by Laura Kenyon
“I’m not scowling,” Rapunzel said, catching an involuntarily glimpse of another passenger’s screen two rows down. A teenage girl with headphones was watching some trashy news program about the Wickenhams. It had probably been spliced together while Belle was bleeding out in the emergency room. The producers had probably hoped she’d die so they could up the ratings.
She chomped down on her cheeks but couldn’t take her eyes away as a bunch of headlines flooded the screen: Donner pleads not guilty to attempted murder, gets out on bail . . . Belle to leave hospital Wednesday … Parliament questions future of the monarchies . . . Crackdowns on magic cause uproar … Kiarra Kane: The trial of the century’s wild card.
Rapunzel’s chest rose and fell so fast, she could feel her bra pulling away from her shirt.
“God, I hate the media,” she said. “I can’t believe I used to be part of that. They’re just a bunch of nosy, blood-thirsty bullies who slap up whatever headlines will start the most fires.”
“Then stop looking at it,” Ethan suggested, tilting forward to obscure her view. “They don’t even know what they’re talking about.” His eyebrows rose a little, then he leaned closer to her and whispered, “They’re just desperate to know what happened, and you already do. Don’t get caught up in all the packaging.”
“I know,” she whispered back, shaking her head at the glittery talking heads and their cattle audience. “And you’re right.” He tipped back in surprise, unblocking a photo montage of Belle dancing with Donner on her wedding day; Belle telling a Mirror reporter about her pregnancy and Donner’s affair; Belle and Rapunzel toasting to the Phoenix B&B at its grand opening; and Donner being hauled away in a police cruiser with the Phoenix in flames behind him. “But do they really have to do that?”
A few heads turned their way as Rapunzel’s voice jumped over the appropriate airline din. She slid quietly down into her seat. She hadn’t really expected to hop on a cross-world economy class airliner without being recognized at all, but she’d hoped to hold off until landing.
Sure enough, after this outburst, the woman sitting directly across from Ethan began rubbing the back of her neck in a poor attempt to disguise her staring right at them. “Excuse me,” she finally cooed, leaning over the aisle and dancing her fingers across Ethan’s arm. Rapunzel lunged for her porthole. She pressed her forehead against the glass and willed herself to fall asleep. Instead, she heard, “Aren’t you Ethan Wilkins? William’s son?”
Rapunzel let a tiny chuckle slip out as she heard him fumble for an answer, then take on a million questions about his father’s upcoming wedding and the mental state of his soon-to-be stepbrothers. She often forgot that Ethan was technically a low-level Stularian royal (even though it had caused her such anguish initially), and that his dad was going to be Penny’s father-in-law in a few days. What a small, funny world it could be, she thought as it occurred to her for the first time that if she married Ethan, Penny and Rapunzel would be sisters-in-law. Not that she had any intention of legally binding herself to anyone … but a lifelong relationship of the non-contractual kind was still on the table.
Rapunzel rolled her forehead against the cold glass and tried not to chuckle as Ethan’s admirer extolled Prince Carter’s “epic love story sacrifice.” The naiveté made her want to ram her head through three layers of plexiglass. Instead, she stared out into the pitch-blackness and wondered how in the world she’d gotten here. Not that it was particularly amazing how quickly her life had changed. She knew all too well that the world could wake up on any given morning and decide to topple over. The amazing thing was that she’d let it change. After the initial resistance, she’d actually sat by and allowed love to cap the frayed wires in her brain … to turn her into the maiden in a nauseatingly epic love story … to convince her to do the one thing she’d never done with a member of the opposite sex: forgive.
She must have dozed off for a while, because the next time her eyes opened, the darkness had morphed into a blanket of puffy, turquoise clouds, running into a huge orange sun in the distance. The horizon flushed green and blue, and the morning light cast a rosy glow into the otherwise miserable pod chugging its way through the atmosphere. There was something therapeutic about it, as if it was happening for her eyes only while everyone else’s were clamped shut or buried beneath a sleep mask.
