Belle and the Beast: A College Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Ruby Vincent

  “What’s up with you? Did you do something you shouldn’t have or do you want something you won’t get?”

  “Once again, none of the above.” He winked. “I’ll get to shutting up now.”

  He fished out his phone. Conversation over.

  “What’s with you two?” Zion whispered. “Is his proposal for real? The hackles rise on both of you when you’re within twelve feet of each other.”

  “His proposal is not real. I talked with Mrs. Evanston. She agrees that no one would take a grudge that far.”

  “She did? Are counselors allowed to be that direct?”

  “That lady breaks all the rules. That’s why we get along so well,” I said. “The point is we talked and she said he’s doing this to make a point. I just need to sit down with him and say the point has been made. He can stop punishing me because I’m doing plenty of that on my own.”

  Zion bumped my shoulder. “I know we’ve only known each other for a week, but if you want to talk about anything...” He let the rest hang in the air.

  “Thanks,” I replied. “I don’t but... thank you.”

  We shifted to what we’d get up to after dinner. We were deep in an argument over watching Indiana Jones or Memento when Mrs. Desai called for our attention.

  “We’re five minutes away from the home,” she said. “Mrs. Figg will meet us at the door and give us our assignments on the spot. The children are the sweetest little things. They may offer to help, and they’ll definitely have endless questions for you. Remember to have fun.”

  “We’re not just there to have fun or volunteer though, are we?” Zion spoke up. “We’re about to answer one of the top questions on a potential fiancé’s mind. How are they with kids?”

  “Huh,” I said. “Mrs. Desai, you sneaky lady. I didn’t think of that at all.”

  “How are you with kids?” he asked.

  “Love them. The little buggers say exactly what’s on their minds. It’s a shame we grow out of that.”

  “I don’t think we so much grow out of it in the community as it’s washed, ironed, pressed, and starched out of us. Gotta make us presentable.”

  The corner of my mouth turned up. “They missed a spot with you. Looks like you can still tell it like it is.”

  “All right, everyone.” Mrs. Desai gushed like we were going to the carnival. “We’re here.”

  The shuttle let out in front of a modest, one-story building. A thigh-high fence wrapped around the lawn, decorated with fish, butterflies, stick children, palm trees, stars, and suns. They must have put the brushes in the kids’ hands and let them loose.

  “Yoo-hoo.” A stout lady in a blue dress and sensible shoes waved from the entrance. “Hello and welcome to the Citrine Home. We’re very happy to have you.”

  We echoed greetings and thanks. I fell in behind Preston walking up the path.

  “I’m the director, Mrs. Figgs. I’ll introduce you to more of the staff as we run into them. For now, I’ll sort you into teams and then we’ll meet the children. They’re so looking forward to this.” Figgs consulted her clipboard. “I need ten on the lunch team. Five on the cleanup team. Four on the office team and six in the storage room. The rest of you can spend time with the kids. This is their outside time and they’ve got a new trampoline they can’t stay off of.”

  She beamed at us. “Who would like which teams?”

  Hands went up volunteering for this or that, and Figgs got it sorted out. Preston and I wound up in the group joining the kids’ playtime. Nathan was off to help with the food and Carter was on the office team.

  We crossed the threshold and the horde unleashed.

  “Preston!”

  Three cannonballs launched at him. He let out a roar.

  “You’ll never take me down! Never!”

  The girls were ready for this challenge. Five more charged around the corner. Preston had just enough time for his eyes to grow big. Screeching, the girls chose a body part and hung on with all their might.

  “No,” Preston gasped. “Help! Belle, save me!”

  I stifled a laugh. “You’re on your own.”

  “No! Nooooo!” Preston disappeared under a mass of giggling preteens. They piled the questions on between hugs.

  “Preston, we missed you.”

  “How long are you staying?”

  “Are you coming tomorrow too?”

  “What are you smiling at?”

  That last one was definitely not from the girls.

