Chapter Text
“Oh no, no, no, no, shit! ”
Belle Gold winced as she watched her overstuffed wheeled suitcase tip backward down the steps to the caretaker’s apartment above the library, thudding and bumping loudly as it fell before coming to rest at the base of the stairs.
She let out a huff, trudging back down the stairs and grabbing hold of the handle, one of its wheels now hanging off at an odd angle.
“Great,” she said with a sigh, righting the thing and starting to drag it back up the impressively steep stairs. Had they always been this bad and she just hadn’t noticed? Or did they seem worse because of her current predicament, the rawness of her feelings giving a heightened sensation to every mild inconvenience? Every thud of her now broken suitcase against the cement stairs was like a personal affront.
By the time she made it back up a second time, her arms were screaming with the effort and she was out of breath and sweating slightly. Why had she packed so many of her books? It wasn’t like she’d be barred from the house, unable to go back and collect what was hers. She hadn’t been kicked out, she’d left of her own accord.
Belle stopped on the little landing at the top of the stairs, making sure the suitcase was properly balanced against the wall and wouldn’t go toppling back down again, and searched her key ring for the right one. Her hands shook slightly and she dropped her keys with a clatter on the tiled landing.
She stared down at the crowded key ring, her eyes beginning to sting with the threat of tears and a feeling of panic rising in her chest.
Somehow she’d managed to keep it together so far, through the fights and then the stilted conversations, the talk of dividing assets like they could simply split their life together down the middle and each take half. Like that wasn’t maiming what had once been the very best thing in her life.
But now, alone in a dimly lit stairwell, facing down a future she had never anticipated, Belle felt herself ripping at the seams.
“Don’t do it,” she chastened herself. “If you start crying, you won’t stop. Don’t do it.”
She took a deep breath, bending down to retrieve the dropped keys and finally got the door to the apartment open, sending it thumping against the far wall with a push of her hip.
The air was musty with disuse, sheets covering the sparse furniture to keep the dust away. Belle sighed, dragging her suitcase into the living room and letting it flop over uselessly on its side. Usually she would show better care for her things, but at the moment she didn’t have the energy.
She pulled the yellowed bed sheet off the squashy sofa, letting out a hearty sneeze at the cloud of dust kicked up by the motion. Luckily the furniture seemed none the worse for wear and she crumpled up the sheet, tossing it into a corner to worry about later.
She glanced around, taking in her surroundings. The apartment wasn’t much, a small living room open to an even smaller kitchen, barely enough room for a small bistro table tucked under the window, and a short hallway containing one bedroom and a bathroom with the smallest shower stall you’d ever seen. It had been enough for Belle once though, and it would be again. She’d not grown so used to luxury over the past several years, had she?
Belle walked further into the apartment, dropping her purse down on the laminate kitchen countertop. She supposed she should get around to unpacking her suitcase. It was too large and bulky to stay in the living room, blocking off the walkway. She checked the fridge, not sure what she was expecting to find in there other than an old box of baking soda. She pitched it into the kitchen wastebasket, and tried to make a list in her head. That would be a good distraction.
She needed a TV. The last time Belle had lived here, she hadn’t had one and didn’t feel the lack. But now she’d grown used to watching cable news in the morning while she had her coffee, and television dramas on Sunday nights. Speaking of coffee, she’d need a coffee pot, and a kettle, and…
The damn tears were welling up again.
It was just such a terrible waste.
A waste of time, of effort, of tears and love and heartbreak. A waste of the energy she had put into making a life, a home, here in Storybrooke. What did she have to show for it now? She didn’t even have a kettle to boil some goddamned water.
Belle took the few steps back to the squashy little sofa, more a loveseat to fit in the tiny space than a full sized piece of furniture. She slumped on to it, staring down at her knees and wondering what had driven them to this point. In truth there was no one big thing. It would almost be easier if there were. If she could point at an affair, a big lie, a broken promise, something that had blown her marriage to smithereens. She still wasn't even sure what had caused the shift, but there had been one. And suddenly there were a hundred little things, tiny little cuts she’d only been able to ignore for so long before she was hemorrhaging from them.
So she’d left.
