Desperately Ever After: Book One: Desperately Ever After Trilogy

by Laura Kenyon

  She turned away and ignored the kick in her gut.

  “I certainly didn’t retire so my son could sample all the women in the kingdom and his wife could throw a tantrum,” Hazel Wickenham chastised. “Now what in the world is wrong with Belle that you had to go on a comparison shopping spree?”

  Belle felt locked in an imaginary spotlight. Donner rubbed his toes into the floor but didn’t dare mutter an answer.

  “Ugh,” Hazel groaned, marching toward her daughter-in-law with her glass extended. “Take this,” she instructed, shoving the looped straw towards her mouth. “You need it more than I do.”

  Belle lowered the glass and struggled to keep her eyes off Donner. Every second since she walked out, she’d pictured him racing around the castle with a harem of half-naked floozies, proclaiming his long-awaited freedom and eating his dinner off a red lace bra. But this man did not look like he’d been doing any partying. He looked sullen and lost. He looked like the shadow of someone she knew years ago, someone who saw salvation in her for one brief, exquisite moment.

  “Now what do you have to say for yourself?” Hazel pressed, despite Belle’s hope that she’d leave.

  Donner raised his chin and glanced from his mother to his estranged wife. Hazel cleared her throat. Her bright blue eyes seared into him.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered to his shoes. Belle edged to the side just as Hazel’s arm plopped over her shoulders.

  “What was that, dear?” Hazel pressed. “What are you sorry for?”

  Donner’s gaze stayed low. “I’m sorry … for being unfaithful.”

  “Unfaithful to who? The floor?”

  “You know who,” he grunted. Hazel cleared her throat and tapped her sandal. “Belle. I’m sorry for being unfaithful to Belle.”

  Finally, Hazel released a high-pitched chirp of satisfaction and clasped her palms together. “Thank you,” she sang. “Was that so hard? Now help your wife put all these beautiful things back.”

  Both Belle and Donner spoke up at once. What did she mean put her things back? Was that supposed to be an apology? Belle wanted reconciliation, but that’s not what just happened.

  “Ugh, fine.” Hazel stomped over to the chest and peered inside. “Donner, pack up whatever else your wife needs while you work this out. We can’t have her looking like a pauper in the interim, now can we? Struggles fade, but unflattering photos stay forever.”

  Donner made a grunting sound and edged toward the woman he’d hoped to torture just moments earlier. Belle inched back as he squatted down to scoop up the cashmere shawl he’d given her on their first anniversary, the tattered dress she’d worn when she first set foot in the castle, and the tiara she’d flung at him the other night. As he rose to his feet, Belle smelled scotch and elm grass cologne.

  “Here.” He handed her the shawl and scanned her negligee. “You’re obviously cold.” Belle peeled her arms apart and reached forward to take it. Their fingers touched and she thought of the parents at the zoo. She wanted him to know about the third little person between them, but she couldn’t find the words. She saw a line of dried blood along his cheek—the mark of her candlestick—but his hair still covered his eyes. He pulled away to empty the remaining shelves. Hazel beamed with pride as he stuffed their contents—silk dresses and metallic pumps and purses galore—into the bottomless trunk.

  “Now. As delightful as this has been,” Hazel hummed, snapping her fingers and pulling a second tropical drink out of thin air, “I must be going. Happy hour just started at the Salt Bar.” Turning toward her daughter-in-law, Hazel placed a frail wrist on Belle’s shoulder and tugged at her chin until their eyes met.

  “Sweet, sweet Belle,” she sighed. “This may surprise you, but I too have felt the pinch of a husband’s wandering hands.”

  Belle glanced to the side. Was she joking? Everyone with a pulse knew Hazel had ignored her husband’s infidelity for years. Before Rapunzel arrived and captured the interest of both sexes, the Mirror devoted a page every Sunday to all the women he’d been seen with during the week.

  “Believe it or not, I know exactly what you’re going through,” she continued. “And you know when it got better?” Belle shook her head. “When I learned to accept who we both were.”

  When she what now?

