by Laura Kenyon
She stopped. It happened quickly, but it was undeniable. The right corner of Julianne’s lip ticked up. Then it reversed into a well-practiced look of concern. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Did the date not go well?”
Belle stared back, jaw wide open and mind completely blank. If Julianne didn’t know about the date because of its violent outcome, how did she know about it at all?
“The thing I don’t get,” Belle continued, warily, “is that Edward was so sweet when I met him. I can’t imagine what made him act so horrible at dinner.”
Julianne laid a hand on Belle’s shoulder. Then she panned the crowd to make sure everyone was witnessing this moment of sisterly compassion. “Sometimes people have two faces, sis. You can’t trust anyone these days. If this Edgar guy didn’t—”
Belle flung the hand from her shoulder. “You just won’t stop, will you?”
“What?” Julianne batted her eyes. “I’m only trying to help.”
“I called him Edward. Just now. Fuck, Julianne. I called him Edward! You corrected his name. What did you do, follow me to the park and bribe him into causing a scene? No wonder he was so different before!”
Julianne scrunched her eyes for a moment, then sighed. The jig was up. “I only wanted the world to see who you really are. Sis.”
Belle braced for an explosion. She wanted to clobber Julianne for everything she’d ever done—to her, to her father, to Edgar, and even to Donner. She wanted to drill into her brain that her actions were borderline unforgiveable. She wanted to know whether Julianne ever even considered how terrified Belle was when she marched into the monster’s lair, alone for what looked like eternity.
But then, as her eyes lingered on her sister’s, Belle began to see something new. She saw a woman who was too old for her cleavage, too made-up for her age, and too bitter to let anyone in. She saw insecurity and defiance, and even a tiny bit of fear. In a lot of ways, she saw her mother—and it was time to let her go.
“I already have my sisters,” she said, glancing back toward the room where her friends were waiting. She reached forward to give Julianne one last hug in the limelight. Then she said goodbye and turned around. She left no breadcrumbs. No last-punch words that would warrant a reply. Julianne was nothing to her now—not a sister, not a sore. She didn’t glance back once as she rushed toward the exit, her body coursing with an odd mix of adrenaline and calm. She passed the VIP room, shuffled down the hallway, and smacked right into Aaron.
“Yikes, Belle,” he said, holding her shoulders and scanning her for any sign of pain—external or otherwise. “Are you okay?”
Belle didn’t want to see anyone right now, but Aaron had a good heart. She appreciated the rarity.
“I’m fine,” she said, though his expression radiated disbelief. “Can you just tell everyone I’m sorry but I had to go home? It was too soon to put myself back out there.”
Aaron paused and cracked an understanding smile. “Of course. But I’m not letting you leave on your own. At least let me get you safely into a taxi. I insist.”
The line of scantily-clad people waiting to get inside the Beanstalk stretched around the corner, where a fleet of lime green taxis sat waiting. Aaron wouldn’t let Belle climb into one until he’d thoroughly examined the driver and determined he was worthy of such valuable cargo.
“Cindy’s lucky to have you,” she told him through the window as the radio touted tomorrow’s “red carpet coverage of Queen Letitia’s anniversary extravaganza.”
“Lately, I think she’d disagree with that.” He gave a melancholy grin. “Been so busy planning her birthday that I’ve kind of put her on hold.”
“A momentary distraction. She’ll forgive you when she sees all the hard work you put in for her.” Belle watched a light burn out in the Beanstalk’s marquee. “She loves you.”
“That goes both ways,” he said before giving the cab a farewell tap. “Now get some rest.”
While waiting for the driver to nudge his way through the sea of revelers that always clogged the Carpale nightclub district after midnight, Belle thought about Donner again—the Donner she knew before the curse broke. After the initial growling and snarling, he’d been sweet like Aaron. Now that he was human again, however, she wondered how much of that had been genuine and how much was simply a ploy to make her break his curse. Could good looks alone change someone that much? Or did they both share a bit of the blame?
