Morning always held a new hope. It was as if the night time had simply erased any terrible event from the previous day; and the rising sun illuminated the life of a wakeful bliss.

Dew glittered like jewels on the tips of grass, and winked at Belle as the sun reflected its light. She stood at the small balcony of her room; leaning dangerously forward over the columned rail as she viewed the beauty of an Italy sunrise.

Soft light touched the clay-like buildings; and suddenly it was as if a moment of magic had slipped through the reality of everyday. It seemed as if Belle had just stepped into an animated picture in a story book; an impossible world had just become real.

The ocean could be seen glittering from the rising sun, reflecting the traditional oranges, reds, and pinks into the sky.

The air was soft, and Belle held out her arms and closed her eyes; feeling the wind caress her face and feather through her fingers. She breathed deeply, a smile lifting her face as she enjoyed the peaceful moment.

She cleared all frustrations from her mind. She closed her mind to her sister’s wedding, the bachelor coming to court her, the handsome fiancé and prince, her scheming mother, and William…

The soft smile twisted into a grimace and her arms fell, her eyes opened. It hurt to think the name. She couldn’t bear to remember the stab she had felt when she heard it. She sighed, and turned back into the room to get ready for the day.

According to an elaborately planned agenda Ella had composed herself; the first item was breakfast on the pier, and the boat would begin to sail at nine o’ clock. She smiled as she pulled out the blood-red high-heel strappy shoes designed for dancing. Ella had included something Belle loved to do in that morning’s festivity. Dance.

She remembered when she was five years old, before daddy had died; he had picked her up and put her little feet on top of his. He held onto her chubby little hands and swirled her all around the room with Frank Sinatra in the background.

It was only one of the rare memories Belle had of her father. Ella didn’t remember him at all, she had been too young when he died. Belle walked out to the balcony again, her fingers delicately stroked the velvety petal of a common flower in Rome. It was sometimes called Via Appia Antica, named after an abandoned road that connected Rome to other cities. She carefully plucked one off and returned to the mirror to tuck it safely in her hair.

*****

“Why, don’t you look lovely,” Belle’s grandmother peered at her, a sly grin on her face, “No particular reason I’m sure?”

Belle was sitting next to Ella in the limousine that would take them to the pier. Unfortunately, Ella had hoped to make her sister and fiancé better acquainted, furtively sandwiching Belle between Henry and herself. She would later claim that it was for the comfort of her sister’s presence. Belle had tried to ride with another group, but dear Ellie had caught her before she had the chance to slip in the seat next to Aunt Carolyn.

So there they sat, still climbing over an invisible wall of awkwardness in accepting the marriage of a sibling/daughter to a Prince. And Belle was forced to suffer the teasing of her beloved grandmother the entire way.

“Er…no?” Belle felt her cheeks grow warm, and she clasped her hands together to distract herself.

The grandmother tipped her head slightly towards Belle’s mother, her eyes rolled and a smile pushed up half of her wrinkly face. They began to talk in quiet whispers, nodding and glancing at Belle occasionally.

Belle sighed, trying to unnoticeably squirm closer to her sister; away from the stranger that would marry her sister. He smelled so good.

“So you must be Belle, correct?” Henry’s voice caught her off guard, the deep rumble of his accented voice vibrated against her comfortingly.

“Yes,” she answered, refusing to make eye contact.

“Ah,” he said, fidgeting slightly.

Ella nudged Belle with her elbow, glowering.

“So—Prince Henry, right?” Belle asked casually, hoping the lightness of her tone might make things more comfortable. It worked.

He laughed, and Belle finally looked at him; the pleasure of such warm laughter reminded her of the father she once knew. His face glowed with enthusiasm as she gave him attention, and he eagerly took advantage of it.

“Henry—if you please,” he chuckled, his dark eyes still seemed to sparkle with the laughter, “And how do you like Rome?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yes it is.” He nodded, entwining his fingers together and leaning forward. “I noticed you’ve become acquainted with the native flowers here,” he motioned towards her hair.

Belle smiled crookedly, “Yes, I couldn’t help myself. I’m afraid they were too beautiful to resist.”

“I understand the feeling,” he murmured in a voice low enough she wasn’t sure if she was meant to hear.

*****

“We’re here!” Ella beamed, taking Belle’s hand in both of hers. Belle smiled, avoiding the persistent gaze of her grandmother. She did acknowledge it though, and decided to brace herself for whatever might be thrown at her.

