Page 57 of One Night with Cinderella

He snorted in derision. “A lot of things aren’t what they seem,” he said, giving her a once-over before looking away from her.

She stiffened. “If you meant that for me, you’re wrong, because I am exactly what I claim to be.”

“Supportive? Understanding? Selfless?” he asked, his voice filled with censure. “You’re the one in the wrong.”

Monica gathered her skirt in her hands as she marched over to stand before him. “Not supportive? Not understanding? Anything but selfless? Me?” she asked, poking his chest with her index finger after each question. “Are you crazy?”

“Are you?” he shot back.

“To think you would ever see me as your equal after I was your maid?” she asked. “Yes, I just might be.”

Gabe’s face hardened. “I left behind the workers at my restaurant to try and share some of the night with you,” he said, his tone as stiff as his face. “And you greet me with complaints.”

“Not complaints. Just truth,” she said, lowering her hands and balling them into tight fists that pressed the tips of her nails into the flesh of her palm.

“I don’t need this shit right now, Monica! Not from you,” he said, his voice rising and battling with the sounds of the metropolis, which filled the chilly night air.

“When?” she said quietly.

Gabe paused with his chest heaving. “What?” he asked, his face a mask of confusion.

“Over the last few months, you’ve barely given me the time of day, so when should we have talked?” she asked, remembering nights where she’d sat fully dressed and disappointed because a mishap at the site of the restaurant kept him from showing up for a date.

Gabe eyed her with intensity as he smoothed his hand over the shadow of his beard before turning to walk away from her, then suddenly turned again. “I thought you understood how important this restaurant was for me. If I mistook that, I apologize, but I won’t pretend that it doesn’t need or deserve my attention right now, Monica,” he said.

“And I don’t?” Monica asked.

Their eyes locked.

The distance between them seemed more like miles than just a few feet.

“Am I fighting a losing battle, Monica?” he asked.

She eyed him for as long as she could without feeling the urge to run to him. “Meaning?”

“My time is important, too. Am I wasting mine with you?” he asked, pausing as he raised one hand and began to tick off each finger. “I hate my family. I’m never around. I’m fading like the invisible man. I’m disloyal. What else? Let ’em roll.”

Would you still be with me if I was still a maid?

She set aside her thought as some emotion flashed in his eyes. For the briefest moment she thought it was pain but decided she was wrong. Just like she had been wrong about so many things.

Like thinking this could work.

She thought of his mother—her words, her desire for them to end. Between Monica’s insecurities and his ambition would Nicolette Cress whispering her objections to her son be the nail in the coffin of their relationship? She knew firsthand the Cresses were a tight-knit bunch.

She fell silent. The fracture between Gabe and his family was deepening. She felt she’d played a major role in that. She knew all too well what it felt like to be without family. That was something she wished on no one.

“If you think so lowly of me, why be with me?” he asked.

“And if I’m not making you happy, why not tell me?” she shot back.

Gabe shook his head as he clenched his jaw. “Is it possible to make you happy?” he asked.

She felt chilled to the bone by the coldness of his tone. The weather around them was warm in comparison.

“Don’t be a jerk, Gabe,” she said.

He scowled. “My apologies. I’ll just add it to your list of complaints,” he muttered as he began to pace.

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