by Laura Kenyon
A piercing laugh shot right through Belle’s reverie. Her entire body jerked up. Her hand careened into thorn thick as a marker, but she didn’t scream. She clamped down on her bottom lip and let her body adjust to the pain. She knew that laugh. Squinting through the tree, she made out pieces of a woman on the stairwell: a skintight blouse, huge earrings, blood red lips, and eyes so slathered with makeup they turned into bottomless pits. It was Red Panties. And it was Julianne.
“Oh, suck it up,” Julianne said as she clopped down the stairs. “It’s not like I pointed out that you got beaten up by a Girl Scout. And I did not say you must have done something horrible in order to piss her off. I said something provoked her.”
“Yea, well.” Belle’s breath stopped at the sound of Donner’s voice. Her heartbeat thumped through every inch of her body. “You could have said something better. That nosy gossip reporter’s had it out for me all year.”
Julianne cackled. “Who cares? Let him talk. We need to play our cards carefully.”
Donner grumbled something about being emasculated.
“Hush.” Belle willed herself to be invisible. They hadn’t seen her yet. “You aren’t going to get much sympathy going from one sister to another no matter what. If I take your side outright, it’s suspicious. But if people think they’re watching the transformation—from a sister-in-law offering her shoulder, to a woman torn by unexpected feelings—it might just soften their hearts a little. It’s less scandal and more … a testament to the persistence of true love. We realized it was supposed to be us all along. We didn’t choose it. We can’t control it. We’re slaves to it. Capiche?”
“Okay, but …” Donner trailed off. Belle’s pulse raced. Had he spotted her?
“But what?”
“But I’ve already got a reputation. And why would you be comforting me rather than your sister?”
Julianne let out a long, loud sigh. It was her signature I’m-the-mastermind-so-just-trust-me-on-this sigh. Belle heard it a million times growing up—usually right before she got locked in the cellar. “You already gave the world that answer,” Julianne half-cooed, half-snarled. “Because she’s unhinged. Unstable. She’s bat-crap crazy, and even I can’t in good conscience advise you to stay with such a lunatic.”
“But does anyone believe that?”
“Trust me. It’s all building,” Julianne said as she bounced off the last step and started walking. “Belle’s so full of restrained anger right now that she’ll blow up eventually. Always does. Only this time, the whole world will be watching. And then I’ll help you regain all that masculinity. Over … and over … again.”
Belle stayed sprawled beneath the roses just long enough for them to get out of view. Then she thrust her arm into the thorns and yanked out her phone. When she emerged, branches were sticking out of her hair. Blood poured down her arm. But she didn’t care. It was a flesh wound. Julianne had a lot worse coming her way.
“What’s the matter?” she heard Magazine Man holler as she spat herself back onto the sidewalk. She whipped around and lurched towards him.
“Have you seen those two together before?” she demanded. Her eyes felt tight enough to shoot lasers.
The man’s look of amusement quickly became a glare of hatred. “Oh I see. Yeah, I’ve seen them before. What’s wrong? Think you were the only one screwing him?” His words washed over her, but she was already drowning. “Shame on you both! As if that poor girl ain’t been through enough already, you tramps need to tear her marriage apart?” Belle shook her head. Her marriage? This guy was on her side. He didn’t recognize her. “They call him a wolf. Well what about you? You broads see something good and need to kill it. Well, looks like you just got a taste of your own medicine, lady. Now get off of my corner!”
Belle heard the newspaper flapping in the wind before she saw it shooting towards her. She flung her arms up in defense, but it missed by a foot.
“Which way did they go?” Belle asked. She lowered her arms as the man continued his trash talk. Then he stopped. A ball of blonde hair plopped to her feet.
The man’s jaw hung open as he stared at her natural brown hair, tumbling wave by wave onto her shoulders. “Holy sh—I’m so sorry, Your Majesty. I—”
“Which way did they go?” Belle repeated.
