Savage, Broken, Beautiful: A Sexy Contemporary Rom-Com Retelling of Beauty and the Beast

by Marian Tee

  What Am I Here For?

  Arabella

  “Bonjour, ma belle.”

  The voice was a low rasp, with just the faintest accent. But what had me clutching the covers hard was how I knew it came from beyond the shadows. My instincts told me it was so, but I just wasn’t sure how it was possible.

  “W-Where are you?” I demanded in a voice that shook more than I wanted to. “Are y-you Aurélien Sauvage?”

  More silence passed, and unable to bear it any longer, I swung my legs off the bed and jumped down to the floor. It was rather embarrassing I had to do so, but with the bed more than four feet off the ground, it wasn’t like I had a choice.

  Sliding my feet back into my beaten pair of flats, I gathered all my courage to venture into the shadowy corners of the room, one at a time. “Show yourself!” I poked the air about me, feeling silly and foolish all the while, but I couldn’t help it.

  He was here! He was! Even without him saying a word, I could feel his watchful and possessive gaze on my body, caressing my skin, chaining me, and branding me like a master would his slave.

  How could a mere gaze feel this intense, I wondered in a mixture of confusion and anxiety. And how was it that his eyes felt as gentle as they were daunting? It made no sense!

  I looked around me again, squinting hard, trying to find even the smallest clue to his presence. The glow from the fireplace was blazingly bright, but it simply wasn’t enough for the sheer size of the room.

  “Why won’t you show yourself?” When the voice still refused to answer, I ran my fingers on the walls, groping for a light switch. There was a chandelier for heaven’s sake, so its switch must be here somewhere. Right?

  “What you’re doing is pointless.”

  I almost jumped at the sudden interruption but managed to catch myself in time. “Is it?” I quickly moved to the next side of the wall, telling myself he could only be lying. What kind of house in this century wouldn’t have any kind of electrical lighting?

  There had to be a switch, and when I did find it, he wouldn’t be able to hide himself from me anymore.

  “The chandelier doesn’t work.”

  I stiffened. “But there’s electricity---”

  “I didn’t say there wasn’t. It’s only the chandelier that’s disconnected. None of the lights in this house---”

  “No.” I started shaking my head even before he finished speaking. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Suit yourself,” the voice murmured.

  And suddenly, the voice was too close, almost like he was standing right behind me.

  “But don’t say I didn’t try to stop you from wasting your time.”

  The hairs behind my neck rose, and this time, I did jump. I whirled around, hoping to finally catch a glimpse of him, but at the same time dreading it if I did.

  And yet…there was nothing.

  Nothing except another shadow that blurred past me in great speed, larger than life, and too fast to be human.

  Frustration seethed inside of me, and I clung to it desperately. To be mad was to forget that I was scared, and I wanted that. I needed that.

  Spinning wildly, I challenged, “Stop playing games with me and show yourself!”

  “I am not playing any games with you.”

  “Then show yourself!” Stalking to the fireplace, I grabbed one of the books stacked on the mantel top and began throwing it at the shadows, one after another. “Show yourself!” But the books struck nothing but air, and my trepidation grew as I watched the books fall soundlessly to the carpeted floor.

  Where was he?

  Where?

  As if sensing that I was about to break down any moment, the voice started speaking again, this time in a soothing tone. “Calm down, ma belle.”

  Unfortunately the words did anything but, and a desolate laugh escaped me. “Are you insane? You expect me to calm down when I’m talking to my would-be killer---”

  The voice from the shadows cut me off, saying levelly, “I didn’t have you brought to my island to kill you.”

  “Then what am I here for?” I cried out.

  But again, all I got was silence.

  Silence that was made worse by the vastness of my gilded cage, the darkness that seemed to spread throughout the room like a plague---

  But what I despised above all was the way the silence waltzed tauntingly with the shadows around me. Even knowing it was just my mind playing tricks, I couldn’t help hating and fearing those shadows, with the way they seemed to enjoy mocking me---

  You’re already insane. You’re a coward. You’re already dead. You’re a ghost.

