by Laura Kenyon
“I appreciate the offer,” she finally said. “But I’m fine on my own. I don’t need coddling.” Well, she had needed coddling, but not anymore. If things went awry and she had to survive as a deposed queen and single mother, she’d need to start fending for herself.
Penny’s head drifted to one side. “Still haven’t told Donner, huh?” Belle shrugged. “I know you don’t want to lose the upper hand, but you’ve got to tell him sometime.”
Belle took a baby step to the right. “I should get going.”
“Hey,” Penny cut in, grabbing her friend’s elbow. “I know you’re capable of doing this on your own. But why should you?” Belle pulled her arm free. “What are friends for if not times like these?”
Great. Just what she needed. Guilt.
Moments later, Belle and Penny filed onto an empty elevator just before a gaggle of chattering nurses flooded in. Belle immediately spun away and buried her face against an advertisement for prostate exams. Her warped reflection in the glass reminded her that she’d gone for the natural look this morning—no wig, no giant sunglasses, just a trendy teal beret and evasive eyes. At least she wasn’t wearing a massive ball gown. If she kept quiet in the back, they hopefully wouldn’t know her from any other brunette. Still, standing inches from a half-dozen strangers who sounded extremely well acquainted with the current celebrity gossip was not where she wanted to be. But Penny had avoided stairwells ever since her mattress trauma, so Belle had no choice.
Just don’t turn your head, she told herself. Maybe they won’t recognize you. Maybe they won’t raise their noses from their gossip rags.
“I still think you’re crazy,” one of the nurses said, flicking a magazine. “Letitia is not going to announce her retirement at that party. When is it again?” Penny immediately pinched Belle’s arm at the mention of her mother-in-law, but got no reaction. “She won’t leave until her oldest son what’s-his-name finds a wife. And with his habits, that’ll take three lifetimes.”
“Maybe you should marry him,” Belle heard another woman tease, followed by a fizz of laughter and the sound of a light slap. “And his name’s Logan.”
“No,” a gravelly voice corrected. “Logan’s her younger son—the wussy one who married that foreigner who dresses weird.” Belle watched Penny’s toes flex in their feathery sandal.
“Is there anything in there about DonElle?” someone else asked. Belle struggled not to cringe at the tacky tabloid uni-name.
“Oh my gosh, is there ever not?”
“Yeah, what’s going on? Have they filed papers yet?”
Belle bit her lip until she tasted blood.
“Oh. My. Goodness. I don’t want to hear another word about that creep,” the woman directly in front of Belle trilled. “Everyone knows he’s a cheater. I think every bad thing he says about her is a lie. Just his sorry-ass attempt to win some sympathy.”
Belle felt Penny pinch her again, but didn’t dare react.
“That may be,” the gravelly voice cut in, “but he’s got the blood. So if she has gone bonkers—”
“Don’t tell me you believe that,” the woman with the magazine snapped. “Not me, not for one second. You know what I heard? That he was at the Beanstalk the other night with Julianne Boswell.” The elevator seemed to shudder back down a floor following the nurses’ collective gasp. “That’s right, as in Belle’s sister.”
Belle clasped her fist and focused intently on the buttons circled in neon. Six floors to go.
“What’s the scumbag playing at?”
“Perrin Hildebrand said they were pretty cozy, if you know what I mean. And he’s never wrong.”
Now it was hard not to snicker out loud.
“Poor Belle. I hope she gets a good settlement. After all, she did save his life.
Tuning out Penny’s jerky movements and worried glances (which threatened to blow their cover any second), Belle held her breath and willed herself to stay quiet.
“I’m sure she’ll make out okay financially—unless there’s a pre-nup,” the nasally woman in the front piped up. “One look at the two of them and any judge will rule in her favor. But she’ll be damaged goods forever after that. I mean, what man is going to want a woman who got booted by a king? And for her sister! Talk about baggage.”
“Ha. How about a woman who cowered in her friend’s penthouse while her husband slandered her all over the news? Seriously, where’s her pride?”
