"Try pushing your shoulders back more," Jefferson suggested, tenting his fingers. "And lift your chin."
Belle rolled her shoulders twice and stuck her chest out, pressing her book against her abdomen. "Like this?" she asked, sucking in a deep breath.
"Not quite." He wasn't even looking at her as he rose from the plush fireside chair to study the display cases lining the walls of the great hall. He sipped his tea with an ungracious slurp. "But you're, ah, getting better."
Belle snorted. "If that's you feigning nonchalance, you're a worse actor than I am, Jeff."
"Fine," he snapped, spinning on his heel. "I was trying to be kind, but if you're going to take that attitude, I'll give it to you straight: for the love of the gods, Belle, didn't your nurse teach you anything about feminine wiles?"
"She taught me how to read and speak twelve languages," she said tartly. "I was rather busy." Her cheeks warmed with the implication that she was lacking.
Jefferson rolled his eyes. "Nobody likes a know-it-all, love."
"Yes, well nobody likes a giant arse wearing a top hat either, but here you are!" Belle flung her long, chestnut curls over her shoulder, retreating to her chaise by the fire.
She slumped over her book in defeat, more annoyed at herself for her failure than she was with Jefferson. He was only trying to help, but she'd been peevish with him the moment he knocked on the door. She'd told him what happened with Rumple, and now he was brimming with pointers on how she could be more alluring.
Posing felt ridiculous and unnatural, like she was a set of wares on display, instead of a person. She didn't know how to behave like the silly, simpering maidens in the village where she had grown up, pursing their lips and pushing their breasts together to entice and entertain. Content with her books, learning how to apply rouge and tighten her corsets until she couldn't breathe were foolish lessons she had been happy to live without.
Attracting another person had never interested her—until she'd met Rumplestiltskin.
Oh, she knew she was pretty; she'd been told often enough. But beauty wasn't as important to her as brains or bravery. Besides, all the beauty in the world couldn't make up for her clumsiness; Belle had been awkward from the womb. For as long as she could remember, she'd been prone to dropping things, tripping over her own feet, and running into walls.
Since coming to the Dark Castle as Rumplestiltskin's maid, her gracefulness hadn't improved. She'd lost count of the times she'd let the kettle boil dry, over-steeped the tea, or burned the cakes. Last week, she'd dropped a candle on the floor while reading and set fire to the carpet that lined the great hall. The magical tome she'd filched from Rumple's laboratory had narrowly escaped the flames. The priceless heirloom rug from Agrabah, on the other hand, hadn't fared so well. Belle cast a guilty look toward the scorch marks at her feet.
For all his seductive words and smooth ways, her former fiancé Gaston hadn't fooled her. He wanted her purely for her title and fortune—nobody liked a clumsy girl, he had said. When she spilled champagne on herself at their engagement party, he suggested that instead of reading books she balance them on her head. "A man needs a graceful, elegant wife, Belle. We wouldn't want you to trip on your way down the aisle and embarrass yourself."
When compared to a lifetime shackled to Gaston, the decision to be Rumplestiltskin's price for saving her village was an easy one. The Dark One—the most fearsome being in the realm—had never teased her about her awkwardness. Not once had he scolded her for dropping a plate or breaking an expensive artifact. He even insisted on taking his tea out of the teacup she chipped on her first evening of work. Rumple was kind, thoughtful, sensitive. Or he had been, until she had spoiled everything.
"Come now, Belle," Jefferson coaxed, rising from the settee. "I'm sorry. Let's try again. And tug your bodice down…maybe half an inch?"
"No." She tried to focus on her book one more, but tears burned her eyes and the words were a blurry mess. A fat tear dropped onto the page and she rubbed the stain with her finger. "He won't be impressed that I'm prancing around with my breasts on display."
"Balderdash. You haven't seen the way he looks at you when you're not paying attention. It's as though you've hung the moon in the sky."
"Then where is he?" She dabbed at her wet eyes with the starched corner of her apron. "Two days ago he disappeared without a word. No goodbye note, no mention of when he's coming home. Nothing but a crimson poof of smoke!"
Jefferson frowned. "He'll be back…eventually."
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It was her own fault.
She'd driven him away by kissing him in front of the villagers. She had embarrassed him in public, and now he would never forgive her.
All because the townspeople refused to sell their goods to the Dark One's harlot. Bread? No. Fruit? Go to the next shop, Miss. Spices? We're all sold out!
Even the straw Rumple had requested was denied. They took one look at her, and their faces had gone white with fear. They sprinkled holy water, scattered herbs, and shuttered their shops. Every door was barred; every tent flap closed. One man with venomous eyes had even spit at her feet when she'd taken a wrong turn on the long walk back to the castle
Two Days Earlier
"How is it you've returned without any of the supplies?" Rumplestiltskin didn't look up from his spinning wheel when she entered the great hall. "I let you out of the monster's lair to travel to town for some fresh air, to spend time in the company of normal people…is this is how you repay my lenience, Maid?" he asked in a teasing tone.
