Dancing on Glass

Holding You Close

"I must say, I've seen you look better."

"I have a headache."

Jazz's shadow blocked out the fading sunlight as he leant over her but Cinderella didn't open her eyes, choosing instead to set her hands against her eyes and press until Jazz flicked her wrist, indicating that she should relax the pressure.

It was the evening after the ball.

Her family were out for dinner and Cinderella had gone to the lake. Whether she had met with Jazz or not, for once, didn't matter that evening. She just needed a moment away from the house.

To process all the information that had been dumped on her within a few short hours.

She heard Jazz take a seat beside her, then lie down. A second later she felt his fingers tap the side of her head so she lifted it to let him thread his arm under her, settling her head back onto his bicep as a makeshift pillow.

"You left suddenly last night, I couldn't find you after your dance with The Prince," Jazz said, resting his other hand behind his own head.

"I had to leave and you were busy talking to the princess on the balcony."

"You had time to find me but not say goodbye?"

"I was talking to The Prince and you two seemed content enough to spend a while chatting."

"I wish you'd said goodbye."

"I had more pressing matters to attend to, like getting away."

"Yes but—"

"Not now Jazz," she snapped, elbowing him in the side, making him jolt before she turned onto her side and curled in against him, her eyes still closed.

Jazz was quiet for a moment then brought up his arm to wrap it around her – and prayed that, of all moments, Prince Andrew had for once just stayed at the palace and got on with his duties and wasn't interested in finding Cinderella to talk to her.

"What happened?" he asked gently, looking down at her head.

"I discovered a conspiracy against my father. I discovered he potentially led to the suicide of another man and I discovered my stepmother is getting remarried, all in a few hours. My head hurts."

Jazz stared at her for a moment, then dropped his head back, watching a flock of birds fly high overhead.

"That would make one's head hurt," he muttered.

A conspiracy? A suicide? And her stepmother was getting remarried?

The first question that was answered was answered by the remarriage. Cinderella lived with her stepmother yet she was to be married again.

Cinderella's father couldn't still be alive.

His heart ached all over again for her. On the rare occasions she mentioned her father, the fondness in her tone showed her love for him, and yet he was gone.

"Do you know the man she's to marry?" he asked.

Cinderella was quiet for a moment. "Hardly, I've only seen him a time or two," she muttered.

"Does he know about you?"

"I don't know what he knows of me," Cinderella said darkly.

"What about this conspiracy?"

She fell quiet again, then suddenly sat up, her hair tumbling loose from its weak binds, flaring around her shoulders and hiding her face before she got to her feet.