by Sarah Noffke
“Wow, that makes sense,” Paris mused. “So it wasn’t a war that made the love meter go down. Was it Valentine’s Day yesterday? The aftermath, like a lot of women woke up unhappy that their guy got them generic chocolates when they heard that their friend got some heartfelt gift.”
Willow offered Mae Ling a proud look before turning her attention back to Paris. “That’s a very astute observation and usually exactly what happens after Valentine’s Day. The men are resentful too for other reasons because people really shouldn’t be forced to love each other more on a particular day. It should be natural and an everyday thing. However, after seeing a bit of an uptick after last night, it’s rare to see it decline this much the next day.”
“We think that this particular decline is due to a recent situation where a Cinderella and Prince Charming failed to match,” Mae Ling imparted.
The headmistress nodded in agreement. “Yes, unfortunately, a few weeks ago we had a veteran fairy godmother make a mistake, and she botched a match with a Ms. Amelia Rose and Mr. Grayson McGregor, who by all of our findings are true lovers.”
“That made the love meter go down by half?” Paris asked.
“Well, remember what I said about the domino effect,” Willow stated. “Ms. Rose, frustrated by her failed encounter with Mr. McGregor finally accepted a proposal with her long-time on-and-off-again boyfriend, Bryce Tyler.”
“Who she’s not at all in love with,” Paris guessed.
Mae Ling nodded. “Making the love meter decline because she’s forcing herself into something and missing her opportunity for true love, which someone only finds once.”
Willow let out a soft breath. “I’m certain that Ms. Rose felt the spark when she met Mr. McGregor and now feels the loss of things not going well.”
“That’s a big effect on the love meter for two people not matching up who are true lovers,” Paris observed, looking at the instrument on the wall.
“Well, Mr. McGregor also forced himself into a relationship that’s unfulfilling and toxic,” Mae Ling explained.
“And to make matters much worse,” Willow continued. “Ms. Rose, with the funding of her fiancé, started her competing corporation across the river from Mr. McGregor’s and the two have wasted little time trying to ruin each other. Their employees are feuding, their customers getting involved in sabotaging, and the whole rivalry has created some very hostile feelings.”
“That’s spreading hate instead of love,” Paris guessed.
“Yes, so as you can see, a fairy godmother’s job is very important and also very delicate,” Willow said. “One mistake can have far-reaching effects.”
Mae Ling sighed. “The longer this goes on, the worse it will get, I fear.”
The headmistress nodded in agreement. “And the harder it will be to get these two lovers together, which I’m starting to believe is a crucial match.”
“It sounds like when we miss the chance to get two people together that it becomes exponentially harder,” Paris observed.
“Correct,” Willow chirped. “Which is why match-making is a fine art form and one that we must perfect to avoid situations like this.”
She stood, eyeing the love meter briefly before shaking her head with disappointment. “Well, we will have to hope that we can get this situation under control soon before it gets any worse. For now, we should focus on your education.” Willow held her arm out to the door. “Shall I lead the way to Art of Love?”
Paris nodded, looking forward to the class now, knowing how important it was to study love to create successful matches.
Chapter Seven
“You’re in the wrong class,” Becky jabbed when Paris entered the classroom that Headmistress Starr had indicated. She’d hung back momentarily in the hallway to speak with another fairy godmother.
Paris had a motto that wasn’t like the phrase, “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” It was more like, “When someone is annoyed by you, really take advantage of this.”
She took the seat right next to Becky and scooted it closer to the girl. “So I shouldn’t sit here then?”
Becky grimaced and slid away as though repulsed by Paris. That only made her inch closer.
“Headmistress Starr,” Becky fired as soon as the fairy godmother swept into the large classroom set up with typical desks and chairs, a chalkboard at the front, and electronic equipment. “Will you please tell Paris that she doesn’t belong in this class since it’s for second-years?”