Belle set down the heavy basket of gold he'd given her to buy goods and dropped her cloak on the back of a chair with a sigh. "I tried to buy everything on the list. They wouldn't help me."
"What do you mean?" He stopped spinning, his amber eyes flaring to a dangerous bright yellow.
She twisted her fingers, hesitating. He'd been in a good mood a moment ago and the last thing she wanted was to anger him. "I'm sure it's nothing. I'll try again tomorrow."
"Out with it!" he ordered, pointing a sharp nail in her direction.
"They think I'm your mistress," she confessed, her cheeks flaming.
"Why…how dare they!" Rumple leapt to his feet, overturning his stool. His teeth were bared in a feral snarl. "I'll turn them all into snails. Every. Last. One."
Belle watched wide-eyed as he waved his hand; his dragon hide cloak materialized between his thumb and forefinger as he stomped toward the door.
"Well?" he barked, swinging the spiked garment over his shoulder. "Come along then. Time to teach some villagers a lesson in manners."
"No! I can't let you do this. Rumple, those people…they were afraid of me. Storming down there won't solve anything." Belle laid her hand on his forearm in an effort to calm him.
"I'll give them something to fear all right," he said, rubbing his fingers together as he often did when he was prepared to cast a spell. "Let's go!"
She donned her cloak and hurried after him, hoping she could stop him before he transformed the entire population into slugs.
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The Present
"Come on, Belle. It's not like you to give up. Let's do this without the book, maybe. And stand…here." Jefferson pointed to a spot in front of the hearth and flexed his fingers, his knuckles cracking.
Belle groaned in complaint but acquiesced, taking her place by the fire. Jefferson stood behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, pressing them down and back. "Relax," he whispered, an edge of mocking in his tone. "Pretend I'm Rumple."
She screwed her eyes shut, trying to imagine the warm body at her back being several inches shorter, wiry, and clad in leather, that the fingers kneading her neck muscles were long, clawed, and sparkling with gorgeous golden flesh. It was a challenge, to say the least. Jefferson wasn't Rumplestiltskin; he was nice enough and they were friends, but having his hands on her felt all wrong. He didn't cause her palms to sweat or set her blood on fire.
A hot tear leaked from her closed eyes, escaping down her cheek. She wanted Rumple, and even standing here with Jefferson touching her felt like a betrayal.
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Rumplestiltskin staggered, clawing against the stone wall for purchase, his breath coming in gasps. Seeing Belle in his oldest friend's embrace made him want to raze a village, cast a curse, smash a castle to smithereens—anything to erase the image of his friend and the woman he loved entwined like lovers.
His eyes narrowed. Perhaps choking the life out of a certain milliner would suffice.
Despair settled in his gut as he watched Belle lean back against Jefferson, the traitor's hands drifting down to frame her hips. Bastard. He would cut off his hands and display them, dripping with blood, on a pedestal in the great hall. He would shred every one of his infernal hats and make him watch…He would rip out his heart and crush it to dust with the heel of his boot. He would…
"Relax, Belle," Jefferson muttered, squeezing her shoulders, and Rumplestiltskin nearly burst into the room like a wounded animal, howling at him to unhand his maid.
But that wasn't an option.
He had to act natural, to pretend their trip to the village hadn't meant anything. None of it mattered. Not the sweet glory of Belle's lips against his, nor the silken feel of her hair against his cheek, nor the comfort of her arms clinging to his worthless neck.
Belle was within her rights to move on, even with his former friend. It wasn't as though many people came to the castle to visit the likes of him; naturally, she was lonely and would seek companionship. That, and he had hidden away from her in his laboratory for two days, terrified to face her after acting like a complete fool.
He'd been through worse, though—recovered from Milah, triumphed over Cora, even survived allowing his only son to slip through a portal. Surely he could bear losing a slip of a girl with bright blue eyes and a dazzling smile. But no one had ever made his heart trip and tumble the way Belle did. His darling, absentminded bookworm who was forever burning dinner and forgetting the tea, who dusted with a cloth in one hand and a book with the other. Belle was the only person who spoke to him like he was a person, like he mattered.
xoxo
It was his own fault.
He had escorted Belle to the village, kissed her, and then fled like a child. He had embarrassed her in public, and now she would never forgive him.
Two Days Earlier
Rumplestiltskin charged out the door and down the mountain in the direction of the village. Belle skipped and sashayed a few steps behind him, struggling to keep up. She tripped over a rock, and he caught her by the wrist before she pitched forward into the dirt.
