by Laura Kenyon
It took precisely fourteen steps to reach the bedroom, and when she finally crossed the threshold, Hunter was lost somewhere in his closet. At the sight of their mattress, Dawn already felt the dirt falling around her feet. Watching her words was one thing, but what about actions? Should she just stand there? Should she leave? Should she join him in bed?
Her thoughts began sparring with each other. On one hand, he’d said he was tired. So she should just back off and let him get a good night’s sleep. Right?
But then again, he’d come home knowing she’d be there and knowing she’d be awake. Maybe what he wanted was to receive some affection—no more tears or pleading, just kisses.
Was this the olive branch she needed?
Did he want her to come to bed?
Did he want her to leave?
How was she going to survive if this constant uncertainty became her new normal? If every insignificant move turned into a three-page mental debate?
“I’d like to see the kids this afternoon,” Hunter called from the closet, breaking through the muck and making her feel suddenly buoyant.
“They’d love that,” she half-squealed before recalling the most painful part of their confrontation earlier—his insinuation that Morning and Day could really be Davin’s biological children—born nine and a half months after a three-century incubation. She didn’t think he could possibly actually believe that, but the fact that it even crossed his mind showed just how far she’d fallen. Still, she decided to take a chance. “We’d all love that,” she added.
A few seconds later, he emerged wearing black athletic shorts and an oversize T-shirt instead of his usual bare chest and boxer briefs. Even if it was the middle of winter, she knew he’d overheat in that. She heard the message loud and clear.
“Great,” he said, yanking the covers back and propping two pillows behind his head. She watched him fiddle with his cell phone for a few minutes before reaching for his light. “I have to be up in a few hours for a meeting with—”
He stopped, grimaced as if there was a tart taste in his mouth, and then mumbled something about the merger. The look on his face made Dawn want to curl up and disintegrate. Not only had her infidelity torn his heart into pieces and crushed everything he believed about his home life … but in choosing Davin, she’d also set fire to his only productive means of distraction: work. Work was now the six-foot, bronze-skinned, hazel-eyed personification of her betrayal.
“Anyway,” Hunter said, opting to skip the details entirely. “I’ll think of something I can do with the kids in the afternoon. You should use the time for yourself.”
“Oh.” Dawn nodded. She wasn’t invited. Okay. That was okay. Time, remember? “A new children’s museum just opened in Riverfell. I’ve heard good things.”
“Maybe,” he said, reaching for the bedside lamp. “Oh, and before I forget, I need you to be at Selladóre at ten thirty tomorrow.”
Dawn tensed. Selladóre? Was he planning a romantic brunch or a public execution?
“Okay,” she swallowed, not even daring to ask why. “Should I wear anything in particular?”
“Parliament wants to announce the change of ownership at that amphitheater they just built. I guess it was supposed to be unveiled Saturday, but they canceled it after Belle’s attack.” Dawn bit her tongue. “I guess Angus wants to make some big show about Selladóre finally going home to its rightful princess—his words.”
Dawn deflated inside. So, public execution it is. “If that's where you need me to be, that's where I’ll be,” she said.
"Right," Hunter murmured, letting out a grunt that essentially said, Too little, too late. Then he pulled the top pillow from behind his back, slammed it into the middle of the bed, and submarined beneath the covers. He rolled over so that she was now staring at his back, but she could see him watching her reflection in the two-inch slit beneath the shade.
“And yes,” he added, answering the question she didn’t dare ask, “he’ll be there too. Just act normal please, if you can restrain yourself. The public might start asking questions if you suddenly start showing interest in what I do for a living—or with whom I conduct business.”
The words were a swift kick to the gut, but all she could do was stand there and take it. She had no right to punch back.
"Hunter, I told you. Davin and I are over. I—"
"Please,” he barked, still facing the other way. “Please, I really don't want to rehash it right now.”
She nodded as a thick silence descended and seemed to pulse for a full minute, as if the walls were actually breathing around them. She saw him raise his hand to his face and bow his head into it. His shoulders rose, gently. The next time he spoke, his voice was much softer—a pat compared to the preceding slap.
