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The temptation on her fingertips makes her close her eyes, eager for a taste.
Isabelle sprinkles powdered sugar atop an array of tarts, fresh from the oven. Satisfied, she carefully places them in a box, each individually wrapped in wax paper.
The bakery had gotten remodeled, adding a small area to relax in with some books. Rather than just sell bread, they began to branch out to drinks. Milktea wasn't as big of a hit as she thought it'd be, but that meant more for her.
Isabelle just had to make sure Lucia, her boss, didn't see her. Wait, the camera footage. She rubs her hands together and glances around. Aside Ian being glued to his phone, the coast is clear.
She helps herself to a sweet blend of blueberry milktea with cheesefoam at the top. It has a tangy taste to it which she couldn't get enough of. Isabelle hums a tune, observing the passerby while waiting for closing time. Just one more hour to herself.
The interior has changed significantly. Beautiful wooden flooring with cream-colored furniture and decoration to match. It's a pain to constantly polish everything but it was worth it. Thankfully, the plants don't need much water. That was supposed to be Ian's chore, but he had come in late today.
On purpose.
Strawberry tarts are her favorite to make, second to cream puffs. Her first try was a total failure, unfit for human consumption. She giggles, reminded of her younger self. Was it really two years ago? Isabelle remembers it as if it were yesterday.
She tosses the plastic cup into the bin. Isabelle checks her gallery, revisiting the pictures from her debut. Tristan looks great in a suit, but it seems strange. She was used to seeing him in more casual clothes, barely covering his navel. If not that, those black mesh shirts he wears everywhere.
A quick trip to the store? Tristan doesn't hold back. He'd just grin and mention how he wants to look his best. He's always going on about how he falls in love everytime he looks into the mirror.
Like, please. She wished she had that kind of self-confidence.
Isabelle taps her fingers onto the counter-top and checks the time. She and Tristan knew each other for years yet she barely knew anything about his family. Even Melody doesn't open up much about them. Did Stephen lie about being close with Tristan? She's unsure on what to make of it.
Two years ago, she was studying business management. Isabelle didn't enjoy it all so she ate her stress away. Maybe she stressed herself out too much, she barely gained any weight back then.
Ah, the good old days of stress and more stress.
Then she met Lucia. She's the kind elderly woman who owns the place. Sometimes when Isabelle skipped a class on purpose, they talked over coffee and biscuits. To this day, she still enjoys their conversations. She eventually got dropped in all her subjects due to her habitual absences. It was in that moment of self reflection that she knew what she wanted for herself.
She decided to focus on what she'd like to do, aside shopping.
Lucia suggested she try to cook or do some sewing. She'd always loved cooking, even as a young adolescent. Baking, however, was new to her. Unless an easy bake oven counts.
Lucia had given Isabelle far too many treats, free of charge, more than she'd have liked. Out of curiosity, she observed how Lucia made the pastries. Before she had realized it, Lucia was watching over her make her first batch. Isabelle was terrible at it, but she enjoyed it.
She shouldn't have let her parents control her to that point.
Their plan for her was to work at the company and marry her off to some promising son of some whatever rich family. Isabelle happily tossed that out the door, despite their harsh words and scolding.
Isabelle stares her own hands. She straightens her back and smiles. There were times she would hear Lucia's voice, complaining she worked too slow that she felt her gray hair growing. She could be rather harsh for a sweet old lady, but she means well.
Most of the time, anyway.
She loves spending her hours here, regardless of how much she earned. If only her parents would put their lust for money towards their passion, maybe they wouldn't be so demanding. Honestly, she'd rather stay away from the house as much as possible. After Jake's disappearance, staying there is suffocating.
Charlotte and Matthew made sure to be vocal about their son. Isabelle couldn't stay without hearing his name, somewhat. What kind of parents bad-mouth their own son? Isabelle crosses her arms and narrows her eyes, glaring at the empty counter-top. Recalling what they had set left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Jake is many things, but a thief isn't one of them.
She adores her parents, as much as a goldfish would adore their petri dish encolosure. Her mother couldn't wrap her head around her daughter working at a small shop, owned by someone too dark as she had put. She only acted nice if she would benefit from it. Isabelle found her mother's behavior detestable, most of the time.
Charlotte can't admit she's a racist, xenophohic kind of person. A judgemental ice bitch with a plastic face and the personality to match. Arguements with someone like that is pointless, try reasoning with a brick wall.
