by Linda Kage
When I stepped inside and saw her sitting on the sofa, staring at the bookshelves we’d made together, my breath caught in my throat.
My legs suddenly went shaky.
So I hobbled the last few feet forward and sat next to her on the couch. She didn’t acknowledge me but she knew I was there. I licked my lips and glanced around at the library, remembering all the work we’d put into it, all the hours we’d spent together, getting to know each other, falling for each other. And I was freshly amazed by how good of a job we’d done. We made an excellent team. We could make an excellent team for a long time to come if we were willing to try.
And it just so happened I was.
“It’s strange to think this room looked totally different only a few months ago. Feels like years ago.”
Isobel nodded slowly. “It does,” she agreed quietly.
Reaching out, I took her hand without looking at her. Her fingers wrapped around mine before she squeezed lightly. I squeezed back.
Finally, she said, “What’re you doing here?”
“I’m here because you’re here.”
“But…” She shook her head. “How can you ever forgive me?”
I shrugged. “How can I not? I love you. Love forgives. It works through problems. And it stays.”
“Oh God.” She began to sob, her shoulders shaking, chest heaving, and tears pouring. “I love you, too.”
I pulled her into my arms. She curled onto my lap and cried into my shoulder, gripping me as if she’d never let me go again. I hoped she didn’t.
“I missed you,” I admitted into her hair.
She sniffed and nodded. “I missed you too.” Hiding her face as if ashamed to face me, she added, “I don’t deserve this. You…you shouldn’t forgive me. You have every right to hate me. I—”
“Shh.” I stroked her hair. “I could never hate you. Besides, you did nothing wrong.”
“I believed her. Then I refused to get the truth from you. If only—”
“If only,” I cut in. “Jesus, there are a million if onlys I could’ve done to prevent any of this from happening in the first place. It’s enough to drive me insane. But none of that matters because it’s over and done, in the past now. We found our way back together and that’s all that counts.”
“But you had to deal with your mom’s death alone. You had to…you had no one.”
“Do I have you now?” I asked. “Will you help me through it now?”
She pulled back to look up at my face. Tears clogged her long lashes. “Of course.”
I smiled. “Good. That’s what I want too. We’ll deal with the rest as it comes.”
“I love you,” she breathed.
And the world was back to where it should be.
EPILOGUE
The bell over the door of Rosewood dinged, alerting me to the entrance of another customer. I smiled even as I lifted my face to greet the new arrival, only for my grin to stretch wider when I recognized him.
“Hey, it’s Cinderella.”
Ezra’s eyes narrowed as he strolled inside. “That’s still the lamest comeback ever.”
I shrugged. “Hey, if the shoe fits…” Then I pointed and started laughing at my own corny pun.
His glare was dry as dust. “You are so not amusing. I’m seriously thinking about sending my sister to a psychiatrist for falling for an idiot like you.”
“What can I say? Love doesn’t care about brain capacity.” Then I sent him a wink. “Which means there’s still hope for you too, buddy.”
He sighed. “Just tell me where my sister is.”
“I’m right here.” Isobel emerged from the door behind the counter that led into her workroom. “I could hear you two bickering all the way from the back.”
Nearly three months had passed since my mother’s funeral. It’d been enough time for all of Isobel’s roses to grow back and for her to build up the nerve to try reentering society again to open her business. What I hadn’t counted on was for her to suggest we turn Rosewood into a flower slash custom woodworking shop. Now, along with selling flowers, we built shelves and tables and other assorted woodworks customers requested.
We’d also cleaned out the rooms above the shop and turned it into an apartment where we were currently living together. Henry had grumbled about Isobel moving out, but honestly, we loved it. It might’ve been a step down for her—er, make that about fifty steps down—but it was pretty much happily ever after for the two of us together. I went to bed deliriously happy each night and woke up just as pleased, with Isobel secure in my arms. And from the grin she sent me every time our gazes met, I’d say she was just as content.
As soon as I saved enough money, I was buying her a ring and asking her to marry me.