This is what she was thinking when the cab door swung open, a quick burst of noise flooded in, and the seat compressed beside her.
“I’m a fool.” Donner’s voice cut through the sounds of the city—the honking and laughing and music pumping from other cars. She whipped around. His eyes were swollen and red. “Belle? Why didn’t you tell me we were having a baby?”
He reached for her hand and pulled it towards him, cradling it between his rough fingers—rougher than she remembered. “I should have listened to you. I let her get into my head and now I’ve lost the only thing that matters.” She swallowed hard and wanted to look somewhere else—anywhere else. But she couldn’t take her eyes off of him—of this huge, powerful beast of a man crumbling in the back seat of her cab. “Belle.” The sound of her name tugged at something inside her. She was too stunned to move. “I hate who I am without you. I didn’t appreciate it, but I need you. I need you, to be a better man.”
He fell forward, raising her hand to his face and folding over her like a snapped steeple. “I’m so sorry for everything. Please. Please come home.”
Belle took a slow breath and looked down at him—at the red and green reflecting off his quaking shoulders; at the man who ripped her heart out and tore it into a million pieces; at the eyes that had an even chance of staring back at her in nine months no matter what she chose to do now. Maybe Ruby was right. Maybe her happy ending wasn’t supposed to be without potholes. Maybe true love required sacrifice, and forgiveness, and humility too.
Her lips hovered apart for an eternity before she managed to answer.
TheMarestamMirror.com
Diamond Ropes and Velvet Cake
By Perrin Hildebrand, King of Gossip*
8:57 a.m. – Rise and smile, my lovelies! Riverfell’s big night is just hours away! Marestam’s longest-reigning monarch, Queen Letitia Victoria Jennings LeBlanche (you know it’s important when I haul all those out!), will mark her fortieth year in power surrounded by the bold, the beautiful, and a few lucky contest winners.
The big question on everyone’s minds is: Will Letitia use tonight’s spotlight to finally abdicate the throne? And if so, which of her equally uninspiring sons will hop on? Carter: Older, broodier, and a mystery to all but his poker pals. Or Logan: Younger, dependable, and—rumor has it—still taking breast milk in his tea.
Check in all night for the play-by-play.
*Going on hunger strike till title approved
Chapter Sixteen
PENELOPEA
The instant Penny’s alarm hit her ears, the Riverfell princess shot out of bed and began racing around like a wind-up toy gone haywire. Logan, his eyes still shut, heard her rant in snippets first and then a full-blown tirade.
“The caterers are coming at eleven. Your suit is in the front of the closet and don’t forget to wear the cufflinks Belle gave you. Oh, and I need you to keep an eye on Dawn’s husband. There are going to be a lot of rich people here and I don’t want the King of Regian roping them into drunken investment deals; the last thing anyone needs are more towers with Hunter’s name on them. And tell the kids—I mean of course we don’t have any kids. But make sure Carter—”
“Pen,” Logan yawned, propping himself up on his elbows and shaking the invisible cobwebs from his curls. “Breathe. Everything’s gonna be fine.”
Penny slammed her foot into her slipper with such force that it flew into the air and sent her tumbling backwards—straight back onto the bed and into Logan’s arms.
“See what happens when you freak out?” he teased, strugg
ling to keep her still. “You did a great job planning. Everyone knows what they’re supposed to do.”
“Sweetheart, let go. I need—” Penny’s voice broke into laughter as Logan’s fingers flittered across her side. “Stop … You’re tickling … Logan, you’re not helping!”
His smile spread wide and bright as his wife flailed against him. She was teetering dangerously between joy and annoyance, but he only saw the former. That’s why Penny fell in love with him to begin with—because he could stay childlike and happy under any circumstances. It didn’t occur to her until after the wedding that children rarely bother thinking in more than one layer and never understand why grown-ups get angry.
“Babe, you’re gonna make me all puffy,” Penny begged, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “I really have to get moving. You know if a single thing goes wrong your mother will never let me hear the end of it.”
