2 Unhitched (5 page)

Chapter 5

G
ALLANT NEVER CAME TO BED last night. I know because when I woke up screaming and soaked from the nightmare, he wasn’t there. I couldn’t fall back to sleep and watched the sun rise. He’ll probably tell me that he had to pull an all-nighter in his studio to make up for lost time. But I know better. He was out gallivanting with his new Sleeping Beauty. As I trudge downstairs to face another day, I’m depressed. And frustrated. If only I could prove it.

To make matters worse, Gallant is not at breakfast. He’s never missed this meal. My heart sinks deeper. The cheating bastard spent the night with her.

“Mommy, what’s wrong?” my perceptive Calla asks over a plate of buttery scrambled eggs.

“Nothing.”
Everything!
I can’t, however, tell my sweet little girl that Daddy is screwing Mommy royally, and we’re going to get a divorce. The time has to be right.

Calla rambles on about her most recent class project. I pretend-listen, my mind in a dark, distant place. After sending her off to school with one of our servants, I sip my tea and mull over my future and course of action. Though in my heart I know the bitter truth, I still need proof. With luck, my investigation will go better today—that is, if I can muster up the energy to pursue it. Yesterday, anger powered me; today, sadness has zapped everything out of me. I stare at Calla’s treasured doll, Lady Jane, wishing she could tell me what to do.

One of our cooks teeters into the breakfast room. “Miss Jane, there is someone at the front door to see you.”

That’s odd. I wasn’t expecting anyone. Leaving my tea behind, I follow the cook to the entrance of our palace.

Standing erectly outside is a squat little man with an oversized egg for a head. He’s carrying a large briefcase and wearing a sleazy, ill-fitting suit and garish polka-dot bowtie.

“Morning, mam. I’m Humpty Dumpty, and I’m here to ask you a few questions. Can I come in?”

There’s something unctuous about him that gets under my skin. Against my better judgment, I usher egghead into the castle and escort him to our newly decorated great room. Plopping onto one of the Fairy Tale Regency velvet couches, he makes himself at home.

“Nice place you have here,” he says, surveying his surroundings. “Mind if I smoke a cigar?”

Before I can protest, he pulls out a cigar from his jacket pocket, lights it up, and takes a puff. I swear if he gets one ash on my new couch, I’m going to crack open his head and turn his brains into an omelet.

“I have some papers I need to serve you,” he says, drawing on his cigar.

I freeze. Holy crap! He’s a divorce attorney. Gallant is one step ahead of me. He can’t wait to make Sleeping Beauty’s bed his own. Permanently.

He unlocks his briefcase and pulls out a sheet of parchment and a stylus. “Before we get going, you’ll need to sign this release form.”

A release form?
Before I even read it, I see the words in my head:
I, Jane Yvel, officially release Prince Gallant, firstborn son of King Midas and The Queen of Hearts, from our marriage and all future marital responsibilities to me, allowing him the freedom to choose a new wife whenever he so desires.
Nausea rises to my chest. The cigar smoke is not helping. I’m going to be sick.

My lips quiver. “Where do I sign?”
Why am I making it so easy for him?

“On the dotted line.”

Shaking, I glance down at the sheet of parchment. Scrawled across the top are the words, “
Fairytale Tattler
Release Form.”

Wait! This egghead isn’t a divorce attorney. He’s a shyster reporter for the
Fairytale Tattler.
He’s already gotten wind of Gallant’s affair with Aurora and is here to corroborate the facts. Holy crap! Tomorrow everyone in Lalaland will read the headline:
“Royal Marriage Doomed! Prince Gallant Finds Himself a New Sleeping Beauty!”
My mind immediately jumps to Calla. It’ll be the talk at school. My poor sweet little girl. This is so not how I wanted to break the news to her.

The reporter puffs his cigar and continues. “We thought, in light of your upcoming second anniversary, we would treat our readers to a scoop about your marriage with Prince Gallant.”

