At the Stroke of Midnight (Naughty Princess Club 1)

Plugging in my KitchenAid mixer, I start dumping all of the ingredients for the frosting into the silver mixing bowl, when a framed picture of Brian and me on our wedding day that sits in the middle of the island catches my eye. I think about how charming he was when I met him.

Me, an eighteen-year-old, working two jobs just to be able to pay rent in a rundown apartment building that wasn’t much better than the trailer park, and still barely getting by. And him a senior in college with a trust fund who showered me with gifts and dinners at fancy restaurants that I’d never imagined in my entire life ever setting foot in. How he walked into the gas station where I was a cashier on the weekends, to fill up and grab a pack of gum, and asked me out on a date before I’d finished ringing him up. How he swept me off my feet and promised to give me the world, take away my troubles and make me forget my past.

How I got pregnant six months into our relationship and had to give up my dreams of doing something substantial with my life, even if I didn’t know what that was at the time. How I put my life on hold to raise our daughter while he worked long hours, learning everything about Castle Creative. How I let him continuously shoot down my idea of going to college to earn a degree once Anastasia was old enough, because he said taking care of the household should be my top priority. How every time I signed up for another charity, organization, or event because I couldn’t handle being alone in the house all day once Anastasia was in school full time, he’d call all the backbreaking, stressful work I did “cute hobbies.” How every time I questioned him when he came home smelling like someone else’s perfume, or didn’t even come home at all, he’d tell me I was being dramatic and insecure.

How I came home six months ago to an envelope containing divorce papers on the table in the foyer, and his dresser and his side of the closet completely empty. And how I wouldn’t even care that he hasn’t contacted me since that day if he’d at least made an effort to reach out to his own daughter during that time.

Which he hasn’t.

Which means I’m stuck in this limbo of trying not to care and caring entirely too much about a man who threw us both away without a second glance.

Lowering the beaters, I flip the switch on the mixer and a loud whirring sound fills the room as I lean over the counter and grab the frame, staring down at the couple in the picture.

Before I even think about what I’m doing, I chuck the frame into the mixing bowl, the quickly spinning beaters splintering the wood and shattering the glass in a loud cacophony.

Flipping the switch on the side of the mixer to the highest speed, I cross my arms and stare down into the bowl with a smile on my face, wondering if there’s a pack of matches anywhere in this house and realizing I kind of like the influence Ariel had on me.

Chapter 3: Life Sucks. Men Really Suck.

“There must be some mistake. Run it again. I know there’s a few hundred dollars available on that card,” I tell the cashier at the grocery store, lowering my voice and looking nervously over my shoulder, completely mortified that someone I know might see me.

The woman running the register gives me a sympathetic smile and swipes the card again, wincing before handing it back to me.

“I’m sorry. It’s still saying declined. Do you have another card we could try, or maybe just cash?” she asks softly.

I’d already given her all three of my credit cards, and each of them came back with the same message. I feel tears prickling the back of my eyes as I dig into my purse for money, knowing darn well I’m not going to find anything more than a few dollars and a small handful of change in there, nowhere near enough to pay for the bags of groceries currently sitting at the end of the conveyor belt.

“I’m sorry, I . . .” My words get caught in my throat, and a tear slips out of my eyes and down my cheeks as I continue to search through my purse, just to give myself something to do so I don’t have to look up and see the pity in the cashier’s face.

“Cindy, there you are! I’ve been looking all over the store for you. You dropped your cash in my front seat when we went for coffee this morning.”

Lifting my head, I come face-to-face with the one person I definitely don’t want to be a witness to this humiliating moment.