Beast: A Hate Story, The Beginning

  I took a drink of champagne.

  I was still so, so naive. That wasn’t us. You can’t come to understandings when one person holds all the cards.

  The worst part was I knew I couldn’t keep up the coldness. Anteros was fire to my soul. Even this morning, when I should have been dead weight on the bed, he’d somehow managed necromancy. His bruises seared like a lover’s caress and my soul was so often tricked. I had to remind myself as if it were a mantra: Beast wasn’t my lover. He was my enemy. This was not a love story, this was a hate story.

  He was probably watching the cameras.

  Which had me wondering if he saw me in the pantry. Shaking my head, I lifted the champagne. That was not a thought I wanted to spar with. It wasn’t like it was my fault. I hadn’t sought the man out. I put the drink to my lips again, only to have it get immediately knocked away when someone ran into me. Champagne sloshed out of the top and to the floor and Gabby’s hurried whisper filled my ear.

  “What did Vic say?”

  “Who?” I stared at the liquid gold that would not be going in my stomach, watching as people stepped over it, getting it on their shoes and the hems of their dresses. It was quickly mopped away. Even Gabby’s dress was getting in it, a deep reddish-purple color that shined like satin.

  “That man.” Gabby’s satin-clad arm dragged me closer to the middle of the floor. “Donna Lucia sent him.”

  “Who?” It was packed, shoulder to shoulder—how did people dance this way?

  “Lucia Pavoni,” Gabby said, exasperation leaking from her pores. “Lucio Pavoni’s sister.” My brain strained, remembering the names in the stories I’d read in the journal. There were two Lucio Pavonis, a junior and senior. Lucio Pavoni was the man who owned this museum-townhouse, according to Beast. He also had to be the one in the photo since Sofia had said the senior died. I remembered that Sofia said since the eldest Lucio had died, the younger was planning something, something that made her worry for the fate of them all. That was pretty much it, though. Sofia wasn’t exactly an historian. Maybe what younger Lucio was planning was buying out the Louvre.

  So Lucia was his sister. But why?

  “Why?” I probed. “Why would she send him?”

  “Because you’re the princess,” Gabby said. “Also someone may have sent her a letter about you…” She looked away.

  I gripped her arm until my flesh turned hers white. “Are you insane? Don’t you see what’s happening? Nikolai is using you.” Her forehead creased and she stepped back.

  “No he’s not.”

  “Who brought us together before you murdered your husband? Who told you I was the princess? Who told you to send the letter? He’s using you for something, Gabby. Using us!”

  She paused a moment then said, "Does it fucking matter?” My eyes widened. Gabby never swore. “What does it matter if we get out?” I didn’t have an answer for her. For Gabby getting out was everything, for me it used to be and now it was…it was an ache in my chest.

  “Lucia is on our side,” Gabby said simply. “She wants to help. She must know something about the photos. Nikolai says she has to know who your mother is.” I paused at her words. My mother? Was it possible the woman was out there alive?

  Then I stilled.

  I already had a mother.

  “This is all happening way too fast.” I spun to her. “Even if I entertain the idea that I’m some princess, you can’t just…just…” Someone bumped into us, pushing us closer. A few golden tendrils from Gabby’s expertly coiffed hair fell from her face. “Just contact the leader of the mafia without telling me!”

  Her smile fell. “Without you this entire thing falls apart.”

  “I—” With a yelp, my words fell. Someone reached from behind, snaking their hands around my waist and pulling me from Gabby.

  “There you are.” His breath was hot against my hair. Though his low, cruelly smooth and seductive voice was unmistakable, I recognized the feel of him most. I recognized the way his fingers splayed against my stomach and how his muscles were like packs of stone against my back. My body hummed for the Beast.

  “I’ve been enjoying the party, like you asked.” Did I respond a little too quickly?

  “I only have a few moments to spare.” Taking one arm, he spun me around, a ghost of a smile on his face. With his hand now on my lower back, he looked into my eyes. The once crowded dance floor separated for us. It was just him and me, twirling and dancing.

