by Laura Kenyon
“Like you said, if he’s only faithful to me, he won’t care.” She scooped up a string of fake pearls. “If he isn’t, he’ll have to be after that.” She plucked up two earrings. “And if it all backfires and he tries to divorce me anyway? Well, then at least I’ll have shown the cheaters that even a smiling wife can be planning their funeral behind their backs.”
She grabbed a sapphire bangle from behind her shoe, and then peered beneath a line of dresses. Where had her mother’s orphaned beads gone? And the broken chains? This was like looking for peanuts in a sewer tunnel.
“Everything all right in there?”
Cindy grunted and shoved the shoebox behind her winter boots. She’d find them later.
“Don’t get me wrong.” She bounced up and wiped dust from her hands. “I’m still hoping to find out this was a big misunderstanding. But if I don’t, I might as well be prepared, right? I was thinking my birthday party’s a good time to unveil a statue honoring the King.”
Rapunzel stared ahead, her mouth slightly open and her eyes slanted upward. “Have I created a monster?”
Cindy patted the foot of her bed and suggested her friend take a seat. Then she told her all about Aaron’s letter; about the woman on the stakeout; and about the little boy who had Aaron’s eyes, Aaron’s smile, and whom Gregory made it clear his father knew quite well.
“Holy hell,” Rapunzel repeated no less than six times when Cindy was done with her story.
“So now you know,” Cindy said, shrugging it all off like a bad grape. Rapunzel just sat there, stunned. “But enough about that. What did you come to tell me? Does it have to do with Ethan? By my calculations, you’re at the one-week mark, and that’s basically marriage for you. Do you need help dumping him?”
Rapunzel’s face flashed sour, then she shoved her hand into her purse. “Actually, miss know-it-all, our first date was eleven days ago.”
“No way!” Cindy’s eyes flew wide. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m in uncharted waters and loving it—I mean, liking it. A lot. But that’s not why I’m here.” She pulled up Cindy’s hand and pushed a ball of paper into it. “I was supposed to give this to you earlier, but … well, it might be useful now.”
Cindy furrowed her brow and unfolded the note. She read it over several times before looking up in confusion. “Who’s Kimberly Epson?”
* * *
“I can’t believe you told him, Pun!” Cindy said for what seemed like the tenth time since rushing into Rapunzel’s car.
“I know. I’m sorry. I was drunk.”
Cindy waved this off. “I’m not mad. I’m actually more worried about what you’ve gotten into. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I liked Ethan when I met him. A lot. He seemed a trillion times better than anyone else you’ve ever screwed around with. But normal people don’t just track others down like that.”
“What, you think he’s a spy?” Rapunzel swung her head around to merge onto the East Bank Expressway. “I’m sleeping with the enemy? Kinda kinky.”
She was impossible sometimes. “Just make sure you know what you’re dealing with. You worry me. Make sure he isn’t secretly smuggling drugs or filming an unauthorized sex tape.”
Rapunzel’s palm bounced off the steering wheel. “Must you constantly bring that up?”
“Until I stop having nightmares of you getting drugged at a nightclub and shipped overseas? You bet.”
Cindy tried to force a smirk as Rapunzel scowled, but her true feelings were hard to conceal. Maybe Rapunzel could pretend her injuries truly disappeared with time, but Cindy couldn’t. She hadn’t forgotten the black eye her friend brought home after a weekend with the heir to Apex Oil; the scratches lining her arms from the Fairmont Broomball Championship after-party; the lacerations that kept her indoors for two months after she jumped into some drunken playboy’s dragster and wound up in a four-car pile-up. Rapunzel was a professional at brushing off her wounds, but Cindy had a habit of prodding and plucking so nothing healed without leaving an instructional scar.
“Are you taking the tunnel or the bridge?” Cindy asked, happy to change the subject.
“Bridge.”
She compulsively wound Kimberly Epson’s address around her pointer finger, twirled it back, and then wrapped it around again. “I think the tunnel’s better at this time of—”
“Bridge.”
Cindy snapped her jaw shut and looked out over the narrow downtown buildings peeking out from behind blocks of scaffolding. “So how’s the ward? Now that she’s a force to be reckoned with.”
