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In the middle of the night, as the rain seeps into his sleeves, Robert slowly makes the effort to pull away. Amidst the sounds of sirens below and the clamour of the crowd barely within earshot and the pitter-patter of downpour, there is silence between him and the woman beside him, apart from their quiet breathing; it gives him time to think.
It is when Giselle’s palm brushes with his fingertips that Robert is pulled out of his downward spiral of emotions that have begun to wrap around like a coil and ensnare him, and he notices her hand is trembling – from the icy wind that nips at their skin, or from the same anxiety that is bubbling in him? – and immediately makes a move to remove his coat and drape it over her. She whispers something under her breath – a ‘thank you’ muttered through chattering teeth, Robert assumes, and after she puts it on, she smiles at him.
Robert wants to reciprocate that smile, and there is a small voice in his head practically screaming at him to do so. He wants to reciprocate her smile – a smile no-one has ever given him (at least, not in a long time), a smile that no-one would ever think of giving a cynical attorney who helps to sever relationships and annul vows for a living – but he fears it would once again place them in the centre of their own world and let their surroundings fade away, and it is time for them to return to reality.
"How do we get down from here?" The optimism in Giselle manifests in her tone of voice, even as Robert nervously peers below, at the congregation of yellow taxis and ambulances entangled in an ocean of sparkly purple dust. This dust is Robert’s personal reminder that the events of the last twenty minutes did indeed happen, and that it really is the remains of an evil sorceress-turned-dragon who tried to take him hostage. It is a tale that even Morgan could not fathom (not that she would expect any from her no-nonsense father anyway), so Giselle pulling him back into their more realistic, more urgent issue at hand, back into the safe embrace of reality, should be comforting.
Instead, for the first time in his life, he dreads it.
And not because he’s hundreds of feet from the ground.
Robert looks behind him, at the towering spire. “I’ve no idea,” he says weakly, but as an afterthought, he adds, "But I think we've done enough falling off of stuff today."
Giselle laughs, and Robert follows her gaze to the large window just above them. He is given no time to object when she slowly gets to her feet, and sopping wet, barefoot and in a drenched dress that ends just above her ankles, climbs up like she did to the top of the building with the prince’s sword to rescue him, and tugs at the window to open – and it does, and while it does shock Robert it also relieves him, because he had been starting to panic a little internally over being stuck on the roof permanently. She slips into the open windowsill, and then re-emerges from the inside of the building, staring back down at him. Immediately holding her arm out, despite now being so far from him, she calls down, “Your turn, Robert!”
As he ignores the voices screaming in his head and starts to fumble in a poor imitation of Giselle’s graceful climbing, Robert can’t help but frown for a different reason. And the guilt washes over him — not like the rain that continues to drench him, but a tsunami that aims to drown him — as he thinks of his girlfriend, the woman he was to go down on one knee for and offer a ring up to if it hadn’t been for Giselle’s sudden presence in his life, who had told him it was okay to kiss Giselle, who had watched her kiss him again, tell him that “I knew it was you.”
His heart beats faster. And it’s not from the adrenaline as he climbs, or from any feeling that resembles excitement.
//
If Robert decides to tell Morgan the full story of what happened tonight, he thinks that the most appropriate prologue would be to tell her that the chipmunk from the Italian restaurant fiasco had shown up to the ball and helped to save him from falling to an untimely death.
“We meet again,” Robert says quietly as the chipmunk – Pip, he thinks, that’s right, Pip – jumps into Giselle’s outstretched palms, chattering in a series of high-pitched squeaks that only she seems to understand, and after she looks at him expectantly and Pip flashes him a smug look he never expected any animal to be capable of, he mumbles a reluctant “Thanks for saving my life," to which the rodent huffs and turns back to Giselle.
