Wickedly Charming (20 page)

It happened a week into Mellie's tour. Charming was manning the main desk in the bookstore, the one closest to the main entrance. It was Monday morning, one of the slowest times of the week.

He had a high speed computer running beside his work station. He was at work, but for once, he wasn't thinking about the store. He was thinking about Mellie. He'd seen the numbers—
Evil
was selling out. The distributors were reordering so fast that they couldn't keep up with demand.

Mellie's appearances hyped interest in the book. And she was starting to get coverage on the “stepmother” issue.

Everything she had wanted, and more. He was so thrilled for her.

And he missed her. He missed her a lot. When she got back, he would start to court her.

He'd already read a few books on how to do it.

He was multi-tasking, trying to watch a series of interviews Mellie had done over the weekend on the computer, and keeping an eye on the entrance. He had three employees scattered around the place, moving books, changing displays, and manning the upstairs information/check-out counter.

Charming had designed the front of the store so that lots of sunlight poured into the entryway. Most bookstores didn't let in much light, afraid it would damage the books. But he had his staff rotate the books daily, so no book got too much sun exposure.

He loved the way the sun fell on the carpet, the warmth it added to the cavernous room, the way it glinted off the book covers. In addition to listening to Mellie—she had done a series of radio interviews that morning, and he was listening to each one, in order—he was also going through book catalogs, placing his orders for the following week.

He often forgot what he was trying to do, because his eye kept wandering to Mellie's face, animated on the blog that the publishing company had started for her. She talked, without sound, in the small upper right hand corner of the screen. If he clicked on her image, he got a choice of videos from the tour so far, some from interviews she had done for television, some from readings she had done at various bookstores (she was good—quite professional and theatrical, making the book sound better than he thought it was).

Her initial interviews were shaky, but that's why the publicist started her in the Midwest (which New York considered flyover country—even though it was really fly-to country, considering how many hubs were there [not to mention how many people]), but she had been getting progressively better, and her appearances in Philadelphia this past weekend looked stunning.

The publicist was doing a great job running the blog. Charming was trying to keep up with all that Mellie was doing, not because he cared so much about the book (although he did, he really did, he just tried to pretend that he didn't) but because he cared about her.

She looked lovely at all the appearances and not a bit tired, and she rarely repeated herself. She had even had the grace to look surprised and grateful when one of the morning show people mentioned that they'd read the book “cover to cover” and “enjoyed every bit of it.”

He'd been surprised too. So many interviewers never read the books, only the promotional material.

He was about to click to a new interview when the entrance pinged.

From the second floor, one of his employees looked over the rail, clearly making sure Charming was still at the front desk.

He smiled an I-got-it smile at the employee, then looked for the customer. It took him a moment to see her, bathed as she was in that bright sunlight. When he did see her, his heart stopped for a brief, horrifying instance.

Ella.

He hit pause on the interview with Mellie, then slept that computer screen. He would need all of his abilities to talk with his ex-wife.

She didn't look out of place in this part of the Greater World, even though he had never seen her in the Greater World before.

She had once professed a hatred of it.

Apparently that went away.

She was too thin, much too thin, like so many rich, middle-aged women in Hollywood. She was almost skeletal. She wore black Capri pants, black flats with no socks, and a black mesh top over a rose-colored T-shirt. Her blond hair was pulled back away from her face, which seemed as skeletal as the rest of her, or maybe more skeletal. And shiny, the way that a person's face got when they'd had too much plastic surgery.

She hadn't had any—he could see some frown lines near her still-beautiful blue eyes—but she was wearing too much make-up, which was probably why her skin had that shiny look.

“Ella,” he said, trying to keep his tone neutral. But all he succeeded in doing was sounding flat. His heart was pounding. What was she doing here, in the Greater World? Why hadn't she contacted him? Had she already tried to see the girls?

“So this is your castle,” she said as she walked to the front desk. “How… pedestrian of you.”

He smiled reflexively, not willing to let her know how much her very presence had upset him. “To what do I owe this pleasure? It can't be because you want a book.”

The dig slipped out before he could stop it, but she didn't even seem to notice.

“I do want a book,” she said. “And I even decided to buy it from you.”

She paused while he took in that information. Ella wanted a book? Something really
had
shifted.

“I figured I'd get the book here because I did want to see what's been taking all of your time,” Ella said. “The girls told me this is your pride and joy.”

He jolted at the mention of the girls, until he remembered that they called her every Sunday, whether she wanted them to or not.

“They like it here too,” he said.

“They've told me.” She rolled her eyes. “You're turning them into creatures I don't even recognize.”

He didn't say
good
, although he wanted to.

“Your father certainly wouldn't approve,” she added.

“And that would be unusual how?” he asked.

She smiled. Her smile was still lovely, giving an echo of the beauty she had once been. He realized suddenly, with great surprise, that Ella was younger than Mellie and looked much older. He wasn't quite sure what had caused that—except that his ex-wife was clearly an unhappy woman.

“Your father does care about what you do,” she said.

“I know,” Charming said dryly. “He's terrified I'll continue to embarrass him.”

Ella walked up to the desk, and rested her arms on it. They were sun-browned, and too-thin. She held some parchment in her right hand.

“What are you doing here, really, Ella?” he asked.

She slid the parchment at him, but kept one hand over it, so that he couldn't read it. “Tell me, Charming,” she said in her softest voice. “Are the rumors true? Are you dating one of the stepmothers?”

He could answer that honestly. “I'm not dating anyone.”

