by Tarr, Hope
“Bylaws can be revised,” her husband broke in, glancing back to Nick.
Smiling, he answered, “I do not believe that will be necessary in this case.” Directing his gaze to Stefanie, he added, “at least I hope it will not.”
Signaling the service staff, he made his way over to where she sat. Amidst quizzical looks, he watched them roll out the room service cart. As he’d ordered, the waiter set it in front of Stefanie and withdrew.
From the back of the room, one of the twins whined, “I don’t get it. What’s going on? Is there like a cake or something?”
Ignoring everyone but Stefanie, Nick lifted the lid off the silver serving salver. She gasped. Perched in the center of the plate was her ruby slipper precisely where he’d ordered it to be placed.
She blinked as though disbelieving her eyes. “The hotel lost and found came up empty. Now I understand why. You’ve had it all along.”
Tenderness rushed him. “Only long enough to have it repaired.”
Finding a cobbler specializing in vintage footwear who also offered a twenty-four-hour turnaround hadn’t been easy, but as usual persistence had paid off.
Eyes suspiciously bright, she admitted, “I thought I’d lost it for good.”
“I thought I’d lost you,” he admitted, lowering his voice for her ears alone. Picking up the slipper, he pushed the cart aside and went down on one knee. “Since I do not yet have a ring to give you, I must make do with a shoe.” Sliding off her plain black pump, he set it aside and guided her foot into the sparkling red slipper. “Marry me, Stefanie.”
“Nick, are you sure you know what you’re—”
“Marry me and I promise to pass the rest of my days searching for new ways to make you feel cherished and adored, lusted after and loved, beginning with building you the biggest, most state-of-the-art kitchen you could possibly want in every home I—we own. What do you say, my love?”
Smiling through tears, she reached out and laid a hand along his jaw. “Yes.”
Resisting letting out a whoop of triumph, he repeated, “Yes? Yes!” Chest swelling, he reached for her. Heedless of the roomful of onlookers, he slid a hand beneath her silky hair to her nape and guided her face to his.
Her lips trembled, parted, opened. Given their audience, including Mara, he kept the kiss as chaste as possible, though it was hard when all he wanted was to banish everyone and carry her to his bed.
Clapping had them pulling apart. Nick looked back to see her father pounding his palms together, tears filling his eyes. A nudge to Jacquie had her grudgingly joining in as well, the twins following suit.
“You should still ask my father for his permission,” Stefanie whispered, darting a gaze to where Christos hung back.
Nick took her earnest face between his hands. She was so good and dear, the perfect combination of custom and modernity, Old World and New. “I have already done so, my love. I received his permission on the phone last night,” he admitted with a wink. “As soon as I did, I called you.”
She opened her mouth as if to ask more but before she could, Mara rushed over to them. Pushing in between, she slipped her hand into Stefanie’s. The other found her father’s thumb and held fast.
Looking up, she divided her beaming gaze between them. “We’re going to live happily ever after just like they do in the fairy stories, aren’t we?”
Meeting Stefanie’s glowing gaze, Nick felt as if his heart might burst with joy. “Yes, baby, we are, only for us real life is going to be even better.”
Epilogue
Upper East Side, Manhattan
July 4, One Year Later
Seated beside Stefanie, Nick lifted his wineglass in toast, gaze honing in on their host and hostess batting smiles back and forth from the head and foot of the red-white-and-blue cloth-draped table. “To our dear friends, Greg and Francesca, we thank you for your gracious hospitality in hosting us for your Independence Day celebrations—and congratulations on your engagement!”
Raised glasses, cheers and shouts of “here, here!” traveled the four corners of the apartment’s open dining room. Feeling fortunate indeed, Stefanie scanned the guests’ beaming faces: Greg and Francesca, Ross and Macie, and Macie’s stylist friend Franc and his husband, Nathan, recently returned from LA. Samantha and Mara had retreated to hang out in the living room but would be brought back for dessert.
Only Starr and Matt were missing. The newlyweds, also newly pregnant, planned to join them for the Macy’s-sponsored fireworks later that evening. In her first trimester, Starr was sensitive to scents, foods especially. Laying a hand atop her own burgeoning belly, Stefanie was thankful her pregnancy nausea had ended after the first few weeks.