  And fuck.

  He was an amazing dancer. I knew that a little bit already, though, had seen a glimpse of it the night…the night Arlo tried to rape me. The way he’d dipped me then was exquisite. The way he led me in a dance was how he led his life, with force and surety. I was breathless when he spun me out, my hair whipping fast and furiously.

  We were a picture of grace and poise. That night he wore an elegant tuxedo, the epitome of class and sex appeal. In this ballroom filled with strangers, I got to see his electric virility in the wild. Women watched him unabashedly, even now as we danced.

  He spun me out and then spun me back, and it was beautiful.

  But there was a dark, dirty part of me that was disappointed. I thought he was going to do something completely different to me than dance, something because I left the wall.

  “Where were you, Frankie?” he whispered against my ear when he brought me back from a spin. My eyes popped at his erection against my back. “You’ll have to be reminded what it means to disobey me, but later. I don’t have time to properly punish you now.” I swallowed, and he spun me out again before I could think about the warm tingling that spread out in my thighs.

  The spin was so quick, really I was only away from him for seconds, but it was as if everything slowed down. Strands of my hair pushed away from my face, dancing against the air currents. My hand peeled away from me, stretching out wide into the air. I saw everything. For a moment, I felt like Alice falling down to Wonderland.

  Then I froze. We froze—him with his fingers just on mine, me leaning far out to complete the spin. My finger twitched and I knew we were going to unfreeze soon. I was going to have to come back to reality, and I wondered how I’d gotten myself into this mess.

  I might be a princess.

  The Beast controlled parts of me I dared not acknowledge.

  If I kept tumbling down the hole, soon it would be too late. I would be irrevocable.

  But what if I just didn’t spin back to him?

  Then everything snapped back. I spun back into his arms, into his chest, and he held me, breathless. Our eyes locked, his bluegreen gaze boring into me. In them I saw the wildness, the carnality that belied his elegant exterior. In them I saw the darkness I knew he harbored.

  A darkness I was discovering matched parts of me, too.

  My lips parted, some plea on my breath that even I didn’t know. He held me tight and for a moment the world disappeared.

  “I wish I meant more to you,” I whispered the truth that had been breaking me in two for almost a month. I wish I meant what you mean to me, is what I couldn’t say aloud, what I don’t think I could ever say aloud.

  Our dancing stilled. His eyes softened yet intensified under his shrouded brow, and I felt him all the way to my core. With my lips parted, I stared into his eyes, saw the fever in them that I thought matched the fever in me, and I thought maybe he was going to give me some kind of truth to hold on to.

  But he dropped me.

  AGAIN.

  This time I was prepared and didn’t fall on my fucking ass. The Beast walked away from me without another word. With a hand to my nose, I pinched the bridge. I used to do that when I’d come home to find Papa had gone through my “room” and spent what little money I had on…well, the Beast.

  Now I pinched my nose, watching as Beast climbed the small stage in the ballroom. There was no one up on the stage besides Beast, and no one besides me was paying attention. The music was still playing, the drinks were still flowing. I went through the various sini
ster reasons why Beast would be on stage, and then I just stopped.

  I stopped caring.

  I walked toward the bar, eager to add some liquor to my newfound look on life, when I was interrupted.

  “Valeria?” a woman gasped.

  “Valeria!” The woman said again, this time her word an exclamation, not a question. She stopped me, looking very excited. Her gray hair was pulled up, not a hair out of place. Her wrinkles had been augmented, rejuvenated, and pulled back. She was beautiful, if not a little too plastic for my taste.

  “Excuse me.” I laughed nervously. “I think you have the wrong person.”

  “Oh of course dear. I meant you look just like Valeria. But it can’t be.” She paused, peering at me like she could see something behind my eyes. I shifted nervously. “There have been rumors but there are always rumors.” She gripped my arm tightly. “What is your name dear?”

  “I…” I laughed nervously again. “I need to go.” I tried to move, but she wouldn’t let me go. Alarm bells were sounding in my head. This was not the type of conversation to be having with Beast in the vicinity.