When the elevator finally stopped on the thirty-fifth floor, Belle lowered her head and let the other passengers flow out. All the way down the hall, she could still hear them gabbing that Belle needed to “come out swinging or don’t come out at all.” She felt like a discarded soda cup, plopped in the middle of the highway while a million people zoomed by, veering out of the way so as not to sully their undercarriage on someone else’s trash.
Neither she nor Penny spoke a word until they reached a bright yellow door with a pink frosted window reading, “Doctor Diggory Frolick: Give me one hour and I’ll fix your flower.” The photo underneath showed Dr. Frolick and his six dwarf brothers—each less than four feet tall—with a much younger, much fiercer, Snow White.
“For some reason I always forget he’s one of Snow’s,” Penny said as they ducked through the doorway.
“Actually, I like to think of her as one of mine,” popped a bubbly voice before the door clicked shut. The women exchanged amused glances as a chubby-cheeked man scurried in like an off-course bumble bee, ranting about the weather and his wife and how much simpler life seemed back when he was taking night classes and sharing a cabin with his brothers.
“Filthier but simpler. Ya know we used to go weeks without even changing our trunks? That was before Snow came along, of course, and made us all civilized. Progress progress. Que sera. Now what can I do ya for?” Finally stopping to breathe, Dr. Frolick hooked both thumbs over his potbelly and panned with his triangular smile from Penny to Belle and back again. “And what in the name of Ruby’s magic wand did I do to earn two-for-one?”
Belle’s check-up lasted exactly one hour—with a twenty-minute break for tea and chocolate biscuits, and a ten-minute hiatus during which the Queen couldn’t stop giggling long enough for Dr. Frolick to insert the speculum. He was unparalleled with his jokes about men, Parliament, Angus Kane, and his beloved cocker spaniel, Lily. Penny spent most of the examination squeezing Belle’s hand, wiping away tears of laughter, and staring out over the lime green river of taxis in the street below.
“Well, we better get some butter up here,” Dr. Frolick said after Belle had redressed. “Because you’ve definitely got a bun in the oven!”
A toothless smile broke out as she followed her hands to her stomach and gave a quiet thanks. She’d imagined this moment quite differently—with a screech of joy, a room-spinning hug and a giant kiss from Donner. Just something else to add to the list of things she’d lost.
“So here’s what happens next.” Dr. Frolick pulled a pen from behind his ear and started marking off a clipboard taller than his torso. “I’ve got loads of tests to run—RH, CBC, RPR, HBsAg. It’s still early, so now’s the time to be extra cautious. I’ll need to see you again in four weeks, which is when we’ll hear that tiny ticker, so make sure you bring the baby’s …” His pen stopped as he faded out and cleared his throat.
“What?” Penny asked as Belle inched towards the clipboard.
Dr. Frolick wiped his forehead with his wrist. “Umm, well. The baby’s father usually comes to that one. If he’s going to be involved.”
Penny immediately dove into her purse for tissues, but Belle simply swallowed and told the well-intentioned doctor that he could expect to see Donner at her next check-up.
The women dripped back into the hallway exactly as they’d come—silent, stone-faced, and unsure what to say next. When they stepped outside, the sky was grey and the previously warm air had a frigid edge.
“Looks like a storm,” Penny mumbled. Belle shrugged and launched down the step
s, taking them on the balls of her feet. She was ten feet away when she heard Penny call after her, yelling something about Letitia’s party.
“Belle, wait! I need to go back and—”
“Belle Wickenham!” a second voice steamrolled over Penny’s. Belle twirled around, taken aback by the use of her husband’s family name. Would that be her name if she lost her title? At the top of the stairs, a woman in a tight blue dress and Marestam Mirror neck lanyard was waving her arms in triumph. In unison, both Penny and the reporter caught each other’s eyes and leapt down the stairs, making a beeline for Belle. Penny, despite almost mauling a baby carriage, got to her first.
“Ugh. I swear, these people are goddamn vultures,” Penny snarled, swiping Belle’s elbow and steering her across the street. “I’m parked around the corner. Let’s get you out of here.”