She did a quick survey and noticed that unlike the dead fish across the aisle, Ethan was sitting straight up with one elbow on the far armrest and the other one tucked against his side. She smiled, assuming he’d purposely kept the middle armrest clear in case she decided to use it. Something about this action, combined with his innocent sleeping face and the fact that they’d hardly touched each other in days, gave her a sudden need to be close to him. She missed wrapping her fingers around his arm and hugging it like a child would hug her favorite stuffed animal. She missed pressing her head against his shoulder, and feeling him stroke her hair. She missed the smell of his skin. She missed hearing him joke without that grating edge of uncertainty he had now—as if worried she might take offense. She missed his warmth, and his taste, and how well they fit together right from the start. She missed—
She catapulted back to the window as Ethan began to stir. The clouds were simply white now, with a slight pinkish tinge and a cobalt band running between them and the predictably golden sun.
“Oh shoot. Did I miss the sunrise?” Ethan’s breath tickled the back of her neck as he leaned over, his hand instinctively resting on the top of her back. Rapunzel didn’t answer. She steadied her breath and forced her eyes to remain shut. He waited, then leaned so close, his stubble caught the hair cascading over her ears. “I know you’re not asleep, love.”
Love. She felt a tiny spark and pressed her lips together to absorb it. She waited a beat, then slowly lifted her lids and began stretching—first her hips, then her legs (as much as she could in the space allowed), and finally her arms, one of which hooked around Ethan’s outstretched neck. She froze, suddenly unsure what to do about the still sleepy eyes staring back at her, or the pair of parted lips just inches from her own.
She needed him. She loved him. She wanted to grab his face and jump all over him that instant, save for the huge psychological boulder holding her back.
“How did you sleep?” she asked, pulling away and catching her breath just as the cabin lights clicked on and the intercom dinged. The question came out more formal than she’d intended, but what’s done was done.
He nodded, twisted so that he was facing forward once again, and rubbed both palms fiercely against his forehead. “Like a baby. You?”
She shrugged and thumbed the indent on the tiny plastic window shade. “Fine. But you still haven’t answered my question.”
Ethan grabbed his bottle of water and pulled the cap off with one twist. “What question is that?”
“Grethel. How are we finding her? What are we doing when we land?”
He paused with the bottle perched just over his lips. His eyes stared forward. “Oh. Right.” He tilted his head back and started to chug. As she waited, the plane seemed to come alive around them. Blanketed lumps rose up and stretched their arms to the ceiling. Full bladders summoned every other row to the miniscule bathroom. Foil bags crunched as a flight attendant floated by holding an extra large trash bag. Overhead bins clicked open. The smell of fresh coffee wafted through the cabin.
“You do have a plan, right?” she pushed. “You have at least some idea where we’re going?”
Ethan nodded, with far more enthusiasm than warranted, and held up one finger. Then he finally lowered the water bottle and let out a satisfied sigh. “I do,” he said, dumping the container into the passing trash bag and thanking the flight attendant with a wink. Rapunzel grimaced. “The only thing is … well, Grethel isn’t actually on Stularia … per se.”
Rapunzel lurched in her seat. “What do you mean?” she shrieked, then immediately reeled it in. “What do you mean she’s not on Stularia? Why are we going ther
e then?” She sucked in all the air she could and clenched her teeth. “And where the hell is she?”
Rapunzel watched his eyes pan from the blank screen in front of him, to the top of her shoes, to the notch in the center of her collarbone. Then she heard him explain that last time he heard, Grethel was living on an uninhabited island a few miles off the coast of Stularia. Rumor said the place was cursed, so he was going to have to bribe someone at the docks to take them there. It wasn’t the worst answer she could have imagined, but nor was it ideal.
“Okay,” she said. “But what time is it going to be now when we land?”
“It’ll be late afternoon,” he said, bouncing his hands between his knees. “Which is why we need to spend the night.” And with that, Rapunzel’s frown started to force its way up.
