Beauty's Cursed Beast Page 25
Adam swallowed hard. He’d been carrying around the ring for too long, the diamond burning a hole in his pocket. Every moment had felt like it might be the right one, but he’d been afraid of her answer. Though she seemed taken with him, most days he still couldn’t believe his good fortune. Though he now held the adoration of many women throughout the land, thanks to his good looks being restored, his former haughtiness had dissipated. He had eyes only for Belle, and could scarcely comprehend all she’d done to save him.
They’d moved up to his bedroom in the West wing and cleaned it out together, making his castle one that belonged to the two of them, and not just him. Every morning that he woke up to the glow of her in his arms brought the words closer to the surface. Still, he’d held back, not wanting to risk moving too fast for her, and spooking away the best thing that had ever happened to him.
He’d wanted to ask her the moment her father had given him his blessing. He’d wanted to ask her over breakfast last week when she’d had a smear of strawberries on her top lip, looking positively adorable. He’d wanted to ask her every time she stared at him as if he was something amazing. Beast or man, she loved him the same.
Still, he’d held himself back, for fear of possibly pushing her too fast. The media was such that she couldn’t go to the grocery store without reporters following her through each aisle. News companies had started a bidding war over who would get rights to Belle’s baby pictures, which her father still refused to give up.
Belle’s mouth was open in an “O” of pure flabbergast as she took in the man on his knees in the middle of the restaurant. Her eyes were glistening with a sheen of adoration for him, showing no signs of flight.
He didn’t realize he’d been utterly silent until Rory screeched, “You have to actually ask her, you fool!”
Adam fumbled with the ring, recalling the speech he’d rehearsed over and over again, whispering it to her after she’d fallen asleep in his arms. He’d practiced it on Audra and Vivienne, who’d said “yes” every time. He cleared his throat as cameras and phones clicked around them, cataloging each facial expression shared between them. “I love you, Belle. I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with you. I promise to love you and take care of us as long as I live.” He dug in deeper, worrying he hadn’t put enough on the table for her to say “yes” to. “I paid off your father’s mortgage, so he’ll be taken care of. But if you want him to move into the castle, that’s fine too. Whatever I need to do to make sure you stay with me, I’ll do it. Only please, please marry me.”
The tears were falling like raindrops of pure sunshine and love as Belle gasped and covered her mouth. She hung her head, overwhelmed that he knew her so well. Only the perfect man for her would make sure he could take care of her father before asking if he could take her away. Adam understood how important her father was to her, and that small note tipped over any reservations she might have had that they were moving too fast, or that they hadn’t known each other a full year. The gift was grand, but then again, Adam’s love always swept her away.
There wasn’t a drop of hesitation in her heart when she nodded, gulping through her choked response. “Yes, Adam. Of course I’ll marry you.”
Relief flooded through Adam in waves, slumping his shoulders as he slid the ring onto her finger with a gust of contentment. The knot that had felt permanently lodged in his chest loosened whenever she was near, permitting him to breathe easier. The ring looked right on her finger, like her hand was the only place meant to display such beauty. She owned the warm and the icy parts of him, which reflected in the diamond for the world to see.
When a tear came to Adam’s eye, he leaned forward to bury his head in her lap, offering up his raw emotion only to her as a pledge of intimacy he wouldn’t share with anyone else. He didn’t care that the internet would be buzzing with photos of him so debased, kneeling before a woman with his arms wrapped around her hips in supplication for a better existence. He only cared that his ring stayed on her finger for the rest of their lives, sealing their future with the unending magic only true love could bring.
Through the highs and the cruelty of life’s lows, they would never let each other go. For better or worse, the beast had found his beauty.
* * *
The End.
Beauty’s Cursed Sleep
The prequel to Beauty’s Cursed Beast is Rory’s story. Order Beauty’s Cursed Sleep today, which is my Sleeping Beauty twist, tucked inside a massive multi-author box set.
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Free preview of Beauty’s Cursed Sleep
1
Rory Johnstone’s Shortened Life
“I don’t have a Pulse,” Rory admitted, smoothing her long, dark hair over her shoulder with a brush of her left hand. She clicked her pen three times in her right fist, as if that would make the conversation less awkward. Did she wish she could Pulse emotions or abilities into others, as everyone else in the magical community could do? Sure. But she couldn’t, so the fact that every month she had to check in with the council and report back the big news of absolutely nothing felt like a regularly scheduled stab to the chest. “Are you quite finished? I have to get back to work.”
