Naughty Nelle

by L'Amour, Nelle

  Then, ding, a little bell goes off in my head as I’m undoing the fastenings. So what if it doesn’t fit her? She won’t have a wedding gown. No gown. No wedding. I’ll be the victor. And to the victor belongs the spoils. Could I…?

  “What are you waiting for?” growls Marcella, cutting my tempting thoughts short. Impulsively, she grabs the gown out of my hands and steps into it, feet first. She slides it up her legs. Damn it. So far, so good. But once it gets to her hips, it won’t budge. Not even an inch.

  “Do something!” she screams.

  “Squeeze your butt. And suck in your gut,” I tell her. Good luck.

  Ha! No matter how hard she squeezes or sucks, the dress won’t give. Losing her patience, she begins to yank at it, stretching it in every direction. The taut sound of seams bursting sends a shiver down my spine.

  No matter how much I hate her, no matter how much I cannot bear the thought of her marrying Gallant, I can’t let her destroy Armando’s masterpiece. I can’t. With both hands, I pull the dress down. It bunches on the floor like a red ball of fire.

  “What have you done?” she screeches. “I’m going to be late for the ball!”

  She splays her knuckly fingers across the bulges of her corseted hips. Eyeing her monstrous, flashy diamond, I get an idea. A brilliant one.

  “This is going to work.” I smile wickedly. With a single yank, I pull in the strings of her corset, so tightly that her eyes bulge out of their sockets.

  “What are you doing?” she gasps.

  Isn’t it obvious? I’m suffocating you, wench!

  Marcella moans. A memory of Snow White flickers in my head. This is exactly how I once tried to kill her. I tremble and quickly loosen Marcella’s corset.

  She lets out a deep breath.

  What’s wrong with me? I just had the opportunity to kill the woman who’s made my life so miserable and is marrying the man I love. But I didn’t.

  Marcella’s expression turns to rage. “Get the dress on me. Now!”

  My eyes travel up and down her distorted body. It’s time for a new plan of attack. I tell her to step out of the gown that lies crumpled at her feet.

  “Now what?” she snaps.

  I detach the long red satin train and lay it lengthwise on her bed. Then carefully, I slip the gown over Marcella’s head and gently pull it down.

  “You’re going to ruin my hair and makeup!” she shrieks.

  Truthfully, I’m much more concerned that her over-the-top makeup will ruin Armando’s work of art. I pass the first hurdle—getting the gown past her cannonballs. Very carefully, I edge it over her balloon of a belly. Success again. And then, the final challenge—getting it past her fat ass. Slowly, with little tugs, I manage to lower the gown to her feet. The feeling of victory eludes me as I reattach the twenty-foot train.

  Shoving me aside, she struts up to her vanity and admires herself in the mirror, oblivious to her rolls and bulges.

  “Perfection!” She blows a kiss at her reflection. “Gallant will love it.”

  The mention of Gallant’s name makes my heart ache. I fight back tears. Why didn’t I pull those strings until she dropped? Why?

  “Jane, I need my shoes!”

  I should have killed her.

  Reluctantly, I search her room-size closet. There must be over three hundred boxes of shoes, stacked helter-skelter plus another two hundred pairs scattered all over the floor. Thank goodness for Elz’s innovative glass coffin shoeboxes. I spot the ruby slippers right way.

  Marcella snatches the shoes from me as I step out of the closet. She cuddles them, then tosses them onto the floor. I enjoy every grunt and groan as she tries to squeeze her big feet into the dainty shoes. No luck. She tries stretching them to make the fit. No luck.

  “Jane!” she yells. “My feet are swollen. Why didn’t you get me a foot massage?”

  Ha! She’ll never get her Size 9 feet into the Size 6 shoes.

  “Don’t just stand there! Get me a bucket with hot water so I can soak my feet!”

  Biting my lip to keep from laughing, I scurry to her powder room.

  When I return with a bucket of water, Her Royal Skankiness is glued to her bed, massaging her red, swollen feet. I set the bucket on the rug. She plunks her feet inside.

  “AAAAGH! This water’s scalding hot.” She yanks her feet out of the bucket.

