She might as well go back to the hospital. Edwin thought she was volunteering until six, and if he found out her shift ended an hour earlier than she’d claimed, things could get really ugly at home. She wished she could stay in this place, even as she knew it was a ridiculous thought. No one chose to sleep on a hard bed in a wellness facility when they could be curled up on a four-poster in an elegant Tudor.

No one except Belle.

“What else do people say about Edwin?” she asked, as Lily crouched in front of her. She must’ve sensed that Belle was trying not to cry. And it was funny, because moments earlier, they’d been at each other’s throats, but now Lily’s voice was soft. Tentative. “You lived in six foster homes before Edwin came along and adopted you. He built you a library. Planted you a garden. Everyone says he’s the nicest man in the world.”

“He is,” Belle said, her gaze drifting to the window. It was after five thirty, and the last of the light was trickling from the sky, cerulean hues darkening to indigo. “Until the sun goes down.”

11 Beauty and the Beast

Belle was eleven years old when she met the man with kind eyes and an easy smile. His hands were wrinkled. His clothes, impeccably pressed. He wore the brown tweed jacket of an English professor, complete with patches on the elbows.

Belle liked him instantly.

It should be noted that, at eleven years old, Belladonna was not prone to liking anyone. She’d been in six foster homes so far, and though no one had thrown her down the stairs or forced her to sleep in the yard like a dog, she had suffered some… unusual situations. There had been the woman who, upon returning from work each night, demanded a two-hour foot rub before Belle could climb into bed. One of her so-called “fathers” had snuck Tabasco into her food whenever she disobeyed him. Her most pleasant experience had been with a kindhearted couple whose only flaw was wanting to help too many children, and she’d been stuffed into a two-bedroom apartment with three brothers and two sisters.

Edwin was different. He didn’t simply want to foster her for a couple of months and then send her on her way. He wanted to adopt her. Adoption meant forever. Adoption meant a stable home and a loving family, and the first time Belle set foot in his grand Tudor cottage, she felt tears running down her cheeks. This fairy-tale cottage was going to be her house. This four-poster bed was hers for the bouncing. There was a bay window in the kitchen that looked out into the backyard, where willow trees trailed long, elegant branches across green grass.