A/N: Hello everyone! Well, here we are—at the end of this long, epic journey. It's been a wild ride for me, never having written anything before where a few thousand people read along as the story unfolded. TMMM is special for me and it may be for you too, from start to finish, or even just in a few moments that felt magical to you.
I want to thank all of you who voted, commented, and reached out to me about what TMMM meant to you. Without your support, praises and critiques, I don't really know that I would've gone this far with the book so this is dedicated to all of you... Have fun!!!
***
The next three days were the longest of my life.
When you'd written your heart out in a letter to a prince, you'd expect him to come riding down your doorstep on a white horse and take you away to the castle where you'd live happily ever after.
Fairy tales were far simpler in books than they were in real life because Brandon didn't.
In fact, I hadn't seen him or heard from him in the three days since I left him with the letter.
I contemplated many scenarios—that the letter fell forgotten on the floor, that he read it and decided it wasn't good enough an explanation or an apology, or that he read it and in his haste to get to me, he slipped and hit his head, lying in a pool of blood alone in that house for days.
I had to yank myself out of my morbid thoughts and told myself to give him time.
It was the least he could ask from me and while it wasn't much, it still hurt.
Despite my bleeding heart though, I smiled my way through the days that followed, determined not to let anyone else down.
Before we knew it, it was the day of the masquerade party.
I'd just gotten home from Oakley Stead after spending the morning making final rounds with the event planners, and I was sweaty and grubby from the physical work.
The Championettes had a mini-meeting there too, and with a faint smile, I recalled the look on everyone's faces when I said I wasn't going to go and that Layla would do beautifully, giving the speech and thanking everyone who came for our cause. I didn't mind working the hours away but I wasn't sure I could fix a smile on my face and be an expert hostess tonight, when I was exhausted heart and soul. Also, I didn't want to be asked about Brandon especially when I had no real answers to give.
Catherine nearly had a coronary, blustering that it was a stupid idea for me not to attend when I busted my ass off working to get this ball underway and that if anyone deserved to see it in all its splendor, it would be me.
I thanked her for her compliment, which surprised her when she finally realized that she did give me one, and explained that it was enough for me to have done what I could to make it happen. I also told them that this was most likely going to be the last event I participated in with the Championettes.
I was quitting.
Why?
Because I wasn't sure where my life was going to go from here. Before I can save the world, I had to find my own place in it first, now that I was adrift again.
Whatever became of me and Brandon would change my life and I didn't want to make promises I couldn't keep. If Brandon didn't want me back, I wouldn't take any of his money, and without money, I was of little use to the Championettes. If Brandon came for me, then I had to devote my time to healing the wounds we'd left on each other. This time, it was the two of us who needed saving. The rest of the world could wait a little.
I'd just come out of the shower when I heard an insistent rapping on my door.
It was four-thirty in the afternoon and I'd checked off my entire to-do list for the party. I was ready to get dressed, order in some Chinese food and maybe watch an old movie.
With my hair still wrapped in a towel, I slipped on my old, oversized robe and walked to the door.
Keeping the chain on, I propped the door open only to find four or five faces trying to cram themselves into my view.
Anna, Tessa, Felicity, Layla and Simone were all standing there, grinning broadly at me.
My mind still trying to process the sight, I opened the door completely but before I could even get a word out, they swarmed in, talking all at the same time.
All five women were dressed fabulously, a bright, cheerful palette of colours in their beautiful and extravagant ball gowns. Clyde announced himself right behind them with an outlandish hello, pecking me on each cheek before dropping his giant make-up box on the floor.
"Oh, you've just showered—perfect!" he said as he yanked the towel from my hair. "Felicity dear, grab her a chair, will you? We've got no time to waste."
"Time for what?" I demanded as Clyde steered me by the shoulders and pushed me down one of the dining chairs that Felicity dragged over. "What are you all doing here? The party isn't at my house!"
"A quick detour, sis," Anna said as she pulled at the belt of my robe, untying it with one twist and exposing me in my cute but cotton underwear. She arched a brow at me in amusement. "Purple watermelons, really? You're not twelve."
"Good thing we planned this to the last detail," Tessa said as she set down a large, wide box on the coffee table with Simone and Layla's help. "We were a little late because of a slight change in plans but I think it worked out perfectly, didn't it?"
She winked at Layla and Simone who smiled back mischievously before Felicity peeled off a small envelope on top of the box and handed it to me.
It was expensive, beautiful white linen paper with my name scrawled in bold, familiar strokes on the back.
With trembling hands, I opened it and drew out a small note card that simply said:
Charlotte,
I am no prince if not yours.
Brandon
I bit my bottom lip to keep down a sob but Simone waved a tissue in front of me.
"None of that now," she said as I dabbed my eyes dry. "You don't want to have red, swollen eyes at the ball."
"But I'm not going to the party," I said as I got up on my feet, only to be promptly pushed back down into my seat by Clyde. "I have to get dressed. I have to go talk to Brandon."
"You will—at the ball," Layla answered. "Read further down, will you?"
I didn't even notice it at the bottom of the page.
He simply wrote the date, time and the venue of the ball with the line: I will wait for you.
My heart pounding, I re-read the entire note, trying to make sense of it.
"Bessy came to see Brandon earlier today to tell him what really happened before she left for Florida for good," Layla said slowly, touching me on the arm. "She thought this was the least she could do after all that you've done for her."
My heart squeezed at Bessy's kindness—the first and perhaps the last of it that I'll ever see in this lifetime—but I didn't miss the implications of her actions.