He’d offered her the house, of course he had. He’d said he could stay in his shop or the cabin. She didn’t need to leave her home on account of him.
But the house was his. It had been long before she’d entered the picture and would be once she was gone. It was where he’d raised his son and he had happy memories there that had nothing to do with her. It would be wrong to take it from him, even temporarily.
So instead she was here, in the caretaker’s apartment above the library, a remnant of the single life she’d hoped never to have again.
She took a deep breath, shaking her head. There was no use dwelling on it. She had to play with the hand she’d been dealt, no matter how unfair.
Her phone vibrated from her purse against the kitchen counter and Belle jumped up, rummaging around for it and answering without even looking at the Caller ID, happy for the distraction.
“Hello,” she said as cheerfully as she could muster.
“Belle,” came a soft voice from the other end of the line, a voice that used to send shivers down her spine. Now it was a very different sensation, a gnawing, aching feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“Alasdair,” she said stiffly. “Can I help you?”
There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line, a deep breath, and Belle rolled her eyes. If he hadn’t wanted to speak to her, why had he called in the first place.
“Well?” she prompted. “If you have something to say, say it. I have a lot of unpacking to do.”
“Neal called,” he said. “He’s decided to come up for the weekend from the city.”
“Okay,” Belle said, unsure of where this was going. Her stepson was a grown man now. It wasn’t as though any children would be harmed in the dissolution of her marriage.
“He’s coming over this evening,” he said awkwardly. “I thought, if you wanted, we could tell him our news together.”
She’d only been Neal’s stepmother for five years, though she’d dated his father for two years prior to the marriage. Four of those years he hadn’t lived at home, away at college most of the year. She wasn’t his mother. What did you call an ex-stepmother? Nothing, she supposed.
She’d been a part of Neal’s life since he was fourteen. Now that she was split from his father she would have no tie to him at all, the only child she’d ever known. The only child she’d ever have the least claim to.
“Do you want me to come?” she asked. There was no use beating around the bush, second guessing what her husband really wanted. She’d had enough of that over the past five years.
“I’d prefer it.”
“Then I’ll be there.”
“Great,” Gold said, unenthusiastically. “I’ll make dinner. Come over a little before 7?”
Gold hung up the phone without bothering to say goodbye and Belle checked the time. It was just after 2 in the afternoon giving her plenty of time to panic and stress before going back to Gold’s house.
She hadn’t seen him today. He’d been sleeping in the guest room for the past few weeks and he’d already gone to the shop when she woke that morning, not wanting to be in her way as she packed to leave. She had a few boxes still in her car, photos and keepsakes, and necessities like towels and sheets for the apartment’s rickety double bed. There was no one to help her bring the boxes in, no one she’d trusted with the knowledge of her biggest failure to date, so she’d best get a move on doing it herself.
An hour and a half later, she had more or less moved in.
Belle thought she would feel better once the apartment felt like her own again. She’d put her old blue paisley sheets back on the bed, a thick white down comforter over top. The philodendron she’d been tending was sitting on the windowsill flanked by her parents wedding photo and a picture of herself at the Taj Mahal from a trip the summer after college graduation. Her favorite books were crowded on to the bookcase by the closet door.
But none of the familiar hallmarks of home made her feel better. She only felt worse, like she was moving backward through life, back to where she’d started.
She still had entirely too much time to think before that evening’s plans so she walked down Main Street to the market for provisions for her empty pantry. It was a beautiful spring day, the sun shining and birdsong trilling through the cloudless sky. It felt mocking almost. If the weather had been particularly cold or rainy it would have suited her mood better.
Belle contented herself with picking out a few cheap bottles of wine, a pint of ice cream, and a couple of chocolate bars. She assumed after tonight’s conversation with Neal she’d most likely want to wallow. A lonesome, bare bones apartment was made less so with alcohol and chocolate.
“Big night planned?” the cashier asked as he rang up Belle’s purchases, placing her bottles of wine in a paper sack.
“You know it,” she returned as cheerfully as she could. The town would find out eventually, but she wasn’t ready yet. Her husband was such a private man she was sure he wouldn’t want anyone knowing about their marital strife and honestly she was just as loath for them to find out. It would be bad enough telling Neal, as if breaking their silence to one person would make it real, not just a bad dream, a bad streak of luck.
