by Rexi Lake
“Would you care to dance?” I asked.
“Oh!” She let out the soft exclamation and looked around in confusion. “I would. But, I’m supposed to be meeting someone here.”
“Someone?” I asked.
“Hmm,” she murmured, nodding her head.
Those bright green eyes returned to me and I could feel myself losing the ground beneath my feet.
“Dance with me,” I said, holding out my hand.
Her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something. But she set her flute down and placed her hand in mine instead.
Drawing her onto the floor was almost too easy. She flowed with me around and through the other couples with an assuredness that came from years of practice. How did she know how to waltz so well? Everything about her was intriguing. The parts of her personality that shined through in her texts had only drawn me deeper into the mystery that was this woman who danced with the grace of a royal, treated those in need with the kindness of a saint, worked diligently and took pride in the things she created, and had a sassy sense of humor that made me laugh at the dry wit and sometimes salty straight-forwardness.
I pulled her close and swirled her around. She laughed as the tempo rose and fell and our movements with it. She grinned up at me and I felt everything in me click into place. She was absolutely the one for me. This dark-haired temptress with the enchanting green eyes that glittered with amusement and the crooked smile full of sinful promise.
I kept her on the dance floor with me for two more dances. When Starla signalled she was done, I too had to move to where I could continue to watch over her.
“Will you keep me company while Starla does her thing?” I asked.
She looked around, her face falling as confusion set in and the champagne buzz faded. “Um, I suppose. But, I think I might need to get some air first.”
She brushed past me toward the terrace doors that were open for guests to mingle outside and in as they wished. I wanted to follow, but I couldn’t. Starla was inside. Duty called.
MIDNIGHT CAME AND WENT and finally, Starla’s guests began to trickle away. When the last of the guests said their farewells, I had a moment to breath. I hadn’t seen Drew leave. I hadn’t even seen her return from outside.
“Star?” I murmured softly, drawing her attention from the server she was speaking to about the leftovers.
“Yes?” she asked, turning toward me.
“Did Drew leave?”
She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t know. If she did, I didn’t see her.”
“Wait here, please,” I told her. I went back toward the terrace doors and made my way out into the dimly lit night air.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, but I finally spotted her on the far end, sitting on a stone bench with her hands in her lap and her head bowed in defeat.
“Drew?” I approached slowly, concerned.
I heard a sniffle and she dashed her hands over her face before she looked up.
“I’m sorry. I suppose you need me to leave so they can clean up.” She stood and grabbed the little clutch that had been on the seat beside her.
I grabbed her arm as she moved past me, halting her progress.
“You’re crying.”
She gave a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, women do that kind of thing when they get stood up. Or so I’ve seen on TV. This is my first experience with it, so,” she left off with a shrug.
“Silly woman,” I pulled her into my arms and held her tight. “You didn’t get stood up. But I suppose this was probably not the best venue to go about this the way I’d thought.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, still sniffling.
I pulled back just enough to look down at her and with one hand tipped her chin up so our eyes met.
“My name is Nathaniel Matthew Emanual Erickson. To my friends and family, I am Tate.”
CHAPTER TWELVE ~ Drew
“I - you - what?” I sputtered. Maybe I’d had more to drink than I thought. I couldn’t have just heard what I thought I heard.
“I’m so sorry about the deception, Drew,” Starla’s voice came from behind Tate.
I pulled away and looked between them. “I think I need to sit down,” I muttered.
Starla brushed past Tate and took my arm, leading me back to the bench I’d been sitting on for hours.
“My brother is probably going to screw this up, so let me see if I can help.”
“Brother?” I asked, looking over at Tate.
He nodded. “I did tell you I had a half sister.”
“No, Nathaniel told me that. You are a bodyguard.”
At least he had the decency to wince at that and look a little guilty. My head was swimming a little and I wasn’t sure if it was the champagne, the revelation, or the fact that my employer, who’d kept an arm’s length distance for years was suddenly acting like we were girlfriends. Had the world just turned upside down on me again?
“He thought that up all on his own. I told him to text you when I found your note. Not to hide who he was.” Starla glared at her brother.
“I didn’t hide who I was,” Tate protested. “I was myself in those texts, Drew. The real me. Just as this is also the real me. Just with a few things left out,” he said.
Starla waved a hand. “You’re going to get her all confused.”
“I’m pretty sure I hit that at the beginning of this conversation,” I muttered.
“The truth is, my mother and father are minor royals of a small island country in the North Sea. It’s barely a dot on a map, but it’s home and the people there still hold onto our customs. Even though the monarchy is mostly just for show now, it’s still a hereditary throne. Tate is a prince in title only because his father wasn’t part of the royal line. I, however, am the heir to the throne of Winderos Isle.”
I waved my hands in front of them. “Wait, wait, wait.” I tried to reconcile her words, but it wasn’t happening. “Are you pranking me or something?” I looked around, expecting a camera to be behind a bush or something. Or maybe the StoryTeller and Quill. Had I agreed to a new life only to be thrown into someone’s idea of a big joke?
