Page 32 of One Midnight Kiss

Christa quickly shifted gears. “Are you going to that ball in Paris again this year?”

I blinked, momentarily thrown off. “What?”

“The ball,” she said, eyes twinkling. “You know, the one where you met your mysterious prince last year?”

“No. I haven’t received another invite.”

“You’re hoping it comes, though,” she teased. “Admit it. You’ve been pining over that guy for a whole year.”

“I have not,” I said, but it sounded weak, even to me. “Okay, maybe I’ve thought of him from time to time.”

Christa’s laugh was gentle. “So have I, and I wasn’t even there. It’s like something out of a fairy tale. You meet a man on a balcony in Paris, share a kiss, and plan to see him again a year later? Be still my heart.”

“Maybe I imagined the whole thing,” I said quietly. “Maybe it was just a dream. The wine was strong, and the champagne was stronger. And I was feeling pretty raw.”

“I hope you find your prince, Natalia.”

I forced a smile. “Yeah. Me too. Until then, I have to settle for Fox.”

We shared a laugh and started talking about our holiday plans. I was looking forward to it, despite the reminder of my rotten marriage.

I left Christa’s house not long after that, feeling both comforted and saddened by our conversation. My car, freshly returned from the shop, smelled like leather cleaner and new tires. I glanced at the back seat as I pulled out of the driveway and noticed Fox’s sweatshirt and sweatpants still crumpled there.

Considering all his flashy suits and designer clothes, I was surprised he owned clothing like that at all. I had assumed even his pajamas would be silk or maybe some other fabric that only the ultra-rich people knew about.

I should return the clothes. It was ridiculous to keep them, and yet every time I thought about doing it, something stopped me.

I shook my head, trying to clear the thoughts that always sprang to life when I thought about Fox. I was reading too much into everything. I was tired, and I needed sleep. That was all.

By the time I got home, the dull ache in my head had grown into a pounding throb, and my throat felt like sandpaper. I dumped my purse on the floor, kicked off my shoes, and headed straight for the bedroom. I stripped and pulled on my favorite sweats and the T-shirt from Yale that was barely even a shirt at this point. The covers felt like a cocoon as I slipped beneath them and curled into a ball.

I closed my eyes, telling myself I would just rest for a bit. Just a short nap, and then I would get up and figure out my life.