Bianca moved back into her father's house, which, in the absence of Regina, was a much less stifling place. Her town celebrated the return of their golden girl; everywhere she went, one of its affectionate inhabitants would throw their arms around Bianca, or give her a good hearty pat on the back. When they told her it was lovely to have her back, and stressed how worried they all were when she was missing, she responded earnestly that she was happy to see them.
Home life was… different. Bianca was used to doing all of her own cooking and cleaning, but her father wouldn't let her lift a finger. When she offered to prepare a nice dinner for her father, he just laughed at her. She insisted that she really did know how to cook, and he responded "I'm sure you do, honey," and kept on chuckling.
She didn't tell her father much about the time that they were apart. Some details, like the party, and the men's abundant flirtation, she thought, were better left out. In the beginning, she called the boys every day to check up. She missed them terribly. As time went on, though, the calls grew less frequent. School started, and between homework, college applications, and her burgeoning relationship, she just didn't have the time.
Her old girlfriends welcomed her back with an invitation to a sleepover. It was fun at first, in the cookie-baking stage, but once they all began to gossip about boys and beauty products, Bianca's mind wandered. She didn't subscribe to their belief that choosing the correct shade of lipstick was a matter of life-and-death; she didn't even wear makeup anymore. Instead, she thought of those long evenings she had spent basking in the warmth of the fireplace and watching sunlight disappear from the forest through large glass windows. She could almost feel Brian's guitar in her arms and hear the boys shouting and cursing at each other over the poker table. A giggle escaped her lips.
"What's so funny?" one of her friends demanded.
Bianca felt her cheeks growing warm. "Oh, I… um… I was thinking about a guy that I met," she blurted out, to change the subject. Unfortunately, this caused them all to shriek, lean closer to her, and start asking a bunch of questions. As she told the story, they all praised her highly for finding such a catch. Inwardly she sighed. Her male friends wouldn't have spent time grilling her about such things. More likely, they would have been poking fun at some meal she ruined, or calling her a sissy for her failure to operate some tool or equipment earlier that day. Strangely enough, Bianca found that she enjoyed teasing more than fawning. It was more real.
The doctor did call – and immediately set up a date. When he arrived at her house, in a slick red sports car, he told her she looked beautiful and offered her a bouquet of long-stemmed roses. He took her for a romantic dinner. He opened every door and even pulled her chair out for her at the restaurant. This first extremely successful date was followed by a string of them. Every time, Bianca felt like a princess. After all, she was on a date with a handsome gentleman, her veritable Prince Charming.
The best part of her new life, though, was that her art career was taking off. After taking a long break, she couldn't stop creating art. She painted all the time, and she even found a way to display, and hopefully sell, some of it. Her friend Ann had been coming over to study one day, and as Bianca waited, she had sat in the front lawn with an easle, painting the gorgeous sunset that was splashed across the sky that evening. Ann's mother, an art gallery owner, had noticed the painting-in-progress while dropping her daughter off and had started absolutely gushing. She requested to see more of Bianca's work. When Bianca retrieved a folder full of the paintings she had made during her stay in the woods, Ann's mother had promptly offered to frame the pictures and put them on display in her store.
Bianca was on a date with her fabulous boyfriend when she'd received an important call. He had taken her out for a candlelit dinner on a Friday night, to a fancy restaurant, and he looked at her disapprovingly when her cell phone began to ring.
"I know you think it's rude to talk at dinner, but it could be something important," she reasoned. Bianca flipped the phone open. "Hello?"
"Hi, Bianca, it's Ann," the caller informed her. "I just thought I'd let you know that my mom sold one of your paintings today."
"What?" Bianca shrieked. "Which one?"
"That beautiful one of Big Sur. The woman who bought it is an art afficionado, comes in all the time and buys the best pieces, regardless of price. She told me that your painting was gorgeous and that she can't wait to acquire more of your work. She reckons you'll be a star someday."
"Really? That's so great! Thank you so much."
"No problem."
Bianca hung up the phone and clutched it to her chest, a little squeal escaping.
Her date looked up from his plate and laughed. "What are you making so much noise about?"
"I sold a painting!" she yelped.
"Oh. That's nice," he said. He turned his attention back to his steak.
"Didn't you hear me? I sold my art!"
"Bianca," he said quietly, through clenched teeth, "people are staring."
"Let them stare!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. "I don't care! I'm a real artist now!"
He looked at her, clearly annoyed. "Will you please stop making so much noise? You're causing a scene."
Tears filled her eyes. Screwing them closed and willing herself to be strong, she calmly said, "Sure."
They ate the rest of their dinner without speaking one word to each other. On the silent car ride home, Bianca turned things over in her head. It was true, he was her Prince Charming. He was beautiful and perfect and he brought her romance and flowers and candles. But it wasn't enough; Bianca knew that now. How could she be with someone who didn't care about her art? Her art was everything to her - it was like he didn't value who she was. She wanted to find someone who loved her art, and who liked her to be herself, no matter how nutty or unruly it made her look.
A memory floated into Bianca's mind. She was in a different car, singing at the top of her lungs, her hair wildly whipping in the wind. And there was someone there beside her, dancing, singing, encouraging, coaxing her out of her shell. He had made her feel secure. He'd told her that she was beautiful, even when she hated her appearance the most, and best of all, he'd told her that he loved her personality.
Oh no. Why hadn't she seen this before? With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Bianca realized that it was probably too late. She had let him get away, all because of her stupid pride.
The car pulled into her driveway, signifying the end of the wretched date. He told her, "I'll call you."
She said, "Don't bother." Bianca slammed the door behind her and flounced up to her house, stopping to watch his perfect sports car speed away. He was gone.
Inside her house, she sunk down onto her bed, curled into a ball, and cried herself to sleep.
