Beauty and the Bellavante

What's Your Name?

A/N
Hello lovely readers! Welcome to the newest installment on my profile! Hope you enjoy and feel free to drop a comment or vote or even message me if you have ideas id love to hear them!

Love and ink 💖💉

Pic: what i think rose looks like, feel free to comment character suggestions

Chapter 1: What’s your name?

"No, dear Beast," said Beauty, "you must not die. Live to be my husband; from this moment I give you my hand, and swear to be none but yours. Alas! I thought I had only a friendship for you, but the grief I now feel convinces me, that I cannot live without you." Beauty scarce had pronounced these words, when she saw the palace sparkle with light; and fireworks, instruments of music, everything seemed to give notice of some great event. But nothing could fix her attention; she turned to her dear Beast, for whom she trembled with fear; but how great was her surprise! Beast was disappeared, and she saw, at her feet, one of the loveliest princes that eye ever beheld; who returned her thanks for having put an end to the charm, under which he had so long resembled a Beast. Though this prince was worthy of all her attention, she could not forbear asking where Beast was.  His subjects received him with joy. He married Beauty, and lived with her many years, and their happiness -- as it was founded on virtue -- was complete.

    Rose sighed wistfully, Beauty and the Beast was her favourite fairytale. The romance leaves a lasting impression on her heart. She clutches the book to her chest, losing herself in thought. Unfortunately, her daydreams were short lived; Fred, the cook at the local diner grunted, 

    “Order up!”

    Rose rolled her eyes and stacked the large plates along her arm; making her way to the customer’s table. She internally groaned at who she is serving; Sasha Valchev has been a thorn in her side since she could remember. A rough hand grasped her wrist followed by Sasha’s gruff voice.

“Hey sweet thang.” Sasha smirked.

Sighing Rose had no choice but to reply, “ Hello Sasha.”

“Listen princess I was thinking; Maybe I could come to your place for dinner” Sasha smirked, his voice laced with the intoxicating poison of lust.

Closing her eyes in irritation-she hated being called princess- plastering a fake smile on her face and lacing her voice with a sickly sweet tone she replied, “no thank you, Sasha.”

Confusion and  disappointment clouds his view; never in his life had a woman turned him down. He had women falling at his feet except his beloved Rosalinda Guerrero. In a fit of rage, he briskly slapped two one-hundred dollar bills- much more than his ten dollar diner meal- on the table and stormed out.

     Utterly frustrated with her day Rose willed the hands of time to move faster so she could curl up on her bed with a good book and fall into a life that was not her own.

After her shift Rose packed up and started to walk down the busy streets of Toronto. The city always took her breath away. So many people all with different stories; it was a living breathing library.

      A haze filled her mind as she thought about having a library of her own. She was so lost she didn’t see the wall of a person in front of her.

“Ooph!” she grunted as her face met the stranger's chest. Rose held her breath bracing for impact when her feet started to slip on the icy sidewalk.

     But the fall never came, instead a pair of warm arms grasped her waist holding her steady. Looking up at her saviour she was dazzled at the gentleman holding  her against his chest.

“T-thank you” she stuttered; partially because of the cold, and partially because her heart did the same thing.

Seeming to be caught up in thought the stranger abruptly asked, “What is your name?”
the deep baritone of his voice hypnotized her into answering before she had time to think.

“Rose, Rose Guerrero” She responded, her eyes glazing over his form.

      Taught muscles layered underneath a perfectly tailored suit, hair dark as night cropped stylishly obviously by a highly trained stylist and eyes that of freshly poured pewter ensnairing her within its depths. Her eyes skimmed over the only piece of jewlery adorning his olive skin; a gold watch that seemed ornate and vintage possibly an heirloom.

     Abruptly she gasped at the time displayed on his wrist watch. Breaking free of his hold she murmured a haphazard ‘thank you’ and  began to run to the hospital mere blocks from where she met the mysterious man.