Beauty’s Beast
Stasia Black
Lee Savino
Copyright © 2020 by Stasia Black and Lee Savino
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Also by Stasia Black
Also by Lee Savino
About Stasia Black
About Lee Savino
One
Daphne
I scrub my eyes as I jog up the stairs after another exhaustive session down in the lab. Still no breakthroughs.
I circle around to my desk. Maybe if I just resequence the—
But then I freeze.
A single red rose is waiting for me on my computer keyboard. I approach my desk carefully, looking around.
But there’s no one in this part of the building. No secretary or gatekeeper to witness a random rose delivery. Nothing but the normal hum of machines from the offices down the hall.
Except for the rose.
My desk looks the same—stacks of paper, lab reports in white binders, budget reports in green ones. My stomach gives a growl. I haven’t eaten anything but a granola bar at some point during the night. What time is it? I’ve been down in the lab for who knows how long. It’s easy to lose track of time down there.
My hunger can wait. I circle my desk and settle into my chair, leaning down to study the rose as if it’s something other than a pretty blossom—something dangerous, like a bomb.
But it’s just a rose. There’s no note, no hint of who sent it.
Just like last year, and the year before, and every year since my eighteenth birthday.
I roll the stem between my thumb and forefinger. When I can’t wait any longer, I bring the bright red bloom to my face and drink in the sweet perfume.
Most store-bought roses have no scent. They’ve been bred over the years for appearance instead of fragrance. But this rose is different.
This rose grew in a garden.
“Rosa x hybrida,” I murmur the Latin name. The thick rosette petals are like a fancy lady’s ball gown and petticoats. Definitely a hybrid bloom.
“Daphne?” my assistant Rachel calls.
“In here,” I call, without pulling the rose from my face.
“How did I know I’d find you here or down in your hermit hole?” Rachel walks in, her eyes glued to her tablet. In her white skirt suit with her blonde hair in an elegant chignon, she looks more like a CEO than I do. The pen tucked behind her ear only makes her more official.
“Okay, because I know you won’t let it rest till I update you, I sent the board the updated merger packet, but I still need—” She finally looks up and stops talking when she sees me pressing the rose to my face. “Is that…?”
I nod.
Her posture softens, her face registering sympathy. She’s one of the few people who knows about the mysterious yearly rose delivery and the event it marks. “Oh, Daphne. Is it today? I thought it was last week.”
“No, you’re right, it was Wednesday. You arranged the bouquet to be delivered, right?” I must look ridiculous, sitting at my desk in my lab coat, sniffing a rose. I briskly stack a few papers on my desk.
Rachel nods. “A dozen white roses. I had them delivered directly to Thornhill. Are you going to visit?”
“Not this year.” It hurts to even say it. Who doesn’t have time to go visit their own mother’s grave? I tap the desk, my fingers itching to pick up the rose again. I grab a tiny origami swan off my desk instead—a gift from one of the many Battleman’s patients who are counting on my research.
“I don’t have time. I would’ve gone Wednesday, but I had to prepare for the meeting with the board. I’m already on thin ice with them.”
Not that the meeting went well.
“What time is it?” I change the subject. My eyes are too tired to check a clock.
“Three in the afternoon. On Saturday.”
“What?” I whip off my glasses and grind the heel of my free hand into my eye socket, trying to get rid of the gritty feeling. “Really? When did that happen?”
“It’s a result of the earth rotating combined with its position relative to the sun.” Her tone is perfectly dry. “Happens approximately every twenty-four hours.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “You promised me you would stop working through the night.”
“I wanted to put the results of my latest experiment into a report for the board. Show them how much progress we’ve made…”
“Daphne, you can’t keep doing this. I know you’re a genius and all, but you’re not Super Woman.”
“I slept a little. I think.” I stretch my neck to the side and rotate my shoulder. My muscles creak and crunch in protest. Pretty sad for a twenty-six year, almost twenty-seven year old. “And I’m not a genius.”
Rachel snorts.
I narrow my eyes at her. “Wait, if it’s Saturday, why are you here?”
“To get you ready.”
I yawn and stretch my arms above my head. “Ready for what?”
She raises a brow. “The Autumn Gala.”
I groan and let my head fall back on my chair. “Oh shit, that’s tonight. I completely forgot.”
“You’re going through a lot.” She picks up an old newspaper off my desk and makes a face at it before tossing it into the trash. “I wouldn’t bug you about this but—”
“No, no, I’m glad you’re bugging me. I have to go to the gala.”
“Donations from the Ubeli foundation are still a significant part of our R&D budget,” Rachel recites. “Without the Ubeli’s generosity, Belladonna would’ve shut down year one.”