Rapunzel laughed and scratched at the chopsticks holding her burgundy bun in place. “Pretty good, actually. Now that she’s turned the tables, Donner’s done everything short of knock down the door to see her.”
“Is that because he’s mad or because he wants her back?”
“Dunno. She won’t take his calls and my building’s on strict anti-Donner lockdown.” Cindy shivered. What an awful situation. “But I do think she’s starting to stand on her own two feet. Even asked me about apartment prices in Carpale.”
Cindy’s stomach turned as Rapunzel accelerated onto the Prince Williams Bridge. “Why Carpale?”
“For starters, it’s got you and me, and no Donner.”
Cindy hadn’t even considered leaving her kingdom if she and Aaron split. She didn’t think she would. “But Belle’s said a million times how she could never live in Carpale—how it’s all flat and cement and crowded. “If she has to leave Braddax, why wouldn’t she go someplace green? Regian’s got an actual forest.”
“Mmmhmm. That it does,” Rapunzel agreed as they cleared the bridge and galumphed into Riverfell—home of Penny and her overbearing mother-in-law. She tapped at the window. “But Riverfell’s got six-foot fuzzy hotdogs and some phenomenal graffiti artists.”
Cindy followed Rapunzel’s finger to a person in a hot dog suit gripping a sign for Spiral Island, Riverfell’s seaside amusement park. The kaleidoscopic wall behind him looked ready to explode from decades of tagging. Riverfell was a patchwork kingdom, and this was only the first piece. The whole thing seemed to have a hundred distinct communities—for architects, artists, musicians, writers, families, social climbers, beach bums, bankers, and any other label people could find for themselves.
“Do you think there’s any way they’ll get back together now?” Cindy asked as the squat storefronts disappeared and a tunnel of tidy brownstones took their place. “I can’t for the life of me figure out what she was trying to do with that reporter. Announcing her pregnancy while she’s still in the first trimester? Giving Julianne her blessing? Not answering if it’s his baby? It’s like she was daring him or something. I just don’t get it.”
“Don’t you?” Rapunzel asked. “Isn’t it the same as you not coming right out and confronting Aaron? You married folk don’t fool me. You want to make a symbolic move that shows you’re not a complete pushover, but deep down you’re afraid of starting over outside your comfort zone.”
“I wouldn’t be outside my comfort zone! I wasn’t born royal. I know what it’s like to be—”
Rapunzel silenced her with a wave of her finger. “I know you’ve been an ordinary woman before, but you’ve never been an ordinary-woman-who-used-to-be-a-queen before. Belle either.”
“But I’m following your plan!” Cindy screeched in defense, prompting Rapunzel to miss a red light and pound on the breaks. The only other driver on the road blasted his horn and sped around them.
“I know you are.” Rapunzel’s tone was suddenly motherly. “But it’s a roundabout means to an end you’re not sure about. You saw Aaron, what, two weeks ago? If someone betrayed my trust like that, I’d break that tie in a second. Wouldn’t think twice about it.”
Cindy crossed her arms and stared bullets at her friend. Then she turned and refocused on a long, windowless warehouse outside. Rapunzel wouldn’t think twice because she didn’t have collateral damage—kids—to worry about. And because she’d never let
anyone get that close to begin with. Trust? Ha. She didn’t know the meaning of the word.
For the next mile, Cindy kept her mouth shut and listened to the radio. The song was in another language, but it was beautiful, haunting. The foreign melody flooded over her, negating all the problems caused by words—impulsive words, vindictive words, false words, unspoken words. Why couldn’t everyone just say what they meant all the time? Why couldn’t she just confront Aaron with what she knew, have a civilized conversation, and not worry about him throwing her under the bus? Why couldn’t Donner have told Belle he stopped loving her years ago and spared all her heartache? Why did people insist on making everything a game? Why, despite mulling over all these questions, was Cindy still en route to spy on a strange woman who may have borne her husband’s love child?
“Ugh, what is this?” Rapunzel’s hand shot out for the tuner. The soft sounds of a harp fell away as a full jam band erupted through the speakers. Cindy fiddled with her bracelet—a collection of pendants she’d picked up during her abbreviated honeymoon.