Belle flashed an appreciative smile but planted her heels as soon as they reached the curb. She no longer wanted babysitting from her friends. She no longer wanted to suck it up and play the nice card. All her life she’d been the good daughter, the good wife, the good sister. Where had it gotten her?
“It’s okay,” Belle whispered, sliding her arm from Penny’s fingers for the second time that day. “I want to talk to her.”
“Talk to her? Are you crazy? A Mirror reporter? No matter what you say, she’ll turn it on its side and blast it all over the place.”
Belle didn’t dare say so, but this was precisely what she wanted. The reporter was almost on their side of the street now—parting traffic in pursuit of the interview everyone wanted. She ran with her thighs bolted together, her elbows glued to her sides, and her laminated press pass continuously bonking up against her nose.
Quickly, Belle ran through a mental list of political scandal dos and don’ts. Chin up. Back straight. Stay calm. Stumbles infer guilt. Colorful phrases will be taken out of context. Touching or scratching anything is social suicide.
“I can’t even watch this,” Penny groaned, turning away but staying within striking range.
As Belle and the journalist converged, a young couple passing by came to a screeching halt. The woman tugged on her companion’s shirt and whispered urgently in his ear.
“Your Majesty,” the reporter huffed, flashing a card that identified her as Matilda Holt.
“Belle.”
“If I could just have a minute.”
Belle nodded, ignoring the urge to say something snarky. She needed the media on her side.
Matilda tore open her notebook and took a deep breath. “Belle, we’ve heard from your husband, but … well, the whole realm is just dying to know …”
Matilda was floundering at the same rate her audience was expanding. Penny let out a contemptible sigh, but Belle was fully focused on deflecting whatever attack this woman could muster. Did she ever abuse Donner? Had she cheated on him? Was she on any mood-altering medications? Matilda pressed her pen into a jungle of chestnut hair and tried again. “What we’d really like to know, that is, would be …” Her sharp features softened for a moment. “Gosh, how are you holding up?”
Penny did a double take at the reporter’s sympathetic query. Belle faltered for a moment—she wasn’t expecting compassion from the enemy—and then cleared her throat.
“Quiet,” she heard one member of the crowd hush another. “Belle’s finally gonna set the record straight.”
Belle felt a pinch, just like in the elevator, and caught Penny surveying the crowd that was now spilling off the sidewalk and into Third Avenue. Panning the faces, Belle picked out a young brunette grasping her boyfriend’s arm and bouncing on her heels; a pair of frazzled mothers forking candy into a jumble of tiny hands but keeping their eyes glued on Belle; thirty-something financiers hoisting their cell phone cameras into the air while their elder colleagues watched over their shoulders. It was Donner at the restaurant all over again. It was the girl at the zoo. Only, what did she have that these people wanted?
To her surprise, Belle didn’t feel like a slab of meat surrounded by a pack of wolves. She didn’t see anger or hatred or greed in anyone’s eyes. Instead, she felt a softness, a hope. She felt like they wanted to know she was okay. They were waiting for her to break into smiles, tousle their hair, and tell them everything was going to be just fine. It had been a big misunderstanding. Mommy and Daddy were going to work everything out.
Maybe they would. But pain would have to precede the comfort.
“I know what you want me to say,” she began as a nervous murmur rippled through the crowd. “There have been a lot of rumors going around. A man who promised to stand by my side forever has decided to attack everything that I am.” Her right leg was quaking. She shifted onto her left. “Well, there are plenty of attacks I could make as well.”
Belle pictured Donner shaking in his snakeskin shoes when he heard about this. He and Julianne had expected her to come out in full sob mode—wailing about his betrayal and begging to remain Queen. This would have won her pity, but she wanted more. What would happen if she exposed his magical heritage or his illegal charms? Could a blood king of Marestam be dethroned?
She waited for Matilda’s pen to catch up.
“Believe me, I could send Parliament into a tizzy with my own allegations,” she continued. “But I won’t. I meant my vows. I believe my husband did too, at the time. Unfortunately, he now seems to think they’re transferable to my sister.”