  I deserve a big laugh after all I’ve been through today, but I refrain.

  “Quick! Get me my Miracle Foot Potion,” she shouts. “It’s in the medicine cabinet.”

  I hurry back to the powder room. I search the cabinet above her sink but only find makeup. About to leave empty-handed, I notice that the large cabinet against the wall, which is usually locked, is ajar. Could her Miracle Foot Potion be inside?

  Whoa! This is no ordinary medicine cabinet. It’s practically a factory of potions, lotions, and herbs. Crammed with my bogus Lose Pounds Fast diet potion is a slew of other magical potions. To name just a few:

  Forever Young Youth Potion: Knock years off your age. Use daily for best results.

  I shake the bottle. There’s nothing left.

  B-Cup No More Potion: Rub gently on breasts and watch them grow before your eyes. CAUTION: DO NOT OVERUSE.

  Obviously, the skank didn’t read the warning.

  Smooth and Silky Skin Potion: Apply liberally all over. Gets rid of dry scaly skin. Important! Use frequently to prevent scaly build up and recurrence.

  Go-Blond and Beautiful Hair Potion: Covers unsightly gray and leaves hair manageable. Blondes have more fun!

  I knew it! She’s one big fake! Her hair, her skin, her boobs. And I’m sure that’s not all. I shudder. I bet her love for The Prince is fake too! But what does it matter? She’s marrying him in a matter of hours. Sadness and despair tear through me again. I clench my stomach.

  “Jane, what’s taking you so long?” I hear Marcella screech. “I need my Miracle Foot Potion!”

  I try to focus. Randomly, I pick up another bottle.

  Love Potion #13: Put magic into your relationship. Brew daily for long-lusting results. Expires 9/30

  I wrench it open. The scent of the herbs rushes to my nose. I recognize it instantly—a blend of orange blossoms, rose petals, and lavender. The tea Gallant drinks for breakfast! Oh my God! Marcella has had him under a spell! What am I going to do? The effects wear off today, but it may be too late!

  Marcella screams at me again. Panic-stricken, I grab another bottle.

  Magic Lip Plumper Potion: Apply liberally for fuller, more kissable lips. He won’t be able to resist!

  Choke! The thought of Gallant kissing Marcella sends me over the edge. I want to rip the slut’s phony fat lips right off her face, pull out her bottle-blond hair, and punch her inflated boobs. I feel evil! So over-the-top evil! And there are no little voices in my head telling me what not to do. Damn it! Why didn’t I create a potion to end her life a long time ago?

  Brainstorm! One of these potions has to be poisonous, and I’m going to find it. I’ll take the slut by surprise and force it down her throat. Drink it and die, bitch! I can’t wait to see her take her final breath. I’ll blow her a kiss good-bye. Then I’ll cover my tracks with a fake suicide note. Something simple like…Dear People: Changed my mind about marrying The Prince. He didn’t really love me. So I took my life. Love—M.

  Yes! I’m back to being an evil genius! So much for rehab. It was a total waste of time.

  Madly, I tear through the racks of potions, examining one bottle after another. Damn it! Nothing! Then, unexpectedly, I come upon her foot potion.

  Miracle Foot Potion: Heals, soothes, and smoothes swollen feet. Satisfaction Guaranteed.

  I look closely at the fine print. Caution! Poison! Keep out of the reach of children!

  The sweet irony of it all! It’s funny how things sometimes work out for the best.

  I wrench the bottle open and take a whiff. Whoof! Nasty stuff. I can’t wait to pour it down the skank’s throat. Ha! I’m finally go
ing to give her a dose of her own medicine. A fatal one!

  Suddenly, my hands shake. Violently. The bottle slips out of my fingers and crashes to the floor, cracking in half. A rancid odor fills the room as I numbly watch the potion snake across the tiles.

  “Look what you’ve done!” screeches a voice behind me.

  I wheel around. Marcella. Barefoot in her red gown. The train trailing out the door.

  “Rub some on my feet. Now!” Her voice is as toxic as the potion.

  Still quivering, I squat down and smear the potion all over her skanky feet. I ask myself for the second time: Why? Why didn’t I kill her when I had the chance?

