Once Upon a Fairy tale: A Collection of 11 Fairy Tale Inspired Romances

by Danielle Monsch, Cate Rowan, Jennifer Lewis, Jeannie Lin, Nadia Lee, Dee Carney

  So you can see that this story has been in my head since the time I could read. I’m glad I was finally able to take some of my favorite elements of the old tale and spin it into something else. I hope you enjoy my take on this classic fairy tale!

  If you’d like to read the original, you can find it at Sur La Lune Fairy Tales:

  www.surlalunefairytales.com/eastsunwestmoon

  Author Bio

  Sela Carsen was born into a traveling family, then married a military man to continue her gypsy lifestyle. With her husband of 20 years, their two teens, her mother, the dog, and the cat, she’s finally (temporarily) settled in the Midwest. Between bouts of packing and unpacking, she writes paranormal romances, with or without dead bodies. Your pick.

  Follow Sela Carsen online at:

  Website:

  selacarsen.com

  FB:

  www.facebook.com/selacarsenauthor

  Twitter:

  @selacarsen

  Other Books Available

  Not Quite Dead

  Heart of the Sea

  Carolina Wolf

  Carolina Pearl

  After the Stroke of Midnight

  Jennifer Lewis

  After the Stroke of Midnight: A Steamy Cinderella Story

  Sandy Riley dreams of an escape from her humdrum nights making sales calls in a cubicle farm. When a coworker hands her the winning raffle ticket to a night out with a billionaire bachelor, she seizes the chance for an evening of romance. But her handsome date is her company’s charismatic CEO. Since she can’t risk losing her job, all must end before her nightshift begins, and he can never learn her true identity—or the secrets of her past.

  Marco Danieli is intrigued by the beautiful woman who stirs his blood…then disappears into the night. When he tracks her down, he thinks his problems are solved—but they’re only just beginning….

  To learn about upcoming releases, visit www.jenlewis.com.

  For Mia,

  and in loving memory of her

  fairy godmother, Olga Marina Martinez,

  who made her so many

  beautiful dresses when

  she was little.

  Chapter One

  ‡

  “I have a surprise for you.”

  Sandy startled at the sound of a voice and looked up to see Conchita, the nighttime cleaner, next to her cubicle. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a ticket.” Conchita waved a piece of paper in her weathered hand. “To adventure and excitement.”

  Sandy laughed. The canned promise sounded extra phony in Conchita’s heavy accent. “I’m not sure I can handle much more of that. I just scored two new customers in Singapore.”

  “You’re a clever girl, but too young and pretty to sit here night after night. You’re going to a party.” She shoved the paper at Sandy.

  Who squinted at the letters in the dim light of the almost-empty sales floor. The page proclaimed its holder the winner of a magazine’s charity fundraiser, a raffle that had been advertised a few weeks ago. “It’s a ticket to a date with Marco Danieli.” Sandy looked up at Conchita, whose green eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. “He’s the owner of the company.”

  “I know.” Conchita beamed. “Soooo handsome!” She blew a kiss to the air. “If I was younger I’d date him myself.”

  How sweet of Conchita to think of her. But really! “I can’t go.” Why would Marco Danieli want to spend an evening with a nobody like her? “And read the fine print. It says here that employees and associates of Danieli Electronics can’t enter.”

  Conchita snorted. “Nonsense. Who better for him than someone who already knows and appreciates him?” Sandy smiled. Marco Danieli wouldn’t know her from a hole in the wall. She was just one of thousands of anonymous employees.

  “And what would I wear?” She gestured to her jeans and T-shirt. “I don’t exactly have a glamorous wardrobe.”

  “You need new clothes. First impressions are important.” This was quite a statement coming from a tiny woman in a faded housedress.

  “I’m trying to save money.”

  “Don’t worry.” Conchita’s grin creased her wrinkled cheeks. “I already made you a dress.”

