by Marian Tee
When darkness fell, she had to drag her feet just to get back to the tower room, and as she opened the door, she was already warning herself not to be disappointed –
No, no, relieved was the word she should be using.
If he was not there, then good riddance!
Right?
But as she closed the doors behind her, she heard the voice from beyond the shadows say oh so softly, “Bonjour, ma belle.”
Arabella whirled around, but of course all she could see were shadows. Even so, her heart continued to thunder against her chest, the heat of his presence telling her that she had not imagined the words. He was here. Finally.
“You didn’t come last night.” The words were out before she could stop herself.
“I had wanted to come, but there was an emergency at work that I had to take care of.”
“You left the island?” she blurted out.
The beast’s lips twisted. “No, ma belle. I have never left the island, and I do not foresee this…changing anytime soon.”
She couldn’t help shaking her head, thinking that Aurélien Sauvage was the first billionaire she had ever known who was disinclined to travel. “Are you afraid of flying? Or acrophobic or something?”
“Or something,” was all the mysterious billionaire would say.
In other words, Arabella thought, he wasn’t willing to tell her the truth. She supposed that was better than him outright lying to her.
“Are you sleepy?”
She knew she should say yes, just to give him a dose of his own medicine, but instead her lips formed another one-syllable answer. “No.”
“I am happy to hear that, ma belle. I have been looking forward to your company all night.”
“H-ha.” Arabella had wanted that to come off as scornful, but again she ended up disappointing herself, with the sound coming off as breathlessly excited instead. Darn it.
As she headed to the settee, she heard Aurélien murmur, “I missed you.”
The three words took her completely by surprise, and she almost tripped over her own feet again. Double darn. As she took a seat, she heard him ask, “Did you miss me, too?”
Arabella’s heart slammed against her chest. “No, I did not.”
“But you must have at least thought of me?”
“Not at all.” Her cheeks flamed at the lie, and Arabella quickly turned her face towards the fire, not wanting him to see her reddened cheeks from the shadows.
There was a pause and then ---
A soft, lazy chuckle that had her body experiencing that peculiar type of shiver, one that made her whole being tremble…because of too much heat.
“So you have missed me then.”
“I told you,” she gritted out. “I didn’t.”
“It is nothing to be ashamed of. I am sure I missed you more.”
“H-ha.”
“And I also promise that it will not happen again. If I am unable to visit you, I will make sure to let you know in advance.”
“I don’t care if you don’t visit me,” she growled hotly, “okay?”
“I hear you, ma belle. There is no need to shout.”
Arabella grimaced, realizing that she had indeed ended up yelling. “Sorry,” she muttered ungraciously. “But it’s your fault, too. You just make me so---”
“Mad?”
“Yes!”
“About me?”
“Yes---” Then she realized that she had fallen for a trap. “I mean, no. I am not mad about you---”
“But you just said yes, you were mad about me.”
“Shut up,” she snarled. “I meant to say I was mad at you, not about you, and you know it.”
“Mm. The only thing I know is that you said you were mad about me.”
And so it continued for the rest of the night, with Aurélien Sauvage somehow always managing to get the last word. They argued and bantered, and though she would never admit this either, she had so much fun…she forgot to even think of convincing him to let her go.
That night soon proved to be the basis of what would be a routine between them, and it was one that Arabella would come to secretly and shamefully enjoy. During the day, she was kept busy by the staff, with all of them eager to show her the rest of the island. On one day Mr. Temps had given her a tour of the sugar factory, on another it was the flamboyant Mr. Flamme, who had taken her to the private side of the island, to a pristine-looking beach that only members of the Sauvage family and their guests were allowed to access. The day after that it was Mrs. Bouilloire, who had then taken Arabella to the town proper and began introducing her to the locals as the master’s guest.
She had given the older woman a droll look at that, but the housekeeper simply pretended not to notice it. Not wanting to make a scene, Arabella decided to just let it be and focused on getting to know the locals. They were all warm and friendly, but the curiosity that gleamed in their eyes was unmistakable – and so were the shadows that flickered in their gazes once in a while. And most intriguing of all was this French term that kept coming up when they thought she couldn’t hear them.
La Bête Sauvage.
She had absolutely no idea what it meant, but when she asked Mrs. Bouilloire about it, the housekeeper only shook her head, saying, “It is nothing worth your time.”
That only made it even more peculiar, but by now she knew better than to try pressing Mrs. Bouilloire for details. This island had a lot of secrets, and practically everyone was determined to keep them from her. It was frustrating as hell, and it would probably have driven her up the walls if not for, well, that little distraction she had every night.
And by that she meant Aurélien Sauvage.
Every night after dinner, he would visit Arabella in her room, just as he promised. They argued most of the time – or rather, the billionaire would say something particularly insightful, and Arabella would pounce on it without hesitation and do her best to tear it apart. She didn’t want him to sound reasonable or wise or even kind. To do so would make him seem more than this faceless captor. It would have made him a real man – three-dimensional, multi-faceted man, someone she couldn’t hate just because things were black and white – and she didn’t want that.
