Prince Charming's Tale

PRINCE CHARMING’S TALE

A companion tale to Once Upon a Temptation

Told by Beauregard Light in 100 word drabbles

~PROLOGUE~

Once upon a time, there was a reliable and honorable man named Beauregard Light, whose heart’s greatest desire was to marry his chestnut-haired sweetheart, Juliana Crowne. The two already shared all of life’s niceties- their luxurious condominium on the Upper East Side, employment at the hottest multinational corporation on Madison Avenue, and a predictable and satisfying physical relationship. He had not a moment of doubt that his beloved shared his desire to wed, and he knew he’d be welcomed into her family with open arms.

Beau set his sights on the Annual Crowne Enterprises Holiday Ball for his public proposal.

~1~

Getting late. U ready?  I message impatiently, my stomach rumbling for dinner, but not craving anything specific. Wherever Jules wants to eat is always fine by me.

Ten minutes, she responds.

I pack up for the night and take the stairs down the two flights to her floor.  Madison, Jules’ capable second-in-command and devoted sentry, greets me warmly as usual.

“Evening, Mr. Light.”

“I’ve told you a hundred times, call me Beau.”

“Sorry,” she hedges. “It’s the VP thing.”

“Oh, come on, Madison. It’s just me.”

“Should I buzz her for you?”

“Nah, I’ll wait out here till she’s ready.”

~2~

The waiter at Chamberlain’s approaches. “Ready to order?”

Jules waffles adorably. “I can’t decide- filet or salmon?”

“You get the turf, I’ll order the surf, and we’ll share.”

“But Beau, you don’t even like salmon—”

“Jules, it’s fine,” I smile at her lovingly, solving her problem.

The company car service whisks us home, our heads swimming with Cabernet. The Daily Show keeps me company while Jules finishes tapping on her laptop. My sweet girl puts in extra hours to prove herself; it’s not easy being the boss’s daughter.

I merge into her delicately and grin when she orgasms. “Love you.”

~3~

“Leave your Blackberry, son. Fishing and cell phones don’t mix well.”

“What if Jules needs me?”

Crowne shakes his head, “There used to be a time she could last more than six hours without you.”

I chuck my phone in the truck and jog ahead to catch him on the path, tackle box rattling all the way.

“Where did you even get all that crap, Beau?”

“Field & Stream used to be my account. They finally convinced me to be their January cover photo in exchange for all this gear.”

“The guy can’t cast, but he’s Mr. January,” Frank chuckles.

~4~

We’ve been out here five hours, and I’m starting to lose my nerve. My stomach churns with anxiety, but I know I won’t have this opportunity again. Mr. Crowne is an extremely busy man, and to get him alone is nearly impossible.

He baits his line and casts, and I follow suit, though not nearly as acrobatically. My line lands a little too close to his and he jerks away, silently chastising me. I clear my throat, and that earns me a furrowed brow.

“What’s wrong with you, Light?”

“Sorry, sir, I—”

“Holy shit! I’ve snagged myself a big one!”

~5~

The striper flops around on the deck between us, gasping desperately for its last breath.

His eyes shine with pride, “This one is gonna need to be measured and weighed. Might be a record!”

“That is one fantastic catch there, sir. And speaking of catches…”

“Hand me that mallet, will you? I need to put this guy out of his misery.”

Since when is a mallet a piece of fishing equipment? He takes the weapon from me and bashes the poor fish one time, knocking him dead. The eye goes instantly dim. Ugh.

“Were you about to say something, Beau?”

~6~

This is not exactly how I would’ve set the stage. Dead, bashed fish between us on the deck, bloody mallet in her father’s hands. What the hell, it’s now or never.

“Sir, there’s something I need to ask you.”

“Sure, kid. Fire away. Nobody’s stopping you.”

“I’m planning on asking Jules to marry me at the ball and I’d like to have your blessing.”

“Well, well, well,” he says, a large smile curling up under his dark moustache. “I’ve been waiting a long time to hear those words.”

“So that’s a yes, then?”

“Hell yeah, it’s a yes, Mr. January.”

~7~

He embraces me enthusiastically, the hooks on his vest tangling with mine, resulting in the two of us remaining locked together far longer than either of us finds comfortable. I slip carefully away so as not to become bloodied with striper remains.

We dock soon after. The crew fusses, photographs, and records his catch. “Best damn day of my life, this is. Huge striper, and my Jules is getting married.”

“Well, there is the small matter of her accepting, Mr. Crowne,” I remind him humbly.

He responds with raucous laughter. “Good one, kid! And for god sakes, call me ‘Frank.’”

~8~

I call out from the doorway and catch her up on Frank’s fish story. She teases me about being on a first name basis with her dad and actually enjoying his company. Suddenly, Jules crosses the room and kisses me sweetly.

“What was that for?” I ask. Fish guts or no, I’m feeling romantic, and from the looks of her flushed cheeks, she’s plenty happy to see me, too.

 “You’re way too good for me, Beau.”

Hold that thought for three weeks.

“I’m going to shower. Pick a restaurant.”

I can’t tell her why, but I feel like celebrating tonight.

~9~

“Show us the top of yer lahhn,” Mama drawls to the salesman.

“Right this way, folks.” He unsuccessfully attempts to stifle his glee as he leads us enthusiastically to the case of designer rings.

“Mama,” I whisper, “Shouldn’t we be playing hard to get?”

“Oh puh-lease, Beauregahhhd. You’ve got forty-five minutes to buy a rang. We don’t have tahhm tuh futz around here.”

“This would be our Platinum Riviera Semi-Mount, that’s a one and three-quarter carat stone, E color, VVS1, brilliant round cut—”

“That yer biggest stone?”

“Mama!”

