“You need to…” Across the table, Karen made hefting motions with her hands, just in front of her boobs. “Boost them up a bit. Shorten the straps, that should help.”

 

“Where in your book, exactly, does it say that every fairy tale princess needs to wear a Wonderbra?” Glancing around to make sure no one was paying me any attention, I attempted to adjust my bra straps under my dress. Not an easy feat at the best of times, and made considerably more difficult by the fact we were sitting in one of London’s newest and hottest bar-cum-restaurants.

 

“Rapunzel, maybe. But with boobs instead of hair,” Karen replied, after a moment’s thought. “No, wait! It’s clearly Cinderella. Making the most of yourself before presenting yourself to your prince.”

 

I gave the book sitting on the table between us my filthiest look, usually reserved for men who tried to grope me on the night bus home. “Let me guess. This makes you my fairy godmother.”

 

Karen beamed. “You should be grateful I haven’t sent you out to find a pumpkin and six white mice.”

 

“No, just a Wonderbra, a short skirt and a couple of gin and tonics. I can’t help but think that fairy tale standards are slipping.”

 

With a frown, Karen picked up the book and held it close to her – also Wonderbra enhanced – chest. “Really, Donna. ‘The Fairy Tale Way’ got five stars in Fresh Start magazine, I’ll have you know. They said it’s—”

 

“‘The new bible for the newly single,’” I finished for her. “I know. You emailed me the review. Then called and read it out over the phone.” While I was trying to finalise a work document. I just hoped I hadn’t given my manager a personnel report on Sleeping Beauty.

 

“I don’t know why you won’t take it seriously.” Karen placed the book lovingly back on the table, one hand still caressing the picture of Cinderella and Prince Charming on the cover.

 

“It’s about fairy tales,” I pointed out.

 

“It’s about love!” Shaking her head, Karen reached for her gin and tonic. “I think that’s the real reason you won’t give it a chance. You’re too scared to fall in love again.”

 

Which was patently absurd. Who could be scared of love? Love was wonderful; all hearts and flowers and fluffy things. Making a fool of yourself with someone you thought loved you, only to find out that, actually, they weren’t that fussed – now that was something to be afraid of.

 

“I’m not scared. I’m just not in a hurry for another relationship.”

 

Karen drained the last of her gin. “Well, I am. And I need a wingman. Or wing woman. Or whatever. It’ll be more fun if we do it together. Besides, it’ll be good for you to get out there and get to know new people.”

 

Given how awful the last person I’d got to know turned out to be, I wasn’t sure I was entirely ready for new people. Three years with a guy suffering from self-diagnosed commitment-phobia – at least, until he upped sticks and got engaged to a Swedish model – was enough to put you off people for a while. Even princes.

 

I checked my watch. Gone eleven, and no sign of Prince Charming. Still, it was Friday night and we were supposed to be having footloose and fancy free single girl fun, not moping about waiting like Rapunzel in her tower. “One last gin and tonic?” I suggested, and Karen nodded.

 

The queue at the bar, which had stretched to the loos and beyond earlier in the evening, had died down now, and only one lonely bartender was serving. I waited for him to finish mixing cocktails for the guys in suits at the other end, then smiled widely at him as he approached me. I once got a twenty per cent discount on my drinks for smiling at a bartender and, while it’s never happened again, I figure it’s always worth a try.

 

“What can I get you?” he asked, grinning back. He had a great smile, I realised. The sort that made his eyes crinkle and his face lighten.

 

“Two last gin and tonics before bed, please.” My brain caught up with my mouth a moment too late as his grin grew. “Bed for me, I mean. Not you. Because you’ll probably have to close up here. Not that, if you didn’t, I mean—” I paused for breath. “Just stop me. Please.”

 

He took pity on me. “I do, in fact, have to stay and close up tonight. Peril of owning the place. When no one else can do it, it always has to be me.”