  And that was how Sandy found herself in Conchita’s tiny walk-up apartment on the afternoon of the date. With grandmotherly warmth, Conchita applied scorching heat to Sandy’s hair and pulled it hard with a brush, taming her wild curls into a sleek fall.

  “I don’t know how you did that.” Sandy stared at her own reflection. “I look like a totally different person.”

  “In my country we know how to do hair.” Conchita winked. “Now the dress.” She clapped her hands together and rushed to the closet. Sandy held her breath while her new friend fumbled among her dowdy housecoats. Whatever Conchita brought out, she was going to wear it. The sweet older woman had gone to so much trouble and effort already.

  Conchita pulled a hanger from the back of the closet and twitched out a long midnight blue dress with a subtle sheen to the fabric. She held it up for Sandy to admire.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “You’re beautiful.” Conchita smiled and pulled the dress from the hanger. “And you’ll be even more beautiful in this dress.”

  Sandy dressed under Conchita’s beady gaze and was both surprised and relieved to find that it fit perfectly. “I was a seamstress for many years at the top bridal salon in Santo Domingo.”

  “That’s where my mom was from,” exclaimed Sandy, before she could stop herself. She didn’t like to talk about her mom. She didn’t even really remember her.

  “I can see her Dominican beauty in you.” She squeezed Sandy’s cheek so hard it made her gasp. “You just need a little magic to bring it out. Turn around.”

  Sandy twirled, and the skirt gathered elegantly about her legs. It was fitted but easy to move in. Conchita produced a pair of vintage-looking silver stilettos and helped her into them. “Come look.”

  Teetering precariously on the high heels, Sandy approached the dingy mirror on the back of the bathroom door. A woman she didn’t recognize stared back at her. “Wow.”

  Conchita beamed. “Marco Danieli won’t know what hit him.”

  “Wait, I almost forgot!” Sandy made her way back to her bag and fumbled in it for the tiny box that held her blue contact lenses. Her dad had given them to her as a disguise for some shady deal he’d planned. She’d refused to participate—finally grown a backbone by then—but she’d been fascinated by how they looked so she’d kept them.

  She stuck them awkwardly in her eyes, one by one, and blinked. The transformation was complete. With blue eyes, straight hair and at least four more inches of height, Sandy knew even her own father wouldn’t recognize her.

  If her dad were still alive, he’d have wanted her to go tonight. He’d never cared one bit about following the rules.

  Marco Danieli would have no idea he was on a date with one of his own employees, or that she was just a lowly salesgirl from the graveyard shift.

  “Where’s my coach with white horses? Do we need to catch some mice?”

  Conchita laughed. “You’ll have to take the subway, princess. I have plenty of fabric and thread, and the shoes were once my favorites, but I don’t have money for a cab.”

  Sandy kissed her on both cheeks and descended the six flights of stairs to the street. There, she drew in a deep breath of New York City air and headed for the uptown train.

  Sandy caught sight of Marco Danieli sitting at the hotel’s upscale bar, alone, severe and elegant in his trademark dark suit. His black hair was combed back, emphasizing the hard lines of his handsome face. He wore the habitual serious expression that intimidated business rivals and employees alike.

  Sandy’s heart pounded against her ribs as she approached him. Every nerve ending in her body tingled with the thrill of coming face-to-face with the object of her fantasies.

  “Mr. Danieli?” Cool and casual, greeting a stranger.

  “Yes.” He looke
d up. Steel-gray eyes met hers and sent a delicious shiver of fear mingled with anticipation skittering along her spine. “Miss Alma?”

  “Please call me Alexandra.” Her real name, though no one ever called her anything but Sandy. Alma was her middle name. Tonight she would be Alexandra Alma, confident, assured, sexy, and hopefully irresistible. Everything Sandy Riley was not.

  “Call me Marco.” He stood and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. He pulled her close as he rested a soft kiss of greeting on her cheek. Hope bloomed along with a quick flush of heat where his lips met her skin.

  For a single instant, all the blood in her body rushed toward that one electrified spot and she thought she might crumple to the floor.

  But her knees held firm.