And then there were the times that they weren’t arguing. These were the moments when she was already in bed, curled under the covers, and yet they would continue to talk until she drifted into unconsciousness.
Sometimes, he would make Arabella talk about herself, and it never failed to shock her every time she heard herself do so. She would tell him things that she had never told anyone before, and she would speak of feelings she had long hidden, even from Maurice. She told him about how her Mama had left her and Maurice because of money, she told him of how Maurice still wasn’t able to forgive himself for their family breaking apart, and she even told him of how she was secretly glad that her Mama had finally left because then it would mean all the shouting would stop.
Other times, it was Aurélien who would talk. He told her of his mother dying to give birth to him, of his father dying when he was in his teens, and later, much, much later – he told her of Louise, an older woman he had fallen in love with when he was but a teenager.
“You do know that makes her a pedophile,” Arabella felt the need to point out when she learned of their age gap. “Right?”
“There are other ways of looking at it.”
“Umm, no. Just because you’re a man doesn’t mean you can’t be taken advantage of. You were seventeen when you guys hooked up.”
“The legal age in my country is fifteen.”
“But she’s American, so like I said: she’s a pedophile.”
Aurélien had chuckled then. “Is that actually jealousy I hear?”
“You wish.” But inside herself, she was horrified because it was so.
Oh, fuck.
This was a new low.
How could she be jealous over an ex-girlfriend – and of her captor at that?
It was just so
ridiculous that she couldn’t bear to think about it. Actually, she couldn’t bear to think, period. She had a feeling every time her mind started to run, she would be reminded of it.
Captives were supposed to hate their captors, Arabella!
Not get jealous!
“Is something wrong, Arabella?”
“No,” she said shortly. “But I’m tired, so I’m going to sleep.” And without waiting for him to answer, she just jumped into the bed and hid under the covers.
Oh fuck, oh fuck, this was bad. If she didn’t know any better, she would think she was having a crush on Aurélien Sauvage.
And that was so not fucking right.
There Is No Us
Squeals erupted inside the kitchen the moment Mr. Flamme made his grand entrance. The women clapped their hands, and he bowed with a flourish to accept their adulation. “Ladies.”
They squealed anew as they converged around him, asking one question after another.
Had the master come to Arabella’s bedroom again?
What had he heard?
Had it finally happened?
The head housekeeper sighed at the girls’ insatiable curiosity. They all thought it terribly romantic that the master was wooing his lady from the shadows, and the older woman knew that in their minds it was but another Gothic love story unfolding before them, and that a happy-ever-after ending was guaranteed.
Oh, if only she could be as optimistic as they were.
Leaning towards Mr. Temps, who was calmly drinking his coffee beside her on the table, the housekeeper asked in a low voice, “What about you, sir? Do you think there is hope for our master?”
“Of course.”
Her eyes widened. “Really now.”
“Why are you surprised?” the butler asked. “Hope is not bound by the rules of reality or logic, Mrs. Bouilloire. Rather, hope exists wherever we want it to exist.”
The housekeeper frowned. “Then what are you really saying? That we can hope for the best but prepare for the worst?”
“That is a good suggestion, but more than that, I would say hope is also quite contagious. It won’t hurt if we put in a good word here and there about the master.”
“Dinner was lovely,” Arabella told the chef that night as she patted her lips with her napkin. Standing up, she said, “Thank you again, Mr. Aliment.”
“Would you like to have some coffee before you retire?” the housekeeper asked as she started clearing the table.
“Oh, umm, no.” She pushed her chair back in and smiled politely to soften her refusal. “I’m okay.”
She was already halfway to the kitchen door when she heard Mrs. Bouilloire ask, “Then tea perhaps, mademoiselle?”
“Umm, no, I’m fine.” She smiled awkwardly. “So good night---”
“What about dessert?” This time, it was the chef asking her. “It is your favorite type of éclairs, coated with blueberry with a hint of violets---”
Oh, darn it.
Her mouth started to water, but---
Arabella took a step back. “I really have to go.”
When the chef turned to face her again, he was already holding out the tray of desserts to her.
Oh dear.
She stared at it longingly. Perhaps a bite, or perhaps a slice---
“Won’t you stay behind, mademoiselle, to enjoy this?”
Arabella managed to wrest her gaze away from the tray of temptation. “I would really love to, but I can’t.”
“Why are you in such a hurry, child?”
“Because, umm---” As she tried to think of a plausible excuse, someone from the back of the kitchen started to giggle before the sound was abruptly cut off.
Hmm.
Her gaze narrowed.
Now that she thought of it, why was everyone suddenly interested in keeping her in the kitchen?
She looked at their faces one by one, and they all looked back at her ever so innocently.
“Quit acting, everyone. I’m not buying it.”
There was a moment of silence and then suddenly everyone started laughing and grinning at her – very, very slyly.
Nana sidled up to her, saying, “You tell us, mademoiselle. Why are you so in a hurry to leave?”
“Well---”
“Perhaps it’s because the master is waiting for you in your room, oui?”