The rest of the afternoon passed both too quickly, and achingly slowly. She’d seen Gold just the night before, standing awkwardly in the doorway to his study as she told him her plans to move out the next day. He’d barely looked at her, giving her no more than a cursory nod before turning back to his all important ledgers, lists of the money that was owed to him, meticulously kept as if it was the one thing that truly mattered in his life. Certainly more than her.
Still, it felt as though it had been a lifetime since she’d really seen him, the man she’d married. A feeling of dread settled in her stomach and all too soon she was staring down into her suitcase, puzzling over what to wear.
Once she’d cleared out the books, she hadn’t brought much in the way of clothes and what did one wear to break the news of an impending divorce in any case? It was April, the weather warming up but still chilly in the evenings, so she pulled out a lightweight sweater and a pair of dark jeans. There was no need to dress up for this, no need to impress. She was exiting the family, not joining it.
Belle felt that tightness in her throat again, a herald of the breakdown that wanted to come. Instead she shucked off her sweatshirt, getting changed before brushing her hair out in the bathroom mirror. She added a bit of lipstick, not wanting to look like a complete fright, and gave her reflection a brief nod. She looked as she typically would for a Friday evening at home.
Home. The word stuck in her mind like a splinter. Gold’s house wasn’t her home anymore. This apartment was, for now. A transient home. Perhaps one day she’d save up enough to buy a little two bedroom somewhere. Perhaps she’d move away from Storybrooke altogether.
At least Belle’s car was a pillar of stability, and for that she was grateful. She’d brought so little into her marriage and it felt good to have something that was still wholly her own. Her trusty old Volvo had seen her through many years of her life, even a brief stint of living in it, and she had resisted Gold’s multiple attempts to purchase her a new one. The engine clanked to life as she set off on the short drive to Gold’s house. Neal’s car wasn’t out front so she pulled up in the driveway behind the Cadillac, as she usually would. She sat for a moment once she’d turned off the car, twisting her hands in her lap and trying to calm herself.
There was nothing to be nervous about, nothing to be sad about. This was a matter of fact discussion they needed to have with Neal. She may not be his blood relation, but she loved Neal. He was family, her family, and he deserved to hear the news from the both of them, not just his father. It would be the coward’s way out not to go inside.
“Do the brave thing,” she whispered to herself.
It was strange to knock on what just yesterday was her own front door, but knock she did. A moment later Gold opened the door, a look of surprise on his face.
“You came,” he said.
He was down to his shirtsleeves, a navy blue apron overtop to protect the fine burgundy silk. He had a checkered dish towel thrown over one shoulder, a picture of domesticity. Belle could smell something delicious on the stove and her stomach gave a little growl reminding her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast that morning. It was a familiar scene, once taken for granted, just her husband cooking on a Friday evening. On a typical night, she’d pour the wine and they’d take their plates into the living room to watch something on TV. But there was nothing typical about this Friday night.
“I said I would,” she answered.
“Yes, of course.” He moved out of the doorway, motioning her to come in. “I’m making carbonara. I hope that’s alright.”
“Neal’s favorite,” Belle said, shutting the door behind her.
“Well, I figured a bit of comfort food wouldn’t hurt, would it?”
“No,” she said quietly. They stood there for a moment, both looking at each other expectantly as if waiting for someone to say something earth shattering. When nothing was offered up, Gold gave a curt nod.
“I was about to put the garlic bread in the oven,” he said. “Would you like to join me in the kitchen?”
“Okay,” Belle agreed, following him down the hall.
“There’s a bottle of white in the fridge if you’d like to pour a couple of glasses,” Gold said as he took his place at the stove, stirring the guanciale before grabbing the foil wrapped loaf of garlic bread and placing it in the oven.
“Probably wise,” she said, retrieving two wine glasses from the cabinet. She poured them each a glass of sauvignon blanc, passing one of the glasses to Gold. Their fingers brushed ever so slightly as he took the glass from her and Belle almost upended the whole thing on him.
“Jumpy?” he asked with an arched brow.
Belle took her wine to the kitchen island, sitting down at one of the stools there.
