Belle and the Beast: A College Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Ruby Vincent

  Belle and the Beast

  Ruby Vincent

  Published by Ruby Vincent, 2020.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  The Angels

  Keep In Touch

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Prologue

  A litany of blues, reds, and golds intertwined to create a world beyond imagination. A girl stared out from that world, peering at me with something akin to curiosity. Wondering why I was staring at her in the same way that her fixed gaze unsettled me. I knew from the quiet dignity in her stance and grim set to her lips that she was not a part of that world. It was her prison, not her home.

  “Cinderella.”

  Turning my head, I blinked at the statue come to life. It’s what he must have been since no mere mortal could look like this. Dark bronze locks swept back from his eyes in neat orderly waves, barring a lone troublemaker. It moved as he did, swaying before golden eyes flecked with green. And when he grinned, smirking like he knew every thought running through my mind, it enhanced his beauty so devastatingly, anger pricked my peaceful mood.

  I stiffened as he pressed his hand to the small of my back, guiding me closer to the painting.

  “The painting was inspired by the story of Cinderella.” A deep, rolling baritone slipped through his full lips. “This is the moment in the garden, when she’s lost all hope of escaping her dreary life, even for one night. She doesn’t know her fairy godmother is coming, or that her life is about to change in every way.”

  The hand disappeared from my back, though the anger remained, rising on the crest of irritation as he continued his story.

  “The artist captured that particular point in time as a reminder. That second you’ve given up. When you’ve lost hope and decided your life will never change... that’s exactly when it will. Your fairy godmother is coming. Wait for her.” He smiled. “Powerful message, don’t you think?”

  I returned his smile, and said, “No.”

  “No?”

  “No,” I repeated. “It’s a terrible message to go along with a terrible story.”

  My living statue crumbled, face wrinkling in confusion. “The story of Cinderella is terrible? Why?”

  I scoffed. “Are you kidding? A girl who lives all her life beaten, abused, and cast aside is suddenly saved by fairies, mice, and magic. Do you know the message that sends? To the little girl waiting to be rescued?

  “It tells her that she needs a miracle. That her cage of pain and misery is fortified by such impenetrable forces that it takes those beyond our capabilities to free her. Telling a child that the only way to change her life is through magic is by far the cruelest thing we do to kids.”

  The boy stepped back even as he reached for me—his hand hovering near my lips like he wanted to push my words back inside.

  “Mice are beady animals scrounging to survive. Dainty little birds shoot off at the sight of you. And fairy godmothers don’t come when you cry.”

  I was being harsh. I sounded so even to my own ears. But I couldn’t stop myself. I hated the pretty ones. The boys who smashed you apart simply by looking in your direction and put you back together again with a smile. The boys so beautiful you swore at first glance they couldn’t be real.

  He shouldn’t be.

  This stranger was better off as a statue in this museum—admired by onlookers as his kind always are—but protected from them and they by him.

  This man was dangerous. I knew this without need of his name or history.

  If life had taught me anything, it’s that the worst evil is done by those with the most beautiful masks.

  “Don’t tell little Cinderella to wait for her fairy godmother. Tell her to dust herself off and get the fuck out of the dirt. No one is coming to save you, so you’d better save yourself.”

  “I see,” he said, dropping his hand. “Well then, do it.”

  I frowned. “Excuse me?”

  “Save yourself, Cinderella.” His mouth quirked up in that breath-stealing grin. “Your fairy godmother isn’t coming and I left my sword and armor at home.”

  Irritation swept into blazing irrational rage. “You’re not my knight.”

  “Not in our story, no. You’ll have to come to me this time.” He retreated, likely heading back to his pedestal. “Get out of that garden, Cinderella. Before it’s too late.”

  I stared at the entrance he left through long after he disappeared. I turned back to her, meeting eyes so like my own.

  “I can’t leave the garden,” I whispered. “I already told you... miracles don’t exist.”

  Chapter One

  “I’m not going.”

  “You are going.” Something hit the carpet with a dull thud, then I heard the clatter of hangers. Mom always made a mess pawing through my closet. Decades of servants, maids, chauffeurs, and chefs prevented her from learning the skill of putting things back where she found them. “Darling, put your hair up. You’ll wear the blue off-shoulder gown with the teardrop earrings and Victorian choker.”

  Mother emerged holding my gown with both hands. Delicate like a loud noise would make the silver beads fall like rain. “Black pumps, I think, darling. You’re a vision in black.”

  “Lovely,” I said sarcastically. “So, I can’t choose my husband or my outfit. How far are we regressing, Mother? Am I not allowed to feed myself anymore? Are you assigning someone to wipe my ass?”

  She cringed. “I’ve told you about that language, Belle. You’re a lady. Act like it.”

  I made a harsh noise in my throat. “You’re funny, telling me to act the way society demands. Especially since you missed the last hundred or so years where we left arranged marriages behind. These days even a lady has a choice. I’m not going.”

