She nodded, though her voice caught. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The door opened, and the air smelled like home—like warmth and cookies and years of familiarity. Belle stepped onto the porch, scanning the house nervously, while Beast rang the doorbell.
When the door swung open, she was met with a woman who looked just like she had imagined Beast’s mother might—strong, warm, sharp eyes, and an aura that said, “Don’t waste my time.” And the man behind her was tall, broad-shouldered, with a laugh that made Belle feel instantly smaller, in the best possible way.
“Declan,” his mother exclaimed, arms wrapping around him first. “You know you don’t have to ring the bell.” She turned her gaze on Belle, eyebrows arched. “And who do we have here?”
Belle forced herself to stand up straight, offering the most confident smile she could muster. “I’m Belle. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too, Belle,” his mother said, studying her for a beat before the corner of her mouth lifted slightly in approval. “Declan told me about you, but I was beginning to wonder who’d finally caught his attention. I thought that he might have made you up, but here you are.” Beast snorted softly beside her, and she couldn’t help smiling despite herself. His mother’s scrutiny wasn’t harsh. It was warm, curious, and cautious. It was exactly what she needed.
Then Beast’s father stepped forward, extending his hand. “Belle, good to meet you. Declan’s told me nothing about you, but you must be pretty impressive to actually put up with him,” his dad teased.
Belle laughed softly, shaking his hand. “I think I’ve learned to hold my own with your son.” The parents exchanged a glance, and she realized Beast’s father was smiling, quiet but approving, like he had just won a small, silent bet that she could handle him.
Beast’s hand found hers again, resting lightly over it. She squeezed back. The gesture was small but grounding. In the span of a few seconds, she felt a little less like an outsider and a little more like someone who belonged.
They stepped inside, the warmth of the house washing over her. It smelled like cinnamon and pine trees. The soft hum of a heater and the quiet laughter from Beast’s mother as she fussed over getting everyone settled and then invited them into the kitchen for drinks.
Belle let herself relax, just a little, watching Beast move easily around his parents, answering questions, teasing, laughing. Sherealized she could finally breathe here, in this house, with him, even though part of her still felt the nervous edge of what if I mess up? Beast caught her eye, and there it was again—something quiet, steady, and unwavering. His silent promise that whatever happened, he had her back. And for the first time in a long time, Belle allowed herself to believe it.
Belle followed Beast into the dining room, her stomach twisting with nerves and anticipation. The table was already set with warm light from the chandelier catching the polished wood, plates, and silverware laid out carefully. The smell of roasted chicken and herbs hit her immediately, and she had to admit—it smelled like something out of a magazine, the kind of dinner where family stories and laughter should flow easily. She had never really had those kinds of dinners with her grandmother. She wasn’t a great cook, and they usually ate TV dinners in front of the television set in the family room. There wasn’t much laughter or family stories shared between the two of them.
She slid into the chair beside Beast, hands folded in her lap, feeling like a student waiting to be graded. “Relax, Belle,” Beast murmured under his breath, brushing her hand with his. The warmth of his palm against hers sent a jolt through her chest. “Nothing here can hurt you. Trust me.” She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling at him. He didn’t even have to say anything else—his quiet presence, the steady way he kept her close without making a show of it, had already made her feel safer than she had in weeks.
Dinner started with small talk—Beast’s mother asking Belle about her job, her hobbies, and her life back in Huntsville. His father made dry jokes that had her laughing despite herself. Belle was just beginning to feel like she could breathe when a plate of food slid across the table toward her.
“Here,” Beast said quietly, his voice low enough that only she could hear it. “Eat before it gets cold. And don’t let my mom seeyou picking at it—she’ll lecture you.” She smiled at him, reaching for her fork, and felt his hand brush against hers as he picked up his own plate. The touch lingered longer than necessary, but neither of them pulled away.
Beast’s parents were polite, warm, and genuinely curious about her, but she couldn’t ignore the subtle ways Beast put himself between her and anything uncomfortable—a glance here, a hand brushing hers there, a protective tilt of his body toward her.
At one point, his father made a joke about Beast’s driving habits, the kind only a parent could get away with, and Belle’s laugh came a little too sharp. She worried that she had crossed a line, but when she looked over to find Beast laughing with the rest of them, she relaxed a bit more.
Later, when the conversation drifted to holiday plans, Belle realized she’d forgotten to breathe for a few moments, watching him. The way he talked to his parents, the easy authority in his tone, the soft, caring way he occasionally touched her hand—it was a side of him she hadn’t seen before, and it made her heart thrum like a bass drum.
After dinner, Beast’s mother insisted Belle try the homemade pie. Belle accepted, and when she reached for her fork, Beast’s hand was over hers again, squeezing just slightly. His thumb brushed her skin, steadying, intimate, protective.
“They like you,” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.
She leaned into him, unable to hide the sigh of relief. “I like them,” she whispered back. He didn’t answer, just kept his hand on hers and let her relax into the warmth of him. And Belle realized something. This strange, chaotic, nerve-wracking Christmas with Beast and his parents was exactly where she wanted to be. She let herself stay close to him, let herself breathe, let herself feel the steadiness with the reassuring weightof Beast beside her. Because for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t just surviving—she was part of something she had wanted her whole life. And Beast was right there by her side, just as he promised that he would be.
BEAST
The clatter of plates and quiet chatter faded behind them as Belle followed him down the narrow hallway to the guest room. The house felt suddenly enormous and silent, and every creak of the floorboards sounded amplified.
Beast closed the door behind them and leaned against it for a moment, exhaling slowly. He could feel her presence before he even looked at her—Belle’s warmth, her subtle nervous energy, the way her hand lingered near his, like she wasn’t sure she should let go, and that worked for him because he never wanted to let go of her.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice low.
Belle nodded, but the tremor in her fingers told him otherwise. She crossed the room slowly, taking in the small bedroom. It was his childhood bedroom, but his mother had redecorated since he left home—thank God. The last thing he wanted was to have to explain the girly posters on the wall and above his bed.
“You did great tonight,” he said, stepping closer, letting the sound of his voice fill the room. “You know, for your first dinner with my parents, and you handled it like a pro.” Her gaze liftedto his, soft and uncertain, and he caught that familiar pull in his chest—the one that made his body coil and flex like a spring. She bit her lip, a tiny, human gesture that somehow unraveled him.
“I—I was nervous,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to say something wrong or?—”
“You didn’t,” he interrupted, cutting off the worry before it could fully take hold. “You were perfect. Better than perfect. If anything, I’m the one who should be nervous,” he said. “You’re the first woman that I’ve ever brought home to meet them, you know, outside of my prom date and that kind of thing. You’re the first woman that I’ve ever wanted to bring home to meet them.”
Her lips parted slightly, and he noticed how close she was now—just a step away, but close enough for him to feel the heat radiating off her. His hands itched to settle on her waist, to pull her closer, but he held himself back, letting the tension build. Belle moved a little closer on her own, brushing against him when she shifted. Her eyes flicked to his chest, then back up to his face, searching.
