Not So Prince Charming: A Dirty Fairy Tale

by Lauren Landish

  It’s a tangled web of deception, and Blackwell is powerful enough that trying to outmaneuver him is a difficult and delicate undertaking.

  I grin at the memory of throwing the blade near his hand. That had been delicate, but not difficult at all, and a show of danger is something Blackwell will respect.

  I glance at the digital clock, glowing in the dim light of the truck cab. Eight thirty, just enough time to see Bella for dinner.

  Quickly, I pull back into traffic and drive my truck to the motel. I change back into my casual clothes, running my hands through my hair to muss it a bit. Grabbing an Uber, I make my way to the diner.

  But this time, as I walk inside, I glance around a bit more carefully. It’s part of my nature, especially in my line of work, to be exceedingly careful. But despite Blackwell throwing out a hint about surveillance, I don’t see anyone or anything suspicious.

  Inside, I simply watch Bella for a moment before she realizes I’m here. She floats around the room as if she’s dancing, her tennis-shoe-clad feet barely touching the floor as she does her best to provide good service to her customers. Warmth fills my heart, seeing her work so hard but never complaining, watching as people’s blank faces transform into smiles from a conversation with her and the glow she is suffused with shining so beautifully from her very being.

  And when she looks my way, her smile broadens. Amazingly, I did that. The man whom most people fear, whom they never want to see darken their doorstep, can bring happiness to this woman. This princess who deserves the best but only gets me.

  “Hi, Bella,” I say, laying a light kiss to her cheek. She blushes, pink heat beneath my lips for a split second before she pulls away.

  “Hey,” she says chirpily. “Kinda swamped, but have a seat anywhere and I’ll grab you a menu.”

  I shake my head. “Just order something you’d recommend for me. I’ll wait until you get your dinner break and we can eat together?”

  She bites her lip, nodding like that sounds excellent. But before she can truly answer, a polite voice calls out, “Miss?” and almost with a click of her heels, Bella is back to work.

  I sit down to watch her some more, but part of me is scanning the rest of the diner customers and the parking lot, wondering and thinking about Blackwell’s words once again.

  At some point, Martha walks up to talk to Henry, and we meet eyes through the kitchen window. She wags a finger, telling me to wait a minute, as if I’m going anywhere. After finishing her conversation with Henry, she comes over, sitting down in the booth across from me.

  “I wanted to say thank you again for saving our girl the other night. And by ‘our girl’, I mean the Gravy Train’s. Izzy is one of us, and while your protective instinct is rather chivalrous, and I like that, I’m a bit of a Momma Bear. I’m sure you understand.”

  I flash her my charming, boy-next-door grin, not for seduction but to charm her, nevertheless. “Of course. I understand and appreciate that you and the rest of the Gravy Train family have taken such good care of Bella. She’s not an easy person to take care of, bound and determined to do it all on her own. I admire that about her, but no one is a solitary force. We all need a little support now and then.”

  Her lips press together, but the edges tilt up so I take that as a good sign. “Not to sound too old-school, but what are your intentions here?” Before I can answer, she adds, “And a short-term fling is a reasonable answer if it’s the truth. I just want to know what Izzy’s getting herself into so that we’re ready to give her that support you talked about when it’s needed.”

  I can’t help but find Bella in the room, my eyes drawn to her as much as my heart is. My words are to her, though Martha hears them loud and clear. “I wasn’t looking for her, at least not like this. But I found her, or maybe she found me? Either way, the result’s the same, I guess.”

  I shrug, looking back to Martha. “I don’t have a lot to offer, no sweet promises of whisking her away to an easy life, or even answers to your questions. Because the truth is . . . I don’t know. All I know is that I like her a lot and I want to spend time with her, share the load she carries as much as she’ll let me, and make her smile. I don’t know if that’s enough, but it’s all I have.”

  Martha’s eyes look a little glassy, which surprises me. I figured she would be a tough old bird, hardened by life and bitter about love, considering the sarcastic banter she shares with Henry. She swallows, dabbing at her eye. “That’ll do, Gabe.” She gets up, and I feel like the firing squad is inexplicably letting me go. But she pauses and lays a hand on my forearm. “For now.”