 

I watched his tanned hands measure gin into our glasses, and boosted myself up onto the barstool. “You’re the boss, then?” Even sitting up high at the bar, I had to look up to meet his eyes. Tall, then. Taller than me which, at nearly six foot in my heels, was a rarity.

 

Putting down the bottle, he reached across the bar. “Luke Malone.”

 

His hand was dry and warm in mine as we shook. A perfectly respectable, ordinary handshake, but something about the brush of his fingers against my palm made my arm tingle.

 

Dropping my hand quickly, I fished around in my brain for a response. “Wow. It’s not every day I get to meet the owner of the bar and restaurant About Town says serves the best cocktails in London – and the best honeycomb cheesecake.” And now I sounded like my whole life was recommended to me by magazines. “My friend read the review out to me to persuade me to come and try your gin and tonics.”

 

“It’s less glamorous than it sounds,” Luke said, dropping ice into the gin. “And I wish they’d told me they were going to print that beforehand. I’d have got some extra staff in.”

 

“Been busy, huh?”

 

He gave me a tired smile. “Manic. But, you know. That’s good, too.”

 

Luke topped the glasses up with tonic, garnished them with lime, and pushed them across the bar to me. I started to fumble in my bag for my purse, but he shook his head. “Those two are on me, as long as you toast my surprise success.”

 

I bit my lip. “Thanks. That’s very kind.”

 

He shrugged. “Well, since I can’t help you to bed as you suggested…”

 

Laughing, I glanced over at Karen. Engrossed in The Fairy Tale Way again, surely she wouldn’t notice if I talked to Luke for a few moments longer. 

 

“Looks like your friend’s already wishing she was tucked up with her book,” he said, following my gaze.

 

I groaned. “Oh, that book.”

 

Luke raised an eyebrow at me. “What is it? The latest big thing that everyone’s reading?”

 

He had a good read on Karen already, it seemed. “It’s a new dating manual for women looking for Prince Charming. All about how to use fairy tale rules to play the dating game.”

 

“That sounds… absurd.”

 

“Pretty much.” I looked back again; Karen was still reading. “But… Karen’s divorce only came through a couple of months ago, and she’s convinced she’ll never find love again. So I’m humouring her as much as I can.”

 

“You’re not interested in finding your Prince?”

 

I shrugged. “I kinda thought I already had. But apparently not.”

 

“Ah.” He winced. “That’s tough.”

 

“Yeah. I’m ready for a bit of a break from love, to be honest.”

 

“Sleeping Beauty?” he suggested. “Asleep in your castle, waiting for the right prince to find you?”

 

“Actually, for the time being, I’m happy playing the lady in waiting.”

 

“Being a good friend, then.” Luke smiled. “Which fairy tale is that from again?”

 

“You’d have to ask Karen. I’m still avoiding reading the book.”

 

“Ask Karen what?” Karen’s sudden appearance beside me made me jump. “And what happened to our drinks?”

 

Luke pushed one glass towards her with a smile. “Sorry for the delay. But your friend was telling me all about the book you’re reading, and I found it fascinating.”

 

Karen gave him a disbelieving look. “Really. Well, I’d love to stay and discuss it with you, but I’m afraid it’s getting late.” With a very obvious look at her watch, she widened her eyes and said. “The Cinderella rule, Donna. Remember?”

 

I picked up my drink and slid off my stool. Apparently my conversation with Luke was over. “Um, not really?”

 

“Always leave before midnight.” Karen shook her head. “I’m just going to have to buy you your own copy, aren’t I? Anyway, drink up. We’ve only got ten minutes.”

 

As I followed her back to our table, I stole a glance back at Luke, watching us go. He raised a hand to wave goodbye, and I smiled.

 

Maybe, if his bar stayed as hot and happening as About Town promised, I could persuade Karen it should be our new regular watering hole.

 

 

 

As part of Karen’s ‘getting back in the game’ plan, she’d booked up my Saturday nights for the next month and a half. So the following night I found myself struggling into another Karen-approved dress ready for some party at a pub halfway across London. I was almost considering reading the damn book if she’d let me stay in with a box of chocolates and a bottle of wine to do it.

