The Beast’s Fake Marriage Read online

  He checked the time on his computer. Isabeau would be on the veranda about now, waiting for the sunset. The first time he’d found her out there, it had been a strange feeling. As a boy, he’d catch his parents sitting outside, cuddled together and watching the sun go down. Even stranger, he could picture himself and Isabeau doing the same.

  It had become a habit over the last four weeks for him to finish work and meet her out there. They wouldn’t talk much, just sit and enjoy the evening. What disturbed him was watching the vivacious woman he’d met in July fade. He felt he was watching a star die.

  Rowan powered down his computer and strode out of his office, through the house, and into the kitchen. “Retta?”

  She walked out of the pantry and stopped in the doorway. “Yes?”

  “I was wondering if there’s any candy in the house or anything special. Maybe I can bring a smile to her face with that.” He’d tried everything he knew to do, even getting her things out of storage and surprising her with them. Isabeau’s response was a small smile and a whispered thank you.

  Retta smiled. “You asked me about that last week, remember?”

  “Oh yeah. So, did you get something?”

  “I did a little investigative work and found out her favorite is Sour Patch Kids. I’ve got a whole bag for you to take to her.” Retta disappeared inside the pantry and came back out with the candy.

  Rowan smiled. “Thank you, Retta.” He walked to her and gathered her into a hug. “I hope she smiles.”

  “Those do seem to be on the rare side,” she said as he released her.

  He swallowed the house-sized lump in his throat. Those smiles were an endangered species, and he was desperate to see them again. “They are. I don’t know what to do to get them back.” He hung his head.

  “Be there for her. And when she opens up again, don’t panic. If you do and you push her away again, you’ll lose her.”

  “Yeah,” he said softly.

  “Don’t give up, sweetheart. She’s in there somewhere. You just have to keep digging.”

  He nodded and then walked to the double doors leading to the veranda. There Isabeau was, curled up in the chair with a blanket just like every night since she’d apologized. He took a deep breath, put on a smile, and stepped out.

  She didn’t even move.

  “Hi,” he said as he sat in the chair next to hers. “You look lovely tonight.”

  Nothing in response, just…nothing. She’d even stopped telling him he was wrong. It was driving him insane.

  “Look what I’ve got.” He held up the bag of candy.

  She slowly turned those haunted green eyes toward him and gave him a small smile. “That’s my favorite candy.”

  “Really? Then I guess I’ll need to share.” He ripped the bag open and held it out to her.

  “No, that’s okay.”

  And just like that, his heart was on the floor. She wanted to be friends. No, he hadn’t corrected her, but he didn’t look like a man she belonged with. “Isabeau, please tell me what I can do to help you. All your sunshine is gone, and I’m freezing. I need you—”

  Isabeau stood and stopped in front of him. “I just don’t want my broken pieces cutting you. You should have so much better.”

  Better? Than her? He looked up at her. “I will wear extra armor if you will let me be your friend.”

  Her eyebrows drew together as she tilted her head. “And being your friend means that I do what’s best for you, and that’s not me.” She pulled the blanket around her shoulders and started to walk away.

  Rowan stood to follow her. “Wait.”

  “I’m tired. I think I’ll go to my room early tonight. I’m locking the door from now on. That way, you’re not spending your nights in a tiny chair watching over me. I’ll be okay.” Her lips barely curved up.

  He should tell her. It was a risk, but to have her back, it was worth it. “Isabeau, I was wrong about that night. I was scared and—”

  “Your first instinct was to pull away, and it was the right call. I just need a little more time, and then I’ll be myself again. I know you’re worried, but this isn’t something you can fix. I’m in microscopic pieces, and I’m the only one who can find them all.”

  No, she couldn’t leave. In his gut, he knew that if she left, he’d have no chance of seeing her light again. He snatched the bag of candy out of the chair. “Just eat one. I know you love them. Just one. Please,” he said, pouring every ounce of desperation he felt into the words.