She glanced across the desk at her uncle, keeping their mirrored sigh inaudible so the speakerphone didn’t pick up on her exasperation. Frustration only fueled certain members of the council, and she didn’t want to give them any further fodder.
The superior lilt of the man on the phone made Rory cringe. “Patience, Aurora. I’m making a note. Another month, and still no Pulse. My, my. Most of us find our Pulse by age seven. How old are you now?”
Rory’s uncle’s upper lip curved slightly at the not-so-subtle needling that happened during these calls. He leaned back in the black leather swivel chair of his no-frills office. Though Remus was thirty-six, he glared at the phone, as if that would make the slow humiliation for his niece end sooner.
Rory bit back the urge to tell off the Baron. He knew very well how old she was. He’d known her since she was a baby. She’d endured his insipid political jokes over and over at the Dinners of the Elite, all with a polite smile on her face. “I’m twenty-four.”
“Four months left before Malaura’s curse is rumored to come into your life. Wouldn’t it be lovely to find your Pulse before it’s predicted to slow?”
Rory’s uncle usually wore a breezy smile to counter his commanding office demeanor, but Rory could see the vein popping out along his temple, marking his notable stress. As much as she despised these phone calls, her failures were every bit as much a reflection on him for not producing a brightly shining star student to present to all of Avondale.
Rory stiffened at the low blow. “I don’t believe in curses, least of all my own. You’re in your sixties, Baron,” she scolded him. “That’s old enough to put such childish superstitions behind you. Are you still putting your dentures under your pillow in hopes the tooth fairy will leave you with some spare change?”
The Baron could dole out the insults without threat of conscience, but when it came to dealing with the family who had never cowered to him, he was left bereft of acerbic comebacks. “Young lady, it’s no wonder you’re… I can’t believe the daughter of the Chancellor would speak to me like… You’d better pray your curse doesn’t come to fruition. Being woken by true love’s kiss only works if someone can tolerate your mouth.”
Rory’s tone was light and airy, as if she hadn’t just stepped up to the plate to play hardball with the conniving man most of the council cowered to. “Speaking of true loves, how is your son these days? I haven’t seen Calvin in a while. Tell him I’ll return his many calls soon. You know how busy life can get.”
It was a subtle needling, but to be fair, the Baron had started it
.
Rory’s uncle took hold of the conversation before it spiraled out of control. “Is that all, Baron?”
“For now. Remus, you are without a doubt, the most disappointing tutor I’ve ever met. Your pupil has made absolutely no progress, and…”
Remus put the receiver back in its cradle, sniggering at Rory’s gasp at the outright defiance. “Oh, he’s going to be mad you hung up on him.”
“No more angry than he’ll be that Calvin is still calling you all the time. Can you imagine the scandal? The Baron’s son hooking up with a girl who doesn’t have a Pulse.” He shook his head and tsked her. “What would the neighbors say?” His upper lip pulled in disgust once more. Remus slid a stack of papers into a folder, turning his focus back to the work at-hand.
Guilt and shame washed through Rory, as they always did after these monthly phone calls. “You’re a wonderful tutor, Remus. The Baron was out of line, criticizing you like that.”
Remus nodded, offering up a seemingly unaffected smile at his niece. He rolled his broad shoulders and brushed his hand down his green tie, which turned blue after one swipe – a thing he often did when he was thinking things he wouldn’t say aloud. “I know. And you’re an excellent student. Some things just weren’t meant to be, and we’re not going to waste our time beating ourselves up about it all. Understood?”
Rory’s head bobbed, but she clicked her pen three times, as she often did when she felt unsettled in irreparable ways. She didn’t speak, but rather internalized everything, tucking the Baron’s icy words in her heart for use in future self-flagellation.
“Hey, chin up. Where are you? You’re going to a bad place in your mind.”
She bit down on her plump lower lip. “Honestly? I’m worried about the annual exam at the end of the month. I’m supposed to be able to levitate a teacup by then, but it’s been too many years of failing the test. Why do they put me through the humiliation every year? They wouldn’t care as much if I wasn’t the Chancellor’s daughter. They’d let me be a Deadpulse, and be done with it.” Then she hung her head, her lean shoulders drooping. “I can’t even levitate a teacup. Totally embarrassing. There are grade school children who can make teacups and their saucers lift off the table, the teacups filled to the brim without spilling a drop.”
“A totally useful skill for work at a Foundation,” Remus simpered not unkindly. “Your Pulse will come when it comes.” He was only twelve years older than her, and the two shared more of a big-brother-little-sister relationship than anything else – comforting and challenging each other as needed.