Matthew isn't any better either, being silent and tolerating his wife's behavior.
Isabelle takes a deep breath, pushing away the thoughts of her parents and grounding herself to present day.The smell of chocolate chip cookies and caramel keep the bitter memories at bay for now.
Maybe sneaking just one cookie wouldn't be bad.
She takes out a still-warm batch of tarts and drops it in a gift size box, perfect for one person. She wraps a blue ribbon around it, humming a song. Ian taps his foot repeatedly, still focused on his game.
"Ian!" She called. Isabelle dusts her hands and ties her hair in a loose ponytail. He looks up from his phone.
"Enemy, maniac!"
Ian's eyes widens. He taps on his phone furiously. He plays that game too often, she accidentally memorized all the cues and calls.
Ian Claussel. He is one of the reasons why the bakery was rather popular with young women and the constant deliveries. Isabelle couldn't blame them, he's a gorgeous boy. Thick, dark curls and tawny-colored skin, enough to make his skin glow golden in the sunlight. Not to mention his soft brown eyes. At first glance, she mistook him as a serious kind of guy who ate steroids for breakfast.
"Victory!"
Ian put his phone down and shakes with laughter, clapping as he hit the table repeatedly.
Isabelle was terribly mistaken. He is the complete opposite. The fact that he's Lucia's nephew still didn't sink in, even after working here for so long. His face doesn't match his voice at all!
When they first met, she expected him to have a high pitched voice of a teen. Ian's voice reminded her of a rich, luscious velvet. She grew a tiny crush on him, only to squish it when he asked for advice. Isabelle presses her hands together. Her muscles ache, but it's good, it is the sign of a day of hard work.
They better date him, or she'd march over herself and demand an answer. She has a power point presentation prepared, just in case. He's a nice guy and Isabelle is blessed to have him in her life.
Ian said so himself, as long as they have unshakeable character, who they are doesn't matter to him. He said that but she found him drooling over the leading couple of a hit drama series.
The drama spiraled away from its original plot and she's lost.
"A special delivery." Isabelle chirps. Ian raises his eyebrows. He recently had gotten inked, a mix of vibrant red and blue all throughout his arm. It looks like an intricate geometrical pattern.
"What do I get?" Ian questioned. Not hearing a quick response, his focus went back to his phone. Isabelle could tell he was in a rather heated game; he usually hides in the back.
"I'll give you fifty."
Hearing this, Ian drops his phone immediately. That was quick.
"Where to?" Ian beams. He took the box and read the label, a smug look on his face.
"I didn't take you to be into.. older men." Ian teased. Isabelle bent her head and avoided eye contact. Stephen wasn't that old. She is a young woman and can decide who she can go out with! She folded her arms.
"He's.. kind of cute." She said.
"Isabelle, not this again." Ian grins.
"I didn't mean it like that! I just.." Isabelle trails off. Even if she told him, Ian would tease her about it anyway. She just wanted to be nice, and Tristan mentioned Stephen likes strawberries.
Ian wiggles his eyebrows. Okay, perhaps the blue ribbon and over the top packaging is an overkill.
She reclines on the high chair.
Okay fine, maybe she is a little bit interested in him.
They didn't spend much time together, but being around him put her at ease.
"How big is the gap?" Ian asked. She could tell he had a huge smile he had on his face, now.
Isabelle sat down and buried her face in her hands. The sudden realization of not knowing his age bothered her more than it should.
He doesn't seem too young nor too old... oh, goodness. That doesn't matter!
She notices Ian's stare and half shrugs. Ian laughs wholeheartedly and pats her back. He gives her a cheeky grin before leaving. She scrubs the dishes a little too well, taking out her embarrassment on chinaware.
"Stupid co-worker and his stupid grin." She mutters and drops a plate, shattering it into pieces.
Great.
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Once Ian returned, he didn't mention anything. He immediately brews coffee and flirts with customers, like any other day. Isabelle rolls her eyes at his antics. There were a few who visited merely for the excuse to see him and he plays along.
She couldn't imagine herself doing that. Isabelle is too good to put herself on display for spare change. No way is she ever doing that.
She rearranges the mini-cakes on display, to take the only leftover home. Would Aaron like this? She has no idea what flavor he'd like to try.
An arm rests atop her head.
"What a tiring day." Ian yawns. Isabelle pushes his arm off. For him? Flirting is tiring?
Oh, please. Spare the drama.
