One Night with Cinderella - Niobia Bryant Page 0,31
even spoken of her existence to his lone family member until he was on death’s bed.
But he had granted her money to do with as she pleased, to live as she pleased. While his father had been a constant presence in his life but withheld the freedom for him to live his dreams.
Gabe clenched his jaw at the thought of that irony and then he clearly remembered the night at the CRESS restaurant in Paris where he had reconnected with his passion for food. A joy in his life that he’d set aside for the sake of the family business. A sacrifice that was unappreciated by his parents.
Maybe it is time to do as I please and be free...
* * *
“I can’t believe you made a scrapbook,” Monica said to Phoebe as she flipped through the pages of newspaper clippings and prints of online articles about her.
“A scrapbook? I made two. That one’s yours,” Phoebe said from her seat on the modern sofa as she looked around at the high ceilings, stylish decor and view of Central Park via the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Your apartment is beautiful.”
Monica eyed the serviced residence she purchased fully designed and furnished in subtle shades of light gray—it reminded her of the Cress home and had made her love it on first sight when the Realtor had shown it to her. “Sometimes I can’t believe it’s mine,” she said, her voice soft as she stood up and moved about the spacious living room, touching this item and that. Artwork. Fireplace. Soft furnishings. “Everything is so different.”
“Are you happy here?” Phoebe asked.
Monica leaned against the doorway of her apartment’s Juliet balcony, which overlooked the floral garden of the Midtown Manhattan building. She was still trying to find comfort within her new life. Wealth brought on the expectations that came along with being on the other side of the line separating the haves from the have-nots. Being unemployed with endless time on her hands.
To think.
About the revelation concerning her father.
About the truth telling of her aunt.
About the invasion of paparazzi and gossip reporters upon her privacy.
About the identity of her mother.
And the strong and passionate skill of her lover.
The last made her smile into her glass.
I have a lover.
“Gabe,” she whispered into the summer air as her entire body seemed to tingle at the very thought of him.
“What’s that you said?” Phoebe asked.
Monica turned with a smile. “I’m happy,” she finally answered her.
They saw each other maybe once a week, sometimes every two weeks. No expectations. No dates. No chances of mixed feelings and broken hearts. No fear of being left alone.
Or behind, she thought, thinking of her ex, James.
They knew going into it that the fire would fade and their dalliances would end without either taking offense. It was the perfect way to have Gabe Cress without having Gabe Cress. It was their sexy and salacious little secret.
She could only imagine the reaction of his family if they knew—especially his mother. She’d spent five years in their home and had come to know them well. Nicolette Cress was firmly against the mingling of family and staff. Monica doubted her sudden wealth or famous father would change the fact that she would always be Monica the Maid in the woman’s eyes. Mrs. Cress would never want to equate a former servant to herself. For any reason.
Just hope she doesn’t find out about Chef Jillian, she thought with a hint of spite as she remembered the sexy note she’d stumbled upon in the kitchen.
That made her chuckle.
“All done, Ms. Darby.”
Monica turned and eyed one of the building’s housekeepers, standing in the living room with her hands locked in front of her in the usual gray uniform dress and comfortable shoes the cleaning staff wore. “Thank you, Olive,” she said after reading her name tag.
“You’re welcome,” she said with a polite nod.
Monica was surprised when the middle-aged woman stopped on her way to the front door and turned.
“Yes?” she asked, feeling more like Nicolette Cress than herself.
It didn’t sit well with her.
“I just noticed we never have to actually clean for you. It’s always spotless,” Olive said, glancing down at her shoes.
Monica knew the show of deference well. Again, she felt ill at ease at her switch in status. “I’m so used to doing it for others, that’s all,” she said.
“Yes, but if our supervisors were to know, they would assume the housekeeping staff is not doing a good enough job for you,” she explained.
Right.
Monica gave her a soft smile.