My jaw drops. What the hell was that?
I watch him swiftly wipe his lips with the napkin provided. Is it something I said? Something I did? Is it the food? I take a bite of the brioche, then pop it in my mouth. No, of course, it’s not the food. It’s delicious.
He stands up and takes several steps away from me, but my feet seem to have a mind of their own. I follow him in a flash, just in time to stop him from opening the door.
“Wait!” I yell as I grab his arm.
“Don’t touch me!” he shouts, pulling his arm back. His voice is like the Beast’s—Belle’s Beast. My heart skips a beat.
His masked face looks down on me; he is glaring and breathing heavily. I stagger back.
“Rule number two. I hate being touched.”
I shudder at the sound of his voice. I feel ashamed for only grabbing his arm. Is
