Beauty's Cursed Beast

by Mary E. Twomey

  Adam chuckled at her forthcoming nature. “Worse than butthead? I’d better not use my Pulse on you, then.”

  He expected her to go sit down in her chair across from him, but when she wrapped him in a light hug from behind, he stiffened, his eyes going wide. She said nothing when she released him and went back to sitting in her seat, her eyes drifting back to her book while she ate.

  As Adam worked his way through his meal, he thought to himself that, frustrations aside, it was the most enjoyable dinner he’d had in years.

  9

  Dining with Adam

  Three days passed with Adam eating breakfast, lunch and dinner in the dining room with Belle. Belle spent every day with contentment in her heart, feeling as if she was starting to belong in the castle, cherishing even its most dingy nooks and crannies as she meticulously cleaned them. She ended each evening with a phone call to check up on her father, trading laughter and stories with him about their days.

  Lucien invested more time grooming the master of the house, now that Adam allowed it. Though he still looked animalistic in nature, he didn’t appear quite as wild and unkempt. Belle and Adam shared lively chit-chat across the table, until one afternoon Adam moved his sandwich and bowl of soup down the long table to the spot next to her. Belle quirked her eyebrow when she came into the dining room, but said nothing of it, so as not to put his burst of bravery on the spot.

  Belle usually read over lunch while Adam poured over paperwork, making sure his mortgage company was running smoothly from his remote location. He stood as he spread out his papers, casting her a shadow of a smile when she moved around the table toward her seat next to his. “I saw what you did in the ballroom. I admit, I didn’t think it possible to make the walls shine again. It looks even better than it did back when I was a boy.”

  Belle wore scrubs while cleaning between meals, and changed into jeans for lunch, so she didn’t get dust all over the food. Today, Simone had laid out a simple peach-colored flowing skirt that fell to her knees, and a beige blouse that left no mistake that Belle was very much a woman. “Thank you,” she smiled demurely at him, her eyes widening when he pulled out her chair for her and slid it back in place as she sat, making her feel like a lady. “It was the staff, really. They’re so motivated. We’re making good progress.”

  He sat next to her, grateful she didn’t comment on his close proximity. He wanted to be closer to her because her presence soothed him, but he didn’t want to admit that to her, or have a whole conversation about it. He sorted through the mail that was bundled in a rubber band, surreptitiously watching her flip to the first few pages of the book she’d finished over dinner last night. “You’re reading that Michel Fourniret book again? Is it possible the ending will be different this time?”

  “Haven’t you ever read the same book twice?” She kept her eyes on the worn page. “I guess in my case, it’s more like a couple dozen times. It’s a comforting story. I can’t explain it.”

  “You told me it’s a horror story that ends in a bloodbath. And that’s comforting to you?”

  Belle sniggered at the summary of the story she’d explained to him in great detail over lunch the day before. “It’s not the gore. Well, maybe it’s a little bit the gore that I like. It’s that she’s avenged. Everything she went through couldn’t be erased, but it could be avenged.” A shadow flickered across her features, but just as quickly, it was gone.

  “Will you read it to me?” he asked, fishing through his mail and discarding several notes of no importance.

  “No,” Belle said flatly as she ladled out a spoonful of creamy tomato soup.

  “No?” Adam balked, surprised she would be obstinate about something so trivial.

  “No. This isn’t a lunchtime book. If I ever read it to you, it would need to be at nighttime. There’s nothing scary about the middle of the day. It would ruin the ambiance. We’d need a fireplace and somewhere creepy.”

  “You’re reading it now, and it’s the middle of the day.”

  “Yes, but you’re a scaredy cat, and I want you to get the full effect. What can I say? It brings me joy to watch grown men cower.”

  Adam sniggered, but then frowned when he came across a letter that wasn’t addressed to him. “This is for you.”

