Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“Mrs. Blumfield sounds quite remarkable.”
“Oh, yes, she’s a fine woman,” he says popping another apple cherry into his mouth.
A sudden bluster of wind ripples past us, almost blowing his blanket off his knees. It stirs in the trees in the woods below, turning their branches into swaying arms.
The storm has moved closer. Fat rain drops begin to fall. Slow at first. Warning us of the coming downpour.
“Come on, let me help you back inside,” I say, releasing the brakes on his wheelchair.
But Uncle Maurice stops me when he reaches for my wrist. Again, his eyes are focused and he is fully present.
“I’m proud of you, Belle. You really are the sweetest.”
Fighting off my tears, I wheel him back inside and out of the weather.
CHAPTER 47
BELLE
By the time I leave, the rain has stopped but the wind picks up the moment I step outside onto the front steps.
I look up and there he is.
Waiting for me beside his bike.
When I see him, a deep longing washes over me. I want to run to him. I want to wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his chest. I want to beg him to tell me Gaston isn’t his brother.
Instead, I’m cautious as I approach him.
“You came,” I whisper.
“You are my wife, little one. That might not mean anything to you, but it does to me.”
I struggle to swallow the guilt. I remember the look on his face when I told him I didn’t want him. “It does,” I say softly. “I was angry. What Gaston did—"
He gently touches my face, his thumb grazing my bottom lip. “I don’t share my brother’s perversions or penchant for pain. You are safe with me.”
This is why he let me go so easily. He knew I needed time to put things in perspective. And instead of fighting me and forcing me to do something I didn’t want to do, he gave me the space I needed to figure it out.
“It hurt me,” I say.
“I know, and I should’ve told you. If I could go back in time, I would tell you earlier.”
He draws me closer to him. I don’t want to melt against his touch, but I do. Because I need the comfort only his touch can bring.
“What can I do to help you get through this?” he asks.
“Can you take me somewhere?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“I want to see the house.” I swallow back the guilt and the sadness I feel deep in my chest. “I want to see where Gaston did what he did.”
I slide onto his bike behind him and it instantly feels like home. His warmth. The sheer size of him. The power emanating from him. He is a wall of protection in front of me. I slide my arms around his waist and settle in behind him. Here I am safe. Here I belong.
We ride into the cold morning, leaving Uncle Maurice and the mansion behind us. There is an ache in my chest for leaving my uncle behind but he is safe and happy and being cared for, because Beast ensured it from the very beginning.
I tighten my arms around Beast and press my cheek into his broad back, and it’s how I stay as he rides us through the wet cobblestone streets and past the familiar landscapes near the house on Prince Street.
When he pulls up beside the slanting white picket fence with the peeling paint and weeds poking through the wooden pickets, he kills the engine and guides me off the back of his bike.
I stand beside the letterbox and look at the crooked pathway leading through the tiny front yard and up to the front door, and a cold trickle works its way down my spine. With every step I take closer to the house, an unease blooms inside me, making my pulse race and my palms sweaty.
Wakey wakey, princess.
I close my eyes. I can still smell him. Still feel his disgusting breath on my skin as he bent me over. Still smell my uncle’s blood as Gaston reached for my panties.
My eyes flick open.
The kitchen window Beast crashed through is boarded up, and the shattered glass is gone. I don’t know who did it. I’m assuming it was someone from the club.
If he hadn’t crashed through that window…
Fear coils in my chest, and I rub between my breasts trying to wipe it away, but it’s buried so deeply inside I don’t think it will ever leave.
But Beast walks up behind me, and I know Gaston will never be able to finish what he started. Beast will make sure of it.
“You don’t need to do this.” His deep voice is gentle.
“I do, or it will always have some kind of power over me.”
The spare key is still under the garden gnome in the little garden beside the front door, and I use it to let us in.