 

“I’m going to freeze in this,” I pointed out, surveying my bare arms in the mirror. “It’s November, Karen.”

 

Karen put down her wineglass and started rooting through the pile of clothes on my bed again. “So put a cardigan on. Where’s the silver one you wore last night?”

 

“It should be on the chair.” I looked over at the overladen seat. There lay last night’s skirt and top, but no cardigan. “Unless… I had my coat last night. And I took my cardigan off at the bar…”

 

Rolling her eyes, Karen flopped back onto the bed. “Fine, we’ll pick it up on our way. But, be honest, did you leave it there on purpose so you could talk to that bartender again?”

 

I hadn’t. But probably only because I hadn’t thought of it. “He’s the owner, actually.”

 

“Really?” Karen shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. He’s a total Buttons.”

 

I stopped brushing my hair. “Buttons. Are we veering into pantomime territory here?”

 

“Buttons is the best friend. The guy you’re fond of, that you like talking to, who fixes you good gin and tonics. But he’s also the guy you drop in a heartbeat, when you meet your prince.”

 

I met her gaze in the mirror. “You think I was Richard’s Buttons, don’t you?”

 

Karen looked away. “Well, it does fit the pattern…”

 

“Or, it could just be that he was an utter bastard who kept me hanging on hoping until he met someone he thought was better.” I started brushing my hair again, rather more vigorously. “I’d never do that to someone.”

 

“Of course not,” Karen said, soothingly, as she pushed my glass of wine closer to my hand. “Which is why you don’t want to get too close to bartender guy.”

 

“His name was Luke.”

 

“Which would be important, if you were going to waste any more time on him. But instead, we’re going to pick up your cardigan, then never go near there again. Right?”

 

I stared at my refection for a moment. With my hair brushed out around my face, and my eyes brightened by the wine, I looked almost fierce. Definitely a woman who could make her own decisions. “We’ll see.”

 

 

 

But as it happened, it was a moot point. The bar was fully staffed by people who weren’t Luke, and one of them fetched my cardigan from a back room when I asked politely. I unfolded it to put it on while Karen hailed a cab outside, almost missing the small square of paper that fell out from the material. Picking it up, I turned it over in my hands, studying the bold lettering, and the slashes of black ink.

 

It was just a quick sketch; trailing leaves and thorns covering a wall, and a figure with a sword in one hand and a cocktail glass in the other, about to fight their way through. Sleeping Beauty’s prince? I smiled, reading the words he’d written below. Ready when you are.

 

“Definitely not a Buttons,” I murmured, as Karen waved manically at me through the window, one foot already in the taxi. Apparently we had a carriage to our ball.

 

I spent the party stuck in the corner, next to an overgrown, spiky, dragon plant that laddered my tights in several places, being bored stupid by an accountant from Surrey. Karen, on the other hand, spent it deep in what had to be a more interesting conversation than mine with a good looking guy in a suit. Dark hair, loosened tie, just the right amount of stubble. Absolutely Karen’s type. She smiled a lot, and for the first time since her decree nisi came through, it actually looked genuine. So I nodded politely at my accountant, tried to rearrange the spiky leaves of the dragon plant, and looked around desperately for more gin.

 

“He’s just… I think he’s a prince, Donna!” Karen announced, as she fell into the taxi home, just before midnight.

 

“How on earth can you tell on one evening’s acquaintance?” I asked, still smarting slightly from the dragon plant.

 

Karen gave me a shocked look. “Would you ask Cinderella that? Or Snow White? Snow White woke up from almost-death to find her prince kissing her, and knew she’d live happily ever after.”

 

Well, if all you needed was a guy who could kiss, I reckoned princes had to be a lot more common than I’d always believed. “So did this bloke kiss you?”

 

“His name’s John. And, no. Not yet.”