  “Yes, you are.” She draped the dress over my bed and joined me at the vanity. I wasn’t wearing a lick of makeup, my hair was still wet from the shower, and I hadn’t made it past the underwear and slip. Like I said repeatedly, I wasn’t going.

  “I know you don’t understand this all right now.”

  Mom wrapped my wet strands around her finger and brushed it against my cheek like she used to do when I was a little girl. “Some traditions survive for a reason, Belle. Society has changed, but one thing hasn’t. People still lie, cheat, and kill for money. We want to ensure the partner you have for the rest of your life is one you can trust.”

  I bit my lip, penning in the frustrated reply. One more try, Belle. Make her hear you this time.

  “Mom, you don’t have to worry about a man lying or cheating me because I’m never getting married,” I said. “To anyone. Ever.”

  She tossed her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. A life alone is almost a worse sentence than one with a money-chaser.”

  “Mom—”

  “This is for the best, Belle. One day you’ll see that.”

  Well, can’t say I didn’t try.

  “I won’t see anything, because I’m not going!”

  “Belle!” she shrieked. She smacked the wood, toppling my lipsticks and raining them on my lap.

  Wide-eyed, my heart ricocheted in my chest. My mother never yelled at me. Spoke sternly? Ye
s. Forced reprimands through gritted teeth? Certainly. Raised her voice? Absolutely not. Ladies never shouted, and if there was one thing Dame Cecilia Lewis-Adler was, that was a lady.

  She bore the fact in her name, manner, station, and appearance. She rested firmly in her fifties, but you wouldn’t know it from looking at her. She was gifted an ageless beauty where wrinkles graced only the corner of her eyes and the specks of gray in her hair blended gracefully with her golden hair. Her jewel-green eyes made strangers stop and look again. In her, I saw myself in thirty years... with some noticeable exceptions.

  Every day Mom dressed in the sharpest of pantsuits in the finest fabrics. She didn’t step foot out of the mansion unless draped in pearls or diamonds. Everyone she met was dear or darling.

  I, on the other hand, wore the clothes I made. Plaid skirts with oversize leather buckles. Cutout dresses. Cropped tops with my name sewn on the front. Mother called my taste eclectic because, again, she didn’t abide strong language. I wasn’t really a draped-in-gems person, and I tended to call people all the names they didn’t want to hear.

  My mother and I were different in many ways, but I always felt she was on my side.

  Until now.

  Her expression softened. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed my hair down and kissed my crown. “I apologize,” she said. “I don’t want to fight with you, Belle. Please, for once just... do as you’re told.”

  I glared hard at her in the mirror, wondering not for the first time that year who this woman was. My final year of high school had been a nightmare for many reasons, but chief among them was the bomb my parents dropped after my first week. The news that they’d be sending me to Citrine Cove and they’d hear no argument about it.

  I’ve known about our community’s archaic tradition most of my life, but my parents never once said I’d have to participate until that one evening as I sat on the terrace sketching. I knocked over one of my mother’s favorite glasses jumping to my feet. Dad simply called the housekeeper to clean it up and walked off amid my shouts for an explanation.

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “We’re doing it for you,” a deep voice replied. “So that you’ll always be taken care of.”

  I ran to him, skirting my mother and throwing myself in his arms. “I can take care of myself, Dad.” I didn’t consciously put on a little girl’s voice. It just happened around him because that’s what I was in his eyes. His little girl to be loved, adored, pampered, and denied nothing—until I turned eighteen apparently.

  The man who left me on the terrace with a sore throat and shattered glass wasn’t my father. Even so, I hadn’t given up hope of reaching him. The dame couldn’t be swayed to wear autumn colors in springtime, let alone change her mind once she decided on a decision she thought best for me. But my father valued my happiness above all else.

  I can make him understand.

  “I don’t need a husband,” I told him. “Don’t want one either. Daddy, I got into design school. The director was impressed with my clothes. She says I have a future in fashion, and that’s the one I want. Designing my own line.”

  “You can still attend your school, Belle. Completing college will be a part of the terms.” He kissed my forehead. “Does that set your mind at ease?”

  Set my mind at ease? Are you listening to anything I’m saying?!

  “No, Dad,” I forced out. “It doesn’t. I refuse to get married—arranged or otherwise. I’m meant to be a designer. Not sit in an empty mansion while the stranger I married is off banging his mistresses.”

  “Belle,” Mom scolded. “I have told you about your language.”

  I didn’t acknowledge her. “Dad, please. I’m not going. Tell me you understand.”

  Dad gripped my forearms and pushed me away. The stiff set to his jaw and flashing blue eyes were features I was used to seeing when he barked orders at employees, never for me. “You are going and you’ll show your mother and me more respect while you’re at it.”

  I stumbled back, gaping at him. “Why do you want to get rid of me? What did I do?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Belle,” he snapped. “This is not a punishment.”

  “Forcing me into an arranged marriage is hardly a gift.”