“So, what’s going on?” Isobel asked as she stopped beside me and rested her cheek on my shoulder. I wrapped an arm around her waist, enjoying her warmth and proximity.
Ezra sighed as if dissatisfied with life, then he moodily picked a leaf off a nearby rose plant that was for sale. “Nothing,” he mumbled. “I just needed to see my little sister and de-stress.”
Isobel glanced worriedly at me before turning back to him. “The wicked witch…again?”
He rolled his eyes. “Always.”
“What’d she do this time?”
“What didn’t she do would be a better question.” He took a moment to watch me and Isobel together, his gaze lingering on my hand that stroked lazily up and down her arm. Then he blinked and focused on our faces. “You remember that Halloween party I wanted to throw for all my employees? The one that’s this weekend?”
Isobel and I nodded. He’d only mentioned it every time we talked to him for the past month.
“Yeah. Well, she called both the caterer and band, and canceled them. Just this morning.”
“What?” Isobel set a hand on her chest. “Oh my God, why would she do that?”
“Because she’s evil,” he enunciated. “Pure, unadulterated evil. It took me two hours to find a DJ and another caterer to replace them at the last minute. The party’s in three days. Three days! It cost me four times their regular rates to do a last-minute job like this.”
“Wow. That’s pretty cold,” I admitted.
“Cold!” he exploded. “It’s downright heartless. I can’t put up with her much longer. If I have to keep working with her, I’m just going to…” He shook his head and seemed to deflate. “I don’t even know. I want to throw my hands up and call it quits, have Dad sell out our portion of the company, but then I think of all the employees stuck there with her, and I can’t leave them to handle it alone. I almost think they need me there more than anyone else to keep battling her on their behalf.”
I lifted my brows at such a dramatic proclamation. Then I glanced at Isobel to see if I was the only one who thought he was being a little bit too intense. When I found her glancing back with her eyebrows raised, we both burst into laughter.
Ezra huffed and glared at us. “What?” he demanded.
“They need you?” Isobel repeated before snickering. “Wow, bro. We didn’t realize you were such a superhero. Should we buy you a cape and tights to go with that complex?”
“Oh, shut up,” he mumbled moodily, tugging at his tie. “If you worked there, you’d understand.”
Feeling pity for the guy, since he was clearly at the end of his rope, I patted his arm. “Don’t give up yet, man. I have a good feeling about this. If you stick it out just a little longer, I think you’ll realize it was worth the effort.” Because it usually was. I only had to glance toward Isobel to reaffirm that.
“I hope you’re right,” he said, even though he eyed me as if he totally disagreed.
Isobel opened her mouth to put in her opinion, but the bell above Rosewood dinged again, admitting a new customer.
Even though we’d only been open a month, the guy who entered was a regular. He always ordered three white roses and an apology note for us to deliver to his girlfriend, who worked down the
street at the coffee shop.
The three of us hanging out at the counter watched him meander through the woodworking portion of the store first, checking out a quilt rack, then a wooden chessboard table. I have no idea why he always browsed that area before moving to the flowers when he bought the same thing every time he came in. I guessed some habits were hard to break.
“I think that customer’s for you, Hollander,” Ezra said quietly, motioning for me to approach the man and do my job.
But Isobel shook her head. “Nah. He’s here for some flowers.”
Her brother lifted his eyebrows. “Oh, you think, huh? Looks like he’s interested in the woodworking side to me.”
She blinked at him before sniffing. “He’s here for the flowers.”
Ezra narrowed his eyes. “I bet he’s not.”
“Oh, you are on,” Isobel hissed. “What’re the stakes?”
Ezra shrugged. “A grand?” he suggested, looking completely sure of himself.
I opened my mouth to warn him not to be so cocky, only to get Isobel’s elbow thrust in my side, shutting me up.
Then she wrinkled her nose at her brother. “Oh, no, no, no. It can’t be a monetary amount. That’s no fun. It has to be something humiliating or—ooh! I got it. If I win, I get to decide what costume you’re going to wear to your company’s Halloween party.”
Ezra sniffed. “Yeah, right. No dice.”
