Page 23 of Match Made in Heaven (The Cricket Club #5)

“…the sea monsters were vicious,” she heard Jack say.

His no-nonsense demeanor and matter-of-fact way of speaking touched her from the distance.

The man wasn’t a natural storyteller; nevertheless, he was effective, and Ella found herself hanging on every word.

“Anyone that ventured to drive a ship there was immediately pulled into the whirlpool by Charybdis or pulled apart and devoured by Scylla.”

Ella grimaced, gluing her back to the wall outside the door. Was this gruesome tale supposed to put the girl to a blissful sleep?

“But then why did Odysseus go near them? Why didn’t he steer through the Moving Rocks?” Sonia asked, no hint of sleep in her voice.

“Because that meant certain death,” he explained. “The captain had to make the best decision for his men. And that meant facing the monsters.”

“Doesn’t sound like that good of a decision, if sea monsters ended up eating them.”

Ella planted a hand over her mouth, stifling a giggle.

“Are you going to listen to the story or not?” Jack grumbled. “Odysseus had to make a choice. He could go through the Moving Rocks, knowing he and his men would probably all perish, or risk the monsters and only lose some. He chose to sacrifice some of the men for the greater good.”

“ His greater good.” Sonia humphed . “Will we face monsters like that when we go on your ship?”

Ella wrapped her hands around her midsection, warding off a chill.

“No,” Jack replied. His voice was solemn, concrete, and Ella hoped it comforted the child as much as it comforted her. “My ship is the safest place you’ll ever be. You’ll never have to worry when you’re with me.”

“Do you promise?” Sonia asked. “Don’t make a promise if you can’t keep it.”

“I promise,” Jack said. “Now, you’ve kept me up long enough. No more stories. We have an early day tomorrow, so time for bed.”

“I don’t want to go to bed,” she whined. “One more story.”

“No more.”

“Then what if I tell you one?” Sonia asked.

“Has anyone ever told you about Orpheus and Euridice? That’s my favorite.

It doesn’t have a cyclops or sea monsters, but it has three-headed dogs and wood nymphs and Hades.

I much prefer Hades to Poseidon. You see, Orpheus’s wife died, and he missed her so much that he went all the way to the underworld to see her.

You’ll like this part—he had to travel over the River Styx, which is filled with dead bodies and haunted souls, and dismembered limbs—”

Ella’s face contorted in horror. She peeled herself off the wall and flew into the room. “All right, I think we’ve had enough of the Greeks for one night.”

Father and daughter stared at her with matching irritated expressions, mouths agape. Apparently, Jack had become just as enthralled in Sonia’s story as she’d been in his.

Hands on her hips, Ella tried to appear as stern as her old Nanny Goodbody used to be, which would be difficult, because Ella didn’t have a hunchback and random, dark black hairs protruding from her chin. “Like your father said, it’s time for bed. Actually, it was time for bed two hours ago.”

Sonia cocked her head, her shiny black hair falling over her shoulder to the bed like a waterfall. “Are you my new nanny?”

“Ah, no,” Jack answered with a shy smile. “That’s Ella.”

The little girl shot him a censorious look. “You didn’t tell me you were married.”

“I’m not.” He straightened in his seat on the edge of the bed, stretching his neck from side to side. “Ella is my brother’s fiancée. She’s staying here while he recovers.”

The words, said so blandly and casually, hit Ella square in the chest. She’d never heard him say it in that way, without a hint of irony or disbelief. It made it feel oddly real, oddly true. And yet it had never felt more wrong.

Ella hurried toward the bed. “Never mind all that,” she said, prodding Sonia to recline on the mattress.

Ella threw the covers over her, tucking them deep under the child’s sides just as Nanny Goodbody used to do to her.

Ella had loved that feeling, like she was a caterpillar in a cocoon, safe and warm where no one could hurt her—not even her fevers.

Sonia reached for Ella’s hand, stopping her from moving away. “Tell me a story,” she said.

Ella scoffed, trying not to show how much the little girl’s touch affected her. She made her tone as gruff as possible. “You’ve heard enough stories.” She glared at Jack from the corner of her eye. “The wrong kinds of stories.”

