Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
ISABELLE
I t takes a moment to register that the giant, hulking figure in the doorway is not, in fact, a beast, but is Adam Stone. Although I feel pretty justified in my assumption. He’s at least six foot three, with a body that should be chopping wood somewhere in the Appalachians.
But aside from his physique, his hair has grown out past his shoulders, and he has a full, grizzly beard. It’s hard to see beyond his outline in the dim lighting. Still, even in the shadows, I can tell this is not the same Adam Stone I saw in Quantum Directive , the movie he starred in last summer where he was a suave British spy in a sleek black suit, fighting against terrorists who were plotting to use AI to take over the world. No, this Adam Stone is ominous and almost more animal than man.
“Hello, Isabelle,” he says, his deep voice rumbling through the room. His faint British accent is audible here, unlike how he hides it for most of his movies.
I open my mouth to respond, but all words have escaped my brain. Wasn’t I preparing some kind of introduction? I can’t remember. Because I’m completely consumed with the sight of Adam Stone—well, present Adam Stone.
My dad had warned me he looked different. That the last eight months had changed him, both physically and emotionally. But I don’t think anything my dad could have said would have prepared me for what’s in front of me right now.
I swear, he could eat me and I wouldn’t be surprised.
He doesn’t say anything, just studies me with an icy glare. Snap out of it, Isabelle! I finally come to my senses, remembering that he’s assessing me and my ability to act with him. Well, if he wants an actress, I’ll show him an actress.
You are a brave warrior, taking on a legendary beast.
It’s a game I play sometimes, even in real life. I find it comes in handy, especially when I’m working at my day job–a waitress at The Cheesecake Factory.
Yes, the stereotypes are alive and well for an aspiring actress in Los Angeles.
Whenever I have a difficult customer, I find a role that fits the situation and embody it fully. Kid having a tantrum? Mary Poppins. Picky customer? Remy, the rat from Ratatouille . So right now, I’m going to embody a brave warrior. Brave Warrior Isabelle isn’t intimidated by the beast in front of her. Brave Warrior Isabelle knows she can slay him.
I straighten and find my voice. “Thank you for having me here. And I’m really glad for the opportunity to meet you.”
His eyes widen in surprise at my sudden shift. I notice one of his eyes looks slightly different from the other, but it’s too dark for me to tell why.
He takes a few steps forward. Brave Warrior Isabelle falters, and I take a step back. I didn’t realize I was right up against a wall, and I bump into a picture frame, knocking it down to the floor with a crash.
“Oh, goodness, I’m so sorry.” I turn and kneel to pick it up, face flaming with embarrassment. Hopefully, he doesn’t notice in the dark. Through the cracked glass, the image of a happy family makes me pause. There’s a father who looks a lot like Adam, a beautiful mother, and four children—three boys and one little girl with the longest, most golden blonde hair I’ve ever seen. I peer closer at the picture and realize the oldest boy is Adam.
“Is this your family?” I ask. I look up from the picture and am startled to realize Adam is standing directly in front of me. From where I’m kneeling on the ground, he looks even more ominous, towering over me.
“Give me that,” he snaps.
I straighten and hold the picture out with my right hand, but he doesn’t grab it right away. In fact, his hand kind of flails around, searching for it before he gets a firm hold. I didn’t think it was that dark in here… Is something wrong with his eyesight?
He pulls the picture out of my grasp and scowls down at me.
“I—I’m sorry,” I stammer. I’m not sure if I’m apologizing for the picture or for asking about his family or for him not seeing the picture in my hand, but I feel like this meeting is going in completely the wrong direction.
He doesn’t move, just stands and stares. At this close proximity, I can now see a scar down his left eye, starting at the middle of his forehead and ending on his cheek. That eye seems slightly glossed over. But his other eye is just as piercing blue as I remember from the movies. Oddly enough, these new impairments don’t make him any less handsome. If anything, they give him a more wild but manly appearance, like a warrior coming home from battle.
He catches me staring and turns quickly, his back now to me. “Dinner will be served in a couple of hours. I’ll meet you in the dining room.”
“Wait, what?” I ask. “What am I supposed to do until then? ”
Adam doesn’t answer my question, just walks out of the room. Lionel reappears. “Miss Isabelle, I’ll take you to the Lily room now.”
“I…but… I’m not supposed to stay here.”
Lionel looks sympathetic. “I understand your hesitation. Would you like to leave? I can inform Mr. Stone.”
Would I? No. I need to stay and have this conversation with Adam. That terrifying drive would have been for nothing, and I cannot have that.