  Then she said, “Are you the slave?” I fucking panicked. My eyes widened. I looked to my left and right. Nikolai and Gabby had spoken of fanatics within the mafia, and I was certain I was looking into the hazel eyes of one.

  “You are the slave.” Her own eyes widened and she lessened her grip, stepping back as if to examine me. “Oh my God, the rumors are true.”

  “Look.” I lowered my voice, trying to sound menacing. “You need to let me go. Right. Now.” Her hand immediately left my arm and I pushed past her, putting as much distance between us as I could. When I was far away, I bent over. My chest felt tight, my arms tingly. It was like I couldn’t breathe.

  Oh God, she knew me.

  She’d called me Valeria—like that chick in the journal.

  Oh God.

  I put my arm against the wall, looking for support. The woman was nowhere to be seen. The people had closed the gaps I had made with fabrics of black, white, gold, red. They smiled, clinked drinks, and threw heads back and laughed. So many sounds commingled into one loud roar in my ear.

  I looked around, feeling suddenly like I wasn’t just in a sea of people, but drowning among them. I put my hand to my chest.

  I’d never had a panic attack before.

  Was this one?

  Or was I dying?

  “Vic is in the pantry,” Gabby whispered into my ear.

  I jumped, pulled my arm off the wall, and snapped, “Well I hope he finds something tasty in there.” I walked away, furiously pushing through people like I was at a concert. The crowd was thick and unyielding, everyone wanting to stick to their groups and cliques. I used my elbows and I heard yelps of indignation as I trudged through.

  “Frankie!” Gabby whisper-yelled at my back as I elbowed through another group. “Something is going down tonight. I don’t know what, but Emilio is here and he is never at events, and the press is talking to him and—”

  “I don’t care!” I spun around. “I don’t know who Emilio is and I don’t fucking care because I don’t care about any of this anymore.”

  Gabby frowned. “Emilio is my brother and you should care because he—” she pointed to the man I’d seen at the Christmas Eve party, the same one Vic had been talking to earlier “—is deadweight. The only reason Beast would want him is as some kind of puppet.” For a moment I got sucked back in. I had no idea Gabby had a brother. She and Emilio looked nothing alike. Where Gabby had blonde hair, brown eyes, and freckles, Emilio had brown hair and crystal blue eyes.

  Did she have more siblings? What would Beast want Emilio for? I shook my head. No. I’m getting out of this world.

  I lowered my voice, leaning closer to her. “I don’t want this okay? I don’t want any of it. I’m getting out of here.”

  “Wha—” Gabby shook her head as if changing tactics. “You are the only hope we have,” Gabby implored. I paused, looking back. She’d stretched out the word “only” and was now looking up to the ceiling. I followed her gaze, wondering if I’d see what she saw. All I saw was the ceiling.

  Gabby opened her mouth as if to say something else but instead folded her arms, wrinkling the satin of her dress. She stared at me silently, and I had the impression she was reevaluating me. Gabby was beautiful. There was something about her. She wasn’t a “traditional” beauty. Her hips were a little too wide, her breasts small, her waist maybe a bit too tiny, but when you looked at her, she was striking. She made you do a double-take.

  The dress she wore screamed elegance with its long sleeves, a plunging V, slit up the side, and understated belt. As we stared at each other, I tried to summon any concrete facts I had about Gabby, not just feelings. What did I know about her? Her favorite things?

  I knew she’d been abused. I knew she was Sofia’s daughter. I now knew she had a brother. I knew she was in love with a man named Levi, and that love was tearing her up inside. I knew she murdered her husband.

  I knew she was dangerously naive and fiercely loyal—a loyalty that was currently directed at me.

  So what did she see in me? What did any of them see in me—besides a fucking rumor?

  The pain in my chest got tighter.

  “I can’t breathe,” I said—well, more like wheezed. “People are calling me Valeria and handsome Asian men are pledging their fealty to me. This isn’t my life! I’m just some chick from Jersey!”

  “Who called you Valeria?” Gabby looked around, excited.

