She stole a glance at him, surreptitiously over her shoulder. From her spot on top of the ladder, she could just make out the still, calm expression on his face when he turned slightly to let the golden strands slip from between his delicate fingers. But except for when he turned, she could only see his back – straight and still and graceful – he had the most perfect posture of anyone she had ever seen.
She turned back to the curtain in her hands and pressed her lips together. She searched through the heavy folds of fabric, feeling, rather than looking, for the break in the material. She shifted her weight, working her hands closer to the panel's center.
Then she stopped and stole a second glance. Truth be told, it was a little more than a second glance. Truth be told, it was more like the 37th glance.
He was still gently avoiding her. That saddened her more than she cared to admit. Several weeks had past since the night he had held her on the chaise, and since then he had kept his distance. He didn't rebuff her or push her away. He wouldn't leave a room once she had entered it, and he didn't send her away to do some petty chore when he found her in a space where he wanted to be. He was still courteous and polite, still quick to give her something if she needed it. But he didn't talk to her either – not really.
He wasn't cold to her or distant – just guarded, gentle and guarded. And he was careful not to touch her and not to call her by her name. She wasn't sure why, but she noticed that he never said her name – he hadn't since that night. And although it was getting warmer outside, the air felt colder inside the house now that he didn't let her get so close to him. She had to laugh when she thought of how she had used his body as her personal heating appliance those first couple of days, and she missed how close he used to allow her to be.
But there were still times – two of them each day – and she cherished them like a newborn baby, when he would freely touch her and let her touch him. The first was in the morning when he came to wake her. He would open the door to her cell and wait quietly outside for her to wake up. Sometimes she pretended not to hear him so that he would come inside and wake her gently, rubbing her back and her shoulders. And when she had opened her eyes, he would smile and go out into the hall to wait for her while she got dressed. And then he would put his arm around her, tight around her, and hold her close against his side. He would hold her like that and walk her to the entrance of the dining room before letting her go and stepping away.
The second time was at night, when he said those velvety soft words to her – it's time for bed now, my dear. At times he looked almost sad to say it, like he didn't want their day together to be over. And at times she was a little sad too, but she couldn't help looking forward to the next part. Wherever they were in the house, he would wrap his arm around her and fold her gently against his body. And she would lay her head down on his shoulder as he walked her all the way back to her room. She had begun thinking of that hallway – the hallway outside her room as their hallway – as the hallway where he always held her. And although she hated being locked up and away from him, the sight of that hallway always warmed her because she knew she would be walking it in his arms.
She looked back over her shoulder again – leaning her body against the ladder's frame because she wanted something just then to hold her up. She let her head rest lightly against one of the bars, imagining it was his shoulder. She wrapped her arms tight around the ladder's frame, hugging it to herself and feeling it bear up under her weight so surely. Her cheek rested on the bar like a pillow as she watched the steady movements of his hand at the wheel, the delicate flicker of his fingers against the thread.
It didn't matter, really, if she stared. His spinning was the only thing he did where he was utterly unselfconscious – where he was absorbed. He paid so close attention to the thread and the wheel, moving each with the finest and most delicate precision. It was as if the whole room, instead of just her, were watching him with bated breath when he spun.
# # #
It didn't feel warm exactly, and it didn't feel cool. But it did send tingles down his spine like a sudden evening breeze in the summertime drying the sweat from your skin. That's how he knew when she was watching him, even when he didn't turn around. At first, it was brief like it usually was – a tingle here, a ripple there – and then quick like lightning, it was gone. But after she'd climbed the ladder, it had become steady – a regular pulsating thrum – up his spine and then down. Up his spine and then down. Up his spine and then down.
"Why do you spin so much?"
He half-turned his face and then frowned. He wouldn't answer if she were only chatting, not when the answer was so personal.
"I'm sorry, it's just," she said. He could almost hear the flush on her cheeks, almost feel the brush of her hair against her shoulders when she shook her head. "You've spun more straw into gold than you could ever spend." The softest rustle from the fabric of her gown when she shrugged.