  Belle closed her book and glanced at the sender’s scrawl, her jaw tightening. “Huh. Looks like that letter never made it to this address. Weird.” Then she took the envelope and tore the whole thing into two pieces, tossing the remnants onto the table. “Must’ve gotten lost in the mail.”

  Adam stared at the torn note, now wondering desperately what might be lurking inside that would rile her so easily. He noted the lack of a return address. “Who’s it from?”

  “I didn’t have my mail forwarded here. He shouldn’t know where I am.” She stood abruptly, gathered up the remnants of the letter and moved toward the doorway. “I need to make a quick phone call. I’ll be right back.”

  Adam studied her jerky steps, which were usually fluid. Her easy smile abandoned her as if it had never graced her lips. He forced himself not to follow her, but to grant her a few minutes of privacy. He glanced at his expensive watch, knowing he wouldn’t make it to five whole minutes. Usually only he was the thing that vexed her, and they’d hit such an amiable stride that he was frustrated with whoever it was that dared bother her.

  Though, with her gone, he didn’t have to suffer through the tedium of a spoon. He tipped his bowl to his lips, taking in the steaming soup with uncouth slurps.

  It was just ticking to minute four when Belle came back. Adam was reading a memo from his stack, pretending to be absorbed in its contents. Her frustration with the unwelcome letter ebbed when she took in his feigned ease marred by the tomato soup that painted his beard and clung to his mustache. “Sorry about that. We were talking about reading dark and scary tales.” She sat back down, still intrigued by his sudden preference for close proximity.

  “Is everything alright?” he asked, his eyes glued to his paper, doing everything he could not to appear overbearing and demand to see the letter in question.

  “Why wouldn’t it be? I was thinking of running errands this afternoon. It’s supposed to snow this weekend. Is there anything you need?”

  “I usually send an email, and the delivery service drops off whatever I desire. There’s no need for you to go out.”

  “I checked, but the delivery service won’t giftwrap the unicorn I had my eye on.”

  Adam snorted, but didn’t smile. “What was in that letter? Who sent it?”

  “No one. Absolutely and completely no one. He’s no one, and doesn’t deserve a name or a place at this table. I mean, isn’t this a beautiful table?” She ran her finger along the edge. “I wouldn’t want to muddy it up with people who… This sandwich looks amazing.”

  Adam frowned, but refused to look at her. He knew if he saw the troubled look behind her confident expression, he would badger her about it. Besides, he could always just go fish out the letter from whatever trash bin she’d thrown it in, which was exactly what he planned to do once they’d finished their meal.

  He was fixated on the letter, when he should have been watching his elbows. When he brought the memo down to rest on the table, his arm caught on the lip of his soup bowl, and the whole thing tipped over, flinging warm crimson liquid onto Belle, who cried out at the sting.

  “Oh! Belle, I didn’t mean to. Are you alright? Here, let me… Lucien!”

  The candelabra scooted into the room, gasping at the sight of Belle covered in tomato soup.

  “It’s fine,” Belle assured them both as Lucien scurried to the kitchen to fetch some rags to mop up the mess. Her beige blouse was utterly ruined, and her skirt had splatters of soup across her lap.

  “It just figures,” Adam grumbled, handing over his cloth napkin. “The one time you wear something nice, I wreck it.”

  Belle gripped the armrests through the worst of the heat, which quickly cooled as it spread. She dabbed at the
red on her neck, dipping into her collar as a chunk of tomato slid over her cleavage. “Are those letters important? You might want to move them to the other side of the table.”

  “Right.” Adam shuffled the papers out of the way and snatched up his napkin, bringing it over to her to wipe off the splatters on her arm. “I told you I don’t eat this kind of food anymore! I eat on the floor, okay? I don’t use silverware because I’m going to be turning Lupine in less than half a year. This is all wasted effort, you know. I didn’t want to do this!” he scolded her through his shame.

  Belle leaned in, pretending to need his arm to brace herself. “Adam?”

  He knelt down at her side, bending to her gentle touch without a second thought. “Yes?”