  Delilah brushed past me, raising a brow over her shoulder. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Adler? We came here to help. Lazy waste-of-space is an even worse look than uncharitable apathetic.”

  “Lilah, if I could bottle that charm, the government would sell it as a lethal weapon.”

  She smirked. “Thank you. I take that as a compliment.”

  “You should. Bitch recognizes bitch.”

  Her face reddened deciding if that was an insult or admiration.

  “I’ll be here all day, ladies,” Preston said. “You guys have been doing some painting. Did you decorate the Monarch house too?”

  “Yeah, Preston, come see.”

  “Come to the Magpies first.”

  The girls whisked him away from both of us.

  “Shouldn’t you run off to the storage room?” I prompted.

  “Yes, Lilah.” Mila grabbed her arm and tugged her away. “Don’t fight in a children’s home,” I overheard her say. “If there’s a line, this is it.”

  I was slower to set off. The lobby had the children’s touch as well. Overlapping handprints went as high as the children could reach. Pictures of the kids covered the walls. Scanning them, I noticed they were taken at an angle that hid their faces.

  “We’re not allowed to show their faces in photographs.” A young woman wearing a shirt with the home’s logo came up to me. “Means we have to get artful about it, but the pictures come out nice. We want them to have good memories to look back on.” She stuck out her hand. “Paris.”

  “Belle,” I replied. “Can you tell me more about the children who live here?”

  “Love to. Our kids range from six to thirteen years old. That’s as old or young as are allowed to live here.”

  “Where do they go when they turn fourteen?”

  “If they aren’t living with a family by then, we have a sister home for fourteen- to eighteen-year-olds.”

  I ran my finger down a dusty frame. “And are there kids who aren’t adopted by then?”

  “Yes, sadly, there are.”

  “Did all these little ones lose their parents?”

  Paris inclined her head. “Some did. Some were taken from them by child services. Others, a small few, were sent here by their guardians. Citrine House is a therapeutic home. We address all of our kids’ needs—including mental.”

  “Therapeutic home. By that you mean children who’ve experienced trauma.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  My heart constricted imagining what these kids had gone through. “Will you be here all day?”

  “My shift ends at seven.”

  “Okay. I have to go, but I’ll find you before we leave. I want to make a donation.”

  “You do? That’s wonderful. Any amount is appreciated.”

  I drifted to the scores of faceless children. “No, I’m the one who appreciates it. Thanks, Paris.”

  She pointed me to the back door. The home’s play yard was something to envy. Jungle gym, trampoline, life-size fire engine, bike pavilion, and black turf where a few of the younger girls made chalk creations.

  “Belle! Belle!” The cannonballs came racing toward me. “Preston says you’re going to play with us.” I spotted him pulling up the rear.

  “Preston is right. Have you ever played Mother Nature?”

  “No, what’s that?” asked one of the girls.

  “It’s like Simon Says, but we only do what Mother Nature does.”

  “That sounds weird,” she stated.


  “It’s Preston’s favorite game.”

  “Okay, let’s play.”

  “What are we playing?” he whispered in my ear.

  “Just follow my lead.”

  Twenty minutes in, he was regretting not taking off when he had the chance.

  “Mother Nature sends a tornado! Tornado!” I cried. “Faster, faster, faster!”

  Whirls of greens, browns, and reds. My hands whipped overhead, taken along as I spun faster and faster. The children shrieked, whipping around like tops. Preston’s bit-off curses added to their enjoyment.

  “Mother Nature sends an earthquake!” I jerked and shook like a backup dancer in a music video. The kids howled as they stumbled around bumping into each other.

  Preston tripped. “Shit!” He fell flat back at my feet. “What happened to tag? Or hide-and-seek?”

  “Can’t handle it?”

  “Nope.” He held out a hand for me to help him up.

  “You’re not playing anymore, Preston?” Elise asked. You would’ve thought he was taking away her puppy from that pout.

  “I’m going to get us something to drink. Apple, orange, and grape juice all around.” Preston winked. “Ladies, don’t you get any more adorable while I’m gone. I’m serious about that.”