“I don’t know,” she said with a shake of her head. “It’s weird. This is weird, right? It’s like I don’t know how to be around you. You were the closest person in the world to me for seven years and now we're what, strangers?”
“No,” he said fiercely, facing her from across the island. “I know you probably regret our marriage, but…”
“No,” she replied, just as fiercely. “I don’t. I certainly have some regrets about the past five years, but we were happy there for a moment.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “I like to think we were.”
“I mean,” Belle swallowed, turning her wine glass between her palms. “We were always friends first.”
A stricken look crossed his face, and Gold threw down the dish towel from his shoulder, leaning against the island and looking Belle directly in the eye.
“Yes, we were,” he agreed again. “Belle, sweetheart, you’re…”
Belle’s breath caught in her chest. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d used that particular endearment and it made her heart hammer in her chest.
Before Gold could finish his thought, they were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, a booming voice echoing from the front hall.
“Guess who’s home!”
The change in Alasdair’s demeanor was immediate, a wide smile splitting his face.
“We’re in the kitchen!” he called to his son.
There was some banging around for a moment before Neal’s heavy footfalls echoed down the hall followed by the arrival of the man himself.
“Pop!” he exclaimed, crossing the kitchen to pull his father into a hug.
“My boy,” Gold sighed contentedly, pulling back to look at his son. “You need to shave.”
“Naw, I can almost grow a full goatee now.”
He stroked the fuzz on his chin proudly before turning to Belle.
“Belle!” he said, dropping a whiskery kiss to her cheek. “Tell him chicks dig the facial hair.”
“It’s true, we do,” she said archly.
Gold rolled his eyes playfully as he turned back to the dinner preparations, mixing the pasta and sauce together.
“Boy is Storybrooke a sight for sore eyes,” Neal said, plopping down at the kitchen island beside Belle. “Can you believe I haven’t been home since New Year’s?”
“Yes,” Gold said over his shoulder. “We’ve been bereft without you, haven’t we Belle?”
“We’ve missed you, Neal,” she agreed.
“What brings you home now, son?” Gold asked. “Your spring break was last month, wasn’t it?”
He finished mixing up the pasta, grabbing a hunk of parmesan to grate overtop.
“Yeah,” Neal said cryptically. “I’m only here for the night. I drove up with Emma, she needed to see her parents so I figured why not come visit mine?”
“Well we’re very glad to have you,” Belle said, smiling a little wistfully. It was easy, right now, to pretend everything was fine. But they’d been pretending that for far too long already.
“Is that carbonara I smell?” Neal asked, standing up to get a look at what his father was doing.
“It is,” Gold said with a nod. “Grab a seat and we’ll eat.”
Gold had set out place settings in the formal dining room and Neal raised an eyebrow as they moved into the dining room.
“I’m getting the fancy treatment,” he said. “I’d have been fine with pizza in front of the TV, Pop.”
“Yes I’m sure you don’t get enough of that at school,” Gold said. He placed the steaming bowl of carbonara in the middle of the table and Belle brought in the basket of garlic bread. Soon they were all digging in. Or, more accurately, the men dug in while Belle pushed her food around her plate pretending to have an appetite.
“It’s delicious,” she said truthfully. It wasn’t the fault of Alasdair’s cooking that she couldn’t stomach the idea of food at the moment.
“So good,” Neal echoed through a mouthful.
Once Neal had had a third helping, they sat back, sipping their drinks and chatting about nothing in particular. When there was a lull in the conversation, Gold looked apprehensively at Belle. She nodded. It was better to get this over with.
“Neal, son,” he began hesitantly. “We have some news.”
Neal’s eyes lit up. “The IVF worked?”
It felt like Belle had been punched right in the chest, a blow that completely took her breath away. Tears welled in her eyes and she glanced aside to hide them from the two men.
Alasdair looked at her warily before turning back to Neal.
“Uh, no,” he said with a shake of his head. “We opted not to go down that route again.”
“Oh,” Neal said, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Well, that’s a shame. Although it would be kind of weird having a sibling and my kid be the same age.”
Belle blinked, looking back up at Neal. Gold’s lips parted, his mouth falling open.
“Wh-what?” he asked.
Neal spread his arms wide.
“Surprise!” he exclaimed. “Emma’s pregnant.”
