At the Stroke of Midnight (Naughty Princess Club 1)

It’s been five days since I woke up hungover and alone in PJ’s bed, with him nowhere in sight. This was after I found another woman in his home. A woman he swore he didn’t invite over and that nothing happened with her. I believed him. Of course I believed him, and not because I’m an idiot. I believed him because I could see the conviction in his eyes. I think at this point, I’ve reached master level for spotting a liar and a cheater. I have thirteen years of research under my belt. Thirteen years of a man not making eye contact with me when I asked him where he was the night before. Thirteen years of him pulling at the collar of his shirt, stumbling over his words, and reacting defensively when I asked him why he smelled like another woman’s perfume. Even though I can’t remember everything that happened that night at PJ’s, I remember the way his eyes never left mine. His unblinking eyes that stayed glued to mine even while Melissa was huffing and puffing and stomping around.

We always ordered four tickets to this event and went with another couple, and I had been tempted to call PJ and ask him to come with me, but I was still too embarrassed by what I may or may not have done at his house, since I haven’t heard from him since then. Instead, I called in reinforcements in the form of Ariel and Belle. I thought we would just meet at the event, since Belle said she had something to take care of at the library and it would be out of the way for us to pick her up there. But Ariel wouldn’t hear of it. She put her foot down and told me she was riding with me and giving me whatever support I needed, and we’d hold a seat at our table for Belle.

“You’re not going to throw up. You did your first walk of shame, you should be proud,” she tells me as we enter into the ballroom of the hotel.

“It wasn’t a walk of shame. I didn’t do anything shameful the other night.”

At least, not that I can remember. I’m pretty sure we didn’t have sex, and over the last five days, bits and pieces of what happened that night come flashing back, making me want to cringe with how embarrassingly I behaved. I threatened to fight Melissa. And while it was certainly justified, nothing good would have come of it if she actually had actually taken me up on it.

“Not saying what you went over there to say and passing out in his bed is pretty shameful,” Ariel says as we move through the crowds of people, looking for our table. “At least you look hot when you finally face the former in-laws again.”

I groan, remembering why I let Ariel talk me into coming to this dinner tonight. Brian sent me a text yesterday asking me if we could talk again, and since I knew his family would never miss this event, I felt like this would be the safest place to talk to him—in a roomful of people wearing fancy dresses and tuxedos, I wouldn’t be tempted to scream and curse at him.

In the past, I’ve always worn a very conservative dress to these events, something designer and ridiculously expensive that was typically long-sleeved and classy, covering everything up. I’d spend the day at the salon, having my makeup professionally done and my hair pulled back into a neat French twist.

Tonight, I needed to feel good about myself. I needed to feel sexy and confident. When Ariel brought over a pale-blue sequined, strapless dress, I knew immediately I needed to wear it tonight. My cleavage is pushed up and out with the help of an amazing strapless push-up bra, the dress clings to my curves, and it’s so short I probably won’t be able to sit down without flashing everyone in the room. I left my hair down in long, loose waves, and my legs look amazing in the matching pale-blue, sparkly heels I have on. And instead of the fancy, expensive jewelry that I usually wear—which I can’t wear anyway, since I sold it all to pay bills—I wrapped the black velvet choker from my sexy Cinderella costume around my neck. I needed something to remind me who I am now: an independent, sexy woman who took charge of her life and pulled herself out of hell.

I look good. No, I look better than good. I just wished I felt the same.

When we finally make it to our table, I let out a low groan when I see Vincent standing next to it, chatting with a few people. I’d hoped to have a little more time to gather up some courage before running into him, but I guess that’s not going to be an option. As soon as I set my clutch on the table, Vincent turns and sees me.