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Also, no.
I press my thumb and finger into my closed eyes and try to control my rambling mind. So much has happened tonight that I can’t get a tight hold on all the emotions and thoughts bombarding me from all directions.
I don’t know if my deal with the Beast was horrible or not. My father is alive. That matters to me.
I hold that truth, and I wrap my heart around it.
It doesn’t help. I can’t seem to get the thing to stop trying to beat a hole through my chest. I wince and wish for the hundredth time since sliding into the back seat of De La Rosa’s Bentley I could turn back the clock. I take a deep breath. That doesn’t help either. I steal another glance at the Beast through the curtain of my hair as he types out texts to someone.
The little control I gained over my thundering heart vanishes when I find him staring back at me.
“Bella.”
My body tenses.
He puts his phone aside and reaches across the seat and stretches his hand out for mine. I keep my gaze cast down, but can’t find it in me to slide my palm into his.
“Bella.” He says my name again, except this time there is a hint of worry wrapped around the syllables. I can’t imagine why.
My brain stutters on how I should respond. Uncertainty threads through me and I can’t control the shaking of my hands.
“There is no reason to fear me.” De La Rosa finds my hand in the darkness and threads his fingers through mine. Calluses cover the pads of his fingers. His hand is larger than mine and yet he takes care not to tighten his hold to the point of pain. Rough skin glides over my palm. I’m not an expert at relationships. But the sight of him slowly raising my hand and placing a delicate kiss over the backs of my knuckles has my mind whirling with curiosity.
Am I his prisoner, bride-to-be, or simply his full-time guest?
“What will you do with me?” I shift in the seat and turn my full gaze to his. Shadows drape over the expanse of his right side. Like this, I can pretend the scars covering the other side don’t exist. To be fair, the burns don’t bother me. Perfection isn’t something that draws my attention. The way he moves his body when he walks. The deep baritone of his voice. The way the pad of his thumb strokes over the back of my hand right this second…that draws my attention. He’s the very definition of masculine power. He could crush my hand with the slightest squeeze. And yet, he’s gentle. As if he is afraid of hurting me.
With a frustrated grumble he says, “Let’s leave the questions for tomorrow. Tonight has been enough to handle without trying to figure out the future.”
“Does that mean I won’t like the answer?”
“It means it’s late, Bella.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to tell myself just to sit quietly and enjoy the ride under the full moon. It doesn’t work. “While I’m glad I’m not dead and you didn’t kill my father, it would be nice to know if you plan on throwing me in a tower or a dungeon.”
Or worse, will he force me into a dainty little maid’s uniform and pass me a toilet brush? I would rather he slice my throat and end this entire game. I have nothing against the work, but I didn’t make my way through two years of art classes in London to end up painting smiley faces with bathroom disinfectant.
Heat floods my cheeks. Not out of shyness or embarrassment, but pure irritation.
Gulping air in, I fight to control my words and my uneven breathing. It works.
We sit in silence for several moments. He strokes the back of my hand and I let him. Why is a question I’ll bother answering after I have a few hours sleep and something to eat. I’ll also work out why I let him kiss me and why I liked the feel of his lips on mine.
The car slows and we pull off the road a moment later. The windows are tinted and throw a shadow over a large gate. A moment later a guard steps out of a nearby cement house and greets us with a slight wave. Woven into the metal rods is a beautiful rose in full bloom. The large ornament breaks down the middle when the large wrought-iron gates swing wide. I can’t help but think how true that is for life. What is beautiful as a whole can easily break with a single push of a button. The new life dad had planned for us crumbled at our feet with one impulsive decision. Two if I want to be honest—dad’s when he betrayed his boss and me when I offered my life for his.
The driver takes us up a long gravel road. On either side are large trees that form a closed canopy of limbs and leaves overhead. It would appear almost like a fairy tale if I believed in that sort of thing.
The car stops outside a large stone mansion and I take a few gulps of air to steal my nerves. I wanted this, I remind myself. My father is alive and I’m not dead either. Two silver linings to keep in mind.
“We are here.”
De La Rosa’s voice rumbles straight through me as he opens his car door and slides out. He hasn’t released his hold on my hand so I follow him out the same way.
Our feet crunch in the gravel as he leads us around the car and up an expansive set of stone stairs. Large pillars decorate the corners of the entrance. Overhead is a small extension resting on top of the towering support columns. It speaks of strength and wealth. Deep wealth and power. This man snaps his fingers and his will is done. No wonder my father begged me to go home.
“Do you like your new home?”
My tongue doesn’t work for several seconds as I stand at the Beast’s side looking up at him. He’s a beautiful man made of anger and pain. I have no idea what I’m doing or how it will turn out for me, but the sheer amount of power shimmering around him is palpable, and it draws me to him. I didn’t think I could be curious about a man I’ve just met, but here I am. In his home and wondering why I like the way my hand feels in his. Maybe this new situation isn’t so bad, I lie to myself.
