by Julie Wright
Anders smiled as well. “The point of the story is that Anders would, without hesitation, slay the giants in her life. But first he had to do something very difficult. Something that broke his heart.”
“And what was that?” I whispered.
“He felt he had to show her what the giants looked like. She didn’t believe him, or maybe she didn’t understand him, or maybe he didn’t understand her when she’d told him to be on the lookout for such monsters. Maybe they were both wrong about what were—and were not—giants. Maybe they were both right. Either way, their friendship had been attacked. The peasant boy became angry with her for not seeing what he saw. And the fair princess grew angry with him for not seeing what she saw. They parted ways, each one shattered by the loss of the other.”
“But—”
He scowled. “Have I said the words ‘and they lived happily ever after’ yet?”
“No, but—”
He rested his finger—the one not twined in my hair—over my mouth. “Then I’m not done with the story.”
I shushed so he could finish his story.
“The peasant spent his days in misery, worried he was wrong, angry because he thought he might be right, hurt that maybe she did not care for him like he cared for her. He picked up his magical communication device—that’s a phone—where he wrote her long letters of apology and pleadings for forgiveness and reconciliation, but he did not believe his contact would be welcomed, so he deleted them.”
“Oh Anders . . . I—” I remembered to shush before he had to tell me.
He continued. “His agony was unprecedented. His loss and need had no parallel. He was no longer poor in means but poor in soul.” He blinked the shimmer in his eyes away and cleared his throat again. “But then, at a time when the peasant faced his greatest trial and when he felt so very alone in that trial, this pen-wielding princess showed up at his doorstep. She had given up much to be with him, and his gratitude was so great he forgot his anger and felt shame in his own behavior.”
He stopped there, his eyes never leaving my face. When the pause went on for several moments, I asked, “Is this where you say ‘and they lived happily ever after’?”
“I don’t know, Lettie.”
My heart sank down into my toes, every nerve in my body tracing its fall with a searing fire. “Oh,” I whispered and finally broke the spell of his gaze on mine by looking away. I moved to pull away, but he took my hand in his and gave me a light tug to keep me with him.
“I don’t know,” he said, “because it’s not really up to me. You know how I feel about you, about long-term, about commitment. After my time here with Farfar, I believe more strongly than ever in things that last. But I also know how you feel. I think maybe our ideas of happily ever after might not match up. I’m not really up to waiting around on something that isn’t certain.”
Relief flooded through me and somehow found my missing heart and buoyed it back up into my chest where it belonged. He wasn’t rejecting me. And he also wasn’t pushing me. He wanted me to choose, to choose him, to choose us. But he wanted it to be my choice.
I smiled at him. “Then let me finish your story. The princess also wrote long messages that were pleas for forgiveness. She paced her floor and felt sad that her peasant wasn’t downstairs, hearing the physical evidence of her lamentations. She wanted to make things right with him because she knew she could not live without him. She had not been understanding. She had not been entirely honest. And the only way to make it right was to confess the truth. So she told the truth to the world about her identity, and she boarded a plane and flew to the frozen land where her peasant had selflessly banished himself to care for his aging grandfather. When she saw him, she knew something had shifted in her. She now believed in long-term. She now believed in commitment. She told him she loved him—I love you, Anders—and she knew he returned that emotion because he had shown her in so many, many ways throughout their time together. They embraced, they kissed with the passion of fiery hot coals, and they made plans for their future because they were going to live happily ever after.”
At those words, he reached for me and held my face in his hands while he searched for any sign that I might not mean what I’d said. “Really? Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure about anything. And because we will be together, you need to know that you’re no longer a peasant. I’m financially secure enough to at least bring you up to middle class. Maybe first class if the internet doesn’t execute my reputation based off of my video.”
“I’m sorry if this hurts your sales and messes up your chances for new books, Lettie.”
I shook my head. “Don’t be sorry. It was the right thing to do. It was becoming too much for me to keep everything that I should be doing and saying and shouldn’t be doing and saying straight. So . . .” I pulled on his tie, forcing his face close to mine. “Jag älskar dig,” I whispered.
“You learned to say ‘I love you’ in Swedish.” He looked like he might cry full tears. This time, he closed the distance between us. There was no need to wait to gauge my feelings for him. I’d laid it all on the line. We both knew where we stood.
We were standing on the same side.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Dance, live, and love like there is no such thing as midnight.”
—Charlotte Kingsley, The Cinderella Fiction
(The “Make Your Own Magic” Chapter)
I called Kat later that night to explain to her what had happened and why I had to leave her alone for Christmas. She forgave me. It didn’t hurt that Edward agreed to allow me to buy her a ticket to join me in Sweden for the rest of the holidays. My mom wished me a merry Christmas and told me she was proud of me.
Christmas dinner was what Anders and his grandfather called julbord. It was pretty much a bunch of deli meats, cheeses, various pickled things, and breads. They exchanged presents that night instead of in the morning. As if Anders knew I’d be coming, he had a present under the tree for me.
“But you didn’t know I was coming,” I said.
“I hoped though.”
His present to me was a wooden Swedish troll that was used as a stand for a fountain pen. It was perfect. I had a present for him as well. It was a new camera bag, one that had all the pockets and zippers. Anders had been wanting this bag for a long time and was excited to open it.
