Page 33 of Midnight Whispers

“Happy birthday.” I lead her by the hand to the table in the center of the cavernous room, which is set for dinner for two. I hold out the chair for her, and I hold back the urge to kiss the nape of her neck.

I slide into the seat across from her and pick up the bottle of wine. “Would you like some wine?”

“Yes, please.” She can’t keep her gaze on one place, taking in the room, and I smile as I pour her a glass and pass it to her. She takes a sip. “Mmm, that’s good.”

“You say that like you’ve never tasted wine before.”

Her gaze dips to the table. “I haven’t. I… my stepmother wouldn’t let me. I didn’t even get to eat dinner with her and my stepsisters. I had to eat alone in my room. And I make it a rule not to drink at the club or the bar.”

Anger fires up in my veins that someone could treat her like that. But I don’t want to get into the shitty things she’s had to endure. Tonight is for Cinder to be happy and carefree, not worrying about anything other than enjoying herself.

“Well then, I’m glad you like it, and I’m glad your first experience was with me. Shall we toast?”

“Okay.” She raises her glass.

“To beginnings and whatever the future holds.”

She clinks her glass to mine, a smile playing on her lips. “To beginnings.”

We each take a sip, then one of the staff enters with our appetizers, setting a plate in front of each of us. As we work our way through the courses, we chat about nothing of much significance. Cinder asks about my job and what I do for Voss Enterprises, and I find out that she used to compete in dancing and that contemporary dance was her favorite.

She sets her spoon on her plate beside the half-eaten chocolate mousse. “I can’t possibly eat another mouthful.”

I chuckle. “Stuffed?”

“Completely.” She places her hands over her belly. “Nero, thank you for today. Everything was so amazing. Thank you doesn’t even feel adequate. This is the best birthday I can remember in a long time.”

A buoyancy bounces inside me at her words. “What did you do for your birthday when you were a child?”

“Before my mom died, she would take me to a spa and let me get my nails painted. Even when I was little. I remember the feeling of being pretty. She’d let me pick out a new dress, whichever one I wanted, then we’d meet my dad for dinner at a restaurant. I was a princess for a day.” The expression on her face tells me what the memories mean to her.

“And after she passed?”

Cinder sighs. “My dad tried for the first few years. He’d let me have some friends from school over for a birthday party. I missed the day of pampering with my mom, and it was never the same, but it was better than spending the day alone. Those parties stopped after my stepmother moved in. She claimed all the noise from the kids made her too stressed and anxious. Then after my dad passed, she stopped acknowledging my birthday altogether.”

My hand tightens around my spoon. “You’re never going back to that place.”

She gives me a sad smile. “It’s the only home I’ve ever known, but I’ve realized over the past few months that it may not be the place for me anymore.”

Our gazes meet, and I want so badly to tell her that this can be her home, but I stop myself, not wanting to scare her off.

“Your mom sounds like a special person,” I say.

She nods. “She really was.”

“My mom died when I was six.” Why am I telling her this? “I only remember little snippets of her, vague impressions. Sometimes I don’t know if that’s worse than remembering every little thing and grieving the loss.”

Cinder takes my hand. “That must be really hard. It’s painful, but I wouldn’t give up my memories of my mom for anything.”

I squeeze her small hand. “We don’t talk about her a lot, but when my brothers do speak of her, I often feel like the odd man out. They have such vivid memories and speak so highly of her, but me… my memories are more feelings than anything else. How I felt when she was around me. That’s what I miss most.” God knows I never got the feeling of unconditional love from my father.

Cinder pulls her hand from mine, and I have an obsessive need to reconnect us, but I hold back.

“How did she pass? If you don’t mind me asking.”

I force my voice to sound lighter to not ruin this night. “She was murdered here at the manor, in the garden.”

Her hand goes to her chest and sympathy floods in her eyes. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry.”

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