Thanks for the reviews! Love you guys. And Mr. Gold evicting Rosalind – good idea! But the reason around that will come up in a few chapters or so. I hope you all like this chapter. I'm introducing a new character. He ties into the big picture-but maybe not in the way you'd think.
Rosalind's eyes cracked open and her sleepy gaze was met with ornate ceiling molding. She blinked once and remembered where she was. After a stretch, she climbed out of bed and threw on her kimono. There was only one thought on her mind: breakfast.
Now where the hell is the kitchen? She wondered to herself.
She padded downstairs and crossed down a long hallway. After a few turns, she found the kitchen: a large room with marble countertops, custom white cabinetry and large windows that overlooked the garden.
"You must be Mrs. Brazier." Rosalind approached the little woman who was busy bustling away at the large stove.
"Oh, yes, dear, you must be Rosalind!" The woman wiped her hand on a tea towel she had on her shoulder before offering it for a shake.
"It's nice to meet you," Rosalind replied with a smile, "I—I don't mean to bother you but—"
"Breakfast?"
"Yes, please!"
"Follow me." Mrs. Brazier said and led Rosalind out the way she came.
"Where—where are we—" the girl passed the refrigerator with a hungry, sad face.
Mrs. Brazier only beckoned her to follow and Rosalind obeyed. The plump little housekeeper led Rosalind to a large, wood-paneled dining room. Mr. Gold was at the head of a long mahogany table, reading the Wall Street Journal. Mrs. Brazier steered the girl to the table and patted her arm.
"Enjoy."
Rosalind gaped at the spread before her: scrambled eggs, fried eggs, hard boiled eggs, sausage, bacon, home fries, toast, a tureen of oatmeal, granola, yogurt, kiwi, berries, melon and grapefruit. On the side buffet was a coffee pot, a teapot and orange juice.
"Good morning, Rosalind," Mr. Gold glanced up from his paper and lingered on her appearance; she looked more beautiful than ever. Her hair was a tousled mass that fell to her shoulders and she had traces of eyeliner at the corners of her eyes but she seemed to glow.
"Good morning, Mr. Gold." She answered, "I… I didn't know it would be so formal today… I would've…gotten…dressed."
"Don't worry about it."
"Do… do you always have such variety for breakfast?" She wrapped her kimono so that it was closed and tied to sash tightly.
"No." He replied and turned a page, "I was unsure of what you like so I had Mrs. Brazier prepare a little bit of everything."
"That's… very generous. Thank you." Rosalind grabbed a plate.
She came down to the kitchen looking for some coffee, a melon slice and two hardboiled eggs but this was ever so much more than she expected.
"I'm probably going to feel like I ate a bowling ball later but I don't care!" She laughed as she helped herself to everything.
Once her plate was sufficiently filled, Rosalind noticed that the only other chair was at the opposite end of the table from Mr. Gold. He pretended not to be watching as he saw her place her plate near his, go to the opposite end of the table, retrieve the heavy mahogany chair and drag it across the rug so it was perpendicular to his. He also pretended not to notice the enormous streak mark the leg of the chair left in his antique carpet.
"Sleep well?" He asked carefully.
"Yes," Rosalind dug in, "yes, well, after… after what happened."
Mr. Gold did not comment. Rosalind took a bite of bacon and surveyed his hand before her.
"Your… hand… that's a nasty scrape." She said.
Mr. Gold quickly withdrew his hand from sight. "It's… nothing."
"Did you get it last night?" Rosalind asked, "I don't remember seeing it yesterday. What happened?"
"Er, yes—I—"
"Oh, God! Did I do that to you?" Rosalind gasped.
"No, no." He shook his head with a slight smile, "it's nothing. Just… broke a glass and…well…"
He raised his hand back up and shrugged.
"Nothing for you to worry about."
Rosalind nodded and finished eating in silence.
"It was delicious. Mrs. Brazier is an artist." She threw down her napkin and rose to bring her plate to the kitchen.
"No, don't," Mr. Gold stopped her, "you don't need to do that."
"Oh…ok." Rosalind put the plate back down on the table, "well, do you need me?"
"Excuse me?"
"Today? For work?"
"Er, I have some papers to be filed into the database."
