Chapter 8
eight
FRANCIE
“Are you sure you don’t mind keeping an eye on her?” Autumn asks me later that night. We’re at Hudson’s house, where we brought a partied-out Ayda who’s snoring softly upstairs in her princess bedroom.
Truth be told I’m exhausted, too. An afternoon of chasing after Mylene has taken it out of me.
All I want to do is go back to the lighthouse and sleep for about a thousand years, but Autumn has to get back to the party to pay the wait staff, and although Parker went to find Hudson, neither of them have come back yet.
“Of course I don’t mind,” I tell her. “Go. It’ll be fine.”
She hugs me tightly. We’re still Belle and Cinderella, but it’s like the Disney luster has worn off us both.
We look like princesses well after the happily ever after and the long, unsatisfying marriage, the threat of divorce hanging in the air.
Autumn’s hair is falling out of her elaborate updo and my makeup is smeared from rubbing my face with panic at almost losing Mylene.
Who, I’m happy to say, made it through the party without ever coming face to face with her twin sister. I feel victorious.
After Autumn rushes out, I make myself a cup of tea and carry it into Hudson’s pristine-looking library.
Autumn was responsible for creating this room and as soon as I walk inside I feel my heart get full.
It’s not quite on the level of the one that the Beast gave to Belle, but it’s still full of thousands of leather bound books, the aroma of the binding filling my senses.
Then I spot the ladder on wheels, attached to the tall shelves, and my heart tightens.
We have a similar ladder in the library at my dad’s house in Virginia, a sprawling mansion in an estate called Misty Lakes, but I’ve never gotten to climb it while dressed as Belle.
It’s an opportunity too good to miss. I feel as giddy as a child as I walk over and kick my shoes off, putting my hands on the higher rung and placing one bare sole on the bottom, using the other to push myself off the floor so the ladder moves.
I let go with one hand as the ladder glides across the shelves, leaning my head back and closing my eyes. I start singing of dreaming of more than this small town life as I ride, and it makes me laugh, because this is so much fun.
It’s only as I come to a stop that I hear a throat clearing. And I recognize that low, gruff sound all too well.
Asher Fitzgerald is standing in the doorway.
At some point in the evening he’s taken off his jacket and tie, and rolled up his sleeves in response to the sultry weather.
His hair is mussed, but the rest of him still looks annoyingly put together.
His shirt is still crisp, his dress pants unwrinkled.
“Why is it that every time I see you today you’re either saying weird shit or flying around a library?” he murmurs.
“I’m not talking to you,” I tell him, climbing down. “You almost lost Mylene.”
He glances down at my bare legs, visible because I’m holding up the skirt. It takes him a moment too long before he lifts his eyes to look at my face.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, not meanly. Just like he’s curious.
“Here in Hudson’s house, or life in general? I’m only seeking clarification because I don’t have an answer for the latter.”
“Here. At the house.” At least he sounds amused for once.
“I’m babysitting Ayda. She’s asleep in her room.”
His jaw twitches. “Well, I’m back so you can go now.”
Not gonna lie, his dismissal stings. “I don’t have a car. Autumn and Parker are going to pick me up when the party’s over.”
“I’ll take you.”
“You can’t, we can’t leave Ayda.” I have no idea why he wants to get me out of this house. It’s pretty rude, actually. “It’s okay, I’ll stay in here and read a book. I won’t disturb you.”
“You always disturb me.”
The way he says it, so low and matter-of-factly shocks me. “That’s a horrible thing to say,” I tell him. And yes, it’s probably the exhaustion and the buzz of the day, but my throat feels tight, like I’m about to well up.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” He lets out a breath. “I’m going to go before I make things any worse. I’ll go change out of these clothes then give you a ride home when Hudson or West gets back.”
Before I can ask him how he did mean it, he turns on his heel and strides into the hallway. A moment later I hear the sound of his shoes against the polished wooden staircase that leads to the second floor.
I stand there, fuming for a moment, before deciding that either I go talk to him or I’m going to have another sleepless night.
I hate the way things have been between us this weekend. Picking up my skirt once more, I pad up the stairs to the room on the third floor that was always Asher’s when we were growing up and where he sleeps when he comes to visit.
The door is closed, so I tap lightly on it, the wood so thick that I can barely hear his reply telling me to come in. Pushing the handle down, I stride inside only to be greeted by his very bare, very muscled back.
