“Prince magic?” Preston says, trying once again to salvage things.
Thea looks unimpressed, but Rosie seems to consider this. Until about two seconds later when she forgets and dances around. “I want to see the fairy godmother!” she says excitedly, tugging on my hand.
“Me too!” I say, picking her up and balancing her on my hip—something that’s becoming less easy as she gets bigger, but I’m not willing to give up yet. She giggles.
“Then I will bid you farewell for now, ladies,” Preston says, really leaning into the prince shtick. He takes my free hand and kisses the back of it like he did the first night. His lips linger a little longer than before, which makes that bit of guilt flare up.
I noticeThea giving a very pointed look to someone behind me, and I don’t have to guess who it is. I give Preston a small smile and extricate my hand to grabThea’s. “Yes, um . . . farewell.To you, um, lord. Or Your Highness? Right. Your Highness.”
Wow, I suck at this. Especially when my brain is fully engaged imagining what it would be like for Nate to press his lips to the back of my hand. Or other places.
Thankfully, Bartholomew leads us out to a waiting carriage.
Both girls gasp. And oh my god, I have to force myself not to look back at Nate, remembering that time we spent in a carriage. My cheeks are burning—and a few other parts of me too.
This carriage is only big enough for me, the girls, a lone cameraman, and the interpreter, so Nate doesn’t ride with us. Which helps as I try to smother all the inappropriate thoughts while interacting with my daughters.
We ride through the streets of downtown Füssen, cars zipping past us, and I have to clutch Rosie tight to keep her from leaping out the window at every exciting sight (and pigeon). It’s not too long, though, before the carriage rolls to a stop in front of what looks like a high-end boutique—no old-world cobblestones or medieval-looking signs here.There’s a slender, middle-aged woman standing on the steps in front of the boutique. She’s severe-looking, with cheekbones so sharp they could classify as deadly weapons, and she’s wearing a crisp, dark business suit. She’s the type of woman that I feel immediately intimidated by, who looks like she could run a Fortune 500 company in her sleep.
Except there’s one thing taking that down a notch—she’s also wearing big, pink fairy wings.
Rosie shrieks happily, andThea gapes.They both practically haul me out of the carriage and down the steps.
“Well, hello, my fairy apprentices,” the woman says somberly, with a strong German accent. “And princess-to-be. I am Katrin, your fairy godmother. Welcome to my shop.” Her hands are clasped tightly in front of her, the look on her face like she’s about to work my kids to the bone in the fairy sweat shop.
Rosie doesn’t seem to mind, clearly enchanted by the whole concept.Thea squeezes my hand so tightly my fingers hurt.
“But first,” the woman continues, “you must become fairies yourselves.” She snaps her fingers and two shop associates scurry out from the store bearing smaller versions of her own wings and also little sparkly wands.The girls put their arms through the wing straps and take their wands. Rosie looks so overcome with joy that for once in her life, she’s speechless. “And now the magic begins,” the woman says loudly, and suddenly she grins, her whole face instantly transformed into humor and happiness.The shop associates toss up handfuls of colorful confetti—not glitter, thank god—and both girls squeal in joy. EvenThea, who then looks embarrassed about it.
We’re ushered inside, where there are cameramen already waiting to film us enter the shop. Glittering dresses are spaced on mannequins throughout the brightly-lit, modern shop. Jewelry shimmers from cases. My eyes widen.Thea’s eyes widen. Rosie dances and waves her wand around and runs from dress to dress.
“Don’t touch anything!” I say, afraid she’s going to knock over some multi-thousand-dollar gown, but Rosie just appears to be pointing her wand at each one in turn and saying “I make you! And I make you! And I make you!”
Katrin laughs, unconcerned about the potential destructive power of my five-year-old. “These are all beautiful gowns, yes? But . . .” She leans in close toThea, lowering her voice like she’s telling a secret, which is so nice—she’s treatingThea like she would any other child, even though it’s clear she’s deaf, because the interpreter walks next to her, signing everything. “I have a very special gown for your mother. Would you like to see it?”
Thea nods eagerly, her eyes lit up every bit as much as Rosie’s.
Katrin snaps her fingers again, and her shop associates emerge from the back, holding up a dress.
The most beautiful dress I have ever seen. It’s got a full skirt and a tight, sleeveless bodice.The fabric is done to look like stained glass windows, the kind you might see in some gorgeous medieval cathedral, each pane outlined in black glittering beads.
It’s so beautiful it steals my breath. Is this really the gown I’m going to be wearing today?There’s no way they’ll let me keep something like this, but to even wear it . . .
To wear it in front of Nate. Who probably didn’t choose the actual dress? But who is very, very likely behind the planning of this date in general, considering how perfectly every detail has been arranged.
I focus back on Katrin and my girls and the most beautiful gown in the world. Which, I am told, I will not be allowed to wear until I have had my makeup and hair done. With fairy apprentice assistance, of course.The girls are thrilled, and I am, too. Even if I have been the recipient many times of my girls doing my makeup and hair, and it’s not exactly the most flattering look.
Katrin introduces us to “the makeup fairy” and “the hair fairy”—professionals who can probably improve whatever disaster my kids want to create on my face (excepting glitter, of course, which takes actual magic to remove.)
I’m taken back to where a makeshift salon has been created, and the beautifying begins.The girls are given things they can do, and evenThea, who doesn’t actually believe these ladies are the fairies of anything, is in heaven. She carefully applies my eyeshadow under the makeup fairy’s instruction, then pretends with Rosie to fly around the room when they get bored watching my hair get curled into loose waves that fall over my shoulder.
At one point, they beg Nate to join them in their flying, and for a few minutes he does, laughing along with them. My heart turns to jelly like my knees did earlier.
I need to talk to him. I have to. It’s so hard to talk without being caught on camera, even in the halls at the hotel—
But I still know where his room is. If I snuck out tonight, could I knock on his door and see him? My whole body heats up, thinking of being with Nate in his hotel room.Telling him I have feelings for him. Asking if he feels the same.
It would be a huge risk. With my own heart, certainly—the thought of him rejecting me, of the pity on his face while he tries to do it gently . . . It terrifies me. But more importantly, I’d be risking Nate’s job. Would he even let me into his room? Would he be angry with me for seeking him out?
