The Cinderella Deal Read online

  When the movers left, Daisy danced through the house, holding Annie and singing. All this room. All this sun. All her lovely furniture.

  She put Annie down and went out to buy flowers for her lovely house.

  When Daisy got back, the Nazimobile was parked in front. “Linc?” she called as she came through the front door.

  He erupted from the living room. “What is this?”

  “What?” She stepped back, startled.

  “All this old”—he waved his hand around wildly—“junk!”

  “What junk? These are antiques.”

  “This stuff has holes in it,” he said, incredulous. “The rug, the couch, the chairs. It’s junk!”

  Daisy felt the familiar tightness come over her; this was her father all over again, making her feel guilty for the things she loved. Well, it wasn’t going to work this time. “It’s real furniture,” she snapped back. “It has personality. It’s not that five-and-dime science fiction crud you sit on.”

  “Five-and-dime?” Linc’s eyebrows climbed so high, they almost disappeared into his hair. “That furniture cost me a fortune! It’s designer furniture.”

  “Designed by whom?” Daisy crossed her arms and charged. “Darth Vader? The Hitler Youth? You said, the house is yours, Daisy. You said, you’re the one spending the most time here, Daisy. You said—”

  Linc waved that off. “I know what I said. But I can’t have people in here to see this … this …”

  “Careful,” Daisy said through her teeth. “I love this, this—”

  Linc sat down on the couch and put his head in his hands. “This isn’t going to work,” he said quietly. “This is not going to work.”

  Daisy sat down beside him, her back stiff as a ramrod. “I cannot live in a soulless home. That furniture of yours was made by machines for machines,” she told him. “I know you’re not emotional, I know warmth isn’t important to you, but I can’t live without light and color and warmth. I can’t live with that horrible, horrible, cold, dark furniture.”

  “All right.” He took a deep breath. “But I can’t live in squalor.” He turned to her, calm but still upset. “Daisy, look at this stuff. It’s so worn, you can’t see the pattern in the upholstery. The carpet has holes in it. Daisy, it isn’t warm, it’s worn out.”

  She looked at the furniture through his eyes, and for the first time it wasn’t beautiful to her. She bit her lip as she saw the scratches and chips and holes. He was right. It hadn’t mattered when it was just hers. Her friends didn’t care about the worn spots and the holes. But his would. Crawford would be horrified. Caroline would sneer. Linc would be embarrassed.

  “All right.” She fought back her tears, feeling as if she’d lost more than furniture. “But we can’t afford new stuff. And I can’t afford to throw this stuff out, because when I leave in June, I’ve got to take it with me.”

  They stared hopelessly at the furniture together.

  “All right,” she said again. “Aside from the holes and the faded upholstery, do you have anything against the rest of it?”

  “The wood’s cracked on most of these tables,” he said dully. “The dining room chairs don’t match. The dining room table’s all right, I guess.”

  She took a deep breath. “How long do I have to fix this?”

  Linc leaned back against the couch. “We’re supposed to leave on our honeymoon for four days starting tonight. We’ll be back on Monday. The first time we’re having guests is after a party at the faculty club next Saturday. The Crawfords, the Bookers, and Caroline and Evan are coming over afterward for drinks.”

  Daisy nodded, counting days. “Without the honeymoon, that’s eight days. We don’t need a honeymoon. I can fix this. I’ve got eight days.” She kept nodding. “I can fix this.”

  “Put your flowers in water first,” Linc said quietly.

  She looked at the blooms she had forgotten, still clutched in her hand. Daisies for the living room, yellow carnations for the dining room, a bright pink rose for her bedroom.

  “You were really happy that your things came, weren’t you?” Linc’s voice was gentle. “And I spoiled it.”

  “No.” Daisy felt ashamed. “You didn’t spoil it. I’m not used to living … like an adult, I guess. This stuff is great for me, but it’s a disaster for you. I should have seen it.” She met his eyes. “I’m truly sorry.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders, and they slumped back into the overstuffed couch together and stared at their mutual problem.

  “Do you really think you can fix it?” He absent-mindedly stroked her cheek with his thumb.

  Daisy nodded, feeling his thumb move against her face with each nod. “I can fix anything. I just need to think.”

  Cover up the holes, she thought, leaning her cheek against his hand. That would be a piece of cake. Slipcovers. She’d made slipcovers for Julia last year. Cracked tables that didn’t match could be fixed with wood putty and paint, though she’d miss the wood. She could paint it all a bright blue. No. This was for Linc. She could paint it all white. She could bring out the detailing in the wood with the major color in the slipcovers. If she could find flowered fabric, maybe she could copy some of the flowers on the tabletops. Or stencil them in a border around the walls.

  The more she thought about it, the more enthusiastic she became. It would be like a huge detailed painting, only it would be a house. It could be fun. It really could all work out.

  She fought back her rising panic. She could make it work.

  Linc watched her, her brow furrowed as she thought. I’ve got to be more careful of her, he thought. One cross word and her world was gone. He hadn’t needed to yell the way he had. She wasn’t dumb. He’d just been so … mad. So embarrassed. She embarrassed him all the time. Maybe that said a lot more about him than it did about her.

  He eased his arm out from around her shoulders and gently took the flowers from her grasp. When he took them out to the kitchen to put them in water before he went back to the college, she didn’t even notice he left.

  If I pick up the pressed-wood detailing in the dining room chairs with the same color, she thought, I can make them look like a deliberately mismatched set. She could put seat cushions on them too. And she could stencil the tabletop in the same color. She could make the whole house look like a piece of art.

  “I can do this, Linc.” She looked for him, but he was gone.

  She measured the couch and chairs and then added up the yardage. It was astronomical. Okay, flowers for the couch and one chair. The rest in a nice, cheap solid. And paint. She’d get paint and call Linc and ask him to pick it up on his way home. She could carry the fabric home. No problem.

  And then she had to remember to get married tonight too.

  She found a bolt of yellow fabric flowered in dusty blue and peach that was marked down. Then she took the fabric to the paint store and matched the colors.

  “Two gallons of the peach,” she told the boy at the counter, “two of the blue, two of the yellow, and three of glare white. And I need something to fill in cracks in wood tables. I’ll be painting over the stuff, so it doesn’t matter what it looks like.”

  “Fine.” He finished writing the list and then smiled at her. “Do you want to wait while I mix it?”

  “No. My … husband will pick it up later.” My husband, she thought. Very strange words.

  The boy wrote up the bill and gave her the total and she wrote a check, this time for ninety-eight dollars and forty-three cents. With what she’d dropped on the fabric, she was spending more in one day than she used to spend in a month. It was a sobering thought.

  “Could you give me your husband’s name for the pickup ticket?” the boy asked.

  “Linc Blaise. B-l-a-i-s-e.”

  He looked up. “Dr. Blaise? The history prof out at the college? He’s great. I’m Andrew Madden, Mrs. Blaise. I’m one of the students he tutors.”

  “Hi, Andrew. I’m Daisy.” Daisy held out her hand, and Andrew took it a