“He'd seen how uncomfortable she'd looked being the center of attention. His aunt had told him how, when she'd asked Cinderella what she wished to wear for the ball, she'd replied, "Something blue. It was my mother's favorite color, and I wish with all my heart she could have met Charles and seen us together."
Other young women in the kingdom would have asked for a gown fit for a princess, for satin gloves rimmed with crystals, a tiara studded with rubies. Cinderella had asked for none of these things.
That was why he loved her. For the earnest way she thought of her words before she spoke, or how her eyebrows danced when she smiled, or how her voice became singsong when she teased him.
That was why he missed her.”