Belle stared at Gaston. He didn't notice. He had the look of someone busy checking off a list and making sure he had gotten through all the points he meant to. Belle's answer—her presence—seemed superfluous. She almost felt rude, interrupting his thoughts, as if she were butting in on a private conversation.

"Will I what?"

Now, he realized she was there, a minor player in this drama getting her lines wrong. But, he was willing to step in and try to rescue her. "Will you marry me," he repeated. He was forgetting to make it sound like a question.

Rumplestiltskin had stuttered when he proposed, stumbling over the words. He'd only been able to ask her after admitting all the reasons he could think of why she shouldn't (he was poor, he wasn't good to look at [liar! Or so blind to the truth], he knew she could do better—he'd then given her a list of people he considered 'better' who, he was sure, would jump at the chance if she so much as glanced at them), but swearing he would do his best to make sure she would never regret saying yes.

And she hadn't. Belle clutched her locket. Never, not for a moment.

Proposals weren't supposed to feel like you were being stabbed with a cold, dull blade. But, it wasn't his fault she had spent so many years smiling at Gaston when he expected her to smile. There was no reason to tell him harsh truths now, not when she could use arguments he'd understand.

"Lord Maurice gave his opinion on this years ago, Gaston. If I—if I had a child—" Oh, but she had a child, and that wasn't what Maurice wanted at all. "—your child, he would have expected you to legitimize it." Legitimize. Such an abstract, undemanding word. It didn't sound like it meant anything about marriage and mistresses and whether or not fathers would even look at their child.

"I can settle Maurice," Gaston said. "We've already discussed the need for continuance. You have no idea how much a marriage would help our people, Belle. And I'm not worried about an heir. I've heard of magical cures in this world." As easily as that, Gaston waved aside three hundred years of her childlessness, sure the universe would adapt to his needs. Then, he said what Belle had never expected him to say—words she would have sworn would never come out of his mouth. "But, even if we can't have a child, there's Bae. I'll have it written into the marriage contract if you like. A child of my blood will have precedence but, otherwise, Bae will be heir to the Marchlands after me."

If he had told her the cook's cat could have the Marchlands after him, she couldn't have been more shocked. "What? Gaston, you can't! You've never—you know what Bae's father was." The words burned her tongue when just the memory of her husband had been all that let her endure some days. But, Gaston needed to be reminded of what he seemed to have forgotten. "Maurice would never allow him to inherit."

"He's your son, Belle. Your legitimate son. It doesn't matter if Maurice wants him to inherit or not."

And those words weren't just mad, they were dangerous (dangerous to who, she wasn't sure, not when Maurice wasn't even here. But, she had spent too long living under the shadow of her promise not to even think about what Gaston was saying. "I'm not an heir, Gaston. It doesn't matter what—" No, she wouldn't say it. Just because Gaston had had taken leave of his senses didn't mean she would, too. "—what the rumors are. I have no rights to the Marchlands. You know that. Bae being my child doesn't make any difference—"

"I can get Lord Maurice to acknowledge you," Gaston said.

She stared at him, sure he was going mad. Or she was. Or maybe just deaf. "W-what did you say?"

"I can get him to acknowledge you," Gaston said. The words were eager. Happy. As if all the reasons that was impossible—utterly, eternally impossible—didn't exist. Had never existed. "He'll do it openly. Before the whole court—before the world. The betrothal party. That would be a perfect time to do it. There will be ambassadors, visiting dignitaries. We'll announce it before all of them. I'll declare Baelfire as my heir presumptive at the same time. This is what I owe you, to make up for everything, to give you an honorable name. Please, Belle."

"This—this is too much—Maurice won't—"

"He will, Belle. You'll see."

"I—I need time to think." Yes, that was the right thing to say. Time to think. Time to consider whether any of this was even possible. Whether she was mad. Whether this was a dream. Or a nightmare.

Gaston nodded, the slight hint of panic in his eyes fading away. "Of course. This is too much. You must be overwhelmed. But, think about it, Belle. You'll see. This is what's best for you, for Baelfire, for everyone."

He was so sure of himself. Belle could almost believe him. Best for Bae. Best for everyone in the Marchlands.

Best for her?

Frontlands girls didn't shame their families by taking lovers or becoming a man's mistress. An honorable name. She had let men take her and accepted the coins they offered afterwards. She knew what they'd called her. They'd said it often enough. She knew what Jones had called her when she obeyed his orders and entertained the men he chose for her. It was the same name he and his brother used when she begged them to stop and, when they didn't, when she couldn't hold back the screams.

"Squeamish for a whore, isn't she, brother? Come on, girl, don't go all missish on me, stop pretending you don't enjoy it."

Jones laughed. "Go easy on her, Liam. She's the one who'll have to clean the sheets tomorrow. Of course, the little whore's upset. Tip her extra for the trouble."

An honorable name. If she said yes, if she took what Gaston offered her, would that erase the past?

Why did the memories hurt so much? Why couldn't she just forget them? She'd grown so used to being cold inside, to feeling nothing. Why couldn't she do that anymore?

"I'm staying in the village inn," Gaston said. "Send me word when you're ready to speak again. I know you'll make the right choice."

Right choice. Were there any choices that weren't wrong, here?

Belle nodded numbly. "I will."

And, maybe, if she could find the right choice, the pain would finally stop. Forever.