Page 22 of Isabelle and the Beast

Maybe I should head over to the library. I can find a big nonfiction book about the Revolutionary War, and it’ll be so boring, I’ll have to fall asleep, right?

Would a British family even own a book about the Revolutionary War?

Regardless, I think it’s the best option right now. I don’t have my movies to put me to sleep, so boredom will have to be the answer. Pulling a robe around my shoulders, I suppress a shiver. I feel a sense of foreboding as I wander around the castle alone at this hour. Honestly, I could get murdered here and no one would know.

I’mprettysure Adam hasn’t killed anyone but…after his reaction at dinner tonight, I’m getting a little nervous that Tristan Jackson won’t be on this earth much longer.

But lying in bed isn’t getting me anywhere. In fact, it’s making my imagination run wild. So I play my character game, embodying someone else to give me bravery.

“You are the owner of this castle,” I whisper to myself. “There’s no reason to be afraid of walking around your own home in the middle of the night. You have every right to go to the library.”

With an inhale and a nod, I open the door to my room and escape into the hallway. I’m wearing the pink bunny slippers and too-small pajamas, but I’m not about to change clothes in the middle of the night. My feet pad quietly on the floor, but every step sounds like a stomping elephant.

I make my way to the staircase. I’ve been to the library a few times over the last few days, mostly to read stories to Theo and peruse the shelves. There were a few romantic comedies thatcaught my eye, even one by Moira Kensington, but nothing has been able to hold my interest. Right now, I’m not looking for something interesting. Boring would be preferred.

As I pass Adam’s office, I notice the door is open just a crack. I halt in my tracks.

I know I’m not allowed in there. But he’s asleep, right? If I spend a few minutes peeking around, just to convince myself I won’t get murdered here in the castle, who could blame me? Especially after his reaction tonight, I need all the reassurance I can get.

It’s crazy how fast he flips. That first morning in the library, he almost seemed…normal, at least for a moment. Despite his crazy hair and beard, it was like he was telling a friend about his siblings and family. I saw a glimmer in his piercing blue eyes that wasn’t there before and hasn’t been there again.

But in an instant, everything changed. His eyes turned steely, and he hasn’t spoken to me since. Well, except to tell me never, ever to say Tristan’s name in this castle.

“Tristan Jackson,” I say out loud, a small act of defiance. I feel a smirk on my face, giving me another boost of confidence.

I place my hand on the door, pressing it open, and walk into the office. A few coals in the fireplace to my left still glow red, giving a little light to the room. I wish I had brought my phone as a flashlight, but the battery died, and I didn’t bring a charger with me. Let’s not forget the original plan was to stay for a few hours and then head back home. I use the faint glow of the embers to light my way, giving the office an extra-creepy vibe. Some pictures line the walls to my right—one of Adam, then, I’m assuming, each of his siblings.

I pause at Adam’s picture. The picture shows him as I remember him from the movies—strikingly handsome, with dark blond hair cropped on the sides and longer on top. Piercing blue eyes that gaze into your soul. A little bit of stubbleto give him a rugged look. But his expression, especially in this dark, is stern and intense.

Has he always been this way? Is this how he got the reputation of Hollywood Hothead, even before punching Tristan on the red carpet?

I move on to the pictures of the other siblings. Henry, the next brother, smiles lightly and seems pleasant. Peter’s grin is a bit playful and mischievous.

I stop in my tracks at Lily. She’s stunning, with her long blonde hair and sky-blue eyes. But there’s a beautiful innocence in her expression, something that makes you feel hopeful.

I step back to Adam’s picture, taking a moment to study him.

“What happened to you?” I whisper, wishing I could ask him that question and get an honest answer in return. I set my fingertips on his cheek, letting them linger there for a moment.

Moving on from the pictures, I notice a shelf full of trinkets next to a gigantic desk with a computer. A sliver of moonlight falls right on the shelves, illuminating a few items. There’s a globe, an old-fashioned pocket watch that keeps ticking loudly, and a delicate glass red rose on a stand. I reach out my hand and gently touch the petals of the rose.

Well, apparently not gently enough. It wobbles and then topples off the shelf.

“Oh, no!” I cry out loud, bending down as quickly as I can to catch it before it hits the ground. In the process, I bump my rear end against the desk. Hard.

“Cheese and rice!” I cry out, rubbing my sore bottom with my free hand. But the important thing is that I caught the rose just in time, so I carefully set it back on the shelf.

Turning back to the desk, I notice that the computer screen is now lit up. I must have moved the mouse in the process of bumping into the desk. The light reflects off a picture frame onhis desk—it’s the picture I knocked down in the study my first night here, complete with the cracked glass diagonally across the image.

“Shoot, shoot, shoot,” I whisper, hoping I didn’t do anything to make it obvious that I was here. I scurry over to the computer screen, trying to see if I did accidentally set off anything suspicious.

The document on the screen looks boring enough, but my eyes catch on a few words.

Tristan Jackson

Lily Stone

Non-disclosure

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