“Oh we do, do we?” she said, suddenly picturing a short but luxurious stay in an oceanside resort. They could make up under the stars. They could share piña coladas and watch the sunrise. That way, her first visit to Ethan’s homeland (which she’d envisioned many times though would never admit it) wouldn’t be completely ruined. “And I suppose that was just a happy accident?” Her voice was teasing, but sensual. It felt good to show that side again. “A late landing, a cute hotel, drinks and a little dinner, and all of the sudden we’re all made up?”
“Well…”
She reached out and flicked the pocket on his burgundy T-shirt. He bit his lip and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Well, not exactl—”
“That sounds perfect.”
Their eyes locked and then flew in opposite directions. “Wait, what?” they asked at the exact same time.
Ethan pounded his hand through his hair, simultaneously confused and worried by her sudden romantic interest in him.
“Umm,” he stuttered for a moment. “Bollocks.”
Rapunzel’s claw fell limp over his pocket, which was now almost the exact same color as his cheeks.
She pulled back. “What?”
“Well,” Ethan said, flattening out his shirt and shaking his head. “I mean, you said you wanted space. And I grew up here. I couldn’t not tell them I was coming.”
Rapunzel steadied her breath as the intercom chimed again and the pilot announced Sandman Air’s final descent. “Tell who?” She bore down on the words while her finger bore down around the armrest.
Ethan swallowed. “My sister lives twenty minutes from the airport. It’s on the way to the coast anyway and I haven’t seen her kids, my nieces and nephews, in ages. You’ll love them.”
Rapunzel felt herself beginning to panic—not because she didn’t care about meeting Ethan’s family, but because she did. And on the hunt for Grethel, while Marestam was crumbling and their relationship was threatening to capsize, was definitely not how she’d wanted it to go down.
“Won’t we see them at the wedding next weekend?” she heard herself blurt out, immediately aware of how awful it sounded. Judging by the way Ethan’s mouth opened and curled up in the center, he was aware of it too.
“No,” he said, chewing the word like a slice of stale bread. “Elisa doesn’t want to take everyone out of school. But it wouldn’t be the same in a formal setting anyway, especially for the kids.”
There was that word again: kids. It reminded her of Ethan’s text message suggesting they get a dog together, and of Belle’s comment about Ethan possibly wanting children. But children inferred marriage, and he knew she despised the institution. Everyone knew she despised the institution. He still brought it up every month or so, as if to retest the waters, but he always respected her decision in the end.
“How many kids are we talking here?” she asked, envisioning her one night in Stularia surrounded by a room full of wailing, shoving, tantrum-throwing toddlers. “And how old?”
She heard his breath get heavier as he turned to fully face her. “Look,” he said, holding both hands up as if she was a bear and his skin was coated in honey. “I should have run it by you. But it’s free room and board and I’d really like for them to meet you. Plus, you seemed to be so smitten by Belle’s baby that I thought—”
“I’m not good with kids,” she interrupted before he could say something they’d both regret. “I’ve told you that.”
Ethan’s face fell. He rotated again to face the front. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he said, eyes dead ahead. “If you’d rather get a hotel, that’s fine. I can pick you up in the morning. You’ve made it pretty clear that I’m just your travel companion, anyway.”
Rapunzel felt a lump the size of an in-flight pillow in her throat, and an even bigger one in her stomach. Arguing about his lie was one thing. She’d been the victim there, and it was entirely her call to forgive him or move on. But this was different. Somehow, even though she was simply reiterating a preference he’d known from the very beginning, she felt guilty about it.
“It’s fine,” she finally said, pinching her lips and punching her screen back on. A photo of Belle appeared beneath the headline: Protective wife or criminal liar: What did Belle know? She groaned. “You’re right. We didn’t come here to get drunk at a beachside hotel. If your sister’s on the way, we should see her. I’m exhausted anyway.”
“Do you mean that?”
She nodded, yanked her journal from the bag stuffed beneath her seat, and shoved her entire body back up against the window.
“Thanks for understanding,” he said, his tone more than a little sour.