Willow blinked at the girl before offering a polite smile. “Oh, but she does. I think she’s ready for this, especially after testing out of Cotillion early.”
That brought a sour expression to Becky’s face. “I didn’t think we could test out of classes.”
“Well,” the headmistress began cheerfully. “It hasn’t happened before, but I don’t see any reason that it can’t. If someone shows they’ve mastered the curriculum, there’s no point in holding them back.” She eyed how close Paris was to Becky and tilted her head, momentarily confused. Seeming to dismiss the confusion, Willow glanced out at the rest of the class. “Your last assignment was to study the film Sabrina and do a full analysis on it regarding why the main character falls for Linus Larrabee. Who wants to share their report first?”
Paris’ eyes widened. “We study romantic comedies in this class?”
Apparently, most didn’t speak out of turn in the headmistress’ class, according to the many gasps around the room. However, Willow simply smiled thoughtfully.
“We study romantic movies, love ballads, and poetry,” the fairy godmother explained. “It’s all about understanding the art of love and how it’s created. For instance, it helps us as matchmakers to understand how two people must grow to fall in love.”
Paris didn’t make a habit of watching romantic comedies. She preferred music that she could bang her head to. Poetry was what girls named Fern wrote on their palms while lying in the grass and dreamily watching the football team practice in the distance. However, she’d watched Sabrina a time or two because it was her Uncle John’s favorite movie. It was also because of him that she knew the words to every single Beatle’s song and how to fix a toaster and replace a spark plug.
Glancing around the room, Willow said, “Now, reports. Who wants to offer theirs first?”
“It was all about timing,” Paris blurted, surprising herself more than anyone else, although she did get some pretty shocked glances from around the room. She stared back at all the gawkers and shrugged. “What? I’ve seen the movie, and none of you were piping up.”
“I’d love to hear what you have to say about the movie,” Willow stated. “You said it was about timing.”
“Yeah, Sabrina needed to leave and go to Paris to evolve as a person and a woman,” Paris began slowly at first, her confidence growing as the headmistress encouraged her with a continuous nod of her head. “It wasn’t really about becoming a woman or getting refined or a new haircut. I think that Sabrina needed to expand her world and realize there was a land outside the Larrabee estate. When she returned, the Larrabee’s weren’t her whole world anymore. She wasn’t a girl watching the parties from the tree but rather someone they wanted to attend because she had something to offer. Paris unlocks the magic inside her.”
When Paris finished talking, she couldn’t believe all those words came out of her mouth.
Willow smiled broadly at Paris, an appreciative look on her face. “That’s an accurate assessment. Confidence was key to Sabrina finding love and attracting the right person for her.”
“She also still has a beautiful vulnerability,” Paris continued, that bit just occurring to her. “She’s still the young girl who pined for the wealthy and worldly Linus Larrabee, but she’s unashamed of who she is and not afraid of showing it. What does she say…” Paris thought for a moment, feeling all eyes on her as the line from her uncle’s favorite movie came back to her. “She says, ‘I have learned how to live, how to be in the world and of t
he world, and not just to stand aside and watch. And I will never, never again run away from life. Or from love, either.’”
A hush fell over the classroom and Paris thought for a moment that she’d answered the question wrong. Willow’s clapping made her flinch. “That was perfect. Have you watched the movie recently?”
Paris shook her head, her face turning red. “No, I’ve seen it a few times and have a knack for good lines.”
“How very romantic of you,” Willow observed.
“What I don’t understand,” a girl at the back began. “Is why Linus falls for Sabrina. I mean, he can have anyone in the world. She’s the chauffeur’s daughter. It’s disgraceful to his family.”
Paris glanced back at the girl, giving her an incredulous expression. “Spoken like the real privileged and ignorant. I think it’s obvious why the millionaire fell for her.”
The girl shot Paris an annoyed look.
“I’d like to hear your reasoning,” Willow stated, interrupting the heated stares between the two. “Go on, Paris.”
