Page 24 of Isabelle and the Beast

In a way, I’d love for it all to come out. For Tristan to be exposed. But I don’t want Lily to suffer the consequences. The media’s attention on her would be unrelenting, and she’s too fragile for that.

I sit at the desk, turning the glass rose in my hands. It looks perfect, which makes me doubt her story of dropping it even more. But, then again, she told me to watch the recording.

I set the rose down on the table and click around on the computer until I find the folder with tonight’s footage in this room. It takes a few minutes to find the right moment, but eventually I see her enter the room.

She was right; the door was cracked open. I watch her take a few steps into the room, slowly turning her head and looking around. She doesn’t rush to the computer, but she seems to be taking her time, observing her surroundings. The first thing she notices are the pictures hanging on the wall of me and mysiblings. She pauses at each one, tilting her head to look more closely. Then she goes back to my picture and touches her fingers to my face.

Instinctively, I put my hand on my cheek, right where she placed her fingers, and feel my scar.

She murmurs something to the picture that I can’t quite hear. Then she turns and walks toward the shelf of trinkets. She looks up and down at the various memorabilia my family collected over the years, including the glass rose my mother brought home for me from Paris.

“So you never forget the things we love,” she had said.

And one year later, she was gone.

Just as Isabelle claimed, I watch her touch the rose, which sends it flying off the shelf. My heart leaps, but Isabelle catches it in time, bumping her rear end against the desk.

“Cheese and rice!” she exclaims, rubbing her sore spot, and I smile despite myself.

Her gaze shifts to the desk. “Shoot, shoot, shoot,” she says, rushing to the computer. This must be when she realizes that the screen is on.

“What are you doing here?” I hear my own voice, barely two seconds later, low and menacing. Even I’m startled by it. I listen to our conversation, finally able to admit that I was wrong in accusing her so quickly of having ulterior motives. Not that she cowered in fear, though. She held her ground, just like Lionel said she would.

I haven’t gone toe-to-toe with someone like her in years.

But again, she was in my office. Trespassing and disobeying the one rule I made while she was here. I’ve given her everything she could ask for, and she still snuck in.

I’ve seen enough. I pause the video, contemplating my next move. My eyes drift to the family photo below my computermonitor, and my thoughts drift to my mother. What would she want me to do?

Yes, Isabelle was in the wrong. But she’s going to be here for some time more. Even if the storm stops, we have to wait for the snow to melt before she’ll be able to drive back down the mountain. I don’t want to spend the next few days miserable, feeling guilty for the way I treated her.

With a sigh, I set the rose safely back on the shelf of trinkets. I should apologize, as much as I don’t want to. I exit the office and head over to her room. She said something about not sleeping, so I doubt she’s asleep right now.

I knock on her door three times and wait patiently. Nothing. I knock again. Still nothing.

“Isabelle?” I say through the door, hoping my voice sounds less aggressive than in the video. “I’d like to speak with you.”

Still nothing.

I try again. “Isabelle?”

“Mr. Stone?” Lionel’s voice sounds from the hallway, his wiry frame dressed in a robe and holding a candle for light. “Is everything all right?”

“No,” I reply, my voice clipped. “Isabelle was in my office and we got into a disagreement. I wanted to speak with her.”

“Sir, she just left.”

“Left?” I repeat. “What do you mean?”

“The front door opened. I received an alert on the system.”

Where could she even go? It’s still snowing, and her car can’t make it down the mountain. I know from experience how easy it is to get lost in this forest in the snow.

My vision fills with the memory of someone else who nearly died out there. I can still feel her tiny body shaking in my arms. I can’t let that happen again.

“Get my coat and my snowshoes,” I say to Lionel. “I’ll go find her.”

Chapter

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