Page 53 of Monster Among the Roses (Fairy Tale Quartet 1)

The way she said it made me wonder if it might hurt her feelings when people purposely avoided the scars. Of course, making fun of them and degrading her for them would be upsetting to her, but maybe pretending they weren’t there was another form of condemnation in her book? Maybe she just wanted people to accept them.

I began to reach out without thinking, only to stop myself a few inches from her face. “I mean,” I said, shaking my head in apology. “Is it okay if I…?” The words fell gently from my lips.

Isobel blinked wide surprised eyes before she slowly nodded her head up and down. “O-okay. I guess. If you’re curious.”

I swear, we both held our breaths as I slowly reached out. As soon as my fingers made contact, we released the air in tandem.

“It’s not as bad as it used to be,” she told me. “I had a lot of laser surgery, a compression mask, massage therapy. But it’s the best they could get. My dad spared no expense.”

“Did it hurt?” I asked. “I mean, all the surgeries and work they did.”

She shrugged, which I’m sure meant yes.

I smiled. For the haughty, pampered snob I’d taken her for the first day we’d met, Isobel was actually quite modest.

“I have this itching urge to say it really doesn’t look that bad, because honestly, you still have all your hair, your ears aren’t like hanging half down your neck and the skin isn’t really that discolored. There’s some bumps but no major craters or anything.” I looked into her wide, watchful eyes. “But I have a feeling that would be the wrong thing to say, wouldn’t it?”

She nodded her head. “It really would.”

I nodded as well. “Then I won’t say it. But honestly, it doesn’t dominate what I see when I look at you. Sometimes, I’ll even forget you have them. And I’ll turn and look at you, and they’ll surprise me all over again.” My grin turned playful. “You hear that, scars?” I told them. “I know you like to hog all the attention away from my girl here, but I gotta tell you, she’s still prettier than you are ugly.” And then I leaned in and kissed her cheek, pressing my lips directly against scar tissue.

Damn, she always smelled so good. I think roses were my new aphrodisiac.

But I didn’t get long to enjoy this up-close-and-personal experience of her. She gasped again, and jerked against me, reminding me I’d just freaking put my mouth on her.

Oh, shit. I’d just kissed Isobel. On the cheek, but still…

Eyes wide, I pulled back and gaped into her face, realizing she looked as stunned as I felt. “I…I’m sorry,” I gushed. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” Oh, God. What the hell had I just done? “Are you going to tell your dad?”

She stared at me and pressed her hand to the scar as if I’d just slapped her instead of kissed her. And then I had to wonder if I had. What if some of the shit I’d just blurted came out all wrong and upset her instead of made her feel better?

Shit, oh, shit, oh, shit. I’d fucked up epically, hadn’t I?

She pushed to her feet to stand above me, still holding her hand to her cheek and staring at me as if I’d just plunged a knife into her back. Then she murmured, “Of course I won’t tell him,” and she rushed from the room.

chapter

SEVENTEEN

Isobel didn’t return to the library for the rest of the day. At first, I was okay with her absence. I mean, hell, I needed a moment to regroup, too.

I’d kissed her. Things had changed. We’d probably never get back to the place we used to be. And this new direction could either lead somewhere very good, or very bad. So, yeah, it was scary. I got that. I understood her need for a moment to herself.

Maybe even an hour or two to her herself.

But when four o’clock rolled around, it was time for me to leave, and she’d never reappeared. I had tried to place as many of her books on the shelves as possible, hoping I didn’t put something somewhere she didn’t want it to go, but it just felt all wrong doing it by myself. We’d started working on this together; we should’ve finished together.

The worst of it came the next morning at seven, when she didn’t show up at the lake to run. I stood on the running trail, our running trail, hands on my hips as I turned a slow circle and glowered at the amazing sunrise.

Dammit, she’d even ruined dawn for me. I couldn’t appreciate the pinks, and purples, and oranges in the sky without her.

Not about to let her retreat from me again, not the way she had the first two weeks I’d been here, I stormed toward the house.

I didn’t need to go inside to find her, though. As I approached the back, I saw a light on in the rose garden. So I veered that way. Even as I approached the entrance, I could see her inside, crouched among bushes as she gave her flowers a hundred and ten percent of the attention they needed.

Opening the door, I stalked inside.

“Morning,” I said, trying to conceal my anger so she wouldn’t know how truly furious I was. I hoped I sounded pleasant enough.

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