"Thank you." Belle slid her arm through his, cupping his elbow with the opposite hand.
She beamed at him, and he grunted in reply, his cheeks growing warm under her soft gaze. All he'd done was keep her from falling on her face.
They wound their way along the path to the village at the foot of the Black Mountains against the breeze, the tangy spring air blowing in their faces, arms looped together.
Once they reached the village, he escorted Belle to each shop and stand that had banned her, leveling threatening stares at the shopkeepers. The vendors' hands shook as they served her, their brows damp with sweat, but not one of them rejected his money or refused to sell Belle anything she wanted. They eyed him warily, stammering their thanks each time she handed them a gleaming spool of pure gold.
When the gold was almost gone and the basket filled with food and supplies, Belle grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the bustling bakery. "Mmmm, do you smell that, Rumple? We should buy you some fresh rolls that aren't blackened to a crisp. I'll get better with the oven someday, I promise."
"It's no matter," he assured her. She'd burned the bread every time she made it in the six months since she had come to live with him and it was of no consequence. He craved her company, not her service. "I don't mind crunchy bread."
"Crunchy. Ha! You're kinder to me than I deserve," she said, squeezing his hand.
He arched an eyebrow, thinking of the dungeon he'd cast her into when she'd first come to work for him. "You have a strange definition of kindness, Belle."
"You have a strange definition of servitude," she replied.
The aroma of the fresh loaves was tantalizing, though, and he and Belle purchased several kinds of bread. He smiled as she tried to balance them on top of the basket.
They turned to leave the shop just as a throng of children came running into the bakery, bouncing toward the display case like a litter of spring bunnies. A little towheaded girl with pigtails bumped into Belle, and she tumbled sideways, upsetting the contents of her basket. Bread, spices, books, and bolts of fabric went flying, as did Belle.
He caught her in his arms and their gazes locked. Smudges of flour decorated her cheeks, and he wiped them away with the pads of his thumbs. Belle's eyes darkened, pupils blown wide, and Rumplestiltskin shivered. No woman had ever looked at him that way. Her hands slid up his chest and around his neck and she pressed her lips to his with a tiny moan that was his undoing. He crushed her against his chest with a groan and plundered her mouth, his tongue demanding her sweetness.
Through the roar of blood in his ears, he heard a throat clear and he released her mouth, his breath thready.
His lips tingled slightly from where they had been pressed against hers, and his tongue swiped at the lingering taste of her on his bottom lip. She was there, merely inches from his face, ready to be kissed again, and Rumplestiltskin felt the darkness recede in the presence of her light, the love he felt for her piercing through the blackness of his heart.
"Ahem." There was a cough, and Rumplestiltskin turned toward the bakery case. Fifteen pairs of curious eyes were fixed on them, including the baker, and he looked back, his brain a hazy mess of confusion and desire.
"Mama," a little girl whispered, tugging on her mother's skirts. "Why is that monster kissing that lady?"
Belle giggled at the child, but he recoiled at her words, slumping his shoulders and backing away like the coward he was. He had lost control in front of a hoard of villagers, showing himself to be every inch the animal they'd claimed him to be. Horrified, he snapped his fingers and transported himself to his tower, leaving Belle alone in the crowded bakery.
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Present Day
Rumplestiltskin sneered as Jefferson leaned down to whisper into Belle's ear. He had no excuse for his bad behavior, but he was still the Dark One, and he wouldn't play the fool in his own castle. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned in the doorway. The Hatter would pay for this outrage.
"Hello," he said quietly.
"Rumplestiltskin!" Belle stepped away from Jefferson, her eyes alight with an emotion he couldn't quite place. "You're home!"
"Good evening, Belle. Hatter." He grunted at Jefferson's broad back and pushed off the wall with a clenched fist. How dare he be so cavalier? "Belle didn't tell me you were here for a visit."
"I didn't know you were home, or I would have," Belle said evenly. "I…"
Jefferson whirled around to face him, his jaw hard and eyes stormy. "You have a lot of nerve saying 'hello' like nothing happened."
"Jeff," Belle swung pleading eyes in the Hatter's direction. "Don't—"
Rumplestiltskin held up a hand. "Let the ingrate speak, Belle. Do you have something to say to me, Hatter?"
Jefferson's eyes flashed like lightning bolts. "How can you treat Belle so badly? She deserves better."
"You are treading where few who have dared to tread survive." Seething, Rumplestiltskin stalked toward Jefferson, conjuring a fireball in the center of his palm.
"Rumple, stop!" Belle begged. "What are you doing? Jefferson is our friend."
"Friendship is a farce," he said through clenched teeth, holding the fireball aloft.
The Hatter shrugged. "Threatening me with parlour tricks won't change the facts. You don't love Belle."