“It’s not a prank, Drew,” Tate murmured.
“Tate came with me when I left home to do something for myself a little before I have to go back and fulfill my royal role,” Starla rolled her eyes and I almost felt sorry for her.
But - she was a freaking princess! I squeezed my eyes shut and shook myself internally.
“I quit.”
The words left my mouth before I could really think about them. But in all honesty, I couldn’t handle the truth they’d just thrown at me.
“What?” Starla’s startled question hit me like a ton of bricks.
I looked up and met her gaze with a steady one. “I quit. I won’t reveal anything to anyone, but I can’t do this.”
I stood and walked away from them. My head was held high and my back was straight. They didn’t need to see my white knuckles as I clenched my fists. I half expected one of them to come after me, but they didn’t. Or they didn’t do it fast enough. I was in my car and on my way before I took a full breath. I had no idea what I’d just done. No concept of what I was going to do next. But all I wanted right then was to get out of the dress that had made me feel beautiful and special and hide from the world for a bit.
Karma really was a bitch.
IT HAD BEEN TWO WEEKS. Two weeks since I’d walked away from my job and the man who’d driven me to distraction in every possible way. He still drove me to distraction, but now it was different. I stared at my phone and then tossed it back onto the bed, away from me. It was full of texts and voicemails. Some were from Starla. Some were from Tate - sorry, Nathaniel. I hadn’t listened to any of the messages. I’d caught a few glimpses of the texts, but I hadn’t responded. I didn’t know what to say.
Hell, I hadn’t been speechless since El’s foot had slid into that glass slipper and she’d turned into a princess before my ey
es. Literally. Dress, crown, the whole bit from the shoe up. Lucky woman. Who knew meeting Prince Charming at a ball would lead to her karmic reward?
That whole offer from the silly feather fairy and the StoryTeller made a whole lot of sense now that I’d gotten my own karmic reward. I still couldn’t believe that after five years of working my ass off and trying to be good, leaving my wickedness behind me, I had been played by the universe. Totally played. A giant joke. It was like a fairytale gone wrong. Or a twisted comedic tragedy. A total fairytale failure. A fairy fail.
I snorted a laugh, startling Brutus who’d been curled up next to my laptop. I was staring at a photo of Nathaniel and his sister, Estrella Maria Daniella Ruthergud. Significantly younger, but it was definitely them. I could see it in their eyes. Their identical eyes.
How could I have missed that? I’d stared into his eyes so many times. And I’d often used Starla’s colors to make her eyes shine brighter. It was my job to notice details like that. So how had I missed the fact that they had the same eyes? Their mother’s eyes?
I reached up and slammed the laptop closed. Brutus gave me a side eye as he hefted himself up and jumped to the floor. He didn’t go far, only to the area rug that was currently bathed in afternoon sunlight. He curled up in the warm rays and promptly closed his eyes, returning to his nap.
“You have no idea how good a life you have,” I muttered.
A knock at the door had me sighing. I didn’t want to deal with people. But I also didn’t have any clue who would be at my door. Maybe it was one of my neighbors. They sometimes got one of my packages in their mailboxes by mistake.
Opening the door I was surprised to see a trolley full of a wide array of flower arrangements. “I think you’re at the wrong place,” I told the flustered looking delivery boy.
“Are you - “ he looked down at his clipboard “ - Drew Stella?”
“Yes, but - “ I didn’t get any further.
“These are for you then.” He pushed the cart into my apartment and began unloading the thing onto any available surface. When he finished, he unclipped an envelope from the board and handed it to me. “Have a nice day,” he said.
As he exited, I heard him mutter, “Hope she forgives the guy.”
I closed the door and leaned against it, looking around at the sudden invasion of flowers of every kind scattered around my apartment. Mixed in were a few stuffed animals, a basket full of chocolates, and even some balloons. It must have cost a fortune. A small one, at least.
I looked down at the envelope in my hand. Groaning out loud, I headed for the chocolates. If I was going to read it, I deserved a reward.
TWO CHOCOLATE BARS later, I opened the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. Opening it up, I saw my own words staring back at me. Words I’d written half a lifetime before, or so it felt.
Dear Tate,
I know we haven’t spoken much but I find myself inexplicably drawn to you. I haven’t been able to breath without thoughts of you drifting through my mind. It’s strange and probably not the healthiest thing to do, but I can’t seem to stop myself from imagining the things we might say to each other or the things we might do together.
I’d like to get to know you. The real you. Speaking in that place is difficult. And perhaps I am so out of line I may lose my job for this. But here is my number. If you would be interested in getting to know me as well, perhaps a text message might start a conversation.
Drew
BELOW MY NAME WAS A single sentence followed by a simple question: The real me has always wanted the real you. What does the real you want?
Simple, and so very loaded too. What did I want? I had no idea.
No earthly idea.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN ~ Drew
“I thought giving you a second chance would be a good thing.”
