Page 82 of Monster Among the Roses (Fairy Tale Quartet 1)

Isobel and I remained quiet until the valet returned the truck to us a

nd we were closed inside it. My anger had dissolved and worry gnawed at my gut. I didn’t know how to interpret her silence or that blank, expressionless look on her face.

Was she hurt, mad, or maybe just tired of it all? Had I caused the biggest problem by making such a scene?

This not knowing was driving me crazy.

I glanced across the interior of the truck as we pulled onto the road. “Want to go get a pizza instead?”

She shook her head, not meeting my gaze.

“Hamburgers?” I tried. I would take her anywhere, do anything to please her.

“I just want to go home.” Except, dammit, that was the last thing I wanted to do for her.

My hopes shriveled. She’d definitely been negatively impacted, and the encounter was still bothering her.

Unable to stop stressing that I’d made things worse, I asked, “Are you mad at me?”

She seared me with a sharp glance. “What?”

“For, you know, escalating the problem?”

With a sniff, she turned back to staring out the front windshield. “Of course not,” she mumbled, but there wasn’t much fervor behind her words, making me wonder if she was just saying that to shut me up, when really, maybe I was the root of her turmoil.

“You didn’t believe them, did you?” I kept on, unable to drop it. Not being able to gauge where her mind was killed me. “When they suggested I could only be with you because you’re rich?”

Isobel growled in her throat. “Can we please just not talk about it?”

My breathing turned choppy. No, we couldn’t not talk about it. Did she believe them or not? I needed reassurance; I needed to know she and I were still good. I’d been the one to take her out for her first trip into society, and look what had happened. Did she blame me? Did she hate me? Did she ever want to see me again? Why couldn’t she just tell me we were still solid?

A second later, I realized how selfish I was being. Isobel had just attempted something she hadn’t done in eight years, and it had failed. Of course she wasn’t going to be in a good mood. Me trying to push her into saying she didn’t hate me wasn’t helping anything.

Though my gut rolled with unease, I remained quiet, giving her the silence she’d asked for. Once I delivered her home and parked before her front door, I tried one more time to get her to open up. She hadn’t made a move to exit the truck yet; she was just sitting there, staring out the side window. It made me think she did want to say something before we parted.

So I asked, “Are you okay?”

But she sighed as if irritated by the question. “I’m fine.”

She wasn’t. Clearly, she was anything but fine. I reached for her hand. “Can I come inside with you?”

Pulling her fingers away, she shook her head. “I’d rather be alone right now.”

My heart cracked. I felt so helpless, as if everything I did only made matters worse. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice going hoarse.

“Don’t,” she snapped, scowling at me but only turning halfway toward me. “There’s no need for you to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I wanted to be comforted by her words, but everything felt so off. Her misery was beginning to ooze and I couldn’t fix it. And then, when I realized why she wasn’t facing me fully, I lost it.

“Are you hiding your scars from me?” I accused. “Dammit, Isobel. Don’t start that again.” I grabbed her arm and tried to steer her around to face me, but she resisted.

“Stop it,” she cried, wrenching away. “Just leave me alone. You don’t understand this. You couldn’t possibly understand.”

I understood she was upset. And I understood that ache inside me that needed to soothe her, to make it better. Aside from that, nothing else mattered. I needed the chance to make her better.

Touching her shoulder lightly only to remove my hand when she shrugged me off, I begged, “Then make me understand.”

Her breathing picked up. I wasn’t sure if she was crying or just getting more upset. In either case, it made me feel worse.

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