Midnight Gardens

The Stranger in the Garden

A/N: This is my entry for the Wattpad Romance Halloween Masquerade Party Contest. Inspired by Cinderella meeting her prince at the ball, the prompt was to retell the story. Set on Halloween, with an instant connection, and the party ending without revealing true identities.

#RomanceHalloweenMasqueradeContest

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"How are you still sleeping?" My step-sister whines behind me. "And whose shoes are those?"

Smiling into my pillow, I savor the last few remnants of my dream before turning to face her and reality. "Good morning to you, too."

Daizy throws herself on my bed, groaning, "Worst night ever."

I can't disagree with her more. At first, I wanted nothing to do with yet another masquerade gala hosted by the Royalian family. There were two days I hated leaving my house: April Fool's Day and Halloween. I'd already had my candy ready, and I was excited because my block was always a hot spot for trick-or-treaters, but Daizy had dragged me kicking and screaming to accompany her to the party.

Thank God for that because it ended up being one of the best nights of my life.

Before it all went to hell of course.

"It wasn't so bad," I whisper, trying not to rub my happiness in her face. Even though her bad night was of her own doing, my heart goes out to her.

"Where were you half the night, anyway?" she asks.

"I was just hanging out in the garden."

"By yourself?"

I shake my head. "No, not by myself."

I had escaped to the garden to be alone. The air in the crowded house felt stuffy, and watching my sweet and confident step-sister lurking in the shadows, pining over a man she should have nothing to do with, was getting painful.

The air outside was fresh and welcoming despite the lack of anyone else being outside, Or so I thought, and I relished the moment of solitude.

"Is that your disguise or your true colors?"

I turned toward the smooth voice, shocked his sudden presence hadn't startled me and smiled at his opening line. It was also the theme of the night; a play on opposites and the clichéd heaven and hell. The dress code was simple, in theory. To dress as you see yourself versus how other saw you.

Some men dressed as women; women dressed as men, ice queens dressed as babies and good girls dressed like devils. I was in the latter group, admittedly relishing in the attention. As people wondered if this was me or just a part I was playing, to which my steady reply was, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

His wide smile crept up slowly, the low lighting, mask, and five o'clock shadow doing nothing to hide a gnarly scar on his cheek.

As the air crackled around us, my hand flinched. Instinctively, I wanted to reach up and run my fingers over his face, ask him if he's okay, kiss the scar all better and demand names of who hurt him. Then I remembered we just met.

"Hiding?" he asked, and if possible, his voice seemed even lower than before.

I shook my head, taking in more of the fresh air for emphasis. "Just taking a little breather from inside. The air was getting a little stale and stuffy."

"Do you mind if I join you?" He took a step closer. "It's a little stuffy inside for me too."

"Not at all," I said, detecting his form of 'stuffy' was more about the crowd and less about the crowd size.