Not a moment too soon, the main drag turned into a quiet street lined with tiny houses set close enough for neighbors to kiss through the windows. A handful of rusting cars hugged the curb. Tiny gardens overflowed with flowering bushes and plaster ornaments in the shape of meditating frogs and mid-flight birds. It was a hokey but cute little community—a world completely separate from the bustling streets of Carpale. Cindy could understand what her husband saw in this place—and, by default, in the woman who lived there.
“Good thing we didn’t take an expensive car or anything,” Rapunzel joked as they skimmed past a maroon wagon with outdated wood paneling. “We’d stick out like sore thumbs. What’s the number again?”
Cindy didn’t answer. She was too busy tracing the pastel shutters with her eyes.
“Hey, Queenie,” her companion nudged. “House number.”
Tumbling out of her trance, Cindy unwound the paper with Kimberly Epson’s address. As soon as the car stopped, she reached for the handle.
Rapunzel yanked her back. “What in the world are you doing? You can’t just stroll up to some house in the middle of nowhere looking like the most famous woman in the realm. Seriously, Cin. Think.” Cinderella sunk back into her seat. “You might as well just write a letter to the Mirror announcing everything right now.”
Cindy thought for a moment. So what was the plan, then? She didn’t want to just sit in the car and watch this time. She wanted to get proof, and for that she needed to get inside the house—or at least peer through a window. She began unclasping her jewelry.
Rapunzel’s laugh reverberated through the car. “Yeah, that’ll fool them. Without gemstones you look like a completely different person.”
They sat in silence. Perhaps their outing had been more reaction than plan.
“What’s Ruby doing today?” Rapunzel asked out of the blue.
“Ruby?” Cindy repeated, shocked at the use of her fairy godmother’s name. “You hate Ruby.”
Rapunzel raised her shoulders and sighed. “Yes. I do. But some things are more important than grudges and unfortunately, friendship is one of those things. She might be able to disguise us or just pop us in there or something.”
“You sure?”
“I won’t be if you ask one more time.”
Cindy nodded and pulled off her wristwatch.
“Did you forget your phone?” Rapunzel asked.
“No,” Cindy said as she turned the watch over in her palm and rubbed a silver stone on the back. “She gave me this to reach her faster in emergencies. I don’t know how it works exactly, but—”
“A charm?” Rapunzel’s nails scraped the cloth ceiling. “Geez, does everyone have an illegal charm but me?”
Cindy squinted. She’d thought she was the only one. “I don’t think so. Why? Who else does?”
Rapunzel shoved a stray bang from her eyes. “Oh. No one. Rumors and—”
“All right already! You only need to rub it once!” A husky voice broke through the air as a buxom ball of sequins popped into the back seat. “I’m not a genie for goodness sake. What’s all the hullabaloo? I was just discussing a new spin-off with the head of Pixi networks. Is this so important you couldn’t just call?”
It wasn’t until Cindy used the word “we” that Ruby panned left and noticed Rapunzel’s lean legs, green hot pants, and ever-changing hair color. She shifted back toward Cindy with a pinched look of annoyance. Had it been up to Ruby, her precious cindergirl-turned-queen would never keep the company of outspoken socialites who treat love like an all-you-can-eat buffet. To her, Rapunzel was a threat to the traditional lifestyle in which young women waited gracefully for brave, handsome men to come pick them out based on beauty, charm, and obedience. The two women weren’t so much oil and water as charcoal and saltpeter.
“Let me get this straight,” Ruby said when Cindy finally stopped ranting. She spoke slowly, digging into each word as if it was mounted and padded and her tongue was wrapped in gauze. “You saw your husband, who meets with hundreds of needy people a week, in a room with a pretty woman. You never saw them kiss, or embrace, or—”
“They were practically on top of each other,” Cindy said.
Ruby scowled. “It sounds like all he did was put his arm behind her neck to clasp a necklace. Maybe it fell off and he was being a gentleman.” She nodded toward Rapunzel. The movement of her brillowy hair spread lemon scent everywhere. “How much of this is her influence? Or paranoia stemming from Belle’s problems—which I really need to speak with you about, by the way.”
