“What is that?”
“It’s what I would always bring Mama—the same arrangement my father presented to her when he’d asked her to marry him.”
The story of their courtship had been her favorite, one Papa had told her over and over. She’d never tired of it, never stopped asking him to tell it to her.
Before her mother had died, he’d always ended the story with a smile, saying, “Your mother is my true love.”
Once she was gone, his expression became solemn, shadows sinking into the lines of his brow, his teeth clenched tight to keep from grimacing. Then he would say, “Your mother was my true love.”
So Cinderella had learned how one word could change everything. And she had stopped asking her father for the story.
“I’d nearly forgotten about it,” she said softly, a strain in her voice. “It’s been so long. . . .”
“Eight pink roses, seven white ones, and three sprigs of myrtle,” he repeated. “I’ll help you remember.”
She looked up at him, a rush of warmth flooding her heart. How could it be that someone she’d known for only a handful of hours could already feel so dear to her?
By the time they had strolled across the gardens, past the marble pavilions and sparkling ponds, taking a rest by the stairs—she’d completely lost track of time.
“There’s a part of the garden you haven’t seen that I know will make you smile. It’s a little far—are you tired?”
“No, not at all.”
He started to lead her toward it, but as she followed, Cinderella glanced behind her. “Wait, I want to take a moment to admire how beautiful this is.”
He tilted his head. “What is there to admire?”
“Everything. The towers, the trees, the scraps of curtain peeking out from the windows. Even the clouds.” Cinderella clasped her hands to her chest and turned toward Valors, watching the city sparkling below. “And if we look this way, what a view.”
“I’d never appreciated it much.”
“I see the palace every day from my window, but seeing it from this angle is another story entirely,” Cinderella said. She leaned against the railing, admiring the glittering white palace and the garden skimming beneath it. “I don’t know the next time I’ll be back.”
Then she sat on one of the steps, moving the folds of her gown to hug her knees close. “I used to dream about coming here. Strange to think I don’t have to do that anymore.”
He knelt beside her, taking the lower step. “What other dreams do you have?”
Cinderella paused. Before coming to the ball, she’d had so many dreams. But they’d been simply that—dreams. Wishes, really, if she wanted to be honest about it; wishes about living a different life. She hadn’t even dared leave home, not until tonight.
But she couldn’t tell him that.
“I’d like to see more of the world,” she said slowly, “and I want to help people—”
She stopped. She hadn’t given it much more thought than that. She didn’t even know what it meant to help people—besides, how could she, when she was trapped in her stepmother’s house?
“Anything else?”
Cinderella pursed her lips. After the ball, she might never get a chance to discuss such things with someone again. She’d go back to working for Lady Tremaine and her stepsisters, to being forgotten.
“I’d like to remember what it’s like to be loved,” she finally confessed, staring at her hands. As soon as she said it, she wished she could take it back. It sounded miserable, even to her ears. But she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had said anything kind to her, let alone held her hand and spent time getting to know her.
To have to go back to mistreatment and neglect—it was last thing Cinderella wanted to think about. She wished this night could last forever.
“You must think I’m hopeless,” she said quickly, before her companion could respond.
“No. Not at all.”
She didn’t dare look up at him, but he shifted closer to her so their fingertips nearly touched.
“I can understand. Sometimes, I wish that for myself, too.” He drew a deep breath. “My mother used to tell me that there are many kinds of love. Unconditional love, self-love, love for your family, love for your friends . . . romantic love.” He paused, seeming to search for the right words. “That all are important in fulfilling the heart. You say you haven’t been around people in a long time. For me, it’s the opposite. I’m surrounded by people, but few see past my . . . my . . .”
“Your heart?” Cinderella asked.
His mouth bent into an unreadable smile. “Yes, my heart,” he said softly. Then he kissed her.
She’d never been kissed before, never been in love. Yet when his lips touched hers, something inside her bloomed, coming alive for the first time in years. In that moment, all her worries and troubles grew wings, leaving her with a rush of joy she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Out of nowhere, a clock chimed, and her fairy godmother’s warning came rushing into her memory:
At the stroke of twelve, the spell will be broken—and everything will be as it was before.
Cinderella jolted, ending the kiss. “Oh my goodness!”
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s midnight.”
“Yes, so it is.” When she started to rise, he caught her hand. “But why—”
Cinderella faltered. A hundred explanations spun in her head, but the only thing she could say was: “Goodbye.”
“No, no, wait. You can’t go now, it’s only—”
“Oh, I must.” Cinderella disentangled herself from his arms. “Please. Please, I must.”
“But why?”
The clock chimed again, overpowering her sense. What could she say? “Well, I . . . oh, the prince! I haven’t met the prince.”
“The prince?” His brows drew together.
“Goodbye.”
She ran as fast as she could through the gardens and the ballroom, stopping only briefly to wave goodbye to the guards waiting in the halls. Everyone seemed to want her to stay longer, but Cinderella ignored their cries. Even when she left her glass slipper on the staircase, she thought better of retrieving it.
There was no time.
Once she was in the carriage, it sped out of the palace, spiraling down the hill into Valors. It was the longest minute of her life. Little by little, her sparkling ball gown sparkled no more, and when the clock finished blaring midnight, she was back in her rags, sitting on a pumpkin, surrounded by Bruno, her dog, and Major, her horse.
She lurched, spying an oncoming coach speeding their way. As she bolted off the road, it trundled past, smashing her pumpkin under its horses’ hooves.
Once it was out of sight, she caught her breath and knelt to pick up the mice that had served as her elegant horses.
Her head swam, reliving the last few moments at the ball. She wished she could have stayed longer with that handsome stranger she’d met; oh, what a silly excuse she’d made to him. What did she care about meeting the prince? She shook her head, simmering with embarrassment.
For better or worse, she didn’t think she would ever see him again.