“No, Ma’am. Allow me…”

“Ah yay-essss. That one’ll do just fahhhn.”

~10~

“Evening, Madison.”

“Hello, Beau.”

“See, isn’t that better?”

“Sure. Shall I buzz her?”

“Nope. I’m gonna surprise her.”

“But, she hates it when—”

“Don’t worry, Madison. I’ll take full responsibility.”

I knock twice and push the door open. “What the—” Jules looks unhappily surprised.

“Hello, Darlin’.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, Beau, did you weave your spell on poor Madison again?”

I shrug.

“You do realize you’re the only one in this entire company that she allows through?”

“We have an understanding.”

“Oh yeah?” Jules smiles, crossing her arms. “What’s that?”

“She lets me in; I make you happy.”

~11~

I’d be hard-pressed to conjure a more peaceful scenario than Friday night at home, Jules stretched out along the couch, head in my lap. One hand holds my paperback while the other strokes lazily through her silky hair. Soon, my novel fails to interest me.

“Mmmm.” My head tips back against the couch and I close my eyes.

“No, keep reading,” Jules says, wrapping my fingers around Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand.

Puzzled, I make an attempt to continue reading. Jules squirms in my lap, distracting me again, but every time I try to put my book down, she replaces it.

 

~12~

Jules’ mouth closes around me.

“Nnngggghh.”

My hand automatically reaches for her breast. She usually loves a gentle caress. She bats my hand away one last time, and I finally give up and give in. Though my heart’s not really in it, my body reacts predictably to her tenacious efforts.

Whatever bliss I’m supposed to feel eludes me. “You know I hate it when you don’t let me touch you.”

“But I just wanted to give you pleasure.”

She thinks it’s pleasurable for me to take without giving?

“Yeah, that’s what I wanted to do, too. I’m going to bed.”

~13~

Next morning, I wake to the sour taste of our lingering disagreement. She’s made her special French toast, a peace offering. I slide into my regular seat at the table, eager for breakfast and reconciliation.

“I’m sorry—” we both say together, laughing awkwardly. I hate that this thing takes its place at our table, in our home.

“The Greenbriers are playing in the park at eleven,” Jules suggests hopefully. Delighted at her proposal, I don my brown leather bomber over my favorite navy crew.

Holding hands, we reconnect. The crisp fall day lends an air of a fresh start.

~14~

“This was a great idea, Jules. I love Saturdays in the Park.”

“Mmm.” She concurs. “One of the best things about living in the City.”

We stand united and she seals the deal with her hand in my back pocket. I marvel once again how easily we fit together in every way. I squeeze her closer and smile gratefully for the girl at my side.

She catches my mood and somehow voices my exact thoughts. “Just thinking how lucky I am.”

I fully appreciate the toll our fight has taken on me the moment I kiss her. “Mmmmm, missed you.”

~15~

“Beau,” she whimpers, “home.”

Home? No, not the scene of the crime.

Inspired by the passion of the make-up kiss, I tug her hand toward the street. “I have a better idea.”

For once, I don’t ask her opinion first, and the concept of taking charge is frightening but exhilarating. The front desk clerk quirks a judgmental eyebrow and I almost lose my nerve, but eventually, the Platinum card gains her attention instead.

Triumphantly, I propel Jules to the nearest elevator.

Eager to offer what she rejected last night, I tear off my clothes and watch Jules do the same.

~16~

I delight in the slight chill of Jules’ skin and her freshly showered scent. I’m hungry for every inch of her, and I thoroughly enjoy making my way teasingly down her front to my ultimate destination.

My nose tarries a moment in her freshly coiffed triangle, relishing the way the short, curly hairs tickle and point me to my prize.

I draw in the delicious taste of my Jules, setting my tongue to pleasuring her. It’s always a mystery down here, but I take the opportunity of this rare daytime tryst to really explore her depths. Ultimately, she cries out.

~17~

Pleasing Jules in this way affords me such great happiness I almost don’t need my own release. Almost.

I clamber up her sated body, holding my weight on my elbows so I don’t crush the delicate flower below me. I slip inside easily thanks to the supplemental lubrication provided by my mouth.

Jules’ strict adherence to a birth control regimen, coupled with our longstanding monogamy, affords us the unique pleasure of unprotected connection. I’m careful, as ever, to stroke into her gently and lovingly.

Her eyes shine with devotion as we climax together. I simply could not be any happier.

~18~

“That was nice,” if I do say so myself. I roll to my side, head supported by my bent elbow and palm, and lightly stroke her chest.

“Mmm,” Jules agrees, staring at the ceiling.

“I’m hungry again. Ready for lunch?”

We dress quickly in the broad daylight, lost in our individual thoughts. My own wandering to the ring tucked away in our safe deposit box up the street. 

“Sorry about missing the concert.”

“Oh no, you’re not.”

“You’re right,” I admit, confirming my status as an open book. It’s a comforting notion, to know another and be known so well.

~19~

The remnants of Major Pettigrew’s wildly romantic musings are nearly obliterated by the stark realism of Stieg Larsson’s writing. Violence, degraded women, massive tattoos and kinky sex scream from every page. I read reluctantly, in vain hope of finding whatever it is that seems to have captivated the entire world so thoroughly.

“You’re working so hard, sweetie. Can’t you take a break?”

Her cerulean eyes click to mine, and I see that expression that tells me she’s in a productive mood. I have zero chance of competing with that.

“Never mind,” I lament, returning to the darkness of my book.

~20~

“Secret Santa’s all the buzz, Madison. You must’ve done your usual great job.”

Madison blushes and deflects. “It’s Miss Crowne’s baby. I just tapped a few keys.”

“Come on, Madison. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re better than that.”

She snorts lightly, “Apparently not. Something got royally messed up this year.”

