One night with cinderell.., p.15
One Night with Cinderella, page 15
She arched a brow and tilted her head to the side as she eyed him brushing snowflakes from his shoulders. “But,” she repeated to fill his pause.
“I don’t know if you will ever believe that,” he said, looking back at her. “And I don’t know how to prove it to you. Not if it means ignoring my dreams. I want this restaurant—I need this restaurant—to succeed and that means hard work and focus.”
“So if I asked you to roll it all back? Stop being so dogged in your pursuit of success, mend the divide between you and your family, find a balance between what you want and what you need...?” she said, walking over to sandwich one of his hands between both of hers.
“And if I asked you if you would ever be able to fully trust me?” he returned.
Neither answered the question they were asked.
“So you choose that restaurant over everything and everyone,” she said, holding up the collars of his coat to turn her face and bury her nose against the lightweight black wool. His scent—the one she loved—clung to it.
“And you choose to hold anything and everything against me.”
Am I?
Then she remembered how she’d felt all night without him there and how the lack of his presence had become commonplace. How she had begun to envision her life without him. Preparing herself for that moment when it ended and even contemplating ending it herself to avoid feeling so helpless.
To leave and not be left...
“Why did we think this would work?” she asked, her voice low.
“If you think it’s not damn working, then why are we wasting our time!” he roared, splaying his hands angrily. “To hell with it if that’s how you feel.”
Her ire matched his. “Then to hell with it, Gabe,” she shouted back.
“This is ridiculous!”
“Thinking you don’t need anyone is ridiculous!”
“I damn sure don’t need this right now.”
She looked over at him as her eyes widened. “Don’t let me force you to be here,” she said.
He squinted as he eyed her for a long moment that seemed to tick by slowly before he turned and walked over to the elevator.
“Gabe,” she called to him as her heart galloped full speed in its race to its break.
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.
Eleven
Two months later
“Monica?”
At the sound of her name being called, she turned in the lobby of her apartment building with her heart still pounding from discovering a few paparazzi following her while she was out shopping. News and rabid speculation on her and Gabe’s breakup had forced them back into the public eye.
She gasped to see Phoebe rising from one of the ornate seats in the waiting area, looking pretty in coral wide-leg pants and a long-sleeved white tee. The sight of her and the obvious compassion in her eyes struck a chord in Monica as she let her shoulders slump and shook her head as emotions overwhelmed her. Phoebe gave her a smile and opened her arms wide, just as she’d promised that day in the attorney’s office.
“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.”
In her, at that moment, Monica saw something she felt she’d never had before. Family. As she quickly crossed the divide and welcomed her aunt’s embrace, she felt foolish for never fully allowing the woman into her life. “You came,” she whispered, comforted by the warm pats on her back.
“You needed me,” Phoebe said with a low chuckle. “Right?”
Monica nodded her head where it rested against her shoulder. “Right,” she admitted.
“So here I am,” Phoebe simply said.
Monica took a deep steadying breath before taking a small step back and looking at her aunt. “I love him,” she admitted as tears welled.
Phoebe put a hand to her back. “Let’s go up, have something to drink, and talk,” she said.
“I don’t have any juice or tea,” Monica said as they reached the double doors of the elevators.
“Tea?” her aunt scoffed. “More like a mar-ti-ni.”
That made Monica laugh. Maybe her first time in weeks.
As they settled in her living room and sipped on the dirty martinis Phoebe made for them, Monica felt comforted by the presence of this woman she really didn’t know. “To have you here when I needed someone most makes me realize I wanted you here all along,” she admitted.
Phoebe crossed her ankles and reached over to squeeze Monica’s hand with hers. “When I saw the press about the breakup and saw the paparazzi hounding you again, I was determined to fly back and check on you,” she said. “You looked so sad. I could see that.”
“It’s been two months, actually, so everyone’s a little late,” she said, thinking of the last time she’d seen Gabe. “Or someone is so overjoyed it’s done, they gave the paparazzi a clue.”
With each day her hope that he would come and fight for her faded. Still, she hungered for him. He was in her thoughts so often. It was like nothing she had ever experienced. Nothing at all. Her love for her ex seemed juvenile in comparison.
And it was then she realized that she loved Gabe.
His strength. His passion. His intelligence. His compassion. Even his drive and ambition.
Without her realizing it, Gabriel Cress had claimed a piece of her heart, and every day she had to deal with having that love without having him.
“I was a fool to think I could avoid loving him,” Monica said, kicking off the heels she wore with her wrap dress and tucking her feet beneath her bottom as she looked out the window. “No, I was a fool to think I didn’t already love him before that first wild night on the roof.”
“The roof?” Phoebe said before fanning herself.
Monica felt her face flush with heat at the memory.
“Tell me the story of Monica and Gabe,” Phoebe said.
In an instant she seemed to remember so many moments they’d shared. Good times. Great times.
“I will tell you our story, even though it doesn’t end well, because the beginning and the middle were amazing,” Monica admitted softly, feeling her pulse race.
At times she smiled. Other times her eyes glazed over as she remembered their heat. There were many moments she chuckled at something funny they’d shared together. And then, as she spoke of the weeks leading up to the night of her charity gala, she felt weighted down by her sadness. And regret.
“You do love him,” Phoebe said with emphasis.
Monica looked to her.
“I see it in the way you talk about him, and remember him,” the elder explained. “And miss him.”
“But he broke my heart. He gave up. He walked away. He left me,” Monica said, working her fingers as if to remove the tension she felt rise like a wave.
Phoebe stilled the frantic movement of her hand by covering it with her own. “Or...”
Monica looked to her again.
