The Beast (Billionaire Brothers Grimm #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

All around me, the party glitters. The ballroom is lit with tiny twinkle lights so that it looks as if the world has been drowned in magic. Outside the windows, Atlantic City gleams, and the froth from the ocean forty-seven floors below dances in the light of the moon.

Serving stations in each corner offer appetizers created by the world-renowned chef of the Monarch Grand Casino, and the soft music from the orchestra underscores the babble of conversation.

I take a glass of champagne from a waiter decked out in a perfectly fitted serving jacket, the silver MGC logo pin on his lapel gleaming in the soft lighting.

This is the world in which I was raised.

Isabella Hart—the Hart Industries heiress with her jet set life split between Manhattan and Atlantic City, with side trips to our other casino/hotels in Tahoe, Monte Carlo, Vienna, Singapore, and London.

A world of power and money and beauty. Because as far as my father is concerned, I’m more showpiece than daughter.

Especially tonight. I twist the simple gold band on my right hand—my mother’s ring, and the only piece of jewelry I’m wearing tonight that hasn’t been borrowed from the Hart collection for tonight’s performance.

And what a performance.

As I glance around the ballroom, it’s the beauty that captures me. Unlike most of the elegant aristocrats mingling nearby, power isn’t something I’ve ever craved, nor is money. Though I suppose I might feel different about the latter if I’d been born outside the trappings of wealth.

Still, I know myself well enough to know that it isn’t what can be bought that entices me, but what can be seen.

The red of a cardinal against the pale bark of a birch tree.

The dappled sunlight thrown across a musty attic when the curtains are pulled aside.

Even the mixture of colors without specific form, but with the power to create a feeling so deep and transcendent that it is almost religious.

That’s how this ballroom seems tonight. Like a magical place you might stumble upon in a story from long ago.

I freeze, the thought hitting me hard, and I have to blink rapidly, forcing back the threatening tears as I twist my mom’s ring.

Stories.

Fairy tales.

Grimm.

Gabe.

It’s only with Gabriel Grimm that I ever truly felt that transcendence. Like I was part of something bigger than myself. Bigger even than the two of us.

My vision goes blurry, and I hurry toward the restroom to gather myself. I should have known better than to let my mind wander.

I should have known that—especially here—it’s Gabe who would be hiding in the dark corners of this trap disguised as a party.

Gabe. The man I lost almost five years ago to fire and treachery and death.

The man I loved.

The only man I’ll ever love.

I may be getting married in a month, but Gabriel Grimm will always live in my heart.

I’m still blinking back tears when I step out of the Ladies’ Room, my mind lingering on the wedding I don’t want in payment for a deal that I do.

A wave of sadness crashes over me as I watch bubbles rise in the champagne like tiny prayers that will never be answered. But melancholy is not allowed. Not tonight. So I force myself to plaster on a smile, then glance around, hoping no one has caught my mood.

This is supposed to be a joyous occasion, after all.

A party to celebrate my engagement to the more-than-suitable David Mercer, a slice of blond-haired, green-eyed eye candy who is also, thankfully, one of my closest friends.

Not that my father cares about that. No, he arranged this medieval pairing because David is the heir to a smaller, yet similar kingdom of hotels and casinos across three continents, and neither my father nor David’s parents gives a flip about what he and I actually want.

I sigh, then take another sip of champagne. Then another.

And—just to take the edge off—I gulp down the last of it.

It’s Cristal—one of the best my father’s money can buy. And yet it tastes bitter. Like broken promises and stolen dreams.

Not that I let that show. As much as I miss Gabe, I know that he’s lost to me.

Even if I had access to all of my father’s money, I couldn’t buy him back from death.

So I smile and sip and pretend that being engaged to David is something more than a convenience for both of us—a business transaction wrapped in Vera Wang and diamond solitaires.

A hand cups my waist, and I’m drawn back to the present as I realize that David’s come over from where he’d been holding court on the north side of the room.

Now, he leans in, those deliciously sexy green eyes wasted on me.

“Do you have a kiss for your adoring fiancé? Or,” he continues in a low whisper, “more accurately, do you have one for your father, my parents, and our more-than-tipsy guests?”

