said there’s no such person,’ she added, then stuck her thumb in her mouth, clearly afraid that it might be true.
Okay, not that tough.
In her years working in the day-care nursery, she’d come across this one plenty of times. Big sisters could be the pits, although right now she wished she had one. A really cynical, know-it-all big sister who would have ripped away the rose-tinted spectacles, shattered her naivety, said, Prince Charming? Are you kidding? What are the odds?
She wasn’t about to let that happen for this little girl, though. Not yet.
‘Your sister only told you that because she thinks that if you don’t write to Santa she’ll get more presents.’
The thumb popped out. ‘Really?’
Before she could reply, the lift came to a halt and the doors opened, sending her heart racing up into her mouth. Under cover of the mothers, dads, children pouring out, she risked a glance.
There were no dark-eyed men lying in wait for her, only more parents with hyped-up children, clutching gifts from Santa, waiting in a magical snowy landscape to be whisked back up to the real world. Which was where she’d go if she didn’t make a move and get out of the lift. And that was not an appealing place right now.
Nowhere near as attractive as the North Pole, which the finger-post sticking out at an angle from a designer snowdrift suggested was somewhere to her right. As if to confirm that fact, an ornate sleigh was waiting in a glittering ice cave, ready to whisk the children away.
They stampeded towards it, climbing aboard while their mothers dealt with the more mundane matter of checking in with the elf in charge of the departure gate. Trips to the North Pole did not, after all, come cheap.
She barely hesitated.
She could do with a little magic herself right now and Santa’s Grotto had to be just about the last place anyone would think of looking for her.
As she stood in the queue she nervously checked her phone—it was as good a way to keep her head down as any.
There were half a dozen texts, voicemail messages and the twittersphere had apparently gone mad. WelshWitch had started it with—
Where is Cinderella? What have you done to her?
Tell the truth, Your Frogginess! RT@LucyB Kissed
prince, got frog. #Cinderella
WelshWitch, [+] Wed 1 Dec 17:01
It had already been replied to by dozens of people. Rupert was going to be furious, but since this—unlike all her other social media stuff set up by his PR team—was her personal account, there wasn’t a thing His Frogginess could do about it. At least not while she managed to stay out of his way.
What he might do if he caught up with her was something else. She shivered involuntarily as she continued to scroll through the tweets.
There was another one from Jen.
@LucyB If you need a bolt-hole, DM me.
#Cinderella
jenpb, [+] Wed 1 Dec 17:03
In a moment of weakness she almost did send her a direct message. But then she came to her senses and shut the phone.
That was what was so horrible about this. It wasn’t just Rupert she couldn’t trust.
She’d chatted daily on Twitter. She had nearly half a million ‘followers’, an army of fans on Facebook, all apparently fascinated by her story, her amazing new life. But who were they really?
Jen had seemed like a genuine friend, one of a few people who, like WelshWitch, she constantly tweeted with, but suppose she was just another of Rupert’s people? Someone the PR company had delegated to stay close. Be her ‘friend’, guide her tweets, distract her if necessary, steer her away from anything controversial? She was well aware that not everyone in the Twittersphere was who or what they seemed. Logging into her appointments, she scrolled down and, under the crossed-through entry for Dinner at Ritz, she added another entry—
Rest of life: up the creek.
And then her thoughts shifted back to the man on the stairs. His face forever imprinted on her memory. The strong jaw, high cheekbones, the sensuous curve of his lower lip…
‘Can I help?’
She jumped, looked up to discover that everyone else had moved off and she was being regarded by a young elf.
‘Oh…um…one adult to the North Pole, please,’ she said, closing her phone and reaching for her purse, wondering belatedly how much it would cost. She didn’t have that much cash. With a fistful of credit and charge cards, she hadn’t needed it. ‘A single will do,’ she said. ‘I’m in no hurry. I can walk back.’
He grinned appreciatively but said, ‘Sorry. This flight has closed.’
‘Oh.’ It hadn’t occurred to her that there wouldn’t be any room. ‘How long until the next one?’
‘Forty minutes, but you have to have a pre-booked ticket to see Santa,’ he explained.
‘You have to book in advance?’ Forty minutes! She couldn’t wait that long. ‘Where’s the magic in that?’ she demanded.
‘There’s not much magical about dozens of disappointed kids screaming their heads off,’ he pointed out.
‘True…’ She had enough experience with screaming children not to argue. ‘Look, I don’t actually want to have a one-to-one with the man himself. I just need to get to the North Pole,’ she pressed as the doors to the ice cave began to close. ‘It’s really urgent…’
It occurred to her that she must sound totally crazy. That, shoeless and apparently raving, she was going to be escorted from the premises.
It didn’t happen. Apparently, someone who could cite ‘elf’ as his day job took crazy in his stride because, instead of summoning Security, he said, ‘Oh, right. I was told to look out for you.’
What…? Nooooo!
‘You’re from Garlands, right? Pam’s been going crazy,’ he added before the frantic message from her brain to flee could reach her feet. ‘She expected you ages ago.’
‘Garlands…’
What the heck was that? The department responsible for store decorations? Did a snowflake need straightening? A tree trimming?
Whatever.
She was up for it, just as long as she was out of sight of the lift.
‘You’ve got me,’ she said, neither confirming nor denying it. ‘So, now do I get a ride on the sleigh?’
‘Sorry,’ he said, grinning. ‘The sleigh is for paying customers only.