“What do you mean?”

She pauses for a moment before answering, then says, “I screwed up the email and Miss Crowne accidentally got assigned a recipient.”

I chuckle at the image of Jules getting roped in to the holiday merriment.

“And a Santa of her own.”

“Really?” Now I’m intrigued.

~21~

“So, who is it, Madison?”

She sputters, taken off guard by my unlikely question. “I honestly have no idea. This glitch didn’t leave a trail in the system that we could follow.”

I slide onto my elbows and lean into her workspace. “You’d tell me if you knew, wouldn’t you?”

She looks uncharacteristically lost.

“Hey, Madison. I’m just teasing you. I’d never ask you to divulge company secrets.”

A crooked smile crosses her face. “That was mean.”

I wink and she forgives me.

“Is she busy today?”

“Yes. The ball.”

“Of course. Well, later, then.”

“Can’t wait,” she says faintly.

~22~

“I’ll raise you one fifty,” I puff.

“Jesus, Light. You’re bluffing again? Fine, I call.”

Brett fucking Stark. He sees through me every single time. I toss down my cards in disgust. Poker is so not my game, but I do enjoy my night out with the guys.

“You do know you suck at this game, right?” Brett gloats, scooping up my chips.

“What can I say? Unlucky in poker, lucky in love.”

“Blah, blah, when are you gonna seal the deal already?” taunts Vinny.

“Why don’t you keep your nose out of my business and stick to finance, Wolf?”

~23~

“Hi honey, I’m home.”  I tease her with my Ward Cleaver greeting.

She crosses the room to greet me, but crinkles her nose at the smell of second-hand cigar smoke and strong whiskey. “How’d it go tonight?”

I shake my head and report, “Same as usual.”

She chuckles at my misfortune. “Why don’t you save everyone the trouble next time and just write them each a check?”

I crumple onto the couch. “Very funny. It’s kind of humiliating, you know.”

“What? Being an unconvincing liar?”

“No, being so lousy at reading people.”

“Oh, Beau. You’re just a sweet, trusting guy.”

~24~

The holidays are always a stressful time for our clients, and tension reverberates resoundingly through the upper floors of Crowne Enterprises. As VP of Sales, I bear the brunt of estimating profit projections. My proven track record affords me the trust of the Board, and my presentation earlier this week was optimistic and well received.

Being on the creative side, Jules’ tension is not as predictable or compartmentalizable. I know planning for the ball also takes its toll, though Madison is a godsend with details.

I send Jules a quick text invitation to dinner out; she’s not in the mood.

~25~

No worries, I’m more than content to spend the evening in. I tuck into my panini and turn with great anticipation to page one. The Art of Racing in the Rain promises to be the antidote to its predecessor, the thick yellow paperback abandoned on the side table.

I take a brief break from Enzo’s canine insights into the human mind and sigh, regarding Jules. Judging by the way she’s attacking that laptop, there’s no chance I’ll pry her away from work tonight.

I well up with pride at Jules’ unwavering dedication to giving her all, despite her fortunate bloodlines.

~26~

“Delicious meal, Mrs. C—”

“Evelyn,” she corrects gently.

“I cannot get enough of your popovers, Evelyn.” It’s true, and I believe eating three proves my point.

Evelyn laughs a deep, warm laugh, the spring from which Jules draws her own. “It’s such a pleasure to feed you a home-cooked meal, Beau. I know that daughter of mine isn’t much for cooking.”

“Mom!” Jules protests. “Beau, tell her how I made us paninis just the other night!”

“Oh, dear, ethnic sandwiches don’t count. Where have I gone wrong?”

“We never should have allowed her to go to Yale,” Frank teases.

~27~

“Jules takes great care of me, M…Evelyn. In fact, just last weekend, she took me to a concert in Rumsey Park.” I grin at Jules, and she turns an adorable shade of red.

Frank catches our look and gives me a conspiratorial wink that makes me want to dive under my chair.

“So, Jule, what do you hear about this year’s Secret Santa project?”

Jules coughs delicately into her napkin. “Actually, Dad, funny story about that.”

She glances at me, and I realize I never followed up after Madison’s revelation.

“I was inadvertently entered in the participant pool this year.”

~28~

“No kidding.” Frank chuckles. “How’s your morale?”

Jules rolls her eyes. “You know that saying, ‘Tis better to give than to receive? Not true.”

I reach for her hand and squeeze supportively. Poor baby.

Later in the car, I ask, “So whose Santa are you?”

She looks surprised, and maybe even a little hurt. “I can’t tell you that, Beau. It’s called ‘Secret Santa’ for a reason.”

Now I’m hurt. “You think I’d tell someone? Seriously?”

“That’s not the point. It’s a secret system. There’s integrity.”

I hold my hands palms out in defense. “Wow. Okay, Jules. Keep your secret.”

~29~

I know better than to try and distract Jules for lunch on Monday. Her fingers barely left the keyboard all weekend.

Parting at the elevator Tuesday morning, I offer, “How about if I grab us a couple sandwiches around noon?”

“Can’t today, baby. Sorry.”

My tuna sub loses any appeal it may have held for me without Jules to share the experience. I console myself by reviewing my fantasy football stats and gloating internally that my Good Guys are kicking the asses of Vinny’s Wolf Pack and Stark’s Sharks.

Wednesday, I try once more. “What are my chances today, Madison?”

~30~

Surprise crosses Madison’s features. “Your chances?”

“For lunch.”

No response.

“With Jules?”

“Oh!” she giggles. “Maybe. No meetings today. Shall I buzz her?”

“Perhaps you better,” I admit, my last two offers having not been well received.

“Mr. Light for you.”

Madison nods and I approach cautiously.

