Cinderella Chose Wrong Prince - End

Cinderella Chose the Wrong Prince - End

A conclusion to my Feb Sux - inspired tale

Many readers felt my previous story, "Cinderella Chose the Wrong Prince" lacked a proper ending. Here goes one version of how that story could end. If you still like the story after this, please consider it in your reviews. Thank you.

I decided to moderate comments. I take constructive criticism (positive or negative). I delete offensive comments. Don't waste our time.

I will eventually condense both stories in one and edit the violence scene away from my original story. It is out of character. Thomas is not violent.

This story has been only quickly edited for grammar. I write in English, but the brain never completely rewires itself from one's native language to another. Cut me some slack (at least until I get my editor onboard.)

I am considering a part 2 that is around an economic crisis that eats some of the family's fortunes; a family past that comes back to haunt them, and a Marc Asshole who, upon reinventing himself as a sports commentator, must be brought back to Earth again...

After my summer break.

If you haven't, please read my original before this one.

From the previous story:

He eventually got out of the water and undressed the top of his wetsuit, tying the sleeves around his waist. He was tanned, lean, and toned. Relaxed. Even better than Linda remembered.

She stood up, wincing, and took tentative steps in his direction. She was drenched and shivering. He saw her. He stopped, froze in place, then let his board fall to the sand. She closed the distance, still wincing. She couldn't quite read his face.

"Thomas"--a pause. "Listen to me for five minutes, and then if you don't like what I have to say, I will go. Please?"

-0-

Now the Conclusion:

Thomas looked at his ex-wife for a solid minute. She was a walking and talking wreck. Hollowed face, sunken eyes, unhealthy hair. She wore pants and his raincoat, so he couldn't see her body, but he could bet she was seriously underweight. He looked at her neck--he could see her veins. Her hands also gave her away. Skin and bones. When did she wake up? And shouldn't she be in a hospital? The woman had to be either deranged, or a capital B manipulative bitch. Or both.

"What is so important that you had to fly ten hours across half the world to tell me, in this poor state of health?" He pointed at her body as he spoke. "Why not just call me?"

Not the reaction she expected.

Thomas just continued. "But no. You had to show up here unannounced because you know only too well that I won't kick you out, right? Except this time, I will. There are hotels downtown. You can get a room for a few days until your departure. I will call an Uber.

"I will do that if that's what you want, but just hear me out first, please. Five minutes." The woman was drenched and shivering.

He sighed. "Five minutes."

Linda started her story but, within seconds, became emotional and incoherent. He thought she would have rehearsed her speech. She hadn't.

"Linda, stop. You are wet, shivering, and clearly unwell. And I'm getting cold myself--I was in the water for two hours. Run up to the house, take a hot bath, eat something, whatever. Get warm. You will get your five minutes later. But I'm still kicking you out."

She looked at the path up the cliff. "I don't think I can climb back to the house." She pointed at her legs. "I am too weak."

"You should be in the hospital, not here. But you being you... Nothing surprises me anymore. You keep demonstrating how screwed up your decision-making skills have become. Over and over..."

He looked at the sea. His surfing buddies were coming out of the water, curious. Local teenagers from humble backgrounds, all of them. He shouted in Portuguese. "Ronaldo, Leandro, preciso de um favor de vocês." (I need a favor from you guys.)

The boys ran up to them. Those kids would do whatever Thomas asked them to. For them, he was Tio Tomáz, or just tio--uncle. They loved the only adult in the area who treated them with respect and as the proud young adults they aspired to be.

"This is Patrice's mother. She's unwell. Can you help her up the steps to the house? You may have to carry her. Tell Leila to get her dry and warm. Maybe a bath and some coffee. I'll stay here and mind our surfboards until you come back."

He turned to Linda. "These kids will carry you up. Leila will help you in the house. We can talk later."

What was he going to do with that woman?

Thomas watched as the unlikely trio walked away, toward the trailhead. A couple of minutes later, another kid, Carlos, was coming out of the water too. "Tio, you go with them. I can wait here." Thomas thanked the boy. He was beginning to shiver, too.

Back in the house

"Thank you for paying my medical bills. Everybody told me I'd be dead or impaired for life without your support. And to think that I became a patient in the same hospital where you got me a job."

