2 Unhitched (28 page)

As the sharp tip of the sword presses into my chest, the image of Gallant flashes through my head… magically charging through the walls on his majestic white steed… scooping me up… and saving
us
from doom.

Gothel snorts. “Women have to take charge of themselves and save their own lives.” With a sharp whack, she slashes the button off my cloak; it goes flying across the room. “And, babe, that’s what you’ve got to do tonight.”

She puts her sword to the side and yanks me up with her free hand to a standing position. My buttonless cloak slides to the stone floor as I breathe a sigh of relief. While I take several more calming breaths, she swaggers over to her weapons rack. She returns with another sword and a shield. “These are for you, babe.”

Hesitantly, I take the sword in one hand, the shield in the other. They’re much heavier than I expected.

Gothel gives me the once-over. I can feel her eyes mocking me as she says, “I’m going to give you three pointers:

1. Hold on to your weapon and be prepared to replace it if you lose it.

2. Go for the heart; it’s smack in the middle of every dragon’s torso.

3. Most important of all, always keep your mind in the fight.”

Okay. I got it.
Dragon Slaying for Dummies
. Now what?

“Now babe, pretend I’m a dragon and try to kill me.”

Crap! What have I gotten myself into? All I wanted was to get my hair done.

Gothel’s expression again grows fierce. Her eyes morph into sharp slivers of violet glass, and her mouth opens wide. She lets out a roar so loud, it echoes off the walls. I shudder with fear.

Awaiting a breath of fire, I impulsively lunge at her with my sword. She dodges me, and I miss.

“Don’t stop!” snickers Gothel. She’s enjoying this little game of hers and twirls her nose ring. “C’mon, bitch, bring it on!”

Damn her for calling me a bitch! Mad as hell, I lunge at her again. And this time I slash her muscular upper arm. The sound of ripping skin sickens me. Blood trickles from the wound over the tattoo on her bicep and down her forearm. Oh no! I hope I haven’t hurt her too badly.

“Nice one,” snorts Gothel. “Don’t worry, it’s just a little scratch.”

I rest my sword and take a victorious breather. HA! I’m not bad at this.

“FIRE!” screams Gothel.

I instantly let go of my sword; it falls to the floor with a clank. My eyes dart around the room, and panic grips me. There’s no way out.

As I contemplate diving through the window (maybe my driver will catch me!), two hands wrap round my neck, squeezing it tight. Gothel! My eyes clash with hers as I gasp for air. I’m either going to choke to death or burn. Either way, I’m going to be toast, although I don’t see or smell any smoke.

“Gotcha!” smirks Gothel. “There is no fire.” She releases me.

What! She tricked me? My blood is bubbling with rage.

“See what happens when you don’t keep your mind in the fight.”

Damn it! She’s right. I got distracted. And let myself be taken.

Gothel’s violet eyes flicker with victory. “Enough fun and games. Let’s get to the salon.”

Salon? I survey the room again. I still don’t see any doors to another chamber. And then, a chilling thought runs through my mind. She’s going to style my hair with her weapons. Goose bumps pop along my arms.

My theory is confirmed when Gothel strides over to her weapons rack and yanks out a long spear. Good for parting and curling? To my surprise and relief, she hurls it upward. When the spear hits the ceiling, a trap door drops down along with a long makeshift ladder made of woven strands of golden hair. I gape one more time. More of Rapunzel’s hair!

“Follow me,” says Gothel.

While long-legged Gothel navigates the ladder like a trapeze artist, I take one uncertain step at a time, clinging to the shaky rungs. I’ve had enough climbing today to last me a lifetime. My palms sting from rope burn—I mean, hair burn—and I’m panting like a dog from the baby weight. And talking about baby, it’s kicking up a storm. Doesn’t this child ever sleep?

“Hang in there, babe,” Gothel shouts out, several rungs ahead of me. “You’re almost there.”

When she gets to the top and can climb no more, Gothel hoists herself through the opening in the ceiling. Her long, sinewy arms reach down to pull me through.

My eyes pop. Gothel’s private hair salon is a far cry from her dragon slaying studio. Everything, illuminated by candle-lit crystal sconces, is pink and beautiful. There’s a canopied four-poster bed adorned with a satin duvet, matching monogrammed “R” pillows and a bevy of adorable stuffed animals… a plush velvety rug… a tall, hand-painted bookshelf lined with charming music boxes and every fairy tale imaginable… and even a charming table and chairs, set for a tea party. Gilt-framed child-like drawings are scattered on the walls. Calla would love this place! It’s a dream house fit for a young fairy-tale princess, except there are no windows anywhere. Of course, this is the dungeon where Rapunzel once lived.