Cindy stared at her feet, ignoring the part about Belle completely. She was done with the “what ifs;” they led nowhere. At least infidelity came with a target.
“And now you want me to change your appearance so that you can break into this woman’s house?” Rapunzel cleared her throat, loudly. “Excuse me. Both of your appearances.”
Cindy pursed her lips and drew imaginary circles on her wrist. That pretty much covered it, even though—coming from Ruby—it sounded completely absurd. Still, she needed to know. She needed to know how involved this was. Was Aaron leaving clothes at Kimberly Epson’s house? A toothbrush? Did he have his own drawer? Did she have an entire closet full of expensive and luxurious gifts only a king could afford? Did they share old mementos? Were there pictures of the two of them on the walls, holding her—or their—son?
“You know that changing the physics of a living thing counts as curse, and I’ll lose all my powers until it’s finished, right?” Ruby waited for them to change their minds. But all three of them knew she had something to lose as well. Even with all her fame—her talk shows, magazines, weight-loss franchise, cosmetics line, and self-help books—Ruby still owed everything to Cinderella. Before she decided to help that orphan girl get to Prince Aaron’s marital ball, she was simply the custodian of the Western Library in Carpale, controller of Marestam’s official histories (for what they’re worth). It was a post handed down from one Welles to the next for generations, and it was an extremely lonely existence.
“Are you going to bail me out of jail if that bastard Angus Kane finds out? And how will I get back to my meeting with my powers gone?” she asked. “Is there a subway station near here?”
Cindy made her face tight. “You can wait here or we’ll call you a cab. I need you to do this.”
The fairy shot another sneer at Rapunzel. Cindy could have whined and philosophized and tried to convince Ruby to share her point of view, but in the end that didn’t really matter. In the end, she didn’t need her permission. Nothing was going to stop her from getting inside that house. Nothing was going to stop her from finding out who Aaron felt was worth dismantling his entire family.
Their faces were inches apart now. “Ruby,” she said, her eye sockets pulsating. “You. Owe. Me.”
The words seemed to sink in one cell at a time until Ruby curled back and lunged into her purse for a tissue. She sneezed so hard the car shook
. “Sorry,” she said, wiping her nose. “This isn’t helping my cold.” She paused but no sympathy came. “Fine. I’ll take twelve years off each of you and give you cheerleading outfits. That way I won’t get in as much trouble. And if this poor woman is home, you can say you’re hosting a car wash or something.”
Cindy popped her arms open and squished both Ruby and Rapunzel into each other with glee—until the latter started gagging on the former’s perfume-doused hair. Begrudgingly, Ruby pulled a metal thimble out of her purse and stretched it into an eight-inch wand. A minute later, two unusually cautious teenagers stepped onto the sidewalk wearing bright blue miniskirts with yellow tops and ribbons.
“Hello high school,” Rapunzel sang, twirling in circles to get a good view of her derrière. “Pity I never got to show off my curves when I was this age. No football players in my tower, you know.”
Cindy was afraid to look, but took her phone out anyway and switched it to video mode. The face staring back at her had a natural glow, flawless skin, and high cheekbones that pulled everything—from her forehead to the underside of her chin—taut as an over-inflated balloon. So this is what four kids had cost her, she thought, cringing at the reality of her actual twenty-nine-year-old face, with its worry dents, a chin that sagged when she bent her neck at a certain angle, and a flat finish as opposed to that youthful shine.
“Dude,” Rapunzel gawked with her mouth open and her nose nearly poking Cindy in the eye. “You seriously look the same … only you’re way better at putting on makeup now. You weren’t wearing mascara by high school?”
Cindy laughed and straightened her skirt. When she was a teenager, her world revolved around toilet scrubbers and a middle-aged librarian. The only pre-magic experience she’d had with makeup was when her stepsisters tied her to a chair and used her as their personal lab rat. Priya, unable to do anything to herself without first seeing how it turned out on someone else, was the ringleader; Grace was just too intimidated to stop her. By the time they were done painting and scrubbing and painting again, Cindy’s face was so sore she felt the stinging even in her dreams. She cried for three days straight, and it took four months for her hair to grow back normally.
