by Laura Kenyon
Belle stopped talking just as the toilet flushed.
“Did you find them?” Rapunzel asked as everything went oddly quiet. She stepped forward to help, but Belle whirled around suddenly—earrings dangling from her fist—and steamrolled toward the door.
“Nope. Got ’em,” she said, her lashes fluttering. “Well, gotta run. I just remembered the reservation’s for eight, not eight thirty.” Belle jerked forward for a cheek peck but pulled back prematurely. Rapunzel felt nothing but air.
“Have fun,” she called as Belle chugged backwards down the hall. “Let me know what time you’ll be at the Beanstalk.”
“Yup,” Belle promised quickly.
“And put on some bronzer! You’re pale as a piña colada!”
Rapunzel watched as Belle gave a hurried wave, then scampered away until nothing remained but a mop of brown hair sinking down the stairs. She called for Ethan the moment she shut the door. “Hey babe, looks like we’re heading out tonight!”
Interpreting his muffled reply as agreement (she swore it contained the words “Cindy,” “Penny,” and “fun”) Rapunzel gave her shoe tree a spin.
“They’ll be there,” she replied, “and you’ll finally get to meet Belle. She’s actually got a date tonight. Isn’t that great? She’s finally getting back out there.”
A beam of light crossed the bed as the bathroom door opened. Ethan strode forward, wrinkles covering the space between his eyes, and his lips pressed into a thin line. He locked his arms around her waist.
“I’ve got a better idea,” he whispered, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and filling the empty spot with his lips. “If the apartment’s gonna be empty …”
She shivered as he alternated between tempting words and tantalizing kisses.
“Why don’t we take a moonlit swim … I’ll give you a massage with that oil you like … We’ll wash it off in the Jacuzzi with a bottle of bubbly … fall asleep in each other’s arms … and tomorrow morning I’ll take you to that brunch spot in Braddax you’re always wagging on about.”
Rapunzel felt a tremor of anticipation shoot out her gut, through her chest and into the most tender spot on her neck. But a conflicting feeling simultaneously zigzagged through her spine, like a flaming pinball bashing every ligament on its way down: Rapunzel always called the shots. Until that moment, she’d genuinely wanted to do everything Ethan suggested and vice versa. Now someone was going to have to give in? And it was going to be her?
“Do you have something against my friends?” she asked, prompting a denial and insistence that Ethan was just looking forward to a quiet night beside—she froze—“the woman I’m falling in love with.”
Love. Everything fell silent, except Ethan’s phone, which began buzzing and flashing on the bedside table. What was she supposed to say? Did she love him too? Did he say he “loved” her or just that he was “falling in love” with her? Was there a difference? Did one not guarantee the other? How much would she be giving up if she returned the sentiment? What would she lose if she didn’t?
“Someone’s calling you,” she replied, motioning to the table. He stared at her for a moment longer, and then turned away. Even from behind, as he bent over the device and swiped it silent, he suddenly looked a little less confident, a little smaller.
“Who was—”
“No one who matters,” he answered, his voice suddenly cold. Another moment passed with no one saying a word. He bit into his cheeks and started buttoning his shirt.
“Are you leaving?” she asked, the blood rushing into her ears. This was not how a confession of love was supposed to go down. In fact, Rapunzel had a sudden, inexplicable need to keep it from happening at all. “So you’re angry because I wanted to know more about you? What do you have to hide?”
Ethan thrust his wallet into his back pocket. “I’ve never given more of myself to anyone as I have to you. You know everything that matters.”
He sighed and ran his hand over the crown of his head, forcing each hair to hunker down for a moment and then spring back up again. It was so easy, then, for Rapunzel to see the little boy he used to be. An adventurous boy. An idealistic boy. But an orphan? A street rat? A billionaire? She had no idea. She hadn’t needed to know—until he wanted to keep it a secret.
“Anything else is just labels,” he said. “Things strangers use to sort each other into circles. I’d think you above all people would get that.”