  For a brief moment, she held his gaze, and he held his breath. Slowly, she reached her hand into the bag and plucked a red one out. He wanted to pump his fists in the sky and give a victory cry. The corners of her lips lifted ever so slightly, and in the last bit of afternoon sun, he saw a flicker of light in her eyes. “My favorite in one try.”

  Inside, he was shouting on the rooftops. It was a small victory, but he’d take it. He took one out and popped it into his mouth. His jaw tightened with the sudden sensation. “Oh, that’s sour.”

  She smiled and bit hers in half. “That’s why I like them.”

  “Stay with me and help me eat them.”

  “Rowan—”

  “I can’t eat this whole bag, and I know I will if you don’t help me eat them.” His heart pounded. “I have a sneaking suspicion that they’re addictive.”

  And then another shock for the night. She actually giggled. “So you need me to save you from a potential candy addiction?”

  He nodded, and he didn’t care how desperate he looked. “Absolutely. Who else is brave enough to do it? What with me being so pigheaded and stubborn.”

  She took a step forward as she held his gaze. “Is it okay if I hug you?”

  “Only if you let me hold you a while.” He dropped the candy in the chair.

  “That won’t bother you?”

  He knitted his eyebrows together and tilted his head. “Why do you think that would bother me?”

  She cast her gaze down and shrugged. “I got to thinking about it, and I realized I’d bulldozed over you. Touched you when you didn’t want me to, did things that made you feel uncomfortable. I was ashamed I hadn’t realized what I was doing, and it was the same as what he’d done to me. It made me no better, and I didn’t like that feeling.”

  All this time she’d been worried she’d hurt him? She’d thought she was the same kind of person who had hurt her? “Oh, Isabeau, no, you didn’t bulldoze over me. I needed that push. You weren’t doing things out of malice. You were doing it because you cared. There’s a huge difference in motivation there.” He took her hand in his. “You can hug me, touch my face…” He wanted to say kiss him because he’d enjoyed it, but he was just getting her back. “I’m more than okay with it.”

  She lifted her head, and their eyes locked. “You are?”

  “Yeah, completely and totally.” He took her hand and pressed it against his cheek. “You see me differently, and I know it.” Or at least he wanted to. He was still coming to terms with it, but as far as she was concerned, he was thrilled to have her touch his face, especially if it brought her back.

  Isabeau smiled. “Okay.” Then she circled her arms around his neck.

  As he closed eyes, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground. He was never so happy to hold someone in his life, and he sent up prayers of thanks at having the chance. It was like he could finally breathe as relief flooded him. “I have missed you, Isabeau.”

  She threaded her fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. “I’ve missed you too. You said you’d hold me for a while. Is that still true?”

  “I think I should get to hold you all night long since I have some making up to do.”

  She leaned back. “I don’t think that’s a thing.”

  “My house, my rules.” He smiled.

  Her lips curved into that smile that made him weak in the knees. “Is that so?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’d like that.” She hugged him and bu
ried her face in his neck. “I’d like that a lot,” she said as her lips moved against his skin.

  He had her back. She was smiling. She was in his arms. She’d giggled. If he’d known Sour Patch Kids had so much power, he’d have purchased a truckload weeks ago. He also knew this thing he had with her was fragile. More fragile than anything he’d ever had, and he would need to be careful not to shatter it. Being without her was no longer an option. He’d fallen for her, and he’d officially lost his footing on that slippery cliff, tumbling down with no end in sight.

  Chapter 15

  It had been over a month since the night Rowan had brought Izzy Sour Patch Kids, and things had never been better between them. She could kiss his cheek, touch his face, and get all the hugs she wanted. In return, he got to hold her. In her mind, she had the better deal.

  That night, he’d looked desperate as he held out the bag of candy, and she hadn’t realized how her actions were affecting him. She thought she’d been doing the right thing by keeping him at a distance. That way, she didn’t do things she shouldn’t or things she thought she shouldn’t.