“I know, I know.” I stand and stretch. “I’ve been going to these since I was a teen.” A gangly, awkward girl, out of her depth among the glamour and glitter of the highest echelons of New Olympus society.
Ten years hasn’t changed much. I’m taller. And still can’t wear heels for shit. “Oh gods, how am I going to get through this?”
“It’ll be fine. Cora Ubeli likes you.”
“Cora Ubeli is the supreme ruler of high society. She’ll be surrounded by people. And I usually go there with Dad.” This is the first year I’ll be alone.
Rachel picks up the rose and toys with it. “Maybe you’ll meet…” she deepens her voice playfully. “your secret admirer.”
“I do not have a secret admirer.”
“Then who sent this beautiful rose?”
My chair creaks as I sink into it. “Probably my dad.”
“I thought you asked your dad if it was him and he vehemently denied it.”
“Yeah, well, of course,” I roll my eyes.
Rachel
points the rose at me. “Dr. Laurel is a genius, but he can’t lie worth a damn. If he said it wasn’t him, then it’s someone else.”
“Like who?” Locked doors and tight security don’t deter the annual delivery. Last year I even checked the delivery records and the security cameras in the lobby. Nothing. Whoever left the rose snuck in and out of the building like a ghost.
She flashes her eyebrows. “Adam Archer.”
“No.” I pretend to organize a pile of papers on my desk, but my cheeks are two Bunsen burners.
“He wants in your pants,” she singsongs, switching seamlessly from Rachel The Very Professional Executive Assistant to Rachel The Teasing Matchmaking Friend.
“Adam Archer does not want me like that,” I wave a hand. “Adam is…” I shake my head. “He’s just an old friend. The only thing he’s interested in is the business merger. That’s the only reason we’ve been spending more time together lately.”
“Friends don’t look at friends like he looks at you.”
“He’s like an older brother.” A smoking hot, unrelated, older brother—but seriously, it’s not like that. “He’s known me since I was a girl. He doesn’t like me. Not that way.” I push back a stray lock of my hair.
Rachel scoffs. “I’m pretty sure he does. He’s asked you out several times.”
“Those are working lunches.”
“And dinners. He also took you to the aquarium. And the symphony.”
“That was a good opportunity to network. Some of the board was there, too.”
She narrows her eyes. “Would it be so terrible if he was into you? He’s pretty hot. New Olympus’ Most Eligible Bachelor like five years in a row. Plus he’s heir to the Archer fortune.”
“I just…well, he’s him. And I’m…” My hands flutter helplessly. “I’m me.”
“And you’re fabulous.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m a good researcher. Not so great at anything else.”
“Not true,” Rachel says gently. “I know you’re inexperienced when it comes to men.”
“Understatement of the year,” I snort. “I’ve never been on a date.” Never even been kissed.
“You’ve never realized you’ve been on a date,” she corrects. “There’s a difference. Because I’m pretty sure all these outings with Adam count as dates. He’s just such a gentleman, he’s taking it slow.”
“Do you really think he’s…into me?” Into me? Do they even say that any more? Kill me now, I sound like a teenager. Which, okay, socially, I am. But really, I can’t even wrap my head around what she’s suggesting. I spent all my early teens studying, not partying. I got into college early and threw myself into a research path as soon as humanly possible, following in the footsteps of my brilliant father.
“Why don’t you meet with him tonight and ask him? He wanted to know if you were coming. He had his office call.”
I flush even hotter and shuffle some papers on my desk. “He probably wants to discuss the merger.”
“Maybe he does. Or maybe he’s interested in ‘merging’ in more ways than one.” She hops off the desk and shimmies her hips, singing, “bow chicka wow wow.”
“La la la, I can’t hear you.” I laugh, covering my ears. Then I close my eyes as she continues grinding. “Or see you.”
She smacks me on the shoulder and I drop my hands. “You know you love me.”
I roll my eyes. She’s right, though, I do. Even when she’s Rachel The Tease. “I don’t have time to date.”
“Okay, okay.” She holds up her hands. “I’m just saying. You’ll have friends there. I know you don’t realize it, but you have people who care about you. You don’t have to do this all alone.”
I nod and plaster on a smile. I appreciate the sentiment. I really do. But she doesn’t know what it was like growing up the way I did. My life has never been normal and I accepted it a long time ago.
“That reminds me,” Rachel goes to the mini fridge and starts rummaging. “Your father sent something for your costume.” She wrinkles her nose and pulls out a crown of glossy dark green leaves. “What is this?”
“A laurel wreath.” I smile. “Dad usually wears it. Laurel leaves for Dr. Laurel—get it?”
“No, I would never have gotten that,” she deadpans.