“No. I’ll stay.” I follow Lionel out of the room. He shows me to the grand staircase that I spotted when I first walked in, and I follow him up the stairs. We turn right and walk down a hallway lined with paintings and sconces lit by candles. The long shadows along the walls should scare me, but I remind myself again that I’m Brave Warrior Isabelle, and I will not be afraid.
As we walk down the hall, I spot a few people peeking at us through cracked doors.
“How many people are here?” I ask.
“Sixteen,” Lionel replies. “Well, seventeen now that you’re here.”
“So, there are fifteen servants?”
“Employees, yes,” he replies. “Three cooks, two footmen, four cleaning women, one hairdresser—although she hasn’t had anything to do these past months, two sewists?—”
“Sewists?” I interrupt. “Why do you need them?”
Lionel shrugs. “You never know when you’ll need a new evening gown or tuxedo. Then Brigette, the housekeeper, and I am the butler.”
“I see.” But I don’t, really. This feels very Victorian England to me, and while I enjoy watching Pride and Prejudice every now and then, I’m not familiar with the hierarchy at play .
I do some quick calculations in my head. “But wait. That’s only fourteen. You said there are fifteen workers here.”
Lionel looks at me over his shoulder, eyes bright. “You’re a sharp one.”
I shrug a shoulder, and the corner of his lips tug up in a smile. “The fifteenth person is Theodore.”
“Who’s—”
“Here we are,” Lionel says brightly, opening a door to our right. “The Lily Room.” He stands next to the door, holding it open for me to enter.
I step into the room, but it’s still too dark to see anything.
“Is there a light I can turn on?” I ask. “Adam isn’t here, so he won’t mind, right?”
“Yes.” Lionel reaches for a switch on the wall, and the room lights up from a chandelier hanging on the ceiling.
This room is every teenage girl’s dream come true. The walls are painted a light lavender, and the bedspread has purple lilies all over it. There’s a canopy over the gigantic bed, and all the furniture is painted white. A few floral paintings line the walls, a white vanity stands in the corner, and lavender curtains frame the giant windows. I turn in a circle, taking in my surroundings, my mouth wide open in awe. “This. Is. Amazing.”
“Agreed.” Lionel has a smile on his face, but his eyes are sad.
“Whose room is this?” I ask.
He tilts his head but doesn’t answer my question. “Brigette will be here soon to get you ready for dinner.” He bows his head and leaves the room.
Okay, first of all, why is everyone being so weird? And second, why does Brigette need to “get me ready” for dinner?
And third, what the heck am I supposed to do for the next few hours?
I sit on the bed, bouncing a few times for good measure. The mattress feels like a cloud. Too bad I’m not staying overnight. But that’s for the best, especially since I have a shift at The Cheesecake Factory tomorrow afternoon. Not that I’d really be disappointed to miss it. The other girls who work with me are…well, they remind me of the mean girls in high school. I’ve never really “fit in” with the crowd. Who wants to hang out with the weird girl who bursts into “Do Re Mi” from The Sound of Music ?
Thankfully, Jen Park did. We met in high school. She was the tech-obsessed nerd, I was the theater nerd, and we bonded over being too weird for the cool kids. And after college, we found an apartment together in LA and have been pretty much inseparable.
I shoot her a text message, knowing she’s waiting for all my updates on this adventure.
Me
I’m here in the castle. He’s making me wait for dinner in this gorgeous bedroom, but I’m kind of creeped out.
Jen BFF
OMG what is he like? Is he just as handsome in real life as he is in the movies??
My fingers hover over the keyboard. How in the world do I explain the transformation of Adam Stone from sleek and suave British spy to mountain man?
A text comes in from my dad before I can respond to Jen.
Dad
Did you make it up safely?
Me
Yep. It started snowing though. Totally weird. I’m waiting in a bedroom for dinner.
Dad
It was pouring rain when I was there. Glad you’re safe. Let me know when you’re on your way home.
Me
A knock sounds on the door.
“Come in,” I call, setting my phone on the bed next to me.
An older woman walks in, her brown hair with streaks of gray in a loose, low bun. She’s short and looks like she’d give the best hugs, with lots of cushion. With a warm smile on her face, she says, “Welcome to Stone Castle, Miss Isabelle. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Brigette.”
Her smile is contagious, and I grin back at her. “Hi, Brigette. It’s nice to meet you.”
“I met your father when he was here before,” she says cheerfully. “I can see the similarities.”