Wait! Is he trying to trick me? I wouldn’t put it past one of these sleazeball tabloid reporters.

“The staff was delighted that you agreed to this interview.”

I suddenly remember that several months ago I agreed to let the
Fairytale Tattler
do a profile on me if they allowed me to pre-approve the questions. I relax a little but don’t look forward to the memories this interview will dredge up. Or the feelings.

Humpty Dumpty pulls out a notebook from his briefcase and begins.

HD:
What is the secret to your marriage?

ME:
Honesty.
Lies.

HD:
Will the two of you be going anywhere special to celebrate your anniversary?

ME:
We’ll just be staying home.
I’ll be house hunting.

HD
: Will anyone be joining you to celebrate?

ME:
Not really.
The Sleeping Slut will be doing a happy dance
with Gallant.

HD:
Do you have something special you’re giving him on your anniversary?

ME:
A special letter.
Farewell forever
.

HD:
Do you have any idea what Gallant will be giving you?

ME:
Absolutely none; it’s a surprise.
Heartbreak and tears.

HD:
Two last questions. What made you fall in love with Prince Gallant?

ME:
I can’t remember.
His piercing blue eyes, dazzling smile, courage, kindness, forgiveness, passion, the tender touch of his fingers, that first kiss… oh, that first kiss that awoke every part of my being…

HD:
The fire in many marriages dies out. Are you still madly in love with Gallant?

ME:
Yes.
Yes, damn it, I am.

The last two questions have totally unraveled me. Damn Gallant. Yes, damn him! I hate this man. I love this man. How could he betray me? Tears well up in my eyes. As Humpty puts his notebook and stylus back into his briefcase, I splutter, “What are you calling your article?”

Humpty puffs his cigar and rudely shoves the release form under my nose. “It’s written on the second page. Read it for yourself.”

I flip to the page.
“Jane and Gallant: The Perfect Fairy
-
Tale Marriage.”
The words churn in my stomach as I sign on the dotted line. Humpty snatches the form and waddles to the front door, leaving a trail of ashes on our brand new white rug. “G’day, mam.”

I feel like I’ve just signed my life away. Sadness sweeps over me as I battle waves of nausea. How could Gallant leave me for another? What did I do wrong? (I called his mother a fat cow once, but not to her face.) Maybe I’m not pretty enough? (The former
Fairest of All
does have a few more lines and has recently put on a pound or two.) He doesn’t like my cooking? (It is bad.) I’m not fun to be around? (I do get moody from my writer’s block.) I’m not a good enough mother to Calla? (Okay, I did miss this month’s PTA meeting.) He still holds my attempt to kill his first wife, Snow White, against me? (I dealt with that in therapy.) I’m infertile? (But I’m trying to conceive despite my insecurities.)

Stop it, Jane. Stop it!
Moping is not going to help me prove that Gallant is having an affair with Sleeping Beauty. And it’s not going to make her go away. I need to cheer myself up.

Only one thing will cheer me up. Shopping. Not because I’m a shopaholic who gets a sick pleasure out of buying way too many things. Not at all. I’m going to shop ’til I drop at The Trove and send the bill to Gallant. Let him eat it, the cheating asshole. I smile wickedly. I’m back to being evil.

The Ballroom Emporium is crazy busy as usual, and the doors have been opened for only ten minutes. It’s astonishing how fairy-tale princesses always need a new ball gown. Even if there’s no ball to go to. What most of them
really
need is to get a life to get their mind off shopping.

Wouldn’t you know the first person I run into is my sister-in-law, Cinderella. She’s as perfect as ever. You’d never know she was seven months pregnant under her stunning empire-style gown. The chiffon dress floats like a cloud and is in a shade of blue that perfectly matches her sparkling eyes.

“Can’t wait to see you tonight,” chirps Cinderella, cheerfully meandering through the racks of magnificent gowns.

