Page 4 of One Midnight Kiss

2

NATALIA

Igazed into the full-length mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back. The sleek black dress hugged my figure, elegant but severe, as if I were dressed for a funeral. Maybe I was. Not for a person but for a life I once lived, a woman I once was. I ran my hands over my hips and smoothed down the dress.

What was I doing?

I ran my fingers hesitantly along the mask resting on the vanity. A sliver of defiance sparked in me as I looked from the mask to the gothic dress. This wasn’t me. Or at least, it never used to be.

“Goodbye, Natalia,” I whispered, my voice barely audible in the silence of the opulent hotel room. A tear was trapped in the corner of my eye. I wiped it away before it could fall and ruin the makeup I had spent way too much time on. No tears tonight. No more crying for a man who had turned love into a weapon and left me shattered on the other side.

I wasn’t going to cry for the old Natalia. Sometimes, the world was an ugly place, but all I could do was pick myself up and move forward.

My eyes caught on the invitation sitting next to my mask. It had arrived before Christmas, tucked inside an elegant black envelope with gold script. Epice de Vie was way out of my league. I thought it was a joke, some twisted gift meant for Andrew and me, lost in the shuffle of our divorce papers. Yet it came addressed to my new place in Seattle, not the apartment in New York we had once shared. It was addressed to both of us, which I didn’t understand.

How did the sender get my address in Seattle? It was strange. Strange enough to make me get on a plane to Paris without a second thought.

Normally, I was careful. I thought through my decisions. I evaluated consequences and played out the various scenarios in my head for any potential pitfalls. Apparently, that wasn’t an effective way to live, given the shock of my divorce and subsequent events. I didn’t think I could trust my decision making anymore. I wasn’t doing it right. That was for damn sure.

That was why I was in Paris. I was throwing caution to the wind and doing something I would never normally do. I wanted my shitty ex to be shocked to find out I had done something so carefree. So out of character.

Not that his opinion mattered, but as the saying went, living well was the best revenge.

I looked at my reflection once again, raising my chin a bit. I didn’t see the woman who had loved Andrew. The woman who had believed in fairy tales and happy endings was gone. She was burned to ashes by the divorce finalized yesterday. The woman staring back at me was someone new, cloaked in mystery and midnight black. I almost felt powerful, if only the ache in my chest would disappear.

I couldn’t help but feel like I had put my life on hold for a man that never really loved me. It was so wild to think I went from the perfect life to having my entire world explode. My life in upper Manhattan with the perfect marriage, a great job, and a fun group of friends was ripped away in a flash.

I never saw it coming. Andrew was the love of my life. When he told me to hold off on getting my master’s degree, I did. When he told me he wanted me to cut my hours at the marketing firm, I did. I was so crazy in love with him, I was absolutely willing to do anything to make him happy. I imagined a family with him. A future.

And yesterday the divorce was finalized. It was a knife through the heart. I couldn’t fathom being on the same continent with him. It hurt too much.

“Stop it.” I gave myself a mental shake. I didn’t want to think about Andrew and my old life. This was the first day of my new life. It was terrifying, of course, but it was also full of possibilities. Step one was being in Paris, ready to jump into the unknown with both feet.

I reached for the mask and tied it on, adjusting it to sit on my nose just right. It was a little odd, but I liked that it felt like a shield. I didn’t have to be Natalia Dawkins, freshly divorced and betrayed. I could be the lady in black who had no back story. No baggage to drag me down.

I grabbed my clutch and walked out the door before I could change my mind. I wanted to be brave and bold. I made my way down to the lobby of the fancy hotel. There was a car waiting to take me to the party. The driver spoke some English, but it was difficult to understand with the heavy French accent. That was fine. He seemed friendly and professional.

I leaned back against the cool leather seat and stared out at the city of love. I wanted to snap a picture and post it to my Instagram. Kind of a fuck you to those that sided with Andrew and a look at me now type of picture. I snapped a couple photos and opened the app on my phone.

My stomach clenched the moment I saw the picture. It was a photo of the Plaza, decked out for a winter wedding. My friends—our friends—gathered wearing smiles and sequins. I knew those faces well, and seeing them without me felt like a punch to the gut. I locked my phone and shoved it deep into my purse.

It wasn’t long before the driver pulled the car up to a beautiful manor perched on a hill that overlooked the city. It looked like a palace from a bygone era, the kind of place you’d expect to host royalty. I handed over my phone at the entrance. They had insisted, and honestly, I didn’t mind. It felt like cutting the last tether tying me to the outside world.

Inside, everything was dark and enigmatic. Dim lighting made the space sultry and shadows softened all the hard edges. It felt like walking into a different world, where nothing existed but the soft clinking of glasses, the quiet murmur of conversations, and the occasional throaty laugh of a woman hidden behind a mask. Men watched me as I passed, their eyes appreciative, but it didn’t faze me. I wasn’t here for anyone.

I was here to forget.

I ordered a glass of wine at the bar. My eyes scanned the faces disguised in ornate masks. Everyone here was pretending to be someone else. It felt like the perfect place for me to lose myself. A few men attempted to strike up conversation, but I wasn’t interested. I didn’t even know how to flirt anymore.

As the night progressed, the crowd got to be too much. I needed space, so I made my way to a balcony overlooking the city. The air was crisp, but it felt good against my skin. I closed my eyes and breathed it in, letting the cold pull me back from the edge of tears.

A new year was about to begin, and I had no plan. No idea who I was supposed to be. That kind of freedom was terrifying. My thoughts spiraled, and I found myself lifting my wine glass to take a sip, but it was empty.

And then he appeared.

At first, I assumed he was a waiter, but no waiter had any business looking as handsome as he did. Nevertheless, I let him get me a glass of wine. When he returned, I took a better look at him.

He was a silhouette of black on black, his suit perfectly tailored, his mask obscuring the upper half of his face. Everything about him screamed danger—an edge I couldn’t quite place. But his voice was smooth, with a hint of something I couldn’t name as we danced around each other’s questions. His move and then mine. Back and forth. He wanted my name, and I couldn’t—wouldn’t—give it to him.