Page 59 of One Night with Cinderella

I can see in your eyes that you know I’m right.

Nicolette’s words seemed to echo inside her. Mocking her.

You know I’m right.

You know I’m right.

You know I’m right.

She blinked and shook her head to free it of the woman’s voice. She removed his coat and crossed the short distance to press it against his chest before releasing it without a care if he caught it or let it slip and fall. She felt his hand reach for hers and she pulled away from his touch turning her back on him. “It started on a roof with you in a tux and looks like it’s ending the same way,” she said with a bitter little laugh.

At his continued silence, she looked back over her shoulder to find she was alone.

Hours later Gabe sat in his apartment looking at the Manhattan skyline as he nursed his snifter of his favorite scotch as the heat of the lit fireplace warmed him. His thoughts were full and troubled.

When he arrived at her event and then rushed to the roof to find her, never had he guessed the night would end with them going their separate ways. He’d fought hard not to feel ambushed as she’d revealed to him all the misgivings she’d obviously had about him all along. His stomach clenched and his grip on the glass tightened.

He wasn’t quite sure what emotions he felt swirling inside him, but anger was one. Indignation was another. For many reasons. For her lack of trust. Her belief in the very worst about him. And her willingness to end it when all he wanted was more time to make his restaurant a success—something he revealed to her early on.

Or at least he thought he had.

He released a heavy breath and took another sip.

He knew of her past, and that loyalty and trust might be issues for her—for them—but he’d never doubted that Monica would doubt him. Not see him. Not know him. Not understand him. That bothered him. He knew he had lost his focus and had become so driven that it seemed nothing else mattered but the restaurant. He’d thought she understood just how important this was to him, particularly knowing that his family had offered him no help nor support and, to him, held a desire for him to fail just so they could say, “I told you so.”

He’d wanted to do anything but fail and had expressed that to her.

He’d never been one to take on a losing battle and let it defeat him.

He’d made a choice between his relationship and ambition before. Time and time again, his ambition had won. It hadn’t been a conscious choice to make her feel unwanted and undesired. His desire to have her in his life had never been in question for him.

But in that moment when he’d reached for her hand and felt compelled to fight for her—to fight for them—she’d snatched hers away. He let it be. He let her be. He let her go.

Because he knew how important his success was to him. He knew there had been a choice to be made, and without her support and belief in him as an honorable, hardworking man who was driven, he had felt there had been no other choice than to tuck his head, focus on his work and get the job done. For him, he’d chosen something he could believe in. Her fears had him concerned she would never trust in him enough to not judge everything he did.

But as the hours ticked by and the truth settled in, he wasn’t as sure of his choice.

Still, it had not been his alone.

She had seemed to accept that it was done and was prepared to move on.

It wasn’t what he wanted. He missed her already, but he was accepting that perhaps their breakup was for the best.

He looked up at the framed photo of himself and Monica that sat on the mantel of the fireplace. They’d been skiing in Aspen, and Monica, who had felt completely out of her element, had fallen off her skis and he’d purposely tumbled down beside her and pulled out his phone to capture their laughter in a selfie.

They’d played in the snow all day and created their own heat together all night.

“Damn,” he swore, setting his glass on the metal end table beside the sofa before he rose and placed the picture facedown.

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