This was his cue to let go. As far as Logan was concerned, the woman who gave him life was no more demanding than any other mother when it came to her children. She wanted what was best for him and had always fought tooth and nail to get it—from a starting position on his third grade baseball team to the ideal wife. He knew she’d do the same for her daughter-in-law if Penny would just simmer down and let it happen. But Letitia and Penny were too similar to get along, too similar to back down, and too similar to see the resemblance.
Discussing this with Penny always ended with her demanding he “cut the umbilical cord already”—by either asking Letitia to give him the throne ASAP (his older brother had made it abundantly clear he had no interest), or by moving out of Riverfell Palace until his title required he be there. Logan understood where his wife was coming from, but what kind of man repays the woman who birthed him by demanding she hurry up and get out of his life?
“Okay babe,” he said, releasing Penny from his arms and breathing a sigh of relief as the fight faded from her eyes. “Just let me get dressed and I promise to be your personal servant until the party starts.”
“Great!” she called back. “So same as usual!”
Chapter Seventeen
BELLE
Belle awoke swaddled in black silk sheets. The low dong of a grandfather clock floated up through the floorboards. Sunlight drew a glowing border around the blocked windows. It was just a tad too cool to bring her arms out from under the covers, but the man lying by her side was exposed from the waist up.
She’d woken up this way a thousand times before—only she hadn’t. Really, Belle was opening her eyes to a whole new existence. She was back home with Donner, but things weren’t going to be the same. They were rebooting their lives—and bringing a fresh one into the world as well. Her husband had realized everything he’d ever done wrong, and he was going to change.
Maybe they could mark their reconciliation by making breakfast together and eating it on the patio. Then she’d send someone over to Rapunzel’s to pick up all her things, and they could dress for Penny’s party. She wanted to wear the fitted red dress she’d just bought—the one with the mermaid flare and the black belt. It would send the perfect message to the public: Belle’s back and better than ever. Improved formula, better packaging.
“Morning, beautiful.” Donner’s voice was scratchy. He rolled onto his side and propped up his head. The smell of salt—dried sweat from the night before—hung off his skin. “It’s nice to have you back.”
Belle blushed as he twirled her hair around his finger. “It’s nice to be back.” She looked around. Minus the clothes scattered about, the room looked exactly as she’d left it. “Thanks for not wrecking the joint.”
An odd look flashed across his face, as if he was hearing her words more than once and dissecting them.
“What?” Belle asked, but Donner shook his head.
“Nothing.” He ran his hand over the curves that miraculously appeared when she lay on her side—the peak, the valley, and another climb. “We should get up. We need time to prepare for the party.”
“Not yet,” Belle said. He flashed that tense look again. “I thought I could make us some eggs first and—”
“Babe, if you want eggs, I’ll tell Sheridan to do it.” He pecked her forehead, his lips like two giant marshmallows against her skin. “You’re home now, remember? You don’t have to do anything for yourself.”
Belle made a mental note to take that subject up again later. But for now, she had a social comeback to prepare for.
“I’ll need to get my dress from Rapunzel’s apartment.”
“Nonsense!” Donner thrust back the covers and hopped out of bed. Belle blushed again, taking in how broad and muscular he was. Huge, really. All over.
He reached the armoire in five giant steps, then pulled back the doors. An exquisite, light pink ball gown stared back at her. It had a miniscule waist, a massive bodice, and sleeves that would keep a small child afloat for several hours. She was pretty sure she’d given its twin to charity. “My mother sent this over, for when you came back. Talk about perfect timing.”
A sour taste stretched up Belle’s throat. She slid off the bed and drifted over to the armoire. She hated it like it was another woman.
“I already have my dress picked out.”
Donner analyzed her but said nothing. Belle explained how she’d given away all her old dresses and restocked her wardrobe with things she genuinely liked—and could actually move in. “I always hated these puffy things,” she said. “The corset hurts and the skirt always gets stuck in doorways and I might as well be a cripple in those heels. I only wore them because I thought it was what you and your family wanted.”
