Nancy Thompson - Accidental Cinderella

“There’s been no one recently I’ve wanted to be involved with.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Sort of.

A swarm of butterflies swooped in Lindsay’s stomach.

“I was a lonely kid,” he said. “The kind of lonely that can only be understood by someone who’s felt it, too. You know, not belonging. I can’t imagine that you were that kind of kid.”

“Ah, but I was,” she said. “Sometimes I still am.”

“I don’t believe it.” His voice was a sexy whisper.

Then he kissed her. His mouth was so inviting, and even though a voice of reason sounded in a distant fog in the back of her mind—she really shouldn’t be doing this—she had to have one more taste.

Dear Reader,

I have a confession to make: even though I’m not a terrific cook, I eat up the Food Network and cooking shows on other channels, such as Top Chef. I can’t get enough of them. From BBQ to beautifully baked cakes (and everything in between), I devour these tasty shows.

On the upside, this indulgence has greatly improved my previously limited culinary repertoire. It also started the wheels turning for Accidental Cinderella. I’ve always wondered about the stories behind these shows; how did these Food Network stars make the leap from the kitchen to cable? That question inspired this book. In these pages I explore what happens when you take an unlikely cooking/travel show host and mix her up with a bad-boy chef in desperate need of redemption. The result is deliciously sweet and spicy.

I hope you’ll have as much fun reading Accidental Cinderella as I had writing it!

Bon appétit!

Nancy Robards Thompson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Award-winning author Nancy Robards Thompson is a sister, wife and mother who has lived the majority of her life south of the Mason-Dixon line. As the oldest sibling, she reveled in her ability to make her brother laugh at inappropriate moments and she soon learned she could get away with it by proclaiming, “What? I wasn’t doing anything.” It’s no wonder that upon graduating from college with a degree in journalism, she discovered that reporting “just the facts” bored her silly. Since hanging up her press pass to write novels full-time, critics have deemed her books “funny, smart and observant.” She loves chocolate, champagne, cats and art (though not necessarily in that order). When she’s not writing, she enjoys spending time with her family, reading, hiking and doing yoga.

For Michael, for all the wonderful meals over the years.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

“You almost make a girl believe in fairy tales.” In this rare intimate moment amidst the festive chaos, Lindsay Bingham reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair into her friend Sophie Baldwin’s bridal veil.

Sophie looked every bit the princess she was. Literally. A real princess.

The wedding was magical and the reception was the social ticket of the year, Lindsay marveled. It was still hard to believe that salt-of-the-earth Sophie Baldwin from Trevard, North Carolina, was full-fledged royalty.

Last year, she’d discovered her birthright—or maybe it was more apropos to say her birthright finally found her—and she’d been swept away to the island of St. Michel in imperial fashion. As if that weren’t enough good fortune, she’d just married her prince in a gorgeous December wedding.

Right on cue, tall, handsome Luc Lejardin whirled by on the dance floor with another woman in his arms. But as he caught and held his bride’s gaze, it was perfectly clear he only had eyes for one woman.

Lindsay sighed. She would’ve gladly relinquished rights to an entire kingdom to have a man look at her that way.

“If I keep humming, ‘Wish Upon A Star,’ will I get my turn as Cinderella?”

Sophie smiled. “Maybe, but since that song belongs to Pinocchio, you might end up with a fibbing bad boy rather than a handsome prince.”

Fibbing bad boys. The story of her life.

“That’s right,” she conceded. “Cinderella’s fight song was ‘A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes….’”

Sophie winked at her. “A little dream-wishing never hurt anyone.”

“Yeah, but for the foreseeable future, I’m going to do my best to do more than dream. I’m getting my life together. I’m calling it the ‘New Me’ plan.”

Yeah, rather than the old “Plan of Self-Destruction.” A strategy that involved seeing how many years she could accrue at her dead-end job as a receptionist at Trevard Social Services and how many Mr. Wrongs she could pack into one lifetime.

She sighed against the beat of protest that thrummed inside her. Frankly, her “New Me” plan was a lot easier in theory than in practice. Her receptionist job was comfortable. It was so simple she could do it on autopilot. Even though her boss was a colossal pain in the butt, it was definitely one of those devil-you-know situations. Or so she told herself.

But the job was getting her nowhere.

As were the men she sometimes dated.

From her perspective, the journey toward true love sometimes seemed akin to walking a tightrope strung across a dark, scary abyss. She’d walked that rope before, holding the hand of a man she loved and trusted, a man who, once upon a time, said he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Ultimately, he’d not just let go of her hand; he’d shoved her into the darkness below.

She’d nearly drowned in the misery.

Even now, almost seven years later, when she thought about the man who’d broken her heart, the pain resurfaced like it was covered by fading Novocain.

To numb herself, she dated. She’d even had relationships—if you could call them that. The men all had one thing in common beyond the tall, broad-shouldered, feral masculinity: none were husband material.

She preferred it that way. By dating the perennial bad boy, it was a given that those relationships wouldn’t last. She kept a firm grip on her heart. That way it couldn’t be broken.

Sophie squeezed Lindsay’s hand. “I think focusing on you is a wonderful idea, and to help you with that, I have a surprise for you.” Sophie’s face lit with a certain look Lindsay had seen before. A look that meant Lindsay should probably run the other way—as fast as she could.

Her friend always meant well, and she could also be extraordinarily generous, as evidenced by the way she’d packed the past month full of fabulous surprises—from daylong, head-to-toe spa days, to designer clothes, shoes and handbags, to the custom-made Cartier diamond necklace and earrings she’d presented her attendants to wear with their bridesmaids dresses.

“What are you up to now?” Lindsay narrowed her eyes, playing along with the tone Sophie had set for this one.

“I’ll tell you in a minute. First, I have to say hello to someone.”

She followed Sophie’s gaze to a short, slight man who was making his way toward them.

“Your highness, such a lovely wedding.” The man had a thick Italian accent. He bowed and dusted Sophie’s hand with a kiss. “It is a great honor to bear witness to such a momentous occasion.”

Okay, this could take a while. But Lindsay had monopolized Sophie long enough. It was time to relinquish her friend and give others a turn. It was a good time to get a drink. The guests didn’t want to talk to her, and that was okay. Really, it was. She didn’t want to stand there, awkward as a sixth finger while this man did what every guest at this wedding endeavored to do: endear himself to the future queen of St. Michel.