  Now they were stumbling around giggling for another reason.

  Buckle up, girls. Their siren powers have a stronger effect the older you get.

  “I’ll help you,” Nikki offered.

  Preston let her hop on his back and the two raced off.

  “We’re about to answer one of the top questions on a potential fiancé’s mind. How are they with kids?”

  Preston was amazing with them. Sweet, funny, and patient. He knew their names and shared inside jokes with more than a few of them. That kind of thing came from regular visits outside of the marriage camp held every three years at the cove.

  He spent zero minutes flirting with me and focused his attention on the kids. I couldn’t say if Rosalie had an underlying motive or what it was, but today was the first day I was glad to have come to the cove.

  Preston and Nikki returned with the juice. We made a spot under a tree and sipped our cool treat. Preston stretched out next to me, pressing his back to the bark.

  “How often do you volunteer here?” I asked.

  “A lot. My family comes over every winter to escape the cold. We celebrate Christmas here with the kids.”

  “You do? Every year?”

  “Every year.”

  Preston wiped a bead of sweat running down my temple. My pulse picked up speed at the casually intimate act. He didn’t mind my sweat on him. Didn’t care about the dirt stains on my skirt or my flushed cheeks. It suddenly occurred to me that our make-up-sex clock was spinning faster.

  “Means a lot to my mom,” Preston continued, dragging me back to the present. “She lived in this home for a year.”

  “She did? But...”

  “My mom and uncle were adopted by Freya and Christopher Desai.”

  I tried to keep the surprise off my face. I hoped I succeeded. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Most don’t but it’s not a secret. They adopted them when she was seven and Uncle Gabriel was six. Of course there are people in the community who knew they didn’t have children before then,” he said. “It was during one of the summers my grandmother was hosting the event that she added volunteering to the schedule. She came here, met them, and the rest was history.”

  “Huh. I guess it makes sense why upholding this legacy means so much to her. It gave her a family.”

  “I think about that too,” he said, turning his face to the rays breaking through the leaves. “How different things could have been? If Mom bounced around in the system. If Gran and Gramps hadn’t sent her back here to meet Dad. If her teacher hadn’t reported her suspicions and my mom wasn’t taken from the piece of shit who abused her.

  “I wouldn’t be here. You and I wouldn’t be sitting under this tree right now,” he said. “It’s crazy how many random events and spur-of-the-moment decisions determine your life. At some point you have to accept you don’t control the outcome.”

  A heavy weight settled on my chest. “No one wants to admit that, do they? But it’s true.” Mal slipped through my mind. “If it was up to me, my life would be very different.”

  “You wouldn’t be at the cove.”

  “That too.”

  “You wouldn’t have met me again at the reception,” he went on. “We wouldn’t have done things I can’t mention in front of children, and we wouldn’t be semi-dating. Maybe it’s a good thing we can’t control everything.”

  “Good for who?”

  “You’re not fooling me.” Preston took a noisy slurp of his juice. “I know how sirens like you operate. Proximity to your victims is how you reel them in. You wouldn’t be talking and spending time with me if I wasn’t next.”

  I goggled at him. “I’m not a— It’s you who is—”

  “You’re the worst of us all,” he said seriously. “There’s a price for being more beautiful than anyone has a right to be, and from the busted nose, trouble with my boys, and enraged soon-to-be fiancée, I’m paying it.”

  “All right, you want tag? We’ll play tag. Preston’s it!”

  The kids were on their feet in a blink. A howling Preston chased us across the yard. I tore for the fire engine. Ducking behind the ladder, I shouted his defeat.

  “Belle, over here.” Nick grabbed my arm pulling me after him. I twisted and jerked to a stop.

  A lone person stood on the other side of the fence, watching us. They were too far to make out a face, but the shape and build of a man was obvious.

  “One second, sweetie,” I said as I slipped out of his grasp.

