Page 3 of Isabelle and the Beast

ISABELLE

It takes a moment to register that the giant, hulking figure in the doorway is not, in fact, a beast, but is Adam Stone. Although I feel pretty justified in my assumption. He’s at least six foot three, with a body that should be chopping wood somewhere in the Appalachians.

But aside from his physique, his hair has grown out past his shoulders, and he has a full, grizzly beard. It’s hard to see beyond his outline in the dim lighting. Still, even in the shadows, I can tell this is not the same Adam Stone I saw inQuantum Directive, the movie he starred in last summer where he was a suave British spy in a sleek black suit, fighting against terrorists who were plotting to use AI to take over the world. No, this Adam Stone is ominous and almost more animal than man.

“Hello, Isabelle,” he says, his deep voice rumbling through the room. His faint British accent is audible here, unlike how he hides it for most of his movies.

I open my mouth to respond, but all words have escaped my brain. Wasn’t I preparing some kind of introduction? I can’tremember. Because I’m completely consumed with the sight of Adam Stone—well,presentAdam Stone.

My dad had warned me he looked different. That the last eight months had changed him, both physically and emotionally. But I don’t think anything my dad could have said would have prepared me for what’s in front of me right now.

I swear, he could eat me and I wouldn’t be surprised.

He doesn’t say anything, just studies me with an icy glare.Snap out of it, Isabelle!I finally come to my senses, remembering that he’s assessing me and my ability to act with him. Well, if he wants an actress, I’ll show him an actress.

You are a brave warrior, taking on a legendary beast.

It’s a game I play sometimes, even in real life. I find it comes in handy, especially when I’m working at my day job–a waitress at The Cheesecake Factory.

Yes, the stereotypes are alive and well for an aspiring actress in Los Angeles.

Whenever I have a difficult customer, I find a role that fits the situation and embody it fully. Kid having a tantrum? Mary Poppins. Picky customer? Remy, the rat fromRatatouille. So right now, I’m going to embody a brave warrior. Brave Warrior Isabelle isn’t intimidated by the beast in front of her. Brave Warrior Isabelle knows she can slay him.

I straighten and find my voice. “Thank you for having me here. And I’m really glad for the opportunity to meet you.”

His eyes widen in surprise at my sudden shift. I notice one of his eyes looks slightly different from the other, but it’s too dark for me to tell why.

He takes a few steps forward. Brave Warrior Isabelle falters, and I take a step back. I didn’t realize I was right up against a wall, and I bump into a picture frame, knocking it down to the floor with a crash.

“Oh, goodness, I’m so sorry.” I turn and kneel topick it up, face flaming with embarrassment. Hopefully, he doesn’t notice in the dark. Through the cracked glass, the image of a happy family makes me pause. There’s a father who looks a lot like Adam, a beautiful mother, and four children—three boys and one little girl with the longest, most golden blonde hair I’ve ever seen. I peer closer at the picture and realize the oldest boy is Adam.

“Is this your family?” I ask. I look up from the picture and am startled to realize Adam is standing directly in front of me. From where I’m kneeling on the ground, he looks even more ominous, towering over me.

“Give me that,” he snaps.

I straighten and hold the picture out with my right hand, but he doesn’t grab it right away. In fact, his hand kind of flails around, searching for it before he gets a firm hold. I didn’t think it was that dark in here… Is something wrong with his eyesight?

He pulls the picture out of my grasp and scowls down at me.

“I—I’m sorry,” I stammer. I’m not sure if I’m apologizing for the picture or for asking about his family or for him not seeing the picture in my hand, but I feel like this meeting is going in completely the wrong direction.

He doesn’t move, just stands and stares. At this close proximity, I can now see a scar down his left eye, starting at the middle of his forehead and ending on his cheek. That eye seems slightly glossed over. But his other eye is just as piercing blue as I remember from the movies. Oddly enough, these new impairments don’t make him any less handsome. If anything, they give him a more wild but manly appearance, like a warrior coming home from battle.

He catches me staring and turns quickly, his back now to me. “Dinner will be served in a couple of hours. I’ll meet you in the dining room.”

“Wait, what?” I ask. “What am I supposed to do until then?”

Adam doesn’t answer my question, just walks out of the room. Lionel reappears. “Miss Isabelle, I’ll take you to the Lily room now.”

“I…but… I’m not supposed to stay here.”

Lionel looks sympathetic. “I understand your hesitation. Would you like to leave? I can inform Mr. Stone.”

Would I? No. I need to stay and have this conversation with Adam. That terrifying drive would have been for nothing, and I cannot have that.

“No. I’ll stay.” I follow Lionel out of the room. He shows me to the grand staircase that I spotted when I first walked in, and I follow him up the stairs. We turn right and walk down a hallway lined with paintings and sconces lit by candles. The long shadows along the walls should scare me, but I remind myself again that I’m Brave Warrior Isabelle, and I will not be afraid.

As we walk down the hall, I spot a few people peeking at us through cracked doors.

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