Once Upon a Fairy tale: A Collection of 11 Fairy Tale Inspired Romances

by Danielle Monsch, Cate Rowan, Jennifer Lewis, Jeannie Lin, Nadia Lee, Dee Carney

  “There is no THIS, freak show. I don’t know who the hell you are, but you have 3 seconds to get out before I call the police, who will beat these delusions right out of you.” Too bad her phone wasn’t within reach, but maybe he hadn’t noticed that.

  “I’m Toad, Miss. Toad!”

  That was too effing much. This nutjob on her couch in a Regency coat, breeches and knee-high riding boots had been spying on her for days and now insisted he was a reptile. Amphibian. Whatever. She jerked back out of sight, eying her environs for something long and sharp and pointy.

  His voice followed her. “You kissed me.”

  “Buddy, I don’t know you from jack, and I’m not the kind of girl to kiss and not remember.” She hustled into the bedroom, thinking there might be something sharp there. Or at least clothes to put on so she wasn’t clad in towels.

  Then came his perplexed reply: “Who is Jack?”

  Okay, he had to be an escapee from an asylum. She didn’t know where the nearest one was, but it was clearly within walking distance, and she hoped they were looking hard for their missing patient.

  Who had an odd accent, she realized as she jumped into panties and jeans. Something Old World, like his clothing. Late twenties, she recalled, thinking of how she’d identify him to the authorities. Dark, curly hair, fern-green eyes, well-shaped mouth, broad shoulders, narrow waist.

  Hell, he was hot… And clearly mental. She fastened her lacy scarlet bra—WTF, why wasn’t her nearest bra something scummy when there was a madman loose in her apartment?—pulled off her hair towel and yanked on an umber tee in world record time.

  “Miss. Sofia,” he said. He sounded closer, like he was moving toward the hallway. “I know this must seem strange to you, but I can prove it. Look at the terrarium. The frog is gone.”

  “Oh my god.” That did it. She stormed into the hall, strands of her wet hair smacking against her face. “What did you do with Toad?” Historical Guy, who was easily six feet tall, jerked back with eyes wide, giving her the tiniest moment of satisfaction. Scare her in her own home, would he?

  Gawd, Tadpole would never forgive her if Toad were missing. Of course, Carole would never forgive her if she got herself murdered by a candidate for a historical re-enactment.

  Wait a minute. Historical re-enactment. Carole…

  Glaring, Sofia tilted her head up to stare at him. “Carole put you up to this, didn’t she?” She waved her fist. “You’re one of her costume buddies and she thought this would be a fun prank.” She glanced into the living room while keeping track of him from the corner of her eye. “Where’s the camera? If she thinks she’s going to put this on YouTube, I’m going to ram a few of my paintbrushes up that pranking ass of hers. Son of a… I’ll get her good for this.”

  Mr. Historical blinked. “Please calm down. I’m sure this will all make sense if you just give yourself a chance to think it through.”

  “Sense?” she snarled. “Sure, I’ll sense her back to the Stone Age. Of course, she probably has a costume for that ready in her closet.”

  “Miss—Sofia, if I may—you kissed a frog. An enchanted frog. You wished for a prince and freed me from an enchantment. You wished for this.” He rubbed a spot on the back of his head as if it hurt. “I never thought it might be worse to be human again than to be a frog,” he mumbled.

  “Oh yeah sure, the frog thing. Big thanks for filming that for Candid Camera. I might have had a ‘stupid dreamer’ moment, but you don’t need to rub it in. That’s just rude. Now go back into the other room and put Toad back in its cage. Or I’ll have you charged with Frog Endangerment. Or something.” She planted her hands on her hips and saw his gaze drawn to her out-thrust chest. “Keep your eyes off of me, put Toad back, and get out!”

  His shoulders rose with a deep sigh as he rubbed the spot on his head again. “I will keep my gaze away from you if you wish it—”

  “I certainly do!”

  “—but I can’t put Toad back because I am him. I would not return to being a frog even if I knew how—not even for you, Miss. However, I will, if you insist, get out. Though I know neither where to go, nor where I am. Save in the city of ‘El Lay,’ which I have gathered is a large and bustling metropolis of some sort, and a very long way from my home.” Warily keeping her in view without actually looking at her, he sidestepped out of the hall toward the door.