 

“So the prince thing’s still up for debate.” I wondered if, by this new definition, Luke might be promoted to prince, instead of Buttons. I couldn’t say for sure, but I’d spent quite a lot of the night before staring at his lips. I’d place money on him being one hell of a kisser.

 

“But only until Friday,” Karen said, one triumphant finger raised. “I have a date for dinner with him on Friday evening, and I bet he kisses me.”

 

“I’m sure he will,” I said, just grateful to have a scheduled night off from having fun, while she was out with her potential prince.

 

“Actually…” Karen gave me that smile she always smiled right before she told me something I wasn’t going to like. Half apologetic, half charming. And entirely false. “He’s got this friend…”

 

My head clunked against the headrest of the taxi’s back seat. “I don’t want to be set up.”

 

“Please, Donna.” Karen clasped her hands together in either a begging or praying pose, I couldn’t tell which. “He’s got this friend staying next weekend, and he can’t leave him home on his own. So I said I’d find him a date. Please, Don, I really think this guy could be my prince.”

 

There simply wasn’t any way I was getting out of this one. “Fine. But after this, I get to choose my own dates, okay? Princes or not.”

 

“Of course!” Karen gave a little squeal of drunken delight. “And besides, maybe John’s friend could be your prince! Think how great it could be. I can just see it now—“

 

Luckily for me, the cab pulled up at my flat before she could start planning our double wedding.

 

 

 

I had a late, very dull meeting at work on Friday afternoon, so I packed my dress and heels into a bag and got changed in the ladies at the office. I missed the glass of wine to get me in the party mood, but it was considerably more peaceful without Karen’s running commentary. And it meant that she couldn’t object to the outfit I’d chosen, or try and talk me into something shorter and shinier.

 

She called just as I was smoothing down my knee length navy dress. Sophisticated, but with a hint of cleavage. It felt much more like me than last weekend’s outfits.

 

“We’re meeting at the Parasol Bar round the corner from you,” Karen said, voice raised over the sounds of the pub. “Then John says he’s heard of some great restaurant we just have to try out.”

 

“Let me guess. He read a review in About Town.”I check my reflection one last time, then swivelled my lipstick back into the tube. “Maybe you two areright for each other.”

 

“Very funny.” The sounds of conversation and clinking glasses faded, only to be replaced by the noise of passing traffic. “I’ve been chatting to your date, by the way,” she said, which explained why she’d left the bar. Privacy to gossip.

 

“And?” I asked, not that it really mattered. Apparently I was Sleeping Beauty, taking a break, waiting for my prince. I had a hundred years or so before the right one came along. I slipped the lipstick back into my bag, and felt the edge of a piece of paper sticking out of the pocket. Luke’s sketch. Well, maybe…

 

The pause on the other end of the phone line wasn’t at all encouraging. Maybe I could just go home and curl up with Friday night telly instead.

 

“The thing I want you to remember when you meet him… You know the story of Beauty and the Beast, right?” Karen’s tone was upbeat and encouraging. I closed my eyes and tried to think of a way out of this.

 

“You’re telling me he’s a beast?”

 

“No! Just that… well, you might need to look a little deeper to get to know the real him. I’m sure he must be a great guy, really. I mean, he’s friends with John, after all.”

 

Since all I knew about John was that he read restaurant reviews and it was his fault I had to go on this double date in the first place, I wasn’t feeling encouraged by this.

 

Still, I reminded myself as I set out from the office to the bar, it wasn’t as if I’d expected this guy to actually be my prince, or anything. Perhaps he’d be a perfectly nice man who I could have a pleasant dinner with then never see again. It didn’t matter if I wasn’t attracted to him, or even if he bored me stupid. It was one evening of my life, so that Karen got a shot with her prince. I could do that.

 

By the time I’d finished my pep talk, I was standing at the doors to the Parasol Bar, wishing we were at Luke’s instead.

 

With a sigh, I straightened my shoulders and walked in.

