Full Circle-Alternate Cover: A Cinderella Retelling, page 1
FULL CIRCLE
A CINDERELLA RETELLING
SAMANTHA GAIL
DSTAR PUBLISHING LLC
Copyright © 2024 by Samantha Gail
Editor: Lea Froelich
Cover Design: Kate Farlow, Y’all That Graphic
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For author B. Celeste;
Because kindness always comes full circle.
CONTENTS
Trigger Warnings
Prologue
Part I
1. Let the Good Times Roll
2. In the Name of Friendship
3. Southern Gentleman I Am Not
4. A Lesson in Southern Hospitality
5. A School Marm from Hell
6. Summer Nights
7. Bonfires and Break Ins
8. Cruel Summer
9. All the Changes
10. Heartache and Hope Go Hand in Hand
11. The Vow
12. Darkest Before the Dawn
13. Evil Stepmothers and Wicked Stepsisters
14. Problem Solving Feels Good
15. Atlanta Ain’t for the Faint of Heart
16. A New Normal Means War
17. Rock Bottom Ain’t a Travel Destination
18. The Eye of the Storm
19. A New Normal
20. Surprise, Surprise
21. Plenty of Fish in the Sea
22. Presents and Presence
23. Keep on Keepin’ On
24. Titanic References Can’t Be Good
25. Under the Sea
26. Prom Perfection
27. The Hardest Goodbye
28. Setting the World on Fire
29. Triple Threat
Part II
30. Tickets to the Struggle Bus Ain’t Cheap
31. The Past Always Catches Up With You
32. The Welcome Wagon
33. Savannah Surprises
34. Cinderella at the Ball
35. Home Sweet Home
36. Invitations
37. Meet Your Match
38. The Ick
39. Making an Entrance
40. And The Tables Turn
41. A Change in Plans
42. Mistakes Were Made
43. End of the Ball
44. This Ain’t It
45. Revelations Galore
46. Pain…So Much Pain
47. The Reckoning
48. The Unexpected
49. Glorious Truth
50. Time to Pay the Piper
51. Sugar Bee
52. The Turning Point
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Samantha Gail
TRIGGER WARNINGS
Please proceed with caution as the following book contains content that may be triggering for some readers. Your mental health matters.
Triggers include:
-Death
-Loss of a parent
-Suicidal thoughts and ideations
-Emotional abuse
-Physical abuse
-Teenage pregnancy
-Arson
-Depression
-Anxiety
-(On page) attempted sexual assault
The themes, content, and intimacy depicted in this book are suitable for readers 18+.
PROLOGUE
Celeste
Mama always used to say that life comes full circle. Some of my earliest memories are of her explaining that what goes around comes around because my mama believed in the power of karma. It made her feel better to imagine rude customers at The Comfy Cushion, our family’s restaurant, stubbing their toe or having an umbrella turn inside out than for her to reply in kind. Poor manners were inexcusable, according to Mama.
She didn’t live long enough to explain the concept of soulmates to me, but I’d like to think that she and Daddy were destined to be together. They used to turn up the old jukebox at closing time after all the customers left and slow dance right there in the middle of the dining area.
I know it devastated him when Mama passed, called too soon by the good Lord. At least, that’s what the preacher said. Daddy didn’t abide much by the church, but my nana said her daughter wasn’t a heathen and wouldn’t be buried like one, so the preacher man came out and said his piece. Daddy was a blubbering mess by the end of it, so who’s to say really? I was twelve years old when Mama died, too angry at the world for taking her away from me to care one way or another what the preacher said. He would forevermore represent the day we buried my mother’s body in the ground, and it was a grudge I felt I’d hold til my last breath.
“We’ve still got each other, sugar bee,” Daddy said that night as he cuddled my sob-wracked body to sleep. His words comforted me, my child naivete convincing me that my daddy could never leave me like my mama did. Boy, how wrong I was.
It would be years before I ever felt the kind of eternal love Mama gave me from another person. Wesley Madden blew into my life like a hurricane, all roaring winds and crashing waves. Receiving his love was like swimming in the ocean for the first time—you wanted to open your eyes and see everything even when it burned like hell. I used to wonder if Mama sent Wesley to me because she knew I needed saving or if she recognized the good I could bring out in him. Our opposition became the perfect balance, our personalities clashing in ways that could only complement one another. But when you’ve only known suffering and loss, the glimmer of light shining through the cracks can petrify you. That’s a lesson I learned the hardest way possible.
Life comes full circle, huh? Fate must’ve missed the mark with me.
PART ONE
“What one loves in childhood stays in their heart forever.”