  “That is, without a doubt, the worst apology I’ve ever heard.”

  “I didn’t apologize,” he retorted, stiffening.

  “I know.” With that, Belle picked up her bowl and flung its contents over his dress shirt. Though she loved seeing him in nice clothes as opposed to pajamas, there was nothing more satisfying than his roar of indignation that she’d pulled one over on him. “I think you’ve got something on your shirt,” she laughed.

  “I can’t believe you just did that!” Adam’s shock only brought out more of her giggles. More than irate, he was flabbergasted that she’d done it on purpose. Everyone cowered to his temper. Even Henry backed off when Adam raised his pitch.

  “I can’t believe that’s the first time I did that. It felt amazing.” She moved her finger down his chest, giggling to herself at her daring. She’d had problem patients before, but Adam pushed her to her limits with his irrational temper. “Red is totally your color.”

  “That was good soup!”

  She swabbed up a dab from the end of her finger and offered it to him with merriment dancing in her big, brown eyes. “Then you probably shouldn’t have asked me to fling my bowl at you.”

  “I did nothing of the…” He caught her tease and narrowed his eyes at her, letting out a short-tempered growl that did nothing to perturb her. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  Neither of them expected Adam to lean forward and pop her finger into his mouth, but when he did, the mood shifted to something that shut down his irritation and her laughter. He held her wrist firmly, but she didn’t make any attempt to pull away as his tongue laved over her digit. Adam locked eyes with Belle, the serious moment sneaking up on him as much as it did her. Her wide doe eyes didn’t look afraid of him, which did wonders for the male prowess he’d long since cast aside. She bit down on her lower lip, as if holding back a torrent of questions and admissions that threatened to spill out if she opened her mouth.

  Neither of them spoke. Even as he slid her finger from his lips, they stared at each other with something other than frustration. It wasn’t anything as enormous as love, but it was pure, unfettered curiosity that bloomed between them.

  It wasn’t until the corner of Belle’s mouth lifted that Adam realized he was staring at her pink lips with perhaps too much fascination. He cleared his throat and straightened, trying to regain control of the situation that had spiraled out of the tight grip he usually maintained over his household. “I, um… I should probably go wash up.”

  “Why?” Belle asked, looking innocent as ever. “Our outfits match perfectly.”

  Adam’s face coiled into a smile, indulging himself with the suppleness of her skin as he thumbed her wrist before returning it to her. His lightness fell back to the way of the storm clouds when he glanced at the doorway and found much of the staff crowding the space, gaping at him in astonishment.

  His fists tightened at his sides, and his shoulders remembered their position of tension. “The dining room needs mopping,” he growled at them, and turned to glance over his shoulder to glare at Belle for forcing levity upon him.

  Belle’s smile tightened, but it didn’t fall to disrepair. She knew that every laugh exchanged was a gamble, and wasn’t afraid of the occasional loss if it meant she had more moments where Adam was playful, and just a little bit vulnerable.

  10

  The West Wing

  The days passed with small but marked progress in drawing Adam out of his room. The two laughed over meals, and worked and read in a quiet, pleasant rhythm together.

  Though Adam had warned her not to invade his personal space in the West wing, she reasoned that perhaps he needed his boundaries pushed a bit, especially when she saw several letters marked “urgent” that had been left on the kitchen table. After she cleaned up the lunch, she scooped the letters up, holding them to her blue scrubs shirt. As she started to climb the steps, Lucien met her at the top of the stairs, which branched off in two directions. “Good afternoon, Mademoiselle,” he said with a bow.

  “Good afternoon, Lucien. I need to give these to Adam,” she explained before trotting up the forbidden stairwell to the left.

  “Actually, I can take those, if you like.”

  “I got it.” She didn’t look back, but knew Lucien was worried for her. She’d survived four days with Adam. She was his nurse, and hadn’t even been able to give him a physical. Her nursing degree had been largely discarded for this job thus far, and while she didn’t mind playing the role of his housekeeper, she felt irresponsible not checking his living conditions. If his room was anything like the rest of the untouched house, he would never stop coughing, and would be at a higher risk of influenza and any number of respiratory hang-ups. The snow was falling fast outside, which meant the drafty house was just a bit nippier.

