Page 55 of The Beast's Heart

“You went to Columbia.”

He raises his eyebrows, an expression I’m becoming increasingly fond of. I guess he’s surprised I know that, when I know so little about his time in the limelight. “Yeah, but I studiedSports Management. And I scraped by with a great deal of help from my very smart friend, Philip.”

“It still counts. And, as much as I appreciate this, maybe we should have this conversation again when you’re sober. You may regret it come morning.” I try to press the key back into his palm, but he takes my hand instead. His hand is so large and warm, enfolding mine. It’s all I can do to stop myself from shivering.

“I have another way in,” he says softly.

He leads me by the hand to the other end of the room. On the far wall, beyond the reading area, there’s a copy of Fragonard’s The Swing in a gilded frame. Even if I hadn’t seen the original at The Wallace Collection, I’d know it was a copy because it’s at least three times the size of the original and stretches taller than me. It’s bordered by two standalone bookcases. Adam pulls out a book from the right hand one and it swings gently outward, revealing a steep set of stairs.A hidden door!Am I gaping?

Adam grins. “Servant’s stairs. From the original house.”

“They lead to your bedroom? I mean, to the west wing?”

“To my bedroom.”

Where Geoff is probably waiting for him.

“You should go up,” I suggest.

His face falls. I suppose he was expecting more of an outward reaction to his amazing secret entrance. It is incredible, beautiful. But the reminder of Geoff is enough to dampen even this.

“You’re probably right.” He drops my hand. “Night, Belle. Enjoy the books.”

It feels abrupt and not enough after the day we’ve had. Not nearly enough.

“Good night. And thank you.”Enjoy Geoff.

He gives a little bow before heading up the stairs, pulling the secret entrance shut behind him.

I linger in the library a while, exploring the collection, which ranges from rare first editions to modern classics. Everything’s a little dusty and I make a note to set aside time to come in here and clean. This collection was curated with such care, it’s the least I can do to maintain it while I’m here.

I breathe in the smell of the books, run a finger along the spines of Lloyd’s Austen collection and try not to feel melancholy.

“Wish we could have met,” I say out loud. In any other room, the echo of my words into an empty space would feel wrong. But here the sound is absorbed by the books. It makes me feel like someone’s listening. “Although that might be awkward, given the way I’m currently feeling about your husband. I hope you’re not a jealous ghost.”

I find an old, worn copy of Wuthering Heights. It’s a green hardcover with a bleak artist’s rendition of the moor on the front and a dozen dog-eared pages. Clearly loved. “I guess we both have a thing for tortured heroes.”

I gather up a few more books and take a seat on one of the sofas. The fire is deliciously warm.

“Wonder what you thought of Geoff.” I let my mouth twist on the name. Alone here with Lloyd’s memory, there’s no reason to pretend. “He doesn’t strike me as the type to enjoy classical music or art nouveau architecture.”God, I’m so pretentious.I sigh. “I’m sure they have a lot in common. Boxing et cetera. Maybe he’s excellent in bed.” I immediately regret starting thattrain of thought. I do not want to imagine what might be happening upstairs right now.

I’m not even sure what to call what I’m feeling. It’s like there’s a bunch of crumpled up autumn leaves in my chest all jagged and crackly and dying, when it should be springtime. I should be basking in the high of shared wine and his genuine concern for the children and this marvelous gift. Instead, I’m envious, I’m disappointed.

This isn’t my first stupid crush. My life is a series of unobtainable men, of bullies who’d sooner hit me than kiss me and jocks who only had eyes for cheerleaders until the lights were off. I stayed in the closet as long as I humanly could, because the alternative was giving them all just one more reason to make me an outcast. I was already a foppish nerd, did I want them to add gay to the mix? Now here I am at twenty-four and the closest I’ve gotten to romance is giving sneaky blowjobs to drunk ‘straight’ boys in empty lecture theaters and a secret tumble or two from men who’d deny knowing me the next day.

No, this isn’t my first absurd infatuation. But it is the worst. It’s the worst because I don’t just want Adam to notice me, to touch me, to desire me. I want endless days like today with these children. This borrowed family on borrowed time. Alisha who so badly needs someone to lean on for once. Mal who desperately needs someone to believe in him and not give up on him. Ben whose only chance is to be given space to overcome his anxiety and his grief. And Enrique, who’s only ever trusted one person before and is slowly starting to trust me. The image of him climbing all over Adam plays behind my eyes. Trustus.

When I arrived at this estate, I had no clue what I wanted beyond saving Dad. My whole life has been entwined with my family, my father, my siblings. I never once stopped to consider what I really wanted for myself. And now I’ve found it. And it’s something that I know I can never have.

23

JONATHAN

On Saturday, when I go up the hill to check in with Zane, my mind still hasn’t stopped swimming with thoughts of Adam and Geoff.

Zane must sense something is off because, after he’s given me the usual assurances about Dad’s health, he says, “What’s wrong, Babybel?”

I really hate that nickname. And I also hate how my heart responds to it. I really miss my family, Zane and Sebastian included.

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