Page 246 of Naughty Nelle

“Please share some wine with me,” he says.

“I have to clear the dishes,” I reply, slightly taken aback. Seriously, I wish he’d go upstairs. I want to get going on my kickass toss-and-clean plan.

“There is no need,” says The Prince, already pouring two goblets of the red wine. “The cook and his staff shall be here in the morning. Trust me, they must have had another spat with Marcella. They always quit and come back the next day.”

Holding the wine, The Prince escorts me through double doors that open to a small but beautiful garden. It’s filled with hundreds of lilies and roses, in varying shades of white. Fireflies, a holdover from the summer, dance around the blooms like sprinkles of fairy dust. The Prince leads me to a stone bench, where we sit and sip the wine.

I inhale the sweet scent of the flowers and the fresh night air. The wine, the first I’ve had in ages, is soothing and as smooth as velvet. It goes down easily (perhaps too easily) and makes me relaxed.

“What a lovely garden,” I say. On second thought, maybe I should have said, “What lovely wine.” I’m not thinking one hundred percent straight.

The Prince’s expression turns wistful as he refills my goblet. “My late wife designed this garden herself. Lilies and roses were her favorite flowers. She named our daughter, Calla Rose, after them. After she died, I scattered her ashes here.”

Eww! I’ve been walking on the remains of some dead person. I want to dust off my shoes. “How long has it been?” I ask, careful not to show my disgust.

“A little over five years.” There’s sadness in his voice.

The power of the wine enables me to prod further. “How did she die?”

“A snake bit her. Right here in this garden.”

I nervously survey the grounds to make sure no snakes are nearby. Phew! Not one in sight.

The Prince pauses; his eyes grow hooded. “I could not save her,” he says at last.

Not knowing quite how to respond, I ask, “Does Calla remember her?”

He sighs. “No. She was too young.”

“Perhaps, it’s for the best.”

The Prince creases his brows. “What makes you say that?”

Because my mother was a witch! She used and abused me. I wish I could erase every memory of her! I wish she never existed!That’s what I want to say, but instead I settle for some clichéd comfort.

“It’ll be easier for her to move on. To accept a new mother.”

“I hope you are right.” He sips his wine. “She is having difficulty warming up to Marcella.”

Marcella. The mere mention of her name makes my stomach churn. Maybe, now’s a good time to tell him how Calla really feels about her prospective new mother.

“She’ll adjust,” I say instead. “She’s an amazing girl.”

“She is indeed. I cannot thank you enough for saving her life today.”

A smile flashes across The Prince’s face. Dimpled like Calla’s, it’s dazzling. I can’t get my eyes off him.

He plucks a perfectly formed lily from the earth. “This is for you.”

I hold the flower to my nose and inhale its intoxicating scent. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I gaze up at The Prince’s chiseled face, but words get stuck in my throat. I can’t even squeak out a simple “Thank you.” My head is swirling, and little explosions rock my body inside. It’s got be the wine. It’s got to be!

“My daughter seems to have a special affection toward you,” says The Prince. “Perhaps, you can help me out with something.”

Anything you want. Anything, Gallant! My Lord! My Master!What is wrong with me?

“Calla’s seventh birthday is in three days. I would like to throw her a surprise party. Originally, I asked Marcella to plan the event, but with all the arrangements for the ball, she has had no time to handle it. So, I am hoping you will take over.”

I feel like I’ve been hit over the head by a brick. A birthday party!? He wants me to put together a birthday party? Does he have any idea of how big my workload is? And he actually thinks Marcella is handling the details of the ball? Between ball preparations and Marcella’s other ridiculous requests, I barely have time to breathe. Or pee.

“No problem.” I must be out of my mind.

I chug the rest of my wine. On second thought: When life gives you apples, dip them in poison. All of them!

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