“Or your time together had come to its natural end,” the older woman offered. “If you spend a chunk of your life with someone and the majority is good—truly good—then you should never end it hating the other person. You move on and keep the good memories, learn the life lessons and be prepared for your next big adventure.”
“Another man?” Monica asked with a frown.
“No, not always. Sometimes you discover you in a way that you’ve never really known yourself. Or you travel. Or change careers. Or journal. Discover religion. Or write a book—and for some, hell, read a book. Or sometimes you discover you have a family member you never knew about and wished that you had,” she said.
Monica’s smile to her was warm and genuine.
“Life is all about change and newness, and sometimes people aren’t meant to be in your life forever...and the time you spent together is nothing to regret, no matter how it ends.”
“Like seasons?” Monica asked, rising to walk over to the window and look out at Central Park in the distance. The emerald green of the grass and the bright colors of the flowers gave it an idyllic look from where she stood.
“Exactly,” Phoebe stressed. “Each just as necessary as the last. Some more brutal than others.”
Monica crossed her arms over her chest. She blinked away tears that threatened to fall. She’d cried enough of them to fill a pond.
As she looked down at the street, she spotted a couple with their arms entwined as they walked and talked with each other. They laughed together before he wrapped an arm around her waist to lift her off her feet and spin her before pressing a kiss to her cheek. It was like a scene from a romance movie. It even seemed to move along in slow motion, but she knew that was her imagination at play.
How long will their season last? And how will it end? A fiery explosion or a gentle goodbye? Or will it last forever?
Gabe.
She thought of him as she had a million times over the last two months—especially at night when the world seemed quiet and there was no work at the foundation, lunch with friends or enough TV shows to keep her mind occupied. She focused on the good times they shared. Those happy, pleasure-filled memories eased her heartache. Not much. But some.
Maybe even enough to do something she thought she’d dare not.
Monica looked over her shoulder at the writing desk against the wall before she turned and walked over to it, then bent and removed a large envelope from the wastepaper basket. It was dark brown, like chocolate, with gold block letters. She licked her lips as she traced her name and address before touching that of GABRIEL. The restaurant—his restaurant. Not the man.
“He did it,” she said, with the soft hint of a smile.
“Who?” Phoebe asked from the sofa.
Monica looked over at her as she held up the envelope between her index and middle finger. “It’s an invite to his restaurant opening,” she said. “It came earlier this week and I threw it away.”
Phoebe kept her eyes locked on her niece but said nothing.
“I’m happy for him. I am,” Monica stressed. “But I do not want to see him and the thing he chose over me. Ever. Am I wrong?”
Phoebe came over, gently took the envelope from her and set it on the center of the small modern-style desk next to a short stack of bills. “No, just undecided,” she said.
True.
“When is it?”
“Next week,” Monica said, digging her toes into the plush pile of the area rug. “Seems a little last-minute.”
“Maybe he was undecided, too,” Phoebe offered.
“Maybe,” she said, wrinkling her brow a bit as she moved back to the window and stepped inside a ray of sunlight, which felt good against her skin.
Almost as good as Gabe.
Was he with someone new? Or was the restaurant his one true love?
“Well, you have a week to decide,” Phoebe suggested from behind her.
Monica remained silent. Her thoughts were filled with visions of walking up on Gabe holding and kissing and giving attention to another woman the way he used to do with her. The jealousy she felt at just the idea of that was telling.
Her love for him lingered.
“What if his true intent was an invite to reconcile?” Phoebe asked.
Monica’s heartbeat seemed to echo loudly inside her even as she shook her head in denial of the thought. “Hurt me once, shame on you. Hurt me twice?” she asked, using her own play on words of the popular saying. “Shame on me.”
At the gentle nudge against her arm, she was surprised to find her aunt standing beside her with a fresh cocktail in each hand. She took one with a nod of thanks. “You make a really good drink, Auntie,” she said after a long and satisfying sip.
“I was a bartender in this little dive in Cuba for two years when I was deeply in passion with Armando,” Phoebe said as she lightly stroked her neck and smiled at some memory before sipping her drink, giving a soft little grunt from the back of her throat.
“Armando, huh?” Monica asked, curious about the life her aunt had lived that had included a stay in Cuba.
“Yes, and Frank, and Marcus, and Harry. Just to name a few,” she said, her smile widening with each name. “I’ve had some great passions in my life. And I gave as good as I got.”
“What about love?” she asked the older woman she was quickly learning to adore.
“Love? Sometimes,” Phoebe said with a little shrug. “But even when the love fades the memories remain, and that, my niece, makes it all worthwhile.”
With Gabe there had been more good than bad. So much more. Plenty of passion, laughs and deep conversations. Travels. Adventures. Discoveries. And the sex. Their physical connection. She shook her head in wonder at the thought of the heated moments they’d shared. The things they did to each other.
But...
“I’m too hurt to enjoy the memories,” she admitted.
“Of course, you are...now,” Phoebe assured her. “That’s the good thing about memories, because they don’t go anywhere. They’ll wait for when you’re ready to savor them, and they’ll sneak up on you when you least expect it.”
Don’t I know it.
“To the memories,” Phoebe said raising her glass with her eyes filled with twinkle.
Monica gave her a reluctant smile, anxious for the days her recollections didn’t mock her so much. “To the memories,” she agreed as they touched glasses.
Ding.
* * *
Gabe sprinkled thinly sliced green onions on the short ribs braised in red wine atop thick grits made savory with French Brillat-Savarin cheese and freshly made garlic butter. He stepped back to view his handiwork as he tossed his hand towel over his left shoulder and set his hands on his hips. “Run the dish,” he said with a nod, signaling the plated meal was ready to be served.