  I smirk, thinking that perhaps her biting nature is a bit of show and a bit of warning. Carefully, I ask, “Martha? Can I ask you for a favor?”

  Her brow raises, but she nods. “Kinda felt like I just gave you one by letting you see Izzy, but shoot.”

  “I’d like to take Bella on a date. A real one, not just parking lot pie, though the pie was delicious. Is there any chance you could find coverage tomorrow so she could have the night off?”

  Martha smiles big and bright at that. “Hell, yes. I can work some magic and make that happen. If, and only if, you’ll work some magic and take her someplace nice.”

  “Deal,” I say happily.

  “Just one thing,” Martha cautions, “you’ve got to tell her. Good luck getting her to forgo a night of tips for something as self-serving as a date. If you can get her to do that, you’ll know she thinks you’re really something special.”

  Martha’s words ring in my head as I tell Bella the hopefully good news over the Belgian waffles she ordered for us.

  “So, you just asked my boss if I could have the night off? Bit of an overstep, don’t ya think?” she challenges. I can see the worry in her forehead, the lines popping out as she furrows her brow. I think she’s doing math in her head. X hours times Y amount per hour plus Z in average tips equals . . . a very expensive date.

  “It was. In my defense, I simply asked if it was possible from Martha’s perspective. If you don’t want to, we won’t do it. On the other hand, if you do want to go out with me, on a real date where we get dressed up, I pick you up and tell you how nice you look, and we go out for a quiet dinner, just the two of us, then you’re free and clear at work.” I give her the full-wattage smile, hoping the hard sell was enough.

  She laughs, loud and open-mouthed. “Ooh, you’re playing dirty. I like it. All right, you got yourself a date.” She leans back in the booth, looking toward the kitchen, and yells out, “Well-played, Martha. Guess I’ll be needing tomorrow night off.”

  Martha answers with a wink. “Have fun, you two. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do . . . back when I was twenty-five!”

  Bella turns back to me, snickering. “That leaves pretty much everything open. Martha once got arrested for protesting by streaking across the football field during the last two minutes of a homecoming game.”

  I laugh, but fight imagining it in my head. “Ah, the perils of being young and stupid.”

  Bella shakes her head, eyes wide in horror. “Uhm, this was about five years ago. She was protesting the boys getting away with all sorts of shit under the guise of ‘boys will be boys.’ She stood right up in front of the judge and said, ‘Well, women will be women then too, I suppose.’ She didn’t even get community service.”

  “Let’s maybe aim to not get arrested at least, though you could streak through the privacy of your own home and I’d chase you straight to the bedroom.”

  Bella touches the tip of her nose, winking. “I’ll remember that.”

  Her dinner break is nearly over all too soon. She shoves a last bite of waffle into her mouth and wipes her lips with a napkin. “I’d better get back to it. You gonna hang around again tonight?”

  I can hear the heat in her tone, the want so blatant and sexy. But I can also see the faint smudges under her eyes. She puts on a great act, a good front, but my girl is tired and needs some sleep.

  Plus, I should try to figure o
ut how Blackwell is getting his information before I spend the night again. For Bella’s sake and my own.

  “Tonight, I want you to go home right after you get off work, take a hot bath, drink a glass of wine, and think about our date tomorrow. I know it’s customary for the guy to pick the place, but I’m not all that familiar with Roseboro and I want this to be exactly what you want it to be, so can you choose a restaurant. Anywhere, anything, your wish is my command, Princess.”

  She sighs out a happy breath, like the mere idea of that sounds blissfully amazing.

  “I’ll pick you up tomorrow night at seven thirty.” I get up, and though we’re in the middle of the diner, I can’t help but wrap my hand around the back of her neck, weaving my fingers into her hair. I lean down, kissing her softly, memorizing her taste and getting my fill to last the next twenty-four hours.

  She’s dazed for a moment, and like a proud peacock, my ego inflates that somehow I can kiss her stupid because I’m feeling a bit buzzed on her myself.