"And because she did, Brandon decided to finally believe me?" I asked a little angrily. "My word wasn't enough?"
"Holy shit, Charlotte, calm down," Anna chided. "I didn't really want to spoil the surprise but before Layla and Simone called us to say that you made this melodramatic declaration of not going to the party and quitting the Championettes, Tessa, Felicity, Clyde, everyone—were already organizing things with Brandon who was going to meet up with you at the ball and sweep you off your feet like in some fairy tale."
"It isn't going to be one now that you've told her," Tessa pointed out with a baleful look at her sister.
"Well, it wasn't going to be one anyway unless Charlotte here gets its through her thick head once and for all that Brandon loves her and believes her," Anna argued before zeroing in me again. "It's the stupidest thing, I swear. You should've seen my brother when he assembled our closest family and friends two days ago and explained everything that happened and that it wasn't a hopeless cause because you still love him and he still loves you and he was going to make it right. He had this brilliant idea of us bringing you your dress and getting you ready for the ball—like Cinderella's mice friends, eew—but anyway, he was going to have a white limousine pick you up, because a carriage ride from here to Framingham is just going to be ridiculous—"
"I had to point out the practicalities," Felicity interjected with an apologetic smile at me. "But it was a really good plan, I promise."
"He has this whole romantic production drawn up in his head and everything but the point is," Anna paused for effect, leaning down and taking my hand in hers, a sweet smile on her luminous face. "The point is, Charlotte, that my brother has already made plans days before Layla and Simone brought Bessy to see Brandon and explain everything. He already believed you and you should have faith in him too, for all that you expect of the same from him."
I was crying at this point.
God in heaven, am I ever a cry baby these days.
"I do," I said, uselessly dabbing my face with the already-soaked tissue. "I'll have to constantly pinch myself until it no longer surprises me that he really does love me."
"You're the funniest girl," Layla muttered with a smirk, handing me a fresh tissue. "Now that you've had that conversation, clean up and let Clyde do his wonders."
"I'll go get some ice cubes for your eyes," Simone said before running to the kitchen.
"I'll go get her stuff to put in her clutch," Tessa said before heading for the bedrooms.
"I'll go get you some paper towels and more tissue," Layla said before marching to the linen closet.
"Anna and I will carefully take out this ball gown and lay it on the couch while you get your make-up done," Felicity said as she reached slowly lifted the lid off.
Whatever was in there must've been shimmering because I swear, the room just got a bit brighter.
"And look!" Anna said, lifting a single silvery white shoe with delicate crystal appliqués curving around the side of it, giving the illusion of it being made of water or glass. "Cinderella's shoe."
It was incredulous yet incredible—the way things were turning out.
Prince Charming was waiting for me after all, as I get ready with the help of my sisters and enemies-turned-friends to see him.
There were no evil stepmother and stepsisters in this fairy tale.
Really, it was just one stubborn prince and an even more stubborn princess.
My smile was wobbly but just as a fresh batch of tears lined my eyes, Clyde tilted up my head by the chin, gently chastising me, "Stop crying now, Cinderella. You've got a ball to go to where your prince and happily-ever-after await."
***
The dress was a beautiful silvery blue dream, layered with lace and shimmering tulle and studded with crystals like stars peeking through night clouds.
It was nothing like the gown I'd absently chosen to wear and promptly discarded after I changed my mind about going to the ball.
If I've always had trouble imagining myself as a princess, the gown certainly decimated every single doubt.
The mask was featherlight—a dainty, silver hand-woven lace that followed the contours of my cheeks and nose. My hair was curled loosely and threaded with small crystals and pearls.
One look at me and there would be no question that fairy tales existed.
I looked liked I walked straight out of one.
Gilles complimented me and even gave me a rare smile as he held the door open of the white stretch limousine that waited outside for me, a matching black one just behind it where the other women scrambled into despite my insistence for them to join me.
Inside, perched on the seat, was another linen envelope, larger than the note card this time, with my name on it in Brandon's handwriting.
I smiled and clutched it close to my heart.
I had a feeling that someone had written me back a love letter but I wasn't going to read it right now.
While Anna had pretty much spilled the beans on her brother's grand plans, the mystery wasn't ruined quite yet and I wanted to preserve it as much as I could. I also didn't want to cry and show up a sobbing mess.
The half hour drive to Framingham gave me time to soothe my frazzled nerves.
I was as bubbly as champagne inside but I still felt like I was on the threshold of a wonderful dream I knew I could wake up from anytime soon at the snap of someone's fingers.
Breathe, Charlotte. Nothing can ruin this evening. It's one for the story books.
Oakley Stead was transformed that night.
From where I stood after stepping out of the car, the place looked like it was where fairies and nymphs and enchanted creatures lived, surrounded by the magical woods that stood as fortress to the castle.
Walking through the short bridge recently built over a freshly dug-up creek and past the maze of gazebos wrapped in vines, flowers and firefly lights, it definitely felt like a dream.
The old house glowed with breathtaking splendour, brimming full of music and guests in glittering gowns, dramatic ensembles and mysterious masks. The party was already in full-swing, with wine and champagne flowing and the dance floor disappearing under a crush of elegantly-clad bodies.
I floated through the crowd of pairs dancing, smiling and saying hi to people who greeted me even though I could hardly tell who they were with their masks on.
As I stood and searched for the one face I wanted to see, the crowd parted slightly to reveal a tall man as elegant as a prince in regal, old-fashioned full dress—with a white bow tie and shirt, a silver gray waistcoat with a black double-breasted tailcoat over it and matching pleated pants.