"All right," Rosalind said, "well, I'll be practicing for four hours today since it's my day off –"
"There's an oxymoron in there somewhere."
"Ah, yes," she laughed, "Sundays I take it easy. Four hours instead of eight. See you later."
Nina was waiting at the barre for her.
"Still alive." She muttered with a grin.
"Yes!" Rosalind returned, exasperated. "Take it easy on me today."
She then told Nina about what had happened the night before.
"Oh, God, Rosalind!" She cried and stopped her exercises to hug her friend, "I'm so sorry. Where did you stay last night?"
"Mr. Gold's."
"What?"
"He offered one of his many guest rooms until I find an apartment," she said simply, "and I accepted. I lost my phone and couldn't get to you. Or anyone."
"Wow." Nina breathed and continued her rond de jambes, "I need to meet this guy. He seems unbelievable."
"He… he sort of is." Rosalind realized, "he's like my guardian angel."
"Sweetie," Nina whispered sadly, "there are no guardian angels in New York City."
"How are things with Tim?" Rosalind changed the subject suddenly. "Didn't he go out with you guys last night?"
"Girlfriend. Who's a model."
"Really?"
"Yes." Her friend sighed, "and I met her. And she's beautiful. And smart. And funny."
"Damn. I'm sorry."
"Our love saga continues!" Nina threw up her hands, "but! We did get to talking about you."
"Me?"
"Yes!" Nina lowered her voice and got close so the other dancers in the studio couldn't hear, "he mentioned something… interesting…"
"Do tell!"
"He mentioned that Georges can't stop talking about you."
"Georges?" He was a particularly amazing talent with piercing green eyes and jet black hair.
"Yes."
"He's gorgeous." Rosalind gushed, "and he's incredibly talented!"
"Yes." Nina agreed, "and he's straight. You should jump on him before one of Tim's girlfriend's friends snatches him. Stupid models."
"We've… we've never even talked," Rosalind shrugged, "he's cute—"
"He's coming this way!" Nina grabbed her friend's arm, "I'll make myself scarce. Good luck!"
Nina trotted off to the other side of the room to observe from afar.
"Rosalind!"
"Hi… Georges…." She said politely, "How are you?"
"Just trying to perfect this pas de deux with Charlotte for class."
"I've seen a little of it," she said, "You look great."
"Thanks," he replied tenderly, "I've been catching glimpses of you, too. You look so fantastic. Especially with that Giselle piece. So, I was wondering; would you want to do something with me for the December showcase?"
Rosalind was floored. Georges was probably the best dancer in the school. And he was noticing her. And talking to her. And complimenting her. And asking her to work with him. This was unreal.
"Of—of course!" Rosalind shouted. She calmed herself immediately, "what did you have in mind?
"I thought," he started, "that we could do Balanchine's The Steadfast Tin Soldier. I will be the soldier and you the ballerina. Do you know the story?"
"Yes," she replied, "I do. They fall in love because they both have one foot. The soldier falls out of the window, goes on this horrific journey that only Andersen could conjure and then, after being briefly reunited with the ballerina, they both fall into the fire. They burn away almost completely except for—"
"—Her spangle and his heart," Georges finished, "It was always one of my favorites."
"I found it dark," Rosalind laughed, " It's so sad and dreary. Makes for good dancing, though! Of course I'll do it! And with Balanchine's choreography, who wouldn't?"
"Well," Georges smiled broadly, "it's settled. I'll let Sergei know so he can guide us through it. But Rosalind-"
"Yes?"
"What's your favorite fairy tale?"
"Easy. Rumplestiltskin."
"Really?" He laughed in astonishment, "Talk about dark!"
"It's my fave!"
Georges nodded in defeat, "all right, then. Say we meet up with Sergei on Wednesday at 6?"
"Sure."
"Great!" He exclaimed, flashed her one more smile and ran off to continue practicing.
Nina found her way back over to Rosalind and extracted all the news from her.
Three hours later, Rosalind went back to Mr. Gold's mansion to work. She went into his study to let him know she was home.
"Oh, I've decided to give you the day off," he said with a small smile, "I didn't realize you had one day to relax. You can pick up tomorrow with the supervision of the tapestry transport."
"Really?" Rosalind asked, "Are you sure? Because I could just pop into the shower and be back down here—"
"It's fine," he said, "you have the rest of the day off."