He leaned back a little, relaxing his shoulders. "I like to watch the wheel," he said. He felt the wood beneath his fingers. "It helps me forget."
"Forget what?" she asked.
He felt the grin in his cheeks before he actually made it.
"Well, I guess it worked," he said. He laughed.
It was a sound like water rippling over smooth rock when she laughed.
He turned to watch her.
And then the blush and then the rustle and she turned away.
He stood up and crossed the room to her in long strides. He squinted when he looked up at her, like she were a puzzle he was trying to solve.
"What are you doing?" he asked. He meant so much more than just the curtains.
"Opening these. It's almost spring," she said. She gave the heavy fabric a firmer tug. "Should let some light it."
He moved in a little closer toward the base of the ladder and then circled it, keeping his distance.
She tugged, her cheeks pink from the exertion, and he saw a light shimmer of sweat on her chest and upper arms. She pulled harder, her hands searching through the fabric, trying to find the weak place where they were attached.
"What did you do, nail them down?" she asked.
"Yes," he said. How else would he have fixed them there?
She gave a soft laugh and shook her head. She reached farther toward the center of the curtain, and she tugged.
Her body was so warm and had a comforting weight as it pressed down and against him, and he hadn't realized he'd been reaching for her until he'd caught her. He blinked. It was an onslaught on his senses. Searing light where it had just been dark. Heavy warmth when it had just been cold. And her closeness – she felt so alive to him – when he had felt dead for all this time.
"Um, thank you," she said. She looked up him, shy and surprised, and he dropped her. "Thank you," she repeated.
He took a quick step back. "No matter," he said. He backed away from her fast, turning and heading for the exit.
It was a soft laugh he heard next – the one she gave when she was a little embarrassed.
"I'll, um," she said. She blushed and ducked her face behind her shoulder. "I'll put the curtains back up."
He took several more steps and then stilled. He turned and walked back toward her, but stopped when he was still several feet away.
"There's no need," he said. "I'll get used to it."
He turned and felt the thrumming of her eyes on his back as he walked away. He held one hand out in front of himself for a guide – as if he were dizzy and that hand would steady him.
# # #
He spotted her stalking him while he was pouring the tea. Her hands were clasped behind her back innocently, but she had the look of a lioness tracking her prey. He turned and started walking down the length of the table. A pointed glance back over his shoulder, revealed her close behind. He took two more steps and then stopped. He turned slowly. He stood his ground.
She dropped her eyes in a half-shrug and then pulled herself up onto the surface of the table.
His tension eased in response, and he leaned back a little into his stance.
"Why did you want me here?" she asked. Her eyes were clear and round, but her posture was serious.
"Place was filthy," he said. He laughed and took a sip.
She pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes just a little, not allowing him to dismiss it with a joke. "I think you were lonely. I mean, any man would be lonely," she said. She looked up at him, and he didn't meet her eyes.
"Ah, but I am not a man," he said. He moved to lean against the table beside her so that they were shoulder to shoulder, instead of letting her look at his face. He kept his head turned down so that she would have to lean off the table very far to get a look.
"So, I've had a couple of months to look around, you know," she said. She was treading lightly, but he winced. "And, upstairs, there's clothing," she said. She spoke slowly, leaving him room to run away. "Small – is it for a – a child?" she asked. She leaned forward, trying to see his face around his hair. "Was it yours or – was there a son?"
"There was," he said. It was whisper soft. "There was a son. I – lost him – as I did his mother."
He felt her lean in just a little, her face nearing his shoulder a fraction of an inch as she looked down at the floor.
"I'm – I'm sorry," she said.
He rotated the cup in his hands but didn't drink.
"So, you were a man once," she said. She tried to look at his face again. "An ordinary man?"
He leaned away from her a little, and she followed him with a matching movement of her own body.
"If I'm never going to know another person in my whole life," she said. She put her tiny face just in front of his shoulder, looking up at him – making him see her. "Can't I at least know you?"
