Thank heavens. The very idea of zombies creeped her out.
“Trends are trends are trends,” Charming said. “Sometimes writers want to put a new spin on the trope.”
“Trope,” Mellie said. “What am I supposed to do? Write about the misunderstood stepmother?”
“Yes,” Charming said.
Her breath caught. He was serious.
“You could write a nonfiction book,” he said, reaching into a display in a nearby booth, pulling out some drivel about the power of human relationships. “But I worry about that.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because what’s true for you and me—nonfiction, if you will—sounds fantastic to most folks in the Greater World. Plus you’d have to do talk shows, and guest appearances and interviews, and if you started talking about your relationship with Snow White, you’d undercut your credibility. And no one can research your background—not completely. At least, not here in the Greater World.”
Mellie frowned, her head spinning.
“So what do you want me to write?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Women’s fiction, maybe,” he said.
“What?”
“Something very Jodi Picoult,” he said, grabbing a book. “Or Barbara Delinsky.”
She didn’t know what he meant. He grabbed yet another book and tucked it in her bag.
“Or,” he said, “better yet, romance novels with wicked stepmothers as the heroines.”
“The poor misunderstood stepmother who finally ends up with Prince Charming?” She couldn’t resist. She added so much venom to her tone that he let his hand drop from her arm.
“Something like that,” he said.
At least he managed to keep the look of disgust off his face, even though the idea repelled him enough to make him realize he’d been touching her.
She shook her head. “I don’t write.”
“You can’t write?” he asked.
She glanced at him, realized he thought she was illiterate, like so many in the Kingdoms.
“I can read and write, thank you,” she said, keeping that bite in her voice. “I just have never written anything longer than a letter.”
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he said.
“I don’t have enough magic to conjure one of these things,” she said.
“That’s not what I mean,” he said.
“Then what do you mean?” she asked.
“There are a lot of writers here who’ll write the book for you,” he said.
“They’d do that?” she asked.
“For the right amount of money,” he said.
“You’re playing some kind of joke on me, right?”
“No,” he said. “Ask anyone.”
So she did. Without Charming hanging on her. She went to any booth that had signs reading “author signing” and talked to the author. The poor person usually looked grateful for someone to make conversation, although there was always a moment of terror (or barely disguised greed) when she mentioned that she wanted help writing a book.
By the time she was done, she found out that the process was called “ghost writing” (she wondered if ghosts had started it all—they had had pretty good press over the years) and a lot of people would do the work, for a fee.
She had tucked nearly a novel’s worth of business cards into her book bag. Charming had stayed close by, although he’d been filling his book bag too—as well as other bags. He looked almost as heavily laden as the booksellers she’d seen earlier.
“This is unbelievable,” she said as she got closer to him.
“If you can’t beat them, join them,” he said.
“But I know nothing about this world,” she said. “It would take a lot of effort.”
“You know the Greater World,” he said. “You’ve been in and out of it for more than a century.”
“I mean the book world,” she said. “I know nothing.”
“There are a lot of places that will help you learn about it,” he said.
She felt a thread of disappointment. She had hoped he would help. But of course he wouldn’t. He just wanted her to stop yelling about banning books.
He said, “I’m sure we can find some writing books here, and I know some folks who’ll help with marketing. Then I’ll read whatever you write.”
She looked at him in astonishment. “You’d do that?”
He mirrored her astonishment right back at her. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, I thought…” She let her voice trail off. She wasn’t going to tell him what she thought.
She stammered for a moment, groping for the right word. Finally she said, “Thank you. I’d love to take you up on this.”
He grinned. “Then come with me, Mellie. We have to find you some books on writing and marketing, not to mention some current vampire novels, and some cutting-edge paranormal romance. You ready to do some research?”
“Yes,” she said. Her heart lifted. She wasn’t sure if he caused it or his idea caused it.
But she felt hopeful for the first time in years.
Finally she had something to try that felt positive—like she was doing something besides screaming at people.
And she had help.
Beautiful, charming, princely help.
He was so kind.
Before she could stop herself, she kissed him. She meant it as a thank-you on the cheek, but somehow she missed and hit his lips.
And he stood very still, his eyes open, the surprise clear.
She immediately stepped back. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m just so…”
Her voice trailed off when she realized that his cheeks were red. He was blushing, and the blush made him more handsome than ever.
“It’s all right,” he said.
For a brief, almost surreal moment, she thought he was going to put his hand against her face again, pull her close and kiss her.
Then one of the stout booksellers, dripping book bags from all of his limbs, slammed into Charming, and sent him stumbling backwards.
Mellie reached for him, but he held up a hand, signaling he wasn’t hurt.
“This is quite the place,” she said, trying to cover up her mistake.
“Yes,” he said, the flush still on his cheeks, making his eyes seem bright.
“You promised to help me research,” she said.