"I just need to focus on getting through the next few days, okay?"
Dawn murmured her understanding.
"But I can’t do that with you tiptoeing around like a guilty child waiting for the storm clouds to pass. It only makes things worse."
Dawn opened her mouth as if to debate this, but then pulled it shut.
"Just be yourself. Please. Go shopping tomorrow while I take the kids, or get your nails done. Just don’t be wearing that guilty, desperate mug when I get home. And when Parliament makes the announcement, just smile, wave, and pretend that you actually want to be there. It's nothing you haven't done a hundred times before."
The sides of Dawn's face felt completely hollow as she nodded, returned to the hallway, and shut the door gently behind her.
Had she not felt so angry, and guilty, and worthless, she might have laughed at the ridiculous turn of events. For eleven years, she’d been outraged at Parliament for refusing to make Selladóre a legitimate kingdom. She’d been sick to her stomach over its exploitation, over its rebranding as a tourist attraction and federal revenue stream. And for eleven years, she’d blamed Hunter for not fighting hard enough to stop it … only to find out that’s all he’d been doing for just as long.
On paper, the transfer of her homeland from government rule to a company half owned by the husband of its rightful princess should have been cause for celebration. It should have been a reason for Dawn and Hunter to pop a bottle of champagne and laugh about all the misunderstandings that were finally in the past. But it didn’t seem like much of a victory. Angus Kane still had at least one finger on it—more if Davin was secretly in his pocket.
Dawn had a horrible feeling that Hunter was just a pawn in a game that started way back when she was still sleeping—and she would do everything she could to fix it.
Chapter Five
BELLE
After seesawing between glorious slumber and bloodcurdling nightmares from midnight until the first, very unwelcome, rays of sun, Belle awoke to the sound of something popping at the foot of her bed.
She assumed it was Kirsten coming in, as promised, to give Belle her first crack at nursing. Or perhaps it was Rapunzel getting an early start on the day because she’d kicked Ethan out of her apartment and was lonely. Or maybe it was Gray, sneaking in to hand her the rings or explain why he returned to the Phoenix that night, knowing full well about Donner’s temper and Belle’s need to keep her baby safe at any price. Or maybe—
“Unless you’re making love beneath a waterfall at sunset,” someone said, “I highly suggest you let go of that dream and open your eyes already. That’s the only case in which making your mother-in-law wait this long is appropriate.”
Belle’s entire body spasmed. Her eyes shot open. “Hazel?”
Hazel Wickenham gave an insincere, one-sided smile and tossed her platinum blonde hair off her shoulders. She was looming a few feet from the bed, arms crossed in a way that made them appear to be floating on top of each other rather than resting. She was inspecting Belle’s massive spread of flower arrangements, while her fingers fluttered up and down against her elbows.
“Are you aware that you look remarkably like a porcelain doll while you’re sleeping?” she
asked, smirking again. “No wonder my son always thought you were so fragile. Isn’t that so like a man? Always assuming we’re delicate, brainless creatures without the capacity for deceit.”
Belle jerked up to a sitting position so fast, the IV tube yanked a good inch off her forearm—bringing the skin and vein with it. She immediately covered it with her right hand, expecting blood to spurt everywhere—the bed, the floor, her mother-in-law’s white single-strap bathing suit with its matching sarong.
“Deceit?” Belle repeated as Hazel sashayed forward, smoothed the edge of the bed, and perched just below Belle’s elbow. She looked like the stick-legged bird Belle used to watch clean hippos at the Braddax Wildlife Park—only far less benevolent and with a significantly larger chest.
“You poor thing,” she cooed, shaking her head and completely ignoring Belle’s previous remark. “Had a rough night, didn’t you?”
Belle’s jaw dropped as Hazel cupped it between her perfectly manicured fingers.