  I walked, then jogged, then tore across the playground. “Hey!” I shouted. “Hey, you!”

  The man started. He bolted a few feet and skidded to a stop, wheeling around at my cries.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he panted. “I wasn’t doing anything, I swear. Just looking.” The man who was definitely not Mal, disguised or otherwise, put his hands up like I’d arrest him. “I haven’t seen my daughter in months. I swear I just wanted to see her. I wasn’t going to talk to her.”

  “I, uh— I don’t know anything about that, sir. Sorry I scared you.” I retreated, clutching my thudding chest. “I thought you were someone else.”

  The guy took the reprieve and jogged off. I watched him go, struggling to calm down and not to see Mal in the curious onlookers passing by.

  “Belle,” Preston called. “Are you okay?”

  “No,” I whispered.

  He couldn’t have heard me, but thumping footfalls followed my answer. A hand laced through mine.

  “Was it a parent?” he asked. “They hang around sometimes, but the kids are safe. Don’t worry.” Preston grunted as my grip turned strangling. “Belle?”

  One tug and I fell onto him, sinking into a hug. I clung to Preston. My head tucked under his chin and my banging heart beat on his. Slow circles impressed on my back. He comforted me though he didn’t know why.

  “Why do you have to marry Delilah?”

  He stilled. “It’s complicated.”

  “It’s not, Preston. Tell me why.”

  “I mean it’s legally complicated. I want to tell you, but I couldn’t do it here and you can’t repeat it to anyone. Does that sound like a mess you want to get into for a guy you want only for his body?”

  “What if I want more than that?” I hugged him tighter. “Tell me what I’m up against, Preston.”

  “Nothing for what if.” His voice was rough. Hard. “No maybes. No possiblys. Do you want more, Belle?”

  “I—”

  “Oooooh.”

  My eyes snapped open.

  “Preston has a giiiirrrrlfriend.”

  Preston recovered fast. “Say it to my face, Nikki.”

  She ran over, bold as ever, and Preston flashed out. “Tag, you�
�re it.”

  Nikki beat it with her friends fleeing in every direction, leaving us alone.

  “Yes,” I said clearly. “I want more.”

  “Tonight. We’ll talk tonight.” Preston took hold of my hand, tugging me along. “Come on. I’ll give you a tour of the place.”

  “Is that code for take me to a secret spot to make out?”

  “There you go again. You are bad, siren girl. So, so bad.”

  “Oh, you have no idea.”

  AFTER THE TOUR, WE ran around with the kids for another hour and tired them out. They broke to clean up and then we met up in the dining room for tacos. I heeded Delilah’s glare and sat between Zion and Mila. Better to find out just what I was up against before I took her on.

  That was the plan anyway.

  Delilah pulled up a chair at our table and shot daggers at me the whole way through. The good news was she didn’t attempt another food fight.

  Near the end of the day, I ducked out while the children and volunteers were absorbed in a movie. Mrs. Desai stood near the back speaking with Mrs. Figg in low tones.

  “Mrs. Desai?”

  “Yes, Belle?”

  “I know we’re heading out soon. I’m going to talk to Paris about giving a donation. If it takes a while, don’t leave without me.”

  Her face lit up. “Of course we won’t, Belle. We can wait for as long as you need.”

  I turned to go.

  “Thank you.”

  Tossing a smile over my shoulder, I said, “No one likes a penny-pinching, uncharitable asshole, right?”

  “I said apathetic,” she returned, smile tugging at her lips.

  “Yeah, but you wanted to say asshole.”

  Her laugh trailed me out of the room.

  I tracked down Paris at the front desk and she took me into the office. It was a clutter of papers, files, and picture frames piled on top of two desks and half of a couch. She motioned for me to sit on the free half.

  “We accept checks or direct deposit. Whichever is easier for you.”

  “I can do direct deposit.” I fished out my phone. “I’m just going to call my mom.”

  “Sure.” Paris handed me a sheet of paper detailing the donation process. “I’ll give you some privacy.”