His face was clean-shaven, his dark hair combed back, his golden eyes gleaming with a smile as he stopped in front of me and dipped into a formal bow.
"May I have this dance?" he asked, offering me his hand just as the opening notes of a slow dance began.
I smiled.
Damn me if it didn't sound like a total cliche but Brandon was every inch a prince.
Slipping one hand over his and pinching my skirt with the other, I sketched a small curtsy, my gaze never breaking with his. "Of course. First and last dance is always with you."
His smile stretched into a grin and in the blink of an eye, he had me held flush against him with less polish than what I suspected he was going for but he didn't seem to mind because he had a satisfied smirk on his face.
He loved me, alright.
He was also a little smug about it.
"I'm glad you haven't forgotten," he murmured, his arm circling behind my waist as he expertly turned us to the music.
I gazed up at him, nearly giddy with disbelief that yes, I was really in Brandon's arms once again, dancing with him, and he was smiling at me with that tender look he always got in his eyes when he was with me.
"I don't think I can ever forget anything about you, Brand," I admitted, my hand lightly tracing the line of his jaw.
His face turned slightly toward my hand, his lips pressing lightly on my palm. "And you should never have any reason to forget me, Charlotte, because I will be there with you every single day for the rest of our lives. What I know of hell I learned in the days when I thought I'd lost you, and I refuse to go back. I'll fight it with every breath that's left in me."
I briefly closed my eyes to stop the tears that washed over me at the pain that laced his voice, pulling myself together to say the words I only wrote to him.
"I'm so sorry, Brand, for hurting you as I did," I said through a ragged breath, lifting my eyes to look at him through my damp lashes. "I wanted to be so happy. When it finally happened, I've never been more terrified. When you've been fighting for so long and you finally win, you can't quite believe it and you don't know what to do with it."
Brandon's arms tightened around me as he lowered his head, his cheek resting on the crown of my head. "I shouldn't have pushed. I'm sorry. Dropping your mother on you out of the blue probably felt like a brand new fight to you, with the past once again threatening your present and future. I'm sorry, Charlotte. You're done fighting. I should've let it go."
"We'll never be done fighting," I said with a smile. "We just have to know who's in the fight with us and what we're really fighting for."
He nodded, a slight tremor rolling through his body as if his emotions were a physical force. "As for what I said about you and Jake—I'm sorry."
I couldn't see his face but I knew he meant it.
"My greatest fear is that I may never be the man who can make you completely happy. And that a better man will come along."
I smiled. "Now, that's just silly."
I heard him smiling back when he said, "There's nothing rational about our deepest fears. If there is, we might learn to stop fearing them."
Amen to that.
I touched his face, lifting mine away slowly because if there was one thing I needed right now, beyond the words forgiving the past and the promising the future, it was to feel the warm, soft touch of his lips against mine after what seemed like an eternity of heartache.
"I love you," he whispered before capturing my mouth in a less than gentlemanly kiss, his lips relearning mine like they'd never been parted.
The world faded around us, content as we were with our arms locked around each other, our kisses measured but desperate, spiralling into dizzying climax—until someone cleared their throat very loudly—on a microphone.
What the hell.
Brandon and I broke off our kiss and looked up only to be greeted by our amused audience who were no longer dancing. We were very much alone on the dance floor, the lights a lot brighter than they'd been during the dance.
My face burned as I heard the teasing chuckles but when I looked up at Brandon, he was just wearing a crooked smile.
Cheeky devil.
Layla stood by the podium in her deep emerald gown, smiling at us knowingly as she held the mic up.
Right. It was time for our presentation.
Jesus. Were we kissing that long?
"I don't want to prolong this interruption to everyone's good time but I thought we'd just say thank you to everyone who came tonight to have fun and contribute to our cause," she said, gesturing to me. "I'd like to call the Championettes' co-chairwoman and my friend up on the stage to join me. We have a short presentation to show you what the vision of Rainbow Roof is—what it means to us, to you, and to those who'd find more than shelter in your generosity."
"Meet me at the gazebo in the back garden after the presentation," Brandon whispered as he released me from his embrace. "A carriage will wait for you outside to take you there."
He pressed a kiss on my temple before letting me go to walk up the stage and stand next to Layla just as the video played on the projected screen behind us.
Half an hour later, after the video, our speech and the recognition of our biggest benefactors, Martin included, I clutched my heavy skirts and wove through the crowd, barely making conversation to those who tried to waylay me.
I giggled, thinking that Layla was going to be horrified at how rude I was being to our patrons, depriving them of their time with one of the Society's chairwomen, but I had a feeling that she was going to let tonight pass, as desperate as I was to find my husband and never lose him again.
As Brandon promised, a carriage waited outside, pulled by a pair of white horses and manned by a coachman in full livery. It was different from all the open ones that Danny had rented because this one was enclosed. It was lavishly appointed, from the gilded outlines and frame, to the red velvet curtains that provided the occupants privacy. It couldn't have impressed more if it had been transformed from a pumpkin.
A waiting footman assisted me inside and the moment the door was closed, we were off.
It was a slow, leisurely pace and I was just peeking through the curtains to look at the stretch of woods that surrounded the property, lit mostly by the moonlight and the illuminated house, when I felt the carriage shift slightly.
I thought maybe we just hit a bit of a bumpy patch that the horses were pulling the carriage over but the door suddenly swung open and a large body slinked inside to the seat next to me.
