One Night with Cinderella - Niobia Bryant Page 0,55

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.

“Screw you!” she snapped.

He splayed his hands. “And take the chance of you complaining about it? Hell no!” he shot back.

“You are an ass!”

He raised his hand and emphatically ticked off another finger.

She glared at him.

Gabe opened his mouth but shut it again as he rolled his shoulders, as if seeking to be tension-free. He took a large inhale and then exhaled. “What do you want from me?” he asked.

All of you.

The thought came with a swiftness and scared her. She was hesitant to reveal just how necessary Gabriel Cress had become to her. Not when she wasn’t sure his desire of her was equal. “To not feel like a second thought,” she said, confessing to that.

Gabe looked around at the snow falling around them. “The very last thing you are to me, Monica Darby, is a second thought,” he admitted.

Her heart soared.

“But—” he stopped.

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