  He’d been adamant that he’d never felt pushed or uncomfortable, even though they’d skirted around the issue of the kiss. Still, he’d convinced her they were okay, and she had to admit, being held by him again was better than one of those cozy blankets.

  The dark cloud hadn’t disappeared overnight, but Rowan had helped. Unlike before, instead of holing up in his office and working all the time, he’d continued to spend each evening talking in the garden with her. Cuddling, watching the sunset, and talking and laughing with him had done more for her than she’d ever expected.

  She couldn’t believe they’d already been married for over three months. In two days, it would be Thanksgiving, and Rowan had agreed to let Kelsey come to dinner.

  Izzy bounced down the steps on her way to the kitchen.

  “Hi, Retta!” she said as she stopped by the counter. “How can I help today?”

  “Well, it’s pie day,” Retta said and wiped her hands on a dish towel. Her hair was pulled in a bun today, and her blouse and slacks were being protected by an apron that said, “Touch my quiche and it’s on.”

  Izzy lifted on her toes and clapped. “Yay. I love pie.”

  “I didn’t even tell you what kind of pie it is.”

  “It’s pie. How can that be anything but good?”

  “What if it’s mincemeat?”

  Izzy grimaced. She wasn’t sure what that was, but it didn’t sound great. “Uh, well, I’d at least try it.”

  Retta tipped her head back and laughed. “Honey, I missed you. This house is just a stone building without you.”

  “Rowan says that, which is strange. I’m just me.”

  “We know, and that’s the best part.”

  Izzy waved her off. “Oh, stop it.” She scrunched her nose up. “So, really, is it mincemeat pie we’re making?”

  “We’re making cherry, pumpkin, and pecan.”

  Her eyes widened. “Yum. I like all of those.”

  Retta chuckled. “So does Rowan.”

  “You think we could make one extra so I could take him a piece in a little while? I bet he’d like warm pie with ice cream.”

  “I think we can manage that.”

  “Did I hear someone say pie?” Rowan asked as he walked into the kitchen. Jeans and a black t-shirt? Her mouth went dry. He was amazing in slacks and a button-up. She loved it when he wore them, but this new look was even better. Those jeans hugged him in ways that set her thoughts on a path that should have been stamped dead end. Only, she was barreling past it Thelma and Louise style.

  “I thought you’d be working,” Izzy said. He’d hidden in his office the past week, so she’d just figured he’d be busy right up until Thanksgiving.

  “No, that’s why I was working so hard this week. I usually help Retta cook the pies. Can’t steal bites if you don’t help.” He grinned. Those lips, that grin. But she wasn’t going to let herself be tempted again. She’d keep her lips off his and in their own corner.

  Retta crossed her arms over her chest. “You know what? I forgot we’re out of cinnamon. Rowan, why don’t you start by teaching Izzy how to cook the cherry pie, and I’ll run to the store and pick up the cinnamon.”

  “Cinnamon?” Izzy asked.

  “It’s the secret ingredient in her pumpkin pie that makes it so delicious.”

  Retta scoffed. “Not so secret if you go around telling everyone.”

  Rowan laughed. “It’s Isabeau. She won’t tell anyone. Will you?” he asked as his gaze caught hers, his eyes holding a mischievous glint.

  “Nope,” she said, running her finger over her lips. “Secret’s safe with me.”

  “Okay, well, you two get started, and I’ll be back in a while. Ulysses is out trying to find a turkey. I’d call him, but the man couldn’t pick a good quality spice if it bit him on the nose. And with spice, quality is everything.” Retta walked toward the pantry and reached inside to pull her coat out and slip it on. Then she reached for her purse. “No messing up my kitchen, or I’ll put you on kitchen duty for a week.” She eyed Rowan before leaving.

  Izzy turned to him. “Why do I get the feeling she had a reason for giving that warning?”

  He shrugged. “Paranoia?”