Was she serious? Had a rough night? This was her opening line? How about, “So sorry my lunatic son went off the rails, burned your home to the ground, and almost murdered you and my unborn grandchild?”
Grandchild. Belle spun toward the bassinet as a rush of cold panic flooded her insides. How was she going to keep Rye a secret if Hazel saw a two-month-old baby in her room? How was Belle going to stop her from proclaiming his existence to the world in an effort to secure the Braddax throne from federal seizure? How was she going to—
Belle’s mind went suddenly blank. The bassinet wasn’t there. That’s right. Kirsten had taken him to the nursery. But she could still roll in with him at any moment.
Hazel furrowed her brow and then followed her gaze. “Can I reach something for you?” she asked, analyzing the empty corner. “Or are you expecting company?”
Belle shook her head. She needed to shoo her guest away as quickly as possible—without arousing suspicion.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “You know there’s a warrant out for your arrest, right?”
“Arrest?” Hazel laughed and dismissed this with a jingly snap of her wrist. “Let ’em try. One snap of these fingers and I’m back on Avalon with a mango daiquiri and a ravishing young pool boy massaging my … well, anything I want, really.” She paused, tempted by her own words, and murmured something about waiting. Half a blink later, a frosted hurricane glass appeared in her left hand. She tilted the spiral straw forward to offer Belle a sip, then tugged it swiftly back. “Whoops. Sorry. I always forget about the whole alcohol and pregnancy thing. But you’ve only got a few more months, right? Just hang in there. It might seem hard to imagine now, but it actually will be worth it.”
As usual, Hazel’s voice hopped around as if she was singing a nursery rhyme—one that had been played a few too many times.
“I never doubted motherhood would be worth the wait,” Belle said. There’s nothing she wouldn’t give up for her child. Not love. Not freedom. Not her life. Not even her morality.
Hazel patted her leg through the waffle print blanket. The weight and the warmth of her hand was surprisingly comforting, as if the two women actually shared some sort of connection now—not just as women, but as mothers too. But Belle knew better than to let this catch her off guard. She knew that, unlike Penny’s mother-in-law who rarely bothered to veil her criticism, Hazel was a pro at sweet-talking her rivals.
“You’ve had a tough road,” she said, moving her fingertips in tiny concentric circles and listing all of Belle’s misfortunes: Her merchant father’s bankruptcy and subsequent snowball of disgrace. Her mother’s decision to leave the whole family rather than face the social demotion. How scared she must have been when Donner took her prisoner—even though it ended up being “the best thing that ever happened” to her. Her five-year struggle to get pregnant. And then her own sister seducing her husband. Hazel clicked her tongue along the roof of her mouth and gave a heavy sigh. “I don’t blame you for running away. Goodness knows I wanted to catch a train the first time I caught my husband fooling around. But then I realized that being Queen was worth…”
Belle closed her eyes as Hazel continued rationalizing her son’s behavior. She inhaled long and slow through her nose, and then exhaled through her mouth. She imagined walking through the trees with Beast—a meditation technique Snow had taught her over the summer—and even visualized a baby carrier this time as well. Its occupant was covered in a muslin blanket and fast asleep, despite the leash constantly jerking in Belle’s hand.
The sound of her phone buzzing yanked her back to reality. She grabbed it, switched the volume to mute, and placed it face down on top of her belly. Hazel’s left eyebrow rose.
“Well, it was really nice of you to check in on me,” Belle said, feigning a yawn, “but I’m feeling—”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hazel said, taking another sip of her drink, then setting the glass on the bedside table. “Did I give you the impression that this was a friendly visit?” Hazel’s tone suddenly had a sharp edge—as did the rest of her. “You obviously haven’t checked the early morning news yet. But we’ll get to that. First, I need to know how my grandchild is doing.”
Belle propelled up in bed and shoved out her belly just in time for Hazel to clap her palm over it, displacing her phone in the process. It was a weird thing to admit, but she’d always been good at giving herself a believable fake pregnancy bump. During her first couple years of marriage, she used to do it in changing rooms before buying any new clothes—because the plan had been to have lots of babies and to have them immediately.
