Page 54 of One Night with Cinderella

Ten

Three months later

Was it possible to truly feel like Cinderella?

Monica did.

As she looked at her reflection in the glass, she didn’t notice the panoramic view of the New York skyline and Hudson River on the other side of it or the well-dressed people enjoying the colorful, carnival-themed gala behind her. The strapless white silk couture gown she wore seemed to gleam, and the Swarovski crystals sewn into a modern design across the bodice twinkled like stardust. A tight corseted waist and attached skirt gave her a buxom shape, while the thigh-high slit sexily exposed her leg. Her hair was piled atop her head, elongating her neck and showcasing her bared shoulders.

She smiled, remembering the days when she imagined the life she was now living. When she could get close to gowns like the one she wore only if she allowed herself a few minutes of folly in the closets of Nicolette and Raquel. Sometimes she felt she was in a fairy tale and someone would close the book and bring it all to an end, with her leaving a glass shoe on the stairs.

“Congratulations, Monica.”

She stiffened, instantly recognizing the voice of Nicolette Cress. She gave herself one last look before turning to face Gabe’s mother. The woman looked beautiful in a dark blue chiffon maxi dress with a plunging neckline. “Thank you... Nicolette,” she said, never having addressed her by her first name before.

The act brought a small smile to the woman’s face.

“I wasn’t aware that you purchased a ticket,” Monica continued, proud that she’d shown no trepidation or even the curiosity she felt at seeing Nicolette at her event.

“You captured the attention of a few of my friends who are in attendance and I thought it might be my only chance to see my son,” Nicolette said, taking a sip from the flute of champagne she held as she came to stand beside her at the window.

Monica’s gut clenched. “He’s running late. There was a problem with the restaurant, and there’s an important inspection first thing in the morning,” she explained, giving her the same excuse Gabe had given her just a little over an hour ago.

Nicolette gave her a tight smile. “Never had I imagined the day I would need updates on my son from his bedmate,” she said with a release of a heavy breath.

Monica’s grip on her ball-shaped clutch tightened. “Bedmate?” she asked. “It seems you need an update on that, as well.”

Some emotion filled the woman’s blue eyes.

Monica couldn’t quite place it.

“I only want what’s best for Gabriel—for all of my sons,” she said, her French accent heavy.

Monica used to find it fascinating. “And I’m not it?” she asked.

“Long-term?” Nicolette asked. “No.”

Monica tensed, hating how the woman gave voice to her concern with such ease. Over the last few months, her relationship with Gabe had become strained as his sole focus was preparing for the opening of his restaurant. He seemed to be constantly canceling dates or showing up late, and when they were together his mind was clearly elsewhere. She told herself he was just focused on his success and things would go back to the norm, but she couldn’t fight off the nagging belief the sexy playboy had tired of the relationship and would leave her behind.

In truth she had already begun to withdraw, limit her expectations and steel herself for a breakup, but she doubted he even noticed.

“Shouldn’t this be a conversation you have with Gabe?” Monica asked.

“Why? When it’s clear you’re the cause for the division?”

Monica frowned, unable not to do so. “You’re wrong, Nicolette, because the very last thing I want is for Gabe to be divided from his family,” she said, her conviction clear in her voice.

“Yet I didn’t see my son for Thanksgiving, Christmas nor New Year’s Day.”

“True, Gabe and I spent those holidays together, but I encouraged him to spend them with his family,” she said, in truth. “Especially after the childhood I had.”

Nicolette tapped the tips of her nude nails against her flute as she walked behind Monica to reach her other side. “It is your upbringing that is exactly why this thing you two have going will not work. Money cannot erase the indelible mark it left on your life.”

“You know nothing of my life. You never cared to,” Monica said, feeling offended and judged.

Nicolette arched a brow. “You were my maid, not my friend,” she countered.

“And that was sufficient for me, as well, but never claim to know me. That would be a big mistake, Nicolette,” she said with coldness.

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