Page 232 of Naughty Nelle

This is the best news I’ve heard since I’ve been here. I’ll be free of her tonight! Hastily, I arrange her gowns and shoes. Every gown is a version of the one she’s wearing—shiny, slinky, low-cut. And there’s a pair of shoes to match each one. I want to burn them all.

Twenty minutes or so later, I hear the door unlock. Marcella struts in and scrutinizes the closet. Silence. “What did you pick out for me to wear tonight?” she says at last.

Rage is bubbling inside me. Randomly, I grab a purple gown that resembles the one she’s wearing, except for the feather detail on the bottom.

She rips it off the hanger and tosses it in the direction of her bed. She misses. One more thing for me to pick up.

I’m beyond exhausted, but there’s no rest for the weary. Marcella orders me to clean her powder room.

Another major disaster area. Scattered all over the pink marble counters are open tubes of lipsticks, powders, and other beauty essentials. Dirty towels are crumpled on the tiled floor, and both the massive tub and sink are lined with green rings. It’s in a word: revolting.

“When did your last assistant quit?” I venture.

Marcella fires a scathing look at me. “Your orders are to speak only when spoken to.” She huffs. “Well, if you really must know, yesterday.”

Only yesterday?I don’t visibly react, but inside I’m registering shock. She’s capable of this much damage in only twenty-four hours?

“Make it snappy.” She grabs a red lipstick and storms out.

Battling fatigue, I file all her makeup in a cabinet above the sink. There’s another, floor-to-ceiling cabinet against the wall behind me, but it’s sealed with a padlock. I wonder what she keeps inside it. I’m probably better off not knowing. Just more work.

Getting down on my knees, I scrub the grungy tub with a filthy, smelly sponge that’s lying inside it—a welcoming present from Marcella’s previous assistant. Memories of my mother-the-slave-driver flood my head. I got down on my hands and knees so many times they were permanently bruised. Trying to wash away the memories, I scrub harder until my knuckles are red and raw. Finally, I conquer the green grime—and just in time. Marcella reappears and inspects the bathroom. I hold my breath. To my relief, she nods approvingly.

I’ll live without a thank you. I’m done for the day. I dismiss myself, telling her that I want to get to work on her To-Do List. Honest truth, I want to find a place to collapse. Somewhere. Anywhere. Far away from her.

The PIW beats me to the doorway and blocks it with outstretched arms. A patronizing smirk crosses her lips. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”

What could I have possibly forgotten? I’ve done everything asked of me. Okay. So, I cheated on the magazines, but I’ve got to restack them anyway.

She sneers. “I expect a curtsey every time you see or leave me.”

What! She’s not even a princess yet. She should be curtseying to me! I am still, after all, a queen!

Gritting my teeth, I force myself to curtsey. Marcella moves to the side and shoes me away with a dismissive wave of her hand.

I’ve had it. I hate this job. And I hate Marcella. I want to poison her. So much for fairy-tale rehab.

Thank goodness, I managed to get Marcella dressed for her soirée and out the door with The Prince. I’m able, at last, to retreat to my chamber. It’s small but cheerful. There’s a single bed with plump pillows and a thick flowery duvet, a nightstand, and a dresser. But no mirror. I’m sure Shrink’s doing.

I set Elz’s “Best Friends Forever” card on the nightstand, sink into the bed, then blow out the candles. After all of Marcella’s abuse, I’m craving a good night’s sleep. The comforter envelops me, soothing my tired, aching body. I haven’t slept in such a comfy bed in years.

I close my eyes, but can’t fall asleep. Indignation is raging inside me. After all I went through, the nerve of Faraway to place me with an idle, stiff-lipped prince, a pesky, know-it-all child, and that lazy, self-centered PIW. I have no idea what any of this has to do with finding the true meaning of beauty. Or what “interpersonal skills” this so-called apprenticeship is testing except my willpower not to kill someone. It’s just another one of their tricks. To make me suffer. Poor Elz and Winnie. I bet they’re miserable wherever they are too.

This time, I’m not going to let that waste-of-time rehab center get away with it. First thing in the morning, I’m going write Shrink a letter demanding to stay in my castle until she finds a new position worthy of me. Like being an assistant life coach. I would be good at that! Even enjoy it!

That’s fair. And truthfully, it’ll do me good to be home. I’m sure my magic mirror’s still there. Pining for me. We’ll rebuild our relationship after I lay down the rules. Keep it short; keep it simple; and just tell me what I want to hear. But wait! What if my smart-ass looking glass talks back and tells me Snow White’s still Fairest of All?

A loud knock-knock-knock at the door stops me in my thoughts. Dragonballs! It must be Marcella. Now, what does she want me to do?

Lighting a candle, I stumble out of bed and unbolt the door. A petite, golden-capped figure looks up at me. It’s Calla.

“I’m scared of the dark.” Her big brown eyes are begging me to let her in. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

I’m taken aback. “Why don’t you bother Marcella?”

“Because Marcella wears earplugs and never hears me knocking.” She pauses. “And besides, I don’t want to sleep with her.”

“Fine.” I’m too tired to argue.

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