“It is.” The words struck Belle like a punch to the gut. “It’s what royalty wears.”
It’s idiotic, she wanted to yell. But Donner’s forehead was getting bumpy, and that was never a good sign.
“It’s not what Snow wears,” she said instead. “Or Dawn. Or Cindy. Or even Letitia, and she’s ancient.” She forced a laugh to lighten the mood. “Do you think people won’t believe I’m a queen if I’m not in a costume?”
Donner’s head tilted as she spoke, the way Beast’s had in the park—though this was far less adorable. She’d have to tell him about Beast later; now didn’t seem like the best time. She was waiting for him to say her friends could wear anything they wanted because they were royal by blood—except for Cindy, of course, but she was more famous than all of them. If he did, she was ready.
Instead, Donner stepped forward and held both of her shoulders. He could crush her like a melon, if he wanted to.
“It seems some of your roommate’s attitude has rubbed off on you,” he said, “but that’s only natural. It’ll work itself out.”
Belle struggled to process his words. Work itself out? What, like a disease?
“If you want to wear a garbage bag to the party, I can’t stop you. But I’d really like you to wear this. The people want Belle back—not some trendy, lippy version of her. I promised you I’d never be unfaithful again, but that doesn’t mean everything else needs to change. We need to get back on track without tossing new things into the mix. Do you understand?”
Belle felt like a child in his shadow. No, she did not understand. But that was something she could work on later … when they were good again.
TheMarestamMirror.com
Diamond Ropes and Velvet Cake
By Perrin Hildebrand, King of Gossip*
12:01 p.m. – Four hours to go and Riverfell Palace is all atwitter! Let me set the scene: Sparkling silver carpet runway; purple dinner tables spread throughout the courtyard; a dozen fully stocked bar stations; ice swans at every corner; a twenty-chair orchestra fanned out across a golden stage. I am dug in and undetected. Though I wouldn’t mind scoping out the kitchen …
12:07 p.m. – A van full of hair and makeup artists has just pulled up the drive! Everything is looking spectacular! But the sky does seem a tad gray …
12:35 p.m. – The smoked salmon canapés are to die for, and the signatur
e vodka drink = divine.
1:05 p.m. – Just got my first peek at the woman of the hour—stitched into a ball of sequins, her hair still in curlers, pacing along the veranda and leering at the darkening clouds. She’s taking her weather worries out on the caterers. And BOY is she livid!
1:35 p.m. – Ruby to the rescue! PBF Ruby Welles has pulled some strings and gotten Parliament’s permission to spin a two-square-acre invisible tarp over the castle grounds. Ladies, your meticulously coiffed coiffures may breath a sigh of relief. No rain here! Whoever said magic is obsolete these days must be bald and unfashionable.
2 p.m. – Princess Penelopea just wove through the tables to give everything her seal of approval. And woah! Perhaps it’s the vodka talking, but I’ve never seen her so ravishing! Girl, if you’re checking in, aqua is definitely your color! And nice touch with Logan’s matching tie. Preparing for a coronation, are we?
3:12 p.m. – Prince Carter just tumbled out of a mud-splattered truck and dawdled up the steps to (hopefully) shower and change. He was wearing a pit-stained T-shirt and last season’s sneakers.
3:43 p.m. – The band is warm! The beer is cold! The hors d’oeuvres are hot! Get ready, Marestam. It’s time to party!!
*Hunger strike will resume after dessert
Chapter Eighteen
PENELOPEA
Queen Letitia‘s fortieth anniversary extravaganza began at four o’clock when the May sun hung low in a cloudless sky. Crystals dusted the carpet leading up to the sprawling palace, with its countless gables, stone chimneys, and wraparound balcony. Celebratory banners hung from brownstones in the surrounding area of Prospect Slope, marking the way for a steady stream of entertainers, royals, politicians, artists, reclusive millionaires, and philanthropists en route to the palace gates. Everything had gone according to plan—at least that’s what Penny told herself when the official procession began.