“Always,” I say, then let him pull me in for a kiss that’s long and deep and makes a very good show even if it doesn’t make my toes tingle.

But at least I know it looks real. Back when David and I were both thirteen, we decided that we needed to know how to kiss, then practiced on each other until we got it down.

We’d planned to be each other’s firsts in bed, too, but Gabriel got that honor when I turned sixteen.

He’d been eighteen, and we were desperately, wildly, in love.

“Don’t you two make the most stunning couple?”

I look up to see Mina, my father’s air-headed assistant and long-time sidepiece, smiling at me. The kind of smile that actually says fuck you.

Considering my trust fund was established by my mother before she died—so it’s nothing Mina can get her hands on even if my father does deign to marry her—I assume her dislike for me today stems from the fact that my engagement/wedding present is this hotel/casino, whereas her last gift from Daddy Dearest was a simple necklace with only one rather small diamond on a pendant.

“There’s the happy couple!” My father’s voice cuts through my thoughts and the room like a blade, and a second later, he materializes at my side, smiling in a way that somehow manages to be both charming and full of warning. To anyone watching, it probably looks affectionate. It’s not.

It’s a reminder that even though this day is the first step in getting out from under my father’s thumb, he still has the power to screw up my life. So I better keep the Hart Industries Rules for Oppressed Daughters firmly in mind.

Fortunately, this is a role I’ve been playing for all of my twenty-eight years, and so I flash a smile of delight and charm, then lean forward and kiss his cheek. “Daddy, the party is wonderful. David and I are humbled by how lovely it is.”

I glance around, then fight a sigh of relief when I see that David hasn’t wandered away. On the contrary, he’s coming closer, and a moment later, his hand slides possessively around my waist. And why not? He knows the expected script as well as I do.

“It really is an exceptional party,” David says. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Only the best for my daughter and son-to-be.” His smile is camera-ready, perfectly calibrated so that the society photographers positioned strategically around us can capture this warm and lovely family moment.

Yes, sarcasm is one of my many talents. Unfortunately, standing up to Father is not.

“David,” Father says. “I believe your parents are looking for you.”

David’s eyes meet mine in a glance so fleeting I’m positive Father didn’t even notice. And if he did, he certainly didn’t read the unspoken message—you okay if I leave?

I give him a slight nod, and he leans close, then kisses me on the cheek. “Another for the Press,” he whispers. “And for good luck with whatever your old man has up his sleeve.”

I just smile and squeeze his hand, then watch as he heads to his parents, leaving me with my father. In other words, lost and alone, despite this ballroom filled with over four hundred people.

“You should be owning this room, Isabella,” Father says, his voice pitched low to avoid prying ears.

“The press is here, along with our peers. Not to mention those who would like to see a Hart slip so that they can rise by climbing over our broken backs. This is a good marriage—but as for the consideration to which we agreed…”

I stiffen. He’s talking about the hotel. As of tomorrow morning, I’m the new manager. And upon our actual marriage, I’ll become the fully-vested owner.

It’s all on paper, documented and negotiated with at least as much fervor as the founders negotiated the Declaration of Independence.

Too bad my father is far less trustworthy than those men, and I fear that if I do anything to make my father look askance, he’ll pull the Monarch Grand Casino right out from under me.

All of it. Which would mean losing access to the hotel’s tenants as well.

Specifically, the high-end shops and restaurants on the mezzanine.

If that happens, I’ll lose La Galerie LaBete—and that’s something I don’t think I could survive.

Gabriel and I started that business. A dream we shared.

And just the thought of losing it brings tears to my eyes.

I mean, sure, I could find another location.

But that space is where we started. Where we spent hours painting the walls and putting in the flooring.

Where we made love on the lumpy couch in the storage room, and where I’d often snuggle under a blanket, getting cozy as I watched him stand shirtless at an easel as he lost himself in his art.

“— the crown jewel of the Hart empire.”

I stiffen. “Pardon?”

Father’s mouth curves into a frown. “I said that I expect you to make this hotel a shining jewel.”

“Of course, I will, Father. You trained me well.”

He didn’t, of course. Not unless yelling and tearing down and criticizing without any constructive suggestions can be considered teaching.