  I squeezed my eyes shut as I shoved the insidious thoughts out of my mind.

  No! No! No!

  And then suddenly---

  The faintest words, a whisper that was barely there, touching my ear.

  Words that answered my question: what am I here for?

  My eyes flew open and my hand reached up, my fingers touching my burning ear just as I felt the lightest breeze brush against my body and a shadow blur past me.

  And then nothing.

  He was gone.

  This time, he really was gone, and I knew because the loss of his presence cut me deep. Why it was so, I couldn’t explain. Nothing about this place – nothing about him – made sense. All I could be certain of was what he made me feel. It was like being burned alive one moment and then drowning in a fathomless sea of emptiness –

  Could it be so because of his words?

  Those unbelievable, impossible words?

  My arms dropped limply to my sides.

  Surely I must have imagined those words.

  Surely – surely he couldn’t have said that he had me brought to his island…to love him?

  Be Our Guest

  “The master visited her in her room last night,” Mr. Flamme, the night-shift butler, reported eagerly as he joined the rest of the morning staff in the service kitchen.

  There were excited gasps all around, and the man’s chest puffed with pride. He did like the attention so much, and as the kitchen helpers and housemaids fawned all over him, begging for more details, Mr. Flamme knew that he would be spying on the master tonight once more.

  “How sure are you of this?” The head housekeeper, Mrs. Bouilloire, asked skeptically.

  “I heard him prowling about the walls,” Mr. Flamme shared, “and so I followed the sound until it stopped---” His voice lowered dramatically. “In the tower room of the east wing.”

  Oooooooh.

  The excitement inside the kitchen rose in palpable levels.

  “That’s where the mademoiselle is, isn’t it?” Nana, one of the younger and prettier housemaids, asked with a giggle.

  “Oui!”

  This time, there were several squeals, and Mr. Temps frowned. “Quiet, the lot of you. If the master finds out you are talking about him---” He trailed off deliberately, knowing that whatever consequences the staff imagined would be far worse than whatever threat he spoke of.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Temps.” Nana looked properly frightened now, and so did the younger maids.

  Mrs. Bouilloire sent Mr. Temps a quelling glance. Was it necessary to turn the master into a bogeyman merely to quiet them?

  It was the butler’s turn to feel embarrassed. The housekeeper was right, and besides, it wasn’t like he didn’t feel as hopeful as the rest of them. “I should apologize too, Nana,” Mr. Temps said. “I’m just being cautious is all. To celebrate this early might be premature and even backfire on us. However hard, we must let things take its natural course, and more importantly, we must not forget the master’s rules.”

  Do not speak of the past.

  Do not interfere.

  And above all costs, do not let her leave.

  Everyone nodded, even Mrs. Bouilloire and Mr. Flamme. Arabella Blume might be a charming little thing, but at the end of the day, it was the master they had sworn to obey – and protect.

  It was well past noon whe
n Arabella woke up the next day, but this time she hadn’t even the luxury of forgetting. This time, everything was burned indelibly in her mind, and for several moments she could only stare up at the lace canopy of her bed, utterly overwhelmed.

  Was there truly no hope for escape?

  Was this to be her life from now on?

  What was the right thing for her to do?

  Arabella’s jaw clenched. Well, one thing was for sure. Nothing would happen at all if she stayed in bed all day. Forcing herself to get up, she opened the door to what she was hoping was an en-suite bathroom---

  But it was more than that.

  Arabella shook her head in dazed disbelief. This – this was fit for royalty, too. It was more a lavish boudoir than a mere walk-in closet and bathroom combined. The walls and floors were of white marble, the fixtures were all gold, and there was even a luxurious alcove on one side built between two columns. On another side was a large marble bath. Water was already running in it, bubbles rising to the surface, and when she went to dip a finger into it, Arabella could only shake her head again.