"Thanks," she said, "I think I am going to take a nice long hot bath."
She turned to go and then stopped.
"Mr. Gold," she asked, "What is the best fireplace in the house to have a roaring autumnal fire?"
"The library. Why?"
"I should like to have one tonight," she inhaled, "I can smell autumn in the air. I think a fire would be a nice way to spend a day off."
"I'll see to it." He marveled at her.
"Oh, just give me a cord of wood and a match," she protested, "I—I don't want to be any trouble—"
"You are my guest," he stopped her in a low and even voice, "and I'd like to be a good host."
"Fine," Rosalind curled her mouth into an impish smile, "then you must join me."
She did not wait for a response before rushing off upstairs.
When Rosalind descended back down to the library, she was met with tea, cakes and sandwiches and a roaring fire.
"Mmmm," she took in the smoky aroma, "perfect."
She flopped onto the settee by the fire next to Mr. Gold, who was engrossed in a book. She studied him. The fire's light gave his sharp features a soft, warm glow. He didn't look as half as severe as he usually did.
"Would you, er, like to choose a book?" He asked, self-conscious that her eyes were so keenly set upon him.
"Mm," she glanced at the shelves, "Not interested today. But I think I'd like to hear about you."
He grunted with derision.
"Come on," she coaxed him gingerly, "I work for you, I live in your house. I need to know something about who you are."
He slowly laid his book aside.
"What do you want to know?" He asked carefully.
"Well," she pondered, "you're… from Scotland?"
"Yes." He gave the same answer whenever anyone asked him that question.
"How did you come to New York?"
"On an aeroplane."
"Ok…" Rosalind narrowed her eyes, "What do you do for a living?"
"Investing," he answered with a piercing look.
"Ah, I see." She nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer, "So tell me about where you grew up. What's it like?"
"It's…rainy." He managed, "What about you then? Where in Australia are you from?"
"Melbourne," she parroted, "weather can get crazy at times though it has a moderate oceanic climate."
Straight out of an encyclopedia, he thought bitterly. Regina had done a comprehensive, albeit dry job of implanting the proper knowledge into Belle's brain. He would've laughed if it hadn't been so utterly sad. He thought of the large manor house where Belle had grown up. It was on the shore of an alpine lake. The strongest memory of the day he'd come to strike the deal with her father was, of course, her bright blue eyes. The second strongest was the cool, enticing mountain air, the way it rustled the trees, giving life to a natural, waving chorus. It was a shame she'd had no memory of it.
Rosalind interpreted his momentary pause in conversation as a negative response to her. She turned her focus to the fire. Mr. Gold tried to search for something to say as he shifted in his seat.
Damn leg, he thought, I shouldn't have kicked that door down.
His bad leg had been unable to support his body and had been bothering him ever since then. He tried to furtively massage it and hoped Rosalind wouldn't notice. It didn't work.
"Is your leg bothering you?"
He shrugged with a slight frown.
"If I may ask," her voice was hesitant, "what… happened?"
"It's… it's a very old injury."
Rosalind had now begun to understand when Mr. Gold didn't want to answer a question.
"Well," she said, "if it's a joint problem, I can't help you. But believe me, if it's a muscle problem, I will be able to work magic."
She wiggled her fingers at him for emphasis.
"Magic? Really?" Mr. Gold inquired. He'd almost forgotten the concept.
"Here," Rosalind patted the settee, "put your leg here."
She scooted closer to him so that she was beside him.
"We do this all the time at school," she explained, "a group of us got certified so we wouldn't hurt each other and now we give each other massages. Nina says I'm the best at it but she would because she's all thumbs when it comes to this. We don't let her practice on anyone. May I?"
What else could he do but nod? Mr. Gold watched dumbly as Rosalind placed her hands on either side of his calf and began massaging it gently. Soon her ministrations became steadier and deeper. Her thumbs plowed along either side of his leg, pushing out all tension.
"Relax your foot," she advised, "you're just a ball of stress, aren't you?"
Mr. Gold was silent. He'd never even considered any type of therapy for his leg. He'd doubted that any type of this world's remedies would have any effect on it. Yet Rosalind's hands were skilled. Perhaps it wasn't so much her skill as it was the very contact of her body with his. He let out a long breath.