Taking a sip of milk, she glanced at her husband’s handsome profile. After almost a year together and now with a baby on the way, she still found him as swoon-worthy as ever, even more so. “A Fourth of July engagement party is a great idea. I wish we’d thought of it.”
Their October wedding had been celebrated in Crete, accompanied by the traditional feasting, drinking, and dancing, all of which had lasted into the next morning. Though in the process of divorcing, her father had been there to give her away. Nick’s audit had revealed that Jacquie’s wrongful expensing in support of her lavish lifestyle was the least of her sins. A second set of books showed she’d been skimming funds for years, including taking kickbacks from construction companies in return for ensuring that their bids were accepted. It was no wonder Acropolis Village had been behind schedule from the start. Slowly the money was being recovered and the construction completed. Thanks to Nick’s new marketing campaign, nearly 90 percent of the units were sold. What had been a mud pit was now a thriving Greek American retirement community.
All of her friends had been able to make the trip over as well. Macie had been her matron of honor, Mara the adorable flower girl. Turning the catering over to staff supervised by her soon to be mother-in-law, Hermione, had called for a fair degree of self-restraint but as everyone had pointed out, being a bride was a full-time job. A monthlong honeymoon exploring Greece had followed. Her long awaited “dream vacation” had finally come true and then some.
Beneath the table, Nick’s fingers laced through hers. Turning to face her, he lifted her hand to his lips, the light caress causing her to shiver. In a voice meant for all to hear, he answered, “That would have meant waiting a year to marry you and that, my darling Stefanie, I was not prepared to do.”
Giggles from the women and groans from the men traveled the table.
Reaching for another caviar deviled egg, Ross glanced at Macie. “Nick, have a heart. You’re making the rest of us look bad.”
“Quite,” Franc put in, forking up a bite of braised beef rib and popping it into Nathan’s mouth.
“I just bought a diamond, so I’m pretty sure I get to coast on that for a few more days at least,” Greg put in, shooting his wife to be a wink.
“I should say so.” Smiling blithely from the far end of the table, Francesca waved her left hand in the air, the vintage canary diamond bringing to mind the stones in their communal Cinderella slippers. Prior to everyone sitting down, the ring had been passed around and duly admired by all the females present. “The only things I adore more than this ring are you and Samantha.”
Thinking how far they’d all come since last year’s celebration in DC, Stefanie squeezed Nick’s hand beneath the table. “I can’t wait for the fireworks later.” She turned to their hostess. “And, Francesca, the food is fantastic.”
Emerging from the living room, Samantha carried her plate up to the table for seconds. “Yeah, Mom, it sure is. I haven’t had truffle mac n’ cheese like this in a l-o-n-g time,” she said, piling on more pasta.
Macie held up her hands in mock surrender. “What can I say, kid, I may not be much in the kitchen, but I’m the queen of carryout.”
“You sure are, honey.” Ross leaned over and planted a smacker on his wife’s cheek. “Though you do make a helluva huevos r
ancheros.”
Macie’s laughing gaze moistened to melting. Using her thumb, she wiped a dab of barbecue sauce from the corner of her husband’s grinning mouth. “I ought to. I learned from the best.” She shot Stefanie a wink.
Expression amused, Francesca said, “Finding a competent caterer is half the battle, isn’t it?” Looking down the table to Greg, seated closest to the open kitchen, she added, “Darling, can you check in with our culinary lovebirds and see where they are with serving dessert?”
“Sure thing, babe.” Greg turned and called toward the kitchen, “Fred, Deidre, can you put a move on the menu? We’re ready for the strawberry shortcake.”
Makeup melting and short, blond hair sticking out in all directions, fashion photographer and erstwhile reality TV coach Deidre Dupree stomped out from the kitchen, an apron tied about her black linen shift dress. “Hold your horses, we’re working as fast as we can back here, aren’t we, sugar plum?”
Sugar Plum, a twentysomething man wearing a chef’s jacket and a nearly soaked-through head scarf, frowned out the open kitchen at Francesca. “Dee’s deal with you, which I had no part in, was dinner for four, not nine.”
