Tempting the Knight (The Fairy Tales of New York Book 2) Page 17

  “Don’t sell Ty short,” Faith added. “Believe me, there’s no one better qualified to debate every nuance of your relationship in minute detail than my big brother. He lives to pick apart people’s problems and then figure out ways to solve them. It’s what he does best.”

  “I know.” And she had been bound and determined to see that as a failing, when she could see now it had never been the real reason she’d flipped out. “I just… I can’t tell him how I feel…” Zelda stumbled to a halt, her throat thick with tears.

  “Why can’t you?” Dawn asked. “Really?”

  Dawn had her totally busted. And from the looks on her other two friends’ faces, so did they.

  “I can’t because I’m scared. I’m terrified. Because I know I’ll fail. Because I’m rubbish at this stuff, and I always have been, just ask my brother. And I’m not sure I could cope if I screw this up, too.”

  “Zelda, you mustn’t judge yourself because of the way your brother has failed you.” Mercy covered Zelda’s hand, and held on. “He is a deeply cynical man, who has problems of his own which he has never dealt with.” Mercy’s comment sounded heartfelt and sad, making Zelda wonder what had actually been said between Mercy and her brother upstairs.

  “Seb has never appreciated your worth. If Ty does, you should give him a chance,” Mercy said, the mention of Ty’s name making all thoughts of her brother fly out of Zelda’s head. “No one’s saying it will last forever,” her friend continued. “But never underestimate how much you are capable of. You’ve proved that with everything you’ve achieved since I found you in the Pigalle five years ago. If you can do that, you can do this. It’ll take time and effort and it will be tougher for you because your recovery has to be paramount, and maybe it won’t succeed. But you’re strong enough to survive if it doesn’t. Because you’ve survived so much more. Your parents’ death, your brother’s carelessness, your addictions, the constant lies about you in the media… Don’t you see?”

  The wave of gratitude overwhelmed Zelda, because for the first time, she did see. She saw herself the way Mercy and Faith and Dawn saw her. Not as a fuck up, but as a friend. And she could also see now that she’d panicked, not because Ty was a threat to her recovery, but because she had fallen so hard and fast for him, too. And because inside her still lurked that terrified, lonely child who had convinced herself all her losses were somehow her fault. And that rebellious teenager, who had believed if she stopped caring, bad stuff would stop happening.

  But Mercy was right. That scared child, that reckless teenager didn’t exist anymore. Because she’d stopped running five years ago. And she did care. Enough to repair the mistakes she’d made.

  Unfortunately, she could hardly tell them it was already too late to repair this. That she’d already fucked it up too much, because she’d been too scared, and too insecure to tell Ty the truth a lot sooner. And in the process she’d destroyed what chance they might have had to make their relationship work before it had even really begun.

  “Thank you, Mercy. You guys…” She huffed, the pain achingly bittersweet. “I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”

  Mercy picked up a truffle, popped it in her mouth and swallowed. “That’s simple.” Her lips curved. “Without us, you’d be even more disgustingly thin.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‡

  Ty shoved the ball cap down as far as it would go and pushed through the press gang on the sidewalk, who were cutting off access to the steps leading up to the Madison townhouse. His insides knotted with frustration and anxiety.

  This could well be the defining moment of his life. And it looked like he was going to have an audience, because there was a good chance he wasn’t even gonna get through the door.

  “Hey, buddy, who the fuck are you?”

  He ignored the shout from the photographer he’d just shouldered aside.

  Someone flipped up his ball cap and he slapped it down. Too late.

  “It’s the Coney Island mystery dude, hot damn.”

  Flashbulbs started going off around him, but the sea of photographers had stepped back to take their shots. He charged up the steps to the huge, oak door which stood before him like the entrance to a fairy tale castle. The townhouse’s gothic red brick frontage as intimidating as the thought of what lay behind it. Rose vines grew around the columns on either side of the doorway reminding him of the ring of thorns tattooed on Zelda’s arm.

