The Glass Slipper (Cinderella 3)

A smile tugs at my lips and he kisses it away. I could stay like this forever—wrapped up in his loving embrace with his powerful lips on mine. He steps back and assesses my hair.

“Except that. Your hair looks like total shit. Seriously. Put a hat on.”

“There he is,” I grumble as I snatch my hairbrush off the counter. “There’s my guy.”

“Your guy?” He scoffs, plucking the hairbrush from my grip. “Your man. Guy makes me seem like I’m Tate.” He says Tate like I say Layla. Poor Tate and Layla. “I’m not Tate.”

He tugs on the hairband in my hair, pulling it loose from the tangled bun it was in. Once my hair tumbles over my shoulders, he moves around me, brushing out the tangles with such patience and care, I decide I’d fall in love with him right here in this moment if I already hadn’t.

But I have.

And he loves me too.

“That smile means trouble,” he complains, brows furrowed as he brushes my hair.

“Hmm.”

“That’s my line.”

“We share now.”

“You’re going to drive me fucking crazy from here on out, aren’t you?”

“It’s one of the things you love about me.”

His eyes roll again, and without his billionaire badass power suit on, he looks boyish and much younger than his nearly forty years. He doesn’t argue my words which makes me ridiculously happy.

Since we’re both injured, neither of us can manage to put my hair back up, so he settles for swooping it over one shoulder, hiding the bandage that covers the cut on my neck. The nurse at the hospital didn’t think it’d leave a bad scar. I don’t care either way. I’m alive and with Win. That’s all that matters to me.

Win doesn’t put on a shirt much to my utter delight. We walk hand in hand downstairs to an apartment full of people. All Win’s siblings—even the ones I haven’t officially met. The two women, who I learn are Vivian and Elaine from a quick introduction, are flawless beauties like their mother—elegant but fierce and dressed in the most expensive clothes money can buy. The younger siblings are all wearing variations of something comfortable—Tinsley in a T-shirt dress, Keaton in basketball shorts and a Pembroke Rugby T-shirt, and Perry in a pair of plaid shorts that are probably supposed to be worn with a Polo or something but he’s paired it with a white undershirt with a coffee stain on it.

“I have to eat breakfast while looking at that?” Vivian asks, waving a manicured hand at Winston’s scabbed, naked chest. “Vomit.”

He ignores her, abandoning me with his siblings, no doubt on a hunt for coffee. I curl up next to Perry on the sofa. His arm wraps around me and the tension in him bleeds away.

“You look like shit, Ash,” he says. “Seriously. So bad.”

Elaine smirks at his words but says nothing from where she’s perched in a chair.

“Says the guy wearing an outfit that he looks like he pulled out of the dumpster behind Dillard’s,” I say back sweetly.

Keaton and Tinsley both laugh. Shrimp sings from the chandelier as though he’s joining in. So cute.

“When’s Mom supposed to be here?” Keaton asks as someone knocks. “Damn. Speak of the devil.” He stands up and saunters over to the door. Caroline breezes in, dressed in a tailored suit, wearing too-tall spiked heels, and hair smoothed to perfection. Her eyes find me and she actually winces.

Great. I really do look like shit.

“You should see the other guy,” I joke, but then bite on my bottom lip because it’s not that funny considering half of Nate will probably have to be pressure-washed off the sidewalk.

Caroline purses her lips, ignoring my words before turning to her older daughters. “Thank you for indulging me by agreeing to brunch here rather than at the house.”

My thoughts trail off while everyone but me and Perry move into the dining room. He kisses the top of my head.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “If he wasn’t already dead…”

I thought he and Keaton were going to lose their shit at the hospital last night. Perry was beyond enraged. I’d never seen him so furious. The triplets didn’t count as siblings because they were too busy terrorizing me, but Perry and Keaton feel like brothers. They’re protective when it counts.

“Stop kissing my girlfriend,” Winston grumbles, looking beautiful and beat all to hell and pissed off. “Come on. Francis has brunch ready.”

Perry laughs and then helps me to my feet. I walk over to Winston. He tucks me against his good side. We follow Perry into the dining room. A leaf and chairs have been added. In the center are the pink bird salt and pepper shakers.

“Interesting decoration choice,” Winston grumbles.

“Shh,” I whisper. “You’ll offend the baby.”

“Baby?” Tinsley chimes in.

“You’re pregnant?” Keaton demands.

“No,” Win clips out. “Jesus. Whose idea was it to move this brunch to my place?”