He pointed west. “Turned south on Ninth Avenue. I heard something about Charleston’s. I didn’t recognize you, Your Majesty. I—”
“It’s okay,” she shouted, pushing off her toes. “And it’s just Belle!”
* * *
Charleston’s Restaurant had a VIP room accessible from the back parking lot for maximum privacy. It was an adorable space with a stone fireplace, an isolated table, and white birch branches strung with tiny lights. Belle had been there many times with Donner—for birthdays, anniversaries, and Mother’s Day dinners with Hazel. It was a high class establishment. She was surprised they even let Julianne inside.
Judging from Donner’s rocket-propelled expulsion of champagne when his wife burst through the back door, Donner thought the same about Belle.
“What the hell! Are you insane?” He tore away from the fireplace and frantically patted his purple vest dry. “And what the—are you bleeding?”
Julianne, who was stuffed into her chair like her breasts were stuffed into her top, popped out a squawk of amusement. Belle took about half a second to admire the roaring fire, the vase full of roses, the golden sconces shading the room with a sweet, romantic glow. Then she moved to the side and plopped her purse in the center of the table. Evidently, her intrusion wasn’t concern enough for Julianne to get up—or to stop sipping her champagne.
“I’m sorry? Did you just ask if I am insane?” Belle repeated, her voice shriekish. Julianne smirked and set her glass down. “No, actually. I think inviting the devil into your bed makes you insane. Of all the women you could throw your life away for, you choose her? Why don’t you just chop your balls off now and save her the trouble?”
Julianne let out a derisive snort. “Wow,” she said as Belle’s entire body clenched. “Looks like baby sis has learned some grown-up words. Glad to see high society was able to do what I couldn’t.” She turned to look at Donner. “She was far too good when we were growing up to repeat anything I told her. But then again, you know that.”
The three of them were in a triangle now—Donner hulking over the fire trying to dry his vest, Julianne squeezing a lemon lazily into her water glass, and Belle wavering between them like a cobra unsure where to strike. The flickering shadows—combined with Belle’s relentless blinking—made Julianne’s sharp features look even more sinister than she remembered. Her only softness came from the dark cherry curls she’d taken from their mother—and that in itself was ironic. As her raccoon eyes locked with Belle’s, her jaws stretched into to a wide, toxic smile. Clearly, she found her baby sister’s anger quite amusing.
“Have a drink,” Julianne instructed, nodding toward the bottle chilling in the corner. “You look like you could use one.”
Donner perked up at this. “Jules, I don’t really think—”
“Hush darling,” Julianne commanded. Belle swallowed and dug her heels into the carpet. “I haven’t seen my sister in—what? Two years? We’ve got catching up to do. Lovers shouldn’t interfere with family, you know.”
Like a scolded child, Donner wilted back toward the fire. Belle couldn’t be sure that her jaw had fallen—as her brain seemed suddenly detached from the rest of her body—but it certainly should have. Not long ago, newspapers throughout the world hailed her as “the beauty who tamed the beast.” But Donner had never submitted to her wishes like that. Was this what tame really looked like? Or was this broken? She could hardly stand to look at him.
“I’m not doing any catching up with you,” Belle said, turning away and clomping towards her sister. “It’s obvious nothing’s changed. You’re still a bully and you still think everything should be yours just because you want it. The only drink I’m having with you
is to toast you getting out of my life forever.”
“Well I’m glad you see it that way.” Julianne pursed her lips and pressed both elbows into the table. A dagger bent into a bracelet spiraled to her elbow, but Belle didn’t see any rings. “We’ll miss you. A little. But it’s all for the—”
“I’m not going anywhere!” Belle screamed, just as a waiter came hustling in from the kitchen passage. She shot him a glare that sent him stumbling back around and instantly out of sight.
“The scar looks good, by the way,” Julianne teased, motioning to Belle’s forehead. “You’ve really grown into it.”
For a moment, Belle flashed back to that torturous night: Julianne pulling her from bed for an “emergency.” Bare feet on the ice. Bare legs beneath her PJs. Blood in the snow. Her sisters begging forgiveness even as they blockaded the door. Julianne’s orders.