Gothel escorts me to a throne-like armchair, carved in gilt and richly upholstered in pink velvet. In front of it is an exquisite gold-leafed standing mirror and to the right, a small pink chest of drawers.

“This is where I used to braid Rapunzel’s hair,” she says, her voice dripping with melancholy. “I’ve always been good with hair.”

She runs her sinewy fingers through my tresses. “Let’s give you an upsweep for tonight.” She gestures to the pink velvet chair. “Sit.”

Lowering myself to the chair, I glimpse myself in the mirror. There are no voices in my head telling me that I’m the
Fairest of All
. My fair skin is wan; my green eyes sunken, and my jet-black hair limp. I need help.

Removing a hairbrush from the chest of drawers, Gothel runs it through my hair. Her firm, powerful strokes feel good against my scalp.

“Why do you still live here?” I ask, attempting to make some friendly conversation.

“I got a bum deal. After Rapunzel sprung me from that dungeon, her shrewd prince forced me to give them my manor house and her parents my guesthouse. As part of the deal, I was confined to live in this tower for the rest of my life.”

So the vengeful prince wanted to give her a taste of her own medicine. He
was
a prick. “That’s awful.”

“The truth is, I like it here.” Her eyes circle around the room, and a smile forms on her lips. I think the truth is more she can’t let go. Gothel is even more complicated than I thought.

“Why did you spoil Rapunzel?” I ask.

“Because I wanted her to have everything that was taken away from me as a child.”

In the mirror, sadness sweeps over Gothel’s reflection as she begins to arrange my hair on top of my head.

“What was your childhood like?” I venture, treading dangerous territory. I thought she came from royalty.

“It frickin’ sucked.”

“Your mother was wicked?” I ask cautiously.

“Hell no.” I observe a faint, wistful smile on her face in the mirror. “My mother was an angel. Beautiful and loving.”

Surprised by her response, I’m all ears.

“When I turned five, a dark fairy snatched me from her.” Her violet eyes grow cold and distant. As if she’s reliving that terrible moment. I try to imagine what it was like. A beautiful little girl clinging to the arms of her mother… a mother screaming… a child sobbing… evil having no mercy.

“The fairy handed me over to a wicked woman in a faraway kingdom who worked as courtesan for a local lord.”

“What happened?” I ask, gripped by her new story.

“All Mother Evil wanted was money. Money to buy her riches. She threatened me that if I ever wanted to see my real mother again, I had to do what she told me. She made me beg for money, even on the coldest of nights. The only way I kept warm was by lighting matches. I got to be known as ‘The Little Match Girl.’”

How awful! And how strangely similar her childhood was to mine! I shudder at the memory of my evil mother.

Gothel goes on. “One brutally cold night, I almost froze to death. Had not the Lord himself not discovered me and taken me in, I would have died.”

Poor Gothel!

She continues to pin up my hair as she reminisces. “The Lord exiled my mother from his royal court and offered me a job as a servant. He had a son about my age. We fell in love… and you know the rest.”

We share a stretch of silence. While I reflect on her challenging, tragic life, I watch her examine the back of my neck in the mirror. She leans in closer, furrowing her black as night arched brows.

“That’s weird. I have the very same mark in the very same place.”

“What are you talking about?” My curiosity is piqued.

She comes around the chair and bends her spiky-haired head down. On the nape of her neck is a small, red heart-shaped birthmark.

She straightens up and pulls out a jewel-encrusted hand mirror from the top drawer of the chest.

“Stand up and face your back to the mirror.” I do what she orders. She holds up the hand mirror to my face.

I’m shocked by what I see behind me in the large standing mirror. A red heart, identical to hers, on the nape of my neck. I never knew I had it. Up until I entered Faraway, my hair cascaded down my back to my butt, covering my neck. And since then, I’ve spent as little time as possible regarding myself in a mirror. Strangely, no one’s ever mentioned it to me. Not even Gallant.

A question races into my head. It’s just too uncanny. Can Gothel and I be related? Possibly be sisters? It makes sense. I mean, the way we’ve clicked, and all the things we have in common. We even look a lot alike, not to mention that Hook was attracted to both of us.