He lowered his arm and blinked at Jefferson in confusion. Is that what Belle thought? "Who says I don't love her?"
Jefferson eyed him askance. "When a man kisses a woman and disappears for two days, that's the impression he leaves."
So Jefferson knew all about his shameful showing in the village. Once a monster, always a monster, it seemed. And once again he was paying the price. Tears blurred his vision and he hurled the fireball toward the hearth, triggering an explosion of flames and thick black soot.
"Impressive." Jefferson smirked, waving his hand in front of his face as the smoke cleared. "Rumple, there's no need for all this drama. Just be good to her."
"Or you will?" he countered nastily.
"You have the wrong idea, my friend."
"Is that why you were pressed up against my maid in my castle in front of my fireplace?"
"I was trying to help."
"Your help is not welcome."
"Yes," he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "I could tell by the way you were handling—"
"Oh, both of you shut up!" Belle screamed.
Rumplestiltskin whipped around to see Belle standing on top of the table in the great hall, her hands on her hips, her face flushed, and her breasts heaving. She was annoyed. She was angry. She was magnificent.
"Belle…" He gulped. While he was arguing with Jefferson he had completely forgotten her presence, and from the way her eyes were snapping, she was not happy about it.
"If I wanted to be squabbled over as though I were not in the room like some ridiculous prize to be won, I would have remained in Avonlea and wed Gaston," she said crisply, climbing down from the table. "Enough of this madness. Jefferson, would you please go? I need to talk to Rumplestiltskin. Alone."
Jefferson tipped his hat and swept Belle a deep bow before slipping out the door.
Rumplestiltskin hung his head in shame, too miserable to even acknowledge Jefferson's departure. He would apologize to Belle, and then he would leave so that she could pack her bags and plan her future.
"I'm sorry, Belle," he said after the door closed behind the Hatter. "You're free to go. To be with Jefferson or anything you want. I won't…hold you here any longer." He stole one last longing glance at her, memorizing her beloved features before drifting towards the door.
Her sweet face would be branded on his heart for as long as he lived.
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"Rumple, wait!"
He turned around slowly, and Belle watched myriad emotions rippled across his face. He did care for her. But he was afraid of his own shortcomings, just as she feared hers. She hurried across the room, then stopped when she was still a hands breadth away. She longed to be in his arms, but first she had to know.
"You don't understand. Jefferson was trying to help me…um, be more, um, noticeable. That's what we were doing when you saw us. Practicing." Belle felt her cheeks heat with the admission.
"What?" He shook his head. "Belle, sweetheart, you don't have to do anything to win me over. You've owned my soul since the moment I saw you in your father's war room."
She studied him, her throat thickening with tears at the endearment. He looked tired and scared, like a little boy who had gotten lost on a long journey. "Never mind that now. It was a foolish idea. Is what Jefferson said true? Do you love me?"
His eyes were wary and his throat bobbed. "I do."
"Oh, Rumple!"
She launched herself at him, hurtling into his arms as she had at the bakery two days ago. Only this time, she fell on purpose. She peppered his cheeks, chin, and forehead with kisses, touching him everywhere she could reach. "I'm so sorry. I was never angry with you about the kiss; I thought you were angry with me for being so clumsy."
"No, Belle," he said, "I could never been angry with you. I love that you read and walk into walls. I love that you can't make a decent pot of tea. I love that…" He shrugged. "I love you. And I'm sorry for running away. I thought that you…I'm a monster Belle. I always have been, I always will be."
"You're not a monster," she chided. "Those people that looked at you like we were doing something wrong by kissing, by being happy, they are the monsters."
He didn't look convinced, but it didn't matter. She had a lifetime to show him that she was right.
His stomach growled and she offered him a smile as she toyed with the soft curly hair at his neck. "You haven't eaten anything in two days, have you? Would you like tea? Some of the bread we bought at that bakery? It's probably stale now but maybe you could freshen it with a little magic. What would please you?"
"What would please me is to hear you say nothing more to Jefferson for the rest of the year," he complained, tightening his grip on her waist.
She kissed his ear. "I've already told you, there's no reason to be jealous. Jefferson is not lover material; he's more like the brother I've never had."
"Aye, a halfwit brother, dropped on his head when he was a babe."
Belle laughed at his grumblings. "In any case, I don't think he's going to be a problem—at least for today," she said.
"Good." He sighed against her neck, then rubbed his nose into her curls.
"I'm going to kiss you now," she teased, lacing her fingers behind his neck. "Will you promise me something before I do?"
He tilted his head, in that impish adorable way she adored. "I'm not very good at keeping promises. What do you want?"
"Promise me that when I kiss you, you won't run away."
"That I can do," he said, lowering his head. "That I can do."
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