Chapter 4
TARA
"Another glass, birthday girl?” asks Zaza, pouring herself more fizz from the bottle.
I shake my head, still buzzing from too much sparkling wine and the tea reader's predictions. Luna may have disappeared into the crowd twenty minutes ago. Yet her words keep echoing, shimmering through my Prosecco haze like a half-forgotten melody.
Prince Charming will come. Tall, dark, handsome.
These weren't just words; they felt like a whisper of destiny. A secret just for me.
"We should probably head out soon," Keesha says, checking her phone.
Her voice, normally so grounding, vibrates in my ears.
"Wait. I need the bathroom before I get on public transportation." I stand unsteadily, grabbing the chair back for support.
"I'll escort you!" Keesha jumps up.
"No, I'm 21 tonight. I'm old enough to go to the bathroom by myself," I declare with a surge of tipsy independence.
I weave through Mickey's packed tables toward the bathroom but stop short when I see the line of women snaking around the corner.
The urge to pee is so intense I clench my inner thighs together like a five-year-old. This line can't be for the only bathroom.
As I scan for another restroom sign, the young, good-looking bartender nearby catches my eye.
"Really got to go, huh?" His smile borders on flirtatious.
"Yes. Is there anywhere else? I'm desperate.”
"I could give you the VIP access key," he says, a playful glint in his eyes. "But it's only for celebrities."
"Please don't tease!"
Sensing my urgency, he reaches beneath the counter.
"Okay. That stairway leads to the luxury hotel next door—we're adjoining buildings. Use this card key to buzz yourself inside.”
Minutes later, I'm inside the hotel's lavish ladies' room near the lobby.
When I emerge from the stall to wash my hands, I catch my image reflected in the glamorous gilt glass. In my Prosecco induced haze, it seems to transform into a magic mirror before my eyes.
As if to signal my life will take an exciting new turn.
An appropriate omen for my 21st, birthday, I think to myself.
When I swing open the door to enter the lobby, I crash directly into a tall, solid male figure. I stumble back, an electric jolt running through me from the unexpected impact.
He smells of cedar aftershave and clean male skin. I pull back, looking up at a man with dark hair and piercing blue eyes.
"I'm sorry," we both say simultaneously.
"Cameron Crow," I breathe, blinking hard.
My mind races, trying to process whether the Prosecco, the collision, or the sheer impossibility of it all is making me hallucinate.
"You're the girl who found my ring. We meet again."
I try to nod but feel a wave of dizziness sweep over me.
"I just need to sit down for a moment," I manage, leaning against a nearby pillar.
"Here, let me help you."
He guides me to a plush sofa in the lobby's seating area.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine. I was just celebrating my birthday with friends. Guess I had one too many.”
"How old?" he asks, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"21 tonight."
He settles beside me on the sofa, and I still can't quite believe this is happening. Cameron Crow. Here. With me.
"A tea leaf reader came to our table tonight," I say, realizing I’m ranting even as I speak. "When she heard it was my 21st birthday, she made a prediction.”
"Oh yeah? What kind of prediction?" he asks, leaning back slightly.
"She said my Prince Charming would come for me. And that he’d be tall, dark, and handsome."
I look directly at him, with a mischievous glint in my eye. "And here you are.”
Grinning, he glances at the hotel's ornate wall mirror across from us, a touch of self-aware amusement in his expression. "Well, the tabloids certainly describe me that way," he adds, a curious note of disdain in his voice.
"You don't like the tabloids?" I ask, surprised by his sudden mood shift.
"It's complicated. When you're famous, you need them—at least I did when I was starting out. They made me who I am today. But now they're trying to break me."
Cameron's jaw tightens, the easy smile gone. "And the truth is, all the attention in the world still feels empty when you go home alone.”
The honesty in his voice stuns me, cutting through the Prosecco haze with sharp clarity.
For a second he doesn’t seem like Cameron Crow, the rockstar, the larger-than-life figure plastered on magazines. Just a man, vulnerable and human.
The raw truth of his statement somehow makes this opulent lobby melt away, leaving only the two of us.
"You're cute." He reaches to me, turning my face toward him with one warm finger. "And I’m going to kiss you now, Cinderella.”
He says it like kissing a stranger, a girl he barely knows, is the most natural thing in the world.
He may have pulled this kissing trick and used this same corny line a thousand times before.
Yet his gaze holds an intensity that suggests I'm the only one in the room. That he’s saying this to me for the first time ever.
The moment his lips touch mine, I melt into the kiss like sinking into a warm jacuzzi.
Cameron’s hand slides from my chin to the nape of my neck. His thumb draws slow, deliberate circles against my skin that awaken something primal in me.
He tastes of lime, tequila and something uniquely him, warm and intoxicating. It’s a magical kiss that confirms the tea reader’s words in the most visceral way.
Everything about this feels like a dream—the plush sofa, the golden lighting, Cameron Crow's mouth on mine.
Yet, this is really happening. The tea reader was right.
I don't know how long the kiss lasts. I'm not counting. I'm just floating in a perfect bubble where fairy tales come true.
When Cameron finally pulls back, his lips brush against my ear, sending another jolt through my system.
"My place isn't far," he whispers, his voice low and husky. "Want to celebrate your 21st birthday in style?”
My body screams yes. Every nerve ending is alive, electric, buzzing with a desire I've never known.
"Well?" he says, those blue eyes holding mine, searching. "What's it going to be, Cinderella?”
The nickname sends shivers through me.
"There you are!”
I whip around, startled to see Zaza and Keesha standing in front of us.
"We've been waiting for you," Zaza says. Her expression holds a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "We came to see what was taking you so long."
"How did you find me?" My voice comes out breathless, guilty.
"The bartender came to our table. He wanted his key back," Keesha explains, then stares openly at Cameron. "You're Cameron Crow."
For a moment, both my friends just gape at him, mouths ajar.
"I was just asking your friend if she'd like to see my apartment. It's not too far," Cameron says smoothly, looking directly at me.
There's a question in his eyes, like he's giving me one last chance to choose.
Part of me wants to tell my friends to go away. To follow this gorgeous man and live out whatever fantasy he's offering. But the responsible part of me - the part that's kept me safe for twenty-one years - kicks in.
"I should go with my friends," I tell him reluctantly.
"Well, then." He stands gracefully, that rock star confidence radiating from every movement. "It was nice meeting you, Cinderella."
With that, he saunters toward the hotel elevators, not looking back. I watch him disappear behind polished brass doors, my heart still hammering from his kiss.
"Did Cameron Crow just follow you from the club?" Zaza asks.
"No, I don't think so. I guess this really is my Cinderella night."
"Tara, you were about to go back with him," Keesha says, concern creeping into her voice. "And you barely know him!"
"Yes." The admission makes me feel reckless and alive. "But I didn't."
"Good thing we found you," Zaza mutters, though she sounds almost disappointed. "Come on, let's get you home before you turn into a pumpkin."
As my friends help me to my feet, I steal one last look at the luxury surrounding us. The marble, the gold, the plush carpet that made me feel like royalty for twenty magical minutes.
Tomorrow I'll go back to being a student who collects dirty glasses as a part-time job. But tonight - tonight I was Cinderella, and Prince Charming kissed me like I was worth everything.
Maybe the tea reader knew something after all.