It was dark inside but I instinctively knew that whoever just got in wasn't my husband and that the man was dangerous.
"Hello, princess." The rough drawl sent shivers down my spine as an arm snaked around my waist in an iron lock and a hand clamped down on my mouth. "When you're not making a sound or trying to claw my eyes out, you actually smell and feel quite nice."
My stomach plunged into an icy bath.
Don. Oh, God.
I tried opening my mouth so I could either scream or bite him—whichever I could manage first—but his hand was like a vise around my face that my lips were fused shut together.
I started struggling, trying to twist my body free but he threw one long, heavy leg over my lap to keep me in place while he freed one arm.
At that opening, I immediately tried to scramble away from him but I froze at the cold press of a metal barrel just under my jaw.
Fear—jolting, helpless—seized my heart, stopping my breath.
The man could blow my head off to the sky with one finger tightening over the trigger. At the slightest provocation, he might just fire, and knowing how fond he was of me, he wasn't going to even deliberate it for a second.
I swallowed at the painful dryness in my throat, squeezing my eyes shut to make myself aware of every movement since I couldn't see very well in the dark carriage. I forced myself to focus and ignore the graze of his lips across my cheek.
"I came here looking for my wife but the moment I saw you, I decided that the person who deserved punishment the most was you," he muttered in my ear, his tongue darting out to trace a wet line down my throat.
I fought the nausea, keeping as still as I could manage. He reeked of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke but more than that, he had a gun branding my neck.
"You were a very bad girl, poking your nose into where it didn't belong," he went on, inhaling deeply against my skin it made it itch so badly. "Now, look at the mess you made. I now have to clean it up but I need money to do it and that sly bastard Layla calls father cleaned me out. I'll need you to rectify that problem."
Money. He wanted money?
What was he going to do? Drive the carriage to the nearest ATM machine and make me withdraw some cash? We were going to stop somewhere any minute now. What was he going to do? Shoot everyone waiting for us?
The image of Brandon bleeding to death spurred me into action.
Do something, Charlotte. You didn't survive this long to just die in the hands of a maniac.
"I'm thinking that I might take more than just your money," he said, sucking on a bare spot on my neck, hard enough that I yelped with the pain, my fingers clenching and pummelling him on the shoulders, forgetting the gun that was still pressed up against me.
A low, jeering laugh rumbled from him. Inflicting pain without consent was Don's pleasure, after all.
"Oh, don't act all indignant now, Charlotte," he said, the hand holding the gun snaking down to the front of my bodice, rubbing against the swell of my breast. "Women can be made whores with the right man. Your dearly devoted husband bought in on the idea of you being one with all those incriminating pictures I sent him. When the guy I had tailing Bessy caught you and Jake on those pictures, I became inspired. I thought it would be a nice little payback for your interference."
Fury clutched at me and it took all my will power not to give in to the nearly feral instinct calling to me to attack him, gun or no gun.
"Now, all I have to do is make you a whore for real," he added, pushing the barrel of the gun deep against the soft flesh of my breast until it hurt. "You'll be screaming for more when I'm done with you. I'll teach you to like it. You have a feisty side, after all."
I'll see you in hell first.
The moment his hand holding the gun lifted, I shoved my free hand up, catching him on the nose with the heel of my palm and sending him back on the seat.
I turned and dove with my entire weight through the door which easily popped open, praying fiercely that the gun wasn't going to go off and find me.
Good thing the carriage was going slow.
I felt all kinds of pain reverberating throughout my body and the side of my head as I landed on the ground, not missing the ugly angle my left elbow bent into when it caught my fall.
I cried out with the agony of it but kicked my shoes off and forced my legs to get up and run like my life depended on it.
The scene rushed around me—all large, looming trees and glimpses of light—but I didn't have the time to stop. I could hear Don's bellow behind me, followed by his footsteps.
I stumbled into a clearing and the mental map I had of the property after days of working there flashed in my head despite the pain that fogged my clarity.
Knowing there was a walking path just around the corner that led to the main house, I banked sharply to the right and kept running despite the suddenly tremendous weight of my ball gown and the rough texture of the earth pricking my bare feet. I clutched my limp arm, screaming as I tried to pop it back into alignment, before nearly crashing into a couple who were just emerging into the walk, the slightly muted music coming out of the house masking their conversation.
"Charlotte!" I recognized the woman's voice.
It was Nicole and despite the spinning of my vision, I recognized the tall man next to her as Francis and they were both rushing toward me.
"Go! Call the cops! He's here!" I warned as I stumbled forward but before I could reach them, a strong hand grabbed me by the hair and yanked me back violently.
"Don! What the hell are you doing, man?" Francis shouted, thrusting an arm out to block Nicole from running straight for us. "Let her go or you're going to be so dead!"
"I'm already dead!" Don sneered as he pressed me up against him, the arm he'd snaked across my chest pinning me in place. His other hand was waving the gun at Francis and Nicole to keep them away.
"But I'm going to take with me the annoying pest who ruined my life." He poised the gun against my temple and I had a split-second to decide because while Don may reek of alcohol, he wasn't really that drunk.
He was more dangerous than that—he was deadly intent on hurting someone.
"Not without a fight," I muttered before suddenly and violently rolling to my left, peeling myself away from Don by leaning all of my weight on the arm he held me with. As I rolled, I turned on my heel and sent my still-functioning right arm straight for his head, the bones on my knuckles crunching against his skull as they made contact.
"Charlotte!" I heard Nicole scream.