"Perhaps," he said. He stood up, breaking the contact between their arms. He set the cup down on the table, turning his body to face hers, and then leveled her with a piercing look. "Perhaps you just want to learn the monster's weaknesses," he said. He leaned in close, his face inches from hers and pulled his lips back – teeth bared.
She smiled and looked at him indulgently. "You're not a monster," she said. Her voice was so loving just then he stepped back. "You think you're uglier than you are, that's why you cover all the mirrors up, isn't it? Hm?"
He was standing exposed – blinking like he had in the light when she had pulled the curtains down – trapped. She was on the offensive, and he had to run. But he had no idea where to go.
Two loud knocks on the door were what saved him.
He forced himself to walk – not to run – out of the dining room. He closed the doors behind him so that she wouldn't see his hand pressing down on his chest – wouldn't see him trying to catch his breath after her chase.
# # #
She turned around when she heard the dining room doors swing open.
"Who was that?" she asked.
"Just an old woman selling flowers," he said. He said it lightly but he had that hint of laughter in his eyes – of mischief – when he said it. He pulled a long-stemmed rose out from behind his back and held it out to her. "You can have it," he said.
She laughed. She secretly loved it when he was sweet to her and pretended not to be. It was almost more touching than when he was outright kind.
"Why, thank you," she said. She took the rose and gave a curtsey, her eyes sparkling up at him.
He gave a deep bow in return, holding his arms out to side like a magician having performed a stunning trick. It was only the way he pressed his hands together in front of him at the end of it that revealed how pleased he was that he'd made her happy.
It was his turn to follow her, and she supposed it was only fair, as she moved over to the lock box to retrieve the key for the glass cabinet.
"You had a life, Belle, before this," he said. He dropped into his seat at the table.
She glanced over her shoulder and looked at him.
"Friends. Family. What made you choose to come here with me?" he asked. He tilted his head back leaned it against the high back of the chair as he often did when he was watching her.
She took down an old golden pillar vase, just large enough for a single bloom. She shrugged almost imperceptibly.
"Heroism. Sacrifice. You know, there aren't a lot of opportunities for women in this land to – to show what they can do, to see the world, to be heroes. So when you arrived, that was my chance," she said. She carried the vase over to the table and set it down. She clipped the end of the rose off with a pair of shears, and his eyes gave off a quick spark. "I always wanted to brave," she said. She gave a slight shrug of her shoulder. "I figured, do the brave thing and bravery would follow."
"And is it everything you hoped?" he asked. He held his hands out, encompassing the castle, a sardonic lilt to his voice.
She laughed. "Well, I did want to see the world," she said. She pulled herself up onto the surface of the table again, so that she was sitting near the edge closest to him. "That part didn't really work out," she said. She looked at him, and he smiled at her, like they were sharing a secret no one else knew. "But, I did save my village."
"And what about your, uh," he said. He cast his eyes about – looking for the word. "Betrothed?"
She shrugged and smiled. "It was an arranged marriage," she said. She shook her head, giving the truth up to him easily. "Honestly, I never really cared much for Gaston. You know to me, love is," she said. She crinkled her eyes just a bit at the corners and leaned in closer to him, dropping her voice. "Love is layered. Love is a mystery to be uncovered," she said. She looked down at him, trying to see if he understood. "I could never truly give my heart to someone as superficial as he," she said.
She looked at him. He had the most remarkable look on his face. It was wonder mixed with laughter mixed with – something – something else. What was that? She shook her head, quick, to clear it.
"But, um," she said. She let out a soft laugh. "You were going to tell me about your son."
"I'll tell you what. I'll make you a deal," he said. "Go to town and fetch me some straw. When you return, I'll share my tale."
"But – you – town?" she said. She shook her head, trying hard to comprehend what he had just said to her. "You would trust me to come back?"
"Oh no, my dear," he said. He leaned his head back against the back of the chair. "No, I expect I'll never see you again."