2 Unhitched
Authors: E.L. Sarnoff
Table of Contents
UNHITCHED
The Untold Story of the Evil Queen 2
E.L. Sarnoff
Unhitched: The Untold Story of the Evil Queen 2
Copyright © 2012 by Ellen Levy-Sarnoff. All rights reserved.
NICHOLS CANYON PRESS
Los Angeles, CA USA
First Kindle Edition: October 2012
Cover and formatting: Streetlight Graphics
All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are a work of fiction or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Dedication
Dedicated to my father
Who is always watching over me.
Prologue
Fairy tales are more than true; not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.
—G.K. Chesterton
S
OMEBODY PINCH ME. IT HAS to be a dream. The green blue water, the creamy white sand, the swaying palm trees. A palatial room in a palatial hotel. And My Prince beside me.
Only hours ago, Gallant and I were married by his father, King Midas. And now we are on our honeymoon at his father’s newly constructed seaside paradise, Wonderland. Gallant insisted on a honeymoon. A chance to finally be by ourselves and get to know each other.
Slowly, he pulls down the bustier of my gown. My skin tingles with the touch of his fingers. I do not move a muscle, but inside I am a tremor of the earth.
I want him. More than anything, anyone. My skin grows so hot, so prickly that I want to climb out of it.
My gown falls to the floor. He rips off my petticoat and undergarments. I stand there naked before him. His piercing blue eyes glimmer with approval. He disrobes himself.
“Come to me, Jane.” His voice is a soft, sexy command.
I behold his beautiful tawny body, each muscle sculpted as if by a master. My brain cannot decide whether it is frozen in shock or if it wants to leap into his arms.
I leap.
He catches me and sweeps me off my feet and into his arms. His lips crush into mine. His kiss is passionate and all consuming. I melt.
“Close, your eyes, my darling,” he whispers into my ear.
Anything, My Prince. My love. My husband.
Closing my eyes, I imagine him transporting me to the gilded four-poster bed with its clouds of fluffy white down. Cradled in his arms, I feel so secure. So happy.
A waft of warm air and the scent of jasmines make me realize that he has taken me outdoors. With my eyes still sealed, I picture the starry sky, the full moon, and palm fronds swaying. The gentle ebb and flow of ocean waves sounds in the near distance.
For five magical minutes, he carries me in silence. His silky, flaxen hair brushes against my fingertips. The balmy breeze blows against my skin as the gentle roar of the ocean gets closer.
A splash of water splatters my feet, making me certain My Prince has taken me into the sea. His pace slows down as the water grows deeper.
He gently puts me down. The warm water brushes up against my body, bathing and caressing me.
“Open your eyes, Jane.”
I flutter them open. My Prince is before me, moonlit from the waist up. The rest of his beautiful body is bathed in the calm, black water that belongs to the night. I hold his gaze in mine. How handsome My Prince is!
Desire is burning in his hooded eyes. Holding me in his sculpted arms, he rolls his tongue down my neck, over the shimmering scars left behind by years of my mother’s abuse, now so far behind me, and across the white flesh of my quivering breasts. He masterfully strokes his tongue all over my body, diving his head deep into the water not to miss any part.
He is an artist, and I am his canvas. His skilled hands gently stretch me. Another paintbrush. This one thick. Capable of deep, broad strokes. His warmth mingles with the warmth of the water. I move my body with his, rocking with the waves that caress me.
We moan with pleasure. He’s not just an artist. He’s a master. I explode inside—a fireworks display of color.
I know I will never swim away from him.
He whispers in my ear, “Jane, let’s make a baby.”
Chapter 1
P
AIN RIPS THROUGH ME LIKE a knife.
“Push,” says the midwife, a heavyset woman with chestnut curls. “Push.”
Tears cloud my vision and mingle with beads of sweat. I push harder and shriek in agony. The baby won’t come out.
Another contraction. This one more excruciating than the one before. I roar with pain. I can’t do this anymore.
“Push,” the midwife says again.
I force myself to push one more time, clenching my hands so tightly my nails cut into my flesh. My scream is deafening.
Finally, a moist, fleshy mound slides out between my legs. It enters the world silently.
The midwife cups the tiny life form in her large, loving hands. She presses a thumb against the newborn’s chest. Her lips part; her eyes grow wide.
“Give me my baby,” I say hoarsely, my throat burning. Struggling to sit up, I take the infant from her and cradle it in my arms.
I gaze down at him. A boy! He’s drenched in blood, my blood, but oh so beautiful. I study the tiny feet that had so often kicked me and marvel at their perfection. His eyes are glued shut, not ready to take in this world; his sweet little lips puckered. The poor little thing must be hungry, especially after his long, difficult journey.
I gently put his little head to my breast. The touch of his lips is as soft as the skin of a peach.
Suck, my little boy, suck
. Nothing. I must be doing something wrong.
I look up at the midwife, silently begging her to tell me what to do. Her eyes are watering. She can barely meet my gaze.
Wordlessly, she takes my baby from me. “I’m sorry,” she says at last. “He has no heartbeat.”
Her words slash through me, and numb my physical pain. I am so numb that tears are stuck in my eyes.
Cradling the lifeless child in her hands, the midwife hurries toward my chamber door. No! I can’t let her take my baby from me!
I leap up from my bed, but exhaustion and pain hold me back. I collapse back onto the sheets. They’re bathed in blood. My blood. So much blood. I grow nauseated.
And then it hits me. Like a spear to my heart. My baby is dead.
I cry like a siren in the night.
“What’s wrong, my darling?” asks a familiar voice.
I snap open my tear-soaked eyes and bolt to an upright position.
A pair of powerful arms envelops me in the darkness.
“Did you have another one of your nightmares?” asks the voice.
Slowly, my terror gives way to the peacefulness of knowing that I am with My Prince in our bed.
Gallant draws me against him. His naked chest is warm and comforting against my torso, trembling and drenched in cold sweat.
I nod.
My Prince runs his fingers through my moist, matted hair. “What was it about this time?” he asks me tenderly.
“I don’t remember,” I lie. The same answer I always give him. I don’t want him to know.
“Come, my darling, let’s go back to sleep.” Still quivering, I lower my body with his. He pulls me closer to him, so that my head is resting on his taut chest. The heat of his body courses through mine. He presses his lips against my temples.
“I love you, Jane.”
“I love you too.”
In no time, Gallant is back to sleep. Tucked safely in his manly arms, I feel my rapid heartbeat slowdown. But sleep eludes me.
There’s no way I can tell Gallant about my recurring nightmare. He knows everything about my sordid past, including how a drunk, heartless king raped and impregnated me when I was only thirteen, and then abandoned me after his heir was stillborn. What he doesn’t know is that I relive the loss of my child, this tragic and horrific life-changing memory, every night in my dreams.
How can I tell him? Gallant so badly wants to have a child with me. He’s even made us consult with Lalaland’s foremost fertility specialist, Dr. Jacob Grimm. The sign outside his office reads, “
Where Fairy Tales are Born.”
But so far, after six months of treatments, running the gamut from magic elixirs to scheduled sexual encounters, no baby. As my best friend Winnie would say, “Maybe it’s meant to be.”
My eyes are wide open. Gallant snores softly. I turn my body slightly to caress his face. I’ve run my fingertips over his chiseled features countless times, but each time brings me wonderment and joy.
My heart clenches in my chest. How can I tell the man I love that I’m afraid to have his child?