  “May I get you a drink?” His low voice wrapped itself around her, and she groped for the words to respond.

  “White wine, please.”

  He turned away from her to order, and she gulped a breath. Her body still tingled with the afterglow of his polite kiss. Already she felt sensual, a little wanton. She consciously threw back her shoulders and held her head high. Sandy Riley might not be able to carry off a date with a man like Marco Danieli, but Alexandra Alma was more than equal to the task.

  As the waiter poured wine into a chilled glass, Marco gestured to the velvet-upholstered stool next to his. Sandy slid onto it as gracefully as possible, hooking her impossibly high heels over the base.

  “I can see I should donate my time to charity more often,” said Marco. His cloud-colored eyes darkened as they swept down to the plunging neckline of her blue dress. The appreciation in his face warmed her in dark, secret places.

  “It is a good cause, isn’t it?” She smiled politely as the bartender handed her the wine. “I don’t buy dates with strangers.”

  Truer words were never spoken.

  “I’ve never done this before either.” Marco sipped his drink and looked at her steadily. A coil of desire twisted in her gut. “And I think we should make the most of it, don’t you?”

  “Definitely.” She smiled what she hoped was a bewitching smile, raised her glass to his, then took a sip of the cool, golden liquid.

  Classical music tinkled gently in the air around them. Clear notes mingled with the soft clinking of glasses and the low chuckles of contented guests in the opulent surroundings.

  “You probably know who I am, since you bought a raffle ticket for a date with me, but I don’t know anything about you other than your name. Do you live in New York?”

  “No,” she said with a shrug of regret. No lie there. She was a Jersey girl born and bred. “I’m from out of town. I’m here on business.”

  “What kind of business are you in?”

  “Marketing.” Which sounded so much better than telemarketing. “The work brings me to New York from time to time.” Every workday, in fact.

  “I’m glad it did.” His sensual mouth curved with the hint of a smile. He lifted his glass. “Here’s to all the forces of the universe that brought us together tonight.”

  A thrill of promise warmed her as she clinked her glass gently against his and raised it to her lips.

  She’d thought a lot about what she would say tonight. How she’d talk to him. She knew he dated a lot of women. She’d been reassured to see that he’d dated a black girl before. Still, the others were beautiful models and actresses, women who could entrance a man without lifting a finger.

  She couldn’t hope to outshine them so she’d devised a different strategy.

  And it was time to put the plan into action.

  “If you could have three wishes, Marco, what would they be?”

  Marco turned to face her, an eyebrow raised in surprise. “Are you a genie?”

  “You never know. I might be.” She felt a bit like a genie. Had she conjured that sparkle in his eyes?

  “I guess I’d have to wish for world peace.” He winked at her, a gesture that made her heart jump. “Otherwise I couldn’t look myself in the face every morning.”

  “A wise choice.”

  “As for the second…” He paused, lowering his eyes to graze her body, claiming her with his cool and commanding gaze.

  Sandy responded by leaning slightly toward him. The silky fabric of her dress slid over her thighs as she crossed her legs. As she waited for his response to her daring question, she tasted a new kind of power that she’d never imagined.

  “My second wish might be happiness for myself.”

  “Hmm.” Sandy raised a finger to her lip, considering. She lifted a doubtful eyebrow and watched his lips move into a curious smile. “That’s a bit vague. What exactly constitutes happiness for you, Marco?”

  He spoke casually, but his eyes darkened. “If I knew that I’d be a rich man indeed.”

  “You are a rich man.”

  “I won’t have to waste a wish asking for riches.” He sipped his drink and set the glass down hard on the counter, looking into the swirling clear fluid as if it were a crystal ball. She saw him retreat into himself, lost in thoughts she had no way of understanding.

  To the casual observer Marco Danieli had all a man could want, but who knew what hopes and dreams he kept to himself?

  “Happiness is an elusive goal,” said Sandy, trying to regain his attention. “The more you chase it the further it runs away. Who said that happiness is what happens while you’re busy doing other things?”

