Page 48 of Isabelle and the Beast

I nod. Not bad. “And your favorite time of day?”

“I love mornings. The day is always so full ofpossibilities. Evenings are difficult for me, you know. Wait, I probably shouldn’t say that in an interview. That’s a little embarrassing.”

“And that’s why we’re practicing,” I say. “You want to figure out your boundaries for public information. Some celebrities don’t even share their true favorite color, they just make something up to keep their entire lives private.”

“Huh. Interesting.” She shakes her head. “I think I’m happy to share some pieces of my reality. My favorite color doesn’t seem like an invasion of my privacy. But other things, like watching movies every night, is a little too…intimate.”

But I know about you watching movies every night, I think. I get to know some of those personal parts of her.

I change the subject. “What’s your middle name?”

Now her whole mouth lights with a grin. “It’s Rose.”

“Oh.” And now I can’t stop my mind from turning. Rose, like my mother’s favorite flower. Rose, like the figure she almost broke in the office. Rose, like the flowers that grow outside this castle in the summer.

Our eyes lock, the moment charged, as she watches me process that piece of information. I feel unusually vulnerable in this moment and decide to break it with some levity. “Is that made up, or is that the truth?”

“Truth.” She doesn’t seem uncomfortable, more curious at the reaction she elicited in me.

I gather myself, ready for another question. “How about…nicknames?”

“Well, my best friend, Jen, calls me Izzy. That’s been my nickname growing up.” She pauses. “But I found out recently my mom called me Belle.”

I furrow my brow. “How did you find that out?”

She bites her lip. “Off the record?”

I nod in confirmation.

“I was going through my dad’s garage recently, trying tofind some of my old yearbooks, and I found my baby album. A picture of me and my mom fell face down on the ground, and I saw my mom’s note on the back. ‘Belle is six months and waves at everyone she meets.’ I started pulling out more photos, and they all had my mom’s looping handwriting on the back, detailing what I was doing. ‘Belle is seven months and tried avocado for the first time.’ ‘Belle is nine months and has started fake crying so I’ll hold her.’” She has a wistful smile on her lips. “I guess we should have known I’d be an actress.”

“But your father never told you?”

She shakes her head. “I never knew that was her nickname for me.”

I swallow. “Belle,” I say, almost a whisper. “It suits you.”

She holds my gaze, the moment charged with meaning. I clear my throat, looking down at my hands. “So, uh, tell me when you decided to finally pursue acting as a career.”

Her shift to professionalism is impressive, almost as if she were expecting me to ask this question. “Well, my dad is a manager for actors. I’ve been around Hollywood my entire life, and even though he tried his hardest to keep me from wanting to act, it’s like a pull I couldn’t resist.”

“What specifically pulled you to acting?”

She twists her lips to the side of her mouth. “I’ve lived my life in the background. My two older sisters have been professional models for as long as I can remember, and I’ve always just been…there. But my imagination is one of my strongest traits. So instead of wallowing, I’d sit in the corners, imagining I was a princess surveying my kingdom, or a peasant girl watching the aristocracy, and I’d fully embody that character, immersing myself in this imaginary world. It’s become a game I still play. When I got into high school, I realized that what I was doing was acting. And after college, I decided I’ve waited too long to live the life I deserve. I’ve been practicing mywhole life for this career, and it’s been a journey to get here.”

I’m stunned speechless. Her heartfelt expressions are pieces of her soul, entering into my mind and drawing me to her in ways I haven’t felt with others before.

But she misinterprets my silence. “Too much? I should’ve known to say something less personal.”

I swallow hard. “A little, yes.” She’s right. That story, while enormously impactful to me, is too personal for an interview. “You could just say you always loved playing pretend as a little girl, and it’s become part of you.”

She nods. “Is that what you say in interviews?”

“More or less.” I narrow my eyes at her. “Well, you should know. Haven’t you seen my interviews?”

“Oh, I don’t really follow much of what you do.” But her eyes betray her words, not meeting my gaze and darting around the room.

“Mm-hmm,” I muse. “Well, typically I say that I’ve always loved movies and stories, and once I got to an age where I could pursue my own interests, acting came naturally.”

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