“Yes,” he said, then seemed to gather himself. “I did.”
He took her book bag, then put a hand on the small of her back, sending another tingle through her. Only this time, she didn’t impulsively act on it.
She’d already made a fool of herself in front of this man, letting her emotions run wild. She’d been angry at him, nasty to him, and then when he was nice, she kissed him.
Women probably did that to him all the time.
Which explained why he had stood so still. He was charming. Charming. And charming people didn’t tell you when you’d overstepped a boundary. They just pretended like it hadn’t happened.
Like he was doing now, leading her through the crowd, pointing out books. He was helping her, even though he didn’t have to. He had so many other things to do.
But she would enjoy each moment while she could.
And she would promise him that she would never ever try to ban books again.
The Rough Draft
Chapter 9
He couldn’t stop thinking about her. That was the strangest thing of all.
Charming couldn’t stop thinking about Mellie, and that sudden, unexpected kiss. In fact, that kiss had become his refuge, the way her soft skin felt under his hands had become his escape.
And he needed escapes.
Charming pulled his silver Mercedes into the parking lot of the most exclusive private school in Beverly Hills. There were countless other cars already parked, as well as a few limos. Some had drivers. Most of the rest weren’t being driven by parents, but by nannies and au pairs.
He ease
d down the windows and shut off the engine—not that it made much difference to the interior noise. The car purred when it was on, so soft that it seemed less annoying than a background hum.
Then he rested his head against the back of the leather seat and closed his eyes, just for a moment.
If anyone had asked him how he expected his future to go after that book fair, he would have smiled. He would have said that he had an excuse to call the most beautiful woman he had ever met. He would invite her to his condo, or maybe out for coffee. He would talk books to her, talk writing with her, and gradually, talk about the Kingdoms and how hurt they both were.
Then he would kiss her, instead of pulling away.
He regretted that—his lack of response. He played that kiss over and over in his mind. He had been so stunned that he couldn’t bring his arms up, couldn’t quite lean in. He hadn’t realized she was attracted too, and by the time he understood that one important fact, she had stepped away, acting embarrassed.
No matter what he did, he couldn’t rekindle the moment. So he had exchanged phone numbers with her, and talked to her about writing, and set up their first meeting for the very next day.
Who knew he would have to cancel?
He pulled out his cell phone and looked at the time emblazoned across the screen. Ten minutes. Ten minutes of quiet. Ten minutes before he had to make decisions again.
He got home from the book fair—and his life immediately turned into chaos.
His mother had called him on his other cell phone, the magical one, the one that could contact anyone in the Kingdom at any time. She had snuck away from his father and gave Charming the scoop:
Ella had decided she didn’t want to be a mother any longer. So she dumped the girls on the castle doorstep. Charming’s father, the King, took the girls back in, so long as they remained quiet and didn’t appear in public until it was time to make an “advantageous” marriage. Charming’s mother had contacted him, quietly, without her husband’s knowledge, saying she didn’t like what was happening with the girls.
Neither did Ella’s stepmother, Lavinia. She had called moments later and said (among other things): You have no idea what they’re learning here. With your father’s negative attitudes, the Kingdom’s reaction to the divorce, and the way women are still second-class citizens, your daughters are getting the wrong message.
Lavinia was the one who urged Charming to sue for full custody. She said Ella wouldn’t fight him. She also stressed that things had turned dire.
She wouldn’t say why, and neither would Charming’s mother.
But anything that concerned his girls and the word “dire” made him run to the Kingdoms immediately.
Although he had found a moment to call Mellie. And once again, he had sounded like an idiot.
He’d told her he had an emergency in the Kingdoms with his girls. She had made some kind of protest, but he didn’t hear it all because his Kingdom phone was ringing again. So he had said something stupid about being back within a month and helping her then.
He had no idea why he had chosen a month, but he had been right to do so. It had taken forever to get the new custody decree, even though Ella didn’t fight it. Ella hadn’t even shown up in court, forfeiting her rights to the girls by that move alone.
Charming’s girls were a mess, grateful to see him, but more uncertain of themselves than they had ever been. He had made a decision then and there to bring them back to the Greater World with him. The Kingdoms were destroying them, taking their strong personalities and molding them into simpering things.
He liked strong women, even though his father didn’t. And whenever his father started talking to him about the way he was encouraging the girls toward bad behavior, Charming let his mind wander to Mellie—and that kiss.
That kiss. It had sustained him through the transition to the Greater World. Through the purchase of a house appropriate for raising children, not a condo for bachelors. Through the hiring of staff, particularly since he had left his most trusted valet and his closest friend in charge of the bookstore in the Kingdom. No matter how much Charming’s father pushed, Charming wouldn’t give up the Charming Way.
Although he thought about it. Then he realized he had enough money to start a bookstore in the Greater World. Enough money. He shook his head.
