Page 57 of Beau and the Beast

He made a mental note to remedy that.

When he moved to tend to his own food, to begin the unpleasant reality of the evening, he noticed something that he hadn't before: Beau had set out utensils that were actually big enough for him to wield.

Wolfram didn't recognize the things Beau had found but surely they had been lying around somewhere in the kitchen. In place of a normal fork, he'd found a two-pronged skewer with a wooden handle, the type of thing that would be used to flip steaks on a grill. And instead of a small steak knife, Beau had found a serrated blade with a large handle.

It wouldn't be easy by any means, but he knew that he could wield them to cut.

Relief flooded through his chest like cold water.

He wouldn't have to eat with his hands, nor would he have to suffer the indignity of having someone else cut up his food. Beau had somehow managed to think through everything, to find the right balance and compromise somewhere in the middle.

"If you don't like Breaking Bad, what's a show you actually enjoyed?" Beau asked.

Wolfram realized after a moment that Beau was talking to him.

"Oh, uh—"

"Wolfram was a huge Downton Abbey fan when it first came out," Violet said.

"Yeah, before we realized it was just glorified white people problems," Song cut in.

Beau laughed. "I never got around to watching that one. Seemed too snooty. But I could see you enjoying it, Wolfram."

Geoffrey and Alfie laughed raucously at that.

"Whoa, did you just getdissed, boss?" Geoffrey asked.

Wolfram felt himself smiling. Was Beau teasing him?

"Perhaps," Wolfram said. Beau smiled and met his eyes and affection pulsed through Wolfram’s chest. It was such an unusual thing, not to be feared.

The conversation moved on at a pace Wolfram could barely keep up with and so he let the words flow around him without following their pattern. He skewered one of the steaks that Beau had prepared, moving it to his plate. It was cooked and crusty on the outside and although it smelled tantalizing, Wolfram hoped that Beau hadn't cooked itmuch. His digestive system didn't know what to do with anything but very rare meat.

Balancing the two utensils in his big hands, Wolfram used all of his concentration and sliced the meat.

Beau had done everything perfectly. He'd seared the meat on the outside to give it the look of a normal steak, but inside it was practically raw.

Wolfram brought the first bite to his mouth. It was fragrant and heavenly—and actually tasted like more thanjust meat. Beau had somehow managed to infuse it with other flavors, things Wolfram could remember enjoying in his past life, garlic and rosemary and salted butter.

He savored the bite, closing his eyes and leaning back.

It was the best thing he had tasted since he'd been trapped in the penthouse.

Maybe ever, he realized.

When he opened his eyes, Beau was watching him intently.

He must have been waiting the whole time for Wolfram to take a bite, he realized. And when he watched Wolfram, it wasn't with a sick fascination like it had sometimes been with the others. They would watch him eat with curiosity or with the sort of expression that suggested they couldn't look away, like he was a trainwreck or a freak show.

Beau looked at him the way any chef would look to his diner—curious only in the reaction his meal was receiving, not in the curiosity of the diner himself.

"Beau, you are an outstanding chef," Wolfram said when the first lull in conversation fell across the table.

"Hear, hear," James said, raising his glass in a quick mock toast. "These enchiladas are amazing. You'll convince us all to be vegetarians at this rate."

"Except Wolfram," Alfie said with an eyebrow raised. "Although, if you convinced him to actually come to dinner, whoknowswhat you could talk the boss into."

Violet and Song stifled laughs. Geoffrey and James snuck quick looks at Wolfram to see how he was dealing with being joked about. But Beau just smiled.

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