Page 284 of Naughty Nelle

Calla skips down the staircase and breaks our tense silence. Clutching Lady Jane in one hand, she runs over to her father to give him a hug. Her beauty has no equal. In fact, she’s more beautiful than ever, in the gown Gallant bought her—a white lacy confection that’s accented with a yellow satin sash. The sash matches her golden curls, that are held back by her ever-present red velvet bow…the bow that once must have belonged to Snow White. How much she resembles her mother, with her flawless alabaster skin, rosebud lips, and twinkling chocolate eyes. An insufferable pang of guilt stabs me. How could I have…?

“Jane, why aren’t you dressed for the ball?” asks Calla.

Caught off guard, I falter for an excuse.

“Big parties are not my thing.” That sounded stupid.

“But you came to my birthday party!” She’s got me.

“I don’t really know how to dance.” That sounds better though not true.

“I can teach you!” She’s got me again.

“I have nothing to wear.” Well, that’s the honest truth.

“You can borrow something from Marcella.” She’s got a point.

“I don’t think she’d like that,” I stammer. Truthfully, I can’t imagine myself in any of Marcella’s sleazy gowns. Except for The Emperor’s magnificent creation with a few major alterations.

Aware she’s getting nowhere with me, Calla turns to her father and implores him to make me go the ball. I wonder if she knows that it’s more than a ball. That tonight she’s getting a new mother. Marcella!

Gallant’s face lights up. “Jane, it would be an honor to have you as my guest.”

My gaze meets his. I’m burning up with desire. Even my conscience can’t quell the flames.

“Thank you, My Lord,” I say, holding back tears and my body. “But honestly, I don’t want to go.” Liar! “Plus, I can use the night off to catch up on some of Marcella’s chores.”

“Did I just hear my name?” comes a coy voice from the staircase.

Marcella! She slithers down the steps, the long train of her gown trailing behind her.

“My love, do you like it?” she asks, stopping to pose in front of her husband-to-be.

Color drains from Gallant’s face, and his eyes morph into sharp blue daggers. I’ve never seen him like this before. Can her spell possibly be over?

“Where did you get that?” he demands, his voice powered by anger.

“At The Ballgown Emporium. It’s an Emperor Armando original.”

“No, that!” He points to the long red velvet cloak that she’s added to her ensemble. I recognize it immediately and shudder.

“Oh, I borrowed it from your closet. It goes so well with my outfit. Don’t you agree, my love?”

“Take that off. NOW!” Each word is a sharp staccato. “That cloak belonged to Snow White!”

“Whatever,” says Marcella, not the least bit miffed. She unhooks the fastening and lets the cloak slide off her.

The Prince catches it before it falls to the floor. Cradling it in his arms, he lowers his lips to it. My body goes numb. This time his kiss will not magically bring back Snow White from the dead.

Gallant turns to me. Guilt and shame consume me. I can’t look at him.

“Jane, please put this cloak back where it belongs after we leave,” he says stiffly.

“Yes, My Lord.” I cannot tell him how much I dread touching it.

As he hands me the cloak, our fingers interlock over the blood-red velvet. His heat courses through my veins, searing every part of me. I try to pull my hand away, but he won’t let it go.

“Jane, please come to the ball,” begs Calla again, this time clasping her little hands in prayer. “Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

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