Robert takes the time to absorb his surroundings after one of the ball attendees who still remained in the ballroom even after the entire dragon situation drapes a towel over him like a large cloak. Where people in gowns and tailcoats filled the room only a while ago, police officers and paramedics have taken their place. At least a handful of them should have already been present by the time the sorceress Narissa had turned into the dragon, but it seems like none of them were, judging by the perplexed expressions caked on all their faces as they hear out the stories of the ball-goers.
“Yes, he’s my true love, Pip,” Robert hears Giselle say, and he bites his lip and the pangs of conscience coil inside of him again. In the hustle and bustle of the ball’s aftermath, the feeling had temporarily subsided, but now there is a feeling of urgency welling in his gut. Kiss her, Robert, Nancy tells him, as his brain plays a visual reel of the scene over and over and over, before proceeding to play the film ‘Robert and Nancy’s Five Years’ (2007). His mind flashes with memories of their first meeting, their first date and their first morning after waking beside her in his bed; Nancy waiting for him with two coffees outside their apartment complex, smiles shared as they pull in for another kiss before he heads in. There is a ring in his drawer, Robert remembers; the day Giselle had gathered a crowd together in dance and song in Central Park, he had been planning to open the box in front of her.
The movie reaches its climax after playing this sequence of recollections: Kiss her Robert, Nancy says for the last time, It’s okay. The look in her eyes conveys to him a resignation she is forced to become reconciled with.
“I have to talk to Nancy,” Robert says, voice quiet and heavy.
This sobers Giselle, and the beginnings of a frown twitch at her mouth, fixating a gaze on the ground. Pip’s chattering gradually reaches a halt. The silence between them is painful, and Robert opens his mouth, wanting to say something to break it, but then ultimately decides to close it without a single word. Giselle looks back up, her enthusiasm immensely deflated and replaced by wistful thoughtfulness; she slowly meets his eyes, and Robert immediately detects the same distressing remorse, the same one that has established its own base within him, barricaded and fortified, refusing to surrender. He remembers the night she experienced anger for the first time, and realises that these other unpleasant emotions are just as unfamiliar to her as anger was back then, but she seems to adapt quickly.
“I have to go talk with Edward.” Pip squeaks again, and scurries up Giselle’s arms and up to her shoulder, and after she stands, she ambles away with him, waving off a police officer. Her dismissive “I have to look for someone, I have to look for someone” is still audible even as Robert turns and walks in the other direction, glancing around.
//
The last he had seen of Nancy, she was beside Prince Edward and the other man who had held the sword up against Narissa’s neck. Maybe it would have been better to go look for them together with Giselle. Or maybe it wouldn’t. And Robert is leaning towards the latter, because the talk with Nancy that he anticipates is going to be one huge fucking mess.
There is a small black box with a ring in his drawer.
A small black box that should have been opened a few days ago, and if Robert was lucky, the ring would also be on Nancy’s finger. The thought of it alone compels him to begin a basic blueprint in his head, outlining what he’ll be saying to her. And that’s only if Nancy wants to listen, Robert muses, and she has every right not to. She’s lost her boyfriend of five years to a singing and dancing caricature who he’s only known for a few days, whom she had barely moved past the suspicion that he’d been unloyal. It makes him feel hundreds of times worse already, and his trembling palms become beaded in sweat.
He wants to say sorry. He desperately wants to apologise, wants to acknowledge the pain he’s put her through ever since Giselle came into his life. Nancy had been so kind to him when they first met, empathetic and supportive when he’d told her the story of his wife the year after their bitter divorce. She was always understanding when Robert had told her he didn’t want her to move in with him even after years of being together just yet, and when he had to abruptly cancel schedules and arrangements last-minute in favour of late nights and overtime at the firm. And though Morgan was never fully eager of Nancy’s increasing presence in her life, Nancy had endeavoured to be the mother figure Robert desperately wanted for his daughter. Five years of all that, and he was throwing all of it away. He wants to say sorry, but the word itself feels like it belittles this entire situation into something minor and trivial.