She turned and faced the headmistress. “Well, Linus can have it all. He’s had it all. Sabrina is something different. She’s not all pretenses and glitz and glamour. What you see is what you get with her, and it’s refreshing. Against his attempts, the rich tycoon falls for her because she’s pure. I think he says, ‘I don’t deserve her. I know that. But I need her, and I don’t need anything.’”
“That’s perfectly put,” Willow commended as many students bent and scribbled notes all of a sudden. “Your assessment is correct. Sabrina evolves, becoming a whole person who is genuine. And Linus, well, it took trying to deceive the chauffeur’s daughter to realize what he’d been missing all along. She was what made him realize he hadn’t been living, which is exactly something that our Cinderellas can do for their Prince Charmings, and vice-versa.”
“Exactly,” Paris found herself speaking again without her permission. “It’s highlighted in the poem that’s Sabrina’s namesake. It’s about a sprite who saves a virgin from a fate worse than death.”
Beside her, so unassuming that Paris didn’t even realize she was there, Penny popped up to attention. “That’s right! Linus asked if Sabrina was the virgin.”
Paris nodded. “And she informs him that she’s the savior.”
“The unlikely savior,” Penny added. “Because no one would expect for the chauffeur’s daughter to save the millionaire, but as he says to her, he’s been following in others’ footsteps all his life. He even asks her to save him, saying, you’re the only one who can.”
Pressing her hands in front of her chest, Willow beamed as the two went back and forth, and many started to exchange comments excitedly. “Well, I’d say this is one of the more energetic discussions we’ve had. Why don’t you all divide up into pairs to share your analysis of the movie?”
Turning to face Penny, Paris gave her a questioning look, and she nodded adamantly, silently agreeing to be her partner.
When the ruckus from chairs moving had died down, and the groups were talking, Willow breezed over to where Paris was with Penny. “Thanks for your participation in today’s discussion. I didn’t think you’d have much to contribute since it was your first class, but I was wrong. The whole thing reminds me of my favorite quote from the movie Sabrina.”
Paris thought for a moment. “They say you’re the world’s only living heart donor?” she guessed, thinking of the line that Sabrina said to the supposed heartless tycoon, Linus.
Willow shook her head. “No, at the end of the movie when Linus surprises Sabrina, repeating her words from before, ‘Paris is always a good idea.’”
Chapter Eight
Paris might have been able to find usefulness in the art of love, magical gardening, and baking classes, but she was still struggling with the purpose of ballroom dancing.
Wilfred, sensing her hesitation when told to practice the waltz, offered her a pursed expression. “Ballroom dancing is a discipline and an art form. When we master new skills, we create all sorts of new potentials for ourselves.”
“Cool.” Paris crossed her arms as she regarded the other students practicing in the ballroom. “So once I master this dancing business, I get to move on? Like, onto calligraphy in the twenty-first century or something equally as useless like yo-yoing or parkouring?”
“We don’t offer those courses here at the college,” Wilfred said in a very dignified voice.
“Yes, I get that.” Paris batted her eyelashes at the butler, also her ballroom dancing instructor. “That was one of those jokes. How about if I allow you to teach me how to ballroom dance and in return, I teach you how to laugh?”
He gave her a measured glare. “I don’t think that laughing is something one can teach.”
“Look at monkeys,” Paris countered. “And giants and gnomes. Those guys at one point couldn’t laugh to save their mines of gemstones and coal. You get a few dozen beers in them, and they’ll laugh as hard at a dad joke as a fairy.”
“Are you suggesting that I get inebriated to accomplish this laughing?” Wilfred asked, quite seriously.
Paris threw her hands into the air, exasperated. “No, but I might need to get sauced to deal with you. I can’t do this ballroom dancing business unless I get to make jokes and my comedy routine is useless unless there’s someone to laugh in response. I don’t tell these jokes for my benefit…well, I do, but it’s best with an audience.”