“What are the right kinds?” Sonia asked.

Ella chewed on the inside of her cheek. “You know, happy stories. Fairytales. Ones that don’t end in loss of limbs and decapitation.”

Sonia’s brows drew together. “Sounds boring.”

“Boring is good,” Ella countered. “Boring helps you sleep.”

“All right, then.” Sonia wiggled in her cocoon. “Tell me one of these stories. And then we’ll see if they make me tired.”

Ella narrowed her gaze as she sized up her little adversary.

She knew exactly what the girl was doing.

Hadn’t she done it herself countess times in her childhood?

But even knowing Sonia’s aim couldn’t keep Ella from caving.

The girl had had a hard enough day as it was, and saying no (even though it was the responsible thing to do) felt unfair. What was one more story?

“Fine,” Ella said. She got comfortable on the edge of the bed. Jack mirrored her on the other side, his arm stretched out as he leaned on his palm. Ella ignored his questioning look. She’d grown used to his quiet nature, but it didn’t make it any less discomfiting.

Ella launched into “Snow White,” the tale of the princess who’d been driven from her house by a jealous stepmother and forced to seek refuge with the seven little people in the forest.

With no younger siblings or nieces and nephews yet, Ella had little experience telling stories.

She was surprised by how much fun it was.

Watching Sonia’s sweet, expressive face as Ella described the magic mirror and the evil witch was addictive.

Ella lost herself so completely, she didn’t notice that Sonia wasn’t getting more tired the longer the story went on.

Quite the opposite. She was getting confused.

“I don’t understand,” she cut in, biting her bottom lip pensively. “The prince just saw her and fell in love?” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that.”

The question rattled Ella. “Yes. Just like that. It was love at first sight.”

Sonia pulled a face. “But he didn’t know her. He knew nothing about her.”

Confused, Ella looked to Jack, but his face was blank. No help there. “The prince thought she was beautiful.”

“Many people are beautiful. I’m beautiful. My mother was beautiful.”

Ella admired the girl’s confidence, but she wouldn’t have minded being included in that little list as well. “Well,” she began, “the prince must have sensed an inner beauty in the princess too.”

“How?”

“Yes, how?” Jack said, causing Ella to flinch.

“I don’t know exactly. He just did.”

“It just doesn’t make any sense,” Sonia continued. She ticked off the fingers of her hand one by one. “He doesn’t know her; has never even talked to her; she’s almost dead and sleeping in a glass coffin. Why did he take her from the little men? How could he be so sure he loved her?”

“Because love makes you sure,” Ella cried, shocked at how shrill the words came out. She pressed her lips together, finding composure. “And Snow White must have looked very peaceful and loving in her coffin.”

Sonia scoffed. “I lived with my mother’s friend, Mrs. Stalrope.

And Mrs. Stalrope was a beautiful woman—everyone was always saying so.

Her voice was almost as good as my mother’s—everyone always said that, which never failed to make her upset.

Anyway, she looked mighty peaceful when she slept too, but the moment she would wake up, all that would be thrown out the window.

She always woke with headaches, you know.

” She nodded knowingly at Jack. “Too much wine. And I learned very quickly to be out of her reach until she’d had her morning glass. ”

Ella massaged her temples. “What does all that mean? What are you trying to say?”

Sonia rolled her eyes. “It means that one shouldn’t fall in love with someone while they’re sleeping. A man is setting himself for a lifetime of strife when he does that.”

“Who told you those things?” Ella asked. “You grew up surrounded by opera, yes? How could someone your age have such a jaded view of love already?”

Once more Sonia regarded Ella like she was the only child in the room. “Have you ever been to the opera? People cry at them for a reason.”

Ella unleashed an unladylike grunt. The girl had her there. “Well,” she countered, lifting her chin in defiance, “I believe that”—she searched her brain, lighting up when it came to her —“ true love always makes a man better, no matter who the woman is that inspires it .”

Sonia scrunched up her nose. “Who said that?”

Ella puffed out her chest triumphantly. “Alexandre Dumas. And before you ask, no, he did not write operas.”

Sonia snorted, once more exchanging a patronizing look with Jack. “I can tell.”