“Hey. Can I rescue you?”

“Please do.”

I hold her coat and she climbs inside.

“What’ll it be? Pizza? Salad? Deli?”

She finally settles on Soup Du Jour.

“How’s life in Creative?”

“The most productive decision I made today was peanut dip for the chicken skewers.”

 “Ahh. Lifestyles of the rich and famous.”

~31~

Jules seems distant though our knees knock softly under the puny table. “So what’s the next big decision, sundae toppings?”

She snaps back to the here and now. “Sorry, Beau, this ball is driving me completely out of my mind.”

“It’ll all be over soon,” I soothe. “And it will prove to be yet another Juliana Elizabeth Crowne success story.”

She looks startled for a moment.

“What did I say?” I ask, puzzled.

“It’s just…you never call me that.”

“Jules, I think you need one solid night off from the ball. Any chance the laptop can take a rest tonight?”

~32~

“That sounds like heaven, actually.”

She smiles wearily and I squeeze her hand across the steel surface.

Back in her office, I return her camel hair coat to its place in her closet. She looks so fragile lately, so unlike my fierce warrior. I brush my knuckles along her jaw line.

“I’m gonna take good care of you tonight, baby,” I promise.

Her eyes well up with tears. God, even exhausted and stressed, she’s breathtakingly beautiful. I tip her chin up to meet her lips with mine. “I’ll pick you up at six. No computer,” I shake my finger threateningly.

~33~

“Pack up, Madison. It’s an early night tonight. I’m whisking her away,” I wink.

“Really?” she answers brightly. Makes perfect sense that Jules’ lieutenant would be suffering from the trickle down.

“Looks like maybe you could use some whisking yourself?”

She blushes and mumbles, “Who couldn’t?”

“Have a restful evening, Madison.”

“Thank you, Beau. You, too.”

I knock twice, then push inside. Jules finishes putting her machinery to sleep. Coat folded over one arm, purse in the other, she finally regards me. 

“Ready?” I ask eagerly.

“I’m all yours.”

Her simple statement warms and thrills me. Just nine more days…

~34~

“Red or white?” I call from the kitchen.

“How about chianti?” Jules answers.

“Perfect. Set up the show and I’ll be right in.”

She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, her tray of spaghetti and garlic bread balanced on her knees. She takes the offered glass of wine gratefully and waits while I settle in.

“To a relaxing night at home,” I offer.

“To my sweet, wonderful prince,” she toasts.

“Wow, prince, eh? I should make dinner for you more often,” I tease.

“Don’t let Evelyn hear you say that!”

“Seriously, Jules, you know how much I love pampering you, right?”

~35~

“Mmmmm, Beau, feels so good.”

An hour and a bottle of chianti later, she’s stretched out on the couch, her feet in my lap. As I knead and press away the knots, my mind drifts to a vision of a similar scene, only the two of us are much more advanced in years.

The movie plays itself out in my wine-mellowed head, adopting the erratic lighting from the long-forgotten television. I visualize an elegantly time-enhanced Jules, a few wrinkles etching their tales into her lovely face, a grey hair or two missed by the colorist.

But those eyes never dim.

~36~

“Sorry, Beau. She just left for lunch.”

“Oh. Thanks, Madison.” Funny, Jules didn’t mention a meeting, and it’s not her regularly scheduled lunch with Amy. Caesar salad from the employee cafeteria sates my hunger for now. Because it’s Friday, I’m sure Jules and I will eat decently tonight.

I catch Madison off guard when I return late in the day. “Any signs of life in there?” I gesture toward Jules’ door.

“Not in a few hours,” she replies.

“Slave driver keeping you late again?”

“Oh, uh, no…it’s the ball details. Flowers…band…food.”

We both look up expectantly as her door opens.

~37~

Jules quirks an accusatory eyebrow my way and says to Madison, “You should go. Rest up. Next week is going to be a bear.”

“Have a good weekend,” Madison utters, hastily exiting.

“Ahh,” I tease Jules. “It lives.”

“Yes. It lives. It makes phone calls. It orchestrates every quarter hour segment of the event.”

I open her coat and suggest Mad Max’s. From the broad smile she sports, I can tell she’s enormously pleased at my choice.

“Good evening. Booth for two, please.”

The service here is always excellent. “This way,” the hostess says, directing us to a choice booth.

~38~

“Somebody’s ravenous tonight. Did you skip lunch again?” I ask, tucking into my meatloaf and mashed potatoes.

“No, just can’t seem to get enough lately,” she answers, licking her fingers in between words.

“I think I see a little scrap of meat still hanging off that bone right there.”

“Ha ha. I better go de-grease,” she says, holding her hands away from her body as she moves to the Ladies’ Room.

She slides back into the booth after about ten minutes. “You okay?”

“Sure. Why?”

“You were gone a while. And your face looks…feverish.”

“I’m fine.”

“Dessert?”

“I’m completely stuffed.”

~39~

“Nah, Beau, you’d be bored silly.” True, but I certainly don’t mind dragging along and carrying her bags if it makes the day easier for Jules.

“Okay, I get it.” I tease, “You don’t want me.”

I use her beautifying time to have my final tux fitting. Good thing; the sleeves are a full inch too long, and I’ll have to return tomorrow to pick it up.

Losing myself in the Staff Favorites shelf at Barnes & Noble, I pull a few novels down and relax in the overstuffed chairs.

A quick call to the folks rounds out my Sunday.

~40~

“So, what’s for lunch today, Madison?”

“Greek salad—extra feta and pita for you, no olives for Miss Crowne.”

“I hope you’ve got someone who spoils you the way you spoil us.”

She deflects me. “It’s my job.”

“Yes and no. At any rate, we appreciate you,” I add, tapping on Jules’ door.

