Ever After (Unfinished Fairy Tales #3)(4)

Henry starts to shake his head, but a withering stare silences him. “Please do this for me.”





3





Kat





“No. Freakin’. Way.”

I laugh—a hollow, mirthless sound. “I knew you’d say that. If our roles were reversed, and you told me that you traveled to a book, well, I wouldn’t believe you either.”

“I need a second.” Paige paces across the floor for a moment, then turns to me. “Okay. Let me ask you again: where have you been these eight months?”

“In Athelia, a country where the book The Ugly Stepsister is set in. I was married to Edward, the prince of Athelia. I carry the title of Her Royal Highness Princess Katriona.” Since I’ve said it, I might as well roll with it. “I can do a slow waltz, a quadrille, a polka dance. I can show you how to flirt with a fan in fifty different ways. I can tell you the proper ranking of a duke, marquess, and earl. Anything that an old-fashioned noble lady needs to know? Been there, done that.”

I finish with a regal wave of my hand, the kind I’m taught to use when greeting a subject.

Paige stares at me, her mouth wide open. “Where did you learn that?”

“What do think I’ve been trying to tell you?”

The door opens and Mom enters the room, carrying several shopping bags. She and Paige had a tacit agreement: one goes out for errands, and the other stays with me. Poor, fragile Kat must not be left alone. Well, if Krev were to suddenly materialize and spirit me away to Athelia, there’s nothing they can do to prevent him. A pang pierces me when I think of Athelia and how Edward must be feeling now. He doesn’t have the luxury of escaping to a remote little town; he has to put on his smiling mask and pretend Katriona is me. God, I wish there’s a way to spare him the pain.

“Girls.” Mom lifts one of the bags. “Guess what I got for you today?”

“Mom, we’re not five-year-olds anymore,” Paige says, but she’s smiling all the same. “What did you get?”

“Well, it’s too cold for salsa, but I got some scrumptious smoked ham at a local butcher. Kat, what do you say to a ham-and-cheese sandwich?”

Her words send another pang, like an arrow, straight to my heart. Mom looks nothing like Edward, but the way she says it, with tender, loving care in her voice, is just like the way Edward asked me on our wedding night. I feel like crying.

“Kat?” Mom closes the door and approaches me. “Are you all right? We can make something different if you prefer...tortilla soup, maybe? Or chicken quesadillas, you used to love those.”

The first thing I think of is to say no, there’s nothing wrong with me, when on second thought, I don’t want to be reminded of Edward.

“I’d love a quesadilla,” I say. “Thanks, Mom.”



* * *



Another week passes by uneventfully.

It has been three weeks since my return to America. I’m fully recovered—I can breathe freely, walk around, and basically function like any healthy person. Nothing is wrong with my body, but I miss Edward terribly. I am trying my best to get back to my normal self, but I’ve never been good at acting. Mom is worried about me and even suggested that I see a psychiatrist, but I refuse point-blank. A shrink isn’t going to conjure Edward up in our world. Every time Ryan calls Mom, I would be reminded of Edward. Or when Paige’s boyfriend calls her, I wish Edward is by my side. But it’s no use. No one here in my world will ever measure up to him. No one can ever replace him. All I can do is wait for the pain to gradually abate, and find something to do with my life. Love will never come to me; all my capacity to love has been given to my husband.

Paige hasn’t mentioned Athelia or Edward, though I strongly suspect she’s been Googling whatever she could find about him. I don’t feel like bringing it up myself, since the last time I told her I was a princess, it didn’t go well.

The doorbell rings. “I’ll get it,” Mom says, even though I’m in the living room and sitting closer to the entrance. I might be depressed, but I’m not an invalid. So I jump up and open the door, expecting a neighbor (please don’t let it be a reporter), but it’s the mailman.

“I’ve got a package for Ms. Katherine Wilson,” he says. It takes one second to process that my name is Katherine Wilson, not Katriona Bradshaw. I’ve grown so used to being called Katriona Bradshaw.

“That’s me.” I sign the delivery slip and take the package. “Thanks.”

“What is it?” Mom is by my side in an instant.

“Did you order something online?” Paige asks.

I haven’t even touched my purse, much less using my credit card. I read the mailing address and frown. “It’s from Jason.”

Mom’s face clouds over. “You don’t need to have anything to do with him if you don’t want to.”

“Mom. How many times do I have to tell you that Jason has nothing to do with my disappearance?”

“Honey, you broke up with him. Isn’t it something he did that made you dump him?”

“He didn’t do anything. Really. It’s all me.”

Paige crosses her arms. “Then what’s he doing, sending a package to you?”