Page 117 of Beau and the Beast

She was startled by his honesty, the naked emotion on his face.

“He’s rubbing off on you,” she said after a comfortable minute in silence.

“Hm?”

“Beau. You sounded like him just now. I’ve never heard you be so earnest before.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding. “He brings out the best in me.”

She looked at Wolfram, trying to see him through Beau’s eyes. Beau was so beautiful, so easy to talk to, so bright and witty that he could have taken his pick of men or women—and somehow he’d settled on Wolfram, a man who was taciturn and moody on top of his physical curse.

When she looked at Wolfram, truly just looked at the surface level of how he was now, she only saw pain and a source of stress. She thought of the way that Wolfram used to look and the fact that his current looks were living proof of how much he had lost through the curse.

But what did Beau see when he looked at Wolfram? Surely he wasn’t searching for the billionaire playboy—that man had died years ago. He’d been replaced entirely by… whatever it was sitting across the table from her now.

Wolfram was handsome—in a way—wasn’t he? She’d never considered it, seeing only danger, only a curse. But of course Beau would see the best in Wolfram, blind to his faults.

And hadn’t Beau gone out of his way to show them all—to prove to them without question—that Wolfram was still exactly like every one of them? He needed to be accommodated differently, perhaps, but that didn’t make him someone to be feared or reviled.

Beau had shown them the truth that had been in front of their faces for the past decade: Wolfram was simply a man—and he was trying his damnedest to be agoodman, at that.

“He brings out the best in all of us,” she said, finally.

* * *

Beau had forcedhimself not to fume over Wolfram’s denial after he left the study. He’d returned to his room, indulged in a long and much-needed shower, and slipped into his own cold bed.

Despite his fading anger at Wolfram, Beau felt a pang of regret to be alone that night.

Still, he wouldn’t let his lust cloud his judgment. He’d been ignoring the reality that he was worried about Noah, and Wolfram’s dangerous sleepwalk the night before had been living proof that ignoring important things simply caused them to fester.

He fell asleep thinking of how he could convince Wolfram to change his mind the next day.

And when he awoke, Beau found that he had no more insight into what to do. He’d expected to be granted his wish, and when he’d come up against Wolfram’s fears, it seemed like he was working against an immovable object.

Beau was typically a master of compromise. It was disheartening to find that he couldn’t find common ground in his first disagreement with Wolfram since they’d admitted they were more to one another than friends.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s just too dangerous. I didn’t think I was asking for too much, but I have to see it from Wolfram’s point of view.

By the time he’d had coffee and breakfast and arrived in Wolfram’s study, Beau had been resigned to the fact that he simply wouldn’t be allowed to contact Noah until the book was done. He was surprised, then, when Wolfram was seated at his desk.

He waved Beau over and pushed a phone across the desk toward him.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “No—credit where credit’s due: Violet changed my mind. I’d like you to call your brother.”

* * *

Noah almost rejectedthe call that came in the late morning on Thursday in the third week since Beau had gone away. It had a blocked number and that always irritated Noah—meant it was someone with an agenda who either wanted to collect on a loan or was guaranteed to waste his time.

But some impulse told him to pick up.

“Hello?”

“Noah, it’s Beau.”

Noah’s heart hiccupped.

“Holy shit, Beau, is it ever good to hear your voice!”

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