The Beast: A Wicked Villains Novel by Katee Robert

Author:Katee Robert [Robert, Katee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Trinkets and Tales LLC
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Isabelle

I’m a disaster. A shower helps clear my head, but Gaeton’s not set up for anyone but him. And Gaeton does not use makeup, hair products, or own so much as a hairbrush. I’m left to finger comb my wet hair and braid it back from my face. I don’t know that I’ll be able to get it out of this braid without a vat of conditioner, but it’ll do for now.

It’s not until I’m finally finished that I realize my next hurdle. “I have no clothes.”

Beast looks up from his phone, frowning at me like I’ve just said something obvious. “That’s the point.”

Gods save me from dominant men. I speak slowly because the urge to yell is almost overpowering. “I have no clothes, Beast. People are showing up in fewer than ten minutes and I’m naked.”

Gaeton walks out of the bedroom dressed to the nines in a black suit and a button-down shirt in a deep blue that’s almost the same color as Beast’s eyes. I wonder if that was on purpose. Beast is wearing his normal uniform of dark jeans and a plain T-shirt; today it’s black. I wish I’d grabbed the shirt of Gaeton’s that I wore to sleep in. Standing here naked is not an option, no matter how cavalier these two are acting.

“Isabelle.” There’s a strange soberness to Gaeton’s voice that brings me around to face him again. “If we choose to have you naked, that’s how you’ll be.” Before I can argue, he raises a hand, dangling a length of fabric from it. “Come here.”

Even as I cross to him, recognition slams in to me. I know this fabric. It’s a black silk robe that I bought him years ago, because I wanted to see his big, rough body clothed in a decadent fabric that I could open like the best kind of present. I still remember how hard we laughed when he put it on, and how much I enjoyed the sex that came after.

I reach out a shaking hand and touch it. “You kept it.” I would have thought he took everything connected with me, dumped it in the nearest trash can, and doused it in gasoline for good measure. I certainly hadn’t left the things that reminded me of him lying around.

But I hadn’t had the heart to destroy them, either.

Every one of the little rose trinkets he bought me over the two years we dated currently occupies a carefully packed box in the back of my massive closet back home. I look up into his dark eyes, trying to find answers to questions I can’t begin to voice. “You kept it,” I repeat.

“I kept it.” Nothing more, but what more answer do I need? He could have a thousand reasons for hanging onto it, and none of them might mean what I hope they mean.

That he still loves me. That maybe he never stopped.

He holds it open so I can step into it. The robe dwarfs me, pooling at my feet and gaping at my chest despite my attempts to tie it firmly.

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