“So he never took the pills? You know that he never stole them?”
“Yes, I know—what part of this are you having difficulty understanding? Your brother is in prison because of me! I made that happen. I had those pills planted on him, I made the tip to the sheriff. Becky wasn’t even supposed to be there. But that was a complication easily dealt with.” He gestured to himself when he said me and I with stiff fingers and a vein bulging from his forehead.
I whetted my lips, my eyes darting between his. “How? How did you do it? How did you plant the drugs?”
“It doesn’t matter. The only thing you need to know is that I will fuck up your life, and you will wish you had never met my son.”
I shook my head, incredulous. “Why do you hate us so much?”
His snake eyes narrowed on mine and then, abruptly, he straightened and took a step backward. When he spoke again his manner was nonchalant and calm—like he hadn’t just been raging at me seconds prior.
“I hate people like you.”
My lashes fluttered at his rapid change in demeanor, the coolness of his voice. “What- what do you mean? People like me?”
“People who don’t know their place, their role. Like your mother, thinking she could leave me, that she had that choice.” His hand smoothed down his tie and he shrugged his shoulders. “Everyone has their part to play.”
I opened my mouth, sucked in an unsteady breath, then rolled my lips between my teeth and averted my eyes. Several long seconds ticked by and when he moved I flinched, my gaze darting back to his.
“I trust we understand each other?” Mr. McAlister sighed these words, as though he was bored.
I eyed him speculatively then nodded once. “I understand.”
I briefly wondered how it was possible that Phillip could have been born and raised by this man.
He smiled, revealing perfect white teeth and no warmth. “Good.” He turned from me brusquely and strolled to the exit, calling over his shoulder without turning around, “As long as you understand your role.”
The door shut behind him and the room felt impossibly quiet, static in a way that wasn’t static at all. It was like the world spun around me, and I was the single point of stillness. I counted to ten. Then, I started counting to twenty. But before I made it to the number fourteen, I heard Phillip’s voice emanating from my phone.
“Mal? Are you still there?”
I snatched it up, turned off the speaker and walked to the corner of the room. “I’m here, I’m here. Tell me you heard that. Please tell me you heard what he said to me.”
Phillip was quiet for a moment, then he blurted, “I didn’t just hear it. I recorded it.”
~*~*~*~
The next hour was a blur.
The same golf cart that brought me to central casting transported me back to the park. In a dazed fog, I went through the motions of dressing in my costume and the reapplication of my makeup.
I kept playing my conversation with Phillip’s father over and over in my mind. But it wasn’t the revelation of his framing my brother that snagged my attention—it was the end of the conversation. Specifically, it was his assertion that everyone had a role, a station, a lot in life.
His words pissed me off.
However, I discovered as I thought more about them, I wasn’t pissed off at Mr. McAlister.
Wait, let me stop there and clarify: Yes, I was pissed off at him for being a douchey nut job and a wrecking ball responsible for my family’s destruction. Yes, I was angry as all hell that he’d framed my brother and was arrogant enough to think he would get away with it.
But, no, I was not pissed off Mr. McAlister for his narrow-minded stereotyping and class system philosophy.
I was pissed off at myself because I’d been subscribing to the same bullshit philosophy. I’d been caught up in it since I was fourteen. I would still be a card carrying member if last night had never happened, if it hadn’t rained, if Phillip hadn’t helped me, and if he hadn’t gone to his parents and stood up for us.
These thoughts spurred my movements as I rushed to the tunnel. Unlike the parade earlier in the day and despite the fact that I ran the entire distance from the dressing room, I was actually two minutes late for the 7:00 pm float. I was the last cast member to climb aboard and paused, leaning against the railing, just as I mounted the top. I needed a moment to catch my breath.
“Nice of you to show up.”
I lifted just my eyes from my seated position and found the owner of the voice—Sleeping Beauty—glaring at me with distaste.
I straightened to my full height and said, “Fuck off, princess.”
