B & E Ever After: A Hansel and Gretel Story (Fairy Tale Quartet Book 3)

by Linda Kage

  She was ordering Diego to go get more baby dolls? No. Maybe she meant more champagne. Yes. Drinks! Bebidas. That made so much more sense.

  As he nodded and hurried off to comply, my heart sank, because one fact became incredibly clear to me.

  Diego wasn’t in the filming industry.

  Diego wasn’t even rich.

  Diego was a goddamn liar.

  And Diego was—gasp!

  He was a fucking thief too.

  Just before he left the ballroom through a side, employees-only exit, he paused to keep from running into a man who was backing up in his direction. When he held out a hand to touch the guy, I thought he was just trying to warn the other man of his presence. The gentleman even glanced back and apologized for not looking where he was going.

  Diego smiled smoothly and nodded, forgiving him, even as he pocketed the guy’s wallet he’d just lifted.

  Bastard!

  No wonder why he could afford to buy me so many pretty flowers. He stole the money right off the rich people he was serving.

  Slinking away as my breath came in uneven, choppy gasps, I escaped the room before anyone caught sight of me, and I marched down the hall in a blind rage, more shock than actual blood pounding through my veins.

  I felt like such a fool. I had totally bought into every lie he’d ever fed me at the café. I mean, his extravagant gift of roses had been proof enough for me that he was rich. But now it made sense why such a well-to-do man had even frequented Trudy’s to begin with. Everything he’d ever told me had probably just been fabricated to impress me.

  Thank God his showboating had only ever turned me off; I might’ve actually fallen right into his ruse.

  If only the asshole had actually tried to get to know me, he would’ve learned that money wasn’t what made my heart go pitter-patter. He could’ve just been honest and humble and told me he served people for a living—just as I did—and I would’ve had a hell of a lot more respect and romantic regard for him. I mean, damn, the guy had been cute enough (though he wasn’t anymore; the lying and stealing totally negated that), I might’ve given him the time of day if he’d just stopped the bragging.

  But not now.

  Now, I kind of wanted to skin the slimy prick alive. I had been about to accept a date with him, dammit! How dare he turn out to be a rotten apple? And how dare he do this to the entire Hispanic community? We got a bad enough rap in this area as it was, without the few stray idiots like him making it worse.

  Oh, who was I kidding? I didn’t really care if he was a thief or not. Diego was no concern of mine. When it came right down to it, I wasn’t even sure if I would’ve been able to go through with talking to him tonight if, you know, he’d ended up being exactly who he said he was. The truth was, I was more embarrassed at myself than anything. Embarrassed that I’d actually come here in the first place. Embarrassed I’d even thought up the stupid idea of asking a man I barely knew for money.

  Embarrassed for feeling so desperate and lost and wanting help.

  I was an idiot; that’s all I could surmise. A senseless, silly girl who felt like she was at the end of her rope. I just needed a freaking shoulder to lean on, just for a little while, until I felt like standing back up and going it on my own again. And I didn’t know who to turn to for any kind of support: emotional or monetary. If only I weren’t such a standoffish person and actually had a few friends.

  Stewing in my own self-pity, I turned a corner and kept slugging along, paying no attention to where I was going until I slowed to a stop and blinked my surroundings into focus, realizing I had no idea where I was.

  Great. This was definitely not the hallway I had used to get from the main foyer to the ballroom. It didn’t even appear to be for public use but was for more like private residences. A bronzed door plaque on one of the closed entries said 1B on it, confirming my suspicion of them being condo apartments.

  So, how the hell did I get out of here?

  I was about to turn around and head back the way I’d come, but something up ahead caught my eye.

  Something glittery and pretty.

  A sucker for all things bling and icy, I was immediately drawn forward. I don’t know if they were my best friend, but diamonds certainly caught my attention. And when there appeared to be a lot of them, I decided I had to see what that was about. Because it looked as if the entire door was covered in—holy shit.

  It was.