“What was the name of the woman who adopted you?” I ask, my heart pounding with anticipation.

“Bitch,” snarls Gothel.

I suppose that could be my mother’s name too.

“I don’t know what happened to her. And to be dead honest, I don’t give a dragon’s ass.”

“What was your real mother’s name?”

“Ellena,” says Gothel softly. “If you look it up in your baby naming book, you’ll find out it means ‘shining light.’” Gothel pauses, and I swear her eyes are watering. “She
was
a shining light. A ray of sunshine.”

My mother, Nelle, on the other hand, was the darkest of clouds. I guess the birthmark is just a coincidence and drop the subject. Gothel puts the finishing touches on my hair, pulling a few wispy tendrils onto my forehead.

“What do you think?” she asks.

“I love it!”

I admire my new upswept hairstyle in the mirror. My hair is piled high on my head in cascading curls, with a few thick tendrils curling around my long neck. Gothel’s done her magic once again. I’m going to look hot tonight at Gallant’s gala! My confidence is soaring. I can’t wait to take on the man-eater!

I reach into a pocket and offer Gothel a handful of gold coins. She hesitates at first about taking them, but ultimately snatches them and slips them inside her tight leather bustier.

“Thanks, babe.” As I rise to my feet, her fierce violet eyes meet mine. “Just remember what I told you. Keep your mind in the fight.”

The baby, who’s been quiet all this time, gives me a couple of fighting kicks. We’re in this together.

Chapter 21

I
RUSH HOME, EAGER TO GET ready for the gala. Winnie’s right as usual. I need to tell Gallant about the baby.
Our
baby. I’m going to spring the news to him before he announces our separation and his pending marriage to Aurora. The more I’ve thought about it, the more I’m confident he’ll come back to me. With arms wide open. Maybe I won’t forget about his affair, but I’ll forgive him. Things will go back to being just like they were. All “lovey dovey” as Elz would say. All perfect.

Taking a quick bath, I gently slather soap around my extended belly. I swear, it’s bigger than it was this morning. Our baby is growing. A warm feeling saturates my body as I marvel at this miracle of life inside me.

Stepping out of the tub, I take a deep breath and bundle myself in fluffy robe. I’ve never felt so ready for a showdown. I’m going to take on Aurora. My hair looks amazing, and if Aurora dares to attack me, I know what to do thanks to Gothel’s self-defense lesson. The man-eater may not be a dragon, but she’s still a monster to be reckoned with. There may even be bloodshed. I hope not too much. Nothing’s worth losing the life of my child.
Nothing.

My genius plan will make her easy prey. I’m going to wear my new black taffeta gown—the one that’s identical to the one Gallant bought for her at The Ballgown Emporium. There’s nothing more humiliating, more horrifying, or more debilitating than seeing another woman in the same dress at a Lalaland gala. When she sees me in her gown, it’ll unnerve her. She’ll be defenseless. Gone with the wind. At the end of the night, Gallant will be mine again!

After slapping on some makeup, I dash to my closet and pull out the black gown. Holding it up, I admire it. The fabric is rich and the detailing exquisite. And that super-sized batwing bow on the backside and sweeping train are to die for. I’m glad I bought it. Even for the wrong reason.

I carefully step into it and inch it up over the layers of petticoats I’ve put on first. So far, so good. I even manage to get over my hips. The full skirt falls nicely, hiding all my imperfections. But when it I get to my waist, the bodice will not budge. I try wiggling into it. Stretching the fabric. Holding in my swollen tummy and butt. Nothing works. It no longer fits! The baby kicks. “Stop it!” I yell. “This is not a good time to be acting up!”

I refuse to give up. If only I had a corset, I could lace it tightly around my middle and badda bing. Hopeful, I suck in my tummy one more time—until it hurts and I can’t breathe. Using both hands, I yank the dress up over the baby bump. Success! But what was that weird screechy noise? Gazing down, my eyes shift left, then right. Oh no! The side seams have burst! The dress is unwearable. Armando was right. I should have taken the dress in Size 10. Or maybe Size 12. Okay, a 14.

Plan B. I frantically comb my closet for something else to wear to the gala. I tear through dress after dress. What’s the point! Everything is Size 6 and nipped at the waist. I have absolutely nothing to wear to Gallant’s retrospective! My heart sinks to my stomach. I can’t go!