  “Stop being so excited,” I snapped, throwing my hands out. “This isn’t exciting, this is terrifying!”

  “Come.” Gabby gently took my arm, pulling me from the center of the ballroom to the side. She waited until I’d regained some control of my breathing and said, “You were never just some girl from Jersey. You were always a princess.” She spoke as if it was so silly of me to try and question it.

  “You be princess,” I said. “You’d be good at it.”

  She leaned back against the wall with a wry smile on her face. “You don’t get to choose what you’re born into.”

  I scoffed. “This is America, Gabby, that’s exactly what you get to do.”

  She laughed. “You are a princess, Frankie. You’ll still be a princess if you run away, you’ll just be a princess without a kingdom.” Her words ran through my body, breaking me out in shivers.

  “I just… I can’t…” I peeled off the wall, sprinting through people until I was sure she couldn’t see me.

  I wasn’t a princess.

  I couldn’t be.

  I stumbled against the wall, putting my head in my hands.

  You were never just some girl from Jersey. You were always a princess.

  I held the wall, trying to get Gabby’s voice out of my head. This wasn’t my life. I didn’t want this. The music stopped and everyone looked up at the stage as forks tapped against fine crystal glass, echoing in the room like thousands of wind chimes. It was beautiful sounding, ethereal.

  I hated it.

  I didn’t want this. I wanted to go back to being Frankie Notte, staring at pictures on the wall and not really seeing them. The sound of clinking rose higher, loud and urgent, like cicadas had invaded the ballroom. Then it was quiet, deathly so.

  Governor Dubois stepped up to the mic and started talking. He said some things about the party, lightened the mood, but I saw beyond that. There was something deeper, something darker. I ground my jaw at the gnawing voice in my head that sounded too much like Gabby.

  Everyone was too busy staring at the stage to notice me falling to the ground. My legs were too heavy, my chest too tight. My red ball gown pooled around my feet like melted ruby. I stared at the satin, the way it caught the light reminded me of blood. It would be blood if I continued to play princess. When I’d traded my life, I hadn’t thought about what it would mean. I just did it, because that’s what you do for the people you love. If you see they’re about to die, you dive in front
of that fucking train. But the past month? It’d been like diving in front of the train over and over and over again.

  I couldn’t stand Beast. Knowing he saw me as nothing was the worst torture. He commanded parts of me, completely controlled them, yet wanted nothing to do with them. He’d taken things from me without my consent. If I continued, he’d take my heart. I knew it. I had to get out before that happened, but playing princess would prolong the torture. I would have preferred traditional torture—you know, bamboo shoots in the nails, waterboarding.

  I hate him for what he’s done to me.

  Hate him.

  “Frankie?” I snapped my eyes to the voice, immediately recognizing it. It was a carnal reaction, as if he held a string that he could pull and I would jerk to it. “What’s wrong?” I looked from Beast to the stage, remembering how he’d dropped me on my ass to walk up there, right after I’d given another piece of myself to him. I sighed jaggedly. He pulled my chin to his, looking into my eyes, trying to see beyond, trying to pull more of me to him.

  No. No more.

  I jerked my chin away but he pulled me up and wrapped his arms around me.

  Why did this feel so right? Why couldn’t it feel wrong?

  “I thought you were supposed to be on stage,” I murmured against his chest. “Don’t you have duties to attend to?”

  “No,” he said simply. His fingers ran through my hair, caressing me in even strokes. I closed my eyes, leaning into his chest getting lost in the smell of him. For a moment I let myself sink into the feeling, into the lie.

  But then I opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was his friend, the evil one who’d called me a dog, Crazy A. His glare was harsh and he looked at me like I was doing something wrong. He looked at me the way I knew I should feel, telling me everything I kept refusing to acknowledge, that Beast would never love me.

  I swallowed and tried to pull away, breaking the spell between us. Sounds came rushing back in. Sounds of low music, hushed conversation, and the voice of Governor Dubois on stage. I noticed everyone around us. Beast only looked at me.