Linda had showered, eaten, and dressed in warm clothing. She was wrapped in a blanket on the couch, her legs crossed. A cup of very hot coffee in her hand. She was clearly trying to get him into some small talk, but he wasn't buying it.

"I didn't do it for you, Linda. I did it for me. I didn't want to have your death on my conscience--haunting me on my deathbed or something. And what would I tell Patrice later? 'I denied your mother medical care that we could afford?' Your son would hate me for that at some point." He paused.

"And it did cost me a small fortune. To be very frank, I wouldn't have kept it up forever. One year is what I had given you, and then it would be back to conventional care."

He spat his words in a blunt and detached way. She wasn't expecting it.

"Well, thanks anyway."

"Your five minutes..."

"Can I just ask something before I start? It's been eating at me."

He nodded.

"Whose baby is that?"

He snorted. Forever the jealous Linda. "It's mine."

She just stared at him as her heart sank.

"Miguel is not mine. He's Leila's. The housekeeper. Her husband is also Miguel, and he's my groundskeeper. I let them bring the baby here while they work. Saves them nursery money and a lot of time."

He took a deep breath.

"Linda, five minutes. Go. I hope you're better rehearsed this time."

She was. She told him about her role in the conspiracy to hit Marc. In under five minutes.

"Linda, Linda... I don't know if I believe this. But suppose I did. Do you want me to applaud you for almost killing the asshole--and yourself?"

"I know. In hindsight, it was stupid."

"Stupid? Stupid is what you did the first time around in February." He was frantic. "This... This is... I don't have a word for this, truly. What's beyond stupid? Asinine? Imbecilic? Demented? Whatever."

"Just tell me: what the fuck were you thinking? Why is going back to the US, ghosting me for over a month, and plotting to kill Marc a better way to rebuild our relationship than staying here with me, and actually investing in it? In us? Woman, when did your head become so messed up?"

He paused to catch his breath and then went on.

"And to think that you made me see all that, powerlessly? You knew we had a PI watching your every move. You had to know. You tortured me. On purpose!"

Linda had answers to that--answers Thomas wouldn't entirely like.

"That night, when you kicked me out of your bed, you shouted her name. Camille. You mixed up people. Marc and Michael, your earlier nemesis. You were beyond traumatized. PTSD, maybe? I had seen it in the ER before; I should have seen it in you. I regret that I pushed you for sex. You weren't ready, and I was so eager to please you I didn't pay attention. For that, I am truly sorry."

She shed a tear.

"Why are you even crying? It's been nine months. Plenty of time to come to terms."

"Not for me, Thomas. It's been a few days for me. I remember being hit by Marc's car, and waking up two weeks ago. The last few months didn't exist for me."

"Right." He hadn't thought about that.

Linda moped her tear and carried on. "Anyways. That night I was stunned. I saw you sobbing and realized that Marc would forever be an elephant in our room, between us. The elephant had to be put down. Figuratively, I mean. I had to do just enough damage that you felt vindicated. Get some closure for you. For us. And make Marc suffer, too. He's been an asshole for far too long. Too many times, too many women. He had to be stopped."

"Linda, truly, I wasn't sad at all about what happened to him. What is it people say? 'Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy'? Or something like that? But still! You made me go through the same... shit as the first time."

"I wasn't counting on getting hit. I was going to come back here right away, apologize, and never leave your side again."

"You almost died! And what if instead you were caught and arrested? Heck, you could have implicated me. Imagine if the cops decided you and I planned this together?"

"I would have denied your involvement. Jake--you know, my accomplice--he would have confessed too. We were ready to go to jail if we were caught. This would never spill on you."

"Right. You were ready to confess because you counted on my being forced to hire the best criminal defense lawyers in the country for you. Just like I paid for your medical care."

"I wasn't counting on it."

"You sure were. Don't deny it."

She didn't meet his eye.

"But you haven't answered everything I asked. Why the silent treatment, why the torture?"

"After I left your bedroom, I couldn't sleep. thought and thought. I was also hurt, Thomas, in more ways than one. You kicked me... I had a bruise for a couple of weeks."

"But I made you promise. You had promised..."