  It was wonderfully hot, perfect to soak tired muscles in.

  Was everything in this place perfect – except for its ability to restrain her freedom?

  It’s all part of his dastardly plan, Arabella warned herself, so don’t let yourself forget that.

  A tall order, but she managed to abide by it. Denying herself as much pleasure as possible, she took a shower instead of a bath, and when she opened the closet and saw the neatly arranged rows of dresses and shoes – she ignored all of it and instead donned one of her own dresses.

  It was old and faded, yes, but at least it was hers and not bought by Aurélien Sauvage –

  Like the rest of her.

  Leaving the boudoir, she held her breath as she reached for the knob of the main doors of her bedroom. If it was still locked –

  But the knob turned easily under her fingers, and soon Arabella was out. On her way to the stairs, she bumped into a maid with a feather duster in her hands, and to Arabella’s surprise, the woman’s eyes widened at the sight of her.

  Hmm.

  Did everyone here know who she was?

  The other woman approached her cautiously, saying, “Bonjour, Ms. Blume.”

  Arabella forced a smile. “Bonjour, err---”

  “I am Nana, mademoiselle. I am one of the maids here.” The other woman had returned her smile, but the wariness in her gaze didn’t completely go away.

  “What is it?” she asked finally.

  “Are you going to cry or try running away?” Nana blurted out.

  Oh. Her lips twisted. “I would if I thought it was any help, but my little talk with Mr. Temps last night sort of gave me the impression that this place is heavily guarded---” Nana started nodding profusely. “So there you go.”

  “You are wonderfully calm about this, mademoiselle.”

  “Umm.” Nana was looking at her with stars in her eyes.

  “You are no doubt a very strong and brave woman, oui?”

  “Let’s just say I’m, err, practical?”

  Nana nodded. “Practical is good.”

  While this, Arabella thought, was getting weird.

  She cleared her throat. “Anyway, I was wondering where I could get some food if that’s possible---”

  The maid’s face brightened. “But of course, mademoiselle. Let me take you downstairs.”

  As Nana led the way, Arabella said casually, “I met your master last night.”

  “So it is true?” In her haste to face the master’s lady, Nana nearly tripped over her own feet and had to quickly hold on to the balustrade to keep herself from falling.

  Arabella was alarmed. “Are you okay?”

  “Oui, oui, please do not mind me.” Nana sounded terribly and strangely excited. “But is it true, what you said? You met with the master?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And what do you think of him?” Nana held her breath.

  “What else would I think of him?” Arabella couldn’t help asking blankly, confused by the hopeful look on the other woman’s face. “I’m a prisoner here.”

  “Oui, oui.”

  Arabella blinked. That was a been-there-done-that voice if she ever heard one. Was she being patronized here?

  “But what about beyond that, mademoiselle? What about how he looks?”

  Now Arabella was even more confused. “I don’t care what he looks like.”

  This time, Nana looked like she was about to swoon for joy. “You do not?”

  “He bought me, Nana. He turned me into a slave---”

  “Oui, oui---”

  “Stop with that oui, oui!” Arabella was having a hard time holding on to her temper now. “You make it seem like my captivity is normal when it’s not!”

  Only when a shamefaced expression fell over Nana’s face at her words did Arabella realize that her temper had struck again.

  Oh, darn it!

  Guilt filled her, and she apologized quickly, “I’m so sorry, Nana.” It was Arabella’s turn to look shamefaced. “I’ve always had the most horrible temper. And normally I can keep it together, but I guess---” Arabella expelled her breath in frustration.

  “Je comprends, mademoiselle.” Nana patted Arabella’s arm soothingly. “And I, too, must apologize. In my excitement, I have become insensitive to your situation, and for this - je suis désolée.” The maid started down the stairs again. “But let us not talk of such things for now, mademoiselle. I’m sure you must be starving so we should feed you without delay.”