Lunch is laid out on her side table, and next to it, a Boggle game.

“Secret Santa gave me Boggle. Wanna play?”

“I could squeeze in one round.”

 “Crazy pen.”

“Secret Santa.”

 “Beautiful scarf. Don’t tell me—”

She shrugs.

“Jesus, I’m actually feeling jealous of this guy!”

~41~

I can’t seem to quell my nagging frustration as I stroll to Rothmans. This inadvertent Santa seems to be causing all kinds of trouble between us lately.

It’s a silly game, I remind myself. Stop acting like a jealous ass.

“Ah, yes, the white tux. All set, Mr. Light.”

Handing him my Amex, I turn my head toward two guys creating a mild commotion, just in time to see one guy swatting the other. One catches me staring, and I smile in a way that I hope communicates I have no problem with gay people and don’t mind their frolicking.

~42~

“You went with white, eh?”

“Classic, right? And it will really set off your blue gown.”

“You’re sure you don’t have a white horse under there somewhere?” she teases.

“No, babe, just my usual 450 horsepower under the hood.”

She rolls her eyes and pulls her new scarf from its box. She passes it thoughtfully along her row of blouses, no doubt deciding on a match for tomorrow’s outfit. So lovingly does she caress the silk, I feel like asking her if she wants to be alone with it. Wisely, I bite my tongue and keep the comment to myself.

~43~

“I’m afraid she’s gone out for lunch already,” Madison blurts, slightly panicked, as I approach.

“I know. She told me this morning that she had plans.”

“So what’s all this then?” she asks, referring to the bags in my arms.

“I’m spoiling you for a change. You like Thai, right?”

“I do, but…” Madison searches for a reason to turn me down. I know I’ve caught her off guard, but there’s no way she would’ve otherwise accepted my gesture.

“But nothing. Scoot over. Shrimp or tofu?”

Madison finally gives in when she sees I’m not taking no for an answer.

~44~

“Thank you, Beau. That was so kind of you.”

“Don’t thank me. You’re the one who saved me from eating all alone in my dark, dreary office.”

She protests laughingly, “You have a corner view from the thirty-seventh floor! How is that dark or dreary?”

I regard Madison’s open, caring eyes. I’ve probably talked to this girl over 300 times and never told her one thing about myself that was personal.

“I don’t like to be alone, Madison.”

She blinks twice and nods in genuine understanding. Instantly, I’m lighter for having unburdened myself.

“Glad you joined me,” she says warmly.

~45~

Working near the tower’s peak, we often enter a relatively empty elevator that fills to capacity on its way down. I take my usual protective spot behind Jules as the crowd pushes in, keeping her safe from the occasional opportunistic asshole who might rub her inappropriately if given the chance.

Her fingers pop up to push her hair off her face, and I glimpse a corner of the trouble-making Santa scarf poking out her coat sleeve.

“Wasn’t that scarf around your neck earlier?” I ask, wondering if I missed this new fashion trend in women’s wear in this month’s W.

~46~

She doesn’t have time to answer my question before the elevator doors open onto the lobby and the passengers spill out in front of us. Across the elevator bank, I see a guy who looks familiar. He looks up from his jacket, and I’m sure it’s him.

“Oh, hey. Weren’t you at the tux shop yesterday?”

He completely ignores me and locks onto Jules’ scarf with his gaze.

“Hello, Juliana.”

He works here? He knows Jules? Why would he call her that?

“Alexander. Hi,” she stumbles. “Meet Beauregard Light, VP of Sales. Alexander Knight, IT.”

VP of Sales? What the—

~47~

Manners kick in, and I reach out my hand in greeting. “Nice to meet you, Alexander.”

“Likewise,” he answers. “Well, have a good evening.”

Alexander turns to leave and Jules stares after him longer than seems appropriate. I do not begin to understand what this strange exchange is all about or why a guy from IT would be calling her ‘Juliana.’ So many questions swim through my head right now, but the hurt comes out first.

“VP of Sales, Jules? Really?”

“Sorry, Beau,” she attempts to cover. “That was just a bit awkward.”

“And why is that?”

Help me understand.

~48~

“Can we, maybe, talk about this somewhere else?” she implores, looking all around the lobby swarming with Crowne employees.

“That’s probably best,” I answer in a clipped tone I don’t like to hear coming from my mouth—especially when directed at Jules.

Our Lincoln Town Car is waiting for us by the curb. The driver opens the door and I usher Jules inside. I shift my body so I’m facing her head on, but I wait.

Finally, after three blocks, Jules speaks.

“I met Alexander when the Santa program went kaflooey.”

“Okay?” And…?

“He’s kind of intimidating.”

Juliana Crowne. Intimidated.

~49~

“You’re intimidated by a guy who’s about five levels down from you on the corporate ladder?” This makes no sense.

“I can’t really explain it, Beau.”

She looks exasperated and I sense the conversation isn’t going anywhere good. This is so not how I want our evening together to go.  I push out a deep breath and let go of all the bad stuff. Reaching for her hand across the leather abyss between us, I try again.

“Hey.”

She takes my peace offering with a sad smile and answers back, “Hey.”

“I had lunch with Madison today. It was nice.”

~50~

Wednesday is better. The calm before the storm. There’s a point just before a big event where you simply can’t do anything but cross your fingers and pray. Jules has her ducks in a row; it’s up to them to do the quacking.

Thursday at noon, I’m in the lobby of Chase Manhattan, waiting patiently for the manager to escort me to my safe deposit box. He’s supposed to be discreet, but he sees the telltale box as I tuck it into my pocket and can’t help but ask, “Is that what I think it is?”

“Mmm hmmm,” I answer.