"I know I did, but that was too much. And you called me Camille... I just needed to get away. I wasn't going to ghost you. That was not my plan, not at first. That idea came later, after you texted me so desperately, and I got time to think while I waited for my flight. I thought I'd give you a little taste of your own remedy, just for a few weeks. Then we'd hit Marc, and I was going to call you and come back here right away, apologize for my silence, and get on with life. Minus the elephant."

"And you'd be a bit humbler after I made you beg... Because you were a bit entitled when I got here. You went from being the discreet, down-to-earth guy I married to a bitter and arrogant aristocrat." Pause. "You had every right to be angry at me, but you manipulated me, Thomas. You may deny it, but you did."

It was Thomas' time to not meet her eye. She was right on that count.

"But I don't care about that, Thomas. I love you, and I hope you can forgive me. Do you believe me? You must believe me! I did not cheat on you after I went back home. I didn't even want to kiss him during that dinner. But he forced it. Please believe me."

He stood up, went to the coffee machine, and pressed the button for an alongé. An Americano. He suddenly had the mother of all headaches. He used the coffee to swallow an ibuprofen; stomach lining be damned. He walked back to her.

"We will continue this conversation later. There's something I need to do. If you want, you can go pick up Patrice. It's almost time. Do you remember the way?"

She smiled, apologetically. "I'd love to, but no... I don't think I can drive."

"Leila can drive you. Just go. Please. We'll finish this conversation tonight."

That afternoon

Linda left, and Thomas locked himself in his office. He spent the afternoon rereading the PI reports from October and rewatching the videos and photographs, as well as all the emails he'd exchanged with Jeff and his associates during the time Linda was back home. He wished he'd recorded the phone calls, too. He'd have to rely on his memory.

Three hours later, he walked to the kitchen, got a cup of lemongrass tea (with leaves harvested from his garden), locked himself back in the office, closed his eyes, and thought. He was peripherally aware of Linda coming back with Patrice and playing in his room. He overheard Leila heating dinner for Patrice and Linda; then her baby crying, and the woman leaving for the night. He didn't come out of his den until Patrice was asleep. He found Linda waiting for him anxiously on the couch. He dove right in.

"I spent the afternoon and the evening looking into everything the PI had written and sent me. I was looking for something."

"Did you find it?"

"Yes. Both in his reports and in the videos and photos. You did keep Marc at arm's length each time you met him. You displayed only enough affection to keep him interested. You played him. It's almost as if you knew you were being watched and you were sending me signs. Some times you were torturing me, being vindictive. But then, other times it was as if you were sending me signs, that I missed. Now that you've given me the context, I know better."

"Do you believe me, then?"

But he wasn't finished.

"Besides, your setup story is the only plausible explanation for a completely illogical and emotionally bizarre behavior during that entire month. It was either that, or you suffer from split personalities." He took a deep breath.

Yes, I believe you. I don't want to, but I do. My heart wants to hate you; my brain admits the evidence fits the explanation."

He stood up, grabbed a beer, and walked outside. The rain was over; it was bitterly cold, but he didn't care. He did not offer her any drinks. She could serve herself if she wanted to, and he suspected she couldn't drink anyway.

She came after him and touched his shoulder. He didn't recoil.

"Thomas, there's something else I hav--"

"Not now, Linda. I'm going to bed; I need to sleep on it. You've earned yourself one night under this roof. I may still ask you to leave tomorrow."

Following morning

"Can I ask you something?" He didn't react, so she pushed. "Are you seeing anyone?"

"Seeing as in dating, or as in a shrink?"

"Both, I guess." She really meant dating.

"I did, both. Both were helpful."

"Larissa? Your PT?"

"Yes. For a couple of months. Then she left me."

"Why would any woman leave you?"

He snorted. "Ask yourself that, woman." He paused. "That woman is smart beyond her years. She saw right through me. She didn't want to be a rebound girlfriend. And I was still legally married to you. She said it was up to me to come back to her if and whenever I'm ready to pick it up with her. And then she forced me to seek a psychologist. She was right."

"Do you know why I forgave you, back in August when you came? You never asked."

She just shook her head.