“Pregnant,” Belle repeated, numbly.
“Yep,” Neal said with a cheerful nod. “I’m gonna be a dad!”
“Neal,” Gold cut in, his face ashen. “I distinctly remember having a very uncomfortable conversation with you when you were fourteen about safe sex.”
Neal rolled his eyes. “Yes, and it took. I’m almost twenty-two and this is the first time this has happened.”
“Bully for you,” Gold deadpanned.
“Look, Emma and I have been together since we were seventeen. This might not have been planned, but she’s the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, so why not start now? You’re gonna be a grandpa!”
“Do the Nolans know?” Gold asked, referencing Emma’s parents.
“Oh yeah,” Neal said his eyes going wide. “We told them over FaceTime last week. I honestly never thought David could be scary until that phone call. I’m pretty sure if we were in the same room he would have punched me.”
Belle, who couldn’t imagine David Nolan hurting a fly, could just shake her head dumbly.
“But that’s not the only news I have,” Neal said, wincing slightly.
“You’re moving to Thailand?” Gold asked bewilderedly.
“No,” Neal said, stretching out the word. “We’re getting married!”
“Married,” Gold repeated.
“Yeah well, with the baby and all it seemed right to propose and Emma said yes.”
“Wonderful,” Gold said, his voice clipped. "Have you given any thought to how you're going to support your new wife and child?"
Neal blinked. "I graduate in two months. I'll get a job."
"And where will you live? That tiny apartment with August on the pull out couch?"
"We'll find a bigger place," Neal protested. "Dude, we'll figure it all out. We've got time."
"Nine months goes by very quickly, Neal."
Belle felt like she needed to add something to the conversation, but everything was happening so fast, so unexpectedly. It was true that Neal and Emma had been dating since their senior year of high school. They’d moved to Boston together for college and she’d always imagined in the back of her mind that this day would come. But a baby and a wedding one after the other still had her reeling.
"When's the wedding?" she asked.
Both men looked over at her like they'd forgotten she was there.
“In three weeks,” Neal said, letting his hands drop to his lap. “Mary Margaret insisted we have a wedding before Emma starts showing.”
“That’s not a lot of time to plan anything, Neal,” Belle said.
Neal shrugged.
“Emma and I were hoping for something small. It’s not like things book up quickly in Storybrooke in any case. We could rent out Granny’s for all I care.”
Belle snorted a laugh.
“I don’t think small and intimate and Granny’s go hand in hand. Half the town would show up.”
Neal shrugged again. “It’s where we had our first date. And does anything scream Emma more than chowing down on a greasy burger in a wedding dress?”
“I guess not,” Belle said, scrunching up her nose at the image.
“Well, I suppose this calls for champagne,” Gold said, sounding anything but cheerful. “Let me pop down to the cellar.”
His chair legs grated against the wood floors as he stood up, the tension in the atmosphere lessening ever so slightly.
Neal let out a low whistle as his father left the room.
“I don’t know that I expected him to be happy, but I thought he’d be better at faking it than that.”
“Don’t mind your father,” Belle said with a little shake of her head. “You know it takes him a while to adjust to change. He’ll come around. For what it’s worth, I’m very excited for you and Emma.”
“Thanks, Mama,” he said with a little wink. “Or should I say Grandmama?”
“Oh,” she said, her stomach flipping uncomfortably. By the time Emma’s baby was born she imagined the divorce would be final. She would be nothing to an ex step-grandchild. She’d probably never even meet the baby.
“Belle,” Neal said, misinterpreting her hesitation. “I know thirty-four is young to be a grandma, but you’re gonna kill it!”
“Neal,” she said with a shake of her head.
“I’m just kidding,” Neal said jovially. “We’ll come up with something more youthful sounding for the baby to call you. Bebe? Mimi? Just Belle?”
Belle couldn’t help but smile at her stepson’s infectious joy.
“You seem to be taking this all in stride,” she said. “Aren’t you the least bit overwhelmed or scared?”
“I’ve had a couple weeks to get used to it,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “But no, I’m not scared. And I have you to thank for that.”
“Me?” Belle asked, puzzled.