  “I realized that in some ways it was my fault, and in some ways it was his. But blame will get you nowhere.” Belle’s chin fell away from Hazel’s grasp. “Now you and Donner will work this out. Make a pro-con list. Luxury, fame, power, versus a bit of sharing. I know if you both look deep down, you’ll realize this was just a teensy bump in a long, illustrious road. Then you can get back to what’s really important—like getting me a grandson.”

  Belle felt like she’d been flogged, twice, and then given a bowl of ice cream. How could Hazel possibly imply that she shared blame for Donner’s betrayal? She’d been nothing but doting—boring, perhaps, and maybe a little predictable, but still.

  “Good girl.” Hazel patted her on the back and then lurched toward her son. “Now as for you, Donnie. I don’t want to see another word about this in the media. Some women naturally allow this kind of behavior for the head of the house, and some aren’t comfortable with it. Your wife is obviously of the latter category and you need to work with that. You picked her.” Belle hugged the shawl over her chin, wishing it could hide her completely. Hazel straightened her hat and re-knotted her sarong. “I will not be the woman who spawned Braddax’s first royal divorcé in history, so behave yourself while Belle takes the time to forgive you. I’ll be watching.”

  “Donner,” Belle said as soon as the air cracked, “I need to tell—”

  But Hazel wasn’t the only one leaving. The words barely breached her lips before Donner disappeared, Braddax Castle melted, and Belle found herself in her guestroom—bangs glued to her forehead and her heart thumping through the ceiling.

  * * *

  “How come you never told me Donner has access to magic?” Rapunzel asked while twirling a fork overflowing with scraps of strawberry crepe.

  Belle gazed silently into an orchid centerpiece from one of Rapunzel’s many ill-fated admirers. It had arrived, ahead of three others, while she was whisking away her frustration in the kitchen.

  “Earth to Belle. Donner. Magic. What gives?”

  “Huh?” Belle shook herself back into focus and blurted out the first words that came into her head. “I didn’t say he can do magic.”

  Rapunzel widened her eyes and clinked her fork against her plate. She leaned into the table. “Neither did I. I said I didn’t know he had access to magic. Which—considering how your entire wardrobe somehow materialized in my living room overnight—you can’t deny.”

  “Oh.” Belle stumbled over her words. “Yes, well—”

  “But judging from what you just said and your nervous twitching blinking thing, you’re making me think there’s a lot more to it. Of course Donner can’t actually do magic? Can he?”

  Belle stabbed a crepe and stuffed it into her mouth. Rapunzel simply stared back at her, watching her eyes flicker like Morse code. Blinking was her body’s way of blacking out uncomfortable situations—even if only for fractions of a second. She really needed to get a less visual tick.

  “You’re going to have to swallow that eventually.”

  “Mmkay fooine.” Belle grabbed her water and washed her crepe down. “But you can’t tell anyone.”

  Rapunzel scooted toward the edge of her seat, her blouse narrowly missing the fresh blueberry syrup. Belle glanced around to make sure they were alone. “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Donner is descended from a pureblood fairy.”

  Belle braced for an explosion, but Rapunzel just tilted her head and leaned even closer. Purple juice seeped across her chest. “How far descended? Are we talking ancient ancestor here? Great aunt? Grandma?”

  Belle shook her head. “Mother.”

  “What?” Rapunzel’s jaw plummeted as her eyebrows soared. “Braddax’s Queen Mother i
s a pureblood?” She gasped. “Holy crap, Belle. I’ve never heard that, and I hear everything. Who’d they pay to strike that off the registry?”

  Belle didn’t answer.

  “Well, thank goodness fairy blood dilutes. I don’t anticipate Hazel doing any major damage, but if Donner was more than half magical—”

  “He is. But not by much.”

  “Belle!”

  “His father had a quarter from somewhere.” She trailed off and let her vision blur. The orchids looked nicer this way. “So Donner’s like, sixty-two percent.”

  Rapunzel shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m defending Parliament right now, but there’s a registry for a reason. One bad day and a strong enough fairy could blow up the kingdom. Or turn us all into frogs.”