It was time for Belle to deliver the crushing blow. This wasn’t the atmosphere she’d always imagined, but it would have to do. She had to play the “I’m carrying Donner’s child” card. “No Julianne. You are the one who’s leaving, because I—”
“No, Belle.”
Belle’s tongue halted mid-syllable. But it wasn’t Julianne’s voice that stopped it.
“She isn’t. I’m sorry,” Donner said, closing the space between them but looking only at the floor. “I should have said it earlier. I didn’t want it to be like this, since you broke the curse and all. But I’m different now. I’m myself now. And Julianne just … gets me.”
Belle could taste the rage oozing up from the back of her throat. Since she “broke the curse and all?” He was “different now?” This was his explanation? Belle repeated his last words between clamped teeth. “She … gets you?”
“She doesn’t make me feel guilty all the time for not being a saint.” His naturally bronze face was as pale as Belle’s now, but he was speaking of his own accord this time. Julianne was too busy reapplying her lipstick to care. “She’s not constantly trying to change me into something better. There’s only so much angel a man can take, you know?”
Belle just stood there, unsure where the heck to begin. “So let me get this straight. You want to be with the devil’s spawn because she doesn’t try to change you?” Did he even sense the irony in that? “Holy crap you’re a dumbass.”
Donner flicked his hair from his eyes and squinted. These weren’t words he often heard come out of her mouth. “Now wait a minute.”
“No. I’m talking now.” Belle could actually feel the fury coursing through her veins. “She likes you because you’re rich and a king. She doesn’t make you feel guilty because she has no concept of what that means. And as for changing you—just think for one freaking second about where you’d be if you didn’t fall for a woman who wanted to change you? Who didn’t see that there might be something worthy beneath all that FUR?”
Belle stopped to breathe and for a brief moment saw something like recognition flash across Donner’s face. His lips edged apart. Then Julianne started clapping.
“Nice speech sis,” she said. “But there’s one other thing Donner forgot to mention.” She leaned forward and pressed both elbows into the table. “I have the proven ability to keep his bloodline going. You, as four years of marriage has shown, do not.”
“Jules, it’s not the right time for that.”
“Well, I want a winter wedding, so we need to move things along. She’ll be getting the annulment papers soon enough, anyway. It’s only sisterly to give her a heads up. You know, so she can start looking for a place to live and a job to pay for it.”
If Belle’s head had a spout, it would have started whistling. Her face was boiling. Wedding? Annulment? This was just insane. Who was this man? How could exchanging animal fur for skin change a person so much? Belle heard the blood rushing through her ears, the fire crackling behind her, Donner exhaling toward the floor. She saw Julianne’s massive smile—her block teeth bursting through lips too thin for their width—and felt the urge to vomit.
Then Julianne dealt the final blow. “It should have been me all along, you know.”
Belle’s lashes flitted a mile a minute. She thought of the black carnations and the taunting card. She recalled the day five years ago, when all the other girls walked out. All but Belle, the good one. The caring one. The martyr.
“You’re right,” she said, biting down on every word. “It should have been you. You were the oldest one there. It was your responsibility to take Father’s place.” Belle knew her fingers could move because they were madly spinning her ring, but everything else felt rooted in place.
Julianne shrugged. “Why would I give up my life for a man who gambled away my future? And sent my mother racing away. He was no father. Come on. What kind of man sees a rose growing bright in the dead of winter and doesn’t realize it must be magical? A stupid one, that’s who. Or a drunk, worthless one.”
“Shut up!” Belle jumped at her own volume. “You couldn’t stomach the idea of spending a lifetime with someone who looked the way Donner looked then.” Belle heard Donner shift in place behind her, but this wasn’t about him anymore. This was about standing up for herself and her child—who didn’t deserve to be born into this. “You were too good for him until suddenly he was rich and powerful, and then he was too good for you.”