There is no situation from work that is able to translate to Robert’s current circumstances in any way that he could deem helpful; the closest that comes to mind is spouses begging their partners for forgiveness and showering them with excuses after being discovered in bed with someone else – and Robert despises those kinds of people, regardless of whether they’re his clients or not. But there are always blossoming arguments about the concepts of throwing years – for some, decades – of marriage away, of abandoning a concept of ‘True Love.’
He’d dismissed ‘True Love’ years ago, the day his wife left. But tonight he’s found out that True Love has just saved someone’s life, and this love is completely and wholly directed to him. Giselle loves him in a way that Nancy and he never have, and the kiss was intangible proof of that, and it’s reciprocated. It is a quiet epiphany for Robert that he loves Giselle back the same way, with the same True Love that saved her from death; I don’t sing, and I really don’t dance, he said to Giselle as he followed her through Central Park, as she gathered a crowd in a cadence of song. Then they danced at the ball, and it was instinct, the way he heard his voice sing quietly in her ear.
In the span of a few days, Robert Philip is a changed man.
//
Robert doesn’t know or remember his name, but he recognises the portly, older companion of the prince, quietly sipping from a paper cup in the darker corners of the ball room. He doesn’t understand why he has only made the connection now when it is so painfully obvious that the same man had been present at Central Park with a Russian accent and a caramel apple, and again at the restaurant with the Italian one and the martini. He had stood up against Narissa as Giselle lay unconscious and dying, so Robert makes a quick decision on the assumption of where his morals stand now. “Excuse me, uh, well…”
The man stares at him, expression unreadable. “Nathaniel.”
“Yes, uh, Nathaniel.” Robert’s voice is shaky, and he clenches his fists to stop them from trembling as well. “Do you know where Nancy is?” He adds, “She was with me at the ball..."
“I saw her,” Nathaniel nods. “But I don’t think she’s here anymore.”
He widens his eyes, and bites his lip. He had failed to consider that possibility as well, that she had gone home alone. “Did you see her catch a taxi, or anything?” Robert reaches into his wet pants for his BlackBerry, and immediately enters his messaging app. He is about to send a text comprising of: Are you okay?, before chastising himself for the stupid question and replacing it completely with, Did you leave already? Are you getting home safely? (Robert’s not going to be surprised if she ignores his texts completely.)
“No, no, sir, I think you misunderstand me,” Nathaniel says, as he takes another sip from his cup. “Nancy is not here anymore. And neither is Prince Edward. They left together.”
“They left,” Robert repeated. “Together.”
“Together,” Nathaniel affirms. “To Andalasia.”
The first thought in Robert’s mind – How do you even get to Andalasia? – is overwhelmed by a jumble of other thoughts that communicate bewilderment in his facial expressions. The impulsiveness of Nancy’s decision is probably what shocks him more than the fact she’s seemingly left New York and back to the happy, lovey-dovey place Giselle originated from; in the years of knowing her, Robert knows Nancy to be someone who attempted to often push him out of his comfort zone and make the occasional spontaneous decision, but nothing to this degree. The image of Nancy telling him that it was okay to kiss Giselle flashes in his mind once again.
The kiss was a necessity to save her, but he knew it also hurt Nancy in the process. Robert knew the moment his lips had met Giselle’s, his five-year relationship was immediately severed. He had been through that hurt, and endured through that pain that lingered for years after his wife had left him; impulsive decisions were common among the painful divorce cases he’d witnessed, but was the hurt enough for Nancy to leave New York altogether?
Then again, if his perception of Andalasia was correct and it was a place full of happiness and joy, then maybe it was enough for Nancy. Perhaps she’d hoped that in following the prince to Andalasia the hurt would abate.
“I never took her for someone who’d just up and leave,” he says despondently. Nathaniel gives him a look, as if to say Really?, and Robert continues, “She left… New York… forever, didn’t she? Forever. I needed to talk to her. Are you saying I won’t be able to do so?” He can feel the desperation rising in his tone. “I need to talk with Nancy. We need closure. I have to apologise.”