  I slowed to a stop, just gaping at the entrance to 1C. I’m sure they were just rhinestones, not real diamonds, but the entire surface of the door was covered in them with no space between each bauble and the next. There had to be thousands, maybe millions of tiny crystals.

  I’d heard of someone encrusting their Mercedes in diamonds but never a door before. It was so pretty and sparkly and compelling, I couldn’t stay away.

  Lured against my will—because who had any willpower with a door like that before them—I shuffled forward, already reaching out my hand just to run my fingers along the surface.

  Before I could make contact, however, the handle turned, and the diamond-coated door began to open.

  Chapter 4

  Gabby

  Gasping, I reared back, drawing my hand to my chest so the resident wouldn’t see I’d been about to touch their amazing door.

  A woman exited.

  “There you are,” she said, her voice accusing as her thin eyebrows arched high with irritation. “I called for you nearly ten minutes ago.”

  I blinked, confusion reigning. Um. Did I know her?

  “I—What?”

  She let out a dramatic sigh. “Dear Lord, please tell me you at least understand English. Is that really too much to ask for in the help around here?”

  “O-oh,” I stumbled out in sudden realization. She thought I was part of the staff. “No. I’m sorry, you have the wrong—”

  “And where is your uniform?” she cut in, eyeing my clothes as if they might be contagious. “Don’t think I won’t be reporting you for such blatant disregard for your dress code. It’s utter insolence, is what it is. I don’t pay this place what I do for such subpar service. Your people should learn to be more respectful.”

  Excuse me, but did she just say, my people?

  What the actual fuck?

  Slinging the gold-linked strap of her purse over her shoulder, she lifted her chin pretentiously. “I have to go, so you’ll need to find the spill yourself. As I said in my distress call, it’s on the hallway carpet between the bathroom and kitchen. I want that stain gone by the time I return.”

  With that, she stepped through the doorway and into the hall, narrowing her eyes until I scurried out of her way, and then she swept past me like the insignificant piece of maidservant trash she believed I was.

  “Well.” Staring after her in shock, I had to wonder if I’d ever met anyone quite so disagreeable and condescending.

  No. No, I don’t think I had.

  “Bless her heart,” I murmured, shaking my head sadly. “But that had to be the rudest fucking bitch I ever met.”

  She sure had a pretty front door, though. I turned to look at it once more, only to realize it was still slowly falling closed and hadn’t yet sealed shut.

  To this day, I’m not certain why I did it. Maybe because she’d been so vulgar and demeaning to me. Maybe because her door was so ostentatious and flashy that it had made me curious about the rest of her apartment. Maybe I was just so desperate and beaten down that I couldn’t help myself.

  Or maybe fate forced my hand.

  But I glanced after her to make sure she wouldn’t look back. Of course, she didn’t. Why would she concern herself with what some silly maid was doing? Then I slowly slid my foot forward on the carpet to create a doorstop and keep the portal from closing completely.

  As the door bumped and then came to rest against the side of my shoe, my heart pounded out a crazy tattoo in my chest. I watched the bitch storm around a corner and disappear from sight. Then I reached out my hand
, pressed my palm flush against the jeweled surface until hundreds of sparkling rhinestones bit into my flesh, and I pushed the door open wide.

  Holy hell, was I really doing this?

  Holding my breath, I stepped inside the apartment.

  Yes, I guess I was.

  I mean, she expected me to go inside, after all. So what if she’d been wrong in thinking I was a maid? That was her own damn mistake, not mine. This was what she’d wanted me to do, what she had ordered me to do.

  It wasn’t as if I was really breaking and entering. B & E was wrong. It was as wrong as what that thief asshole Diego had been doing picking rich people’s pockets in the ballroom.

  But I wasn’t doing anything wrong here. No way. Because—because really, it wasn’t as if I was actually going to take anything; I just wanted a little peek to see how the other half lived.

  No harm in that.

