Not that he cared. Well, he did care, but mostly, he wanted to keep her talking. To keep her standing there. Something had changed about her since he’d last seen her. He didn’t remember feeling so much joy pouring off of her. Then again, he had tried not to pay attention to her then.
Rowan was certain she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. So petite with strawberry-blonde hair, freckles that blanketed her cheeks, and the most incredible green eyes. And he had zero chance with her. Even without his scars, she was well out of his league. Either way, it didn’t matter. No woman in their right mind would want him.
“Actually, I’ve loved it. I feel safe here.”
Such a strange answer. He was even more curious about her now. “Do you not feel safe elsewhere?”
Izzy…no, not Izzy. It wasn’t befitting her. Isabeau caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “I…I just like that you have a nice home, and it’s quiet. That’s all I meant.”
She’d hedged the question, which amped his curiosity even higher. He again stepped farther from the shadows, a fish being pulled out of the dark ocean depths by a hook. “It was built by my father.”
“Oh, well, it’s incredible, but this room is just…well, I can see a lot of thought went into it. It’s lovely.” She lifted her head, and her jaw dropped.
It was then that he realized he’d stepped too far into the light. She’d seen his face, the scars, the mangled flesh. Why had he done that? Anger burned in him. He pinched his lips together and balled his fist. She’d be no different from any of the rest. “Go ahead. Run screaming from the room. I’ll just hire someone else.”
For a moment, she stood there, a puzzled look spreading across her features. “Why would I run screaming?” she asked.
“My face. I know what it looks like. I have mirrors, and I’m not a vampire,” he growled as he put his back to her.
Light laughter filled the office, and he whirled around. “What’s so funny?”
She took three steps forward, and those amazing green eyes found his. “That’s…well, that’s just ridiculous.”
“It’s not. I’m hideous. Do you know how many times I’ve been called a monster?” His voice rose an octave. “Just go.”
Isabeau continued to hold his gaze. “I’ve seen monsters, and none of them look like you.”
“I doubt that,” he grumbled.
This time she smiled in such a way that his lungs felt squeezed of all their air. “It would be statistically impossible for two monsters to be in the same place at the same time.”
“What would you know?” He barked the question.
She turned, walked to the door, and set her hand on the knob again. Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “Your scars might be visible, but they aren’t the only type of scars. Just because you can’t see mine doesn’t mean I don’t have any.” With that, she walked out and shut the door.
For a moment, Rowan gaped after her. That had never happened before. What did she mean that he couldn’t see her scars? Hadn’t Ulysses run a background check on her? Surely he would have told Rowan if there was anything. She was probably just putting on a brave front so she didn’t lose her job.
He crossed the room and flopped down on the couch, throwing himself against the back and slouching down as his thoughts wandered. What was it with people who tried to pretend they understood?
A beautiful woman like Isabeau couldn’t possibly know what it was like nor have any inkling of the cruelty he’d faced since his car accident some twelve years ago. Just the thought made his skin burn and his scars itch. He touched his melted ear and ran his hand down the leathery skin of his neck. He could barely handle looking at his own reflection. No, there was no way she could ever understand him or what he’d been through.
He eyed the food on the coffee table, grumbled, and then pushed off the couch and went back to his desk. He’d eat later, if at all. At the moment, his most pressing issue was his father’s will and the provision that called for marriage in order keep his home.
His thirtieth birthday was in two weeks, and if he wasn’t married prior to it, he’d be forced to sell the home his father had designed and built just before Rowan’s mother passed away. Two weeks to find a woman willing to look at him long enough to say I do. A woman mentally capable enough of agreeing, whose marriage to him would stand up in court. It was laughable.
Rowan’s father, Jerrod Masters, was a brilliant lawyer, but there had to be a way out of getting married. After all, wasn’t it Rowan’s happiness they were so concerned with? Well, he was…happy. Marginally. Okay, so not at all. He was miserable, but he couldn’t force someone to fall in love with him, especially not in two weeks.
He set his elbow on the desk and put his head in his hand, turning his attention back to his father’s will.
Hours later, long after dark, he still sat hunched over his father’s will and still felt just as trapped as ever.
Ulysses walked into his office. “Rowan, we need to talk.”
“I’m not talking right now. I’m busy.”
“We need to discuss what will happen to the estate in two weeks.” His uncle took a seat across from him and crossed his ankle over his knee.
Rowan exhaled heavily and lifted his gaze. “I know. I need to marry, or I’ll be forced to sell. I’ve been pouring over the will, looking for a loophole.”
“There is no loophole, son. Your father drafted that will personally. He was the finest lawyer I’ve ever known. Why do you think you’re so good at it? It’s in your genes.” Ulysses smiled.
“You were his brother and partner. Why did you let him do this to me?” Rowan stood and raked his hand through his hair. “You say you care about me, but forcing me to marry? That’s not caring for me.”
Ulysses sighed. “He wanted you to find love. The accident doesn’t define who you are. It…only reshaped your skin. Not who you were on the inside. Even as a teenager, you were special. You have a kind heart and a generous soul.”