“You could chase after her,” Nathaniel suggests. “I could take you to the portal, sir, if you really need to talk with her. But I have a feeling it will close soon.”
“If the portal is closing soon, don’t you want to go home? To Andalasia?”
A sigh. Then, a shake of the head. “There is nothing for me in Andalasia, anymore.” Nathaniel laughs bitterly. “I hope to… start anew here. I suppose for Nancy, it was the opposite. There was nothing for her here, anymore, and she wanted to start anew, too.”
Robert cannot bring himself to nod. Instead, he leans back against the wall, and after staring at the ground for some time, says finally, “Nancy kissed me. After the song closed and she became my dance partner again. She kissed me.” He swallows. “And I didn’t kiss her back.” It was the first time that she had kissed him, where he did not respond with the same fervour or passion. “She was so excited to come to the ball, too, since we’d never done anything like that,” And it ended with him kissing another woman. “She was looking forward to this, she’d been surprised that we were going in the first place.” Only because Giselle sent the ball admission tickets in the wreath of flowers. He puts his head in his hands.
He feels like the shittiest boyfriend in the entire world.
“I think she knew she had lost you before you kissed Giselle, sir,” he hears Nathaniel on the side. “She said it was okay for you to kiss Giselle, yes? She knew she had lost you, and it was time for her to let it go.”
Robert knows that Nathaniel is just trying to comfort him, but he feels like he would have preferred some form of berating or yelling instead. His wording makes him feel hundreds of times worse. Nancy lost him. She let their relationship go.
“Sir–”
“Robert,” he finally cuts in. “My name is Robert.”
“Robert,” Nathaniel corrects. “I believe, in the end, Nancy understood. I think… she may have understood Giselle’s true love for you in a way that you don’t, just yet. And understanding was what let her know that it was okay to move on and take things in her own hands. You should let yourself be happy with Giselle.”
“It feels wrong.” Robert’s shocked at his sudden outburst, at him saying the first thing that comes to his head. He decides to attribute it to his headache, newly sprung and pounding. “I’ve only known Giselle for a few days,” he protests indignantly. “I’ve known Nancy for five years. I was going to propose to her.”
“You’ve known Nancy for five years, and you were going to propose to her, but you fell in love with Giselle instead,” Nathaniel counters. “I am not an expert in magic, but I have a feeling that the True Love’s Kiss would not have worked, no matter how much Giselle loved you, if you did not love her in the same way.”
Robert’s eyes traced the outline of the ballroom, scanning the area for Giselle. He sees her, still wearing his coat, and since she’s on the other side of the room he doesn’t know whether she’s looking in his direction too. He thinks of beautiful ballads and dresses cut from his curtains and his carpets. A summer’s day in Central Park, a not-date at Bella Notte, her in his pyjamas, her hand on his chest. He ponders over Morgan kissing Giselle on the cheek, and the unadulterated admiration his daughter had for her. The heartache creeping in him as he and Giselle parted ways, where he had thought he’d never see her again.
“Giselle will be staying here in New York, Robert,” Nathaniel says gently. “She loves you, and she chose to stay here for you, with no regrets. Nancy left your world with no regrets. You should let yourself love Giselle with no regrets, either.” He sighs, and then turns to face Robert, with a slight bow of the head. “I shall be taking my leave now, sir.”
Robert stares at Nathaniel, wide-eyed. “You’ve decided to go back to Andalasia?”