Henry graciously held a hand out to ever passenger to help them out of the limo. Belle tried to ignore the tingling in her hand when he released her, subconsciously flexing her fingers as she looked around.

The boat gleamed brightly against the shimmering waves, and passengers began to file through the stairs that took them to it. Belle hastily grabbed the railing of the stairs, refusing to look down at the dark ocean as she followed the pursuers.

When she was a little girl, she had almost drowned in a swimming pool at a birthday party. It was hard to forget the frightening time and she had had nightmares for years. Now, a woman at twenty-three, she still had a phobia of water.

She tried not to think about it as she stepped carefully onto the boat, and she was easily distracted by the colorful sights. Small tables that sat four were set neatly with bright colored flowers and beautiful utensils. Guests were being seated by smiling servers, Belle noticed a mother that spoke to her small daughter that wore a puffy pink dress with little flowers embroidered on it. The little girl had dainty blonde curls and baby pink roses in her hair. The girl pouted as the mother spoke in a serious tone—Belle imagined she was being reprimanded.

People laughed and spoke earnestly with one another, some sitting, while others stood. The setting was not precisely beautiful without the sudden music that made many of the guests gleefully find a partner and begin to dance. Belle observed a boy that looked about twelve-years-old shyly approach a pretty girl that looked just a little older than him. He spoke quickly, shoving his hands in his pockets. The girl blushed and then nodded timidly.

Belle casually continued to view the growing group of dancers; her eyes falling upon Ella and Henry. She carefully watched Ella, happy yet jealous to see the sparkle in her eyes; longing for the happiness she had lost and would never have. The song ended, and the intensity of Belle’s stare caught Ella’s eyes. Belle smiled and winked at her, but then the smile slowly faded to a worried frown when Ella turned to Henry, speaking rapidly and glancing at me. Belle watched as Henry glanced at her and then back at Ella. Ella nodded, and then grinned at me before turning towards one of the tables to find her mother.

Belle’s hands trembled when Henry began to walk towards her as another song began. She felt like she was in Jr. High again, looking desperately around for a girls’ bathroom to hide in whenever there was a slow song. He walked toward her in exaggerated slowness, his hair occasionally hiding his eyes from the wind; his eyes intent and focused—or perhaps it was her mind playing tricks on her.

She unconsciously backed towards the railing, her fingers finding its metal hand rail. He smiled as he approached her, one arm tucked behind his back as he held out a hand and bowed slightly.

“May I have the pleasure of this dance?” he murmured.

“Yes,” the word came out before Belle could smoother it and she found herself blushing again. She held out her hand and he took it, leading her towards the dance floor. He gently slipped a hand at her waist, and she slipped a hand on his shoulder. At first it was slow, a simple tip of back and forth. He stared at her with intent eyes, and she did her best to keep the eye contact without blushing.

Then he tested her, spinning her and twirling her; and when finding her quite capable of different moves, he brought on more difficult steps. She followed confidently, putting him at awe. They did not speak, not with their mouths. Their eyes did all the speaking.

They seemed to be in wonder with one another, enchanted by each other. She observed the flecks of gold in his eyes, the kindness in his smile. The music ended too soon, but still they could not let go—still gazing as if in a spell. Finally they released. He lifted a hand to his neck, looking down. She wrung her hands together, looking away embarrassed.

“Wow,” he whispered, their eyes met in unison. “You’re a fabulous dancer. Who taught you?”

Belle suddenly noticed that they stood alone, the rest of the crowd had backed away, and they had formed a circle around them. She backed away from him fearfully, her lips slightly parted.

Before turning and slipping through the crowd: “My father.” She answered.

Music picked up again, and she focused on keeping her mind focused—her heart beat seemed to be thwarting the beat of the music. She watched as Ella had once again found Henry, and they began to dance.

She sighed, leaning against the rail, careful not to look in the ocean.

“Excuse me miss?”

Belle looked up curiously to meet the eyes of the handsome Italian man that had just spoken to her. He had deep blue eyes that pierced right through her, his hair was dirty blonde; and looked like one of those sexy surfer guys that just came off the beach. The shirt he wore was loose and buttoned down even more than Henry’s had been the previous night. It showed his muscled and tanned body, his sleeves rolled up casually to his elbows.

Belle observed that he wore a leather necklace, and there was a ring strung on it that had a different language inscribed on its surface. He raised his eyebrows with a gentle smile as Belle observed him; and she blushed, looking down.