“No!” Yes, oh God, that was exactly it, but how did they know?
Nana giggled when she saw the look of consternation on the American woman’s face. “Don’t be shy. It’s natural to behave like this with the man you like---”
Arabella’s cheeks turned red. “I don’t like him. He’s my captor.”
“Oui, that he is.” This time, Nana knew better than to gloss over the fact. “However, it does not mean the master cannot be something more than that, too, oui?”
“We think you two make a great pair,” another maid said dreamily.
“Oh for God’s sake, I haven’t even seen him.”
“Exactement, mademoiselle,” a third maid piped in earnestly. “You already have stars in your eyes---”
“I do not! Take that back!”
“Yes, you do, mademoiselle! Et c’est mervellieux!”
“Now you’ve lost me,” Arabella said bluntly.
The maid giggled. “What I mean, Ms. Blume, is that it’s wonderful for you to look like that when you speak of the master---”
“Oui, oui,” the other young women of the staff chorused.
“And it is the same for the master,” one of the gardeners inserted. “I heard from Mr. Flamme and Mr. Temps, they were talking about how the master had changed and that he was no longer brooding as much.”
Now that was news. “Does he like to brood a lot?” she couldn’t help asking.
Everyone nodded.
“About Louise?”
The entire staff gasped, and even Mrs. Bouilloire appeared stunned.
“You know about her, my dear?”
She nodded slowly. “He told me about her – and that he had made her leave because the men who had killed his father had come after them, and he didn’t want her to be in harm’s way again.”
“Oh, Ms. Blume.”
To Arabella’s surprise, tears actually started to glisten in the older woman’s eyes. “Are you okay, Mrs. Bouilloire?”
The housekeeper sniffed. “I’m sorry for being emotional, but it’s only that I haven’t even let myself imagine that this day would ever come. And now it has---” The housekeeper’s eyes brightened even more. “I am so, so very glad that you were the one who made the master open up, mademoiselle.”
Arabella’s mouth opened and closed. She belatedly noticed how the whole staff was looking at her like she was the second messiah come to life, and it left her stumped. What would Jesus Christ do in this position?
Bless you?
She said finally, “It’s probably because…I don’t know, maybe it’s the whole strangers-in-the-dark thing. I’ve also found myself telling him things that I hadn’t told anyone else.” As she spoke, the younger girls of the staff actually released a collective aww, and her eyebrows shot up in alarm.
“Stop that! This is not an ‘aww’ moment.”
“I disagree,” Nana countered right away, a sly look in the woman’s eyes. “I think this is very much an ‘aww’ moment. The two of you have developed a bond, mademoiselle---”
“Oh, we do have a bond alright,” she quipped. “It’s called captor and captive.”
Ignoring that, Nana continued, “Now all you have to do is accept your feelings---”
“Oui, oui!” The younger women had once again started speaking in a chorus.
Arabella glowered. “Go oui yourself,” she grumbled. “This conversation is so over.”
But everyone only laughed, and as she turned away, some of them even wished her luck, like she was heading to battle instead of merely hitting the sack.
“Oh, for God’s sake!”
More laughter, the sound of which
made her ears burn and trailed after Arabella even as she ascended the stairs leading to her room. Darn Frenchies. She made it to the top of the tower in record time, and Arabella gave herself a pat on the back when she noticed that her breathing had remained regular the entire time.
It was such a far cry, she thought in amusement, from the first day Mr. Temps had shown her to her room.
But when Arabella entered her room and heard him speak---
“Bonjour, ma belle.”
That was the moment Arabella had to catch her breath. It had been so for some time now, and she hated it but she also couldn’t help it. “Bonjour,” she said gruffly. Turning away from the shadows, she headed towards the bedside table and pretended to look for something inside the drawer when in truth, all she needed was time to regain her composure.
Nana’s sly teasing kept echoing in her mind, and Arabella’s teeth gnashed against each other. Nana was wrong. All of them were wrong. She was not excited to be with Aurélien, and it was certainly not true that she liked him.
Right?
When Arabella finally turned to face the shadows, she heard her mysterious billionaire ask, “Qu’est-ce qui se passé, ma belle?” His soft, accented words tickled her ears, and despite herself, she could feel a smile starting to tug at the corner of her lips. Fortunately, she caught herself in time and instead managed to ask irritably, “You know I don’t speak French, so why do you keep using it with me?”
“Because I know you have a fetish for it,” the beast answered simply.
“I do not!” Actually, she did, but the bad thing about it was that she had never known she had one – until she had heard him speak French.
“Je pense que c’est l’accent,” the beast murmured.
Inside her shoes, Arabella’s toes curled hard. Shit!
“I think,” the beast translated, “it’s the accent.” He then switched back to English, saying, “It is very sexy, oui?” This time, the beast exaggerated its accent for the last word.
Arabella’s lips slowly pursed before moving left and right.
The beast laughed. By now, it knew Arabella very well, and it certainly knew the reason behind that adorable gesture of hers. “Give it up, ma belle. What you are doing is useless.”