“Me above all people?” Rapunzel tasted hot fury as it surged up her throat. “What’s that supposed to mean? I did what I had to do to survive. I’m not ashamed of—Where do you come off—”
“I wasn’t talking about your labels.” Ethan’s tone silenced her mid-rant. He inched forward. “I was talking about Grethel’s.”
Rapunzel felt herself stiffen. Grethel was hers to talk about—or to keep sheltered inside of her. He had no right.
“You hide it well, but I know you don’t think of her the way everyone else—”
“Don’t.”
Ethan continued to nudge closer. “I think that as much as you want to hate her for keeping you all locked up, you sort of understand why she did. And you wish you’d had the chance to tell her.” Rapunzel struggled to keep still. This is what falling in love got her. This is why she’d vowed never to do it again. “She was the only mother you ever knew, and you remember her for who she was inside—a lonely old lady desperate for someone to love. Fuck what society thinks. They never know the whole story, do they?”
Rapunzel’s breath caught in her throat. Everything he said was right. Society didn’t know about the man who clouded her judgment and drove a stake between her and Grethel—the man who promised to take her away to his “palace” but then never came back. Society didn’t know how guilty she felt for breaking Grethel’s heart. They didn’t know she vowed that day to never trust a man again. They didn’t know she searched for her “witch” long after her release—because Grethel was the only mother Rapunzel had and she deserved to know that.
“Listen,” Ethan said before she could speak. Her heart felt like it might pop right out of her chest. “I meant it when I said you’re the strongest, most beautiful, most amazing woman I’ve ever met. I know this not because of what I can read about you in some rag tabloid, but because you’ve let me see the real person inside—same as I’ve done for you. I know you’ve got a past and a weakness you don’t want anyone to see. I know you think about your parents more than you want to admit. And I know that even though you constantly say love is bullshit, you want to understand why people sacrifice so much just for the chance to find it.”
Gathering her shaking hands in his, Ethan took a deep breath. “Even if you don’t fess up to it or if you push me out of your life forever, I love you. It’s real. And I want you to know that.”
Unsure whether he was finished, Rapunzel looked into the eyes that seemed to be radiating into hers—willing her to say the words he wanted to hear. She wanted to say them, too. Despite all the thousands of men whose hearts she’d stolen, no one had ever talked to her like that. No one ever reached into her head the way he did or tried to smooth out her knots. No one had ever cared to. She’d thought only princesses got such passionate soliloquies—in storybooks, at least.
It wasn’t exactly panic that washed over her next—although that was there, too. It was the numbing certainty that because of what she’d taken from Grethel, she didn’t deserve to be loved.
“Wow,” she whispered, wishing an evening breeze would come blow her away before she could finish. “You got all that from my crappy feminism books?” Her throat clenched but she forced herself to continue. This must be how it felt to release a beloved pet back into the wild. “Deep stuff you got there. I must be a better writer than I thought. And here I thought I was just telling women how to have better orgasms.”
In a quick moment, Ethan’s expression flashed from amusement to confusion, and finally to anger. “This isn’t a joke.”
Rapunzel shrugged
, though her insides were burning and twisting and splintering all at once. No, it wasn’t a joke. Jokes were funny. This was torture.
“Well, I don’t need to know every detail of your life,” she said, sweeping her eyes toward the wall behind him. “But since you seem to know me so well, you understand why I can’t trust you blind.”
Ethan deflated as Rapunzel trailed off. She stared stone-faced as he swept up his shoes and made his way to the door.
“People don’t work this hard to keep their identity hidden unless they know the other person won’t like it,” Rapunzel called after him. “How do I know you’re not just using me for my connections? Or that you’re married? Or—”
“That’s rubbish and you know it!” Ethan’s voice boomed across the room with a ferocity she’d never heard before. His face was ashen and bright red at the same time. He looked awful. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how we got here, but let’s take some time and cool down. If you still want me at the party tomorrow, I’ll pick you up at four.”
