Page 5 of Cinderella's One-Night Baby

There was real merit to Sophia’s silently delivered suggestion.Realmerit.

Gabrielle had been following the conversation in the same way she followed Lucas’s inane chatter when he was describing in exact detail the plot of his favourite cartoon: with one ear. It was only as she was printing off the form that would let the Moratos leave and signalled the end of her work shift that the silence suddenly became loaded.

She looked from one Morato to the other. Both were sizing her up as if she were a prize cow about to be sold off to market.

Comprehension dawned. Her mouth fell open. ‘You cannot be serious?’

CHAPTER TWO

ITTURNEDOUTthe Moratos were completely serious. They wanted Gabrielle to take Sophia’s place as Andrés’s guest for the Queen’s birthday party. The same Queen Gabrielle positivelyidolised. The same Queen she’d lined the streets to see, with Lucas in his buggy, and cheered for when she’d passed them in her coronation procession. The same Queen who’d enacted laws that had made Gabrielle feel a little safer.

Visions of princesses in fairy-tale dresses dancing with handsome princes in swallowtail suits floated in her mind, of delicious food, champagne and...

‘I can’t go,’ she said, shaking off the longing and bringing herself back down to earth. ‘I don’t know you and I have nothing to wear.’

‘You can wear my dress,’ Sophia said.

When Gabrielle realised she wasn’t joking, she burst out laughing. ‘You’re taller and skinnier than me!’

‘Not by much. There’s a team at the apartment waiting to turn me into a princess for the night and make any last-minute alterations to my dress.’ Her eyes narrowed as she studied Gabrielle’s physique. ‘The hem will obviously have to be adjusted and a little work needed around the bust and hips but it’s doable in the timeframe.’

Cheeks burning at the scrutiny, she wailed, ‘I can’t!’

Sophia arched a brow. ‘Do you have a better offer for the evening? Your son is with your mother, your work shift is over...what better way to spend a Saturday night than at the party of the decade?’

Gabrielle was fighting hard not to give hope and excitement air. It had been well over four years since she’d been on a proper night out.

The circumstances around Lucas’s conception had compelled her to distance herself from her friends. By the time he was born she’d managed to alienate all of them with her refusal to discuss the father and absolute refusal to include them in anything to do with the pregnancy or birth. She still felt terrible about it, terrible for hurting the tight-knit group she’d grown up with, but she’d had no choice. The risks had been too great.

Since she’d brought Lucas home, one evening had been much the same as the next. Saturday evenings had ceased to have any meaning. Tonight, with Lucas at her brother’s, Gabrielle’s grand plan had involved a long bath and an action movie too old for Lucas to watch. There was no spare cash for her to go out and party even if she had friends left to party with.

‘You don’t even know my name,’ she felt compelled to remind themandherself, because this whole idea was bonkers, and that they were taking it seriously only proved the Moratos themselves were bonkers and she shouldn’t even be entertaining the idea, no matter how her heart soared at the thought of it.

Andrés, who’d been a silent observer propped against the wall up to this point, stretched his neck. ‘Whatisyour name?’

‘Gabrielle. And I only know your name because the two of you and your car matched the profile of a pair of drug smugglers.’

The hint of a smile played on his lips. ‘Gabrielle, if you attend the party with me, you will be sparing me from social humiliation and saving the palace staff an enormous headache—by now, the tables for the banquet will have been laid and the places set—’

‘But I don’tknowyou,’ she interrupted. ‘I can’t go off with a stranger even if it is to the palace! For all I know, you two are the Spanish Bonnie and Clyde and planning to lure me to my death... No offence,’ she hastened to add when she realised she’d just accused them of being notorious criminals.

The hint of a smile widened. ‘None taken. You are right to be cautious.’ In two easy strides he was resting a butt cheek on her desk and leaning across to look her in the eye. ‘Gabrielle, I can assure you of your safety. There is a team of people waiting to transform Sophia into a princess at my apartment—they can transformyouinto that princess. My driver will take us there and when the party has finished, deliver you to your home. You will not have to spend any time alone with me. We will be chaperoned at all times.’

Oh, but she was torn. Situations like this only happened in the movies, and it would be much easier to think logically if her airwaves hadn’t suddenly become deluged with the delicious scent she’d caught a trace of when Andrés first entered the office. Not only did the man have the face and physique of a Greek God but smelt much as she imagined one would too. Some people really did have everything, and as she gazed into his black eyes, the image of the dancing princesses and handsome princes floated back into her mind and longing refilled her soaring heart. Gabrielle hadn’t even attended her own senior school graduation; had missed out on all the glitz and glamour and excitement because her sister had been in no state to be left alone.

Eloise had been broken by a man whose life was every bit as glamorous and as self-centred as Andrés Morato’s.

‘Andrés is a gentleman. I trust him to take care of you and to make your experience at the Queen’s party one to remember for the rest of your life,’ Sophia said gently, and it was with a burn of embarrassment that Gabrielle realised she’d briefly tuned out that she was in the room too. Sophia must be one trusting woman to encourage her husband to take another woman to a party as his plus one...

It suddenly became clear why they were asking this of her.

Sophia didn’t have to worry about her husband making a move on plain old Gabrielle Breton and Andrés didn’t have to worry about temptation. Eloise was the beauty of the Breton family. Gabrielle wasn’t attractive enough to be a threat to the Moratos’ marriage.

‘Think of the story you will have to tell your son when he’s older,’ Andrés coaxed. ‘The story of the night his mother went to the Queen’s birthday party and dined and danced with royalty like a princess.’

Even more longing swelled in her chest. The minute Fran, her old best friend from school had turned eighteen, she’d bagged herself a part-time job amongst the palace’s waiting staff and had regaled their old gang with tales of the fanciest food imaginable and a palace more spectacular than the public could imagine.

To actually attend one of those parties as a guest...

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