  “Uh-huh.” Man, what had Carole paid this guy? He was good. And where was the damn camera? She combed her fingers through her hair. Just out of a shower, geez. They could at least let a girl get her face on.

  She pushed forward to see him reach the front door, his head held high. Huh, he really was a fine figure in that tailcoat. Maybe Carole was smarter than she’d thought with the whole re-enactment thing if she got to stare at men like that at all day. Still, this was not finished. “Oh hell no, you can’t leave yet.”

  He looked back at her, one brow raised.

  She jammed her finger at the terrarium, with its lid askew. “What did you do with the frog?” God, it was loose in the apartment now. She’d never find it, not with her housekeeping skills. What if she sat on it, or it crawled off to a dark corner to die… “Where is it? Put it back there. Now.”

  “I can’t, Miss, as I told you.”

  “I am not going to explain to Tadpole that some guy let her frog loose in my apartment. No way. What if I step on him by mistake?”

  “Did you just say ‘him’?”

  She scowled. “So what if I did?”

  “That’s the first time you gave me a gender, not merely ‘it’. I do appreciate that.” His smile teemed with irony. He glanced around at the floor, with its empty boxes, piles of paper and stacked artwork, and the occasional discarded sock. “I can see why you might be worried. Still, you’ve nothing to fear, since I’m departing.”

  She darted her gaze around the apartment and felt a flush of embarrassment. “It’s not like I was expecting company or anything.”

  His smile stayed glued in place. “No, I suppose not. Goodbye, Sofia. Miss.” He touched the doorknob, and then glanced over his shoulder at her. “I appreciated your company when I was a frog. And your kiss—well, for that I thank you kindly. You deserve better than you have apparently received from men. Since you haven’t yet found one who hasn’t borrowed money from you, I shall refrain from asking that, myself.”

  The door opened, and with one more flash of his green eyes, he departed. His footsteps echoed and faded on the cement stairs.

  It was all bull, right? It had to be. Like all fairy tales were.

  She glanced down at the terrarium and saw that the water had splashed out of the ceramic pond. Then she noticed what looked like… boot prints… in the soil. She leaned in closer and spotted something caught in the wire mesh of the cover.

  Strands of hair. Shiny, black, short hair. Man hair.

  She recalled him rubbing his head.

  No. Unh-unh.

  No, no, no. No way.

  Oh my God.

  She plucked one of the hairs out and stared at it. Everyone in her family was blond.

  He’d been in this terrarium. That guy had been in this terrarium. He was telling the truth.

  She’d kissed him.

  He was Toad.

  Her insides dropped three stories into the sunbaked ground of West LA. A frog had turned into a guy right here in her apartment. A frog.

  A guy who’d been a frog.

  And now this… frog/man… was somewhere outside, on his own in Los Angeles. On his own. With no money. Dressed like a freak.

  She sprang toward the door.

  “Hey,” she shouted down the empty stairwell to the ground. She didn’t even know his name. His real name, anyway. “Toad!”

  Damn it. How long had she stood in her apartment staring at the hair? How far had he been able to walk? She swore, ducked back inside to grab her keys—where the hell were they?—and found them under the table. She glanced around for her shoes, in vain. Fine, she’d go barefo
ot, she thought, scanning the floor behind her one more time as she stepped through the doorway—only to smack into Mr. Historical on her welcome mat.

  He steadied her elbow in his warm palm, and then, with one side of his mouth curled up in that ironic smile that stole all the air, he spoke in his lilting, vaguely European accent. “I came back when you called. But if it’s to be more insults, I’d just as soon wander off.”

  She swallowed. From across the room, he’d been hot. Up close, he was devastating. “Were you really a frog?” she whispered, afraid her neighbors would fear for her sanity.

  “I regret to say yes,” he said patiently. “For about two hundred years.”

  Oh, man. Her brain cramped. She scented his cologne—woodsy and expensive. Her gaze slid down his snowy neckcloth to the elegant cut of his tailcoat, one that showed his manly figure to perfection.