A small chuckle escapes the older man’s mouth. “No, Robert, sir… I am just tired, and I want to rest. But think about what I’ve just said.” He bows his head again. “It was nice meeting you… ah… properly. I bid you goodnight–”
“No, wait.” Robert pats his pants pockets hurriedly, much to Nathaniel’s confusion, before pulling out a pen and a small pad; two things that are always on hand for him, but he immediately shoves the soggy writing pad back into his pocket. He’d been an idiot to not take it out of the ball, he thinks, but he pushes the thought away. He gestures to Nathaniel’s hand, asking, “May I?” When he obliges, Robert scribbles down his phone number. “If you’re staying in New York, you might, uh… want some help in settling down. I don’t know what it’s like in Andalasia, but here… let’s say… everyone wants to know everything about everyone else. When you need the help, feel free to call.” Then, remembering what Giselle had said about “not being able to hear from here” the night they met, he quickly adds, “With a phone. A payphone. In a phone box.” And as another afterthought, Robert writes down his address, then repeats the address aloud, lest the writings on Nathaniel’s hand wash away in the rain. “You can use a phone, right?”
Nathaniel gives him a sly smile, though his eyes sparkle with the hints of mischief. “I can learn.” Robert places the pen back in his pocket, and the two shake hands. But he can’t help but ask Nathaniel one final question: “What do you find so intriguing about New York, anyway?” It’s a crappy city. There’s too many people, the sewers stink, and the winters are bitter and biting. There’s nothing attractive about New York. Yet Andalasians seem to find something about it they like.
But this question, Nathaniel does not seem to be able to provide a direct answer to Robert for. He contemplates the younger’s question for several moments. “There is nothing for me in Andalasia, anymore,” Nathaniel says finally, echoing previous words. “I’ve only been here a day, sir, so you’d have to forgive me for not knowing the answer yet. But I will tell you when I find it, don’t worry.” The older man winks, makes one final incline of the head, and walks away, towards the steps to the exit.
Robert watches him walk away, until there is a buzz coming from his pocket. He blinks several times, intentionally, because he cannot believe the name he sees on the screen.
Nancy: I’m in Andalasia. You don’t have to worry about me.
A moment passes, until another text appears.
Nancy: It’s okay. Really, I promise. I’m happy. I’m getting ready for my wedding, but I have to fix up everything, with the fashion business and my apartment. And you.
And another:
Nancy: Thank you for the last five years. We weren’t meant for each other, but I’m grateful that I met you. You’re a great person, and a wonderful dad. Good luck with Giselle, I wish you both the best. I’m happy for you guys.
One more, and Robert still stares down at his screen, almost unblinking, as if he’ll miss whatever upcoming text if he closes his eyes for even a split second.
Nancy: How is there service here? I’m holding the only phone in Andalasia, and there’s still service. Thank god for the service. Not like I’ll be able to use it for a long while though, I forgot my charger in New York.
Robert laughs weakly, and he takes his time to reread the messages again. Good luck with Giselle. It’s okay. Really, I promise. Robert Philip isn’t an advocate for breakup over text, but he has a feeling that somewhere, in Andalasia, Nancy Tremaine really meant what she had said, and their relationship has ended in a way that was a lot more final and satisfying than he would have expected. But it’s a few minutes into rereading the messages for the umpteenth time that the offhand message about Nancy getting ready for her wedding finally sinks in, and though he sighs, there is a big grin on his face.
Nancy and Prince Edward. Queen Nancy soon, if he’s right, because from what he can recall, Narissa was the queen. Now she’s gone, Prince Edward is King Edward now. It’s a more fitting ending than what Robert could ever give her, and Nancy is happy; the fact that she is happy is the arm that throws him a lifeline, that saves him from slipping underneath the water and drowning in his sea of guilt.
“You’re smiling.” Robert turns, and Giselle is standing before him, hair and dress still wet, and he returns her slight smile with a wider smile that burgeons as the moments pass. “You’re beautiful when you smile,” Giselle tells him, and the compliment is something that travels through his bloodstream and surges through his body. He gestures at his phone, saying, “Nancy is getting married to Edward.”
Giselle gasps in excitement. “That’s wonderful, Robert! They’re going to get their True Love, too.”