“No woman in their right mind would ever consider marrying me. Never.” Rowan slammed his fist onto the desk and swore.
Ulysses remained seated and calm, letting Rowan deliver his outbursts as though they were nothing. “Are you finished with your temper tantrum?”
“No,” Rowan said and dropped down onto his seat. “If I throw myself on the floor and scream, will you do away with this stupid provision? I can’t lose this house. I don’t…I can’t live anywhere else.”
His uncle crossed his arms over his chest. “Then what do you want to do?”
“What can I do? I’m trapped. There are less than two weeks. Who could I find in that short of time who’s crazy enough to actually marry me? Even if I hadn’t been in an accident, it would be difficult. But look at me. I’m…I’m not worth having.” He leaned back in his chair. “No one is going to want me or even pretend to want me.”
They sat in companionable silence as if playing chess and studying the board, looking for their next move.
His uncle sucked in a sharp breath. “The maid we just hired.”
“The what?”
“Isabeau Daniels. We could ask her. A marriage of convenience. It’s been done all throughout history. We offer her money and a place to live in exchange for marrying you and staying married for a year. Once the year is up, you both go your separate ways. Of course—”
Rowan nearly swallowed his tongue. Isabeau? He wasn’t delusional enough to think she’d even consider it, and add the embarrassment of asking her? It was too much.
“Have you lost your mind? I don’t know that woman. And today she acted as if she knew what it was like to be disfigured when she’s quite possibly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Was there something in her background check that you failed to bring to my attention?”
Ulysses shook his head. “All her check returned was that she was twenty-eight as of a month ago, used to be a physical therapist, and she’s from Oregon. That’s it.”
Physical therapi
st to maid? Something didn’t add up. “I knew she couldn’t understand. I knew it.”
“So, if she isn’t a possibility and you have no desire to marry, then we need to plan on clearing the home and selling it. Two weeks isn’t much time.”
Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Uncle, please. Please help me.”
His uncle set his foot on the floor and leaned forward, his face full of soft pleading. “I am loving you the best way I know how, and so was your father. Jerrod knew you couldn’t spend the rest of your life alone. Yes, son, you have a horrible scar marring your face and body, but that is not all that you are. He knew, just like I do, that you can’t stay like this. Hidden away from the world like you have the plague.”
“I may as well.”
“What will it be, Rowan? If we’re selling the house, we need to schedule someone who can sell off most of the furniture and antiques, and we’ll need time to find you somewhere to live.”
“I can’t move,” he whispered as a lump formed in his throat. “I can’t.”
“Then should I ask her, or will you?”
Rowan spun the chair around, putting his back to his uncle. It had been a long time since he’d let his emotions get the best of him, but this rock and a hard place was more like falling down a hole. One that had spikes at the bottom.
He could almost see the incredulous look on Isabeau’s face as his uncle asked. Hear her laughter as she rejected the offer. There was no amount of money printed that would propel her into such an arrangement. Just the thought of rejection buried a knife in his heart.
“We’ll both be there,” Rowan finally said. He’d stand in the room and witness her reaction.
“You’ll be in there when I speak to her?”
“Yes. If she says no…I’ll make the arrangements to take care of the house. If you wouldn’t mind, please begin the search for a new home.” His voice broke. “Make sure it’s far out of town and gated. I’ll take nothing, so you’ll need to find furniture as well.”
“You won’t take anything?” The shock in his uncle’s voice nearly made him turn around.
Rowan shook his head. “I don’t want to be reminded of it. If it’s gone, it’s gone. Better a clean break than trying to move on while pieces of the old place float around in the new home.” He turned to face his uncle.
“But—”
Rowan held up his hand and caught his uncle’s gaze. “It was either marry or move. I’m obeying the will. If you wanted my joy, you should have included that in the provisions as well.” He stood and walked to the door. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to bed.”
“When would you like me to ask her? Are there any special requests you want in the contract?”
“It doesn’t matter what I want. Do what needs to be done and tell me when to show up.”
“Rowan.”
Without another word, Rowan walked out of his office and took the steps to his room two at a time. He felt like a man on death row. All he needed was a last meal and a prayer. Except the prayer would be wasted. Everything he’d ever known was going away, and he felt hopeless.
Chapter 3
As Izzy dusted the large wooden buffets in the dining room, she let her thoughts wander over the last two weeks. Cleaning Rowan Masters mansion was the best thing to happen to her in a while. Granted, she wasn’t working as a physical therapist and she wasn’t making much money, but she felt better than she had since the whole ordeal with Steven started.
She loved Retta, the woman who cooked for Mr. Masters. She’d been his nanny when he was a toddler, and the Masters had found a way to keep her on because of how much she and Mr. Masters loved each other. It was sweet, and she could see why he loved her. Izzy enjoyed their lunchtime talks.
The only thing that made her sad was that she was cleaning instead of helping people. She loved being a physical therapist. People would come to her with the light gone out of their eyes, and she’d worked to help them find it again. By the time their course of treatment was over, there was a spring in their step and a belief that their new normal wasn’t so horrible.