“Wow, you must really think you’re going to lose,” she taunted.
His eyes narrowed. “Fine. You’re on. And if I win, you have to work out here in the front—with all the customers—for a week straight.”
What Ezra didn’t know was that Isobel came out of the back quite frequently. At least once a day. And there was always a customer around when she did it. She was doing so well about not letting her scars hold her back any longer, she didn’t need her brother to prod her into the open.
But I kept my trap shut because I already knew my girl was going to win this bet. And she did too. She sent me a glance and we shared a brief knowing look before she turned back to Ezra. “Deal.”
He looked smug as he held out a hand for her to shake. But then Isobel looked pretty damn smug too.
Grinning, she turned to me. “So…what embarrassing outfit should we make him wear to the party?”
I smirked, catching Ezra’s eye. “Oh, I know the perfect costume for him.”
Cinderella’s face blanched when he realized exactly what I was thinking. “No,” he flat-out begged. “Please, God. No.
Which, to Isobel and me, meant oh hell, yes. This was going to be fun.
the
END
Next in the Fairy Tale Quartet
KISSING THE BOSS
A Cinderella Story
behind
MONSTER AMONG THE ROSES
INSPIRATION
for Porter Hall, Residence of Entrepreneur Henry Nash:
At the time of writing this story, a very real place called Chestnut Hall Estates was on the market for sale in Georgia for a cool $48 million. http://www.priceypads.com/chestnut-hall-48000000/# This 17,000 square feet of living space boasted of sitting on 18 acres of land, but it was the collection of artifacts that came with the house that made it so pricey. Some of the statues came from a garden in Versailles. It contained a chandelier from the Civil War era, which brought about the idea of the chandelier in my fictitious Porter Hall coming from a mansion in France that was confiscated from the Gestapo in World War II. Also in Chestnut Hall, there was a bronze eagle from Benito Mussolini. So I stuck that statue in my Porter Hall as well. Shaw helped Constance move it across the hallway to preserve the carpet.
INSPIRATION
for Isobel’s Rose Garden:
All I knew when I started writing was that I wanted her rose garden to be connected to the main house and I would love it to look like a gazebo-shaped greenhouse. When I came across this conservatory on Tanglewood Conservatories of Denton, Maryland from an online search, I knew it was Isobel’s garden. They converted an old carriage house into a glasshouse. At the time I wrote this, the inspiration for Isobel’s garden was #7 in their conservatories portfolio. http://tanglewoodconservatories.com/our-portfolio/modern
INSPIRATION
for the Rock Cave Pool House:
When I did a search of pool houses so I could describe the one at Porter Hall, I hadn’t originally intended to make it a rock cave until I came across this one: http://ricorock.com/project/residential-custom-rock-work-virginia/ From that point on, the Porter Hall pool house could be nothing else. Note: I’m not sure if there is actually a bedroom in the real rock cave pool house. I’m guessing no.
THE TABLE
Henry David Thoreau’s writing table:
The writing table mentioned in the story is an actual thing. It really is green and looks as if it could fall apart any moment. In the story, Isobel told Shaw her father bought it from the Pratchett Museum, which is a fictitious place. As far as I know, the Concord Museum currently has possession of the table. http://www.concordmuseum.org/assets/4.thoreau_desk.jpg
THE PAINTING
Iron Mill in The Hague by Vincent van Gogh:
This painting is a real thing. http://vggallery.com/misc/auctions.htm It appears the painting was last up for auction in 2007 and was sold for a steal, only 321,600 pounds in London. And if you’ve never seen the painting of van Gogh’s bedroom, here’s a replica to help you envision what the room looked like: https://news.artnet.com/app/news-upload/2016/02/van-gogh-bedroom-01-1200x471.jpg
NAMES IN THE STORY:
You can probably tell most of the names were adapted from the Disney version of Beauty and the Beast. Belle became Isobel, Gaston equals Gloria, Lumiere turned into Lewis. Mrs. Potts became Mrs. Pan, Cogsworth to Constance, and I originally had Chip becoming Charlie, but I liked how Kip rhymed with Chip. Except Kip was so close to Kit, and Kit Harrington is my absolute favorite actor on the show Game of Thrones, so that is how Kit got his name.