  She poked him in the side. “You made a mess in here before.”

  “It wasn’t my fault. The blender exploded.”

  A giggled popped out, and soon she was laughing so hard her stomach hurt.

  “You’re laughing entirely too much.”

  “I’m just picturing you standing in front of a blender and then completely frozen as the contents fly everywhere.”

  He chuckled. “I wasn’t frozen. I was shocked and momentarily in a state of stunned immobility.”

  “Also known as frozen.”

  “Are you ready to learn how to make a pie, or are you going to just stand there and make fun of me?”

  She chuckled as she held his gaze. “I’m an excellent multitasker.”

  His lips quirked up into a smile that made her pulse rocket, and he stepped closer. “Before I forget, which I doubt I could, you look lovely today.”

  “I’m in old jeans and a shirt.”

  “So, even more lovely than normal?”

  Her cheeks warmed as she kissed him on the cheek and circled her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the floor, something he’d started doing every time she hugged him. Most of the time, she could swear she heard him sigh too, but it was so soft that it was more likely she was hearing things.

  After a few heartbeats, he set her down. “Okay, we don’t have to make the crust. Retta usually does that the night before because no one can make a crust like her. I’m thirty, and I’ve never gotten the hang of it.”

  “Crusts are difficult. Got it. Next?”

  He walked to the fridge and grabbed a bowl filled with dark cherries. “We need to cook the cherries before we make the pie.”

  She tilted her head. “Really?”

  “Otherwise, it’s not so good. Trust me.”

  “You tried?” She chuckled.

  Rowan nodded and made a face. “Yeah, and it was awful.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Fifteen, but in my defense, the importance of cooking the cherries first was not stressed.”

  Izzy covered her mouth with her hand as she laughed. “I would love to have seen Retta’s face.”

  “She was not happy with me.” He pulled the cover off the cherries and snagged one, popping it into his mouth. “Would you get the sugar and cornstarch from the pantry? We’ll need those while the cherries are still hot.”

  “Why?”

  “It thickens them.”

  “Oh.” She walked to the pantry and peeked in. It was the same size as her bedroom at the apartment. “What continent is this stuff on?” she asked as she looked over her shoulder.

  H
e pulled a pan out of one of the cabinets and caught her gaze. “What?”

  “This pantry is huge. I’m not a cook. I don’t even know what cornstarch looks like.”

  Rowan lifted an eyebrow. “You know, I thought you were kidding about being a horrible cook.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “I wasn’t.”

  “I’m a believer.”

  “It should be with the baking supplies. Flour, sugar, spices. I think on the left, middle shelf.”

  Izzy stepped inside, grabbed the sugar and cornstarch, and returned to Rowan who was already at the stove working on heating the cherries. She glanced up at him and smiled. “You aren’t going to put on an apron?”

  He shot her a glance. “Pink isn’t my color, and the one I used as a kid is too small. Plus, I’m a lot more careful now.”

  “You could use Retta’s until she gets back.”

  “I’m okay. I’m wearing an old shirt and jeans. If they get dirty, it’s fine.”

  She leaned her hip against the counter. “And you look great in jeans and a t-shirt. Casual is your friend.”

  “Isabeau,” he said in that reproaching tone he used when she complimented him.

  “Please believe me. Please.” How could she explain it? What could she say to make him understand how utterly desirable he was? She twisted her fingers in her shirt as she cast her gaze to the floor. “I’m not blind. I know you were burned. I don’t care. You are gorgeous, and anyone who can’t see that isn’t seeing you the way they should, and their opinion is stupid. You have incredible eyes and kissable lips and—” She stopped short as she realized what she’d said and covered her scorching cheeks with her hands. “Um…”

  “Thank you.”

  She jerked her gaze to his, and a smile curved on his lips. “You believe me?”

  He nodded. “I’m beginning to.”

  Izzy blinked back tears. “Good. Because I mean it.”

  “I know. And from anyone else, it would mean nothing to me.”