  It all seemed mighty symbolic all of a sudden.

  But symbolic of what, he had no clue. Was he the guy who was going to be able to hack through those thorns and rescue her, or were they there to tear peasants like him to pieces?

  He’d done his research, spent the better part of an hour on the phone to a very nice lady from Al-Anon, who had explained to him a few of the challenges facing people in relationships with those in recovery. All of which had convinced him that Finn had been right, and he’d probably scared the shit out of Zelda by coming on so strong, so quickly.

  But hell, he knew what that felt like, because he was scared, too. He hadn’t exactly planned for this to happen either. But his research had also given him hope. If he could just convince Zelda this was a one-day-at-a-time proposition, not necessarily a forever-after deal, yet, then maybe, just maybe, they could have a chance.

  But those thorny roses weren’t filling him with a whole lot of confidence at the moment.

  Ignoring the shouts for a statement, and the whirring clicks of cameras, he rang the large, brass bell on the side of the door. And spotted the small eyehole in the center go dark.

  The oak slab edged open and a middle-aged woman peered out.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but Ms. Zelda and Mr. Sebastian are not receiving visitors at the present time unless you have an appointment.” He could just about make out her crisp British accent above the noise.

  These bastards were scenting a story, but he didn’t plan to make things worse for Zelda by giving them one. So identifying himself would not be smart.

  “I think my sister’s here, visiting. I need to see her, it’s urgent.” It was a low blow; Faith would assume it was something to do with Pop’s health. But hopefully he’d be in the door before she found out about the lie.

  Unfortunately, this woman was up to those sorts of tricks. “Your sister, sir? Do you think you could give me a name?”

  “Yeah, buddy, why don’t you give us a name? Not every day Her Highness screws a regular guy. She must have been totally wasted this time.”

  The sneering words had Ty swinging round, even though he knew the comment had been made to arouse his anger and get a reaction. The part of him that believed in truth and justice and the rights of the disadvantaged rose up anyway, to defend the honor of the woman he loved.

  “What the hell do you know about it, buddy?” He snarled as the flashbulbs fired at him and camera phones were lifted to his face. “Zelda Madison’s been sober for five years. She’s been fighting to stay sober, fighting a heroic battle against her addictions, and yet every time she turns around she has you guys on her ass waiting to kick her back down.”

  Somebody whistled, more shouted comments went off in his ear, but he only heard one. “That’s some speech, coming from a guy who’s too ashamed of his association with her to even give us a name.”

  “My name’s Tyrone Sullivan. I’m an attorney for the Legal Aid Society. And I’m not ashamed to say I love her.”

  It was the worst possible thing he could have said. He knew it the second the words were out of his mouth. The chuckles of derision and the pitying looks as the jackals photographed him scoured at his pride. But worse was the thought he’d let Zelda down again. By declaring himself to the press before he’d got things straight with her. But fuck it, he’d wanted to take the attention off her and now it was squarely on him.

  The door opened behind him. And the noise level increased tenfold, the photographers and reporters pressing forward in a phalanx of flashes and shouts.

  �
��Ty, get the hell in here.”

  He dived through the door as Zelda stepped aside to let him in.

  The door closed behind him and he found himself on his butt being stared down by five sets of female eyes.

  “Is there something wrong with Pop?” Faith sounded anxious. With the housekeeper standing next to her, it was obvious what she’d assumed.

  “Pop is fine, sis.” He got up off the floor, dusted off his jeans, to give himself a moment. “I came here to talk to Zelda.”

  Zelda stood behind the others, her hands wrapped round her waist, her face downcast. “I can’t believe you said that to the press.” She didn’t sound pleased about his declaration. “What the hell are you trying to do? They’ll stalk you now, like they’ve stalked me.”

  He walked past his gaping sister, her two gaping friends, and the gaping housekeeper, to grasp Zelda’s elbows, and force her to look at him. “Do you think I care about that? All I care about is you. Is us.”