Rapunzel raised her chin as he waited. She couldn’t be the one to back down. With her breath held tight, she let Ethan disappear through the hallway and out into the elevator that would whisk him out of her sight.
She followed him with her mind, envisioning him stomping through the garage and speeding through the security gates in front of a fading trail of red taillights. When she heard the squeal of angry tires in the distance, the most fearless woman in Marestam collapsed onto the floor and cried for the first time since she left her tower all those years ago.
Chapter Fifteen
BELLE
“What’s mine is yours,” Rapunzel had said. The words echoed over and over in Belle’s mind. She gripped her phone so hard she heard it crack. Had her friend also meant to imply, “What’s yours is mine?”
Belle kicked at the floor as the screen pulsated, summoning the man from Overlook Investigations. She finally had something, but Marshall wasn’t answering. She dialed again.
“Hey,” she begged when his voice message ended for the third time. “I really need to talk to you. I found another ring, and … I still can’t believe it.” She paused. Dare she emphasize that he was supposed to be making these calls? “So that’s two, including Julianne’s.” Which, again, why hadn’t he found yet? For all she knew, there could be a hundred other floozies with a hundred other rings. “Please. Call me.”
Belle let out a muffled shriek and hurled Rapunzel’s earrings against her bedroom door. Rapunzel’s door. The door behind which she’d sought refuge when her cheating husband flipped her life on its side. Now it turns out she’d sheltered with the enemy. It was undeniable. Rapunzel was in possession of what she, herself, had dubbed Donner’s “enchanted booty call ring.” And the color of her negligee wasn’t lost on Belle, either. Maybe it came with matching red panties. Maybe Donner was the man in her bathroom just now. She punched her bed. Just when she was getting it together, everything had to fall apart.
Belle fell to the floor like a cherub stripped of its wings. Dust covered her dress. For a brief and terrifying moment, she wondered if life was worth continuing. All she knew was betrayal. By her mother, her sister, her husband, and now the friend who’d made her believe she was strong.
She thought back to the night she knocked on Rapunzel’s door, dripping wet and so shaken she could barely stammer one word at a time. “Donner—He. I. Caught him,” she’d said, staring through her friend but needing her presence nonetheless. Now, Belle recalled Rapunzel hesitating before ushering her inside. Just for a moment. She’d thought it was surprise. Shock. But perhaps Rapunzel had hesitated because she feared Belle was talking about her.
The trill of her phone smacked Belle back to reality like a candlestick across the cheek. Marshall. She answered it instantly. The flashing screen evaporated. A man’s face appeared, then contorted in alarm and disappeared. She heard a jumbled apology—he’d forgotten to switch off the visual—and a thud. The screen went dark and webbed, as if pressed against a slab of leather. A loud noise whirred in the background. “Tell me what happened,” he said.
Belle had only seen his face for a moment, but it was long enough to realize he wasn’t the veteran sleuth she’d always pictured. Something about his diction, his unusual turns of phrase, had hinted at a worldly, older gentleman. But this guy looked like her worldly sleuth’s debonair son—after being run through a washing machine and poked in both eyes.
She beat her hand against her dress. The dust sunk in deeper. “You’re going on speaker,” she said, hustling into her closet and attacking her brand new wardrobe. She told him the whole story in a violent whisper. “I can’t trust anyone,” she said as hangers screeched along the metal rod, punctuating her fury. She slammed a dark sheath into a teal skirt, then yanked it towards the floor. “The world’s gone completely bonkers.”
Belle ignored the silence as she twirled in front of the mirror, checking each angle and watching her dress shift from blue to green to charcoal in the changing light. She heard a long blare through the phone, and then another whir.
“So let me get this straight,” Marshall’s voice finally crackled through. “You found a ring that looks like yours—”
“It is mine. An exact copy.”
“Okay. And you think that means Rapunzel was sneaking around with Donner?”
