Free Cinderella (Faerie Tale Collection) by Jenni James Page A

strands of hair near her ear move. “I do not know what to tell you. Where to start. Even if I could share, I would not know how to.”
    “And you said that I did not trust people.” She grinned and snuggled in a bit closer, loving the sound of his voice vibrating through his chest into hers.
    “Touché.” He took another breath and then answered, “It is not that I do not trust, it is simply I have never been taught to share. I do not know how to. I only know how to hide my fears and heal others.”
    She found his hand near her waist and brought it up for both of hers to hold on to. “Why do you not start at the beginning?”
    “The beginning?”
    “Or the most pressing. What is it you wish to share more than anything, but do not know how to express as you wish?”
    “What do I say?”
    “Exactly what is on your mind.”
    “My father is dying,” he burst out.
    Her whole body froze a moment, before she whispered, “I know what that is like. Go on. Tell me more.”
    John tightened his hold around her as his jaw came to rest on the top of her head. “I love him—I love my father so much, as much as I love my mother. But neither of them will admit that he is dying—not even to themselves.”
    She almost asked if perhaps that was a good thing, if it was better they did not focus on the negative situation, but then stopped herself.
    “They tell me he is fine. But I know otherwise. I see it. I see that he is fading fast. Oh, Ella,” he whispered as he placed a kiss on top of her hair, “I know he will die in just a few weeks, if not days.”
    “No.”
    “Yes.” He clasped his forearm with the hand she was not holding. “He is already gone. He cannot move from his sickbed, and this morning I was with him for several minutes and he did not wake up. Not once. Even when I held his hand.”
    “Oh, John. I am so sorry.”
    He held her tighter. “I worry about so many things. I worry about how to take care of my mother and his responsibilities when he has gone. I worry if I can do all he needs me to do without him there guiding me and helping me through it. I worry that I will never be able to get over my grief of him passing, or how I will cope without our walks and hours of talks and laughter. I worry I will not be half the man he was and many will blame him for that.”
    “Do not be so hard on yourself; you are better than you think you are.”
    He whispered, “But mostly—mostly I worry that I will never forgive him for letting his pride kill him. For not coming forth and asking for help. For not saving himself when he had the chance. And for leaving my mother and I to pick up the pieces after he has gone.”
    Ella sat silently with him upon the ground for some time. Eventually, she rocked very slowly back and forth, back and forth within his arms. He followed her lead quick enough and they were soon swaying together, allowing the moment and their hearts to heal what the other could not.
    When he stilled enough to calm his troubled mind, she turned around within his arms and sat upon her knees. Coming face to face with those glorious hazel eyes, she reached her hand up and placed it upon his shoulder. With her other hand, she brushed aside the light brown locks of hair that had become mussed from his fingers running through it. When her eyes met his again, she said simply, “Thank you. Thank you for sharing with me.” She then leaned down and kissed his nose. “You are more wonderful than you believe you are.”
    Confusion flitted across his features.
    “You do not believe me?” She grinned slightly and then said, “Here, I shall show you how I think of you. Would you like that?”
    “You want to tell me how you feel about me?”
    She thought about it and then smiled a genuine smile. “Yes. Something similar. It is more how I see you.” She leant closer and set her arms upon his shoulders, her mouth just mere inches from him. Then she kissed his brow and said, “This brow of yours, it protects a