Without waiting for her reaction, I turned and wound through the fake blackthorn bushes, glancing to my left, searching for Phillip. He was in the crow’s nest at the top of the mobile stage—which was my typical location at the start of the parade.
We were already moving, the float pulling onto the ramp leading to Main Street. This gave us a little less than five minutes to speak before the park-goers would be able to see us, and we would have to behave like mortal enemies.
I caught his eye and he reached down as I climbed up the ladder, helping me up the final two rungs.
As soon as we were on the same level, he wrapped me in his arms. His hold was almost painful and I knew the front of his smock would be covered in green make-up, but I didn’t care. I needed this, needed him, needed the reassurance of his touch.
“I am so sorry you went through that. I didn’t think-” I felt his chest rise and fall under my cheek before he continued, “I always knew he was an unfeeling bastard, but I had no idea what he was capable of. I had no idea about Lincoln.”
Not wanting to let go, I spoke into his chest. “The recording?”
He tensed, his hold tightened, then he released me just enough so that we could look into each other’s eyes.
“I emailed it to myself and backed it up on the cloud. I have it. It’s safe.” His expression was pained yet sincere. I reminded myself that this, turning his father in to free my brother, would cost Phillip. He would live with this decision for the rest of his life.
My eyes stung, but I couldn’t afford tears. Therefore I blinked my eyes, staying the liquid emotion, but my voice betrayed me when I said, “Thank you. Thank you for-”
He shook his head. “No. I’m sorry you had to go through that. Some of the things he said…”
“Phillip, listen. I- we- we need to talk about what comes next. I want to be with you, see you every day, and we will get to the point. But not yet, not now.”
His expression of pained sincerity transformed into exasperation. “No. Not good enough.”
“Well it has to be. Because you need to finish college and I need to be take care of myself until I can be a full partner in our relationship.”
“I’m not wasting any more years.”
“That’s not what I want either, but-”
“Hey! Phillip get down here!”
We both twisted in the tower, found Sleeping Beauty standing at the base, her hands on her hips, and her pretty face twisted into a scowl.
“We’re almost to Main Street, and Prince Phillip can’t be in the tower with Maleficent!” She called up to us, “He has to be in the glen with the princess.” Her words were a loud, ridiculous, petulant, pseudo whisper. I rolled my eyes.
But she was right. If we were all going to be in the right place before the float made it to the park and the paying customers, he needed to get moving.
We glanced at each other in unison and his expression was one of frustrated despondency.
“Dammit,” he ground out, still clearly torn between staying and leaving.
As I studied him I thought about the fact that I’d been living my life as though I deserved less, like I was the bad guy, like I had a place and that place was not with Phillip.
The reality is, there are no bad guys and good guys. You are the choices you make and the battles you fight. I was finished choosing to be l
ess and refusing to fight. The incidental nature of your birth doesn’t define you any more than your name does.
I might be Maleficent, but—by God—I belonged with Prince Phillip.
I moved my arm, blocking his path down the ladder, and trapped him with my gaze.
“You’re not going down there.” I licked my lips, which were painted dark purple.
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I’m not?”
“No. You’re staying here. With me. And you’re going to kiss me in front of all those people.”
His eyes widened and the side of his mouth hitched; hesitant wonder claimed his features as he studied me. “I am?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“But what about the fairy tale? What about the princess?” His voice, low and intimate, told me he gave less than two shits about the fairy tale or the princess.
“Just because she’s a princess doesn’t mean she gets what she wants.”
“Is that so?” His arms slid around me, his hands moving to cup my bottom just as we pulled into the main thoroughfare, surrounded by hundreds—if not thousands—of park attendees.
“Yep.” I nodded, my gaze and attention fully preoccupied by his goddamn fucking crazy beautiful mouth.
Phillip lowered his lips to mine, curved in a small smile, and I whispered just before we kissed, “Sometimes the prince ends up with the witch.”
Volume ONE out now
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Forbidden Fruit Vol 2 Page 52