Belle swatted the air with her finger, as if Marshall could see her. “This is what I told you a week ago. Donner’s giving these things away like party favors. Screw the King, leave with a ring.” Her laugh came out slightly maniacal. “Do you have a better explanation?” Belle had thought it best not to tell Marshall the rings had any special abilities. After all, she couldn’t trust anyone.
“I need you to find more,” she said, slipping into a pair of suede booties. She’d never go back to stilettos again. “I can’t decide what to do until I know more.”
“Now listen,” Marshall said, but not in a condescending way. He spoke like a father soothing an enraged child. “I’m working on something as we speak. Just got a big lead, actually, but we have to move strategically. Whatever you do, don’t say anything to—or about—Rapunzel. If you let the cat out of the bag too early, you’ll scare the other mice away. Now go enjoy your date and let me take care of it. Okay?”
Belle smashed her lips together and nodded to her shoes. Had she said she was going on a date? Nothing was clear anymore. “Fine. I’ll wait. But please hurry up.”
* * *
Edgar, it turned out, was a thousand times more talkative after two glasses of wine—and miles above where most women would draw the “arrogant” line. He’d seemed nice at the park: racing to her aid when a bicyclist whizzed too close, picking up the shopping bags she’d dropped, and patiently listening to her blather about wedge heels (a truly life-changing discovery for her wardrobe). But that man was nothing like her date. Her date tore into his strip steak like a starving boar and rambled on (and on … and on …) about all the “jet-setting” he did when he was “schmoozing on up” at his firm.
“Wow. That’s interesting,” murmured Belle, mindlessly. Edgar was telling her about the time he took a business trip to Vashia, Penny’s home realm, and got detained for “distracting” too many ladies.
“The scenery is breathtaking, but the place is so backwards,” he said. “Here you’ve got a ton of drop-dead gorgeous women, but they dress like they’re afraid of air. It’s criminal. It’s like—”
“Like they’re prisoners?” Belle interrupted, finally interested in something he was saying. She’d heard enough stories from Penny to know almost nothing Vashian women did was by choice. “Like they aren’t allowed to express themselves or stand up to their husbands, or …” She trailed off—partly because of the grease dribbling from Edgar’s disgusted frown, and partly because the plight of Vashian women sounded awfully similar to her life at Braddax Castle.
“I thought your roommate was the feminist,” he said, disdain slathered all over his voice.
/> Belle put down her fork and tried to gauge his expression. Perhaps his steak was sour. “That has nothing to do with it. One of my best friends grew up there and she’s told me all about it. How she had to study in secret. How she pretended to be male just so she could apply for an education outside the realm. Like you were saying, half the population is being pushed down and—”
“That’s not what I was saying.”
Belle clapped her mouth shut and stared straight ahead. A chill scratched down her back. “Excuse me?”
“I was saying, if you were listening, that it’s a shame for such beautiful women to be covered up. I mean, if Marestam let me have four wives, I’d want to show them off—two on each arm in slinky dresses. Am I right?”
He laughed a nasally, lardy little laugh. Belle sat back and tried to calculate the exact angle and force it would take to swing straight across the table, over her water glass, between the flickering candlesticks, and smack Edgar right in his snout. But that was not the way to handle it. That would make Julianne far too happy.
“New topic, okay?”
Edgar shrugged and flipped his napkin beside his plate. “Sure. So have you changed your mind about adopting that dog yet?”
“What?” Belle chomped on the inside of her lip. “Beast?”
“Ha. Yeah, Beast.” Somehow, when Emilia said his name, it sounded sweet and bouncy; with Edgar, it sounded like a boulder plopping into a well.
“Why would I change my mind? I can’t wait for Monday. I’ve got all his supplies ready to go.” It was true. They hadn’t been delivered yet, but Belle hadn’t wasted a second ordering a huge, plaid dog bed; a blue collar (to bring out the silver in his fur); a ton of rubber toys; a book full of dog treat recipes; and cookie cutters shaped like bones. She leaned into the table and skipped her toes on the ground. “I haven’t actually told Rapunzel yet. But I’ll be moving out soon anyway.”