Page 19 of Wicked Beasts (Lament Princess #1)

Eighteen

T ristan’s absence during Wednesday dinner gnaws at my spirit as each day passes to the point where I tuck the letter beneath my laptop, refusing to look at it. I already know reading it will not make me feel better, not when it starts with, “ My dearest Tristan .”

I’m not sure what I anticipated, but I certainly didn’t expect this —to slip back into the monotony of routine as though nothing happened, to the point where it feels like he's avoiding me. The purpose of spending time with him was to become closer, and while we shared a fleeting moment of intimacy—or at least, I felt it—I now find myself feeling even more hollow. A part of me wishes I had never asked him at all. Then, I wouldn’t know what exactly I was missing.

Vaguely, I wonder if he has this effect on other women. After all, why should I be special?

Yet, even my active imagination can’t have fabricated the way he looked at me when we went on our walk. Surely, there was something there.

I fear I’m bordering on obsession.

In an attempt to shake myself from this looming depression, I decide to have dinner at the table in the kitchen rather than retreat to my bedroom like I usually do.

Mrs. Wong had made a pot of Portuguese bean soup that she left simmering on the stove over a low heat, with freshly baked personal loaves of bread to go with it, a pot of steaming white rice in the rice cooker.

Gisella is already at the table, shoveling a spoonful into her mouth as she scrolls social media on her phone.

I make myself a bowl and occasionally glance back at her as she laughs to herself while watching a video.

I grab a spoon and turn to approach her.

I don’t really want to ask about Tristan, but perhaps I can get information regarding another mysterious figure in the household.

“Hey Gisella, do you mind if I ask you something real quick?”

“Of course!” she chirps as she puts her phone down and acknowledges the empty seat across from her. “I was just looking at some recipes.”

I gently place my bowl on the table as I take a seat.

“Um…I-I heard someone the other night… About a week ago? I-it sounded like Tristan, but I’m sure it wasn’t. I could have been imagining it, I suppose.”

“I doubt it,” she says, dismissing my doubts with a wrinkle of her little nose as she fishes in her soup for a piece of sausage. “It must have been Dr. Shadow. Night time, right?” she asks as she glances at me and tucks some of her bleached blonde hair behind her ear. “He’s a bit odd like that.”

My breath catches in my throat. Even she knows who this mysterious Dr. Shadow is.

“Who is he?” I ask.

“Tristan has an older brother—Dr. Shadow—who occasionally graces us with his presence.” The way she says his name catches my interest, especially because she doesn’t speak of him with the same hushed fear as Mrs. Wong and Mortimer.

Instead, it’s with fascination, or at least intrigue.

“My step dad knows him, but I never met him myself. I did catch a glimpse of him from my window one night when he was outside with Manu—striking and undeniably intimidating. Hot, too, if you’re wondering,” she admits with a smirk and gives me a wink as she stirs the soup with the white rice at the bottom of her bowl. “Think Tristan, but…less refined.”

I hadn’t been curious before about what he might look like, not with the fear Mrs. Wong and Mortimer had rooted within me, but now, the thought lingers like a ghost in the back of my mind as I look down at my untouched bowl of soup, a few beans resting on my spoon.

If Tristan’s presence already ensnares my senses, what darkness and allure might his brother possess?

“I wasn’t…” I start to murmur, and she cuts me off.

“Oh, please.” She dismisses my words with a fluid wave of her hand. “I’ve seen the way you look at Mr. Black. You’d probably tear off his clothes if he’d let you.”

I laugh, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I would not!”

“The thing is, his brother might actually let you tear off his clothes. I swear, he just…drips with this…lust. But I’d stay away from him if I were you. Both of them, really.”

My brows furrow slightly. Now she is starting to sound like Mortimer and Mrs. Wong.

“Why?” I ask, my curious nature getting the best of me.

“There’s just…something odd about their family. I really wouldn’t get wrapped up in it. It feels out of place for me to say, but something’s just not right.”

I feel a pang of jealousy emerging in the pit of my stomach. She has only been employed two weeks longer than I have, and it feels like she knows so much more about them than I do. “Do you …like one of them?” I ask, trying to subtly probe for information.

Gisella frowns almost immediately, almost as if disgust washes over her face.

“Oh, gosh. No. I… No ,” she says firmly, her grip tightening around the neck of her spoon.

“I’m still not over my ex-boyfriend, if we’re being completely honest.” Her free hand moves to fumble with her necklace.

It looks like a delicate glass slipper on a silver chain.

“That’s a beautiful charm—did he give that to you?”

“Yeah…” A small smile peeks from the corner of her mouth.

“I broke the heel of my sandal on our first date. He gave it to me when he asked me to be his girlfriend.” Her smile soon disappears as I see the warm memory fading in her eyes as they start to water.

“He died,” she admits softly and quickly catches her tears with her fingers before they fall from her lashes.

My heart leaps into my throat.

“I’m so sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine. How are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” she says, hope in her tone. “Every day gets easier, but sometimes, I have these moments when I just let my grief take over. I think that’s healthier than pretending to always be okay. Just dealing with it, I mean. Crying when I need to. I’ve just lost so many people.”

I wonder if she had been the painful sobbing I had heard the other night. Perhaps Tristan’s home really isn’t as scary as my mind makes it out to be.

Gisella went on to explain that she had lost her mother when she was very young and her father not soon after that, only for her stepmother to marry her deceased boyfriend’s father.

“It’s why I took this job. I needed to get away.

” Her words to me when we first met made sense now, and I realize I had originally misjudged her optimism for naivety.

The way everyone in the house reminded her of death, it was because she had been surrounded by it. I had lost my mother, but I was so young when it happened, just a baby really, that I have no memories of her, no recollection but the photos my father keeps.

“You amaze me,” I tell her, a half smile tugging into my cheek.

“What?” She seems caught off guard by my words.

I gently shrug my shoulder. “I couldn’t go through all of that and still maintain this cheery and optimistic personality you have. I admire your strength.”

She smiles weakly as she looks down at her soup, but her eyes shine.

Even if Tristan doesn’t particularly want to be my friend, I am relieved to know I at least have one in this house. Still, I am determined to get Manu to like me too, even if he continues to ignore me each morning in the kitchen and during the Wednesday dinners.

Having dinner with Gisella is nice, and for a moment, I forget about the two enigmatic brothers and the creepiness of the old, creaking house.