The Greek's Pregnant Cinderella

She stepped into a small holding room. Another uniformed guard stood on the other side of the door, a large tablet in his hand. Her heart almost stopped.

She recognised him. She’d spoken to him numerous times in the staff room.

There was not a flicker of recognition in his returning stare.

He greeted her with a polite smile. ‘May I see your invitation please, miss?’

Hoping he didn’t notice the tremor in her hand, she passed it to him.

He peered at it closely then turned his attention to his tablet until he found her name on the list. He pressed his finger to it then smiled again at her and nodded at the double doors at the other side of the room. ‘Guests are assembling through that door. Enjoy your evening, Miss Coulter.’

Air rushed out of her lungs.

Mrs Coulter had been right. The dress and the mask acted as the perfect disguise.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

Straightening her back, Tabitha held her head high. Yet another doorman opened the double doors for her to step through.

The noise she was greeted with from the reception room made her blink. The guests already congregated were in high spirits. Laughter and the buzz of excited chatter filled the air, melding with the music coming from the corner, where a pianist was playing a familiar tune.

She soaked up all of this in the time it took to step over the threshold.

A waitress holding a tray of champagne approached her.

Tabitha took a flute with a smile and restrained herself from tipping the contents down her throat in one swallow.

Whatever the circumstances of her life now, she’d been raised to be a lady. Ladies did not tip drinks down their necks.

She brought the flute to her mouth and took a small sip.

The explosion of bubbles in her mouth was enough to make her want to cry.

Only twice in her life had she tasted champagne. The first time had been at her father’s wedding when she’d been ten. The second had been when she’d been fourteen. Her stepmother had thrown an eighteenth birthday party for Fiona, the oldest of Tabitha’s stepsisters. The party had been an elaborate affair with no expense spared.

The celebrations for Tabitha’s own eighteenth birthday had been markedly different. Her stepmother had celebrated by throwing Tabitha out of the family home.

The big wide world she’d looked forward to embracing had shrunk overnight.

Any alcohol she’d consumed since then had been whatever was cheapest. No Freshers’ Week at university for her. While her school friends had scattered to various higher education institutions around the country—the majority intent on having a fantastic three years getting drunk and attending the odd lecture when they could fit it in their busy social schedules—Tabitha had already been gaining callouses on her hands from working as a cleaner in the small family-owned hotel. The pay had been terrible but the job had come with accommodation.

The call for silence broke through her sad reminiscences.

The master of ceremonies greeted the four hundred guests and then, with a flourish, declared the masquerade ball open.

CHAPTER TWO (#u86501cce-c9f4-544f-9378-12b095faa0fe)

CAUGHT IN THE tide of bodies, Tabitha entered the enormous ballroom.

Her hand flew to her throat as she took in the lavish transformation the already opulent room had undergone.

From the grand high ceiling hung balloons of gold, silver and white, the walls lined with heavy drapes following the colour theme. In the far corner sat the champagne fountain the staff had been talking about for days.

Everything glittered. Everything shone, especially the colourful, fabulously dressed guests.

It was like entering a magical wonderland and Tabitha’s heart ached at the beauty of it.

She finished her champagne, placed the empty flute on the tray of a passing waiter and took her place amongst the ladies forming a long line to the left of the springy wooden dance floor.

The gentlemen lined up on the right and then the orchestra struck the first note of the first tune. Four ballet dancers appeared and performed a short but exquisite dance for them. No sooner had they danced out of the ballroom to rapturous applause than two-dozen professional ballroom dancers, notable for the ladies’ all-white gowns and the gentlemen’s traditional black tail suits, took to the floor and performed the first waltz.

It had been a long time since Tabitha’s ballroom dancing lessons at school. It was the one lesson every pupil had looked forward to and she’d been no exception. She’d never imagined then that she would have to wait so long to put the moves she’d learned into practice.

These dancers were incredible and the whispers around her indicated there were world champions amongst them.

Yet she found her gaze darting over the line of gentlemen on the other side of the room.

She shouldn’t be looking for him, she scolded herself. Hoping that his words about finding her were true was nothing but a fool’s wish, and a dangerous one at that. If Giannis discovered she was an employee, she would lose everything.

And, even if he had meant it, there were one-hundred and ninety-nine other women here, most of them far more attractive than she was.

He’d probably forgotten her already.

The professional dancers finished their waltz and then came the words Tabitha had once longed to hear in a setting just like this, and not from a school mistress: ‘Alles Walzer!’

Everyone dance!

The gentlemen set off towards the ladies.

Excitement surged inside her.

For so many years she had dreamed of this moment, yet for so many she’d stopped believing it could happen.

She didn’t even care that the gentleman making a beeline towards her was old enough to be her father and short enough to fit in her handbag.

When he was only a couple of feet from her, his path was suddenly blocked by another, much taller and broader figure who seemed to appear from nowhere.

Her heart stopped then, after a breathless pause, kick-started back to life with fury.

Giannis stood before her, his head tilted, a gleam in his eyes as bright as the chandeliers hanging amidst the balloons above them.

‘Darf ich bitten?’

The traditional way of asking a lady to dance at a Viennese Ball.

The very words Tabitha had once dreamed of hearing.

She stared into the clear blue eyes, the strangest of feelings forming in her veins.