I laugh at her sarcasm. “I guess he wants me to wear it for him. And it’s a quarter to four which means I have three hours to get ready.” I scrub at my aching eyes. “This is going to take a miracle.”
“Fortunately, you have me. Today, I’m your fairy godmother. And we have no time to lose.” She claps her hands. “You shower. I’ll make you tea. Don’t bother drying your hair. The stylist will be here in twenty minutes. When he’s done, I’ll do your makeup.”
“Sounds good.” I yawn.
“Oh don’t do that, you’ll make me tired, too. Now, you told me you already got a costume to wear?”
“Yes! I had a dress custom made.” I walk to my small closet at the back of my office and open the cabinet with a flourish.
Rachel’s mouth drops open. “What. The. Hell. Is. That?”
Two
Beast
I sip from my champagne glass and narrow my eyes at the ballroom before me.
The bubbles explode on my tongue and I want to spit the liquid out on the floor at the glittering high heels of a passing socialite. She glides by, joining a group of others just like her: beautiful people dressed in expensive finery.
I used to think these people were merely vapid and useless. Now I know the truth. No one who can afford to be in this fucking room is blameless. The rich and powerful became that way by stepping on the necks of the less fortunate.
The place is huge—a cavernous ballroom laid out under several story high columns. The room is full with a vast and glimmering sea of people, each new face more beautiful and powerful than the last.
Once, I bought into it. Less than a decade ago, I came to a function a lot like this, so full of a young man’s idealism. My whole life ahead of me.
All those dreams are bitter ash in my mouth now.
Who I was doesn’t matter anymore.
Only who I am now.
Tonight, I begin. I will re-balance the scales of justice. I guard the entrance to the ball, still as a gargoyle. No one looks my way as I study them through the eye holes in my mask.
Everyone’s wearing masks tonight. The rich and famous pretend to be gods, their hypocrisy and arrogance never more fully on display. And I’ll beat them at their own game. I won’t lie or cheat or try to manipulate.
I’ll be exactly what I am.
The monster they made me.
A trio of women dressed as Muses openly stare at me. I glare in their direction; they turn away, their laughter giddy as champagne bubbles. An insipid chorus, the perfect soundtrack for this awful event.
Then I see her. Dr. Laurel’s brilliant daughter.
She’s more beautiful than ever. Her skin is so radiant and flushed with youth. Even from across the room, her eyes sparkle. She’s full of life and mine have never been more of a mockery than in this moment.
My hands ball into fists even as I wonder:
Did she like my rose?
Three
Daphne
Every year, the rich and famous of New Olympus gather at the Parthenon for the Autumn Gala. Every year—but one—I’ve dressed up like a princess and floated up the red carpet on my father’s arm, only to spend the night lurking next to the wall. The perpetual wallflower.
The spacious ballroom is full with a vast and glimmering sea of people, each new face more beautiful and powerful than the last.
My stomach roils. Should’ve eaten more. I lean against a gigantic column bathed in green light, doing my best impersonation of a wallflower. Just part of the scenery.
“Quite a sight, aren’t they?” a smooth voice murmurs in my ear. I nearly leap out of my skin, whirling to face the suave-looking gentleman who emerges from the shadows. His face is handsome, striking, with
warm, tan skin and dark brows. His mask is no more than a thin black ribbon, the perfect setting for his black eyes.
“W-what?” I stutter.
“The constellations.” Without looking away, he sweeps a hand at the ceiling. I look up and my mouth drops open. The entire ceiling is swathed in dark blue fabric dotted with tiny lights meant to resemble stars. “A clever use of fairy lights.”
He studies the ceiling, his profile limned in shadow. He’s prettier than I am. Most of the men here are.
I steady myself. I belong here, just the same as him. Even if I don’t feel like it. “It’s beautiful.”
“Worth the thousand dollar ticket?” He raises a brow.
I narrow my eyes. “I know you.” The name flashes in my memory. “Armand!” I’ve met the flashy spa magnate several times at galas like these. He’s close friends with the Ubelis. Stylish, charming, and usually up to mischief of some sort or other if the rumors can be believed.
“The one and only.” He bows.
“You haven’t changed a bit,” I blurt, then wince, wishing I could control my mouth. But he only laughs.
“Thank you, darling. You know how to flatter a guy.”
“It’s true.” He looks the same as he always has, other than a touch of grey at his temples. “Not everyone can pull off a jacket like that.”
“Shall I return the favor? Not everyone can pull off a…shall we call it a dress? like that. Now who or what are you supposed to be?” He pulls out a monocle and peers through it, studying me like a strange bug under a magnifying glass. “Green fabric with brown at the edges. And is that…bark on your bodice?”
Beauty’s Beast Page 1