gasped.
âI sewed it,â Theresa said, âwith loving fingers.â
âWhereâd you get the purse?â
Cindy lifted the small pearl-beaded clutch. âMy aunt Sofia.â
âAnd the combs?â
Cindyâs hands flew to her hair, held in place with pearl combs. âThose were my motherâs.â
âYou look more like a fairy tale princess than anyone Iâve ever seen. I donât know what to say.â
âFor once,â Cindy laughed.
Vanessa walked around her, studying every detail.
âHow are you getting to the ball?â
âMy uncleâs dropping me off and picking me up later.â
âExcellent plan.â
âListen.â Suddenly Cindyâs nerve abandoned her. She was living her dream just as sheâd always wanted, but something deep inside her was screaming that she was being a foolâa romantic fool, but a fool nonetheless. âIâm not sure Iâm doing the right thing. Sheila will probably be there.â On close examination of the brunette in the photograph on Thorndikeâs desk, Cindy and Vanessa had seen the womanâs bold signature across the bottom of the picture.
âShe might,â Vanessa agreed. âBut youâll do fine.â She tossed another imaginary sparkling of fairy dust in Cindyâs direction. âThe enchantment is set, so donât worry.â
âWhat? Me worry?â Cindy said, crossing her eyes and twisting her face.
Everyone laughed, nearly drowning out the honking from the limousine in the street below.
âYou ready?â Aunt Theresa asked, draping a warm shawl around Cindyâs shoulders.
âReady as Iâll ever be,â she said, expelling a deep breath.
Uncle Sal was standing beside the limousine, holding open the back door. âWhere to, miss?â he asked in a dignified voice that nearly dissolved Cindy in giggles.
She climbed into the back and realized that this was the first time sheâd ever been seated there. âHey, this is nice,â she called, running her hands along the smooth velvet cushion.
âWe have one problem,â her uncle informed her, meeting her gaze in the rearview mirror.
âWhatâs that?â
âIâm sorry, kiddo, but Iâve got to have the limo to pick up the Buckhardt party before one.â
âThat wonât be a problem,â Cindy returned cheerfully. âCinderellaâs supposed to leave the ball before midnight anyway.â
Two
B ored, Thorne Prince stood in the farthest corner of the ballroom, a look of studied indifference on his face. He idly held a glass of champagne. He hated these sorts of functions; they were a waste of time. Heâd been obligated to attend this Christmas party, but he held out little hope of enjoying it. To complicate matters, Sheila couldnât attend with him. She, at least, wouldâve made the evening tolerable. Hoping he wasnât being too obvious, Thorne glanced at his gold watch and wondered if anyone would notice if he slipped away.
âPrince, old boy, good to see you.â Rutherford Hayden stepped toward him and slapped him on the back.
Thorneâs response was a grim smile. He had no use for the man who was trying to ingratiate himself by means other than job skills and performance.
âFine party.â
âYes.â If he hoped to engage Thorne in long-winded conversation, he was going to be disappointed.
A moment of awkward silence passed during whichThorne did nothing to ease the tension. Rutherford paused and cleared his throat. âIâve been giving some thought to your suggestion regarding the Hughes account, and Iââ
âIt was an order, not a suggestion.â Thorne frowned. Hayden was going to trap him into talking business, and heâd be stuck with this inept bore half the night. Refusing his overtures would only heighten the growing dislike between them. In spite of his