Still, something about being at the Masters’s estate made her feel like a whole new person. Getting out of the apartment and going to work every day had given her something she didn’t know she was missing. It felt as if her cup had been righted and was being filled. The joy she used to feel had returned, and it seemed crazy that it had only taken two weeks…of dusting knickknacks.
Part of her wished she could see Mr. Masters more. He looked so…sad and lost. Of course, she couldn’t imagine living with the scars he had, because, unlike her, he couldn’t hide his, but he had to know that wasn’t the measure of his worth.
The day before when she’d brought lunch to him and he’d stepped into the light, she couldn’t believe he’d actually expected her to run from him. Sure, the left side of his face and neck were covered with scars, but she’d been too mesmerized by his eyes—so dark and soulful—to really care about that. Plus, he was so fit, with broad shoulders that tapered to a slim waist. How could anyone see him and only focus on his scars?
And truth be told, she thought he was good-looking, which was a big deal for her. Since Steven, she’d kept her head down and made sure she didn’t make eye contact with anyone of the opposite sex. But Mr. Masters? For some reason, it felt as though his soul was speaking to hers. That their scars were different, but the impact was much the same.
Suddenly, Izzy felt the presence of someone in the room, and her breath caught. Her thoughts immediately went to Steven. Wait, no, he was in jail. He couldn’t be in the room. But…he’d been in jail before. No, the house was safe and secure. But she’d felt safe before. In her mind, she knew the truth, but those fears bubbled to the surface.
She whirled around, bounced off a body, and screamed as she fell back.
“Isabeau, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Mr. Masters said, his voice so deep and soothing.
She curled her legs under her and touched her shaky fingers to her lips as her heart fluttered. She tried to catch her breath. “I…i-i-it’s okay.”
“Here, let me help you up, but don’t look at my face.” He held his hand out to her.
“I just need a moment.” She tried to put strength in her voice but failed. “I’m sorry.”
Mr. Masters squatted beside her. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, yeah, I just…” She fought to hold back tears. It was so stupid. There was no reason to be so scared all the time, especially when she knew Steven couldn’t get to her. And she’d just been thinking she was doing so much better. When was she ever going to be free? “I’m okay. You’re very sweet to ask.”
“Uh, well, uh, I was coming to ask if you’d mind stepping into my office for a bit before you leave work today. Ulysses and I need to speak with you.”
She jerked her gaze to his. “Oh, you’re firing me. Please don’t. I love coming here.”
He seemed taken aback with her outburst, and she felt pathetic. There were other jobs, and if anything, the past two weeks had shown her she was stronger than she’d given herself credit for. If she lost this job, she could find another, but she would miss it.
“No, I’m not firing you.” He kept the scarred side of his face from her. “Not at all.”
Thank goodness. Relief washed over her, and she threw her arms around his neck and said, “Oh, thank you. You don’t know what this job means to me, Mr. Masters.”
When she realized what she’d done, she jerked back. “Oh...oh, I’m so sorry.” Her cheeks burned. What was she thinking? If she didn’t get herself back together soon, she’d be booking a one-way ticket to Misfit Island. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“It’s okay.” The side of his lips that she could see turned up. “And please, call me Rowan.”
“I’m so embarrassed. I promise I don’t go around indiscriminately hugging people.”
He laughed, and it was better than a hug. The warm, sultry sound of it lit a swarm o
f butterflies in her stomach. “I don’t suspect you do.”
She so wanted to tell him what a great laugh he had, but she’d already made a fool of herself. That would just be the cherry on top.
Pushing off the floor, her legs wobbled. She bumped into him, and he wrapped his large hands around her arms to steady her.
“I think I’m determined to humiliate myself today.” She pulled free and hugged herself.
“Oh, well, then you’d have competition, I assure you.” He smiled.
Izzy laughed and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “You’re very kind, but I doubt that.”
“Yes, well, you’d be wrong. Uh, if you’ll follow me, we’ll go ahead to my office.”
“Oh, sure.”
They walked out of the cavernous dining room and into the darkened hall, and it felt like a mile before they reached his office. Ulysses was already there and sitting on the couch with a stack of papers in front of him on the coffee table.
Rowan shut the door and motioned for her to take a seat in the same chair she’d sat in before. As she sat down, he strode to the curtained window behind his desk and put his back to the room.
“Ms. Daniels, Rowan and I have somewhat of an unusual request.”
Izzy’s eyebrows furrowed. “What kind of request?”
Taking a deep breath, Ulysses glanced at Rowan a second and then returned his gaze to hers. “Before Rowan’s father died five years ago, he put a provision in his will that stated Rowan must marry by the time he’s thirty or he has to sell the house—this house.”
She blinked as she tried to wrap her mind around what the man had said. “I’m sorry. What?”
Ulysses sagged. “Ms. Daniels—”
“Izzy.” She corrected him.
“Izzy, if Rowan doesn’t marry within the next two weeks, he’ll be forced to sell this home. It’s the only home he’s ever known. As you can tell, he’s not much for socializing, so finding a wife has been difficult. What we’re asking you is…” The man sighed and wilted a little more.
The Beast’s Fake Marriage Page 2