  She jerked out of his grasp. “Please don’t say that Ty, when you don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “But I do know what I’m asking now. Better than I did. And I know it’s a lot.”

  Her midnight blue eyes sparkled with unshed tears making fear rise up his throat and strangle the speech he had prepared on the subway ride from Brooklyn. Had he screwed it up again? Already?

  “I know I’m asking you to trust me, and it’s not easy for you to do that, because so few people have been worthy of your trust,” he said, the speech forgotten as he went with his gut. His tangled, twisted, terrified gut. “But all I’m asking for is a chance. A chance to see if we can go somewhere with this. I’ve spoken to a lady at Al-Anon, and she said new relationships don’t have to threaten your recovery. I’ll go to their meetings. I’ve already ordered all the literature I could find online. I’m not going into this blind. I’ll do the homework so I don’t mess this up for you. I’m great at homework assignments, just ask Faith. I used to help her with hers when she was a kid…”

  He stopped, seeing the watery smile lift Zelda’s lips, and wondered if she thought he was as nuts as he sounded. He was talking nonsense. He wasn’t making any sense. He made a living at negotiating, at advocacy, at litigation. He had a graduate degree from Columbia Law, a framed certificate that said he had passed the New York State Bar Exam and a license confirming his right to practice as an attorney in the Empire State—and yet he didn’t know what to say to make this right.

  “Please, just give me a chance,” he continued, his voice gruff with desperation now. “I know it was only a weekend. But it was the best weekend of my life. If you don’t feel the same way, I’ll leave now. And stick to the rule about never contacting you again. I swear.” He placed his hand over his heart, scared to touch her, because she suddenly looked so fragile, so unsure. He mustn’t push. This was her decision to make. It had to be, but he wanted to give himself the best possible chance. “But I can’t back off, not until I know for sure you don’t want to try.”

  *

  Zelda felt as if her world had tipped on its axis and everything she’d thought she knew about herself had turned inside out with it.

  She’d never believed she could fall in love. She’d never believed she could have a committed relationship. And she’d never really believed that she deserved to be happy. Not truly, one hundred percent, all the way happy. Not since that fateful day when the Embassy housekeeper had come to tell her there had been a terrible accident. But most of all, she’d never really believed she could be loved for herself, with all her flaws and weaknesses and all the mistakes she’d made.

  Until she’d gone swimming at midnight on Manhattan Beach and climbed out of her ivory tower into the waiting arms of her very own knight in shining armor.

  And now this strong, handsome, caring, and courageous man was standing in front of her and offering her everything she had ever wanted. Because he was willing to try. Because he was prepared to go that extra mile, just for her. And because with him, she knew he meant it.

  But before she could accept his offer, she had to know one more thing.

  “I can’t let you rescue me, Ty. I have to be strong enough to save myself.”

  He titled his head to one side, his dark hair falling across his brow in haphazard disarray before he pushed it back impatiently.

  “Are you kidding me?” he said. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known. If anyone’s doing the saving here, it’s you who’s saved me. From a lifetime of boring goddamn plans.”

  She placed her arms on his shoulders, ran her fingers into the curls of hair at his nape and grinned at her three friends who stood behind him grinning back at her.

  “I’m not sure I can promise you a lifetime,” she said, scared to hope for so much. All at once.

  But instead of looking disappointed, or even surprised, the flat line of his lips, so serious a moment ago, curved into the captivating smile she adored. “That’s cool, you only have to promise me tomorrow.”

  Lifting up on tiptoe, she felt her heartbeat skip as his large hands settled on her waist and he drew her close.

  God, she loved that he was so much taller than her.

  His head bent and he kissed her, the meeting of lips hot and exciting and yet excruciatingly tender.

  He raised his head, peered down at her. “So do we have a deal, princess?”

  “We have a deal on one condition, counselor.”

  His lips quirked. “Please tell me you don’t have a whole new set of rules I’m now gonna have to negotiate?”

