapsed into graceful folds.