Anders gave his farfar a black-and-white photo that had been stretched on canvas and framed. The woman had hair that was red, though a darker, more elegant shade of red than mine. His grandfather got teary-eyed as he traced the outline of her face and said, “Mari . . .” over and over. Anders told me the picture had been one of their wedding photos that had been badly damaged in a flood. He’d taken months to try to recreate the picture through his digital tools and then to add color.
Later, I told Anders how his grandfather had come out and met me in the yard and called me by that name. Anders was shocked to hear his grandfather had made it out that far when he could barely leave his chair. His grandfather even slept in the chair because getting to the upstairs bedroom was impossible.
Christmas wasn’t like my mom’s extravagant celebration with all of the people she invited. The humble evening in a small home that was filled with warmth and love reminded me of those days when I believed in Santa Claus. This was what magic was all about.
Over the course of the next few days and weeks, I learned that social media wasn’t the dragon I thought it would be. Okay, some people were burning my book in the streets, but most people thought it was courageous for me to own my own identity and to find comfort in my own skin. It wasn’t the PR circus Toni thought it would turn into. Sales remained steady.
Jen believed that the new press and the fact that my name was now associated with a bestseller would help when she went on a submission run again.
In Sweden, while sitting betw
een the fire and the open window and listening to the quiet conversation of Anders and his grandfather in a language I couldn’t understand, I found myself again.
I wrote something new—something for myself—for the first time since I’d come up with the crazy idea to write a nonfiction title. It was a story about a peasant boy named Anders, and a girl named Lettie who had to get lost in the woods to find herself.
Maybe my mother was right. Maybe reality was a place I wanted to live after all. Sure, I’d keep writing the fairy tales, but I would live in my real life with this man and his love wrapping around me.
We’d settled into a routine during our time together. And while his grandfather slept in his chair, Anders and I went to the kitchen to get things ready for the midday meal. We stood close together while we worked. And when I turned to set the peeled potatoes in the pan, Anders took my hand and tugged me close to him.
His mouth met mine with warm tenderness, then traced over my lips, my cheeks, and my jawline before going back to my lips. I didn’t mind because, as a wise woman named Lillian once told me, “What’s the point of being together if you’re not caught kissing in the kitchen?” or something like that anyway.
We took our time with this kiss that sealed the beginning of this new chapter in our story. We took our time because that was the gift of happily ever after.
Time.
Acknowledgments
This book is not autobiographical, even if it is written about a writer. But there were times where it felt like it might be a smidge more true than any other book I’ve written—only a smidge, though. It takes a village to raise a child, and it takes a team to create a book. All my gratitude is completely earned by Heidi Taylor Gordon and Lisa Mangum. So much of what is on these pages is there because these two women had the faith that I was capable. I loved our brainstorming session and loved even more the product that came out of that afternoon. Thank you so much! A big thanks to Sara Crowe, for everything. To the Shadow Mountain team, I can never be grateful enough. You are all such a huge part of every page. Thank you!
I’ll be honest: 2018 was a hard year with lots of changes. Writing became extra difficult as I navigated new challenges. There were several people who helped me through those challenges: James Dashner, Jeff and Jen Savage, Crystal Liechty, Heather Moore, Josi Kilpack, and Annette Lyon. Thank you all for being my friends. It matters. So much.
In fairy tales, the heroine is often mistreated by family, but that was never the case in my personal fairy tale. Thanks for being supportive and amazing, Mom and Dad! And while all my siblings are awesome, for this book, a shout-out goes to my dear sister Kat, who promised not to complain when I used her name for my character in this story. And though you don’t need mascara or eyeliner, and though I look pale and sickly next to you, I will love you forever for buying me hot chocolate at 7-Eleven so we could drive all over town and rock out to eighties music.
I am grateful for my children, McKenna, Dwight, Merrik, and Chandler, for putting up with all the ways their lives were altered by having a mom (and mom-in-law) who decided to be a writer rather than a professional dishwasher.
And to my own happily ever after, my own Prince Charming, my own Mr. Wright. Thank you, min kärlek, for always believing in me, for always supporting me, and for being my personal GPS. Du är min lyckliga någonsin efter. Du är min alltid.
Discussion Questions
1. We all have versions of ourselves that we display to different people at different times. Are the masks we wear important? How do the masks you wear make you feel?
2. It’s easy to look at someone’s social media posts and believe they don’t have any problems. How does social media misrepresent others to us, and us to others? Where is the line between posting only the positive, happy things and sharing too much baggage online?
3. Cinderella was either the peasant or the princess in the ball gown. In what ways do we tend to see people as either/or? How can we see past the stereotypes we place on people?
3. There are a lot of Cinderella story characters throughout this book. Who do you believe plays the fairy godmother?
4. The publicist is called “HNT Media Group.” HNT stands for “Hot New Thing.” How can we stop searching for the “hot new thing” and start searching for authenticity?
5. Lettie’s mom could be seen as the evil stepmother in this book. Do you think she truly embodies that role? Do you think she is redeemed in the end?
6. Fairy tales are often considered moralistic. What moral fits this book?
About the Author
Julie Wright is the author of more than twenty novels, including the Proper Romance novels Lies Jane Austen Told Me and Lies, Love, and Breakfast at Tiffany’s. She is a Whitney Award winner and a Crown Heart recipient. She is represented by agent Sara Crowe. She loves reading and writing, playing on the beach or hiking with her husband and kids, and watching her husband make dinner.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Acknowledgments
Discussion Questions
About the Author