I teetered over but caught my balance just at the last second and I pivoted around in time to see Nicole try to dive for me, putting herself right in the path of a recovering Don who was flailing the arm that held the gun in front of him.
"Nicole, no!" I screamed as the moment slowed down like a train wreck in every movie and Don unleashed an angry growl just as the gun went off.
Francis leapt for her, shoving her to the ground a mere second before the bullet struck him on the arm and sent him sprawling on his side.
Suddenly, as if the gunshot had echoed throughout the house, the background noise of the party stirred and footsteps started pounding down the path.
Nicole, snapping out of her shock, shrieked and flew to Francis's side, not caring that Don was still clutching a smoking gun, straightening to take aim at whoever got in his way next.
"Charlotte!" Brandon's voice surged through the chaos.
Oh, God. No. There are heroes and villains. Then there are those who are just plain monsters.
Tears burning my eyes, I bolted out of my frozen state and threw myself against Don, tackling him to the ground, my scream cut short by the sudden explosion of sound and pain that pierced through me.
I smelled the gun powder, the pungent scent of the woods, the fumes of alcohol on Don's breath, the fading fragrance of a life abruptly extinguished.
If death had a face, I wouldn't know, because all that greeted me was absolute darkness.
***
I wasn't a stranger to pain.
I've felt it in varying degrees, inflicted through a myriad of ways.
I never welcomed it but it didn't surprise me as much when it came.
This... This wasn't pain.
It was probably worse.
It was sheer... nothingness.
Time just passed in this glaringly bright limbo where muted voices played an endless, ungraspable tune, where I felt alien in my own body that didn't hurt when I expected it to with gusto.
I had flashes of consciousness which only featured more blinding light, occasionally disturbed by dark, blurry shades that floated into the white backdrop, like globs of ink spilling on paper that unfortunately formed no words—no directions to get out of this suspended state.
There was no sense of time, like waiting when the point was that it never ended.
I forced myself to listen to the hum of sounds, picking out words and voices I knew, putting them together like parts of a puzzle that was severely missing key pieces. I tried to focus on the moving shapes, straining with the effort to make out hazy features of a face but getting no further than a rough sketch of someone vaguely familiar.
I couldn't remember how long this game played out but one day, I got very tired and decided that I was done.
The white light faded, the voices trailed off, and the first calming feeling of cold came over me.
I must've whispered a thank-you but someone didn't appreciate my gratitude because before I knew it, I heard this anguished roar of a voice calling my name, telling me all kinds of things that I thought were pretty amusing until they weren't because the voice started sobbing—angrily, I might add—saying something about how I still owed him nine months.
Nine months? How the hell do I owe anyone nine months?
Apparently, I was interested enough in an answer because I was back in that sea of light again, kicking my legs hard enough so I could reach where that voice was coming from, hoping to get there quickly enough so I could strangle him for his nerve.
It was a long swim because it took forever.
"Charlotte?"
The white light started to clear, my vision starting to fill with sharper details as if I suddenly just found all the final pieces of the puzzle and figured out the picture.
Hospital room.
Bare branches of a tree by the window.
Fluffy pink and white peonies sitting in a large crystal vase.
Gold-flecked hazel eyes stricken with fear.
A large hand running down a scruffy face, a gold and platinum band on one finger glinting against the light.
Nice ring. I picked that out for the wedding.
Wedding? Wait. What the—
"Brandon?"
Someone else must be in the room, saying his name. I didn't recognize the voice.
With bleary eyes, I searched the room and found faces but there were too many to fit into my narrowing vision as my lids grew heavy and slumber called again.
I heard the voices calling my name but they were drifting away, like water rushing out.
***
"Charlotte?"
The voice sounded like it was coming through a tunnel, echoing so much the first syllable just layered over the other.
Even without understanding the words, I felt the voice draw me out, coaxing the dark edges away.
My eyes cracked open and my vision swam as images swirled and tried to straighten themselves out.
I was still at the hospital.
I can still smell the peonies.
I can still see the dark head hanging low by my bedside.
I can feel the warmth of the skin pressed against my mine.
Turning my head slightly, I met Brandon's large hazel eyes gazing at me.
"B-brand..."
I didn't think I sounded like I had a clump of instant noodles in my throat but it surely felt like I did.
"I'm here, baby," he cooed with frantic gentleness and I could feel his fingers entwining with mine.
Even though I could definitely tell I was fully conscious, I couldn't figure out why my body still felt so strangely heavy, it didn't seem like it would budge even with persistent effort.
"Wh-wha..." I swallowed hard, wincing at the abrasion against my very dry throat.
A glass appeared in front of me and a straw was guided to my lips. Slowly, I sipped, barely managing the strength to pull in the liquid deep, but I drank as much as I could. I licked my tongue across my lips and caught the sharp cracks on them.
So much for wondering if maybe Brandon could drop me a kiss. I'd leave him with a bleeding mouth.
I giggled and briefly closed my eyes.
I felt so giddy and floaty, I opened my eyes and glanced around to see if I was levitating off the bed.
"Charlotte, are you okay?" The concern in Brandon's voice drew me back to him and I frowned, confused why he looked so unhappy.
"What h-happ... happened?" I tried again, sounding much better than I did earlier.
The helplessness on Brandon's face was quickly extinguished by a dark, furious look that reminded me of thunderstorms that came out of nowhere.
"You got shot," he said, his lips so thin and tightly pressed together, I was surprised I understood what he just said. "Don found you at the ball, while you were on your way to rendezvous with me. He slipped into your carriage unnoticed and you jumped out, dislocating your elbow. You tried to get away and ran into Francis and Nicole but Don grabbed you. He shot Francis. When you jumped him, he shot you."
