CHAPTER 31
The day of the ball comes fast and furious. Though exhausted from all of Marcella’s demands, I wake up earlier than usual. Gallant’s already downstairs in the kitchen when I get there. He’s forgone his usual cup of tea, yet he’s especially upbeat and energized. Of course. Tonight, he and Marcella will at last officially announce their engagement to the kingdom. A heart wrenching pain hits me deep in my gut.
“Jane, there is something I need to show you,” Gallant says eagerly.
I try to beg off. The ball’s only hours away, and the last minute details are overwhelming. First on my list: Picking up Marcella’s gown from Emperor Armando. Okay. The truth. I can’t bear to be with him.
Gallant won’t take no for an answer. I bet it’s yet another last-minute thing Marcella wants done for the ball. I’m surprised when he instead leads me outside. His white stallion awaits us, ready to ride. He lifts me up onto the saddle, then mounts the majestic horse. This time I’m sitting in front of him, his brawny arms wrapped tightly around me. My heart is galloping. Where’s he taking me?
As the sun rises, we trot down a familiar path. I know—the path that leads to his studio. Great! I’d love to see his paintings again. Maybe he’s painted something new.
Gallant’s been a different person since breaking the news to his father about his true ambition. He smiles often and laughs. I’ve even heard him sing. What a voice! Best of all, to Marcella’s chagrin, he’s been spending a lot more time with Calla—playing with her, telling her stories, and helping her with her French. He even took her shopping at The Trove. Ha! You should have seen the expression on the PIW’s face when her future stepdaughter came back with a coach full of new clothes—including a gown for the ball. So much for Calla not going and me having to babysit her.
I was right. Gallant has taken me to his studio. He unlocks the door and lets the early morning sunshine slip in. The streak of light makes the paintings more radiant than I remember. My eyes bounce from one canvas to the next. Each, be it a portrait, landscape, or still life, moves me more deeply than before.
The studio smells different this time. I can’t identify the scent. Then I see an easel. Tubes of paint and various size brushes are scattered on it. Ah-ha. Gallant has begun to paint again.
In the back corner, the unfinished portrait of his late wife is still mounted on an easel and covered. Has he worked on it? Before I can ask, The Prince takes my hand and pulls me over to it. In a single swoop, he sweeps off the damask and reveals the canvas. Oh my God! I’m going to pass out!
Gallant has completed the portrait of his late wife. It’s a masterpiece. A woman, whose beauty is beyond all others, smiles at me as she picks a bouquet of lilies and roses. Her wavy dark hair is held back by a big red bow while her matching red cloak floats in the summer breeze. What’s most outstanding is her milky-white skin. It’s fairer than the blooms she’s holding.
The Prince beholds the painting with pride. “Jane, you inspired me to follow my dream, my passion. And to complete the painting that means the most to me.”
I’m paralyzed. I can’t get my mouth to move or my brain to think.
Gallant turns to me. “Jane, you look as if you have just seen a ghost. Are you okay?”
Am I okay? Is he kidding? I have seen a ghost. And not just any ghost.
“I’m a little overwhelmed by the painting,” I stammer. A little overwhelmed? That’s got to be the understatement of all times. I’m in a state of shock!
“Be honest, what do you think?”
I think I’m going to die! I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can’t even feel my heart beating.
“Jane,” he continues, “I want to hear your thoughts. You have such a keen mind when it comes to art.”
“She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” I manage to say.
“Yes, she was,” says Gallant with growing excitement. “Tell me more. What about the colors?”
“Th-they’re perfect,” I splutter. “Her skin’s as white as snow; her hair as black as ebony, and her lips as red as blood.”
“Amazing!” Gallant’s blue eyes sparkle. “That is exactly what I wanted to convey.”
The Prince pauses to smile at the portrait. “Jane, I am beholden to you. Completing this painting has made me feel whole again.”
I, on the other hand, feel like a million little pieces. Like a jigsaw puzzle that can’t be put together. Or a shattered mirror.
“I have even started to work on another painting,” he adds, his face beaming.
Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse another large canvas across the room—the beginnings of another portrait. I’m too shaken to focus on it.
“I’ve got to go.” I hurry toward the door.
“Jane, wait!”
Gallant dashes after me. Hooking his arm around my waist, he stops me in my tracks. He spins me around and draws me to him. Our bodies meet. We’re so close I can’t tell whose heartbeat is whose. Cradling my face in one hand and holding me tightly against him with the other, he lowers his head and presses his lips on mine. Our tongues dance. A fire rips through my body, awakening every part of my being. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. No matter how much I will it, our lips will not separate. To be truthful, I don’t want it to end.