-Mary Jo Putney
CHAPTER 1
LET THE GOOD TIMES ROLL
CELESTE
The grass had barely begun to sprout on the ground above my mama’s grave, but I ignored the damp soil underneath my bottom. Nana would probably tan my hide when she saw the muddy patches on my jeans. It was worth it to have the quiet moment with Mama.
I had gone to the cemetery to visit her grave every day since we buried her seven weeks ago, shortly before my thirteenth birthday. Talking to her headstone was a crappy replacement for seeing her beautiful smile or feeling her warmth as she held me an extra second longer for a hug, but nothing else brought me any comfort. Missing her felt like a phantom limb; how could I go on in a world without my mama? She had been the center of my world, my very best friend, and my heart ached with the sting of her loss. The future stretched ahead like a barren, arid desert—dusty, painful, and empty—without her bright laugh or delicious cooking.
A car horn honked behind me and I turned abruptly to see Daddy’s truck outside the gate. He had the windows rolled down and could have just hollered my name, but we were both stuck in our own downward spirals of grief. Nana figured Daddy didn’t know what to say to me to make me feel better, so he stuck to not saying anything at all. Whether that was true or not, even I recognized he would be wasting his breath to try to get my mind off things right now.
Rising slowly, I wiped as much of the debris off my bottom as I could before heading forlornly over to him with my head down. The twinkle had gone from his bright blue eyes and I hated to see yet another reminder of what Mama’s death had done to our family. “Good Times Roll” by The Cars echoed faintly from his stereo as I approached, and I stopped next to the driver’s side door rather than get in the truck with him.
“Why don’t you go hang out somewhere other than the graveyard, sugar bee?” Daddy asked. He always called me sugar bee because he said I was sweeter than honey but buzzed about more than a bumblebee. Normally it gave me all the warm fuzzies on the inside to hear the term of endearment in his gruff voice. Today it merely reminded me of the void I felt.
I shrugged rather than answer him. If we weren’t both still reeling, the action would have fired him up because he considered it poor manners not to respond when someone spoke to you. Mama’s death meant manners went out the window.
He sighed heavily. “Hop in. I’m gonna take you over to the park.” His firm tone warned me that he’d brook no argument.
Neither of us said another word as he followed the gravel path of the cemetery out to the main road. It was late spring here in Georgia, and the sun was bright and high, making the temperature quickly yield to the heat. My tank top was already sticking between my shoulder blades, making me wish I would have worn shorts along with it instead of jeans.
The park was a joint playground and baseball diamond near the town square. Mama and Daddy had always let me play there on days when I didn’t have school because it was located across the street from The Comfy Cushion, Mama’s restaurant. People came from miles around to eat her recipes, though I always thought she charmed the customers just as much with her flattering words and pretty smiles. Daddy handled the books and all the ordering, a job he took on because he saw how happy it made Mama to cook for everyone. It was the only real restaurant in town, unless you counted the fast food joints right off the highway, but given how my mama’s meals always stuck to my ribs, I didn’t see how they could hold
On a Saturday afternoon without a cloud in the sky, the park was jampacked with kids. The problem was, I hated being around them now. None of them knew what it felt like to lose someone so special and since everybody in town adored my mother, it rankled me to see their pitying looks. Their eyes followed me as soon as I set foot in the park. Eyes that all held relief that it was my mama and not theirs mixed with uncertainty over what to say to me.
“I’ll be in the office for a bit longer,” Daddy told me through the car window again. “Just head on over when you’re hungry. Marla will whip something up for you.” He didn’t give me a chance to respond before pulling away to park his truck in his usual spot across the street.
I sighed heavily again. Marla was my mama’s best friend who had stepped in to help Daddy with The Comfy Cushion. She seemed to think the only way I could heal was being force fed large casseroles. Even if it was Mama’s recipe, it never tasted the same. My stomach wouldn’t accept anything Marla made me choke down. The prospect of being made to swallow anything at the moment filled me with dread.
Following the path around the dugout of the baseball diamond where a pickup game was in full swing, I trailed behind the bleachers until I reached the edge of the woods at the back of the park. There was a small dirt trail into the trees that was mostly overgrown with bushes and moss, but I had been down there so many times that the growth didn’t bother me. It led down to a small creek where there was a good climbing tree, full of shade with wide branches. I liked to hide up there among the foliage so that the other kids couldn’t stare at me, the girl with the dead mama and no friends.
“Hey!” a voice snapped as I hauled myself up to the lowest branch.