Were he the Robert Philip of a week ago, he would have scoffed at the notion of getting married within hours of meeting; he had done the same with Giselle when she had told him they had planned to get married the day after they had met. No, that’s not right – if one were to suggest the same thing to him right now, he would have stared at them in disbelief, but for Nancy and Edward, he makes an exception. They live in a world where this kind of love can exist, and they deserve it. Here, in New York, things will be a lot slower. There’s still a lot of the world he has to teach Giselle about, so many obstacles to navigate, but she loves him. She loves him, and he loves her back. It is True Love that unites them, and maybe this once, Robert thinks that it’s best if the simple facts are enough for him.
Giselle reaches for his arm, and soon enough, their fingers intertwine with each other. Though it is still cold, and they are still wet, her hand is warm.
“I was looking for Edward, but one of the nice old ladies said that she saw him and Nancy leave. I felt terrible," Giselle admits quietly. "Because even though we have our True Love..."
"I get it," Robert finishes for her. He squeezes her hand in support. "I get it. Believe me, I feel the same." The black box with the ring is going to have to be returned; the prospect of marriage with Giselle is one he can't shake off, but that won't be for a while, and Robert isn't stupid enough to propose with a ring intended for another woman. The seller is going to have a laugh, he bets, but right now, he doesn't care. The 180 in his emotions definitely surprises him, but he can't bring himself to care about that, either. Andalasians. What a strange group of people.
"But to get married! I’m so happy for them. And Pip is going back to Andalasia. He said he knew the way, so I let him go. I’m going to miss him.” She exerts a pensive sigh. “I’m going to miss Andalasia.”
“It’s normal to miss Andalasia,” Robert replies. “You’ve lived there your whole life.”
She nods. “I’m going to miss Andalasia,” Giselle reiterates, “but I don’t regret leaving. Especially since I know I get to be with you.”
God, he really does fucking love her.
Robert presses his lips against hers, and in those moments it is just the two of them in their own little world, and though he cannot confidently say that he is no longer nervous, he is a lot more excited for the future. They part to breathe, and then Giselle brings them together again. True Love, her eyes seem to say. He hopes she can see the same look in his blue eyes.
When they pull away again, Robert hears a soft rumble. Giselle places a hand on her stomach, and the two share a laugh. He asks her, “Poisonous apples aren’t your kind of appetiser?”
“I’m starving,” Giselle giggles. “I don’t think there’s any proper food in the ball. I went looking.”
Robert plants a kiss on her cheek. He stares up at the exit thoughtfully.
“A picnic,” he mutters.
“Picnic?”
“We can, uh… head home. Flag a taxi. Grab takeout from the Thai place on 78th Avenue. Or Chinese, if you want. Or pizza. Or we can just grab some cheeseburgers, something simple.” God, he’s rambling. Robert Philip doesn’t ramble, but he’s a changed man, now . “Dry off in front of my fireplace. Eating takeout in front of my fireplace.” He allows himself to grin. “Plan a private picnic by the fire’s glow, right?”
He’s just realised that Giselle has essentially no idea what he’s talking about, with the jargon of his world that is so unlike hers, but she seems unfettered, and her blue eyes seem to become… bluer and brighter when he says those last few words.
“Whatever you say,” Giselle agrees, and the two of them begin their departure from the ballroom.
“Our first date,” Robert smirks.
“I thought the pizza was our first date– but you said no, I remember.”
“Ah… that one can be a half-date?”
“We can have two first dates.”
“... You know what? Yeah, we can.” They reach the top of the stairs, and head toward the exit. “You know, Giselle, I don’t have an umbrella. We’re going to get really wet again.”
Giselle kisses him once more. “Well, we’ll be drying off in front of your fireplace during our private picnic, right? It won’t matter.”
They step out into the rain, their New York baptism.
In the middle of the night, as the rain seeps into his sleeves, Robert clasps Giselle’s hand tighter. They say hello to their new life.