"Sure." She replies, her tone dry and sarcastic. She's accepted that she'd never grow any taller. It's irritating, having inherited her parent's height. One thing is for sure, Ian is seventy percent legs. Did he have to rub it in her face often?
Ian is probably the same height as Stephen. The perfect height for her to rub her face in after a long day.
Isabelle imagines walking into his office, dressed in an apron and flat shoes. He easily towers over her, without heels she barely reaches his shoulders.
"Iz, I thought you were after that handsome guy the other day?" Ian asked, leaning on the cake fridge. Isabelle wipes the inner corners and tosses the rag aside.
"Which one?"
Ian points at her necklace and she covers her face with her hands.
How would Isabelle explain without it sounding strange? Aaron suddenly became her bodyguard, and while his lean physique seemed promising the timing was a little too perfect.
She found a man who was on his deathbed, and his nephew is her new bodyguard. That doesn't sound good, not at all. It was suspicious. Until she knew exactly what was going on, Isabelle wouldn't say anything.
Telling him about it is dangerous anyway, he can't get involved. Ian pulls down the roller-up doors of the store, locking them down with large padlocks.
He comes back inside, locking the glass door and reclining on the sofa.
"Isabelle, you aren't two timing aren't you?" He asked, staring straight ahead. Isabelle scratches her ear.
She isn't dating anyone to begin with.
Isabelle has no experience in a serious date, much less getting down with someone. She didn't even know what a first kiss felt like, for crying out loud!
With her parents constantly watching her, it scared any potential love life away back in high school.
"No!"
"I knew Tristan would influence you, somehow." Ian said, covering his eyes with his arm. The back door swings open and Isabelle bites her lip.
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The ride back is too silent for comfort. Isabelle sighs and turns on the radio. A playlist of the latest hits drown out the awkwardness with a good beat.
"Busy day?" He asks.
"Sweet enough. Aaron, when guys like something do they say it or... is there a subtle way of noticing?"
He shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. Isabelle slumps in the seat, setting the adjustment flat to be comfortable. She places her feet on the dashboard and stretches.
"You could ask him directly."
Not a bad suggestion. Isabelle thought of it. Her phone lights up and she freezes. She hadn't checked her phone since Ian left to deliver! Goodness, here she was overthinking without an actual reason.
"All I got was a simple thanks." She pouts. Isabelle throws her head back and closes her eyes.
But didn't that mean Stephen liked it?
Isabelle giggles. Upon arrival to the house, Aaron opens the door for her.
Isabelle put her bag on the counter. She transfers the pastry into a plate with a cake fork. The mansion was big enough for the staff to have their own common area and private rooms. It was rather far from her room, but she dropped by before bed to talk to the maids.
Her parents' room is empty, since they barely stayed at the house to begin with. She missed the old house terribly, where she would share a room with Jake. When they lived in different neighborhood, houses close enough to hear each others arguement.
Now, they lived next to other upper class families. Isabelle notices Aaron's stare and she smiles.
"Aaron, it's for you."
He doesn't waste a second, thanking her and digs in. As adorable as a little puppy licking whipped cream out of a cup.
"I haven't had cheesecake since my birthday." Aaron said after a bite. After finishing the treat, he puts the plate in the sink. Aaron is the kind of guy who'd do as she'd ask him to, even if it was completely ridiculous. Isabelle learned something new! Aaron likes cheesecake best.
The main door slides open. Charlotte walks in, all dressed up as ever. In Isabelle's eyes, her mother looked like a scrawny peacock. A rather ugly one, too. She sat beside her daughter.
"Honey, the date has been set! Isn't it exciting?" Charlotte smiled and placed her hands on her daughters shoulders. Isabelle forced a smile.
A maid comes by, offering refreshments. Her mother yells and tosses it out of her face, making a complete mess.
"Mother, you need to stop that." Isabelle snaps.
Their staff are not slaves. Charlotte needs to get off her high horse and cut that despicable act.
"What? Treating them like that? It doesn't matter, they're paid."
"Miss, please don't pick that up. I'll do it. I'm terribly sorry." Isabelle bows, conscious. She hurriedly takes the tray and drops a rag on the spill.
"Oh, my goodness. You! Come here!" Charlotte screams, her neck turning pink as her veins enlarged.
"Act appropriately, mother."
For Charlotte, playing matchmaker and setting up her daughter is delightful. Isabelle, however, couldn't wait to weasel her way out of it. She has nearly forgotten about the set up.