  She had a real-live, ultra-hot prince from another time standing in front of her—and despite how preposterous his presence was, her senses told her it was real. So was he. And now that she knew he wasn’t an axe murderer or a mental patient, her body had roused, yanking control from her rational mind.

  Madness, truly. Maybe she’d spent too much time sniffing paint fumes.

  She tugged her gaze away so she could have a chance at a real thought. One that didn’t involve getting on tiptoes and kissing that beautiful mouth of his again. Okay, the first time it had been quite green and looked nothing like this one, so technically this would be the first time—

  Sofia, think. “I just want to state right now that this whole thing is crazy—no, don’t even try to deny that—but you can come back in and sit on the couch to tell me the rest of this…insanity.”

  She whirled away before she could melt into a puddle on his riding boots.

  After he’d reseated himself on the empty spot on her couch—god, why had she left three stacks of papers and her second-favorite smock sprawled across it?—she paced the living room, occasionally pelting him with questions as he told his story. “The witch turned you into a frog right there in front of the priest?”

  His eyes crinkled in amusement. “I like to think that was the worst fright I ever gave him. There were a few other candidates for that honor when I was younger, but we’ll leave those be for now.”

  “And what did your father do when he came home from his hunt? Did he find out?”

  “The priest had picked me up off the floor, bless him, and tucked me in his sleeve until the duchess witch and her girl left in their carriage. I suppose even she didn’t care to feel the wrath of a king. My father apologized to me—for the first time in my life, I might add—but there wasn’t much he could do. None of the nearby witches or sorcerers could shift the spell.”

  “That’s it? What happened to the witch?”

  Alexander—at least she knew his name now—looked down, discomfited. “I hear she disappeared soon after. No one knows exactly what took place. Though I am aware of my father’s reputation for, er, justice.”

  “And her daughter, the prospective bride?”

  “Her brother, the duke, married her off to a distant cousin of his wife’s. I was told Lady Jesynne ended up with a fine brood of children, most of whom were brighter than she. A couple of them wed into the British royal line.”

  That would have made a good joke, but she decided to refrain. “Tell me again when this happened.”

  He sighed. “Two centuries ago.”

  She screwed her eyes shut.

  “I realize that’s hard to accept.”

  “Hey, no more than you transforming into a frog and back,” she said sarcastically. “Give me some credit here.”

  “You could, I believe, look it up.” He gestured at the laptop computer on her table. “With that thing. Can’t you? Your sister and niece use one all the time. It seems very handy.”

  “Oh sure. And what, exactly, do you expect me to look up?”

  “My family’s history.”

  She stopped pacing and slammed her hands on her hips. “You think I’m going to find confirmation on the Internet that a witch turned you into a frog two centuries ago.”

  “Of course not. My father hushed up the amphibian part quite well. But I’d think history would mention that King Julian’s son disappeared.”

  “I’ve never even heard of Nemerre.”

  He frowned. “The educational system in your country could use some improvement.”

  “That may be true, but I still haven’t heard of it.”

  “We may be a small kingdom,” he said with a touch of disgruntlement, “but one with a long and historic lineage.”

  “We’ll see.” She snatched her laptop off the table. “Scoot over. I need room.”

  “There would be more if you’d move a few things.” His mouth quirked up as he flipped her smock onto the couch’s other arm.

  “Yeah, yeah. Let’s not get into my housekeeping. You weren’t supposed to be a species that noticed that, remember?”

  He gave a neutral grunt as she fired up Wikipedia.

  Lo and behold, there was an entry for Nemerre. It included a page on the royal family’s lineage… and a mention of Prince Alexander. “Disappeared… Believed to have been kidnapped by mercenaries hired by a foreign dowager duchess. The duchess later disappeared, herself.”

  He leaned in to peer at the screen; his cologne tantalized her again, and his thigh touched hers. She wanted to squirm, but that would have jiggled the laptop and drawn attention.

  He’s just a guy. There are three billion of them on the planet. Yet none of them had been as intriguing as this one—this impossible, can’t-be-happening, definitely-not-from-normal-reality man had.