  When she moved down the cobwebbed, unlit hallway, she was struck by the sadness of it all. There were tapestried walls, but they were so caked with dust that the soft blue hue was barely visible through the brownish-gray layer of neglect. One door was cracked open, so she ventured a guess that this might be his bedroom. She lightly rapped on the door, and then pushed it open. “Adam? I’ve got your mail.”

  The light switch didn’t work, so Belle made her way over to the windows and slid open one of the heavy crimson curtains that stretched from the floor all the way to the ceiling. She sneezed over and over as the cloud of dust flew out at her, making her wonder when the last time was that these curtains had been opened. She glanced around, seeing an undressed bed in the corner, but no sign of Adam. There were broken trinkets everywhere, making Belle grateful she’d worn her shoes. A shattered glass lay near a desk in the center of the room, and something that smelled like scotch and regret stung her nose when she drew near.

  Atop the desk was a glass dome that encased a red rose. It was suspended by some kind of magic. Belle possessed the basic magic everyone in her world developed by the time they hit first grade. She could make a few things levitate, change the color of fabric, and use her Pulse to touch people and grant them a burst of her particular gift, which was discernment. But she couldn’t make a rose float for prolonged periods of time, and certainly not out of her sight. Everyone knew you had to be looking at the thing you were levitating, but glancing around, Adam was nowhere in sight.

  Belle’s breath drew in sharply when she realized this must be the rose that would bloom for ten years – until he turned thirty. Then he would go the way of the Lupine. Everyone knew the story of Malaura’s curse on Adam, but no pictures had ever surfaced of the rose that served as the ticking timeclock on his destiny. Belle held her breath, lest one false move cause a petal to fall and shorten the time he had left to entertain her with his endless shortcomings when it came to eating soup and pretending at politeness.

  Beside the rose was a series of sealed envelopes that were all addressed from him, ready to be mailed. They were only missing stamps. Belle quickly traded the addressed envelopes for the stack of letters she’d brought up from the lunch table, making a mental note to send them out for him and take one thing off his to-do list. They were all addressed to Rory Johnstone, the Chancellor’s daughter. It was widely known that the beautiful woman had been betrothed to Prince Henry, bu
t had bucked the arrangement and married a man of her choosing – a Lethal, which set the wheels of controversy spinning. Belle assumed it must be official political business he was writing to her about, since she was the only daughter of the most notable politician in the land, aside from King Hubert himself.

  On her way back out, her eyes caught on a four-foot-tall slanted frame. The gold had long since lost its luster, but the oil painting was in far worse disrepair. Belle gasped, her fingers touching her lips as she saw Adam as he had once been, before the curse. This man wasn’t scarred, angry and hairy. Though she’d seen pictures of him before his change in the paper, this was different. This was a full-color oil depiction of the man she’d just flung soup all over. The haughty expression hadn’t changed over the years, nor had his stately deportment that came from having an expensive education. It his was green eyes that captivated her, though. In person, Adam’s eyes were always angry about something, and didn’t encourage careful study of his features. But here she could stare as long as she wished, soaking in the chartreuse that seemed to cover over his many thoughts about the world with an acerbic sharpness.

  Heat rose in her cheeks, unbidden, confusing Belle with the swirling, unnamed emotions that threatened her casual demeanor. The deep green enchanted her, bringing out things she didn’t understand in herself.

  Without meaning to, her fingers reached out, as if something inside of her wanted to touch his face. Confused, she retracted her hand, wondering what had come over her that she was so drawn to a painting of a handsome face that had once been the object of many women’s affections. She stepped back and clutched the letters to Rory against her breast, running out of the room and darting down the hall, embarrassed that she’d stared for so very long.