Rosalind continued to work without a sound. She glanced up at Mr. Gold's face and saw that he'd reclined slightly and had shut his eyes in response to the relief she was granting him. She smiled warmly. She worked her way up his leg and worked on his quadriceps. As her fingers moved higher, his eyes opened with a jolt.
"Please tell me if I'm too hard," she mentioned off-handedly as she worked, "Oh, there's a knot…"
She focused on a spot on the inside of his thigh and he jumped up in surprise. Mr. Gold grabbed her hand firmly but not roughly.
"That was great," he managed, "thank you."
"You're welcome," she said softly as she stretched her hands.
Rosalind would've liked to talk more with him but he picked up his book again and continued reading. She thought she'd do the same and went over to his floor to ceiling bookshelf.
"I can't believe how many books you have," she breathed in astonishment, "it's incredible."
"I like to have a good selection," he commented as he watched her grab the ladder and slide it over to where she'd spied a book. "What are you pulling down?"
"This one with the gold leaf spine," she ascended the ladder quickly, nearly to the top, "it's so high up."
"Be careful," Mr. Gold cautioned. "That ladder…"
"I can reach it," she was on the tips of her toes and could just brush her fingers against the book.
Mr. Gold threw the book aside and rushed to her. Rosalind was teetering on the edge of the ladder as she grasped the book in one hand but the action had proven too much for her balance. He watched as she swayed recklessly to the left and then back to the right before tumbling from the ladder. Without a second to think, Gold caught her swiftly in his arms. The book came down with her.
Rosalind froze for a moment in utter shock at her fall.
"Are you all right?" Mr. Gold demanded urgently.
"Yes, yes, thanks to you!" She cried, "My God, if you hadn't been there! I'm so stupid. It was just that this book—" She turned it over to reveal the title "—was so high up."
His gaze fell upon her azure eyes. They were as clear and as blue as the first moment he'd seen them. He fought against a violent urge to kiss her. Rosalind gave him a sheepish smile as a signal to him to set her on her feet. He did so and cleared his throat.
"I'm sorry," she said, "I hope I wasn't too heavy. I came down pretty hard on you."
"You must be a hundred pounds soaking wet," he quipped in an attempt at flippancy, "What book demanded your attention so?"
"Hans Christian Andersen's Fairy Tales," She showed him the cover.
He gave her a grunt of displeasure.
"I know," she agreed as she found her seat once again by the fire, "they're so depressing and sad. The endings…"
"There's good reason for that." He seethed.
"That Andersen was a manic depressive who had a massive inferiority complex when it came to women?" She asked pointedly.
"That's one theory." He retrieved his book and sat back down next to her. "So why did you want the book?"
"I am doing a pas de deux with someone at school," she began to leaf through the tales. "It's a Balanchine piece from the '70s. He used Bizet's music to create a dance for The Steadfast Tin Soldier."
Mr. Gold's eyes flashed for a moment and his mouth twisted into a satisfied grin.
"Who is your partner?"
"Georges Chevalier." She replied as she read the story, "he's an amazing dancer from France. He came to me today and asked if I would do it with him. After I died from shock, I said yes. He's quite possibly the best dancer I've ever seen. And he's quite possibly the most beautiful man I've ever seen, too."
Her words burned him but he said, "I'd love to see the dance."
"I'll let you know when it is," she glanced up from the book, "it'll be sometime in December."
"Remind me… of the story again?"
Rosalind read the sad tale to Mr. Gold. At the end she wiped a tear away with the back of her hand.
"Ah yes," Mr. Gold's words expressed a air of reminiscence, "I remember now…"
He remembered the deals he'd made with that toymaker. He also remembered that Regina had kidnapped a prince and his sweetheart princess and used them for a magical experiment when she was deciding how to dispatch Snow White. She turned the prince into a toy soldier and the princess into a paper ballerina. Unsatisfied with the fact that the results were not as devastating as she'd hoped, she'd discarded them. Rumpelstiltskin, who always was lurking about the castle in search of mischief, had found the sad figures and, knowing they'd been enchanted, traded them to a toymaker for a magic flute. The flute was long gone but it seemed the figures had made it to this world. Regina hadn't truly forgotten them. It seemed she was now using the soldier against him. He was prepared.
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