  A nauseating mixture of confusion, anger, and despair seeps into my veins as Marcella hobbles back to her chamber. She plops down on her bed. The dainty ruby shoes sit on the floor, waiting for a pair of feet to claim them.

  I confess. I haven’t prayed since I was a child. Why bother when my prayers for a loving mother were never answered. Now, it’s all I can do. To pray. To pray that her Miracle Foot Potion doesn’t work. That she’ll never be able to get her bone-ugly feet into the dainty ruby slippers. It’s the only hope I have left to stop her from going to the ball. And from marrying Gallant before the effects of her love potion wear off.

  I hold my breath as she steps into the shoes. She wiggles her feet; she pushes. She wiggles again, pushes harder. She grunts. She groans. I smile slyly, but not for long. To my utter astonishment, the skank manages to stuff her big, red, puffy feet into the little slippers.

  “Ha!” She smiles triumphantly. “They fit like a glove.”

  A miracle. My heart sinks like a boulder.

  Marcella parades again before the mirror. I hate that mirror! I want to bash it. Instead, I dash out of her chamber before I dare do it.

  Marcella screams at me. “Get back here!” I shut my ears to her shrill cry.

  After tonight, Marcella will no longer be a PIW. She’ll be a real princess. Gallant’s princess. Tears spill from my eyes.

  Marcella yells out to me again. “Jane, one last thing. Remind me to fire you after the ball.”

  Gallant is downstairs at his desk, sketching. My heart flutters. How handsome he looks in his navy velvet suit and white blousy shirt, opened far enough to expose his tawny, chiseled chest. He gazes up at me with a fleeting smile. I blink back tears and meet his eyes. I so desperately want to run over to him and sink my body in his. The only thing that’s stopping me is shame. That and the fact that he’s marrying another in a matter of hours.

  Calla skips down the staircase and breaks our tense silence. Clutching Lady Jane in one hand, she runs over to her father to give him a hug. Her beauty has no equal. In fact, she’s more beautiful than ever, in the gown Gallant bought her—a white lacy confection that’s accented with a yellow satin sash. The sash matches her golden curls, that are held back by her ever-present red velvet bow…the bow that once must have belonged to Snow White. How much she resembles her mother, with her flawless alabaster skin, rosebud lips, and twinkling chocolate eyes. An insufferable pang of guilt stabs me. How could I have…?

  “Jane, why aren’t you dressed for the ball?” asks Calla.

  Caught off guard, I falter for an excuse.

  “Big parties are not my thing.” That sounded stupid.

  “But you came to my birthday party!” She’s got me.

  “I don’t really know how to dance.” That sounds better though not true.

  “I can teach you!” She’s got me again.

  “I have nothing to wear.” Well, that’s the honest truth.

  “You can borrow something from Marcella.” She’s got a point.

  “I don’t think she’d like that,” I stammer. Truthfully, I can’t imagine myself in any of Marcella’s sleazy gowns. Except for The Emperor’s magnificent creation with a few major alterations.

  Aware she’s getting nowhere with me, Calla turns to her father and implores him to make me go the ball. I wonder if she knows that it’s more than a ball. That tonight she’s getting a new mother. Marcella!

  Gallant’s face lights up. “Jane, it would be an honor to have you as my guest.”

  My gaze meets his. I’m burning up with desire. Even my conscience can’t quell the flames.

  “Thank you, My Lord,” I say, holding back tears and my body. “But honestly, I don’t want to go.” Liar! “Plus, I can use the night off to catch up on some of Marcella’s chores.”

  “Did I just hear my name?” comes a coy voice from the staircase.

  Marcella! She slithers down the steps, the long train of her gown trailing behind her.

  “My love, do you like it?” she asks, stopping to pose in front of her husband-to-be.

  Color drains from Gallant’s face, and his eyes morph into sharp blue daggers. I’ve never seen him like this before. Can her spell possibly be over?

  “Where did you get that?” he demands, his voice powered by anger.

  “At The Ballgown Emporium. It’s an Emperor Armando original.”

  “No, that!” He points to the long red velvet cloak that she’s added to her ensemble. I recognize it immediately and shudder.