  She clears her throat and pats her apron. “Oh, let me get your keys for you. Thanks for the sweet ride today, by the way. And the breakfast goodies. I think Vash was swayed by your milk offering.”

  “That was the intent. To win her over—and the human she lives with.”

  Chapter 18

  Isabella

  It’s creeping up on midnight when I finally pull my scooter in the gate at home. I do a look-around to make sure Russell isn’t lurking around, but it seems clear. Until I get to my doorstep.

  There’s a brown grocery bag propped against the door. My first thought is a bomb because I watch too much news on the evening shift at the diner. Then my more reasonable brain considers that a bomb is highly unlikely. I mean, aren’t those supposed to come in boxes or something?

  Still, I kick it with my toe while holding my face as far away from any explosive contents the bag may hold.

  It crinkles.

  Curious, I look inside. And my heart stops. Literally, jerks to a stop at the overwhelming kindness.

  I pick up the bag, unlocking the door and hurrying inside. After locking the door behind me, I spread out Gabe’s sweet gift on the kitchen table. There’s an industrial-size bag of lavender Epsom salts, two masks, one for my hair and one for my face, a candle, a bag of chocolates, and a chilled bottle of wine.

  It’s late, and I should fall into bed. But with all this bounty, I can’t help but want to self-indulge. Just this once.

  So I splurge, doing as Gabe asked and taking a pampering hot bath before bed. It’s luxurious, decadent, and just what I needed. And as I slide into my cotton sheets with moisturized skin, dreams of tomorrow pop into my head like bubbly possibilities.

  I could get used to this.

  I should count my lucky stars that I actually do have some nice clothes. Once upon a time, I used to spend hours thrifting to find deals on clothes that were cute and affordable. After Reggie died and things became much more desperate, clothing had been the least of my concerns, but tonight, I’m glad to have kept some of the nicer things I got on clearance at the Roseboro Thrift.

  “Vash, what do you think? Black?”

  I hold up the black dress with a long, diagonally-cut skirt, but Vash lifts her chin, clearly unimpressed.

  “Okay . . . green? I could add a scarf, maybe?”

  Meow.

  “Critic. Okay, what about the red one?”

  She tosses her head, not amused and stalking off toward the kitchen in that way only Vash can. “Fine . . . I’ll do it my damn self!” I call after her swishing tail. “It’s my first official date in I don’t know how long. I’m not going to trust the opinion of a creature that hacks up hairballs anyway!”

  I do end up deciding on the red piece, mainly because I’ve got the best heels to go with it. They were a gift from Mia, of all people, from way back in her crazy single college days when she wanted a wing girl to go out clubbing with, and as I pull on the black open-toed strappy heels, I twirl, sending her another round of thanks.

  “God, they feel good,” I murmur as I turn this way and that, wishing I had a full-length mirror to see how my legs look. Yeah, I’m just in my best lingerie and heels, so I probably look more like a stripper than anything else . . . but I feel sexy as fuck doing it. “Been too long since I felt like this.”

  Getting into the dress is a lot easier than it looks. There’s no zipper but instead a swath of stretchy fabric that I sort of wiggle and shimmy into until it hits my hips and then tumbles to my knees.

  Pulling my hair back, I imagine myself, and finally can’t resist going to the bathroom and doing my best to see what I can in the tiny mirror above my sink. I can’t see much, but what I can see—

  “Vash!”

  Meow?

  “Gonna need you on 9-1-1 duty when Gabe gets here, babe. Because he might just have a heart attack once I get my makeup done.”

  I start on my eyes. I have dark eyes, so going too smoky on the eyeshadow and liner just makes me look like a raccoon, but I do want to look sultry and sexy. Thankfully, this red dress gives me just what I need, and a swipe of black eyeliner tilted up at the end brightens me up a little bit.

  My lips I go deep red, lush and shiny, wanting to draw Gabe’s attention to everything I’m saying all night. If he’s thinking about what else my lips could be doing . . . well, that’s a bonus as well.

  I know I’ve for damn sure been thinking about what his lips could do to me.

  Finally, I’m done, and I do my best with my hair, pulling the chocolate curls over one shoulder to trail down over my breast.

