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“Got anymore of those cursed pastries?”
Regina raises her head from the ledger on her desk. “No…I believe you had the last one. Dare I ask why?”
“Figured my mom can’t set me up if I’m…” Emma mimes being knocked out: an inelegant charade that has Regina’s mouth twitching despite herself.
“Shut the door to my office, Emma. It seems therapy is in session.”
The blonde kicks at the door with her boot, then flops down on the couch. Her curls tumble over the side like some sort of distressed damsel.
“Alright. Why is she setting you up?” Regina begins. “It’s barely been three months since you and the pirate ended things.”
(‘Things’ was an odd substitute for ‘the engagement’).
“Yeah, well, three months in fairyland is a long engagement, marriage and kids. Besides, she’s mortified at the thought of me showing up to Belle’s Library Ball without a dashing prince.”
Regina snorts. “I’ll be showing to that insipid charity event without a dashing prince. Have you told her that you’re not…interested?”
She watches Emma’s face as she says this, monitoring for any flicker of emotion.
But Emma just takes the nearest throw pillow hostage. “Every fucking time! What about him, Emma? I saw you speaking with the mechanic yesterday, are you interested in him? The mailman gave me a lovely smile earlier today, and I’m almost certain his divorce has gone through.” The throw pillow takes a punch to its centre. “Does she want me to date every man in town?”
“Probably,” says Regina wryly. “In hindsight, I should have cursed Camelot too. Lots of horny men in Camelot.”
Emma pulls a face at that — much to Regina’s pleasure. “I’ve had enough horny man to last a lifetime. What I need is something temporary so she backs off. Like a decoy date.”
“I’m sure Robin would oblige,” says Regina, then grimaces. Breaking his heart is one thing, asking him to fake date her best friend is another.
“Mom wouldn’t buy that for a second.” Emma wriggles around on the sofa so that she is facing Regina. “It has to be convincing enough that she’d believe it, but not so convincing that she just transfers all the wedding plans.”
The thought of Emma dating any man again, even if it’s a rouse, fills Regina’s mouth with bitterness. She says, not quite joking, “On second thought, I’m sure I could rustle up another sleeping curse for Snow.”
“My dad would just kiss her awake again.” Emma is chewing on her bottom lip, like Henry does when he’s thinking. Regina makes a show of arranging the pens on her desk: it’s always torturous to be the subject of Emma’s gaze.
“I’m a genius,” she says at last.
“Heavily debatable,” Regina replies, keeping her head down.
“No, this is real genius. Honest. It’s foolproof.”
Regina wishes Emma would just out with it, because she knows, with sinking horror, what her best friend is about to suggest.
“I can fake date you!”
And there it is.
“No.”
“Come on, Regina, it will be fun.”
About as fun as being electrocuted by your ex-fiancé , she thinks. “No.”
“I’ll spoil you rotten. I mean it. I’ll treat you like the queen you are.”
Regina slams her ledger shut. “Why the hell would your mother buy into this?”
Emma laughs. “Because we’re best friends! Lots of friendships turn into romance.”
“Yes,” Regina hisses, “but you’re not gay.”
“Sexuality is fluid,” Emma replies simply. “And it’s not like I’ve never thought about it.”
Regina has to look at her then. She swallows. “Thought—thought about what exactly?”
“Dating women.” Emma stands, grinning like she hasn’t just sent Regina’s mind into chaos. “Just for a little while, I promise. She’ll eat it up — watch.”
Regina pinches the bridge of her nose. “What pray tell would this…this scheme entail?”
“The usual stuff. Dinner at my parents. Hand holding in the street.”
“Hand-holding,” repeats Regina, in a strained voice.
“We can kiss if you want but I also understand if that would be weird.”
Regina has a headache. And she hates Emma rather a lot this moment.
“Well?” Emma probes. She has that damnably adorable, sheepish smile on her face. “What do you say? Fancy dating me for a week or two?”
Everything in Regina screams NO, but she’s always been powerless to that particular smile.
“Regina!” Snow exclaims, opening the front door. “I didn’t know you were—” She trails off, her eyes landing on the entwined hands.
“We’ve decided to start dating,” says her daughter with a beaming smile.
Snow looks at Regina, expecting the brunette to scowl at Emma’s prank. But there is no scowl. Her smile, albeit a little stiff, is still a smile.
“You and Regina,” Snow says slowly.
“Yep. You’re not homophobic, are you Mom?”
“No! Of course not—I just.” Feel like a need a lie down, is what she wants to say but that would be unspeakably rude. “Well, friendship is a wonderful foundation for love.”
Emma squeezes Regina’s arm. “Isn’t it?”
Regina’s smile is almost comically fixed on her face.
Snow finds her husband in the kitchen, humming along to the radio.
“Sweetie,” she announces, “don’t be alarmed but our daughter is dating Regina.”
Charming continues chopping up the pepper. “I thought that would happen eventually.”
“You did?” Snow’s voice has gone all squeaky. She reaches for a glass of water. “But Emma isn’t…?”
