Page 61 of The Billionaire's Cinderella

“What? No. But this is the woman he kept telling me he didn’t love anymore. The woman he was just friends with.” Another hesitation. “The woman who was always more appropriate for him than I was. So, anyway. I’m a little touchy on the subject of exes today.”

I want it to be that simple, but I feel like she just buried the headline.

“More appropriate?”

She seems startled by the question. “Why are you looking at me like that? I just mean that she was—”

She shoots me a cautious look before breaking off and ducking her head, her face flooding with color. And suddenly, there it is. The real shitting elephant in the room.

“That she was what?” I ask sharply. “Good enough for him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

She seems determined not to look at me, forcing me to stare at the top of her honeyed head and wonder what’s happening on the other side of all those glorious curls. What ugliness she’s telling herself.

I’m no therapist with a PhD. I’m not even that insightful when it comes to feelings. Not normally, anyway. But when it comes to Ella Richardson and that wounded look in her big blue eyes, I just know.

“You’re good enough for me, Ella,” I say, the understatement of the millennium. “More than good enough. Hell, you should be worried that I’m not good enough for you. You’re not the one with a bad marriage under your belt.”

“You know what?” She abruptly stands. “I’m tired. Let’s finish this some other time.”

Wow. I must really be onto something if she’s trying to hustle me out of her apartment.

“I’d rather finish it now,” I say quietly, also standing. “It feels important. Like maybe it has something to do with your father and the way he never really claimed you or your mother.”

“Don’t you mention my father!” There’s no warning. She just goes from zero to exploding in less than two seconds. Calm to furious and shrill. And if I look closely enough, I’d swear I can see her reverting to the little girl she once was. “This has nothing to do with him!”

I don’t believe her. Not for a second. “I just don’t want you thinking that you’re not good enough for anybody. Especially me.”

“You’re so full of it! Acting like I’m so great and you want a future with me when you didn’t even bother to invite me to your fancy ball! Why don’t you just admit that dressing up your little pastry chef girlfriend and parading her in front of all your friends and clients is a bridge too far, even for you?”

The allegation is so untrue—so patently ridiculous—that it takes me a paralyzed second or two to make sure I heard right.

“What?”

“You know what?” Even she seems to realize she’s gone way too far. Revealed way too much. Bright patches of color appear over her cheeks. “Forget it.”

“Forget it?”My incredulity makes my voice sound strangled. It’s all I can do to force the words out. “How could you say something like that? Haven’t you been paying attention for the last year?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, lowering her gaze. “I didn’t mean it.”

But she did mean it. I know she did.

I know that she’s had a difficult past. We both have. I’ve kept my feelings for her in check because I didn’t think she was ready to hear them before now. Maybe that’s my fault. Maybe I should have been more open with her right from the beginning. Hell, I don’t know. This is all new for me. But if I’ve ever said or done anything to make her think I’m less than proud of her, less than thrilled that we’re together, I need to correct it. Right now. Forget about proposing tonight or telling her I love her. This isn’t the moment for grand gestures like that. She wouldn’t believe me anyway. My only task at this moment is to save this relationship and live to confess my feelings another day.

“Ella.” I take both her hands and squeeze them. Stoop just enough to stare her in the face and make sure she sees how serious I am. “I feel things for you that I’ve never felt before. For anyone. The only reason I haven’t told you before now is because I thought you weren’t ready to hear it. The only thing you need to know right now is that I am proud of you. I want to claim you. I can’t get enough of you. I think I’m the lucky one here.”

There’s a tiny flicker of hope in her eyes, but much more mistrust.

“My father didn’t want me, Ryker,” she says. “That’s just the truth. My ex didn’t want me. I wasn’t good enough for either one of them. Why would you want me?”

I can’t believe her. Can’t wrap my head around the fact that after all we’ve shared in the last year—talking, laughing, fucking, loving—she has room for the slightest question about how much she means to me.

On the other hand, a lot of the damage I’m seeing here didn’t happen on my watch. I’m just the one charged with helping her get her head on straight. Starting now.

“Wrong question,” I say flatly. “The right question is, what kind of fool wouldn’t want you?”

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