“Can you? Most people say I look like my mother, but I don’t remember her. I’ve only seen a few pictures.”
Brigette’s mouth parts. “Oh, dear,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry for bringing it up.”
I wave her off. “It’s fine. She died when I was two, so I don’t remember her.”
To be honest, I wish I remembered her. Even more, I wish my dad and sisters would talk about her. I’ve only heard a few stories from my dad’s friends who occasionally stop by to reminisce about the old times. But for some reason, my dad and sisters refuse to speak about her—ever.
“Can I help you get dressed for tonight?” Brigette asks brightly, drawing my attention back to her.
“Dressed?” I repeat, looking down at my clothes. “Why would I need to get dressed? ”
“You don’t need to, I suppose.” She eyes my outfit suspiciously. “But there are many dresses to choose from here. I thought you might enjoy wearing something a little more…” She waves her fingers in the air and shimmies her shoulders.
I widen my eyes at her. “A little more what?”
“Fun!” She whisks into the room and opens the closet at the end of the room. It’s not like the tiny rack of clothes I have in LA. This is a full-on room of clothes and shoes, with rows of racks.
“Whose clothes are these?” I ask, trying again to find out who this room belongs to.
“Miss Lily’s,” Brigette replies, her hands reverentially grazing the dresses. She looks back at me, her eyes narrow. “Although you’re quite a bit taller than her. Any dresses you want to wear would need to be altered.”
“I don’t need to alter Lily’s dresses.” I’d also like to add, Who the heck is Lily? But I hold back because everyone seems so secretive.
Brigette waves a hand at me. “It’s no problem. We have seamstresses available. They don’t have much work to do, now that Mr. Stone…” She cuts herself off, turning back to the dresses. “Well, you know.”
“No, I really don’t.”
She shrugs, still not facing me. “He tends to keep himself in more…casual wear these days.”
“Ah.” Honestly, I didn’t look much at his clothes, since I was so taken aback by the hair, beard, and scar, but now that she mentions it, I think he was wearing a baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants. Which is extra unusual, considering his former reputation as a snazzy dresser, even when going to Starbucks or the grocery store.
I wave Brigette off. “I don’t want to alter any of Lily’s dresses, since I’m barely staying a few more hours. It’s one dinner. I’m happy to stay in my current clothes. ”
“Suit yourself,” she says with a shrug. “Shall we at least do your hair?”
“My hair?” I pull at the brown strands I’ve curled into waves. “No, thank you.”
Brigette looks so disappointed that I want to give her something to do, but I also think this is all so WEIRD.
“Well, if you need anything, I’m just a ring away.” She motions at the bell hanging next to the door. And not an electric bell. An actual metal bell.
I repeat, what century am I in?
“Thank you so much,” I say, mustering up as much genuine gratitude as I can manage. They must not have a lot of visitors up here, and she must have been excited to have something to do. What can I have her do for me that doesn’t involve getting me dressed or made up? “Maybe you can just tell me a little bit about the castle?”
“Oh, certainly!” She smooths her skirts and smiles widely. I sit back on the bed and she settles into the seat at the vanity to tell the tale.
“The Stone family moved from England to the United States nearly twenty years ago. At the time, it was just Mr. and Mrs. Stone with their three boys. Adam is the eldest, and he was twelve years old. Henry was ten, and Peter was seven.”
I’ve heard about Adam’s brother, Henry, who is next to inherit his father’s company and recently got engaged, but I didn’t know about the younger brother. Brigette makes it sound like there are more siblings, but I wait and listen patiently.
“They settled in Silver Lake City, where Mr. Stone founded Stone Technologies, but his wife dearly missed their estate in the English countryside. So Mr. Stone had this home built, here in the hills of Brookhaven, and they would come here for an escape whenever possible. Mrs. Stone would come frequently with the four children, even if Mr. Stone was busy with business.”
“Four children?” I repeat.
“Ah, yes. Lily was born one year after the family moved here.” Brigette’s eyes light with the memory of her.
Aha. This is her room. And that explains the family picture I knocked over.
“The boys were so enamored with her. She was like their little doll.”
The image of the family is slowly coming together in my mind. But why was Adam so secretive when I asked about the picture?
“She won’t mind if I’m using her room?” I ask.
“No, of course not,” Brigette dismisses me quickly. “She hasn’t been here since…well…” She stands abruptly, her face pale. She shakes her head. “I’ve said too much. Let me know if you need any assistance in preparing for dinner.”
She curtsies quickly and scurries out of the room, making me wonder what secrets are hiding in the walls of this castle.