“Sexuality is fluid,” says Charming. “Can you tell them lunch will be ready in twenty?”
To Regina’s surprise, lunch had gone smoothly. Snow White hadn’t dropped into an instantaneous coma at the thought of her precious daughter being besmirched by the Evil Queen, and Charming didn’t even bat an eye. Emma held Regina’s hand atop the table for the first half an hour, before it became too difficult to eat. But then she took it again, *beneath* the table, out of sight, and Regina’s heart pulsed in strange rhythms for the duration of the meal.
“Told you she’d buy it,” Emma says happily on the drive back to the mansion. “It was fine, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” says Regina.
“And Dad didn’t treat us any differently. Almost as if we’ve always been dating, right?”
“Yes,” says Regina.
“Do you want me to walk you to the door? You know, all chivalrous.”
“No,” says Regina.
Emma reaches across the seat to press a kiss to Regina’s cheekbone. It’s like a bullet. Regina stands in the mansion’s empty hallway, hand pressed to her cheek like she’s staunching a bleeding wound.
This, Emma decides, is a win-win situation. Her mom has stopped badgering her, and she gets to hang out with her best friend. Regina has never been the most tactile, shirking Emma’s hugs like a grumpy cat, but now she has to accept Emma’s physical affection. (And the hand-holding has been pretty nice). Emma’s smile falters at the sight of the figure loitering around the docks. It’s too late to cross the road and avoid him: he’s swaggering towards her.
“Congratulations, love,” he calls. “You got what you always wanted.”
Emma blows air through her nose. “Sorry?”
“Regina,” Killian stage-whispers. He grins sharply. “I always knew you were in love with her. Regina this, Regina that. I must save Regina! Is Regina okay? You don’t understand, I’m the only one who—”
“Shut up, Killian.”
“Am I wrong?” He leers.
“We didn’t break up because of Regina.”
“Maybe not. But she was a bloody big part of it.”
“Whatever. Are we done?”
Killian chuckles. “Always so defensive about Her Majesty. I say, does Robin know?”
Emma’s jaw clenches. “What does Robin have to do with anything?”
The pirate just winks and drains the last dregs of his rum.
Emma’s so irritated by his intrusion into her morning that she heads to the jewellery store and buys Regina a ruby pendant necklace.
“I think it’s great that you and Ma are dating,” Henry says over dinner, and Regina almost chokes on her mouthful of lasagne.
“Oh Henry, it’s not—”
But her son continues merrily, “It just makes a lot of sense. Much more that Hook and Robin ever did. You’ve always smiled more around Ma, and Ma around you.”
Regina takes a hearty swig of red wine. “You’ve noticed that, have you?”
“Yeah! And you laugh more, and you look at her all gooey sometimes, like—”
She is incredibly grateful for the interruption of a text, until she reads that it’s from Emma. And she’s outside, requesting Regina to come out alone.
“Is that Ma?” Henry grins.
Regina sighs — “Eat that lasagne up” — then slips out of the front door.
Emma is lingering down the path, like she hasn’t been to the Mansion a million times, often uninvited (though rarely unwelcome). It’s almost, Regina thinks a little hysterically, like she’s shy.
“What is it?” she asks, coming to meet the blonde down the path.
Emma thrusts a small box into the space between them. “I got you something to wear for brunch tomorrow.”
Regina tries to keep her hand steady as takes the box. It’s jewellery, she thinks with a sick twist in her gut, she’s bought me jewellery. There’s a rushing sound in her ears as she lifts the lid and stares at the beautiful — cruelly beautiful — ruby necklace.
“Emma, are you mad?”
“I told you I’d spoil you. Here, let me put it on.”
She plucks the necklace out of the box; it dangles delicately from her fingers.
Regina holds her breath as Emma brushes back her hair. The touch on her neck is warm, and leaves a smattering of tiny pinpricks, like stars, across her skin.
“There,” Emma murmurs, pulling back to look at her. Her eyes flutter to Regina’s lips, then back to the necklace. “It matches your lipstick.”
Is this were real, Regina thinks, you would kiss me now.
“Alright, I concede,” announces Snow, on the walk home from brunch at Granny’s. “You’re more perceptive to love than I am.”
Charming grins. “How very gracious of you.”
“I mean, did you see how often Regina touched that pretty necklace!? And the way Emma stared after her when she left for the bathroom!?” She sighs happily, leaning into her husband’s arm.
Charming stops walking. “Snow.”
“What?” She asks, eyes wide with innocence.
“You’re going all true-lovey about them, aren’t you?”
“But it is true-love!” she exclaims. “It’s clear as day. Besides, don’t you think it’s poetic? It certainly subverts the classic fairytale trope.”
Charming shakes his head. “Are we that classic fairytale trope, by any chance?”
“Sweetie, we’re the archetype,” Snow says, swotting his arm. “I bet Emma takes her to the ball. Oh! This is so exciting.”
She babbles on for the remainder of the walk, and all Charming can do is make a mental note to hide the Wedding Binder.
