The Beauty and the Beast

Francis Bonnefoy had it all – he was very wealthy, popular in town for his good mood and pretty face, and he lived in a gorgeous mansion with his two sons, Matthew and Alfred.

Matthew was the quiet, intelligent one. He could often be found in the town’s library, reading books on history and science. He was always dressed nicely in a suit, even on the warmest day of summer, and when he spoke, everyone listened, for his voice enchanted people and left them wanting more. There wasn’t one girl who hadn’t had a crush on him, and mostly the mailman brought a handful of love-letters to the house every day, though it was a well-known fact that Matthew didn’t bother to read them through.

Alfred, on the other hand, was louder than loud, had more energy than all the young men in town together, and he was mostly seen flirting with the girls, making fun of Matthew or claiming stuff that wasn’t his. The reason? He was just bored. He’d never opened a book, never learned to read or write, and he was considered being rather brainless. However, he did make a boring day feisty, and he was admired for his stunning beauty. Golden hair and bright blue eyes, a trained body to die for and a laughter that made even the saddest person break into a smile.

So Francis was rather satisfied with his life – or that’s what people thought. For underneath his happy surface, the Frenchman was sour and tired and bitter. He didn’t mind the money, the fame, the mansion – hell, he even adored Matthew. But when it came to Alfred, he’d just had enough. Every time he looked at the child, it was like looking into the past, for Alfred had his beauty from his deceased mother. A woman Francis had loved so much, but who’d died while giving birth to Alfred. Still today Francis couldn’t quite understand why she had done what she had done. The doctors had told her that she was very weak after the last pregnancy with Matthew, and getting Alfred could be risky for her health. But she’d denied the possibility of an abortion.

‘I won’t kill a child,’ she’d said as Francis had suggested her giving up on him. ‘And if you ever bring up the possibility of an abortion again, I’ll never forgive you.’

So Francis had stayed quiet during the nine months, he hadn’t said a word as her water broker, and he had waited quietly outside the door behind which she gave birth. But as the nurse came to him, telling him that his wife hadn’t made it, he cried, and he cried, and he cried, and he went so hysterical that he wasn’t allowed to see his own baby for a month, as the doctors feared he would choke it with his own bare hands.

And he would’ve. And he still wants to – but now Alfred’s far stronger than him. An attack on the man would mean his own death. But he hasn’t given up. He’s eager to see the child off.

Then one day he was offered the chance by coincidence. And he accepted.