“Sure thing,” she replied, pressing her pen into the paper and waiting for the negative energy to release. Maybe she’d write a public service announcement about how falling in love was detrimental to your health. Maybe she’d list the qualities of her ideal man and see how Ethan measured up. Maybe she’d write down everything she wanted Grethel to know about the past twenty years. Or maybe she’d just stare out at the clouds, imagining that one person’s problems are just blips on an air traffic control radar. Needles in hemlock forest. Grains of sand on an abandoned Stularian beach.
* * *
“Leila, watch out! Hands off! Porter, for goodness sake, leave the candles alone. You’re not gonna be happy if you burn your fingers. Camilla, I swear, if you touch the dog’s water bowl one more time, I’m going to—well, I’m probably not going to do anything to be honest, but just leave it alone. That’s a big no-no.”
Ethan’s sister shot Rapunzel a frazzled look as she swiped an aluminum bowl from a two-year-old, sidestepped a cartwheeling first grader, and slipped on a minefield of discarded board books. Not missing a beat, the toddler promptly leapt on top of her mother and began singing, in a tiny squeak of a voice, “Mama fall. Mama fall. You okay Mama?”
“I’m okay,” Elisa Wilkins howled, bear-hugging her daughter and writhing with her on the carpet. “But I got you now! Tickle monster’s here!”
Rapunzel pressed her lips into what she hoped would resemble a smile, then continued stirring her ginger tea. She’d barely said a word to Ethan since they got off the plane—or no meaningful words, anyway. She was angry all over again—mostly at him, partially at herself, and then back at him all over again for making her mad at herself.
“Last chance for that turn-down service and silk pillow,” he’d said as they wound their way through customs and waited for their bags. “Personally, I’d rather spend some quality time with the family I never see while I can. But if luxury is still what’s important to you, even after everything we just experienced with Belle, there are loads of five-star resorts along the coastline. I’m happy to pick you up in the morning.”
One shuttle and a twenty-minute car ride later, his words were still burning circles in her head. Of course she knew people were more important than luxury. Maybe the stress of almost losing Belle was the very reason she needed a little mindless relaxation. But what had he meant by “still?” The sexual escapades, the wining and dining, the image-ballooning attitude … those things were never truly important to her. She’d used them as a barrier—but a barrier he�
�d knocked down months ago. She thought he knew that. She thought they had an understanding. She thought they were one of those couples she’d always mocked but secretly envied—the ones who could beat the linguistic crap out of each other and still remain madly in love, who told each other everything but never at the cost of respect, who blurted things out before thinking and were automatically understood. That was how true love and “happily ever after” was supposed to work, right?
“So. Bait or birth control?”
“What?” Rapunzel looked up as Ethan’s sister slid down beside her and threw most of her torso onto the table.
“Bait or birth control?” Elisa propped her head up with one hand and flicked it in the direction of her children. Rapunzel stared, slightly dumbfounded, as her lips rose up on one side and then parted to give a teaser peek at her teeth. It was the only part of her anatomy that confirmed she and Ethan were related. Everything else—the tight blonde curls, the freckles, the stick-thin appendages—could have belonged to a total stranger. “I always wonder what people think when they see my little monsters,” she continued. “Is it ‘Oh, I want one,’ or ‘Thank all that is holy those things belong to someone else.’”
Rapunzel gave an insecure laugh and fingered the bracelet she’d procured from Donner’s things at Marestam Central Prison. She understood why Belle didn’t want to take it, but it was quite dazzling—a flawless platinum chain interspersed with pink gold squiggles and pea-sized rubies. Rapunzel just couldn’t bear seeing it go to waste.
She winced as she heard Elisa clear her throat. Back home, the sun would be long gone by now, those curfew-breaking sisters would be sneaking out of her building to dance at the nightclubs, and Rapunzel would be cuddling up with either Ethan or a silky-eared canine. But she wasn’t at home. She was halfway across the world, nursing this relentless motion sickness with ginger tea in a four-season porch surrounded by blinding sunlight and an army of pint-sized nutcases.