  Belle opened her mouth and immediately clapped it shut. After everything Donner had done, why did she still feel protective of his secret? Well, she knew exactly why, but that news was yet to be announced. She wound a spiral of syrup over her crepe and dropped a glob of whipped cream in the middle.

  “That’s a massive exaggeration,” she said through a full mouth. “Only purebloods have that kind of power. The registry is just a way for Parliament to keep tabs on the world. And frankly, I don’t want our kids having to deal with that.”

  Rapunzel chewed on the silence for a bit. “Wow,” she said. “I’ve never heard you say anything so … rebellious.”

  “Yeah, you’re rubbing off on me already.”

  Rapunzel wiped an imaginary tear from her eye, then refocused. “Okay, so what happened last night then? Hazel popped into your room with a trunk full of clothes and … what? Apologized for her asshole son?”

  “Ha. More like told me I’m half to blame. I mean, she made him apologize too, but—”

  “Wait.”

  Belle paused mid-chew. Man, was she really on a roll this morning.

  “Hold on just one minute.” Rapunzel was shaking her head between both hands. “Donner was in my apartment?”

  “No.” Belle sighed and pulled off her wedding ring. She placed it in the center of the table and explained that no one had been in Rapunzel’s apartment last night, and none of it was Hazel’s doing. No, Donner did not have the power to transport her or anyone else to a different place, but that hunk of metal with the red diamond did. It was a charm. Yes, an illegal charm. It allowed her to go to sleep in one place and wake up in another. It worked whether the wearer had fairy blood or not. She’d had it for years.

  “Do you remember when I broke Donner’s curse?”

  Rapunzel crossed her arms and gave a loaded nod. Of course she remembered.

  “Well, that happened because of the ring. Donner—cursed Donner, I mean—allowed me to go home and see my family for a week.”

  “How noble of him.”

  “Listen,” she said. “The ring is how I got there, and how I wound up coming back. All I had to do was turn the stone in before falling asleep.”

  “Beats paying cab fare, I guess.”

  Belle chomped into a sausage with such force that her teeth clanged into the metal fork. “If it wasn’t for that ring, I’d never have gotten back in time to break the curse. See, my sisters tricked me into staying longer than I promised, and one night I dreamed that he was dying.” Belle’s throat pinched tight. “Our dreams connected a lot back then.”

  “Kinky.”

  Belle stared woefully into her plate. She’d subconsciously mixed all her breakfast toppings into a lumpy soup surrounding an island of flour and cream. “I felt so guilty, and so terrified. I didn’t want him to die. So I cried myself to sleep and the ring got me back just in time.”

  Rapunzel slid her plate away and leaned back. “Let me get this straight. The King of Braddax is more than half fairy, the Queen Mother is a pureblood, and you have an illegal charm—which are known for being unpredictable and dangerous—wrapped around one of your appendages. Anything else?”

  Belle felt like she was standing in the center of a ten-foot hole with nothing but a shovel. She rubbed her stomach under the table and asked, “Isn’t that enough?”

  Rapunzel made a “huh” sound and started stirring the air with her fingers. “So he gave you a ring that let you pop into his room from all the way across the kingdom. That makes me wonder.”

  “Wonder what?”

  “Any chance there are more?”

  Belle stared back in confusion.

  “I’m just thinking. You said you didn’t know how red panties lady slipped out without you seeing her. Right?”

  Belle scrunched her forehead. “Yeah. But I didn’t see Donner come in either. And she could have easily gotten by while I was looking in another room.”

  “Sure, maybe. Or maybe she put on her handy dandy little ring, closed her eyes, and woke up at home.”

  A wave of nausea hurled itself from Belle’s gut right up her throat. She couldn’t even contemplate that. But it was true. For all she knew, Donner had a drawer full of lace underwear—in every color, shape, and size, with a ring to match. Furiously, she began loading her plate with muffins, eggs, bacon, another crepe, and two scoops of raspberry jam. Separation was not going to be good for her waistline. Then again, neither was pregnancy.