“I’ll laugh at your jokes,” Hemingway said at her shoulder. “But they must be funny, perfectly timed, and both witty and crude.”
“Deal,” Paris said with a grin.
Wilfred sighed. “Oh, good, Mr. Nobel, would you be so kind as to be Ms. Beaufont’s dance partner for the next several minutes? I have other things to attend to.”
“What he’s saying is that I’m giving him a headache with my antics,” Paris teased.
“I am physically incapable of experiencing a headache,” Wilfred replied.
“Or in discerning sarcasm,” Paris quipped. “That’s fine. I’ll teach the class on the Art of Comedy, and you can teach me how to wave from a train and drink tea with my pinky in the air.”
“Those are not formal disciplines,” Wilfred began, then nodded. “That was one of those jokes again, wasn’t it?”
“Not a very good one, apparently.” Paris eyed the tame grin on Hemingway’s face.
“Yes, I’ll be happy to lead Paris in a waltz,” Hemingway informed the butler. “I’m certain she’s not as bad at it as she thinks.”
She glanced down at his boots. “I hope those are sturdy shoes you’re wearing.”
He chuckled and offered her his hand. “That laugh I gave away. The others you must earn.”
She took his hand, finding it warm in hers, and allowed herself to be pulled into his grasp as he led them in a waltz.
Hemingway was surprisingly a good dancer, making it a little easier for Paris since he led her in the dance. However, Paris still stepped on his shoes a few times and made the wrong moves continuously. “I find that it’s better to busy your mind when dancing. Otherwise, you’ll overthink the steps.”
“Should we do word problems then?” Paris teased. “Math keeps my mind busy with confusion and frustration.”
He gave her a sideways smile but no laugh. “I think simple conversation usually does the trick. Last night was exciting…”
Paris nearly tripped on her feet, but thankfully Hemingway kept her upright, leading her around the dance floor. “Yeah, you mean the part where killer doves attacked our Valentine’s Day event or when we all took a giant shower together?”
A glint flashed in his blue eyes. “Although that was a rarity for any fairy godmother event that I’ve attended, I was referring to your new situation and having the whole school learn it at once. You handled the attention well.”
Paris shook her head. “I’m pretty certain I went into shock and still haven’t come out of it yet.”
“Understandably so,”
he offered, spinning her around. “I’m sure you have lots of questions.”
She knew he was trying to be sensitive and supportive, but Paris didn’t know what to do with that kind of question, so she did what she did best and deflected. “I do. Like, Headmistress Starr says that enrollment is down at the college. What was it before?”
He toggled his head back and forth, blowing out a breath. “It’s been slowly dwindling. I think there were only a handful of first-years this term and there are none lined up for the next year.” Hemingway glanced out at the dance floor where several students were practicing. “Whereas being a fairy godmother used to be seen as an honor, now it doesn’t have the same appeal to the younger generation. I think it was our parents and their parents who romanticized the idea of creating true love around the globe.”
The mention of parents made Paris tense suddenly, nearly sweeping Hemingway off his feet from her blunder. He recovered easily, pausing them in the middle of the dance floor. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, swallowed, and diverted her gaze from his scrutiny. “Yeah, and I can understand. Why would any modern-day fairy want to make herself look prematurely old by putting on that blue gown and getting gray hair?”
Hemingway nodded. “It’s believed that fairy godmothers have to look trustworthy, and no one trusts anyone more than a grandmother type.”
“I guess.” Paris shrugged, never having met her grandmothers. She never thought to ask Uncle John about them—or any other relatives. For some strange reason, she’d always accepted that he was her only living relative without question. Another weird piece of the puzzle she was putting together.
“The students who are here now are usually from old families who wanted them to follow in their ancestors’ footsteps,” Hemingway explained while leading them back in the waltz. “Even those loyal followers are few and far between. At this rate, the school really won’t churn out very many fairy godmothers for the agencies to employ.”