“I make ten,” Mara called out from the other room. “Can’t you count?”
The table roared.
Dabbing at her eyes, Francesca answered, “True, but you might consider the difference as payment in part for the year I allowed you to live here rent-free.” She swung her head to Deidre. “And considering it’s taken you more than a year to honor our wager, which you proposed, adding additional guests as interest is only fair.”
That shut them both up.
Watching Deidre slink back inside the kitchen with her lover, Stefanie bit her lip against laughing. Chef Freddie, Stefanie had learned, was Francesca’s former boyfriend. Deidre had snapped him up to be her latest boy toy, flaunting the relationship to fuel an old feud between the two photographers. Her further scheming on the set of Project Cinderella had caused Francesca and Greg to break up—nearly for good. Upholding her end of their bet on the show’s winner—Greg—was the very least she could do.
Still, old habits were the hardest to break. Stefanie pushed back from the table. “I’ll go in and help them.”
A chorus of “Nos” greeted that proclamation, Nick’s voice leading. “For once, Mrs. Costas, you are going to sit and be served if I have to tie you down.” A wicked smile and the brush of his thumb over an especially sensitive spot on the inside of her wrist accompanied the “warning.”
Mrs. Costas. Coming up on their first year anniversary, Stefanie should be used to the title but hearing Nick address her as such never failed to melt her. Giving up, she settled back into her seat. “I’ll try.”
Mara popped her head inside the dining room alcove. “We’re having strawberry shortcake!”
After almost a year of living in the US, she was expanding her roster of approved desserts, although Stefanie’s baklava still led the list. Once Acropolis was complete and Stefanie’s baby safely delivered, they would return to Greece for six months. Nick was eager to get back to Crete to oversee Phase II of the new convent orphanage. With Olympia once more operating in the black, the dividends from his and Stefanie’s shares had enabled him to expand the project plans beyond its original scope. For her part, Stefanie had fallen head over heels in love with her adopted homeland. Then again, it was the birthplace of her beloved mother and now her adored husband.
Stefanie waved her over to join them. “You bet we are, baby.”
Trotting over to burrow in between her and Nick, Mara laid her hand lightly atop Stefanie’s stomach. “I’m tired of waiting. Is the baby here yet, Mama?” She’d already put in her “order” for a brother, although Stefanie and Nick were keeping the sex as a secret until the big day.
Everyone laughed. Stefanie shook her head. “No, not yet, sweetie, though hopefully dessert will arrive soon.”
A smile erased Mara’s momentary disappointment. “This is the best Fourth of July ever!”
Looking between her handsome husband and their adorable daughter to their circle of smiling friends, Stefanie felt a wave of gratitude wash over her.
Eyes filling with happy tears, she said, “Yes, sweetie, it absolutely is.”
…
Eternity AKA The Great Beyond
Standing at the portal looking down onto Earth, screen legend and now spirit guide Maddie Mulligan took in the festive scene with Carlos Banks, her likewise-departed husband.
“I do so love a good party,” Maddie enthused, clasping satin-gloved hands. “Only where is the champagne fountain? You can’t have a proper party without bubbles.”
Beneath his immaculate mustache, Carlos smiled. “As in Life, my love, your wish is my command.”
He snapped his fingers, and a marble fountain spraying pink champagne appeared beside them. A second snap brought two fluted glasses materializing in midair. He retrieved them and filled each in turn.
Handing one to his wife, he raised his glass in salute. “Brava, my darling, you’ve done it! All four of our Cinderellas are settled Happily Ever After with their soul mates.”
Taking a sip of her champagne, Maddie nodded. “First Macie and Ross, then Starr and Matt, followed by Francesca and Greg, and lastly Stefanie and Nick—it’s been quite a journey for everyone.”
“For us as well.” Carlos lowered his glass. “Time to retire the shoes, I should think. Perhaps we could arrange to have one of our protégées donate them to the proper museum, somewhere they’ll be displayed for others to see and enjoy?”
