I had less than forty-eight hours to find someone to watch Charlotte so I could be back in the courtroom on Monday.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and exhaled slowly. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
“Daddy!”Charlotte looked up, syrupy pancake crumbs on her chin. “That’s a bad word.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, “and Daddy might say a few more before this day’s over.”
2
NORA
If anyone had toldme a year ago that I’d be spending my first summer after college dancing around at a kid’s birthday party dressed as a fairytale princess, I would’ve laughed. Laughed so hard I might’ve pulled a muscle.
Because unlike many of my fellow graduates, I’d had actual plans. Real, practical ones that used the skills I’d spent years honing. Plans that involved coaching at a summer gymnastics camp before joining a team of elite college gymnasts for a post-season exhibition tour. Things I’d spent years working toward. Things I was actually qualified for.
Jobs that would look good on my résumé since they at least sounded like a step toward a grownup career.
But since the gymnastics camp I’d partnered with in the past had to cancel its summer camps at the last minute because of some embezzlement charges against the CEO, and the gymnastics team I’d been set to tour with had realized they’d booked too many girls and needed to give me a raincheck… I was left scrambling for ways to pay my bills.
Which was why I was now working the preschool partycircuit, clocking hours as Belle, Rapunzel, and occasionally Elsa, depending on which little girl was having a birthday that week.
I double-checked the address glowing on my phone screen, comparing it to the address on the mailbox in front of a cute two-story house. 1436 Meadowlark Drive. Yep, this was it.
I let out a slow breath, glanced at myself in the visor mirror of my black Jeep Renegade, and tried not to laugh at the sight staring back at me that included false lashes, rosy cheeks, and just enough foundation to hide the freckles I usually never covered.
The rest of the transformation wasn’t any subtler. My auburn hair had been curled, pinned half-up, and tied with a golden ribbon, and the iconic yellow ballgown puffed around me like a sunburst, satin skirt spilling over the console.
If only my five-year-old self could see me now.She’d be so thrilled that we’d grown up to be a princess.
I gathered the hem of my dress and stepped out of the car. High-pitched giggles floated through the front windows, and I smiled despite myself. At least my audience will be enthusiastic.
When I stepped onto the front porch, the large iron door swung open before I even knocked.
“You must be Nora!” A woman in her late-twenties, wearing a glitter-covered tank top, greeted me with a look of pure relief. “Thank goodness you’re here. The girls have been buzzing about meeting you all afternoon.”
“It’s wonderful to be here.” I offered her my most graceful fairytale curtsy, jumping into character just in case any little girls were spying on us. “I hear there’s a very special girl celebrating her birthday today.”
“Oh, there definitely is.” The mom laughed. “Come on in.” She stepped back to let me and my oversized skirt throughthe threshold. “Your royal subjects await you in the living room.”
I followed Cassia, a.k.a. my employer for the day, into a beautiful living room where eight or nine little girls sat in a loose semicircle in front of the fireplace, each wearing princess dresses of their own.
And gosh, they were adorable. Something about little girls in sparkly dresses always tugged at my heartstrings. It brought back memories of when life was simpler, back to the lazy afternoons when my friends and I used to dress up and watch our favorite princess movies.
“Hello, everyone!” I said in my brightest, most theatrical Belle voice. “I heard that a very special princess just turned three years old today, and I came all the way from my castle to wish her a happy birthday.”
The girls gasped in unison, tiny hands clapping, as their gazes followed me to the space in front of the fireplace that had been decorated with a pink balloon arch.
“Now, who is the birthday girl?” I asked, my gaze scanning the group.
“Me!” A blonde wearing her own Belle ballgown shot her hand into the air. “I just turned three!”
“Well, happy birthday, Princess,” I said with a curtsy. “You look absolutely royal.”
A wave of giggles rippled through the room as I glanced over the group of tiny, tulle-covered party guests. I didn’t usually spend much time around preschoolers, but my eyes snagged on a familiar face: my best friend’s niece, Charlotte, who was dressed as Princess Jasmine today.
Normally, I loved seeing the spunky little girl with the dark pigtails. We’d bonded on the flight home from the gymnastics championships this past April when I ended up sitting next to her and her dad.
But today, I silently prayed she wouldn’t recognize me beneath the Belle getup because I needed the illusion to hold.