Page 43 of To Love a Beast

Callista retreated a step, not because she was afraid of him, but because the fairytale magic was rapidly disintegrating and tears seemed imminent. Hurting him felt like taking a lash to her own back, but as tempting as it would be to try, she couldn't pretend their reality didn't matter.

Blinking back the moisture pooling in her eyes, she lifted the hem of her golden skirt and hurried for the door.

"Callista. Wait. I'm sorry. I—"

She paused in the open doorway and glanced back at him, unable to stop the tear that finally spilled over the edge of one eye. "I love you, Everett, but I love my father too, and right now, he needs me more than you do."

Everett strode toward her, and her traitorous heart longed to let him take her in his arms and erase her concerns. But Papa was too precious to erase, so she fled before she succumbed to temptation.

A knife slashed Everett's soul at the sight of that tear slipping down Callista's cheek. He opened his mouth to call her back but swallowed the words and forced his feet to forfeit their chase. She was leaving him. Not just tonight, but forever. A wounded roar built in his chest, clamoring for release. He wanted to howl out his pain, to scream until his throat was as raw as his heart. How could she say she loved him and then leave?

Lightfoot stepped through the doorway, a scowl etched into his face. "What did you do, Griff? Miss Rosenfeld nearly ran me down in the hall, weeping."

Everett's fist clenched of its own volition. "I acted quite monstrous." Sarcasm dripped from his words like dark molasses. "I had the audacity to ask to court her with the intent of making her my bride."

Lightfoot blinked, his expression growing quizzical. "What precisely did she say?"

Agitation growing, Everett prowled back and forth, his arms gesticulating as he recalled the disastrous conversation. "That she cared more for her father than for me."

Lightfoot raised a brow. "That's what you heard, but I seriously doubt that is what she said. Women can feel affection for both father and husband. One need not preclude the other."

"I know!" Everett huffed out a breath then pivoted to face his valet. Lifting a hand to his head, he rubbed at the headache that had started pounding behind his eyebrows. Forcing himself to set his hurt aside, he thought back over her words with a touch more objectivity.

"She said she couldn't abandon her father or their business and that my family would never approve of her. She didn't want to cause the rift to widen between me and my parents. That family was important. She said she loves me . . ." He let that memory sink in for one blissful moment before continuing. "But she loves her father too, and he needs her more than I do. Which is utter rubbish. I've never needed anyone more than I do her. She brought me back to life."

"But what does she need?" Lightfoot's quiet question stilled Everett's spinning mind. "I've heard a lot about what you need and what her father needs. But what does she need?"

Everett grabbed the arm of the nearby settee and toppled onto the cushioned seat as surely as if his valet had just gut-punched him. How had he not thought to ask that question? He'd assumed his love, his provision, and his name would be sufficient. But it seemed she required more from him.

She needed his patience. His understanding. She needed to be accepted by his family, or at least for him to find a way to assure her that she wasn't hindering his reconciliation. A reconciliation he'd done a poor job of pursuing to this point. She needed to be near her father, to be part of his life. Maybe she even needed to continue her bindery work. Everett had assumed that his financial status would relieve her of the burden of work, but what if she enjoyed that work? The creative expression. The sharing of something special with her father.

Lightfoot sat beside him on the sofa and knocked his leg against Everett's knee. "Tonight need not be the end of your quest to win her hand, Griff. It can be the beginning. But only if you are willing to set aside what you want in order to become the man she needs."

Chapter 20

Everett didn't come read to her in the library the following afternoon. Callista hadn't really expected him to, not after she'd rebuffed his courtship proposition. She smoothed the endpapers over the glue on her last cover of the day, her heart aching. If only she could write an ending that would allow her and Everett to be together. Like Jane and Edward. Elizabeth and Darcy. Cinderella and her prince. But those who lived outside the pages of novels could not craft their futures with pen strokes and wishful thoughts. They must bear the fetters of reality as they hobbled forward one step at a time, making choices that affected not only themselves but those they loved.

Not all endings were happy in this fallen world. Papa lost Mama. Everett bore scars. Society withheld acceptance. Love was a powerful force, but it couldn't conquer every problem. Not until the day Jesus returned and took them to the perfection of heaven.

She checked for any stray glue then, after finding none, closed the cover and placed a stack of finished books on top so it would dry without bubbling or warping. Callista glanced at the handful of books on the corner of her worktable, waiting for their final fitting. Four. Only four books left until Everett's collection would be complete. Tomorrow would be her last day at the manor.

How she would miss this place! Mrs. Potter's tea parties. Mr. Lightfoot's funny anecdotes. Mr. Timens's precision. And Everett. She fluttered her lashes in a desperate bid to wave off the tears that rose to flood her eyes. No! She would not cry. She had too much to be thankful for. The blessing of new friends. Earnings from an important commission that would keep the Rosenfeld Bindery financially afloat. A reunion with her dear papa. The honor to have experienced love with an amazing man. A man who taught her to dance and who read to her in a voice as deep and silky as melted chocolate. A man who poured his soul into his paintings, holding nothing back as he used the talent God had given him to convey woundedness alongside hope. A man who loved books as much as she did and could appreciate a woman's professional skill. A man who valued her heart more than her face.

A man she would never forget.

Drat. At this rate she was going to take flight from all this lash flapping.

Lifting her apron to swipe it across her eyes, she glanced at the mantel clock. Dinner wouldn't be ready for another hour. Plenty of time for a nice, long walk. The fresh air would do her good. Clear her head, if not her heart.

Callista pasted a smile on her face before entering the kitchen. Mrs. Potter glanced up from chopping potatoes.

"Finish early today?"

"I did." Callista slowed as she passed the stove, taking a moment to breathe in the tantalizing aroma of baking yeast rolls. "Mmm. I never tire of that smell."

Pleasure lit the housekeeper's face. "The rolls will be ready in about ten minutes. Hang around, and I'll let you snitch a warm one."

Callista gasped in feigned shock. "Why, Mrs. Potter. What would Mr. Timens say? Snitching rolls before dinner?"