2 Unhitched (15 page)

Baby games. I’ll need to learn more of them. I ask Calla if she knows any others. My sweet little girl is more than happy to oblige. In the course of a half hour, I learn a dozen or so Mother Goose nursery rhymes.
Jack and Jill… The Itsy Bitsy Spider… Hickory Dickory Dock
… just to name a few. They’re all so fun to say aloud, especially the ones you can act out with your hands and fingers. Princess Swan can’t get enough of them, and Calla breaks out in laughter every time I mess up the words or try my hand at making up an original one like
“Henry the Frog who sat on a log… ”
My sweet little girl is going to make such a great mother’s helper and such a great big sister. My heart swells again with happiness, something I’ve not felt for a long time.

Calla continues to be the perfect mother’s helper, feeding, bathing, and helping me get Swan ready for beddy-bye. After tucking Calla into bed and reading her a good-night story, I gather Swan, sound asleep in her basket, and venture for the first time in days to the chamber I share with Gallant. I gently place the basket on the carpeted floor beside the bed and crawl under the silky sheets. Gallant’s intoxicating scent blankets me, making me even more eager for his return. And assault.

Sleep betrays me. The anticipation of Gallant combined with Swan’s periodic awakenings—wailing for a diaper change or feeding—prevent me from falling asleep. I toss and turn as my heart grows heavy under the covers. Each time, the grandfather clock downstairs gongs the hour, my heart sinks a little more. No Gallant. My hope gives way to despair and a face full of burning tears.

I finally drift off only to immediately be awakened by Swan’s hungry cry. Sunlight filters through the drawn damask drapes. It’s dawn.

I pry my eyes open one at a time. With a weary, heavy heart, I stagger out of bed and retrieve one of the bottles I brought upstairs. I gather the wailing infant in my arms. A fat tear falls onto her little face as she happily drains her bottle.

It’s Sunday. Having no school, Calla is thrilled to be able to spend the whole day with Swan. She feeds the baby another bottle and changes her into one of the many outfits Cinderella has packed. I try hard to not show my dismay and let it get in the way of her joy.
Why didn’t Gallant come home?

By early afternoon, Calla is eager to get outdoors. “Let’s go to Papa’s studio and surprise him,” she says.

Maybe Gallant pulled another all-nighter.
Maybe.

Holding Swan bundled up in her basket in one hand and Calla’s hand in the other, I stroll down the pebbled, flower-lined path that leads to Gallant’s painting studio in the rear of our property. The crisp fall air does little to invigorate me. My emotions teeter between anticipation and dread.

As we near the thatched-roof shed that houses Gallant’s studio, Calla breaks away from me and runs over to it. She peeks inside one of the windows and then skips back.

“Papa’s not there.”

What does she mean? Picking up my pace, I head toward the studio, wanting to have a look for myself. The door is unlocked, and I step inside. Calla’s right. He’s not here. I survey the space. There’s not an open tube of paint or wet canvas in sight. Gloom descends on me. He probably hasn’t stepped foot inside here for days.

“I bet Papa’s at The Trove buying me a birthday present,” exclaims Calla upon joining me.

Calla’s ninth birthday is just a few days away. I totally forgot. I’ve been too wrapped up with Gallant’s affair. And even now, my mind is elsewhere. Where can Gallant
really
be?

Only one thought fills my head as we head back to the castle. Aurora. How could I have let myself believe that I could make him still want and love me? I hang my head low. It’s a walk of shame.

Thank goodness, Calla is able to get me through the rest of the day. Inside I’m numb. It takes all my effort to do even the littlest task. She feeds Swan her final bottle of the day and helps put her down for the night.

Rocking the baby in her basket, she sings a sweet lullaby—probably one Snow White once sang to her—and the baby falls asleep. Her sweet soprano voice has a calming effect on me. At least for the moment.

“Mommy, what are you going to get me for my birthday?” asks my sweet little girl as I tuck her into her princess bed with Lady Jane. Henry the Frog, safely in his little gilded cage on the nightstand, ribbits.

“It’s a surprise,” I stammer. The truth is I haven’t bought her a thing. Guilt eats away at me.

“What about a new brother or sister?”