“Yeah,” he said earnestly. “I mean it would have been really easy to freak out about the baby and the wedding and everything happening so fast, but I’m not and that’s all down to you. After Mom and Dad’s divorce I really didn’t think marriage was meant for much, but then Dad met you. You guys, the love you have, it makes me believe Emma and I can do it too.”
Belle bit her lip, blinking away the tears that wanted to fall.
“I’m happy for you, Neal,” she said, reaching across the table to take his hand.
Gold appeared a moment later, a bottle of champagne tucked under his arm and three champagne flutes in hand.
“A toast?” he asked, popping the cork easily and pouring a splash of champagne in each of the glasses.
“Hey, Papa, that’s the good stuff!” Neal said, inspecting the label on the bottle.
“Well, your only son only gets married once,” he said, before grimacing. “Ideally.”
Neal chuckled as he took his champagne flute.
“Definitely just the once,” he said. “Emma is my Belle.”
Belle’s stomach had sunk so low she was sure she was about to fall through the floorboards. How could they possibly tell Neal the truth now?
“To new beginnings,” Gold said, raising his glass in salute. They clinked their champagne flutes together, all taking a sip. The champagne was delicious and bubbly and Belle could barely taste it, anxiety and grief warring for dominance in her breast.
“Speaking of new beginnings,” Gold said with a glance at Belle. “We have our own bit of news.”
Belle shook her head imperceptibly, trying to convey to her husband with a look that now was not the time.
“It can’t be bigger than a baby and a wedding, but I’ll bite,” Neal said with a grin.
“Son, we’re, um…”
“We’re getting a dog!” Belle interjected loudly, thrusting her champagne glass out with gusto.
Gold blinked, staring at her across the dinner table.
“Wha--”
“I’m thinking some sort of spaniel,” Belle continued brightly, hoping Alasdair would catch on. “What are the little dainty looking ones? Cavalier King Charles?”
“A dog?” Neal asked, frowning. “Awesome! Dad would never let me get one when I was a kid.”
“Because I knew I’d be the one faced with the responsibility of taking care of it.”
Neal just shrugged. “Would have been good practice, taking care of a living thing. I’m going straight from goldfish to baby.”
“I don’t think you can compare any pet to the trials of raising a child, Neal.”
“Well my kid is gonna be perfect, so, we’re fine.”
The banter between father and son faded to background noise, the blood pounding in Belle’s ears and her vision shrinking to a tiny pinprick, riveted by a wet spot on the table. She should really wipe it up before it warped the wood.
Not that it really mattered to her. The dining table wasn’t hers, just like the house and most of its contents. Just like Neal wasn’t her son, this new baby wasn’t her grandchild. She would be nothing to any of them soon enough, just a memory who appeared in a few old family photographs, her name lost to time.
“Belle?”
Her head snapped up as she came back to herself, realizing she and Gold were alone in the dining room now.
“Where’s Neal?” she asked, glancing around. She hadn’t realized how much she’d spaced out.
“He went to answer a call from Emma,” Gold said. “Are you alright?”
Belle nodded.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Good,” he said, still looking at her with concern, more concern than she’d seen on his face in so long. “Can we speak alone in my office?”
That never boded well, but Belle could only nod again.
“Okay.”
When they were safely ensconced in Gold’s study, he spun around to Belle, grounding his cane between his feet.
“What was that all about back there? We’re getting a dog, are we?”
Belle let out a sigh.
“We can’t tell him,” she whispered.
“Why not?”
Belle’s mouth fell open. “He’s getting married in three weeks!” she exclaimed. “Do you want to be the persistent rain cloud over what should be the happiest time of his life?”
Gold’s lips twisted. “He’s not getting married,” he said flatly.
Belle shook her head. “What are you talking about? He and Emma are having a baby. The wedding planning is well under way.”
“He’s twenty-one years old. He’s not ready.”
“It doesn’t matter if he’s ready, it’s happening. How old were you when Neal was born?”
“Barely older than he is which is why I know this is a bad idea. Milah and I had no purpose getting married and doing so just because we were expecting a child nearly destroyed all three of us.”
“You can’t blame an unhappy marriage on an unexpected pregnancy. We’re child free and have ended up in the same boat.”
“Belle,” he said with a shake of his head.