“Can I help you?” she met his eyes again

.

He grinned, “Can I have this dance?”

She looked at him in surprise.

“Sure,” she answered, accepting his hand.

“I’m Jon,” he said, “Jon Renson.”

They began to dance.

"And you are?" he smiled crookedly.

“Belle Boré,” Belle smiled.

They continued to chat about trivial things, she listened intently as he spoke of his adventures.

“I rock climb, surf, mountain bike, snowboard, sky dive, and travel the world. I’m up for anything dangerous,” he grimaced, “Mother was never happy with me.”

Belle laughed, “I can hardly blame her.” The music ended but he pulled her to the seat of a nearby table.

“Too pretty a girl to be standing alone on the side,” he explained, his eyes as daring as his personality. Belle rolled her eyes.

“And why should that make such a difference?”

“Okay, the truth is I don’t want to see you dancing with any other guy than me.” He shrugged, “What can I say? I’m selfish, I guess.”

Belle laughed again, pleased to see his face glow at her smile. She found that she liked Jon, she felt warmth bubble up within her as she spent time with him.

“Well, what are you going to do if someone asks me?” she challenged, turning her head to nod towards one of the men searching for a partner. His eyes narrowed as he followed her gaze.

“Well I guess I’ll just have to cut in,” he winked at her, leaning closer.

“How much did she pay you?” Belle asked suddenly, all laughter gone from her eyes. He looked confused.

“What?”

“How much did she pay you?” Belle spoke each word slowly, leaning closer to the point that she could feel his hot breath tickle her face.

He looked innocently lost.

“I’m sorry, who?”

Belle sighed, “My grandmother.”

“Ah,” he looked as if he had just remembered how to do a problem on a math test, “Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” he asked, leaning closer, his eyes flickered fire.

He was much too close. Belle tripped in her mind, losing her trail of thought.

“It just does okay?”

One eyebrow shot up in amusement, his eyes were teasing. He leaned closer, she felt his eyelashes brush her cheek as he moved to whisper in her ear.

“It just…does?” he shook his head. “Belle Boré , you’re quite a girl.”

And with that he broke the remaining space between them and kissed her, his warm lips moving unconditionally against hers. Belle gasped when his lips gave her freedom for a moment—but only for a moment, for they found hers again without avail.

Finding herself, she pushed him away, slapping him with all the power she could muster.

“How dare you!” she stood furiously, feeling the urge to hit his smug face again. Several guests watched curiously, and she closed her eyes, sighing. “Please leave, don’t bother coming back.”

“Belle—” the red marks of her fingers showed angrily on his face.

“Go jump in the ocean!” Belle spoke loud enough to gather more curious attention. She turned furiously and left, finding her rail again. This time behind a more protected gathering to block her from view.

She relaxed as she saw him leave, trotting down the stairs onto the dock with a stubbornly smug expression on his face. Yet it seemed to be glued there, as if he was forcing himself to smile.

Ugh, don’t flatter yourself, Belle told herself, he did it all for money.

She watched as Ella, Henry, her mother, and her blessed grandmother began to walk towards her, each carrying different expressions.

Ella’s was one of concern, her bright eyes curious and careful. Henry’s was a trembling smile, as if he was making a deep attempt to keep a poker face. Her mother, however, kept a very morose and calm face; as if she was about to explain to a child not to run in the streets. Belle’s grandmother was the most vivid. Furious was not enough to describe such a livid expression.

She backed more towards the rail, unaware of her expression; but fearing the ones about to attack her. Preoccupied by her pursuers, she didn’t realize exactly how far back she had been leaning. The railing was only waist high, and gravity claimed her as she tottered dangerously on the edge.

“Oh!” was the last word she spoke before the weight of her upper body was won over by gravity, her legs kicked over and she was plummeting towards the icy waves of the ocean. The water slapped her as she made contact with it, and a current grabbed hold of her—tossing and turning her under the waves.

In the moments her head could make contact with air, she gasped, her eyes blurred from the salty water. She could hear voices above her; her mother and Ella yelled above all of them.

She did not hear the splash that came secondary to hers. She did feel the muscled arms around her, the powerful strokes that brought her to the surface and dragged her towards the shore.

[i]

She gasped and choked, feeling salt water spurt from her mouth as they reached shore. The last thing she remembered was the blue sky before darkness had taken her.