Maddie glanced down to her feet, shod in red velvet heels festooned with canary-colored stones, the divine replica of the physical shoes on the earth plane. “There is the Museum of the Moving Picture in Queens, I suppose,” she suggested with half a heart.
The pitched voice of a young woman, still a girl, pierced through the stratosphere of pink clouds, floating angel fluff, and the ubiquitous harp music. “But, Dad, that is so not fair!”
Maddie and Carlos exchanged alarmed looks. “Oh, dear, don’t tell me there’s trouble in paradise so soon?” she said.
Holding hands, the dearly departed pair edged closer to the portal and peered down to Francesca’s flat. Samantha Mannon paraded about the parlor, the cuffs of her denim trousers rolled up past her ankles, her feet tucked into the red velvet slippers.
Voice gruff, Ross, her father, said, “No seventeen-year-old needs vintage shoes, or vintage anything for that matter. They’re too adult for you. Take them off and give them back—now!”
She folded her arms and glared. “But Mom and Macie promised it would be my turn next!
“She’s right, we sort of did,” Macie answered, shooting a beseeching glance at Francesca.
“We can’t keep her as a little girl forever,” Francesca said around a sigh.
Expression exasperated, Samantha looked to each of the assembled adults in turn. Other than her father, the men remained wisely silent. “Do I really need to remind you all that I go to college in the fall?”
Pulling back from the portal, Maddie murmured, “They do fit her perfectly.”
“But she’s a child yet,” Carlos protested, sounding much like Samantha’s father.
“Yes, she is,” Maddie agreed. “But children grow up. I was not much older than Samantha when I left Dublin for Hollywood to find my fortune—and my True Love.”
Softening, he said, “Since you put it that way—”
“Mind you, the decision is not ours to make,” Maddie broke in. “The shoes only fit those whom they are meant to guide toward Happily Ever After.”
Knowing that was true, Carlos heaved a sigh. He looked down at his half-finished champagne, hesitated, and then blinked the fountain and glasses back into oblivion. “Are you saying we haven’t yet earned our retirement? Must we labor to bring about another Happily Ever After for another headstrong young woman?”
Maddie reached out and laid her gloved hand on the lapel of his smoking
jacket. “Perhaps we must, my dear Carlos, someday soon—but not quite yet.”
Acknowledgments
As I wind up my Suddenly Cinderella series, I’d like to thank the following: my team of talented editors, Stacy Cantor Abrams with assistance from Alycia Tornetta; Danielle Barclay, Jessica Estep, and Barbara Hightower for doing such a diligent job of publicizing the books; and of course my wonderful agent, Louise Fury for everything—always.
For years I’ve signed off on my blog posts, e-mails, and books with the sentiment, “Wishing you fairy tale dreams come true.” Heartfelt thanks to Entangled publisher Liz Pelletier for providing such a dream home for my series.
About the Author
Award-winning author Hope Tarr earned a master’s degree in psychology and a PhD in education before facing the hard truth: she wasn’t interested in analyzing people or teaching them. What she really wanted was to write about them! Hope has written more than twenty historical and contemporary romance novels for multiple publishers and is also a cofounder and a current curator of Lady Jane’s Salon® New York City’s first and only monthly romance reading series, now in its fifth year with seven satellite salons nationwide. Find Hope online at her websites at www.HopeTarr.com and www.LadyJaneSalonNYC.com as well as on Twitter (@HopeTarr), Goodreads (www.Goodreads.com/HopeTarr) and Facebook (www.Facebook.com/HopeC.Tarr).
Check out the first chapter from A Cinderella Christmas Carol!
Chapter One
Christmas Eve, December 24th
Union Square, Manhattan, New York
“Happy Holidays, Ms. S.”
Standing in her apartment building’s marbled lobby, managing editor of On Top magazine Cynthia Starling—Starr—scowled at her doorman’s grinning face. Even in the midst of pulling a double shift on Christmas Eve, Jimmie was so chock-full of holiday cheer it was almost sickening. Strike the almost—it was sickening.
He let the glass door fall gently closed behind her, his thin navy uniform scant protection against the raw, gusty evening. “Got big plans?” His eagle-eyed gaze rested pointedly on the plastic bag of takeout Thai food weighing down her left arm.