 

I couldn’t miss Karen, perched on a bar stool at one of the high tables in the window, flame red shoe dangling from one foot. She was tossing her dark hair and beaming at a guy I vaguely recognized as John. And making up the third point of their triangle was a short guy in a badly fitted brown suit. A very short guy.

 

Past experience had taught me that a lot of guys were intimidated by my height. From the expression on my date’s face when Karen waved at me, he was one of them.

 

“Sorry I’m late,” I said, sliding up onto the fourth stool. “I got held up at work.”

 

John shook his head and smiled. “Don’t worry about it. Now, Donna, this is my very good friend Harold.”

 

I turned my best smile in Harold’s direction, but I think he was too busy scowling at John to notice. I’d place money that they wouldn’t be such close friends by the end of the night.

 

“Well she’s here now,” Harold said, dropping down from his stool. God, I wished I’d worn flat shoes. The guy barely came up to my shoulders. “Let’s go.”

 

I collared Karen as we exited the bar, trying not to be too grumpy that I hadn’t even got a gin and tonic. “I’m feeling more like Snow White than Beauty and the Beast here.”

 

Her eyebrows crinkled. “Snow White?”

 

“With my very own dwarf.”

 

Karen clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, that’s mean,” she said, but she was laughing behind her fingers. “I’m sure he’s a lovely man.”

 

“A lovely man with a complex about his height?”

 

She winced. “Possibly.”

 

I let out a sigh as we followed the men down the street. John appeared to be getting quite the haranguing.

 

“The problem with fairy tales,” I said, “is that they make every man want to be a prince. And they expect their princesses to be petite and soft and pretty. I’m not sure I fit the mould.”

 

“Maybe you should have worn flats,” Karen said and, even though I’d thought the same thing earlier, the words rankled.

 

Why should I have to wear flat shoes to avoid making a guy feel intimidated? Why should I have to be less, to make him feel better? The unfairness of it bubbled up inside me until I realised my fists were clenched.

 

“Are you okay?” Karen asked, concern in her wide blue eyes.

 

I relaxed my fists. It wasn’t Karen’s fault. It was mine, for ever wishing I was something I’m not.

 

“It wouldn’t have made any difference,” I said. “The flats, I mean. I’d still be taller than him.”

 

Karen surveyed our dates, walking ahead. “Probably. Sorry.”

 

I shrugged. “Is John still a potential prince?”

 

Her grin spread across her whole face. “He is.”

 

“Then let’s get on with this dinner.”

 

 

 

The guys stopped walking right in front of Luke’s restaurant. “He really does read the same reviews as you,” I muttered to Karen, trying to pretend that my heart hadn’t suddenly kicked up a beat. I was on a date, for heaven’s sake. I couldn’t go flirting with another man.

 

Although, it might signal to Luke that Sleeping Beauty was ready to wake up, at last. Was that what I wanted? I wasn’t even sure.

 

Karen gave me a dark look. “Just behave, you.”

 

“When do I do anything else?” I asked, only half joking.

 

We’d not eaten at Luke’s on our last visit, so I was eager to see if the food lived up to Karen’s review. That, I told myself, was the only reason for the smile I couldn’t wipe from my face, and the way my body hummed with anticipation.

 

The food. Right.

 

Still, my improved mood seemed to have a mollifying effect on Harold, who even pulled my chair out for me at the table. Shame for him that my sudden enthusiasm for the evening had more to do with the food than the company.

 

At least, until our waiter arrived to take our drinks order.

 

“Escaped from behind the bar this evening?” I asked, as Luke handed the wine list to John for him to study.

 

The blandly innocent look in his eyes gave me hope that perhaps he had exerted boss’s privileges to take over our table for the night. Would he do that, just to see me? He had given me that sketch, after all… Maybe, I decided, not even caring when John ordered something red, even though I only ever drink white.

 

“And a gin and tonic for you?” Luke asked me, and I grinned.

 

“That would be lovely, thanks.”

 

As Luke nodded and retreated to the bar, I turned my attention back to Harold and the return of his scowl. “You’ve been here before, then?” he said.