  Not a flicker of sympathy crossed his face. It was like he didn’t hear me, and he probably didn’t. The gulf between my father and me had been widening since they announced their plans. For all that he was standing right in front of me, my father was miles away.

  “You can’t see it now, but we are thinking of you and your future,” he said. “You will have everything you deserve in this life, my girl.” He gestured toward the bed. “Now get dressed. We leave in an hour.” Dad turned to leave and paused mid-step. “It goes without saying that you’re to be on your best behavior tonight. We expect you to make a good impression.”

  I watched them go—angry enough to run after them but too hurt to take another rejection.

  “Oh, I’ll make a good impression,” I hissed.

  If they refused to hear me when I speak, then I’ll have to try another way to get their attention.

  PRESTON

  “What are you doing with that?”

  The server froze deer-in-headlights-style. In my opinion, he didn’t look frightened enough. Mom wasn’t an oncoming car. She was a sixty-foot tsunami and this guy another speck on the beach.

  “Those are clearly desserts, and are you aware of when desserts are served?”

  “I— They—”

  “You’re standing here gaping at me while the whipped cream melts on your tray. Put that back in the fridge immediately and then take off your uniform and leave.”

  “Please, ma’am,” he cried. “Don’t fire me. I need this job.”

  I crossed the room, leaving the poor sap to his fate. My mother didn’t stand for flies in the ointment of her perfect life. She’d kill the insect and then track down his entire family and rip off their wings.

  My hand closed over the knob—

  “Preston? Preston, where do you think you’re going?” Peach-painted nails gripped my shoulders and towed me away. “Our guests will begin arriving any minute and you, my darling boy, are seated in the place of honor.”

  I nearly tripped matching pace with her.

  Incredible. I’ve got two feet and fifty pounds on the woman, and she can still lead me around like a kid in a stroller.

  “Why go through this charade, Mother?” She prodded me up the stairs to the head table. “When this is all over, there’s one woman receiving Grandmother’s ring. I can pop the fucking thing on her finger tonight and be on a plane tomorrow.”

  “Preston, enough with this Europe nonsense. You are not backpacking—whatever that means. We host this event every three years. It’s our family’s task to uphold the traditions of our community and be an example. How would it look if I let my only son go off gallivanting while other young men are here, doing what is right for their families?”

  “It will look like I’ve won the race, so I’ve got no need to return to the starting line.”

  “Preston, you know as well as I that your proposal to Delilah Winthrop must go through certain steps. It’s the only way it will be recognized by our family and the community.”

  Mother pulled out a chair at the very head of the table. I sat without more prompting. She wanted me to sit up here lording over the room. So be it.

  She placed a barely there kiss on my temple. “You are a Desai, my son. Everything you want, you shall have.”

  No, Mother. Everything you want, I shall have.

  I remained on my perch as the ballroom filled with faces I’d forgotten. Mother called us a community, but it was more accurate to say we were a group of people who shared specific traits and therefore similar goals.

  We lived in all corners of the country and came together every three years to ensure all the money stayed in the family.

  A commotion drew my eye. Gasps and “oh mys” followed the guy making a b
eeline toward me. Sauntering around a formal party barefoot and shirt hanging open would draw that kind of reaction. Faith Stevens scurried in after him with her hair hastily arranged in a bun and her gown slightly twisted.

  “You couldn’t have put your clothes on in the same closet where you took them off?” I asked, less than mildly interested.

  “And deny these ladies a sneak peek to what they’re in for this summer?” He threw himself down next to me and shoved on his shoes. “I’m a bastard, but I’m not that cruel.”

  “Bastard is right.”

  He easily flipped me off and did up his buttons at the same time.

  “You almost sound excited about this summer, Nathan.”

  He pulled a face, looking me up and down. “You’re not? You’re about to have more sex than you can stand, my brother.”

  “I’d have gotten plenty of that in Europe too. You, me, and Carter have been planning this trip since freshman year. But thanks to Mother, every three years suddenly came a year early, and it’s a waste of our time. I’m set to marry Delilah. You’ve fucked and fucked over nearly every girl here, so your only options are the two—maybe three girls who haven’t been warned off yet. As for Carter, he doesn’t care about any of this. He’ll slip a ring on whoever doesn’t get on his nerves.”

  “Look, man, when I find the guy who’s been pissing in your Cheerios, I’ll be the first one kicking his ass. Until then, lighten up. Europe isn’t going anywhere and neither are you. Not until you lock down Delilah.”

  “She’s locked. Who else is she going to marry?” I smirked at him. “You?”

  Nathan absentmindedly rubbed his cheek. I could almost see the red handprint. “All I did was ask if she was into anal. What happened to making conversation?”

  I chuckled. Nathan Prince and I couldn’t be more dissimilar. Didn’t make me any less stuck with the guy. He’s the sibling my parents didn’t bother to have after their first try got them what they wanted, a son and heir.

  “Speaking of making conversation, just how drunk off your ass are you?”