Easily one of the prettiest women in town, her cinnamon-kissed skin glows under the store’s dim lighting, and her dark curly hair falls to her shoulders in waves.

“Well, hello there, fellow peasant.” She smiles. “Are you still running errands for your wicked sister?”

“Depends. Are you still being abused by yours?”

“By both of them, in fact.”

We burst into laughter, and she hands me the wrapped books.

“I think you’d look a lot better without that ridiculous scarf wrapped around your face,” she jokes. “Then again, I’m far less intimidated by your looks now.”

“I’m sure you are.” I roll my eyes. “If you were ever allowed to leave this place, every man in town would fall in love with you at first sight.”

“Stop talking about yourself.” She climbs over the counter and pulls me toward a mirror. She gently tugs at the scarf, but I keep it close.

“Did your father hit you again?”

I nod. “He left a mark this time.”

“Can you let me see it so I can help?” She says it as more of a statement than a question, and before I know it, she’s pulling it away.

I let out a sigh as we both turn to face my reflection.

Three purple bruises are stamped on my left cheek and they’re all swollen.

I await her gasp, for her to hastily return the cloth, but she doesn’t say a word.

Instead, she pulls open a drawer that holds jars of powder and presses it against my skin.

“It honestly doesn’t even matter,” she says. “You’re still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and by the time I get done with you, you’ll barely notice it.”

“No need to waste any of this on me,” I say. “I don’t have any powder of my own at home.”

“Then you can take all of my sisters’ jars.” She shrugs. “All the powder in the world will never make their faces pretty.”

I laugh, and she smiles at me through the mirror.

“Thank you,” I say. “Have you caught a glimpse of the man who writes me yet?”

“Not even once.” She shakes her head. “Whoever he is, he gets in and out of here without leaving a trace.”

“The notes aren’t from you, right? You promise you’re not playing a wicked game with me?”

“Please.” She pats my face with more powder. “I hate your sister, but I’m with her when it comes to reading. Anything other than a romance isn’t worth my time…”

A Suitor Not So Sweet

Belle

The sun is sliding down the sky by the time I return home.

Father’s horse is nowhere to be found, and Izzie has left a red candle in the front window. It’s her subtle way of saying, “I’m off reading,” when she’s really frolicking in a field somewhere and singing about wanting a prince.

Or maybe she’s having sex again…

Setting my basket on the porch, I unlock the door and head into the kitchen. I pull Izzie’s scarf off my face and light the stove.