 

“Oh, but only for drinks,” Karen jumped in, smiling widely at John as she spoke. “Such a treat to come here for dinner.”

 

“Don’t you like red wine?” John asked me, frowning a little.

 

“Gives me a headache,” I admitted.

 

Harold raised his eyebrows, lips twisted into a superior smile. “I do think an appreciation of fine wine is an excellent indicator of sophistication in a woman.”

 

“Really?” I asked, wishing my gin and tonic would arrive already. “I find that knowing what you want is a far more attractive trait.”

 

Karen’s smile wobbled a little, but she gamely launched into an anecdote about a wine tasting she’d attended once. I had no idea if it was true or not, but it seemed to improve the mood of the men, anyway.

 

My gin and tonic finally arrived, delivered by the waiter who’d shown us to our table originally. While the others went into raptures over the depth of flavour in the wine, I glanced over at the bar and spotted Luke, waving his hands about as he talked on the phone. As I watched, he slammed the receiver down and disappeared into the back room. His evening clearly wasn’t going much better than mine.

 

The food was, as About Town had promised, utterly sublime. The company, however, was sadly lacking. While Karen tried to keep up the good humour, and John seemed inclined to go along with her, Harold kept puncturing every joke, every story she told with cutting barbs. I tried to start a conversation once or twice, and every single time he talked over me. In the end, I gave up and concentrated on the food instead.

 

After the mains were cleared, and after Harold had informed me that it was very bad manners for a woman to order dessert on a first date, I escaped to the bathrooms, Karen trailing behind.

 

As the door swung shut behind us, we both leant against the sinks and stared at the tiles.

 

“So, is this the worst double date you’ve ever been on?” Karen asked, a touch of hysteria in her voice.

 

“By far,” I confirmed. “And how on earth is ordering dessert bad manners?”

 

“I’m so sorry.”

 

“Don’t worry, I’m ordering the honeycomb cheesecake anyway.”

 

“Good.” Karen straightened up, turning to inspect her reflection in the mirror. “That’s the right attitude. I think the thing to remember here is—“

 

“If it’s a fairy tale, I might cry,” I warned, but she ignored me.

 

“The story of the Frog Prince.”

 

“Oh good grief.”

 

“No, really. You have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince.”

 

“I think this one might be a toad.”

 

“But the next one—“

 

“Actually,” I interrupted, looking at my own reflection, “I’m not sure I’m looking for a prince at all.”

 

“You want to be single forever?” Karen asked, disbelievingly.

 

“No. But I don’t want to be some princess who needs to be saved from her tower, either. I don’t want to wait for some prince to kiss me to wake me up.” I thought of Luke’s sketch, and the gin and tonic in the prince’s hand. Maybe I’d been getting it the wrong way around all along.

 

“Then what do you want?” Karen sounded frustrated now, so I tried to find a way to put my still coalescing thoughts into words.

 

I didn’t want Harold. And I didn’t want to wait around for someone else to make a move for me. “I want… I think I want to be the prince this time.” Even as I said it, I knew it felt right. Pushing away from the sink, I pulled open the door to the restaurant again, Karen following behind.

 

“You can’t be the prince,” she said, flatly. “You’re a woman.”

 

I didn’t even look towards our table. Instead, I scanned the bar, and found Luke at the end, hanging up the phone again, looking half asleep as he ran his hand through his hair. Then he looked up, saw me, and smiled tiredly.

 

I smiled back. “Yes I can. And I’m going to employ the Sleeping Beauty technique, right now.”

 

Ignoring Karen’s splutter of objection, I covered the ground between me and the bar in long strides, until I stood looking up into Luke’s eyes.

 

“Hello,” he said.

 

“Hello.” I bit my lip. “Ready to wake up?”

 

His smile widened. “Definitely.”

 

“Good.”

 

And you know what? As my lips met his for the first time, I even found myself believing in fairy tale magic again.

 

 

 

• Text Copyright © 2012 by Sophie Pembroke