"Before you were naïve, immature, sheltered, misled. You made a split, irrational decision at that club, completely fueled by emotions run amok. You had that jealousy burning through you, fed by that bitch, Dee. But all our faults weren't on you. We didn't communicate enough. I didn't. should have been pushier. I should have told you about me, well before February. I didn't want confrontation; I was happy to oblige to your every wish. Then you show up here a changed woman. It was like you aged - no, matured - a decade in a few months. You had lost some of that gaiety I loved, but overall, you had improved. Even the jealousy had been toned down. And I had had time to think about my flaws, too. You forced me to, when you showed up and hanged around."

Thomas was looking away from Linda, down toward the ocean.

"But this time? You premeditatedly decided to hurt someone. That's some serious... shit, for lack of a word. I understand you did it for us, but its brutal. Can I overcome that? I don't know."

"There is something else I need to say, Thomas. I wanted to say it last night." She stepped in front of him, forcing him to look up.

"I'm sorry. For everything. I wish I could go back to that February and do everything differently. Everything. Heck, I wish I could go back to 2022 and tell my younger self: drop Dee, drop those useless friends and trust your husband. Go travel with him, see him for what he truly is. But I can't go back."

"I know it's been nine months for you. Too long. I told you it's been two weeks for me, the time I've been awake. It's like I left you six weeks ago, seven maybe. The pain is fresh. Then they told me how long it's been, and that you secured the divorce in absentia, and I almost fainted right away. The thought of you not knowing what and why I did it all this time... wrecked me. Again."

"I basically fled the hospital; the wait was excruciating. I had to come and see you, if for no other reason than to apologize. And hope we can try and rebuild things."

"Apologies accepted." He said it begrudgingly. "I'm going surfing."

She glanced at her phone's weather widget. "But it's 45°F outside!"

"That's what wetsuits are for."

"Can I stay?"

"We'll see."

Epilogue

Thomas did not kick her out. But he didn't proactively let her stay, either. She was just there. She settled in the guest bedroom and went about her days. She took over Patrice's chores and helped around the house. Whenever possible, she tentatively engaged Thomas in conversation. She took care to show genuine interest in his family's business. She learned he was considering buying a sailboat. She went with him to see a few.

One day, she asked him if he was developing any new games. He said he was done with games. He was splitting his time between a reforestation project in the rainforest and catching up with quantum computing research. He was collaborating remotely on theoretical research and an academic article with his former colleagues. She asked him to tell her about it, but the explanation went way over her head.

She slowly regained weight and some of her strength, but she needed physiotherapy. The only good PT in town was... Larissa. Thomas set it up. He felt bad for Larissa--he apologized to the woman in advance and offered to pay double whatever Linda was paying her, on the side. The woman refused but took Linda as a patient. A part of him felt great, in an ironic way, that his ex-wife had to deal with his ex-girlfriend. Let her grind her teeth for a while.

Thomas melted, very slowly. It took Linda a month to try and cuddle with him on the couch, another two weeks to share his bed--without sex--and a full two months before they finally became intimate again, tentatively.

By then, her legal stay as a tourist in the country was almost over. She had been doing research on the local immigration laws at the same time as she learned some Portuguese. To stay any longer, she'd have to become a permanent resident--the local equivalent of a US Green Card. And the quickest way to achieve that was to marry a citizen. Thomas.

She didn't feel she had the right to ask him. She just told him, one afternoon, that she'd have to leave in ten days. "Ninety days per year is what your country allows me to stay, Thomas. Maybe you can come visit, or we meet somewhere else?"

"Let me look into this."

Two evenings later, they were dining at a local restaurant. Patrice was home with a sitter. Linda had a nice meal--she'd since learned what and how to order in Brazilian restaurants. But she was sulking.

"Thomas, I don't want us to be apart."

"Me neither. Ultimately, I'm better with you."

"But I can't stay. I don't know what to do."

"There's a way."

"Would you do that? Marry me again?"

He caught her bluff. She knew about the marriage route all along. He chose to ignore it. "If you ask nicely, and if you agree to some conditions I will lay out later."

"Marry me again, please?" she whispered, reaching for his hand across the table.

He smiled. His first genuine smile in a long time.

"You'll have to ask me much, much more nicely than this."

"Let's go home and I'll do it."

"Ah-ah. Not home. Here. Now."

She blushed, desperate. "But the place is full. It's embarrassing."

"That's the idea. They'll think we're gringos loucos. It will be fun to see you blush all the way to purple. And hurry up if you want a 'yes.' You have ten, nine, eight..."

She did it.