Ah. That more than explained why Brandon looked like he could torch something with a look right now.
"Where?"
"Left shoulder," he answered, his eyes moving down to where my injury must be under the layers of bed sheets covering me. His face pinched with the torture of someone reliving a very traumatic experience.
"There was so much blood when I got to you," he added, his voice rough and scraping. "And you'd completely passed out and no one would tell me that you were fine—that it wasn't serious."
He dragged a trembling hand down his face, before shoving it back up to clutch at his messy hair. "They were working on you for a fucking eternity."
I winced at Brandon's language, not because it bothered me but because Brandon was always so composed, he never really had to give in to the urge to swear.
"You lost a lot of blood. And for a second there, we thought..." He swallowed so painfully, I thought he had a rock in his throat. He looked up to me with hazel eyes I've never seen so haunted before and he snatched my right hand up and pressed it against his lips. "If I have to go through that again, Charlotte, I swear to you, I will become an absolute madman."
I smiled and curled my fingers through his even though my arm felt like the weight of a wooden log. "I might just... indulge you... Just to see your f-face."
"It's not remotely funny," he muttered, giving me a withering stare.
Oh, Brandon.
I remembered it all—the gut-wrenching fear, my frantic flight from Don, the agony of my fall, the ear-splitting sound of the gunfire, the bright, hot pain that seared through me.
I could feel the panic break through the surface but I forced it down, determined to let the horror end there because there was no point in letting it invade the rest of my life.
I tugged at Brandon's hand, still too tired to do more. "Is Francis okay?"
He nodded. "Yeah. It was a through-and-through. No serious damage."
"That's good."
"Although the bastard could've told us without waiting to be shot that he's not one-hundred percent okay," Brandon scoffed although his face hinted at regret. "They found a benign tumor in his kidney a year ago when he was still in London. He's being closely monitored. If it gets any bigger, he's going to have to go through surgery and treatment."
That explained a lot, even if Brandon and I didn't have to point it out.
My heart broke for Francis, at the threat of his time suddenly cut short when he had a young family who needed him. It shouldn't have taken him a scare like this to do what he should've done from the beginning but still, what they had now was better than what they didn't have at all before. Time was of the essence but it wasn't always everything.
"They'll be okay," I told Brandon with a light squeeze of his hand.
"Did anyone else get hurt?"
"Don did after I got my hands on him. Gilles and Layla's hulking body guard had to pry me away. They should've just let me kill him," Brandon seethed, his profile so stony, his cheeks were sharp enough to cut.
I squeezed Brandon's hand. "He's not worth your life."
"He's not worth the dirt your feet stand on," Brandon snapped before exhaling loudly and pressing his lips to the back of my hand as if the gesture soothed the rage in him. "Someone had spotted him in the property and they'd just started their patrol when he snuck into your carriage. Gilles had alerted me. When we heard the gun shot, we weren't far."
"I want to press charges," I muttered, inhaling deeply only to choke out a cough when I felt all kinds of pain break through the deceptive lethargy of my body. Brandon gripped my hand as I waited it out, taking shallow breaths until the pain subsided.
God. My shoulder hurt like a bitch twice scorned.
She was demanding full punishment.
I was going to settle for simple justice.
"That scumbag deserves a first-class ticket to prison," I added, rolling my head to the side to better look at Brandon. "Is Layla okay?"
"Oh, yeah. Couldn't be better. The last time I saw her, she was talking about forming a foundation against women abuse or something—right after she stuffs her husband in jail."
I grinned. "Sounds like her normal self."
"How about the ball?" I asked, suddenly struck with worry at the realization that my own brush with danger and death might have cost other people more. "Did we screw it up?"
"I don't think so if you consider the news coverage it got," Brandon replied bitterly. "There are a couple dozen reporters waiting outside the hospital for the last couple of days now. You're a national hero."
I closely watched my husband's face.
He was distraught but he was also very angry. I knew he was angry at Don, but I suspected he was also angry about something else.
"You don't seem to like the idea of me being a hero," I said.
He scowled. "No, I don't, because heroes often die in stories. I know you have a heart bigger than my entire empire, Charlotte, but I sometimes wish you can be a little less selfless because while you're not scared about what happens to you, I am. I am absolutely, completely and totally terrified about what's going to happen to you next while you're trying to save the whole damned world."
I bit my lower lip, feeling the fear and panic coursing through him reverberate down to the very core of my soul. "You're right, Brandon. If there's one person I would never want to hurt, it's you. And sometimes, I forget that the one person who could hurt you the most is me. I'm sorry."
He closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly, his cheek brushing the back of my hand. "I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to yell. The last forty-eight hours of my life have been filled with acute suffering as I wondered if you were ever going to wake up."
"I'm alive and I'm awake, Brand," I reassured him, putting a bit more energy in the grip I had of his hand. "And I'm going to take on a whole new cause once I'm better."
Brandon looked at me in horror.
It hurt to laugh a little but I let it happen. "I'm going to be a better wife to you. I'm still going to want to help whenever I can. But the priority is you and I."
He smiled tremulously and leaned forward to drop a sweet, light kiss on my forehead. "I set all those stupid rules about how a Mrs. Maxfield should be in the beginning, and that's my fault. You should be whoever you are, Charlotte, even if you shorten my life span a decade or so when you occasionally do something reckless."
I grinned. "I'll have to curtail my misadventures then. I don't want you getting old on me."
