Page 235 of Naughty Nelle

The game is simple and actually fun to play. Way more fun than Grimm’s stupid tree-hugging game. We take turns hiding. The best part is finding the other person, which always results in an explosion of laughter.

It’s Calla’s turn to hide again, and my turn to find her. Slowly, I count to ten. “Ready-or-not-here-I-come,” I yell.

Finding Calla hasn’t been that difficult, but this time there’s no trace of her. I call out her name, wanting to know if I’m getting warmer or colder. No response. I’m getting worried. It’s nearing dinnertime. Marcella will go off the deep end if I’m not back in time to supervise the cooks and lay out her evening wear. Where can Calla be?

I make my way closer to the lake, looking behind every mossy tree trunk and up at every leafy limb. Calla, where are you? This game is so not fun anymore. As my worry turns to anger, a cry makes my heart jump—Calla!

“Help! Help!” she keeps shouting. Where on earth is she? I frantically turn my head in every direction. Finally, I find her. Oh my God! She’s in the middle of the lake, flailing her arms. She’s drowning! I sprint to the water, dive in, and swim at breakneck speed.

She sees me and desperately calls out my name.

“Hang on, Calla!” I shout out to her. An image of my floating puppy flashes into my head. I swim faster, my arms and legs pumping as hard as my heart.

She is finally within arm’s length. Blue in the face, she’s gasping for breath.

“Hold on to me!” I tell her, reaching out my hand. Her icy, little fingers grasp mine, and I breathe a deep sigh of relief.

Towing her back to shore is much more difficult than I anticipated. Her added weight (though she’s a mere waif) slows me down, and the current is strong and moving against me. My lungs are burning and so are my limbs. Each stroke I fear will be my last.

The current grows so strong we start drifting backward. Calla clings to me as I battle to stay afloat. Suddenly, something beneath the water tugs at my body. I kick my legs furiously but can’t break free. Panic grips me. It must be a water serpent!

My life is passing before me. I can already see the Fairytale Tattler headline: “Evil Sea Monster Devours Rehab Queen and Princess Fartsalot!” Wait! What am I thinking? I’m not going to see this headline; I’m going to be dead!

With a forceful splash, the serpent’s head bolts from the water. Its eyes meet mine. I gasp. It’s not a monster. It’s The Prince!

“Papa!” exclaims Calla.

Shit! I’m in such deep water—and I don’t mean the lake. The Prince will have my head! A sea monster might as well have eaten me alive. My life is over any way you look at it.

Wrapping a strapping arm around the two of us, The Prince combats the fierce current and pulls us back to shore.

“Papa, that was such a fun ride!” beams Calla as if nearly drowning was a carnival attraction.

The Prince hugs her. “My Little Princess, thank goodness you are alright.”

The look in his eyes is intense, loving, and all-encompassing. I look on with envy and sadness, never having known that gaze myself. From a mother or a father.

His turns toward me, his expression drastically changed. His chiseled jaw is tight, and his piercing blue eyes are shooting daggers my way.

He is beyond furious. How could I have let Calla go into the lake? Didn’t I know the child couldn’t swim? How could I be so irresponsible? So stupid? Every word is a stab wound.

Calla cuts him short. She recounts her adventure. Vividly with no detail spared. In full drama queen mode.

“…And so, Papa, I tripped on a rock and fell into the water, and if Jane hadn’t found me and jumped in—with her clothes on and everything!—I would have been a drowned rat. Well, not really a rat. But you know what I mean.”

The Prince’s face softens until any trace of anger is gone. “Jane, I am beholden to you for saving my daughter’s life,” he says with sincerity. “I lost her mother; I cannot lose her.”

“Forget it,” I say, unable to meet his gaze.

My eyes shift to Calla, who is back to being her free-spirited, inquisitive self, searching for bugs amongst the rocks that dot the shoreline. The sun plays its own game of hide-and-seek, disappearing behind a cloud. Cold and soaked, I hug myself to keep warm. Oh no! I’m missing Shrink’s mirrored locket. It must have fallen off in the lake!

A wave of despair washes over me, and then Calla runs up to me. “Look what I found!” She unfolds her small hand.

My locket! A smile of relief spreads across my face.

“Thanks,” I say, resisting the urge to hug her. I slip the necklace over my head.

“Jane, you are shivering,” observes The Prince. He gently drapes the jacket he left on shore over my shoulders. The soft, rich royal blue velvet warms me.

My eyes survey his bare, toned, golden-haired chest and matching arms and make their way to his regal face. His nose is straight, his jaw strong and angular, and his lips, lush and full. And then…those eyes. Those gemstone eyes. He catches me staring at him and meets my gaze.

“Thank you, My Lord,” I stammer, taken aback by his unexpected kindness. And manliness.

“Jane, please call me Gallant; I insist.”

Fine. I’ve got to get used to saying his pompous name.

As the sun emerges from its hiding place, we head back to the castle on Gallant’s white stallion. Calla is tucked snugly into her father, loving every minute of the ride; I’m behind him, my arms locked around his strong, rippled body. His damp hair, loose and wild, glistens in my face. A sudden gust of wind reminds me that I’m heading into a storm. The Wrath of Marcella.

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