“You’ll see.”
We pass through the entrance hall…still breathtaking even after several days of seeing it like this. The marble gleams, thetapestries are vibrant, and sunshine streams through the tall windows that were dark just days ago.
Then we’re outside, and I stop breathing.
The grounds are spectacular.
The gardens burst with color…roses in every shade imaginable, trees with flowers in full bloom, hedges trimmed into perfect shapes. The grass is impossibly green. In the distance, I can see the forest, no longer dark and menacing but alive with the sounds of rivers flowing and animals living.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
“That’s not it,” Pierre says, shaking his head, a mischievous smile on his lips.
We walk down the main path, past fountains that are actually flowing now, past flower beds that smell like heaven. And then I see them.
Three figures standing by a carriage at the end of the drive.
My father, Margot, and Claude.
“Papa?” I’m running before I realize it, throwing myself into his arms. “What are you doing here?”
“Your Beast sent for us,” he replies, holding me tight. “He sent a carriage and said he wanted us to see where you’re living now.”
I turn to look at Pierre, who’s standing there trying to look casual and failing completely.
“You brought my family here?” I ask.
“I thought you might want to see them,” he responds gruffly. “Since you’ve been worried and all.”
My heart swells. “You ridiculous, wonderful Beast.”
Margot is staring at Pierre with wide eyes. “Uh… hello, Beast?”
“That’s Pierre,” I correct.
Claude looks like he might faint. He mumbles under his breath, “… very large.”
“And very much standing right here,” Pierre growls.
“Papa, are you sure she’s safe?” Margot whispers, but not quietly enough.
My father just smiles. “Look at her face, Margot. Have you ever seen your sister this happy?”
He’s right. I’ve never felt this loved, cared for, spoiled, appreciated…
“Come on,” I tell them, taking Papa’s arm. “Let me show you around.”
The tour takes hours. Papa is enchanted by everything…the gardens, the fountains, the sheer size and beauty of the estate. He keeps stopping to stare at art or architecture, his face full of wonder.
“This is incredible, Belle,” he exclaims as we walk through the rose garden. “It’s like something out of a fairy tale.”
“It kind of is,” I agree.
Margot and Claude are clearly overwhelmed. They keep shooting nervous glances at Pierre, who trails behind us, amused.
“Are you really going to live here?” Margot asks. “Forever?”
“Yes.”