“No,” Belle cut him off. “Neal is a wonderful man. A man , Alasdair, who can make his own mistakes and his own choices. He and Emma are getting married in three weeks and we are going to be supportive and loving and not mention a word of what’s going on between us until he is back from his honeymoon. Okay?”
Gold was looking at her strangely, an expression she couldn’t quite place. Somewhere between confusion and admiration. It reminded her of the way he’d used to look at her when they’d first met, like he was trying to puzzle her out and having a good time doing so. She missed that look, that feeling, when their love was fresh and new and exciting.
She looked away.
“Okay,” he said finally with a short nod. “We’ll keep things to ourselves until all this wedding business is done with.”
“Good,” Belle agreed.
“When can I expect you to move back in?”
That startled Belle into meeting his eyes once more.
“What?”
Gold shrugged. “If we’re to pretend that everything between us is business as usual, it would be strange for you to live in the apartment.”
Belle’s mouth gaped open like a fish out of water.
“Neal isn’t going to be here every day of the next three weeks!”
“No,” Gold agreed. “But he’ll be in and out enough. It’s not a problem. You can have our old room, I’ve been staying in the guest room in any case.”
“Won’t Neal find it strange that we’re sleeping in separate bedrooms?” she shot back.
Gold’s mouth flattened. “We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it.”
“Fine,” Belle said, crossing her arms against her chest. “It’s not like all my things are at the apartment anyway. I have enough here to suffice.”
“Wonderful, I’m glad this is all so easy for you.”
Belle’s mouth fell open. As if any of the last few weeks had been easy.
“Easy?” she hissed. “Yes, uprooting my whole life has been the easiest thing in the world.”
“I offered you the house,” he shot back. “It’s still yours if you want it.”
“You think this is about the house?”
“Guys?” Neal called from the hallway. “Are you decent?”
He stumbled into the study a moment later, a hand comically thrown over his eyes.
“That was one time,” Belle grumbled.
Neal dropped his hand, giving her a grin. “Yeah well once is more than enough to scar me for a lifetime, okay? Better safe than sorry.”
Belle tightened her arms against her chest, feeling surly and sad. Neal never had to worry about walking in on them in a compromising position again.
“Well, I’m headed out,” he said, thumbing over his shoulder.
“You’re not staying here?” Gold asked, surprised.
“Nah,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’m gonna be at the Nolan’s for the night. Emma and I are getting up early to head back to the city. She’s got a doctor’s appointment and we’ve got some things to take care of before we come back here. Mary Margaret is taking point on wedding planning so I’m sure you’ll be hearing from her soon. I apologize in advance. She’s kind of turning into a momzilla.”
“Can’t I just write a check?” Gold said drolly. Belle swatted him on the arm. He reached out to pinch her side in retaliation and it startled a laugh out of Belle before she swallowed it down. It was so much like old times.
Neal huffed a laugh. “I think the Nolan’s are a little too proud to accept a financial handout. But they’re definitely going to want help planning. Mary Margaret has a binder three inches thick full of wedding ideas that I think she’s been collecting since Emma was born. I’m counting on you two to rein her in.”
“I’ll do what I can, Neal,” Belle said, crossing the room to give him a hug. “Drive safe.”
“Will do!” With a wave he was gone, Belle and Gold alone in the study once more.
“So,” Gold said, turning to look down at Belle. “You think you can pretend to be happily married to me for a few weeks more?”
Belle jammed her hands into her back pockets, raising her chin to look at her husband.
“Unlike you, I never had to pretend.”
She spun around, leaving Gold alone in his study. That’s how he liked it in any case.
When Belle arrived back at the library apartment - she wasn’t quite ready to think of it as home yet - she flopped uselessly against the couch, face planted into the cushions.
Backward. She was moving backward, even through this goddamn day. She’d spent all morning moving into the apartment and now she would soon be on her way back out again.
But only temporarily. She couldn’t lose sight of that. Their separation had been given a short reprieve, just for Neal. Once the wedding was over, the divorce proceedings would begin.
She rolled on to her side, pulling her knees up against her chest and staring at the shadows on the wall of her darkened apartment. They blurred together as the tears formed once more, and for once Belle didn’t stop them from falling.