  “Oh, I borrowed it from your closet. It goes so well with my outfit. Don’t you agree, my love?”

  “Take that off. NOW!” Each word is a sharp staccato. “That cloak belonged to Snow White!”

  “Whatever,” says Marcella, not the least bit miffed. She unhooks the fastening and lets the cloak slide off her.

  The Prince catches it before it falls to the floor. Cradling it in his arms, he lowers his lips to it. My body goes numb. This time his kiss will not magically bring back Snow White from the dead.

  Gallant turns to me. Guilt and shame consume me. I can’t look at him.

  “Jane, please put this cloak back where it belongs after we leave,” he says stiffly.

  “Yes, My Lord.” I cannot tell him how much I dread touching it.

  As he hands me the cloak, our fingers interlock over the blood-red velvet. His heat courses through my veins, searing every part of me. I try to pull my hand away, but he won’t let it go.

  “Jane, please come to the ball,” begs Calla again, this time clasping her little hands in prayer. “Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

  “Get over it child,” snaps Marcella before shooting a wicked smile my way. “Servants do not attend wed—I mean, balls.”

  Her words slice me like blades. I turn my head so neither Gallant nor Calla can see the tears forming in my eyes.

  “We’re late!” shrieks Marcella. She yanks The Prince away from me and shoves Calla to the front door where their coach awaits them. Calla glances back at me, unable to mask her disappointment.

  I long for Gallant to turn his head.

  He doesn’t. He doesn’t. He does!

  I hold his gaze in mine as if I’ll never see him again. Then he’s gone.

  “These shoes are killing me,” I hear Marcella moan outside. So much for “Satisfaction Guaranteed.” I hope you suffer all night!

  Clickety clack. Clickety clack. The sound of the coach fades into the distance. I bury my head in Snow White’s lifeless cloak and cry.

  CHAPTER 34

  The cooks have the night off. Technically, I have the night off, too, since Marcella’s not here. I should enjoy my freedom, but instead, the great swimmer is drowning in a sea of sorrow. The thought of Gallant marrying that woman is suffocating me, pulling me under. But what does it really matter? Even if he doesn’t really love her. A colossal wave of hopelessness washes over me. The truth is, I can’t hide from my past forever. Eventually, Gallant will find out. The minute he learns that I’m The Evil Queen, the witch who tried to kill his beloved late wife, I will no longer be Jane. My life, as I know it now, will be over. I’ll be as dead to him as Snow White.

  Tears pour down my face. I don’t know if it’s heartache or shame. There’s only one thing I can do. I cannot wait until Marcella fires me. Or until my past is revealed. I must leave th
is house at once. Before Gallant returns from the ball. Before I ever have to face him again.

  With my eyes watering, I pack my bag. It doesn’t take long as I have few belongings. Where will I go from here? With my castle a forgotten dream, I’m not sure. All I know is that by morning, I will be far away, moving on to another chapter of my life. Putting this all behind me.

  Just one last thing I have to do—write The Prince a note. He deserves to understand my actions. And maybe, just maybe, it will give me a sense of closure.

  Slowly, I make my way to his desk, every step an effort. The sketch he was working on faces me. It’s a portrait of Calla. My beautiful, sweet girl. Carefully, I tear it out from his pad and place it in my bag next to my treasured “Best Friends Forever” card from Elz. I’ll cherish my memories of Calla forever.

  Lowering myself to his desk chair, I gently tear out a clean sheet of parchment from the sketchpad and put a quill to it.

  “Dear Gallant,” I begin. This is not easy. Tears flood my eyes and fall onto the words I’ve written. I watch as they dissolve into an illegible black blur, a fitting reminder of my miserable life.

  I rip out another sheet and start over. Brushing my tears away, I write my farewell letter.

  Dearest Gallant~

  By the time you read this letter, I will be gone. I can no longer bring myself to stay in this house and be of service to you and your family.

  I have a confession to make. Several years ago, I caused your late wife Snow White great harm. It’s too painful for me to go into the details, but rest assured, I am profoundly sorry for the grave damage I caused. I can only pray that you’ll find the strength in your heart to forgive me.