“Yet the girls say you've been seeing a lot of—what's her name? Mellie? Snow's stepmother.”

“We're friends,” he said, wishing he could tell the girls not to talk about his personal life. But he didn't want to get between them and their mother. The phone calls were all they had now. “Why?”

Ella shrugged. “Just curious. I'd been hearing the strangest rumors.”

“From the girls?” he asked.

Ella didn't answer directly, which was another of her maddening habits. “She's written a book, hasn't she? This stepmother of yours.”

“She's not my stepmother,” he said, disliking the implication. Ella made it sound like Mellie was older than he was. She wasn't.

“There's a copy of Mellie's book right near the desk,” Charming said. “You can buy it if you like.”

“You're not going to comp me a copy?” she asked.

“Ella, you aren't going to read it. We both know that.”

“It's a gift,” she said. “For a friend.”

He almost said,
You have friends
? but thought the better of that too. “Just put it on the desk and I'll ring it up. You want anything else?”

“From here? Are you kidding?” Ella asked. “I don't see why anyone would waste their time or their money in this place.”

The words were designed to make him angry, and they worked. But he wasn't going to let that anger out. He told her the price of the book, and she paid him with cash, which surprised him.

Then she took her hand off the parchment. “I want you to sign this.”

His breath caught. Now what was she trying to do? Steal the girls back? They had just calmed down and settled in. He wasn't about to give this woman his daughters again.

He took the document. It was one page, handwritten in the lovely calligraphic style of the courts in his Kingdom, and as he read, his heart sank.

“You're giving up all rights to the girls?” he asked, looking at her. It would break their hearts. “Why?”

But he knew why. There had to be a man involved. A man and money and prestige.

“You're doing such a fine job with them,” Ella said. “You're a much better parent than I could ever be.”

“But you're disowning them, Ella,” he said. “That's just wrong. That'll destroy them.”

She frowned at him. “It will not. Children are resilient. Tell them what you want. It really doesn't matter to me.”

“All you're doing is talking to them on the phone once a week,” he said. “That can hardly be a strain.”

“It promotes a tie that we don't have,” she said. “I think it's better to have a clean break, don't you?”

“No,” he said. His heart ached. How did he fall for this woman? She was everything the fairy tale said she wasn't—self-involved, self-centered, self-important. And she couldn't feel love. That had surprised him when he married her, although the court wisewoman had an explanation.

A child raised without love
, she said,
often cannot learn how to give it
.

“They're your daughters,” Charming said. And then his trump card: “They love you.”

Ella nodded. “I know,” she said, as if love were an expected thing, even after the way she had treated them. “But this is better.”

“For whom, Ella?” he asked.

“For all of us,” she said.

He shoved the parchment back to her. “I'm not signing this thing.”

“You don't want them to be yours one hundred percent?” she asked.

“They
are
mine one hundred percent,” he said. “I have sole custody. You have the right to talk to them once a week. That's good enough.”

“I don't want to be tied down,” she said, her voice rising in a whine. “Don't you understand?”

“And a single call to the phone you carry with you is tied down?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

He shook his head. “Who is he?” he asked.

“Who is who?” she asked.

“It's a man, right?” he asked. “You're giving up your daughters for a man.”

“No,” she said in that tone she used when she was lying. “I am not giving up my daughters at anyone's request except yours.”

“I never asked you to give them up,” Charming said. “I just wanted to raise them.”

Then he looked at the document again, and read it very carefully. She wasn't disowning the girls. She was annulling them. It negated not just Ella's custodial rights and her parental rights, but the motherhood itself. As if it had never happened.

He felt chilled. Kingdom court documents could be very dangerous. They actually had a bit of magic. If he signed this, there was a good possibility his daughters would cease to exist, because Ella would no longer be a mother.

He took the document back. He wanted to tear it up, but he couldn't even do that, not without taking a large risk. He had to consult someone magical, someone who knew what kind of magic this document held.

“What happens if I don't sign this?” he asked.

“You have to,” she said and sounded a bit desperate.

“Or…?”

She shook her head.

He ran a finger along the document, then touched the edges of the letters. Secondary writing appeared—the spell itself—and an expiration date. If the magic was not used within twenty-four hours of the creation of the document, the words would vanish.

He gave her a measured look.

“I'll read this over, let my lawyer look at it, and talk to you about it next week,” he said.

“No,” she said. “Now.”

“I don't make any decisions about our girls rashly,” he said. “I'll call you when I've made my decision.”

“I'm leaving the Greater World in an hour,” she said. “I'll need it then.”

“No,” he said.

“Then give it back.” She reached for it.

“No,” he said.

She stamped her small foot. His daughters hadn't done that since they were little, but his ex-wife seemed to do it all the time.

“You're going to ruin everything,” she snapped.

“I just want time to consider this,” he said in his most reasonable tone.

“You know that it won't work if you wait. You know it. I want you to sign it now.”

“And I want you to be a better person,” he said softly. “Neither of us will ever get what we want.”

“I hate you, you know that?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said softly. Those words no longer had the power to hurt him. “I do know that.”

“I'm not calling those girls ever again,” she said. “I am disowning them, with or without that document.”

“Fine,” he said.

“You're a cold-hearted bastard,” she said.

“I'm not the one abandoning my children,” he said.

She glared at him. Then she started to stomp out of the store.

“You forgot your book,” he said as a parting shot.

To his surprise, she stomped back in and grabbed it. “It's not my book,” she said as if that made it better.