Suddenly, The Prince pulls away. I feel like I’ve been catapulted out of a dream. My head is spinning, my body throbbing.
Gallant lowers his eyes and steps back. “I could not help myself. Please forgive me, Jane, if I have offended your honor or dignity.”
Offended me? I’ve just kissed the husband of the woman I tried to murder! My stepdaughter. Gallant’s wife. SNOW WHITE!
I spend the rest of the morning pacing the castle in a state of total panic. My lungs are burning; my stomach’s churning, and my head is whirling. I should be working on last minute ball preparations, but I’m too distraught from my shocking discovery. It’s all I can think about.
Why didn’t I figure it out? I should have known that The Prince’s late wife was Snow White. I mean, the clues were in my face. Right there in front of me!
Clue #1: Calla’s snow white skin; A dead give away; no pun intended.
Clue #2: Calla’s red velvet bow. They’re probably a dime a dozen, but still.
Clue #3: That despicable Huntsman showing up all the time. A coincidence? Not!
Clue #4: Those damn dwarfs. No wonder, they worked for The King.
Clue #5: That unforgettable night when The Prince, drunk out of his mind, called me Branch. Now, I know what he was trying to say—Blanche, French for white. Damn it! I wish my French didn’t suck.
Clue #6: The cottage-y feel of the Prince’s castle. Okay, it wasn’t giveaway, but still a clue.
Clue #7: The unfinished portrait. I should have recognized the outline of Snow White’s signature cloak and bow.
Clue #8: Marcella’s obsessive collection of old fairy-tale tabloids; they must be filled with Snow White gossip. Of course, she’d want to know everything about The Prince’s #1 wife. What #2 wife wouldn’t?
Clue #9: One of the most obvious clues of all. No RSVP to the ball from Snow White. Dead people don’t do balls.
Clue #10: My stupid-ass looking glass. No wonder, my “magic” mirror didn’t mention Snow White’s name in the dumpster. Duh! She was history!
And, of course, only her gorgeous little daughter Calla Rose could take her place. How could I be so stupid? So clueless? So totally clueless? If only in the dumpster, for that one time only, my mirror had been magic. It could have said something, and I wouldn’t be in this horrible, horrible mess.
Questions pummel me like rocks, each one coming harder at me than the one before. What am I going to do? How can I stay possibly stay here? What am I going to tell The Prince? And Calla? Oh, by the way, sweet girl, I forgot to tell you that I despised your mother and tried to kill her. Not once. But three times. Actually, four times if you count The Huntsman. Oh and do you want to hear something else? I kissed your Papa today! And guess what! I liked it!
Who am I kidding? I more than liked it! It wasn’t me who pulled away! Oh God, why did I have to run into The Prince this morning? Why did Shrink make me work at this castle? Why did I have to do rehab at Faraway? The Huntsman should have let me rot in that dungeon or done me in when he had the chance. None of this would have ever happened. None of it! This wasn’t meant to be!
I’m an emotional wreck. I desperately need to talk to someone. Someone who can help me navigate my way through this miserable maze of confusion, guilt, and shame. “Oh, Gallant, I’ve got a little confession to make…” No, NOT The Prince! I need someone like Shrink who could listen with her “third ear” and offer me advice.
What’s the point of dreaming? It’s futile. There’s no one I can talk to. No one. I’ve got to get my mind off what’s happened. “Hard work makes strong minds,” the Badass Fairies preached at Faraway. I compulsively start straightening and polishing everything in sight. When I glance down at the polished surfaces, I see my reflection. My evil self! Aagh! I try a couple of bars of “lalalala.” That’ll cheer me up. Forget it. I know. I’ll try meditating. Perhaps, if I can silence my mind, I can…
“JAAAANE!” My meditation is shattered by Marcella’s shrill scream. Still sitting cross-legged on the floor, I pop open my eyes and find her looming above me.
“Where’s my ball gown?” she snaps. “And what are you doing in that ridiculous position?”
Oh no! I’ve totally forgotten about Marcella’s gown. I’ve got to get to The Trove before it closes and pick it up from Emperor Armando.
The Trove! A glimmer of hope flashes before me. Yes! I’ll talk to Winnie and Elz. They’ll know what to do.