Shaw…who knows where Shaw came from! I just liked it. I have this strange compulsion to write enough heroes that I cover every letter in the alphabet. And I noticed I hadn’t yet written a hero whose name started with S, so to me, this meant his name had to start with an S! He could’ve very easily been Sam or Sebastian or Scully, but for some reason, I went with Shaw.
I can tell you where the name Hollander came from, though. At some point, I was going to have Shaw and Isobel have a conversation where Shaw talked about his great-grandfather, Gene, who survived the Holocaust. I wanted his surname to be authentic, so I searched for names of Holocaust survivors, until I found a Eugene Hollander who wrote the book From the Hell of the Holocaust: A Survivor’s Story. I ended up not writing that actual conversation in the book, but that is how I arrived at the name Shaw Hollander, nonetheless! It’s strange how my mind works, isn’t it?
ROSES:
I had to do a little research about roses because, like Shaw, I knew nothing. My goal was to name a really rare rose for Isobel to grow, and that’s how I came across the name of the “Midnight Supreme Rose Bush” online. The seeds were for sale, and they were supposed to grow black roses with blue tips. That sounded pretty rare—and cool—to me, so I put them into the story…only to find out with a tad more research that black roses with blue tips were a fraud, because they didn’t even exist! Gasp, I know! The nerve of them to fool me like that. I then stumbled across this color wheel guide for roses: http://www.rosefile.com/RosePages/ColorsOfTheRose.html so I could learn what possible colors roses really could be. Still feeling deceived, I did a little more research to learn if you could even grow roses from seeds (I know that was a silly worry! I mean, how would any rose get here if at least one didn’t originally come from some seed?), and that’s where I learned about something called stratification to get a rose seed to take root. I did cheat a little on that part, though. Rose seeds really need to be in their cold/wet stratification treatment for four to sixteen weeks, and I don’t think Isob
el’s rose seeds stratified that long before the baby roses bloomed. I’m such a cheater. Anywho…instead of taking out the fake “Midnight Supreme Rose Bush,” I decided to make it Shaw’s goof as well, which steered the story in the direction it ended up going!
BURN SURVIVORS:
I wasn’t accurate on everything Isobel went through. Aside from hearing problems, she probably would have suffered from vision problems too, and some scarred lungs as well as larynx issues, which would probably change her voice. There might also be the possibility of complications bearing children in the future due to all the chest x-rays and medications she would’ve had to take. If you want to read some accurate accounts of amazing real people who not only survived burn wounds but went on to do great things helping others, here’s a good place to go: https://www.phoenix-society.org/stories. You can learn about the man trapped in a burning nightclub under piles of people, who had to dig his way out, only to get hit on the head by a metal beam and yet still managed to find the exit through the smoke and flames. Or the soldier in Iraq who was conscious the whole time his hands were being burned after his convoy drove over a land mine. He went on to be a runner, just like Isobel. But mostly, you’ll learn the support a burn survivor can receive is vast and wonderful, and no one has to go through the years of seclusion that Isobel did. You can always find someone willing to help you if you seek it.
THE FAIRY TALE:
I wanted to learn a couple of the most original versions of Beauty and the Beast before writing the book, but it was impossible to pin down where the story originated! The best answer is eighteenth-century France. Some people say the earliest version came from Charles Perrault (who died in 1703), while some say Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve wrote it in 1740. In one version, Beauty was the youngest of six children. In another version, she was the youngest of three. But in most versions, the Beast caught someone stealing a rose, so I knew that had to stay.
I believe the 1946 movie adaptation came up with Avenant, a villain who wanted to kill the Beast, instead of Beauty’s sisters being the evil culprits. Disney turned Avenant into Gaston, and that’s where I came up with Gloria. It seemed crazy for my Gloria to attempt to physically kill my Beast (Isobel), but I thought she could definitely kill Isobel’s spirit, so that’s what she did.