~51~

I allow Jules a wide berth on Friday. It’s not our wedding day, but I sense that she’d like me not to see her in the process of getting dressed. I take my time in the exercise room at the top of our building, pushing out as much tension as my muscles can take.

Guys are guys, and it only takes me twenty minutes to dress, even with all the extra accessories and accoutrements. Just before I check on Jules, I slip the ring box into my right pants pocket. The jacket will cover any awkward protrusion.

Ready or not…

~52~

“You’re stunning,” I comment, offering my arm.

“You’re not too hard to look at yourself. The white tux suits you.”

“I couldn’t locate my horse tonight.”

“It’s so hard to find reliable help,” she quips, as I wrap her silver fox stole around her.

Frank greets us exuberantly, hugging us together and winking as if something’s flown into his eye. His enthusiasm sets me on edge. “You two look perfect together.”

We circulate among the crowd together, Jules nervously critiquing every last oyster, dip and garnish.

“It’s perfect, sweetheart.”

“Time to locate Damien Stewart and reveal myself.” Jules wanders off.

~53~

I feel a pang of trepidation watching her leave, realizing her own Secret Santa lurks among this crowd. I know I’m being completely irrational, but her response to his gifts jangles my nerves. The game she keeps at work, the feather pen she relishes using, the silk scarf she obviously retied during the day.

Jealousy is an unfamiliar emotion for me, and the bitter taste is most unwelcome, especially tonight.

Shaking myself out of my mini-funk, I allow my hand to brush over the box in my pocket. Santa’s got nothing in his pants that compares to a diamond ring.

~54~

Relief and joy spill over as she reenters my arms. “What did Damien have to say?”

“What’s he gonna say? Poor guy works in Marketing, three boxes below me. Said he loves Zuckoff and Zimbabwe blend.”

“And when does your Santa make an appearance?”

She clutches her tiny purse and shrugs. “Up to him, I guess.”

“So it IS a ‘him’ then?”

“Oh…yeah, um…”

“Never mind,” I cut her off. Santa’s not going to spoil this night for us. “Let’s just dance.”

Jules fits her body to mine, as she has hundreds of times before. It’s familiar, sweet and peaceful.

~55~

My mind drifts to the words I’ve memorized, rolling them around and around in my mind.

“Beau, we need to talk.”

“Hmm?”  I snap out of my reverie, just as I was getting to the part where she accepts.

“You are a perfect, wonderful man, and I love you dearly—”

“Mmm, so far, so good.”

“But we’re just not each other’s Happily Ever Afters.”

“What?”  No, What the FUCK?

“You don’t deserve to be hurt. I’m so sorry, Beau.”

I pull back from Jules to look straight into her eyes and properly identify this moment as a hideous joke.

~56~

Two azure pools of honesty stare back at me. There’s nothing to indicate she’s not dead serious.

“Don’t do this, Jules. This is just fear talking. We’re meant to be.”

She shakes her head and brushes away a tear, “You deserve so much better than me. You’re sweet and trusting and caring.”

“But I love you. We’re in LOVE. We’ll always BE in love.” I strain to keep the hysteria from my voice, though the cold fingers of sheer panic grip me tightly.

“I love you, too, Beau. I always will. But surely you’ve noticed we’ve been growing apart lately?”

~57~

“I’ve noticed no such thing.”

“Please don’t make this even more painful than it already is. I’m so, so sorry.”

The bandleader announces Ladies’ Choice. Jules scoots out of my reach and suddenly, Madison takes her place before me.  I blink down at her, unseeing.

“Dance with me, Beau?”

“Madison, I…I…”

She places her hand on her hip and demands, “It’s Ladies’ Choice. Don’t even think about saying no to me.”

I shake my head, as if I can undo the devastation left by Hurricane Jules. Recovering my southern manners, I answer, “Of course, I would never refuse you, Madison.”

~58~

I have no idea how I manage, but soon, there’s a girl in my arms and my feet seem to be moving. I’m still breathing, my heart beats, and that’s all I know.

I can’t understand what’s just happened. Jules’ words rewind and play through my head, obliterating the soundtrack of my proposal from moments earlier. How we could go from one extreme to the other in a matter of seconds is incomprehensible.

I feel a sharp pain in my heart, but then realize, no, it’s lower. The godforsaken ring box digs into my thigh like the cruelest possible joke.

~59~

Madison’s slight build places her exactly in the spot to crash the cube against me over and over again. She must be feeling it as well. It’s maddening!

“Sorry, Madison. One sec,” I say, turning to discreetly move the ring to my inside jacket pouch.  Returning to my dance partner, I see hope and innocence, and I feel absolutely terrible that I can’t even give her a decent dance.

I clasp her hand and hip again and give her my best ‘Light effort’ as my Mama would say.

“Being brutally cast off is no excuse for bad manners,” she’d lecture.

~60~

I focus my full attention on Madison and attempt to smile.

“Oh my God, what did she do to you?” Madison asks, her eyes widening with terror.

My façade crumbles and the plastered smile fades away. I’m still holding her, but we’re no longer waltzing. I’m just standing there uselessly.

She dumped me. Right here on the dance floor. With no warning whatsoever. Two hours before my planned proposal.

Yet still, I protect her.

“We broke up.”

“What?” Madison wears her heart on her sleeve, even in a strapless gown. “What happened?”

“I have absolutely no idea.” It’s the truth.

~61~

“Surely, she must have said something? After three years’ time?”

“Nothing of any substance whatsoever. Listen, Madison, I have to be the most craptastic ladies’ choice in the room right now. If you’d like to rethink your decision, I’ll—”

Suddenly, her face turns fierce. “Beauregard Light, I have waited over a thousand days to dance with you. The way I see it, you owe me one hell of a dance!”

