Gaston was silent, feverishly thinking of phrases he thought Belle would want to hear. Something about how he couldn't live without her, something about the love of his life...

"No, no," the girl interrupted him. Belle took his hand and squeezed it tightly, as if he wanted to leave and she wanted to hold him back. "No, no, don't try to make something up. Say it as it is, as you think it is. I need to know."

" I- Well, Belle, I'm not good with words. What's the point of that now? You still haven't read me that book. I can't make it up as they say."

"No, you don't!" Belle got angry for some reason and slammed her fist on her knee. "Tell me what you think. I think we need to have a proper talk with each other, don't you think? We can't go on like this. Why do you pretend everything's fine when it's not? Why do you want to talk in a way that makes me like you, but you hate me?"

"Me? Hate you?" The man exclaimed in surprise.

"Yes, you hate me," Belle took his hands and turned him around, peering into his face. Her large eyes were worried and sad. "And I know why. You married to punish me."

"Belle, you're talking nonsense."

She was silent for a moment, and then she began to speak quickly, as if she were afraid that if she stopped, her words would be cut short. It was as if she had been thinking about this for a long time.

"If you think I've forgotten or even proud of what I did, you're wrong. I regret it! Every damn day!"

"About what?"

Gaston released his hands from Belle's hands and stood up.

"Let's not talk about it."

The girl stood up too:

"I don't want to talk about it either, but it's necessary. The way things are can't go on any longer. It's driving me crazy!" she clenched her temples with her hands. Gaston was silent, and Belle continued. "My God, this has come out very foolishly. You followed me around and kept me from reading, but reading took my mind off my problems with my father and the fact that everyone thought I was odd, abnormal. It brought some peace in my mind, the thought that there was some other life, outside our town, with people who could understand you... High thoughts, high feelings. No filth or vulgarity. I was reading again, and then you came in. Oh, my God. How was I supposed to know you'd call the whole town? That we'd be married by now? Yeah, I should have said it properly, firmly, and you weren't really listening, but you're not deaf. I didn't want to get married. But you cornered me, I was confused, I thought it was a good idea. I didn't think about what would happen next, and then... Of course, you couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand it. You've changed since that day. I noticed it, but not right away. You became violent. I never thought you could do what you did. I'm your wife now, a wife in front of God and people, but you keep me around you like... I don't know what for. I'm not a woman, not a wife, not a friend. Not a human being. You only need me to clean and cook. And yet you punish me with my own daydreaming, my fantasies, my bookish phrases. You may have loved me before, but after that day you hated me. But this can't go on much longer. I'm at your mercy, yes, it's my fault. You were wrong, but I was mean, I could have said no without humiliation. You can take revenge on me, you can humiliate me in front of everyone if you want. I'm ready. But please stop doing what you're doing. You reject me as a woman, and yet I'm your wife. It's too cruel. "

Gaston looked away, past Belle, into the darkness of the forest.

"If you want me to tell it like it is, I will.

As soon as I saw you I thought I should marry you.

It was sudden, incomprehensible, something like I'd always known. That there was no need to look for anyone else - this is that girl."

"It's love at first sight," Belle said thoughtfully.

"I don't know. At first it was a kind of hunting, a chase after something unusual. You were always running away, and I could never catch up with you. You'd walk away, slip away, disappear into the crowd or in your house. What was it about you that made you different from the others? I don't know, Lefou kept saying "but she, but she..." and I didn't care. You were the best. And you were supposed to be mine. And I was already yours," he paused. - You know... I was used to being liked. You didn't have anyone else, so I didn't think that would be a problem. God, when one of my buddies complained about being rejected by a girl, I usually told him to look at himself in the mirror. God, stop eating so that behind the belly can not be seen your own legs, shave and comb your hair, a little work with your hands to make them look like a man's hands. I looked at myself in the mirror quite often, and I didn't see the slightest flaw. What I could fix about myself, I never realized.

Then I realized it wasn't even me, it was your books. I was just one of the ones you ignored, the book was not just something you did, it was a substitute for people, what it said was so absorbing that you didn't see or hear me or anyone else. It made me angry, especially since the whole town was talking about how all you did was read. Not sometimes, but all the time. I began to realize that your indifference to me was not coquetry, but something quite hopeless. Whatever I was, I couldn't compete with the air castles. But I couldn't go on without you. You said what you did without thinking, and I did it too. I mean, I thought, but for a short time. If you're going to be with me, you're going to have to look at me, at least sometimes. I wanted to be with you, it was becoming some kind of obsession. Not that I couldn't live without you, as they say in the books, no... I could live, but this strange longing could not be cured by any of the other girls Lefou had kindly offered me. When I can't beat an animal head-on in a hunt, I set traps. Our wedding - hmm... It's kind of a trap. For you, but it turns out it was for me. You think I didn't want to see you in a white dress? You think I didn't want to propose properly? You think I didn't want your father to walk you down the aisle and make it official? But he had to choose between making you his or seeing you in a white dress. It was a trap, the whole town came, your wedding was a done deal. You never directly turned me down, always that proverbial "another time," any polite answer you gave would do. By the time we left the house, everyone would be congratulating us, and there was nothing you could do about it. What came next was what came next, and my feeling became like an obsession. You could say it was wounded pride, but it was much worse than that. Everyone had already forgotten about my failure in the evening, our people have short memories. Everyone was doing fine, just not me. I thought that if I made you my wife, that awful feeling inside would go away. I'd do anything for that.

I didn't think about whether the methods were good or bad, you just had to be mine," Gaston was silent again, catching his breath. "But it's not true that I hate you. No, Belle, not you. I thought that if we were together, if you were by my side... Everything would magically become all right. That everything would be just like my dreams. But it's not. You're there for me in body, but not in soul, if you will, not in heart. Physical care, intimacy in the absence of any mutual feelings, that's even worse than that slipping away. I guess those books had advice on how to live happily ever after. I feel like I'm walking blindly through the woods, that there is something that is beyond my reach, and it's only inaccessible by virtue of ignorance. I didn't know that I lacked it before, but now I know and feel it, and I can't be like I used to be, and I can't be what I want to be either. But you said yourself that you can't call off the wedding."

"Those God has joined together man must not separate," Belle quoted. "But I've woken up from my fantasies, Gaston. I can see and hear the man beside me now. Look at me, too."

She stepped closer and put her arms around the man. He too closed his arms, and felt her heart pounding frequently beside him. Gaston kissed Belle's hair, which smelled so sweetly of wildflowers.

No, it was impossible to hate Belle. Not her.