I fell out of bed as a bright flash of light filled my room following the voice that had pulled me from my dreams.
“What?” I shielded my eyes with my hands as I tried to get my bearings. No one liked being unceremoniously woken from a good dream. It was like pulling the rug from under someone’s feet. Just wasn’t something anyone should do.
The light dimmed and I could finally see, albeit there were spots in my vision.
“I sent you here to have a second chance at being more than a wicked stepsister. But it seems you have determined that you don’t deserve a chance at happiness.”
As everything finally clicked in my head, I realized that the dancing lights were actually the magic floating in the air around my nighttime visitor - the StoryTeller. She looked the same as before, except brighter. More magic-y. (Was that a word?)
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, confused by her sudden appearance.
“You had a chance at your own prince and yet you ran from him? I suppose I can see the sisterly resemblance with that. But your stepsister chose to fight for her prince. She defied your mother, your sister, and you to greet him and try on that slipper. You don’t even answer a text message.”
She waved her hands and my phone lit up across the room. Tate’s voice and Starla’s spilled from the speaker as the voicemails were played first, then the texts were spoken aloud. Damn magic and interfering fairies. Or enchantresses. Or whatever she was.
I listened as the heartfelt words of apology floated in the silence. He spoke about getting to know me as himself, without the deception of his position. The veil of secrecy hadn’t been to deceive me. It had been to protect Starla. And himself. He admitted that.
Then there were Starla’s messages. I could hear the tears in her voice. She felt awful for putting her brother and myself in such a position. She’d encouraged the texts, but had hoped it would serve as a way for us to meet in the space that always lingered between us. That professional space that existed because of our positions with her.
When the last message finished, the phone went dark again.
I crawled back up to sit on the edge of my bed. “What am I supposed to do?” I asked.
The StoryTeller shook her head. “I’m not writing your story, Drew. You are. You must decide if you will take this chance and go after what you want, or if you’ll let it slip from your fingers and slide into your history in this world.”
She stood and faced me. “You won’t see me again. But I do hope you give yourself a worthy ending to this new tale of yours.”
A bright flash and I was again alone in my apartment. Again rubbing my eyes to try and clear away the dots of lights that distorted my vision. Opening my eyes after a moment, I saw a single feather laying in the spot she’d been a moment before. I reached over and picked it up.
It wasn’t just a feather. It was a quill.
I bit my lip as I stood and looked around for a piece of paper.
Finding a single sheet on my desk, I sat down and stared at it and the quill in my hand for long moments. What does the real you want?
In big bold letters, I wrote my answer across the page:
I want to be happy.
I took a deep breath and laid the quill down. A moment later, a third flash of light brightened my apartment and then faded away. When my vision cleared, again, the quill and paper were gone. Only a fine layer of magic sparkled in the place where it had been.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING I woke up to a knock on my door. It had taken me hours to fall back asleep, so I was not very cognizant as I trudged down the hall and pulled open the door. I probably would have squeaked and slammed the door shut if I’d been more awake. But since I wasn’t, I just stood there and stared, dumbfounded, at Tate. He stood there in the tuxedo I’d made him, holding the paper with my answer in one hand.
“I’m not exactly sure how I got here,” he said. “But is this your answer?” He held up the piece of paper.
I nodded, my mouth still hanging open in shock.
“Then I have one more question for you.”
I swallowed and licked my lips. How had my mouth gotten so dry? Oh, yeah. I
t had been hanging open for five minutes.
I cleared my throat. “Okay.”
“Will you trust me to make you happy?”
He stepped forward, pushing into my space and bringing us so close I could see the individual lashes around his eyes.
My gaze dipped down, to his lips, then back up. He was serious. He was actually asking me that. He was a prince! I should be asking that question, not the other way around.
I swallowed again and slowly nodded my head.
His lips met mine and the paper fluttered to the floor as his hands gripped my waist, lifting me into his arms. I wrapped mine around his shoulders and held tight as he kicked the door shut and leaned my against the nearest wall.
This was the kind of position I’d imagined us in many times before. But nothing in my fantasies could have prepared me for the actual feel of his hard body pressing into me. He pulled at the drawstring holding my pants up and a moment later it was loose enough for him to slide his hand inside and his fingers found the hot core of me that was aching for him to touch.
He wasted no time, thank fuck. As soon as he felt how wet I already was, he set me down, tore my pants from my hips, and had his cock out of his trousers faster than I thought possible. I don’t know where the condom came from or how I missed him sliding it on, but suddenly he was back, lifting me up again and lining the head against my pussy.
“Hold on,” he growled a millisecond before he slammed inside of me. I screamed at the intrusion. It was too much and not nearly enough. He was hot and thick and deep and my body tightened around his length greedily. My head twisted against the wall as he drove into me, over and over. My hands clutched at his shoulders, slipping on the material that still covered them. I wanted to feel all of him. But that thought was whisked away as my first orgasm crashed through me with a ferocious intensity that came out of nowhere.