The gasp shot into the atmosphere like a military salute. Belle’s stomach wanted to lurch out of her body. Matilda stared at her deadlocked pen, then began shuffling through her notes.
“Which sister? Julianne Boswell?”
“Is that her last name now?” Belle’s head tilted to one side. “I keep losing track. We both used to be McKenna.”
“Now when you say transferable, do you mean he wants to marry her? Were they were seeing each other before your falling out?”
Belle let her eyes say it all.
“So he was lying about you hitting him?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.” Belle spread her fingers over her stomach. She didn’t know where this courage was coming from, but she didn’t want to question it. “When I caught him sneaking around, I clocked him with a candlestick.” Another gasp. “I like to think it was an accident. I was under a lot of stress.”
Belle watched as Matilda’s jaw fell to the ground. Her eyes quickly followed. Then they stopped at Belle’s stomach. Belle’s hands. An onlooker nudged her companion. Belle didn’t wait for the question.
“Either way, that was wrong. If Donner and Julianne have found true love together, I should have stepped aside gracefully. They have my blessing. My reaction was a product of emotion and heightened hormones. That and the primal instinct of a mother to protect her child.”
This time, the shock seemed to suck into the crowd rather than explode outward. Matilda opened her mouth to ask a follow-up question, but two dozen voices drowned her out.
“Braddax will have an heir?”
“Is Donner the father?”
“Are you getting divorced?”
“What does that mean for us?”
“We want you, not Julianne!”
Matilda gazed at Belle as if she was both a goddess and a martyr. She inched forward and floated her pen over the notepad, but the grown-up girl before her had released just enough of her oats. With a tiny smirk, Belle exhaled, slipped her arm into Penny’s, and left her audience behind.
THE MARESTAM MIRROR
Diamond Ropes and Velvet Cake
By Perrin Hildebrand, King of Gossip*
NOT EVERYONE in Braddax is livid about the notion of losing an angel and an heir for a twice-divorced, second-rate, backup queen. Only about 99.9998 percent.
The other day, while strolling through a sea of protestors screaming embarrassing puns in support of Belle, I actually managed to find two people (a glassy-eyed fraternity pledge and an unusually surly elf) who wouldn’t mind being ruled by sis
ter-wives.
Said the meathead between puffs of a lazily-disguised rampion cigarette: “They’re both pretty hot, in a good girl, bad girl kind of way, so why would I complain? Don’t get me wrong. It was a ballsy move, all right. But you can’t blame Donner for trying.”
Actually, based on the public outcry, you can. So far, in the two days since Belle broke from the shadows and came out swinging, protests have sprung up in all five kingdoms to defend the rightful Queen of Braddax and her unborn child. The Marestam Guard has been working on overtime to quell the crowds. PM Angus Kane has even threatened to implement curfews.
As it turns out, scandal is an awfully good look for the cream puff from the boonies. Serving up her rival on a bed of grace and forgiveness? Genius! That drive-by pregnancy announcement? Holding us on tender hooks by not telling us if Donner’s the father? Hooooo-boy. I had to shut my mouth with my fist! Finally, the gears seem to be turning inside that pretty little head of hers. (Which, for the record, goes much better with normal clothes and her real hair; I feel we’ve finally met the real Beauty.)
Publicly, Donner hasn’t said a word yet, but they don’t call me the King of Gossip* for nothing! Trust me when I say: that’s his kid and he wants it. So what’s the next move? Belle’s got a plan here, and I personally can’t wait to see all the juicy layers unravel.
JUST when we thought there was nothing else Rapunzel Delmonico could do to shock us, she’s achieved the impossible. Go ahead and guess. Try again. Nope. I’m waiting. Give up? She’s fallen in love.
Not shout-it-from-the-rooftops and race-through-sloping-gardens-together love; Rapunzel’s too tough for that. But when’s the last time anyone saw her on more than two consecutive dates with the same person? I’m talking in ONE WEEK, mind you—not once in a while when bored, and not to loud, public spots where the cameras are flashing. My sources have seen them canoodling in dark, secluded restaurants and holding hands (gasp!) on moonlit strolls!