  “This could actually be great news,” Rapunzel said before taming her tone. “I mean, it’s evil and sick, of course, but if you could track down the other rings—er, ring—you could find the homewrecker. Splash her all over the news and get the whole story out there so you can take Donner for all he’s worth.”

  Take him for all he’s worth? Belle felt the nausea again and dropped her fork. Divorce. Vengeance. That wasn’t what she wanted.

  “Just imagine,” Rapunzel continued, painting imaginary headlines with her hands. “King Donner and his magical booty call rings. What a story! What an exposé! You’d come out on top for sure!”

  Belle raised a palm in the air. This was too much. The wound was too new. There were still a million steps to go through before even thinking about divorce. Even Hazel said they’d be back together in no time. “Look,” she said. “I want Donner to pay for what he did, but he’s still my husband, and I still love him. I’m not ready to think about divorce yet, and I don’t want our marriage slathered as a horrible sham in the tabloids.”

  “Not the tabloids, but how about—”

  Belle stared intently across the table. “Please.”

  Rapunzel gazed straight ahead, not moving a muscle and not saying a word. She was calling in the silent treatment now? Really?

  Belle sighed and leaned forward. “Look Pun. My world is falling apart right now and I just don’t know how to handle it. I need to hold on to whatever hope I can muster. Maybe you can do a story later—a happy one, about how we made it through the dark patch and wound up having a wonderful family.”

  Rapunzel finally opened her lips and nodded toward the living room. “I hate to dash your dreams Belle, but … turn around.”

  Slowly, Belle shimmied upright and twisted in her chair. She panned through the living room, with its white leather couches, glass fireplace, minibar, and sixty-inch media screen hanging on the far wall. Then she gasped.

  Plastered across the screen were five words in thick, triple-outlined letters: Braddax Monarchs Call it Quits?

  Beneath it, Donner stood before a sea of microphones. His left eye looked like the center of a rotten avocado—surrounded by purple, black, and strokes of sickly green—and his cheek was still dotted with dried blood.

  Catchy, unsubstantiated details scrolled along the bottom. Violence at Braddax Castle … King Claims Betrayal … Queen’s Mental State Questioned … Belle’s Whereabouts Unknown …

  This time, as she fell off her chair, Belle’s vision went dark for much longer than a fraction of a second.

  THE MARESTAM MIRROR

  Diamond Ropes and Velvet Cake

  By Perrin Hildebrand, King of Gossip*

  AS FAR as shockers go, the recent rift between Donner and Belle truly takes th
e seven-layer cake. According to his “teary” (does it count if you use eye drops?) news conference, Donner’s domestic bunny rabbit and sugarcoated wife is really a devil in disguise, lashing out on impulse and abusing his heart like it’s a voodoo pin cushion.

  If this is the real Belle, I ask, how did we miss the signs? Certainly, one of her eleven siblings would be able to shed some light on the conundrum. Perhaps young Belle had a penchant for torturing animals in the woods, or seasoning their chicken pot pies with rat poison. Perhaps it wasn’t her father who lost all that stockholder money, but a wily toddler bored with her counting game. Perhaps her mother never actually left after the collapse, but is buried under the old manor house. Perhaps.

  Alas, of Belle’s six brothers, three defended her honor, two could not be found, and one seems to think he’s a horse. Of her sisters, two hung up the phone, one broke down in tears, one rambled on about how Belle was “a saint for not killing us in our sleep,” and one bent my ear till I promised to print her statement in full.

  “My sister is as sweet as she is righteous,” says Julianne Boswell, a two-time divorcée from Carpale. “Or self-righteous, at least. Growing up, she wouldn’t hurt a fly unless it chomped down on her eyeball, and even then she’d mourn the thing for a week. I don’t know what finally provoked her, but it’s about time she let out a real emotion. I’m so sick of Marestam’s history books turning ordinary people into guiltless saviors. Belle is just another human, and we’re all better off knowing that.”

  Yikes. Scrape away the sibling bitterness, and I hear this: Belle wouldn’t hurt a fly without justification. She is not a strumpet, a bully, or a nut (her porcelain doll wardrobe notwithstanding). If you believe Donner word for word, you need therapy.