  “Just one rule.”

  “Which is?”

  “That I never have to live in my ivory tower again.”

  He chuckled, the sound rich and deep and full of promise—for all the bright, shiny tomorrows that awaited her if she was strong enough to grab them. And with him by her side, she knew she would be.

  “You’re in luck.” He nuzzled her cheek, and nipped her earlobe, sending a sizzle of heat to her center. “We’re not real big on ivory towers in Brooklyn.”

  She laughed against his lips, the joy like a starburst inside her. Because she knew, that here was something and someone she could care about for a very long time.

  And maybe even for happily ever after.

  Enjoy an excerpt from Book 3 in The Fairy Tales of New York series

  Taming the Beast

  by Lucy King

  Copyright © 2015

  New York City, Upper East Side

  Right. Enough was enough.

  Standing at the door to the apartment that occupied much of the top floor of the Madisons’ townhouse, Mercy pulled her shoulders back and blew out a long, steady breath.

  She could do this.

  She had to do this.

  Or she had to at least try.

  By all accounts Seb Madison hadn’t changed one bit in the last five years, let alone the last thirteen, but the anger and frustration and hurt she was simmering with on Zelda’s behalf meant that she couldn’t not. She really couldn’t. Not when it sounded as if he’d plumbed new depths of contemptibility earlier.

  Ten minutes ago she and her friends, Dawn and Faith, had arrived at what Zel called the Madison Mausoleum where she’d been living in a self-contained apartment on the second floor for a few months now. They’d come to offer Zel their support, because since the crack of dawn this morning the paparazzi had been beseiging her over a story that wasn’t even true.

  Mercy, Dawn and Faith had come laden with chocolate, sympathy and a flask filled with virgin mojito. However, they’d been there barely five minutes before details of the horrible confrontation Zel had had with her brother had spilled out.

  Apparently, fed up with his emotional neglect of her, she’d challenged him on his lousy behavior towards her over the years and had then followed up with a few home truths, to which he’d responded with typical frostiness and stick-your-head-in-the-sand denial.

  Zel was in pieces, clearly devastated that her brother still didn�
��t want to have anything to do with her, and that had been that as far as Mercy was concerned. Her friend had overcome so many demons to get where she was, but her shattered relationship with her brother was still one of them, and it killed Mercy to see her like this. Especially when it wasn’t Zel’s fault.

  So if there was anything she – Mercy – could do to fix things, she’d do it, which was why she was here, at Seb’s door on a mild September Friday evening, burning with a sort of righteous anger and the need to put things right.

  One last shot, she told herself, feeling adrenalin begin to flow through her veins as she knocked twice and bellowed, “Seb? Are you in there? Open up.” One last shot.

  For Zelda.

  Not for herself.

  For Zelda.

  As long as she remembered that she’d be fine. And she would remember that because this time, unlike the last time she’d tried to make Seb see what was happening to his sister, she was not going to let him distract her. This evening, she’d stay strong, say her long overdue piece, and if she was convincing enough, firm enough, she might even achieve the impossible and actually get through to him. She might make him realize what a shit he was to humanity in general, what a cold, callous cabrón he’d been – and was still being – to Zelda in particular, and persuade him to make amends before it was too late.

  And, yes, pigs might fly, but they hadn’t taken off yet, so, as the thud of approaching footsteps reached her ears, Mercy pulled herself together and rallied her thoughts.

  Focus, she instructed herself, her pulse picking up and her head buzzing with a sudden flurry of unbidden and unwelcome memories. Do not think about the last time you saw him, the last time you were here. Do not remember the scalding heat of his touch, the dark intensity of his eyes, the feel of his body beneath your hands. Or the spectacular all-night-long sex.

  That is not what this is about.

  If you have to, remember instead that he took advantage of your pathetic teenage crush on him and used that spectacular all-night-long sex as a weapon to avoid a discussion he did not want to have.