  Except, I knew better. This wasn’t right, no matter how I tried to angle it. And yet, I looked around, anyway, not leaving, but staying.

  The first thing that struck me was how fresh and open it felt. The air just seemed so clean and easy to breathe. I inhaled deeply, getting myself a huge lungful as if I could store some of the freshness up inside me and take it home to savor later. Then I glanced around at all the space.

  Gah, so much space. And brightness.

  Lamps and wall sconces and overhead fixtures in the ceiling lit up the entire room until it was almost too illuminated. But after living in the dingy, dark apartment where we currently resided, all this light was…

  Well, it was nice.

  Jealousy nipped at me hard and fast.

  It just wasn’t fair, I decided, stepping farther into the room with a little more confidence now. Someone that rude and outrageous should not have such a pretty, bright home.

  Everything in the front room was either white, silver, glass, or mirrored. Even the shag carpet was a pristine eggshell. I found myself picking up each of my sneakers and checking the soles to make sure I didn’t have any dirt on them that might track across the floor.

  “Jesus,” I murmured, shaking my head and dropping my clean foot, only to yelp and jump when I glanced up to get an eyeful of myself, because the entire wall in front of me was made up of mirrored panels.

  I set my hand against my chest, easing my racing heartbeat back to normal. Once it was settled again, I crept forward some more, curious to see what else the woman had here that she totally didn’t deserve, until I came to the opening of a wide hallway. Catching sight of the deep burgundy stain the woman had called room service to come clean, I tsked and shook my head slowly.

  “Aww, did the bitch spill her merlot?” I moved forward to check out the mess. “What a pity.”

  But all sarcasm aside, if someone didn’t fix this soon that stain was going to set in.

  A moment of actual, genuine empathy filled me. For the carpet. Not its owner. Poor thing. It already got walked all over, day in and day out, by evil incarnate. Now, its flawless, white coat was going to have a permanent blemish, because we all knew, good and well, no maid was going to rush right over to help that nightmare of a woman clean anything. They were probably still arguing amongst themselves and drawing straws, debating over whose turn it was to deal with her this time. The carpet was so pretty and soft too, like seriously soft; my shoes felt like they were traipsing over cotton balls. It didn’t deserve such cruel mistreatment.

  “Dammit,” I muttered when I realized I had knelt down by the stain to sympathetically stroke the carpet around the mess.

  Before I could stop myself, a sudden brutal vision bullied its way into my head, uninvited.

  And just like that, I was fifteen again, watching Dad, with tears bleeding from his eyes as he knelt on our floor, scrubbing with a vengeance and swearing fluidly in Spanish while he filled his washrag with a rusty red tinge, even as the stain in the carpet stood firm.

  “Cabrón. Damn you, come out,” he cried. “Come out already.”

  But the blood had never come out. Maybe someone had gotten a new carpet and replaced it after we moved. I had no idea, though I suspected they probably had. That carpet was no doubt curled up in a roll, abandoned and alone in a landfill by now, buried under old banana peels, broken washing machines, and bicycle parts, where no one knew its discolored fibers had once cushioned my mother’s head as she’d breathed her last few stuttering breaths.

  “Dammit.” I jerked to my feet and shoved such thoughts away. Then I pointed at the floor sternly, as if reprimanding it. “This is for you,” I told it in no uncertain terms. “Not her. You got that? I would never in a million years help that vile woman.”

  But I couldn’t handle letting that stain set in, either.

  Marching with determination, I found the kitchen and knelt before the double doors under the sink, only to fling them open wide and pull back in disbelief when I beheld the contents.

  “What the hell?”

  There was absolutely nothing under the sink, except drain pipes.

  “Okay,” I said to myself, nodding my head in complete bewilderment as I shut the door and cleared the embarrassment from my throat. “So then, where do rich people keep their cleaning supplies?”

  I tapped my fingers against my mouth, thinking, thinking, until—Lightbulb! “Why, in the broom closet, of course, Gabby dearest.”