“And if it doesn’t?” Her eyes flicked to his, revealing a portion of the raw underbelly she tried never to expose in mixed company. “If my biggest dream never comes true?”
Remus raised his chin, in hopes that someday his niece wouldn’t have to work so hard to keep her own chin lifted. “This is your biggest dream?” He pointed to the pen on his desk, and with barely any effort at all, it raised up, as if giving itself to him as an offering of subservience. Then the pen collapsed back onto the desk, bereft of the magic that had bewitched it into motion. Remus’ eyebrows pushed together in frustration. “Your dreams are small. I can’t imagine anything more tragic than tiny, attainable dreams.”
“Tiny and attainable to you. Everest for me.” Rory balled her feet up inside of her shoes. She fiddled with the hem of her gray blouse as her mind drifted to the melancholy that always came after these phone calls. Her blouse had a layer of black lace underneath that flared at her hips, and trembled when she was busy hating herself. Her black trousers were wrinkle-free, and her sensible shoes clacked nervously as her knees bobbed up and down. She’d been in meetings all day, but this one phone call grated on her nerves like nothing else could.
“The investors for the playground need to be contacted this week. Is that on my list or yours?”
“Mine.” Rory rifled through the stack of papers to find the to-do list she’d lost in the sea of documents. “I’m not thrilled on the commitment from Davin Industrial. They’re giving less to the Foundation than they did last year, but asking for more business from us.”
“They’re capitalists, Rory. That’s usually the way of things. But you’re right, I didn’t anticipate them pledging less. I’ll follow up.”
“Okay. I’ll lean on the Literacy Fellowship to get us their recommended curriculum for next year. They were supposed to have that submitted to us already.”
“Francesca was supposed to handle that. The point of having an assistant is that you don’t have to do everything.”
“She tried, but here we are.” Synching their busy schedules took so long that Rory grew frustrated. “Do you think we work too much?”
Remus offered up a perfunctory laugh. “I think if we didn’t, Avondale wouldn’t have the things and rights it needs to thrive. You’ve got the forty-thirty staff meeting, right?”
“I’ll be five minutes late. I’ve got that interview with Royal Watch for their piece on me – The Last Days of Aurora Johnstone.” Her jaw stiffened every time the title of the countdown article came across her schedule.
Rory wondered when the last time it was that it mattered if she thrived. She recalled the steps that led her to spending her Sundays rifling through papers and contracts with her uncle, and couldn’t justify the mess that had grown so out of control that she couldn’t grant herself a day off. Her lunch hour had been spent gritting her teeth through the Baron’s needling. The last thing she wanted to do was sit down with the national publication and talk about how she was spending her last months serving Avondale.
But she was the future Chancellor, so a luxury such as privacy wasn’t something the world was concerned with granting her.
“Rory?” Remus called his niece again, but Rory’s mind was far, far away from the office where she’d spent most of her adulthood. The walls of the tall building that was always bustling with activity usually gave her a steady dose of comfort, but now it felt like a coffin.
She’d never gone skydiving.
She’d never even had a vacation by herself.
She’d never… So many things had been put on hold so she could focus on her goal that had always burned white-hot in her chest – make the greatest impact on the world in the short time she was given. Most people didn’t know their expiration date, but Rory’s had been widely publicized, thanks to the curse she’d received at birth.
The Baron had been right on one thing – there was a timeclock on her days, and it was quickly running out. She’d done all she could to make sure Avondale thrived in her absence when her curse came into effect, while sacrificing perhaps too much of herself.
Remus was right; she’d made her dreams small, so she could fulfill the dreams of others by granting them funding and education through her Foundation. Her life would be put on a permanent pause soon. With the Baron’s words still ringing in her ears, she realized she didn’t want her life to stop, having never lived it.
“Rory? Are you alright?”
Rory tugged her hair behind her ear and blinked the world around her back into focus with panic lining her eyes.
This wasn’t right. How had she ever thought this was a solid life plan? Seventy-hour workweeks ensured she accomplished a lot, but it left her with a hollowness that seemed to be growing larger the closer she got to her twenty-fifth birthday.
She didn’t have all the details worked out, but she knew she couldn’t continue on another second, keeping things as they were. She moved toward the door with sudden purpose. “Uncle Remus? I think I need to step away.”
Though she realized Remus most likely assumed she was going to get some air, Rory knew her feet wouldn’t be satisfied until they were running far, far away from the life that used to be her own.
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