Her question rips me apart. All my hopes have evaporated into smoke. Holding back tears, I give her a good-night kiss.

“Mommy, one more thing. Do you think Henry will turn into a prince if I kiss him on my birthday?”

“Maybe.” I kiss her one more time.

I can’t bring myself to tell her he could turn into a prick.

Alone in the kitchen, I lose it. I consume everything in sight. Even a raw apple, something I never eat. Where the hell is Gallant? Why hasn’t he contacted me? Oh my God!
The cat ran away with the fiddle
. What if he’s taken off for good with his mistress of evil?

As the grandfather clock strikes nine, the sound of a carriage pulling up to the castle comes from outside. It must be Cinderella and Charming. Of course, they’re late. Three hours late.

I meet the royal couple at the front door; they’re holding hands. Cinderella is rested and positively radiant. Charming’s blue eyes are twinkling, but I can’t look him in the face because he reminds me too much of Gallant.

“We had an amazing time!” beams Cinderella. “We ended up going to the Wonderland.”

“You’ll never guess who we ran into,” adds Charming.

Cinderella finishes his sentence. “Gallant and Aurora!”

My heart almost stops. Gallant and Aurora!? Gallant took that Sleeping Beauty tramp to the romantic coastal paradise where he and I spent our honeymoon? Where we made love for the first time. Passionate, endless, magical love. Burning bile rushes to my throat. I’m going to be sick.

“How did Swan do?” asks Cinderella, heading over to the basket by the couch.

“She was a perfect angel,” I can barely get the words out; I’m in a state of shock.

As soon as Cinderella and Charming leave with baby Swan, I puke.

With Calla fast asleep and Swan back with her parents, the house is as quiet as a dormouse. Despite my ongoing waves of nausea, I’m too worked up to go to sleep. There’s no doubt about it. There never has been. Gallant is having an affair with Sleeping Beauty.
Think, Jane, think.
What should I say to him when he gets home? A gut wrenching pain assaults me. That is
, if
the ugly, cheating bastard ever comes home.

In the candlelit kitchen, I pour myself a goblet of wine. I guzzle it down. I pour another and then another. The wine takes effect quickly. It soothes my ailing soul and makes me drowsy. I’m about to nod off at the kitchen table when the sound of loud, distinctive footsteps startles me. My drunken heart leaps to my throat. It’s Gallant!

His tall, muscular body leans against the entryway, his beautiful face flickering in the candlelight.

My hooded eyes fire flaming arrows his way. “Where have you been?”

“I’ve been working all weekend on a portrait. It’s someone important to me.”

Someone important to you? You mean that bitch, whore, man-eater—Aurora?

“I’m exhausted. I’m going upstairs.”

Of course, he’s exhausted. He’s been fucking his brains out.

Before I can throw the wine goblet at him, he disappears.

I was wrong. My husband is not an ugly cheating bastard. He’s an ugly,
lying
,
cheating bastard!

With tears scorching down my face, I stagger to my office. I crumple the
“Are You Ready for a Baby”
quiz in my fist, hurl it into the hearth, and watch it burn.

Chapter 12

I
WAKE UP IN THE MORNING in my private quarters to a pounding headache and regret.

Damn it! I should have confronted Gallant last night. But I never got the chance. When I stormed upstairs in my drunken rage, he was already conked out on our bed. I tried shaking him and yelling his name, but nothing made him budge. Her distinctive floral scent—identical to that of her love letter—was all over him. Couldn’t he have had the decency to bathe before coming home? Another wave of nausea came over me, and I had to flee before I threw up all over him.

Maybe it was meant to be as Winnie would say. I was in no state to confront him last night. Too confused and emotional. And too inebriated. It could have gotten ugly and violent.

Though drained, rage is still whipping through my bloodstream. I want a confession! The truth! Wasting no time, I jump out of bed and march down the hallway to our chamber. Or should I say former chamber. I swing open the heavy mahogany door.

“Okay, Gallant. Out with it. What were you doing with Aurora in Wonderland?” My fists clench so tightly my nails dig into my palms. Standing in the doorway, I wait for a response. Not a word. Rage pushes me to yank off the duvet. I’ve been talking to an empty bed. Gallant is gone.