I remember the last time I went to a restaurant, before I becamethis, but the details have faded with time. I wonder what it would be like for Ms. Austin to serve me interesting dishes, showing me all of her skills. It would certainly give me insight into who she is, where she came from.
If I went to a dinner with her, I could have all my questions answered—if she could tolerate what I look like.
“Sir,” Kellen begins, hesitant, “I think she might surprise you. Perhaps it’s worth the risk. She seemed very eager to cook for you, to please you. It will hurt her feelings if you refuse.”
The words are like a knife to my heart. The last thing I want to do is hurt Ms. Austin. What will she think if I turn down her thoughtful idea? She may come to believe I don’t like her, and that is not what I want.
But the potential of her seeing me, fearing me, being disgusted by me, is equally paralyzing. I don’t want to cock up what we already have. If only I weren’t this monster, if only I hadn’t made that deal, everything would be different. But it’s too late.
“I can’t,” I finally say. “I can’t! You know that, Kellen. You know how she would react.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Idoknow that!” My voice is rising with my fear, with myhatred of myself. “Stop tormenting me with what I can’t have.”
I want to break something, to funnel all my frustration at this impossible situation.
“You are making a lot of assumptions about someone you’ve never met.” Kellen is calm, even in the face of my thrashing tail and rising mane. “Ms. Austin is a unique woman, and I think you owe her a chance.”
“I owe her bugger all!” I snap, ripping off one of the ribbons that Ms. Austin used to tie back my curtains.
“You know…”
When I turn around, Kellen is tapping his chin thoughtfully.
“She said to me that she doesn’t feel quite safe, not knowing who you are. She’s worried you’re hiding something.”
The knife in my gut twists at the suggestion that Ms. Austin fears me already, that she doesn’t feel comfortable in the manor yet because I won’t show myself. That’s the last thing I want.
It’s as if I am standing on a crack in the earth as it widens into a crevasse. I can jump to either side to save myself, or I could fall in and see what awaits at the bottom.
“You may find a friend if you give her the opportunity,” Kellen continues. “I think you need that. I worry about you.”
It’s not good that I would upset Kellen, too. I didn’t know that it bothered him so much, how I keep to myself. I thought he had accepted it.
With a sigh that feels as deep as the ocean, I say, “Fine. Let her plan her dinner. But… is there a way to prepare her? So that she won’t jump ship when she sees me?”
Kellen studies my face, then nods.
“I can try. I don’t know how much I can do, but I will try.”
“The night after next, then. If she can have everything ready in time.”
He can’t hide his surprise.
“I will let her know. I believe you are in for a treat.”
I want to let myself hope that Ms. Austin will accept me for what I am, but hope is generally foolish.
nine
. . .
peony
“Mr. Edgewood accepts your invitation.”
Kellen delivers the news over breakfast. I made croissants last night before bed and tucked them away in the fridge so the butter could harden, then popped them into the oven this morning. Now Kellen is eating one slathered in jam and butter, clearly unaware of the smudge of blackberry preserves that’s dribbled onto his shirt.