Dragonballs. I totally forgot. Gallant mentioned last week that he had invited Cinderella and Charming to dinner. I wish he had consulted with me first. I would have said we’re busy. Or come up with some other excuse like we’re starting a holistic cleansing fast or doing spring cleaning even though it’s fall
. Or getting a divorce
. Anything to get out of having dinner with the royal duds.

“Eight o’clock sharp,” I reply with a forced half-smile. I could have said midnight or noon tomorrow. Time has no meaning for Cinderella. She shows up when she shows up.

“Wonderful! Which of these two dresses do you like better?” She holds up two almost identical silky blue gowns. I pick the first one, not that it really matters.

Her eyes dart back and forth from one to the other.

She sighs. “Oh, Jane, I just can’t make up my mind.”

She waltzes out of the store with both of them. Size 4. Even with the baby bump.

“Dahling, I sooo love your hair,” comes an all-too-familiar voice from the distance. It’s Emperor Armando, the proprietor of the Ballgown Emporium and Lalaland’s hottest fashion designer. He knows me well. He just happens to me my fairy godmother and created the magnificent ivory wedding gown I wore when Gallant and I exchanged our forever vows.

Forever Aurora
. I can’t the words out of my head. They make me want to run home and take a sharp scissors to Armando’s bridal gown. Or throw it into the fireplace. And hear it go snap, crackle, and pop.

Wearing his signature caftan gown, this one with a blazing pattern of orange and gold threads, the big burly Emperor sashays up to me and plants a big kiss on each cheek.

“Dahling, you look miserable. What’s going on?” he asks.

I silently debate whether to open up to him about Aurora. With his insightfulness and brutal honesty, he could be helpful, but in the end, I decide not to bare my heart. I sigh instead. If only he could make Aurora magically disappear. Unfortunately, his fairy godmother powers are limited to makeovers.

“I need something new,” I tell him before he can give me a lecture on the aging effects of frowning.

“Wait ’til you see my new collection. It’s to die for. Everyone’s clamoring for a piece to wear to Gallant’s museum gala.”

The mere mention of his name makes my temperature rise. While I stew, Armando takes off. He returns with a dozen stunning gowns folded over his arms. Exactly what I like. Tight-waisted, full-skirted, and lots of layers. But wait. They’re all Size 8.

“I wear Size 6.”

“Dahling, trust me, with all that rich food you’ve been eating, go with the 8’s.”

I catch a glimpse of myself in one of the mirrors that line the walls of the store. Damn it! He’s right. I have put on a few.

Hastily, without trying the gowns on, I tell Armando that I’ll take them all. Gallant’s having an affair, and I’m getting fat. It doesn’t get worse than that. He’s going to pay for what he’s done. And this is just the beginning.

Next stop: The Glass Slipper. I order a pair of every shoe Elz has in stock even if she doesn’t have it in my size. “Send the bill to Gallant,” I tell my shoe store mogul friend. I can’t wait to see the expression on his face when he opens it up.

“How’s it going?” Elz asks sympathetically.

“Terribly. I don’t have one solid piece of evidence to prove that Gallant is sleeping with Aurora.”

“Just show him the letter.”

“I can’t do that. It would show him I’m a lowbrow thief.”

“Right.” Elz thumbs her lips as she thinks. “You know, Rump always opens up to me when he’s had a lot to drink.”

Say no more, my friend. I’m already uncorking a bottle of wine in my head. I’ll get him drunk tonight, and he’ll tell me everything.

My shopping expedition has definitely done the trick. I’m cheered up; I’ve just gone through a boatload of Gallant’s money, and I’ve got a plan of action. Okay. Just one last thing to do before I go home. Make a stop at Aurora’s Secret. Maybe she’ll be there. I’ll get to see what Sleeping Shrewdy looks like. As I step out of The Glass Slipper, I get cold feet. I’m not ready to face the competition.