Page 51 of Falling for the Beast

Thaddeus rubbed his temples. He’d have to remember to thank Aribelle for all her helpful advice later.

The women went up the stairs. “Here’s Thaddeus’s room,” Aribelle said. “He often has bloody clothes strewn about.”

Sarah sucked in a breath. “Really?”

“He’s part of a fight club. They meet at night. It’s the most awful thing. He comes home with all kinds of injuries.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” Sarah said.

“Might be. I don’t know. He doesn’t talk about it and don’t ask him. It makes him grouchy.”

“Is that where his scars came from?”

“Yes. Sadly, he won’t quit. I guess they give him some kind of vitamin that makes him heal faster. I think he’s addicted to the pain, myself. My only hope is that someday he realizes he doesn’t have to be in pain to be a good person.”

Thaddeus picked up a puzzle piece and tried to ignore the conversation happening upstairs.

“This is his office. You won’t have to clean much in here. He doesn’t really work. He’s independently wealthy.”

“Must be nice,” Sarah said.

“Not really. All that money, but I don’t think he’s very happy. Won’t let anyone get close to him.”

“That is sad.”

“Come on. I’ll show you the dungeon in the basement.”

“What?”

Aribelle laughed. “Just kidding. I think it’s a wine cellar.”

Thaddeus chuckled. He’d been afraid of the basement when he was a kid, and he’d told Aribelle about it. One of his babysitters had convinced him it was a dungeon and there was some poor old man locked up down there. His father had gently guided him down the stairs so he could see for himself. No dingy prison awaited him. Only some old bottles of wine.

When Aribelle was done giving Sarah the grand tour she gave her instructions on mopping the floor. Aribelle’s footfalls came closer and she sat down at the dining room table with him, a smug smile on her face.

“Very funny,” he said. “You think you’re Woody Allen now, huh?”

She made a face. “You need to update your comedic references.”

“Seinfeld?”

“A little better, but I still wouldn’t call him current.”

“I’m not addicted to pain,” he said quietly.

Her gaze turned soft and she exhaled. “I know.”

“And I’m not an unhappy person.” This was especially true when Aribelle was around.

She squinted at him like she didn’t believe him. “When’s the last time you were truly happy?”

Last night, when he’d held her in his arms and kissed her. “I’m happy right now. I hear your car being delivered.”

She stood and rushed to the front door. He followed after her, anxious to see her reaction. Aribelle stepped outside, her eyes wide as she stared at the 1982 Volkswagen Rabbit. He’d been lucky to find one. The only difference from her old one was it was blue instead of red.

“Thaddeus,” she whispered. “How did you…?”

“I have mad internet skills.”

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