He had money. That wasn’t an issue. He’d learned long ago that gold bought a lot in the Greater World. He wasn’t as rich as he was in the Kingdoms, but he was better off than almost anyone else in the Greater Los Angeles Area, which was saying something.
He could just spend his days managing his money, reading, and parenting his girls, but he knew that wouldn’t be enough. So he was looking for a storefront, and trying to figure out how he could build a place that wouldn’t lose money. Independent bookstores seemed to be an iffy proposition in the Greater World, which was proving to be a shock.
But first, he had had to deal with his daughters and their transition. He had spent most of his time searching for a school, one that would tolerate his daughters’ quirks. He hoped he found it.
Today would tell. They had just experienced their first day at a Greater World School.
And he’d been worried all day. Worried, and thinking of Mellie. Thinking he should call her.
Of course, he had thought that ever since he got back, but he wasn’t sure what he would say. He would need to apologize for failing to call. (He could have called from the Kingdoms, but he kept putting that off. Truth be told, he didn’t like the phone.) He wanted to see her, and he kept making excuses to himself that he wouldn’t call her until he could see her.
Which meant a lot of time went by, more time than he had planned.
He glanced at his phone again. Nine minutes until school ended. Nine minutes to worry about his daughters. Nine minutes to think of a way to approach Mellie.
He scrolled through the contacts list, saw her name, and stared at it, like he had done countless times before. He was scared. Not of women, but of relationships. Things had gotten so bad with Ella that he didn’t even want to try.
That was the bottom of it all. His marriage had left him so badly injured that he—a man who had fought three separate wars—was afraid to contact a woman.
So his thumb did it for him. It pressed her number, and the phone dialed.
His breath caught. He had to hang up. He needed to hang up.
But before he could, Mellie answered.
She said hello.
Chapter 10
Mellie sat in her third coffee shop of the day. This one was large and crowded, with some kind of jazzy music playing in the background. It had a large counter and efficient baristas, who worked like a well-planned team.
She was becoming a coffee shop connoisseur. The coffee shop closest to the Malibu beach house she had rented had a lot of “aw-shucks-whatever” employees who couldn’t seem to make a simple latte.
She could make a simple latte these days. She had bought a laptop—her fourth since she had begun this project—and had started lugging it to coffee shops where—she’d read—writers spent their days, able to concentrate on their work and yet feeling as if the people around them were—what? Companions? Co-workers?
Mellie didn’t know, but she was beginning to think they were all more interesting than she was. And here, with all the tables filled by scruffy-looking people tapping contentedly on their laptops (or talking about deal points on the phone—loudly, so everyone else heard), she was beginning to think they were all more successful than she was too.
They were more successful at writing. Or at least, at typing.
She was no longer sure why she was trying this. She had been so inspired by Charming. His solution to her problems seemed so elegant, so simple.
Write a book, he said, as if anyone could do it.
Write a book.
She was trying. At first, it seemed easy. She rented a house in Malibu—writers all lived in Malibu or in New York. She’d set up her computer in her
fancy office overlooking the ocean, and for the first week, she reclined on the deck, reading all those books she’d gotten for free at the book fair.
And trying not to feel abandoned by Charming.
Those moments in the book fair had seemed magical. He was so handsome, and he seemed to know everyone. He walked her through the place, her hand tucked in his arm, his other hand occasionally covering hers. Some of his glamour trickled down on her, making her feel beautiful.
People smiled at her. They talked to her. They explained things to her.
They didn’t call security guards on her.
If only she hadn’t kissed him.
Not that the kiss had been a bad one. He hadn’t felt it, of course, but she had—that tingle when their lips touched, that moment of yes, this is right. Followed immediately by panic when she realized he hadn’t participated, had in fact just stood there, staring at her, waiting for her to get done.
At least, that’s how she interpreted it. How many other women had kissed him like that, drawn by his looks, his charm, his amazingly warm personality.
And to his credit, he didn’t say anything. Just smiled ruefully, blushed, and tucked her hand in his arm again as if nothing had happened.
For him, nothing had.
For her, her entire perspective had changed. Two husbands—and never had she felt like that during a chaste kiss. She had finally found a man she was completely attracted to, and he viewed her as a mildly crazy woman in need of his help.
She made herself sip her latte and stare at the screen. Around her, conversation echoed. The jazz seemed more mellow than it had a moment before.
She had such dreams, leaving that book fair. Not only would people start taking her seriously, not only would she strike a blow for stepmothers everywhere, but she would be able to spend some time with Charming. They had exchanged email addresses and cell phone numbers, and he had promised to help her write the book, giving her advice and guiding her in what he called “the right direction.”
It didn’t matter that he hadn’t felt the spark. She would talk to him, and maybe befriend him, and maybe he was the kind of man that valued friendships with women, understood that friendships were the building blocks to a true, long-lasting solid relationship.
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