  God, I feel beautiful.

  There’s a knock at my door, and I hurry out, doing my best to run in heels. “Who is it?” I ask. I assume it’s Gabe, but after Russell’s boot-meets-door performance, I’m not chancing it.

  “It’s me, Princess,” a muffled voice says through the door, and I can’t help but giggle as I unlock it for him.

  “Gabe, I’m hardly a—” I start before all the words in my head dry up.

  He’s amazing, in a dark black suit that highlights his dark hair and bright brown eyes, his smile dazzling in the dim light of my porch. Forget the date. We’re already wearing too many clothes.

  Gabe looks me up and down. “You look stunning.”

  “Uhm, thanks,” I stammer, not so smoothly, my heart hammering in my chest as he looks at me with undisguised attraction and appreciation. I’ve never, in my entire life, felt more desired that I do right now. “You look . . . wow.”

  “Thank you,” Gabe says, half bowing, but I saw his pleased smirk. “So . . . shall we?”

  I step back, waving him in. “Do you want to come in? I need to grab my purse.”

  Gabe doesn’t move though. Well, he doesn’t come inside. But he leans against the side of the door frame. “If I come in there, we’re not leaving. Not with you looking like that, and not with what I see in your eyes right now. And I really want to take you out, treat you right, and show you off in that red dress. Grab your purse, Princess.”

  His voice is deep and rumbly, nearly a growl of restraint that turns me on, makes me think his coming inside to rip this dress off me is date enough.

  But my heart overrules my pussy.

  I want to be wined and dined, romanced and wooed. And as frivolous as that sounds, it’s the truth. So I leave Gabe at the door, picking up my purse. It doesn’t match, but it’s the smallest I have and mostly black.

  The candy red of his SUV nearly matches my dress, a happy coincidence, but in some small way, it makes me feel like I belong here as Gabe opens the passenger door to help me in like a gentleman. He climbs into the driver seat and begins backing out, asking me, “Did you decide where we’re going?”

  “I have,” I reply but keep some surprises to myself. “Just turn where I tell you to.”

  It doesn’t take long to get to our destination, a slightly worn-down Chinese restaurant in an older part of town. Gabe says nothing as we pull up in front of Golden D
ragon, but he escorts me inside, holding out an elbow for me to take and then pulling out my chair for me as we sit down at one of the tables. Coming around, he sits in his own chair, the old green vinyl looking out of place considering the glitz and glam of our clothing.

  “I guess you’d like to know why here?”

  “I’m curious,” Gabe admits, glancing around but quickly re-centering on me. “But I trust your instincts. One, you know Roseboro better than I do. And two, you work in the food service industry, so I’m sure you know where all the good spots in town are, both five-star and hole-in-the-wall.”

  He’s right, but I can appreciate that he trusts me because I know Golden Dragon isn’t exactly impressive-looking. “Good point,” I reply, wondering just how good my chopstick skills are after so long. “Although it’s not just the food quality that brings us here.”

  Gabe hums, guessing my meaning. “History?”

  I sigh, the memories already rolling as I look around the restaurant. “This was one of the few places that I could go with my aunt. Great food that won’t break the bank.”

  Gabe checks the menu, his eyes scanning quickly up and down the four columns. “I’m betting you had the spicy chicken combo platter?”

  The eight-dollar special . . . my throat catches as I remember the nights we’d come here. “Good guess. We used to share it. It’s nothing fancy, but it was always special when we came. I’ve had at least a dozen holiday meals here.”

  “Then let’s celebrate it in the way it’s meant to be,” Gabe says. “Your aunt did what she could, and she did it with love. Whether it’s a five-star spread or a single Hostess cupcake . . . it’s the company that makes it special.”

  I blink, looking at Gabe in amazement. The tears are gone, and what’s replaced them is a new feeling, honest pride. “How . . . how do you do that? How do you always know what to say? To make me smile. To make me not ashamed.”

  “Why should you be ashamed?” Gabe asks, looking confused. “From everything you’ve told me, you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished and of what you are still trying to do.”