It startled me to the point where I misjudged my hand placement and went tumbling face first over the branch and down onto the creek bed below. I was instantly covered in mud and felt a sting above my right eye from where my face landed on a rock. My knees took the brunt of my fall, however, and I cried out in pain on impact.
“Oh my god, are you okay?!” The same voice as before hollered over me. Gentle hands pulled at my shoulders to roll me onto the creek bank and I made eye contact with what must have been an angel. It was a boy around my age with sandy blonde hair and the bluest eyes I had ever seen. A small halo of light shone around his head, making me pinch my leg to check that I wasn’t dreaming. People didn’t die from falling out of trees, right?
The boy grabbed one of my hands and hauled me to my feet, helping me to wipe off all the mud on my shins. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”
My cheeks burned with embarrassment. “It’s fine. I’m not hurt.”
He brushed the hair away from my face. “Yes, you are. This cut is bleeding.”
Having a stranger’s hands on my face made my heart race in a way that spooked me. I took a step away from him, backing myself up against the tree. “It’s fine. Just a scratch.”
The boy smirked at my retreat and stuck his hand out as if to shake mine. “I’m Wesley. Wesley Madden.”
Staring blankly at his offered hand, my mind went through a rolodex of Smithson County. I knew every child in our small town of River’s Run, Georgia. This boy did not belong here. He had to be a tourist. “Where are you from?”
He smiled, a megawatt smile that made my heart race again. Stuffing his hand back in the pocket of his cargo shorts, he explained, “Originally from Atlanta, but I live here now.”
That didn’t make sense. Marla was the gossip queen of our county and she hadn’t said anything about a new family moving here. Whose house did they buy?
Wesley must have recognized the look of puzzlement on my face because he clarified, “I moved in with my great-aunt Shirley.”
I nodded. Miss Shirley Jones was a regular down at The Comfy Cushion, although she had to be pushing 85. “Ain’t she a little old to be taking you in?”
He shrugged. “My dad works too much and my mom took off when I was a baby. I hated all of the nannies, so he reached out to my mom’s family. Shirley was the only one who offered.”
It took everything I had to hold back a snort. What kind of family used a nanny? Was he some rich, spoiled brat?
Rather than responding, I turned and started to climb back up the tree. This boy, no matter how sweet he seemed, wasn’t my problem and I was still too depressed to care.
“Wait!” Wesley grabbed onto the leg of my jeans as I paused on the lowest branch. “We need to go get your eye cleaned up. It could get infected.”
“How would you know?” I scoffed.
He smirked again. “Let’s just say, I’ve gotten into my fair share of fights.”
The retort on the tip of my tongue died with his statement. He looked too scrawny to be much of a fighter to me, but maybe he was just a bully.
“How old are you?” I asked instead.
“Twelve. Thirteen in June, just a couple weeks from now.” His blue eyes twinkled as he perused my body, still hoisted onto the lowest branch. “What’s your name?”
A warning bell was ringing somewhere in the back of my mind that befriending Wesley Madden would be a bad idea, but there was a gleam in his eye that reminded me of my mama.
Hope.
He looked hopeful, and that was something I didn’t have in me to crush.
“Celeste Hendricks,” I finally offered.
His megawatt smile returned. “That’s a pretty name.”
As if sensing my hesitation, Wesley leaned forward with an outstretched hand, waiting for me to accept. Despite myself, I couldn’t help but give him a soft smile in return as I enclosed my hand in his. With one tug I was out of the tree and standing next to him, peering up into his crystal blue eyes. Even though I was a few months older than him, Wesley towered over me. He held my gaze far longer than was necessary and I felt something shift inside me, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I wondered errantly if it would ever shift back.
For the rest of the afternoon, Wesley and I walked around the park and the playground, telling each other more about our lives. I let him do most of the talking, still too in awe of this angelic boy who paid me this kind of attention. He told me that his dad owned a big corporation and had plans for Wesley to take it over one day, but Wesley kept getting into trouble and fighting at school. I gasped in shock as he described the number of fights he had won, supposedly against much older, bigger kids. It never crossed my mind to question him. Wesley didn’t seem too keen on the idea of joining his father’s company, but when I asked what else he would want to do with his life, he merely shrugged. “That’s a long ways off,” he said. “I have plenty of time to figure it out.”
We had circled the area more than five times before he threw himself down on the edge of the field beyond the baseball diamond, yanking me down to join him.
“Look at all the clouds! That one kinda looks like a rabbit,” he said, pointing upward.
I flopped down so that my head lay right next to him, my body extending in the opposite direction. We were so close that his stray hair tickled my ear. If I turned my head to the left, my face would collide with his.