  After being given a choice between the breakfast room and dining hall but opting for the service kitchen where the rest of the staff had their meals, Arabella was then introduced to Nana’s other co-workers. There was Mrs. Bouilloire, the head housekeeper, Mr. Aliment, the head chef, followed by a dizzying set of French names for the other kitchen workers and housemaids. All of them smiled at her welcomingly, but none appeared inclined to free her from captivity.

  Oooookay.

  This was beginning to feel like a Stepford-controlled mansion, but she was going to let it be for now. If she wanted her mind working properly, she had to feed her growling stomach first.

  The food was sumptuous. It was French cuisine at its finest, more delicious than anything she had ever eaten her entire life, but it also made Arabella feel weak and guilty for enjoying it so much. She had to remember she was a captive here and not a pampered guest!

  When she was finished with her meal, the housekeeper asked kindly, “Would you like to have coffee or tea, mademoiselle?”

  “Coffee, please.”

  “You heard the lady, Mr. Aliment,” Mrs. Bouilloire said while clearing away the dishes.

  “Oui, madame.” The stocky-looking chef left his station and took out a leather folder from one of the steel drawers. “Have a look, s’il vous plaît,” he said with a smile as he offered the folder to Arabella.

  Opening the folder, she found a menu in it that easily put Starbucks’ own list of caffeinated drinks to shame. She pointed to the one highlighted as the chef’s specialty. “What is this – kopi luwak?” The staff started snickering as she said the words, and Arabella was confused. “Did I pronounce it wrong or something?”

  The chef cleared his throat. “Ah, no. But that one is an acquired taste.”

  Oh. Did that mean she wasn’t refined enough to appreciate it?

  “Perhaps a latte for now, mademoiselle?”

  “I guess.” Arabella told herself not to be insulted. Maybe it was a French thing, never mind if the words didn’t sound French.

  Nana asked her if she would like a tour of the front gardens while having her coffee, and Arabella was surprised. “I may leave the mansion?”

  Nana looked equally surprised. “Of course.”

  “But what if I try to escape?”

  This time, her words had most of the staff looking away and pretending to be busy.

  “Mademoiselle---” Only the
housekeeper was able to look at her in the eye, and the older woman’s gaze was sympathetic. “There is no way to escape this island.”

  She stiffened.

  “It is not what you would call an ordinary place---”

  “No kidding,” she muttered. “It has bonsais in the shape of unicorns and fairies.”

  The housekeeper coughed to hide her amusement. “Those are, err, a whim of the former master, the father of Monsieur Sauvage. He wanted---” The old woman seemed to choose her words carefully. “He wanted the world to be reminded that not all that was different was ugly or scary.”

  Oh. Arabella could see the point in that, but even so – it didn’t make the whole place any less strange.

  “I know this is hard for you, mademoiselle, but could you please consider giving the island – all of us, the master included – a try? Why not think of this as a vacation---”

  “But it’s not,” Arabella pointed out.

  “Only because you insist on thinking it is not,” Mrs. Bouilloire countered calmly.

  She shook her head stubbornly. “And my father? What about him? I’ve been forbidden contact with the outside world, and that includes my father---”

  “I am certain that the master may reconsider, if you persuade him nicely.” Mrs. Bouilloire gave her a meaningful look.

  Arabella gasped, unable to believe that such a sweet-looking granny would suggest a thing. “You mean---” She shook her head in disbelief. She may not watch a lot of TV, but even she knew that there was only one master that everyone spoke of these days.

  Shaking her head, she said feelingly, “I can’t do what Daenerys did to tame Khal Drogo, not even for my father.”

  Some of the staff choked while the housekeeper only looked at her in puzzlement. “Whatever are you talking---” A giggling Nana hurried to whisper into the woman’s ear, and the housekeeper turned red. “My goodness!” She started fanning herself. “My goodness, no! I was only talking about the two of them starting off as friends!”

  Oh.

  Arabella was saved from making embarrassing excuses for herself when the chef presented her with coffee on the go, and a still-giggling Nana grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the kitchen.