Page 17 of One Night with Cinderella

“I will leave my contact info with Marco and when—or if—you’re ready, you can get it from him,” Phoebe offered. “Just know there is no deadline on when you reach out to me. Be it a day or a year or a dozen—if I’m still alive, God willing—I will accept you with open arms.”

Monica remained silent.

Phoebe rose to her feet to summon the attorney back to his office. “She’s ready,” she said.

Am I?

As Monica rose and moved across the spacious divide to the attorney’s desk with her newfound aunt at her side, she longed for a moment of solitude to let it all sink in. She listened to his explanation of the NDA even as she continued to stare over his shoulder out the window.

She had so many more questions.

Do I have siblings?

Was he married?

What is this story of my birth?

When is the funeral? Am I invited to attend?

Who is my mother?

But she was not ready to absorb one more piece of info.

Not today. Except...

“Exactly how much is the inheritance?” she asked after Marco finished calling one of the clerks at the firm who was a notary public.

Marco looked to Phoebe briefly as he crossed his hands over the papers on his neat desk. “Fifty million dollars.”

“Huh?” she asked, blinking so swiftly that it appeared to be rapid gunfire before her eyes. “Fifteen million?”

Both Marco and Phoebe chuckled.

“No. Fifty million, not fifteen,” he said with emphasis.

She felt light-headed and willed herself not to faint to the floor and send the billowy skirt of her thin dress up over her head.

Gabe looked up at the top of the illuminated Eiffel Tower in the distance as he leaned in the doorway of CRESS V in the Champs-Élysées area of Paris. He was a Manhattanite who enjoyed the fast pace and urban flair of the city for sure, but the City of Lights, or la Ville Lumière, was a close second. It was where his mother had been born, where his parents had met and home to his favorite style of cuisine. He was staying at his parents’ country estate in the village of Saint-Germain-en-Laye for the week while he scouted possible locations for a new Cress restaurant.

The flute of champagne he nursed was unrivaled in its quality and well worth its hefty cost. That evening though, the restaurant was closed for a private celebration, and because of the event the liquor was apropos.

Finishing his drink with a small grunt of pleasure, he turned and opened the glass door to step back inside the restaurant. The entire staff was gathered in celebration of the release of the tenth cookbook by its head chef and Gabe’s best friend, Lorenzo León Cortez. He was well loved and respected by his staff and his peers.

“You look exhausted, friend,” Lorenzo said, giving him a quick look over the rim of the bottle of beer he nursed as Gabe neared him. “Who is she?”

Monica.

Gabe shook his head, refraining from revealing to even his best friend that he’d slept with the family’s housekeeper. “I’m on a little break from sex,” he admitted.

Lorenzo scoffed. “Medical issues?” he joked.

He gave his friend a look that was reproachful before shaking his head. “A one-night stand has had me in a loop for the past month,” he admitted.

“Ah. The one-night stand that’s really not just one night,” Lorenzo said, looking wistful. “I’ve had a few of those in my lifetime.”

“Yes, but it was just one night,” Gabe confessed.

Lorenzo winced and then released a short whistle. “Then at the very least have one more night, bro,” he said.

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