  So I rose to my feet, in search of such a place.

  Then again, with the witch who lived here, one might think her broom closet would already be full of actual brooms that she rode across full moons on dark, creepy nights. That or it was overflowing with all the dead kittens and puppies she must slaughter on her way home from work each day.

  I pulled open a door that was about a foot wide, only to find a small nook inside, filled with canned goods. I started to close it again, only to pause when I spotted a can of organic, name-brand chicken noodle soup.

  “Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” I uttered in amazement, pulling the can off the shelf and gazing at the label in open-mouth amazement.

  I’d left home tonight, hoping to get my hands on a can of chicken noodle soup for Miguel, and now that one was sitting in my palm, it suddenly felt like providence. Or fate. Maybe even destiny. Or most likely all three, since they meant the same damn thing, which was that someone out there somewhere actually wanted me to have this soup.

  Who was I to question the powers that be?

  Clutching the chicken noodle soup to my chest, I shut the door and carried it with me, almost afraid lightning would strike me if I set it down, while another part of me feared lightning would strike me for taking it, and I continued my search for cleaning supplies.

  When I found the small storage room that housed what I needed, I didn’t find any dead puppies or kittens, and there were only two brooms inside, but I did find a box of trash can liners as well as an unopened box of facial tissues.

  Pulling a plastic liner from the box, I snapped it open and dumped the chicken noodle soup can along with my purse inside. Then I told that little part of my conscience that demanded to know what the hell I was doing, “I’m cleaning the woman’s carpet, aren’t I? She owes me something in return!”

  Well, she did.

  After stuffing in the Kleenex box inside, I gathered some cleaning supplies and returned to the stain in the carpet. Sitting beside it, I wadded a paper towel and started to blot. It was still wet, thank God, so I was able to soak up more wine than I thought I would from the dry cloth alone.

  Then I aimed the nozzle of some stain remover at it, and went to work, spraying and dabbing until, little by little, the discoloration faded completely.

  Whew.

  “Damn, I’m good,” I said with a small grin of satisfaction as I sat back on my heels to admire my work.

  When I returned the cleaning supplies and retrieved my bag of goodies, I paused before leaving the kitchen.

  You know, I thought to myself. I’d found that soup and the box of tissues without even trying. I sudd
enly wondered how hard it would be to find the rest of the things I’d wanted to get for Miguel.

  And since I was already in the kitchen, finding some saltines and clear soda just might be as easy as opening the next—yes!

  I opened another door and found another pantry inside that contained both of my wishes. The bottle of pop and packages of crackers were still sealed and new, too.

  I swear, this shit had just been left here on purpose and was meant for me.

  “Now, for some aspirin,” I murmured, biting my lip and wondering if I should dare wander deeper into the condo, looking for the last item on my wish list. I had everything else I needed. Four out of five was pretty damn lucky.

  Except the pain reliever was probably the most important thing I’d wanted to get. Miguel had looked so miserable and small when I’d left. I promised him I’d come back with something to make him feel better. I couldn’t break my promise.

  “Oh, what the hell,” I said. I’d already come this far.

  In for a penny, in for a pound, right?

  Carrying my goods in the sack over my shoulder and feeling a bit like a reverse Santa Claus, I hurried down the hall, wondering how much time I had before the witch came home. I knew I was already risking too much, but I only had one item left to find.

  I flipped on the light to the first bedroom I came to. It looked like it had to be the master suite, so I hurried through it toward another open doorway that led to the bathroom. Once inside the lavatory, I threw open the mirrored cabinet doors above the vanity and darted my gaze around the bottles of shit inside, until Eureka! Pain relievers.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I told the room for providing.

  I snatched the first bottle I saw and closed the cabinet, ready to get the hell out of Dodge. But when I shut the mirrored cabinet, something gold twinkled in the glass reflection just over my shoulder.

  And instead of turning toward the exit, I turned toward the bling.

  Damn bling. It was seriously going to be the death of me someday, I swear.