She grabbed her purse, knocking over the water pitcher. Julianne smirked as the liquid streamed onto her shoes, and Belle froze. She remembered what she’d overhead earlier. This was what Julianne wanted. She wanted Belle to explode in public. She’d sent the flowers to drag her out, and now her plan was working. She knew Belle could play brick wall for only so long before it all came tumbling down. She closed her eyes and let her voice soften.
“Well,” she said, calmly. “Maybe you’re right. After all, you played a very important role in my breaking the curse that night. You know, because you changed all the calendars back so I’d stay longer than I was supposed to? And Donner almost died because of it?” A flush of outrage swept across her sister’s face, taking her smirk with it. “So you know what? Maybe you deserve each other. You both know how to be pretty for the cameras but rotten inside. And maybe I’m better off too. I have friends who genuinely care about me, a public that actually likes me, and pretty soon a—”
She stopped and stared at Donner. He was leaning into the mantel, his face splotchy, his jaw tight, and his focus glued to her every word. He reminded her of those goats at the zoo, which made Belle the little girl. She had something he wanted, and even though he didn’t know it outright, something in his gaze told her he had a clue.
“No,” she whispered, patting her shirt flat and turning toward the door. “You can find out with everybody else.” Donner jerked forward and stared directly into her. She felt a jolt in her stomach. No.
“Keep an eye on the news,” she said before bouncing the door off her palm and speeding into a jumble of chatter. Using the private exit would have been the wiser move, she realized while zooming through the main restaurant, zigzagging between the tables. But she was too worked up to think straight. Perhaps this was better anyway. People needed to see her—the new her.
When she realized diners were pointing, she slowed to a careful, confident sashay and even managed a few smiles. No more hiding, she vowed as the whispers followed her past the hostess and into the lobby. Not from this.
As soon as she got outside, she would find out where Marshall stood with the ring search, tell Rapunzel she might get that exposé after all, and start planning for her new life. The game had changed. Damage control and reconciliation were no longer the goals. Belle was being forced to wage war in the court of public opinion, and she would not let Julianne toss her into the streets. She had a reputation to save, a baby to keep, an existence to protect. She was going to win this.
Chapter Nine
RAPUNZEL
“You’re what?” four voices shrieked in unison.
“Pregnant?” “Wow.” “That’s umm …” “Amazing
!”
Rapunzel watched with pity as Belle sat back and humbly accepted the congratulations, which were hesitant, obligatory, and followed swiftly by a barrage of questions.
“How long have you known?” “When are you due?” “Why didn’t you tell us?” “So it’s Donner’s, right?”
Belle looked at Rapunzel for help and pulled her sweater tight. The sun was well on its way into the West River and, despite the flowers spilling off Rapunzel’s terrace, the night air seemed to have abandoned spring.
“I have an appointment with Dr. Frolick on Sunday,” she said, prompting a flurry of approval for Marestam’s preeminent obstetrician. “I wanted to wait until Donner knew, but I didn’t want to tell him until things were okay. I guess I thought it would be symbolic, starting over in more ways than one, but …” She trailed off for a moment and then cleared her throat. “Well, I can’t wait forever, can I?”
“You’re doing the right thing,” Penny said as she picked at Belle’s half-devoured blueberry crisp. It was squished between a pot of tiramisu and a mountain of pistachio cookies. She was taking emotional baking to a whole new level. “But when do you plan on telling him?”
Belle’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She looked again at Rapunzel, who’d heard the Julianne story a dozen times by now. Ordinarily, the situation might have warranted a dramatic soliloquy about how of all the schmucks in all the world, Donner deserved his own island where he would rule—far from the rest of civilization—as Supreme Schmuck. But Rapunzel’s mind was elsewhere entirely. She didn’t have her usual life’s-too-short-so-live-it-with-a-bang attitude. She didn’t have the patience to put up with all this clucking. So all she said, like a pigtailed toddler skipping through a daisy field on her way to plant a land mine, was this: “He’s fucking Belle’s sister. She wants a winter wedding.”