He grinned. "I might just live forever if that's what it takes to make sure someone's looking after you."
"Speaking of looking after me, where is everybody?," I asked, glancing around the room again. "I could've sworn the room was crammed full before."
"I sent them all away," he said brusquely. "I told them to keep themselves and their problems away from you."
"But—"
"And if you're curious about Jake, I believe I last saw him making out with my younger sister down the hall an hour ago," Brandon said with a snort and a roll of his eyes. "I think something about your close call finally jarred them into panic and now they're all over each other."
My nose wrinkled. "And you're not mad?"
Brandon shook his head and sighed out loud. "I gave Jake fair warning that if he breaks Tessa's heart, I would personally see to his castration. I'm a little worried but I'm not mad. Tessa was babbling on about how she's now more scared of losing him than she was of being with him and all that crap."
I smiled and gave Brandon's hand a reassuring squeeze. "He really does love her, Brand. And she was just being so stubborn in her fear."
"And I wish one of you would've told me," Brandon said wryly. "Think of all the pain and trouble it would've saved us."
I winced. "I wanted them to be able to sort it out themselves, without interference. I didn't mean to keep you in the dark—I didn't think it would take them forever. I just wanted to help."
"Of course, you do. You'd save the goddamned universe if you have to."
I sighed, knowing he was right.
He leaned close and brushed a soft kiss on my cheek. "But your superhero cape is going to have to wait. You're not playing hero anytime soon, my love."
I smiled. "Even if I were interested in being one, I can't do it right now. I feel like shit."
Brandon's eyes sought mine, looking a little desperate. "I'm sorry, Charlotte. For not having been there to save you. For not having been there with you in those two weeks when I stayed away because I was stewing in my own guilt. In my heart, I couldn't believe you would ever betray me with Jake but I let my fears fester. Between my guilt and my misery, I didn't know whether I wanted to run after you or jump off a fucking cliff."
"No, Brand. Don't." I shook my head slowly. "It wasn't just you. I had a hand in that mess. I'm sorry, too."
"And I'm sorry again for dropping your mother on you when you didn't want to ever see her again," he added, chewing on his bottom lip as his gaze pleaded with me. "I thought if I could heal that last wound, close that one last door, you'd be happy. And you'd never have reason to be hurt or feel unworthy ever again."
"It's okay, Brand," I reassured him. "I needed to face her at some point. I don't know that I will forgive her anytime soon, or at all, or if I'll open that door to her ever again. What I do know is that she has nothing to do with what I want with my life now."
"And what is that?"
"I want to be happy." I smiled at him and touched a finger to his lips. "I want to be with you."
"Someday, I'll deserve you," he said quietly.
I stuck my tongue out at him like old time's sake. "You can bet your ass I'll make you work for it."
He grinned. "Deal."
I grinned back. "Oh, Brand. There's no penance to pay. Just love me. Tell me every day. Be with me. Smile and have fun with me. That's all I need."
"I'll do all that but while there may not be a penance to pay, there's still a lot that needs to be said so you would never have a doubt," he said, picking up a familiar-looking envelope from the table next to the bed. "You never got to read my letter. I found it in your bag when we recovered it."
"I was saving it for when I saw you," I said. "I didn't have to read it to know how you felt."
He smiled softly. "But I wrote you a fairy tale."
"No, you didn't."
He flashed me a dazzling smile. "I totally did."
"You didn't strike me as the type to like fairy tales, much less write one," I retorted pertly despite my head which was growing fuzzy again.
"Charlotte, when will you ever learn that when it comes to you, I'm capable of just about everything?" he said indulgently as he peeled the envelope open and drew the letter out. "You have your metaphors. I have my bare heart—laid out nicely in a fairy tale befitting a princess like you."
I rolled my eyes. "Alright. Since you're so sure to impress, let's hear it."
He unfolded the sheet and held it with one hand while his other curled around one of mine.
Once upon a time, there lived a great prince who ruled a vast kingdom, secure in his place on the throne, of the gold crown that sits atop his head, of the powerful sword that hangs by his hip, and of the many hearts he'd strung along like a cape to the wind.
"—ah, so you admit to being a playboy."
He knew somewhere out there was a princess worthy to stand by his side and wear his ring and name. He swore he would find her and marry her—when he eventually got around to it. The prince had many responsibilities to occupy his hours, and many willing women to occupy his bed.
"—this sounds a little Rated R for a fairy tale, Brand."
One day, impatient to see his son marry and run the palace over with tottering princelings and princesses, the old but wise king commanded his son to seek out and win the heart of a servant girl and make her his princess. Naturally, the arrogant prince was shocked because servant girls didn't make princesses. He was further angered to realize that his father expected him to curtail his freedom—not for a regal princess, or a goddess, for he felt he certainly deserved one—but for a servant girl, nonetheless."
"—a goddess, really? You were that full of yourself? And I was a waitress, not a servant."
But the prince went to seek out the servant girl anyway, determined to prove to his father that even great, wise kings made foolish mistakes.
The prince expected no argument when he presented his case to the servant girl. He should've known his life was never going to be the same again when the servant girl lifted her face to him and fearlessly met his eye. She may have been a peasant but there was nothing subservient about her at all. She gladly tossed her wild mane of sun-streaked golden hair behind her as she tilted her head up at him in bold regard, as if the gap in their height and age was more in her favor than his. Her blue-green eyes sparkled and gleamed with fire and mischief as she clearly and loudly recited every one of his abominable attributes to his face as reasons why she would never marry him.