I know the look. She’s bolstering me with her bravado. I can’t help but think how much my mother would love this girl.

“Okay, you demanding…lady. Let’s do this!”

~62~

Her face breaks into a beautiful, victorious smile. I can even feel the corners of my mouth tug upwards in response. Madison’s happiness is infectious, and it’s exactly what I need to catch right now.

I pull her close and set my feet to waltzing. When that song ends, we continue dancing and blend right into Etta James.

At last, my love has come along
My lonely days are over
And life is like a song…

When you smile, you smile
Oh, and then the spell was cast
And here we are in heaven
For you are mine
At last

~63~

I try to sink into the comfort of Madison’s friendship and nearness without absorbing the meaning of the lyrics. How can this be happening? These words could’ve been for Jules’ dance. I’m pulled under again by the sickening reality of our breakup. Surely, it can be salvaged. There’s still time.

Madison’s height poses no obstacle to my line of vision. As we twirl slowly, I survey the room. Where is she? If only I could get to her and convince her that this is a colossal mistake.

The song ends. “Thank you, Madison,” I say.

But she doesn’t release me.

~64~

“Madison, I’ve got to—”

“No, Beau. Don’t.” She’s giving me “the voice” again, and I do a double take. What the hell is going on with the women in my life tonight? Meek kittens becoming fierce tigers before my very eyes.

I must look extremely puzzled, because truly, I am.

Madison explains herself calmly. “You’ve got to let her go.”

“No, Madison, I don’t.” My hand subconsciously taps over my heart, where I’ve relocated the ring.

Madison places her hand over mine gently. “I understand.”

“I had plans to—”

“Shhh,” she quiets me. “I know.”

“How did you—?”

~65~

She interrupts me for the fifth or sixth time. “I felt the sharp object in your pants and figured you weren’t just happy to see me,” she reports, eyes twinkling with mischief.

I try to laugh, but I’m clearly incapable. “But if she only knew—”

She doesn’t even have to interrupt me this time. She just shakes her head sadly. I drop my hand in defeat and hers comes with it.

“How about a drink?” she offers compassionately.

“I can’t stay here, Madison. My heart’s in pieces.”

“Beau, I’m not letting you go home alone.”

“Home?” I choke out.

~66~

I’m flooded with images of our interwoven lives. “I can’t go back there tonight.”

“Then don’t. Come home with me. Let me put you back together, Beau.”

I look down at our joined hands and think about my confession to Madison a few days ago. I don’t do so well alone, and tonight is going to be a royal motherfucker.

“Are you sure, Madison? I don’t want to impose on your plans for the night.”

“Dear, sweet, polite Beau.  For once, do what’s right for you.”

“But I can’t just walk out of here.”

“Why not?”

God, it’s so tempting.

~67~

The opportunity that Madison presents feels like a horse that’s been champing at the bit his whole life and is given the chance one day to run unbridled. I can practically feel the metallic bar loosening, freeing my tongue and rendering the reins useless.

“Why not?” I repeat, an awed sense of wonder at how easy this suddenly might be. Maybe my white horse showed up here tonight after all.

Just as quickly, I recall Frank’s childlike enthusiasm and how crushed he’s likely to be at what won’t transpire.

“Madison, I have one stop to make on the way out.”

~68~

Madison retrieves her wrap as I approach Frank. Seeing me, he shakes his associates’ hands, effectively dismissing them. Clapping me solidly on the back, he says, “How we doing, son?”

“Well, sir, Jules broke up with me about twenty minutes ago, so I’d say we’re not looking too good in the marriage department.”

“Ho, ho, ho, Beau. You’re wearing the wrong colored suit to be making jokes tonight!”

“I’m sorry, Frank, it’s no joke. I’m taking off now, but I wanted you to hear it from me directly.”

“Wait, you’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

“But—”

“Talk to Jules.”

~69~

“Okay, Madison. Let’s get the hell out of Dodge.”

“I thought you’d never ask!” she smiles brightly.

We hop into the first taxi and she gives her address.

“Madison, you’re doing it again, you know?”

“What’s that?”

“Spoiling me.”

“I love spoiling you, Beau.”

“I know; it’s your job.”

“Not this part.” Madison reaches one hand behind my neck, pulling my face close to hers. She takes a brave, deep breath, flicks her gold-flecked hazel eyes to mine, and presses her lips softly against mine.

She pulls back with a start, “Oh God! I can’t believe I just did that!”

~70~

She buries her face in her hands and rocks back and forth, muttering softly to herself.

Once my initial shock fades, I’m horrified to realize I’ve just sat there like a frozen slab, and now poor Madison… I have to fix this. Immediately.

“Madison,” I say softly.

“Please don’t say anything right now. I’m completely mortified.”

“Why on earth would you be mortified? I’m the one who should be embarrassed. I just gave you the worst kiss in the history of mankind!”

She stops moving and peeks out from behind her hands. “Actually I kind of stole it from you.”

~71~

I chuckle. “Well, you’ve got a point there. Still…”

“That was SO inappropriate of me.”

“Everything about this night is inappropriate, Madison.”

“Do you think you might be able to just expunge that detail from your memory?”

“Well, I suppose I could…but what if I don’t want to?”

She brightens, “Huh?”

“I kinda liked it.”

“Yeah?” she asks, a bloom of hope taking root.

“Yeah. And I’d like to have another chance at it, when you’re ready.”

“I’m ready!” she responds immediately, causing both of us to burst into laughter.

“In that case…” I say, scooting closer on the seat…

~72~

Madison is flush with excitement, and I realize once again, it’s contagious. Cupping her chin, I tip her face to mine. Her eagerness is intoxicating, as is her fresh, novel scent. She gasps just before I capture her lips with mine.

