Mr. Beast looks down at his plate. “I told you she wouldn’t like me,” he mutters. “She doesn’t even want to play cards with me.”

“She did! She does!” I exclaim. “I don’t know what happened.”

“I’ll play with you,” Jonah says, rushing back to the table. “But can we have the cheesecake first?”

Mr. Beast shrugs.

“I’m going to check on Beauty,” I say. I hurry up the grand staircase and knock on Beauty’s door.

“Come in,” she calls.

“What happened?” I ask as I step inside. She’s lying on her bed in a ball, clutching her stomach.

I gasp. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s the cheese,” she says. “I can’t eat cheese! I’m allergic!”

Huh? “But you ate the goat cheese soup! And the cheese ravioli! Why did you eat so much cheese? I don’t understand.”

She sniffs. “I didn’t want to insult Mr. Beast by not eating his food. He cooked it.”

“But you’re sick!”

“I know. When I eat cheese, I get really dizzy and then I feel like I’m going to throw up. I can’t go back downstairs. I can barely stand up!”

“Do you need to go to the hospital?” I ask.

“No,” she says. “I’ll be okay. I just need to go to sleep.”

I back slowly out of the room and go downstairs. Jonah and Mr. Beast are in the den, playing cards.

“Is she coming down?” Mr. Beast asks when he sees me. “She ran away so fast, it was as though she was allergic to me.”

“It’s not you she’s allergic to,” I say. “It’s cheese.”

He frowns. “She is? Why didn’t she tell me?”

“She didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” I take the opportunity to further my cause. “That’s how much she likes you. She was willing to eat your food even though it made her sick.”

“But I don’t want someone to suffer because of my food. I don’t want someone to suffer at all. Not by eating my food or by being with me.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I just stay quiet.

“Maybe I should bring Beauty something to read,” I say eventually. “Can she borrow a book?”

“Of course,” he says, playing a card. “I have a million books in the basement. I’m not much of a reader, but they were my grandfather’s. He always had his nose in a book. I’ve never even looked through them.”

Jonah yawns.

“Jonah, ten more minutes and then you have to go to bed,” I say.

“You’re not my mother, Abby,” he grumbles.

“Maryrose told us that I’m in charge when we’re in fairy tale land. You just don’t remember.”

“She did?”

“Yes,” I lie. “It’s for your own safety.”