  “I don’t know.” His eyes searched her face as if she might have the answers he needed. Her heart squeezed. If only she did.

  “Asking for happiness is too easy. If you ask for happiness, then it must come along with all the other things you always wanted.”

  “Unless you’re the lucky soul who’s content with his lot in life.”

  “I don’t think many are, do you?”

  “I suppose not.” Marco took another sip of his drink. A shadow passed over his face as he studied his glass again.

  She was losing him! So much for bringing him out of his shell and enchanting him with her wit and perception. She’d driven him deeper inside it. Perhaps intellectual stimulation wasn’t the best way to a man’s heart. What did she know?

  She shifted in her chair and leaned forward to lift a napkin off the bar, offering a daring view of her cleavage in the low-cut dress.

  Nothing.

  Oh dear.

  She decided to try another tack. “What do you say we get out of here and go somewhere a little more lively?”

  He looked up at her and nodded. “Sounds like a good idea.”

  “Is there anything you’d like to do? Maybe something you enjoy that you haven’t done in a long time?”

  Marco lifted a brow. “How do you feel about jazz?”

  “I love it.” She smiled at the look of surprise on his face. Most people her age hated jazz, if they even knew what it was. But she’d been raised on it.

  “I know a place in the Village. We can get dinner while we’re there. Do you have a jacket?”

  “No.” She’d half hoped they wouldn’t leave the hotel. Movement brought complications. A twinge of anxiety tightened her chest as she realized what she’d started.

  She’d have to retrieve her gym bag with her work clothes in it from the ladies’ room and bring it with her. Either that or come back for it later. Since she had to be at work by midnight, getting back up to midtown and over to Chelsea would shave a good hour off the time she had to spend with him.

  And she wasn’t willing to give up a single second of her dream date.

  “I have to grab my bag. I’ll be right back.” At least the bag was black and not too obtrusive. She tried to pretend it held important business documents, rather than jeans and sneakers.

  Marco waited for her as she attempted to saunter elegantly across the bar in her unaccustomed heels. He smiled and extended his arm as he walked toward her.

  “Give me your bag.”

  “Oh, no, really, it’s okay.”

  He cocked his head and looked at h
er through narrowed eyes. “Hand it over, lady.”

  She smiled and gave him her bag. He slung it over his shoulder, then offered her his arm. She took it gratefully, glad of any assistance in remaining upright.

  As Sandy walked across the gleaming marble floor of the hotel lobby, arm in arm with Marco, a thrill of pleasure warmed her from head to toe. She caught a glimpse of their reflection in one of the mirrored columns and saw them as any bystander might: a glamorous couple out for a night on the town. She and Marco Danieli.

  In the cab downtown Marco rested his powerful arm along the back of the seat, brushing the top of her shoulders. The night was warm, dark already, and the city flashed by in a blur of light and sound. The cabdriver played Indian music, and the repetitive drumming echoed the pounding of Sandy’s heart as her body jostled against Marco’s in the tight space.

  Marco relaxed against the seat, smiling at the people who hurried along the busy streets as they drove down into the Village. “I used to come and listen to jazz all the time, but lately it seems I’m stuck uptown listening to piped-in classical music at tiresome galas.”

  “I know what you mean,” she lied. She smiled at him. “It’s hard to find time to do what you enjoy when there are so many demands on you.”

  “That’s it. You work hard to get established, looking forward to all you’ll be able to do once you’re successful.”

  “And then once you’re successful, you’re too busy to do the things you looked forward to.”

  “Exactly.” His eyes drifted toward her, and she saw a curious expression twist his unsmiling mouth. She wasn’t sure if she imagined it, but his arm seemed to slide a little lower on the seat back, draping itself casually over her shoulders and sending a heat wave coursing through her body.

  Marco’s legs were too long for the cramped space in the back of the cab, and they stretched a little into what she thought of as her space. His knees brushed hers and little frissons of electrical energy jumped from body to body, through the tailored fabric of his pants and the soft silk of her dress.