Page 1 of The Beast

Chapter One

All around me, the party glitters. The ballroom is lit with tiny twinkle lights so that it looks as if the world has been drowned in magic. Outside the windows, Atlantic City gleams, and the froth from the ocean forty-seven floors below dances in the light of the moon.

Serving stations in each corner offer appetizers created by the world-renowned chef of the Monarch Grand Casino, and the soft music from the orchestra underscores the babble of conversation.

I take a glass of champagne from a waiter decked out in a perfectly fitted serving jacket, the silver MGC logo pin on his lapel gleaming in the soft lighting.

This is the world in which I was raised. Isabella Hart—the Hart Industries heiress with her jet set life split between Manhattan and Atlantic City, with side trips to our other casino/hotels in Tahoe, Monte Carlo, Vienna, Singapore, and London. A world of power and money and beauty. Because as far as my father is concerned, I’m more showpiece than daughter. Especially tonight. I twist the simple gold band on my right hand—my mother’s ring, and the only piece of jewelry I’m wearing tonight that hasn’t been borrowed from the Hart collection for tonight’s performance.

And what a performance.

As I glance around the ballroom, it’s the beauty that captures me. Unlike most of the elegant aristocrats mingling nearby, power isn’t something I’ve ever craved, nor is money. Though I suppose I might feel different about the latter if I’d been born outside the trappings of wealth.

Still, I know myself well enough to know that it isn’t what can be bought that entices me, but what can be seen. The red of a cardinal against the pale bark of a birch tree. The dappled sunlight thrown across a musty attic when the curtains are pulled aside. Even the mixture of colors without specific form, but with the power to create a feeling so deep and transcendent that it is almost religious.

That’s how this ballroom seems tonight. Like a magical place you might stumble upon in a story from long ago.

I freeze, the thought hitting me hard, and I have to blink rapidly, forcing back the threatening tears as I twist my mom’s ring.

Stories.

Fairy tales.

Grimm.

Gabe.

It’s only with Gabriel Grimm that I ever truly felt that transcendence. Like I was part of something bigger than myself. Bigger even than the two of us.

My vision goes blurry, and I hurry toward the restroom to gather myself. I should have known better than to let my mind wander.

I should have known that—especially here—it’s Gabe who would be hiding in the dark corners of this trap disguised as a party.

Gabe. The man I lost almost five years ago to fire and treachery and death.

The man I loved.

The only man I’ll ever love.

I may be getting married in a month, but Gabriel Grimm will always live in my heart.

I’m still blinking back tears when I step out of the Ladies’ Room, my mind lingering on the wedding I don’t want in payment for a deal that I do.

A wave of sadness crashes over me as I watch bubbles rise in the champagne like tiny prayers that will never be answered. But melancholy is not allowed. Not tonight. So I force myself to plaster on a smile, then glance around, hoping no one has caught my mood.

This is supposed to be a joyous occasion, after all. A party to celebrate my engagement to the more-than-suitable David Mercer, a slice of blond-haired, green-eyed eye candy who is also, thankfully, one of my closest friends. Not that my father cares about that. No, he arranged this medieval pairing because David is the heir to a smaller, yet similar kingdom of hotels and casinos across three continents, and neither my father nor David’s parents gives a flip about what he and I actually want.

I sigh, then take another sip of champagne. Then another.

And—just to take the edge off—I gulp down the last of it.

It’s Cristal—one of the best my father’s money can buy. And yet it tastes bitter. Like broken promises and stolen dreams.

Not that I let that show. As much as I miss Gabe, I know that he’s lost to me. Even if I had access to all of my father’s money, I couldn’t buy him back from death. So I smile and sip and pretend that being engaged to David is something more than a convenience for both of us—a business transaction wrapped in Vera Wang and diamond solitaires.

A hand cups my waist, and I’m drawn back to the present as I realize that David’s come over from where he’d been holding court on the north side of the room. Now, he leans in, those deliciously sexy green eyes wasted on me. “Do you have a kiss for your adoring fiancé? Or,” he continues in a low whisper, “more accurately, do you have one for your father, my parents, and our more-than-tipsy guests?”

“Always,” I say, then let him pull me in for a kiss that’s long and deep and makes a very good show even if it doesn’t make my toes tingle.