"—I'm not sure abominable covers all of it. You're stinting on the important parts."
She joined the prince's cause for the sake of the great, old king she respected and adored but even with all the rules the prince had set, autocrat that he was, she carried on like a force of nature—forging her own path where one didn't exist, making up her own rules as she went, vanquishing villains one good deed at a time, and stealing the prince's heart with every cheeky smile, every giddy laugh, every brazen banter she got him tangled into, every scar she counted on for strength, every tear she fought not to shed in his presence, every sweet kiss she bestowed on him like berries to a starving man.
"—aw, damn you, Brandon Maxfield."
It took no time for it to become perfectly clear to the prince that while the gorgeous gowns and dazzling jewels made for a lavishly fashionable woman, they did not make a princess. With each day he spent alongside the servant girl, watching her win hearts back by giving pieces of her own away, knowing that her real fortune was not gold but rather a golden heart, the prince came to the conclusion that she was richer than any wealthy maiden in the land, and deserved someone far more worthy than he.
With the realization of his great fortune in finding a treasure more precious than he could have ever imagined, came the stark possibility that like the sun, she will never be contained to shine in one place, that light will always seek any darkness it can fill.
He worried that despite his immense wealth, he would never have enough to offer someone who held material possessions immaterial to her happiness. He feared that even though he could slay dragons for her, his gallantry would never be required by a fierce warrior princess who fought not with swords but words, and prevailed often. He worried that despite his fine form and face, he would wither away with the years to become an old man who might tell tales of a beautiful angel from times past whose smiles and laughter would keep her forever young.
"One, I could be slightly mercenary. Two, I prevailed all the freakin' time, if I must say so myself. Three, I haven't found the fountain of youth. I will grow old and gray just like you. We can smile and laugh together, even when we're wrinkly and hobbling about."
With nothing to anchor her to his side save for the current affection she felt for him, the prince feared that she, like the sun, would move on somewhere else and leave him in the shadows, with no guarantee except for the hope that like every sunrise, morning will come once again.
The prince did not realize that even though the sun continued to rise, he could not see the light because he kept his eyes closed. And like a man suddenly blinded, he clumsily stumbled, imagining monsters in the darkness and swinging his sword at them, not knowing that he drew blood not from the fearsome phantoms haunting him but the princess who never once left his side.
"...Brand, no. I know you didn't mean to hurt me."
The prince finally opened his eyes and saw that the limp, weakened body in his arms was his princess, deeply wounded by the force of his fears. Her once bright eyes were sad and hurting, her once proud shoulders hunched in defeat. His heart shattered into a million pieces, knowing that he'd plucked a star from the sky and let it nearly burn out because in his own selfishness, he'd kept it cooped up in his hands rather than leaving it where it could shine, as it was meant to.
"What good are stars if there isn't anyone who would wish on them?"
Knowing what he almost lost, the prince decided to keep his eyes open and take courage in facing whatever came his way, may it be night or day. He decided to trust and keep faith that the princess will stay by his side, not because he chose her but because she chose him.
This story isn't about the servant girl who was found worthy to be a princess.
Rather, it's a story between a woman who wore either apron or tiara with equal grace, and the prince who had to become a man worthy of her love beyond the measure of his crown and sword.
To some, it is simply another fairy tale.
To the prince, who will continue to tell this story in the years to come, to his and the princess's many children and their children's children, it is and will always be, the greatest honor of his life.
I was crying.
I was laughing and crying and forcing myself to sit up so I could throw my arms around my husband who was holding me steady in his embrace, showering my face with the lightest kisses, murmuring in my ear how much he loved me.
I couldn't say I loved him back fast enough.
All my walls were thoroughly and spectacularly annihilated.
Nothing stood a chance against a love like that.
And I was okay with that because I was worth it.
While fairy tales didn't exactly make the world a magical place where heroes always prevailed over villains, faith did. I had plenty to give but very little to leave myself with. I was lucky that some of it made its way back to me, restoring what I had long ago lost, pushing me far enough to make the leap and claim what every person should for themselves—a chance at happiness, no matter how scarred or seemingly unworthy we see ourselves.
After all, the wrong girl is sometimes the Right One, may it be in love or life—and you have to be the first to believe it.
***
What can I say? I love a good fairy tale. =)
I know many were looking for romance in this story and many more who seemed glad to have found more. I hope, whatever it is you came for and found, is something good—something you can take with you even when this book becomes nothing more than a fond memory to you.
People are probably going to ask more after reading this and you never know... If there is something more to write for this story and it comes to me, I'll write it. When and what that will be, if it does happen, is something I honestly can't tell you about at this point as I really don't know. But life can be unexpected so never say never! =)
Thank you once again to all who stayed with me till the very end of this story. It's been fun hanging out with you. =)
***If you do want to fan it, the Facebook page is in my profile. ***
***If you want to rate and review it, find it in Goodreads. =) ***
♪♪♪ Chapter Soundtrack: Hide (Like Stars) by Lucia ♪♪♪
(This song isn't quite out yet but I love its video and its sweet, quirky sound and awesome lyrics.)
Strange days, recalling all the waste,
Declaring war against our minds
Do the best we can
Sane days,
When nothing feels the same,
When dogs are howling at the moon
And we are afraid
Grab my hand, let's steal some light together
Run away when they are not aware of it
Hide with me,
Decide with me,
Defy the odds,
And be the one
Hide with me,
Collide with me
Like stars
Hide with me, the ride is free
We're laughing, we have fun like this is the last time
Hide with me
Like stars