Cinderella’s Wedding Wish

‘Oh, yes, I’m fine,’ said Octavia with a fair assumption of her usual nonchalance. ‘It’s just such a bore having to get up for work every morning! This working business certainly cuts into partying time, doesn’t it?’

To Miranda’s delight, Octavia had suddenly announced after the ball that she had got herself a job. ‘It’s only temporary,’ she warned when Miranda congratulated her. ‘I’m only doing it to show Simon I’m not completely useless! He told me I wouldn’t last a week.’

Simon, it appeared, knew just how to handle Octavia. Miranda was hopeful that her sister would come to realise what a kind, decent man he was, but even she had to admit that the quiet, steady Simon was an unlikely match for her frivolous little sister.

‘How is Simon?’ she asked now.

‘How would I know? I never see him.’ Octavia tossed her hair back and lifted her chin. ‘Not that I’d want to, of course! It’s not as if he’s any fun.’

‘Right,’ said Miranda. She was tempted to smile at the way Octavia kept insisting that she wasn’t attracted to Simon, even though the truth was glaringly obvious to everyone else, but then she remembered how steadfastly she had refused to admit just how attractive Rafe was. She was in no position to mock Octavia for protesting too much, after all!

‘Anyway, enough about boring old Simon,’ said Octavia with forced gaiety. She waved the credit card Rafe had given her in front of Miranda’s face. ‘We’ve got shopping to do!’

CHAPTER NINE

BY THE time they met Rafe for a glass of champagne as agreed, Miranda was exhausted and her feet were aching. Shopping was much harder work than being a waitress, she had decided. Octavia had bullied her in and out of a seemingly endless series of outfits, and then made her spend hours choosing the perfect accessories until they were both laden with carrier bags.

All she wanted now was to sit down, but Octavia made her change before Rafe saw her. ‘Put on the pale blue dress,’ she ordered, propelling her across the hotel lobby towards the Ladies. ‘And don’t forget the shoes!’

Too tired to argue, Miranda did as she was told, and even she had to admit that it was a lovely dress when it was on. A vibrant cobalt-blue, it was little more than a sleeveless shift that relied on the fabric and the beautiful cut for its effect. From the front it was very simple, but the back had a stunning strap detail that left a lot of her back bare. It meant she couldn’t wear a bra with it, and the silk lining slithered seductively against her skin, making her feel as if she were naked somehow.

Making her feel sexy.

Miranda shivered slightly, and the silk slithered some more.

Slipping on slingbacks with kitten heels, she concentrated fiercely on brushing out her hair. ‘And leave it loose!’ Octavia ordered. She inspected Miranda critically when she had finished, and then, apparently satisfied, handed her a lipstick.

‘Don’t even think about arguing,’ she warned.

‘For heaven’s sake!’ Miranda rolled her eyes, but leant obediently towards the mirror to outline her mouth carefully. ‘Now can I have a glass of champagne?’

‘You can.’ Octavia linked an arm through hers. ‘I can’t wait to see Rafe’s face.’

Rafe was waiting for them in the bar. He had been keeping an eye on the door, and he got to his feet, smiling, when they appeared at last.

Then he stopped dead, and stood staring. Was that Miranda? The only thing he recognised about her was that very straight back as she walked towards him. She was looking slender and very chic in a little blue dress that stopped above the knee and revealed those spectacular legs, and her hair swung shining to her shoulders. She had been stunningly elegant at the ball, but today she looked younger, brighter, sexier.

Rafe’s mouth dried.

He didn’t even notice Octavia until she prodded him out of his stupor. ‘Well?’ she demanded. ‘What do you think?

Think? How could he be expected to think?

Rafe couldn’t take his eyes off Miranda. ‘You look…you look…’

Unable to find the words for how she looked, he simply gave up and reached for her instead. Taking her by the waist, he pulled her towards him and kissed her full on the mouth. Her hands full of carrier bags, she swayed into him, and her lips parted on a tiny gasp, and she tasted so sweet and so right that his head reeled.

Without thinking, his hands slid down over her hips and curved around her bottom to pull her closer. The carrier bags dropped unnoticed from Miranda’s hands and she lifted them against his chest, curling her fingers into his shirt as she melted into him with a soft, inarticulate murmur deep in her throat.

If it hadn’t been for Octavia loudly and pointedly clearing her throat, Rafe would have lost control then, but as it was he retained just enough sanity to remember that he was kissing Miranda in the middle of a busy bar and that unzipping the blue dress and peeling it off her right there and then was probably not an option.

Reluctantly, he lifted his head and let Miranda go.

‘Well,’ said Octavia, grinning, ‘that lipstick was a waste of time, wasn’t it? She looks gorgeous, though, doesn’t she?’

‘I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ said Rafe, but his voice sounded very odd, as if it came from someone else altogether, and he was excruciatingly aware of Miranda beside him, her face flaming, and carrier bags scattered at her feet. She was trembling slightly, and Rafe didn’t blame her. He needed to sit down himself.

Octavia laughed. ‘I think you just did!’ she said, and deposited the last of her own bags around a chair before she plopped herself down into it. ‘Now, where’s that champagne you promised?’

What had he done? Rafe asked himself that several times a day over the next two weeks. On one level he was able to function quite normally. He smiled, he talked, he made conversation. He went to work and ran business meetings and even managed a tricky but ultimately successful negotiation.

But inside he was in turmoil. He had asked Octavia to transform her, and that was what she had done, with spectacular success. Rafe was intensely proud of Miranda. He knew she was uncomfortable with the idea of dressing up, but she was sticking to her part of the bargain. Every day, she wore one of the outfits that Octavia had insisted that she buy, and she looked wonderful in them all. It was like seeing a butterfly struggling out of a chrysalis. Couldn’t she see what the clothes did for her?

Everyone else certainly could, and that was the trouble, Rafe admitted to himself. If he was honest, he wished now that he had never sent her off with Octavia and that credit card. There was a shameful part of him that wished Miranda had stayed just as she was, brisk and practical, dowdy and prim. He had had her to himself then.

Now it was like the ball all over again, but every day. Wherever they went, she was noticed. The women looked at her clothes, and the men looked at her figure with hot eyes that made Rafe clench his jaw.

This was what he had wanted, he reminded himself endlessly. He had wanted Miranda to look like the kind of woman he would marry, but she was just supposed to look attractive and serious and suitable. She wasn’t supposed to look beautiful. She wasn’t supposed to be desirable. It was incredible to think that she had once passed unnoticed through a party with a tray of canapes. Now everybody noticed her.

But nobody noticed her as much as he did. It was torture living in the same house, trying to sleep at night knowing that she was in bed across the landing, soft sheets against her skin, silky hair tumbled over her face.

That was his fault too, Rafe knew. He had insisted that Miranda moved in. He had insisted on all of it.

He was a fool.

He couldn’t even blame any of it on Miranda, who was behaving perfectly, and that just made it worse. Why couldn’t she go back to being difficult? Instead, she went quietly off to work every day in one of her old suits, as cool and crisp and capable as ever. When she came back at night, she would change into one of the outfits Octavia had chosen so cleverly, and together they would go out, to drinks, to a reception, to dinner, to a party, so that, having missed her all day, he had to share her with everyone else at night.

She never complained, although Rafe knew that she must be bored and dreaming of Whitestones. She was