“Call me old fashioned,” she said, “but I don’t think it’s a good idea to store electronics on top of a developing baby’s head.”
“Oh, of course,” Belle said, stashing the phone under her pillow. “I’m usually very careful about that stuff. I eat all organic and grass-fed, walk every day, and don’t take any medications unless absolutely necessary.” She paused to let Hazel look around. She wanted to make sure she understood what Belle was getting at—that two seconds of cell phone radiation was nothing compared to the traumatic experience Donner had provided. “Well, I usually do, anyway. Hopefully a few days of hospital food and immobility won’t do him too much ha—”
“Him?”
Belle cursed herself as Hazel slammed her hands together in simultaneous shock and glee. She hadn’t meant to give even that much information away.
“Yeah well,” Belle hawed. “Dr. Frolick said it was a really close call,” she added, not wanting her main point to be forgotten. Though judging from the stars in Hazel’s eyes, it already was. “Good thing he’s a strong little guy.”
“Of course he is,” Hazel half-shrieked. Belle felt the mattress bounce as she hopped off the bed and began circling the room. “Strong like his father. I knew it! I told Donnie he was going to have a son. He didn’t believe me, of course. But mothers always know, don’t they?” She swung around, her back to the window. The sun was fully up now, and the sky was a vivid robin’s egg blue. “How did he react when you told him?”
Belle opened her mouth several times before successfully spewing out some words. “I was going to tell him Friday, but. . .” she said, expecting Hazel to fill in the rest.
Instead, the egotistical, middle-aged diva stood back and skewered her with her bright blue eyes. Desperate for any escape, Belle spotted the nurse’s call button in the corner of her eye and had the sudden urge to push it—as if a third party might scare the fugitive pureblood back to her tropical island. But it was too risky. She could arrive with Rye in tow. If only she was cooler under pressure, she thought while tilting a water bottle between them and drinking as slowly as humanly possible.
“What?” Belle finally snapped, pulling the drained bottle away and summoning the teenage attitude she never really had. “It’s not my fault I lost consciousness halfway through your son’s visit.”
Hazel’s chin drew in fast, as if the words had physically struck her. “No,” sh
e said. “I can’t blame you for Donner’s outburst. It was impulsive, stupid, embarrassing, juvenile, and one hundred percent selfish.”
Belle’s cold stare wavered.
“But I can blame you for lying to me.”
Belle repeated the word—“Lying?”—but even she could hear the uncertainty in her voice.
Hazel marched back toward Belle’s bed. Only rather than perching on the mattress like before, she grabbed one of the orange plastic chairs and dropped into it. Then she grabbed the seat and scooched forward, the metal legs screaming along the floor.
“Yes. Lying.” She pitched forward, filling Belle’s air with a mixture of rum and sunscreen. “You know that Donnie’s curse is back. Don’t you? You know that’s why he acted like that. You know he would never physically harm you. And he’d never, ever even risk harm coming to that baby. He’s … difficult sometimes. I’ll admit that. His father was a terrible role model. But that’s not as bad as a dead role model. And poor Donnie had to grow up with both.”
Belle’s eyes fell. Bringing up Donner’s childhood was a low blow, but it worked on her every time. Perhaps this was because she’d wanted to be a mom for so long. Perhaps it was because she knew how it felt to grow up with one parent gone and the other self-destructing. And even though the world had known Varek Wickenham as a womanizing, over-the-top Neanderthal, she knew that to his son, he’d made up half the universe.
“I didn’t know for sure that his curse was back,” Belle lied, peeling her sheets down and then immediately pulling them back. Her legs were dying to move around, but her stomach wasn’t ready to make a full appearance—yet another reason to remain in the hospital for as long as possible. “I mean, I suspected it might be. I’d like to think he wouldn’t have tried to kill me if he was in his right mind. I know he’s an insecure asshole who covers it up by acting like an egotistical prick, but…”