Holy shit.
My mouth turns as dry as the Sahara. His back is absurd. Lean, muscled, and unfairly gorgeous. He could rival the fae warriors in my books for sheer buffness.
Honestly, a shirtless Asher could bring about world peace. We’d all be too busy ogling to argue.
“I said wait,” he says, turning around. I try to rearrange my expression into something that doesn’t look like a salivating dog in heat. But now he’s showing me the front of his torso. My eyes can’t decide where to look first – his rippled abs, or the deep V where his hips disappear into his pants.
“Francie?” he murmurs, his gaze locking with mine. For a moment neither of us says a word. There’s a weird buzzing in the room, or maybe it’s in my ears. All I know is I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
He looks at my mouth then back at my eyes again. And I’m stupidly mesmerized. He’s taken his contacts out and put glasses on and damn it, he’s just hit my Achilles’ heel. My breath catches in my throat.
Hot guys in glasses are my thing. Especially when the hot guy is half naked and staring at me like I’m his favorite kind of food.
“I came to talk to you,” I manage to get out. My skin feels like it’s combusting. “About the thing.”
“The thing?” He grabs the t-shirt on his bed and pulls it on. There are a pair of sweat pants next to it. I’m guessing he won’t be putting those on in front of me.
“Yeah.” I nod, trying to think but my brain is way too scrambled. “The thing we did.”
“What did we do?” He tips his head to the side, like he’s trying to scrutinize me. “Christ, I can’t talk to you when you’re dressed like that.”
I look down at my golden dress. “Want me to take it off?”
“Absolutely not.” He looks almost alarmed at my suggestion. “That would be completely inappropriate. You’re just a kid, Francie.”
I completely balk at that. “I’m twenty-six,” I point out, because this is stupid. “You’re only ten years older than me.”
“And I knew you when you were twelve and I was twenty-two.”
“Then that’s your problem,” I point out. “Because that was half a lifetime ago. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but somewhere in the past fourteen years I’ve grown up.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve noticed,” he mutters.
“Is that why you were so angry with me for being at that club?” I ask him. “Because you think I’m too young?”
His jaw tightens. “I was angry because you clearly have no concept of how to be safe.”
“I know how to be safe. I use birth control, Asher.” God, he’s annoying. I was feeling so happy earlier. And now he’s brought my mood down in a matter of moments.
He pinches his nose, like his brain is hurting.
Serves him right for having such a big one.
“I didn’t mean safe like that, though thanks for putting that image in my brain.
I meant safe as in being aware of your own vulnerabilities.
Taking care of your security.” His eyes are narrow as they meet mine.
I have no idea what I’ve done to make him this furious again, but I’m so tired of arguing with him.
“Is this a commercial for your business?” I ask him. “Are you trying to sell me a security package?”
“No,” he rasps, like he’s on his last nerve. “I’m trying to tell you to stop putting yourself in situations where you can be taken advantage of. Do you know why I was at the club?”
“To have sex?” I say, trying not to wrinkle my nose, because the image of him climbing onto a bed like the one in the room he’d found me in, and having women throw themselves at him isn’t exactly welcome in my already-too-full brain.
But it’s also stupidly turning me on. Would he look mean, like he does now, his mouth all twisted and hard as they lean over him?
Ugh, no, I need to stop thinking about this, before I combust.
“You think I was there to fuck somebody?” he murmurs. And that stupid image comes into my head again.
“Isn’t that why people usually go to sex clubs?” I ask him. “And it’s okay, I haven’t told anybody if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Is that why you went to a sex club?” His voice is so low I have to lean forward to hear him. His eyes are trained on mine, like he’s hanging on for my answer.
I pull my lip between my teeth. I could tell him the truth. I was going to, I really was. The truth is always so much easier than a lie, after all. I could smooth all of this out by telling him I’m a writer and that I was there to research, but with the way he’s acting he doesn’t deserve my truth.
He’s judging me. And that’s really pissing me off. As is the way my body is reacting to him.
“That’s none of your business,” I tell him. “But the fact that you’re judging me, when you were there too? It’s hypocritical, and it makes me feel like you don’t think I have the right to make my own choices.”
“I was there updating their damn security systems.”
The breath wooshes out of me. “What?”