This time, my lips feel and taste everything. The more I take, the more I want. Soon, we’re lost in a make-out session that could rival the climactic scene in any teen romance movie.

Madison responds enthusiastically and gratefully. When we come up for air, our faces don’t entirely separate. Nose to nose, forehead to forehead, inhale to exhale.

~73~

I catch my breath first, and ask smugly, “So, that was better, right?”

She giggles freely, and the sound bubbles merrily around us in the taxi. “Pretty much, yeah.”

The vision of the galloping wild white horse returns, unfettered from his chains, mane bouncing with his gait, so majestic and so free. I set aside to examine later the realization that Jules must’ve produced the opposite feeling in me somehow.

“Would you be freaked out if I told you that I feel fantastic right now?” Because, frankly, I’m a little freaked out by that myself.

“No. I’d be extremely happy.”

~74~

 “So, Madison, on a scale from one to ten, how wrong do you think this is?”

“Who says it’s wrong at all? Two single people, enjoying each other’s company?”

“Madison,” I change to a serious tone. “I don’t want you to be Rebound Girl. You’re so much better than that.”

“Beau, I will be anything you’ll let me be for you. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been crushing on you?”

“You have? I guess I need to get my radar fixed.”

“It’s fine. You just had it switched off.”

“I’m mighty grateful you turned me back on.”

~75~

“We’re here,” she says, opening her purse.

“No way, Madison,” I insist, reaching for my wallet.

She unlocks the knob and pushes open her door. I wait on the stoop while she steps inside.

“What are you doing out there?” she asks, puzzled and amused. “Need another invitation?”

“I guess I just want to make sure you’re sure.”

She reaches for my hand and rolls her eyes. “For God’s sake, Beau, come inside! I’m not asking you to marry me! Hhhh! Shit, I’m sorry. Could I possibly be any more insensitive?”

I chuckle at her nervous chatter. “Madison, you’re fine.”

~76~

“Mind if I change? This dress is impossible to sit down in.”

“Sure, Madison. Knock yourself out.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have anything that would even come close to fitting you.”

I laugh again, “No, I wouldn’t think so. Don’t worry about me. This suit is custom. Fits like a glove.”

“Yes, I can see that,” she responds, with an obvious glance to my crotch. “Make yourself at home. Help yourself to a drink. Bar’s over there; mixers are in the fridge. Be back in a flash.”

Madison is perpetual motion. Without her all-absorbing presence, I feel my loss anew.

~76~

I shake myself a martini, preparing a double batch in case Madison wants one, too. By the time I’ve poured them, Madison appears in jeans and a thermal shirt. I stare a beat longer than I should, but can’t help my shock at seeing Madison in street clothes.

Again, I reflect how little we know about each other outside of the most inconsequential office small talk. Well, no time like the present.

“Drink?” I ask, handing her the extra hopefully.

“Sure. What is it?”

“Vodka martini, very, very light on the vermouth.”

“So, a double shot then?” she smiles.

“Basically.”

~77~

“You know, you can take your jacket off.”

I set my drink down and do just that.

“Shoes? Socks?”

“Shouldn’t we be playing poker or am I just gonna strip?”

Madison bounces in her seat, “Strip poker on our first date? That is so kinky. I like it!”

I roll my eyes at her playfulness, peeling off my cummerbund and tie.

She holds out her hand. “Cufflinks. Studs.” I oblige.

“Got a tee shirt under that?”

“Of course.”

“Darn,” she mock pouts. “Okay, off with the shirt then.”

“Demanding little vixen, aren’t you?”

“There’s a time and place for everything.”

~78~

Two drinks and an hour later, I note the time. “Hey, it’s five minutes to midnight. I would’ve been clinking my glass about now…”

She regards me from her armchair with a sad expression. I kick back along the couch and cross my feet over the arm.

“A hush comes over the room. I take Jules’ arm and pull her gently to the bandleader’s podium.”

I am aware Madison is watching me, but my eyes are on the ceiling. “It’s a well known fact that Lights mate for life. Blah, blah, blah. Marry me, Jules.”

I pinch my eyes closed.

~79~

“Hey.” The voice is near, but I don’t realize how close, until she sits down next to my hips and the cushion sinks slightly. Pulling my hands from my eyes, she whispers, “Don’t go there, Beau.”

“I’m sorry to get morose on you, Madison. This is what happens when you pour good liquor on top of total devastation. Recipe for disaster,” I say darkly.

Madison situates herself on the couch parallel to me, tucking herself under my arm and securing her position. Only Madison could fit on this couch with me.

“You know, it’s okay if you need to cry.”

~80~

“Sounds like a fabulous first date,” I mock.

“We don’t have to count this one,” she offers.

“We kissed already. It counts.”

“Yeah,” she snuggles closer.

“Madison, I can’t possibly thank you enough for tonight.”

“You know I love spoiling you, Beau.”

“I’d like to spoil you right back.”

“Maybe on our second date,” she quips.

“You’d go out with me again?” I tilt my eyes down to see my answer.

“Of course, I would!”

“Excellent news, Madison. I hope you won’t be insulted if I fall sleep now.”

“Not at all,” Madison answers, tucking a blanket around us.

“G’night.”

~EPILOGUE~

And so, the jilted prince, having been thwarted so perilously close to proposing, finds comfort in the lips and arms of the very capable, if diminutive, assistant to his almost fiancée.

As the eve of Christmas Eve gives way to Christmas Eve day, the two find themselves curled together in deep slumber on her couch; Madison spoiling Beau and Beau responding, finally, to her significant charms.

What awaits them in the morning, besides that nasty villain of every good romance—morning breath?  Now that the Princess is otherwise occupied, can these two supporting characters find their Happily Ever After together?