Page 25 of One Night with Cinderella

No work. No guests. Nothing to keep her occupied. Nothing but her thoughts. And room service.

“Why let boredom be the death of me?” she asked, tapping the envelope against her chin as she decided it was time to have a little fun.

The next few hours were a whirlwind in Manhattan. Behind oversize shades, she ventured out of her room, and thankfully she faded into the fast-walking crowd with ease. Armed with advice from the concierge, she ventured to a nearby boutique, where she enjoyed trying on designer gowns until she found the one that made every eye in the shop stay on her. Diamond earrings from Van Cleef. Shoes from Bergdorf Goodman. Hair, makeup and manicure by the spa at the hotel.

Aside from the cost of the hotel, it was the first of her inheritance she’d dared to spend. And what felt trepid at first got a little easier with each swipe of the card connected to one of several bank accounts she’d opened. It felt odd to spend such an amount when before it would have taken weeks to earn that much, but it had felt good—for once—to treat herself. Not even a sales clerk asking her to provide photo ID to prove it was indeed her card had shaken her. She’d shown her identification and then left the store to spend her money elsewhere.

And now I’m here.

Monica looked out the tinted window from her seat in the rear of the chauffeur-driven Tahoe, taking in the entrance to the marina. It was beautiful at night with the moon’s light reflecting on the gentle waves of the Hudson River. The lights from the towering buildings in the distance gave the perfect New York backdrop. When the SUV pulled to a stop in the parking lot, she forced herself to wait for the driver to leave his seat and come around to open the door.

“Thank you,” she said, accepting the offer of his hand to help her from the sizable vehicle.

“Have a good night, Ms. Darby.”

Ms. Darby?That flustered her for a moment. Everything felt new and different. Even experiencing a show of respect.

With a nod, she took a deep inhale of the scent of the river. Attendees clad in elegant evening wear were already making their way down the wharf toward the sleek two-hundred-foot navy megayacht docked on the other side of the marina. She smiled at their excited chatter—a clear sign of everyone’s anticipation of the festivities.

A warm breeze blew in from the river as Monica stopped to look up at the yacht. The party was already in full swing and the music echoed from inside the three-tier vessel.

She knew from overhearing the family discuss the preparations that more than five hundred people were scheduled to attend the event. There should be a live band, open bar, decadent hors d’oeuvres, a silent auction of more than fifty culinary experiences with acclaimed chefs, a charity poker tournament, and a grand finale with a popular celebrity performing a miniconcert.

Aboard the yacht, with her heart pounding from excitement and a bit of nervousness, she went straight to the bar for a glass of champagne. Over the rim she took in the mingling crowd and the entertainers among them. Contortionists, magicians and jugglers performed for the crowd amid colorful decor, lighting effects and towering floral arrangements.

A uniformed server presented her a tray. She selected a small plate and used tongs to choose a bacon and chèvre tart, lamb lollipop and a mini potpie she soon discovered was filled with lobster. She was looking about the colorfully lit room when she spotted Gabe standing by the bar, looking devastatingly beautiful in an all-black tuxedo that fit him so very well. She nearly choked on her bite of food when she finally noticed the tall and shapely brunette in a strapless cerise jumpsuit beside him. His date?

The woman in red laughed as she stroked the velvet lapel of his tuxedo and removed the flute from his hand to press her crimson lips to the crystal for a deep sip of the golden champagne. Monica turned away from the sight so quickly that she felt loose waves of her hair tickle her spine. She hated how easy it was to notice how different she was in comparison to the woman. Even with the costly transformation that had given her confidence, Monica felt that familiar pang of being not good enough. A remainder of her broken and unstable childhood.

Needing to be out of Gabe and his sultry date’s line of vision, Monica stopped another server to place her unfinished food and drink on his tray before she took her exploration elsewhere.

“Monica?”

A warm hand lightly wrapped around her wrist. She knew before she turned that it was Gabe. The goose bumps and soft hairs on her body standing on end were truth tellers. Facing him, she confirmed their accuracy. “Hello, Mr. Cress,” she said, her heart racing as he eyed her from perfectly coiffed hair to painted toes.

Her black lace gown was delicate and sweet with its scalloped sweetheart bodice and bow-embellished straps, while still being sexy with her appearing to be nude underneath. The sheer A-line skirt showed hints of her thighs, and the lace border skimmed her ankles above the strappy heels she wore. Her hair was down in soft loose curls that passed her bare shoulders. Smoky eyes and a soft nude lipstick completed her look.

What does he think?she wondered.

“You...you look amazing,” he said, his warm appreciation filling his voice.

She laughed softly. “You seem surprised,” she teased.

“No. Not surprised,” he said, easing his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “I’ve seen you even prettier than this.”

That made her cheeks warm.

Monica tucked her hair behind her ears, revealing dangling diamond earrings. “I wasn’t sure if the dress was too much or not enough,” she confessed.

Gabe’s eyes were intense. “It’s perfect,” he admitted.

Their eyes locked and held. Silence reigned, but there was a charge—a current—that fueled the air between them. She knew from the heat in her belly and in his eyes that he felt the same stir of desire as she did. “Just once. Remember?” she reminded him as her pulse sprinted.

“I thought you forgot that night,” he said, his gaze searching hers.

She looked away from him, seeking relief from his unspoken temptation. “We were supposed to.”

“I couldn’t forget it even when I tried.”

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