Page 21 of Isabelle and the Beast

So far, the answer is no.

I’ve said the most ridiculous things. I claimed I can ride a unicycle while juggling flames (not true). I also told him I can pick up most objects with my toes instead of my fingers (that oneistrue).

Not a single flinch.

Tonight is our fourth dinner together. I’m determined to make him crack. My lack of sleep is making me border on absurd.

“This stew looks delicious,” I comment. “Is it from Luthpaknia?”

I hoped making up a ridiculous name for a country would break him down. But I get nothing.

“The last time I was there,” I continue, “I rode a flying alpaca. Have you ever seen those before?”

His eyes stay glued to his bowl.

“Of course, that was after my time in the circus. I told you about that, right? I’m a lion tamer.” I tap my forehead with my index finger. “I should put that on my list of special skills… I bet it’ll be useful for my next movie.”

I can tell Adam is listening to every word but choosing not to react. It’s time to get even more ridiculous.

“After the circus, Angelina Jolie and I opened a chicken farm. It wasn’t super profitable, so we sold it to Jason Mraz.”

The side of Adam’s mouth twitches in a smile. I think he enjoys my name-dropping of celebrities. I take that as encouragement to continue.

“One of the hens got married to a rooster, though, and Stella Knight sang at the wedding reception. It was pretty fancy. All the roosters wore bow ties. And there were other people there, like Ryan Gosling and Tristan Jackson and?—”

Adam slams his spoon down on the table. His expression instantly morphed to the most intense fury I’ve seen on a person’s face.

Oh, crap.

Tristan Jackson.

AKA Hollywood’s golden boy, the victim of Adam’s fury last autumn. The unexplained secret that’s been looming over everyone’s heads for the last eight months.

Adam slowly turns his head to face me. “Never,ever, speakthat name in this castle.” His voice is low and dangerous, sending a chill down my spine.

“I—I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I forgot?—”

“Forgot what?” he snaps. “What do you know?”

“Nothing, I swear!”

He stands suddenly, his chair scratching the floor loudly. “Lionel, bring my food to my office.” He stomps past me and toward the exit.

“Yes, sir.” Lionel scoops up his bowl and follows Adam out the door.

I stare down at my food, too sick from nerves to eat any more. Of all the names I could have chosen, why did I say Tristan Jackson? I should have known better. That name has been running on repeat for the last four days. It’s the foundation of the mystery in this castle.

I have to get out of here. But a quick glance at the window shows that the snow keeps falling. It’sgotto end soon. Because the longer I stay, the surer I am that I don’t want anything to do with Adam Stone.

Since this ismy fourth night in the castle, I’m pretty familiar with the routine at each hour of the night. After dinner, I head to the kitchen and hang out with the staff. Around ten, the final few workers go to bed, so I head to my room, too. At midnight, there’s a clock that strikes somewhere down the hall. And at twelve-thirty, Adam goes to bed. I know this because he slams the door of his bedroom as he leaves the office.

So now, at one in the morning, I’m pretty sure I’m the only person awake.

I’m starting to go crazy. Being stuck in here feels likesuffocating. I wish I could just step outside for a few minutes, but the snow hasn’t stopped.

Outside, outside, outside.

“Argh!” I cry out loud, throwing the blankets off my legs.

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