Beast within the Beauty || A Beauty and the Beast Retelling

Chapter Twenty-Two || To Quarrel with a Beast

I DARED NOT flirt with the thought. "Have you grown so desperate that you must turn to making such blunt and tasteless invitations?"

Some hint of amusement tugged at his lips. "Are you so stunned by this 'tasteless invitation' that you deem it necessary to ignore the courtesy of responding to it?"

"Are you not doing the very same?"

"Am I?" I nearly scoffed. He went on, "Would it please you if I rephrased it?"

"It would please me if you instead revealed the nature of your offer." I wet my lips. "I am not nearly foolish enough to blindly accept such a visit from you—a husband that refuses to bare the truth."

"As any husband would," he said, "if met with a bride who is as tempting as she is wary." He studied me, his voice revealing not a shred of his thoughts.

"If I am to lay alongside you, it would only be once you begin treating me as a member of your household rather than a bride who visits for a single month." I gave him a pointed look, as if to remind him that I was still alive and breathing. "I would appreciate it if you are honest with me."

"That sort of thing does not come easily to me." Harshness surfaced in his gaze. "And even if it did, how can I confide in you when you betray my trust—when you go behind my back and pry the answers from my servants?"

Smoke smothered the lining of my throat. "Trust?" I drew my eyes up to his. "What would you know about trust?"

"Enough to be well aware that it does not exist between us," he ground out. "And if I am being honest, you do not make it all that very easy."

"Neither do you," I pointed out. "You claim and make empty promises of answering my questions, but when it comes to it, you cannot, and you keep pushing it away or cutting it short or ignoring it altogether. Of course I'm going to go behind your back and ask someone willing to answer me!"

"I am trying!" he growled. "Forgive me if I would prefer to keep some matters to myself—you are quite the hypocrite in requesting that I be honest." His eyes narrowed. "I daresay you keep more lies than I do."

"What sort of accusation is that?" I snapped. "I keep more lies than you? In what twisted, skewed—"

"Your father."

I went taut.

Warmth seeped from my skin, eager to escape me. My father—the one I claimed to have deserted me and left me orphaned; the one whose every word I had memorized like a prayer dancing on the tip of my tongue.

"You scold me for not telling you about mine when you lie about yours." He met my eyes, something dark and angry in his gaze. "You reprimand me for dishonesty and secrecy when you do the very same."

"How—" I grasped for the unformed words in my throat "—did you come by that?"

"The walls have ears," he drawled, "the ceilings have eyes...and the doors have mouths."

"You mean to say it just so happened your servants came across such a thing?" I could not keep the biting sourness from my voice.

"One would think someone as sharp as you would be aware that no act you commit goes unwatched." Ridicule dripped from his tongue. "It is only natural that I am made aware of your activities."

He. Did. Not. Mon Dieu. My fingers sought something to chuck at his head. "You—"

"And for the record," he cut in, "you are not the first person I would choose to keep my secrets. I have damned my men and will not worsen that just to satisfy your whims."