  She liked the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled—and she appreciated that he smiled often, with a self-deprecating warmth. She’d have expected a prince to be a pompous S.o.B., but she supposed a couple of hundred years as a frog could quell any ego. He had to be finding the situation nearly as weird as she did, but he radiated calmness and patience. Around him, she felt like a jolt of electricity, a live wire sparking—and yet he was the one who should have been tripping all her b.s. traps with his insane story. Instead, there was an inner serenity about him that soothed her.

  She shook herself back to the moment. “Fine, this sort of adds up, sort of. But how on earth did you, the human-turned-amphibian son of a European king, end up in a kid’s terrarium in LA two centuries later?”

  His lips thinned, and at last ruddy anger tinged his cheeks. “When my younger brother’s new wife had her first child—and the start of her own dynasty—she wished to rid herself of the possibility of my return. In the middle of the night, I was packed up by one of her minions, who left for America.” He sighed. “I’ve been bought, sold, and traded from owner to owner ever since. I was given to your niece from a neighbor whose husband grew too ill to care for his pets.” After a shrug, his smile returned. “Here I am.”

  “Here you are.” She took a deep breath, one that hovered in her chest. “And now what?”

  His hands, which rested on his knees, twitched as if he were thinking of moving them. Maybe to touch her. The idea of it made her insides quiver and warm.

  But he kept them there, all too gentlemanly. Seriously, Sofia, this crazy fantasy of yours is going to get you hurt. Keep your feet on the ground.

  She cleared her throat. “If you’re going to be in this time and place, Prince Alexander of Nemerre, you’re going to need new clothes.”

  “Call me Alex. Please.” He leaned toward her, just an inch or two, but she felt the air between them shift… and then linger in a different pattern. “And may I call you Sofia?”

  Her heart jumped again. She was pretty sure that request had meant more in his time than it did now. She’d seen the Jane Austen heartthrob films. “Absolutely. These days, people are a lot less formal.”

  “So I’ve gathered.” He glanced down at his riding breeches. “Many things have changed since I was last in this body. Clo
thing, society, language, customs… the way friends—and men and women—interact with one another. I’ve tried to keep pace through the years, by listening to conversations, to the radio, and watching that teevee box when I could. Gave me a headache. Frogs’ eyes aren’t made for that sort of thing. But I’ll do my best to learn what I must to fit in. I need to become part of the modern world.”

  He gazed down at her jean-clad knees beside his own in buff cloth. “Attire has certainly changed since my day.” His glance flicked to the sleeve of her tee, lingered there as if not quite allowed to move toward her bosom, and up to her face. He gave a slow, sexy grin. “It’s an improvement.”

  “Right. Well,” she said, with butterflies tickling her core. “We’ll find you some modern clothes.” She set her laptop on the floor and stood. “Yes, let’s go take care of a few details.” She scanned the room for her purse and spied it beside the sink.

  “Sofia,” he said softly, still on the couch.

  “Hmm?” She snatched up the purse and spotted her flip-flops under an easel.

  “I apologize—but I haven’t any money for shopping.”

  “Oh. Well, no, of course not.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “It’s no big deal. I’m not taking you to Rodeo Drive. We won’t go crazy.”

  He rose unhurriedly. “I am not used to being in debt. I’d prefer to barter with you. Is there something I could do for you in exchange?”

  A vision of him above her in bed, naked and one-hundred-percent delicious, flew to mind. Oh god. She felt the blush coming hot and furious, and turned away before he could spot it. “Don’t worry about it,” she choked out.

  “Perhaps I could help you clean your home? It seems maids are not as inexpensive as in my time.”

  She peeked over her shoulder and caught him scanning the floor, his brows raised in puzzlement.

  Right. Let’s have a prince cleaning my apartment for extra cash. Perfect. God, if she’d only picked up a bit around here, or placed the call to Merry Maids. It had been on her to-do list for weeks, just not at the top.

  “We can figure all that out later,” she said. Actually, there’d be a ton to handle, like getting Alex a legal identity—though she had no doubt that some of her father’s more interesting business contacts could help with that. His old secretary would know who to call. Alex would also need a place of his own, and a career. But what the heck were the marketable skills of centuries-old princes?