There’s an enormous bouquet of rainbow coloured tulips on the mayor’s desk the next morning. ‘To brighten your day. E x’ reads the note, and Regina scolds herself for smiling at it. This isn’t real. Brunch yesterday wasn’t real.
“Hey,” Emma says, entering her office munching on an apple.
“Don’t you think this is a bit excessive?” Regina asks.
“Eating an apple? I thought you’d prefer your girlfriend choose fruit over a bear claw.”
Regina winces at the word ‘girlfriend’, how it doesn’t mean anything but a decoy to Emma. “The bouquet,” she clarifies coldly.
“You don’t like it?” Emma actually looks hurt. “I thought you loved tulips?”
“I do, I just.” Regina closes her eyes. “Your mother isn’t even here to see them.”
“So? Then you can tell her. Or the florist will tell her. Word spreads like wildfire in this town. Even Hook knew about us.”
Regina’s blood cools. “You saw Hook?”
“Regretfully. He’s back from God knows where.”
“And he knew about…knew about…” she flaps her hand, unable to say ‘us’.
“He wasn’t even surprised.”
Well. Regina doesn’t know what the hell to do with that information.
In the spirit of exes, she bumps into Robin down the dairy aisle. As always, there’s the deep pinch of guilt she feels around her once-believed-soulmate. But Robin’s smile is warm and genuine.
“I’m so pleased you told her.”
“Sorry?”
“Emma,” Robin says, lowering his voice. “You told her of your feelings for her, I gather.”
Her palms grow suddenly hot and clammy. Aren’t dairy aisles meant to be cold?
“Regina?” he asks, reaching for her shoulder, stopping just before he makes contact. “Are you all right?”
“I can’t have this conversation,” she manages to say before poofing home.
She paces the length of her bedroom, frustrated at the world and all its inhabitants. Has it really been that obvious? Has her love for Emma Swan been as distinct and visible as the purple smoke of her magic? Then why the hell is Emma so fucking oblivious!?
She’s so wound up, she only notices the dress bag hanging against her closet door when she falls back, with a cry of rage, onto the bed.
‘6:45. I’ll pick you up’ is scribbled on the tag.
She almost doesn’t open it, is almost too scared, but the curiosity to know what Emma has picked out for her is stronger.
It’s worse than she’d imagined. Worse in that it’s gorgeous — sexy — a sleek and silky backless number that will match the ruby necklace. Will match her lipstick.
“God, Emma,” Regina groans, and zips the thing back up.
She’s not going to Belle’s event. She hadn’t much wanted to go anyway (who hosts a ball at a library!?), but had been secretly looking forward to standing in the corner with Emma and passing judgement over the guests. This was before she agreed to “date” her best friend.
She glances at the clock on her dresser, dismayed to see it’s half-six already. The ball doesn’t start until eight: what was Emma going to do? Take her to dinner before like it’s a high school prom? (She hates, really hates, how her stomach flips at the thought).
Regina stands at her bedroom window, glaring down at the street. Her frown deepens when she spots the Bug parked a little down the road. In all the years she’s known the blonde, Emma has never cared this much about being punctual. To know that she’s sitting out there in her car waiting until 6:45 to walk to the Mansion… Regina stares and stares, chest clenched as the car door opens and Emma exits. She’s dressed in an elegant deep green jumpsuit and her hair has been scraped back into a pony-tail. It swings as Emma walks the path to her door; and, though Regina’s watching it happen, she still jumps at the knock.
“I’m a bit early, sorry,” Emma garbles, “but you’re usually ready ages before so—” She stops. She narrows her eyes. “Why aren’t you dressed? Did it not fit?”
“I didn’t try it on.”
“Oh.” Emma chews on her lip. “Is something wrong?”
Regina’s throat is tight, too tight, but she speaks through it: “I don’t think it’s…fair. To keep lying. Especially not to Henry.”
“Okay, then we can tell Henry, but—”
“No, Emma, I can’t lie anymore.”
She tries for a smile. “Was it that bad dating me?”
Regina exhales. “I mean I can’t lie to myself anymore.”
“I’m confused, what—”
“I can’t pretend that I’m dating you, Emma!” Regina snaps. “Not when I…Not when I!”
“When you what?”
Her green eyes are especially distracting tonight. Regina’s fingers play with the pendant around her neck. “Not when I wish it were real,” she finishes quietly.
Emma stares at her; Regina can feel the heat of her gaze on every inch of her face, like she’s trying to decode a puzzle.
“You know,” Emma says softly, “I’ve been thinking about you in that dress all day.”
Regina’s heart makes a frantic lurch in her chest. “You have?”
“All damn day. I’m afraid I wasn’t the best at paperwork, Madame Mayor.”
“That’s…” Regina clears her throat. “That’s rather gay, Sheriff.”
Emma chuckles. “Yeah. I guess it is.” She takes Regina’s hand like she’s done countless times over the last few days, only now it’s cautious and intimate — a gesture of want. Emma strokes her thumb over her wrist. “Will you go and put it on for me?”
The blatant desire in her voice emboldens Regina. She presses her lips to the shell of Emma’s ear and murmurs, “Only if you promise to take it off later.”