The arrangement to meet some big-shot's kid. She'll bring earplugs and hope whoever she's meeting today talks about themselves so much, they don't notice she isn't listening.
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"I enjoyed spending time with you today, Mister Santos." Isabelle set the table napkin down. She rubs her hands together, keeping them under the table. This whole restaurant and the meal ordered are just props to settle a deal.
Powerful ally number two, check.
In her case, her hand in marriage in exchange for financial stability. Their meeting is as bland as the soup served, she merely gives flowery compliments out of courtesy.
In the world of the elite, never say what you mean. Always give backhanded compliments or witty, snarky remarks.
He's around average looking. Fair skin, well groomed and not too tall. Charlotte didn't have bad taste, but Garcia doesn't really have much going on. Isabelle is caught in her little web of daydreams that anyone else is considered unattractive in her eyes.
This farce has gone on long enough.
The only thing that kept her sane was the food, and now that's gone. Isabelle wouldn't get anything from lying to him, nor would it be right.
Garcia Santos seemed like a good guy. He was kind, but quite awkward it was painful to watch.
"I'd like to make myself clear. I'm seeing someone and my attendance today was forced." Isabelle said.
No point in beating around the bush.
She takes a sip of her tea. The taste has grown on her, a distinct blend of lemon citrus and grapefruit. She remembered Chloe compared it to fruit loops and nibbles her cheek.
His shoulders relax.
"Thank goodness, I've.. I wanted to talk about that. I didn't want to offend you." He smiled. Isabelle mirrors his expression.
Would he be an ally than an obstacle, instead? The awkwardness from earlier fades away. Perhaps that was why Garcia was acting odd.
"Miss Cross, I'm in the same boat as you." He said.
"Please, call me Isabelle." She replies.
"Well, Isabelle, what do you have in mind?"
The Santos' own a telecommunications company. Charlotte merely wanted to expand her husbands reach by marrying off Isabelle to one of their sons. How greedy could her mother get? She seems to take it as a challenge rather than a concern.
What a pain.
"We have a common enemy. I'd like to propose a deal, that we help one another. If you refuse, I understand."
She enjoys a glass of champagne. It looks nice and all, but the taste is just fizzy soda to her. The classical music being played on loop lulls her to sleep.
"I am a buisinessman, Isabelle. When you side with me, I will bring profits. It's simply in my blood," Garcia pauses.
He sends the waiter away.
The choice of seafood doesn't impress her. Not because she's had better, but simply because she does not like the taste. The only exception being buttered shrimp and garlic.
"Go on."
"Are you acquainted with Tristan Pierce, by any chance?" He leans in, a cold expression on his face. That expression made her drink hard to swallow. She breaks eye contact for a moment and clears her throat.
"Yes, he and I are good friends. Why do you ask?"
"I don't know if I can trust you, Isabelle. And now that you admit that, I simply can't risk myself." He leans in. He glances at the window and reaches for his inner pocket. Garcia clicks a button.
Too bad, she'll make him cave in. She always comes prepared and this time, she found out about his past. Garcia Santos was a delinquent, involved with gangs and staying in rehab as early as sixteen.
He's murdered multiple people before, but all charges were dropped due to lack of evidence. So, she pulled some strings and has enough to blackmail him. Not only the murders, but drug trafficking and tax evasion.
If Garcia disagrees, she'll just put him in prison for simply wasting her time. If they can't hold him behind bars, her father will take care of him.
"My bestfriend is not dangerous." She folds her arms and crosses her legs. Whatever she wants, she gets.
"On the contrary, he is. The team I had carefully assembled were killed, thanks to him." He scratches the tip of his nose and looks down.
Liar.
"Watch your words. You're accusing my friend of being a murderer, like yourself. I, however, have solid proof of your activity." Isabelle intertwines her fingers together. She forwards him a file via chat.
The blood drains from his face.
And it's back to square one.
Underneath the tablecloth, her knuckles are turning white as her nails dig into her palm. The boring, pointless atmosphere from earlier dissipates. A harsh, thick tension settles in the air.
"Consider yourself warned, Garcia Santos."
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The next day comes by too quickly for her liking. Isabelle watches the sun rise from her window. She adores the faint pink color in the sky and barely got any sleep. The bakery would be closed today, so she'd either go shopping or stay.
Either option is boring.
She buries her face in her knees. What could she do, really? Chloe is busy with her job and Aaron just does whatever he's told. Tristan and Xingchen seemed to be busy as well, not responding.
Is Stephen free?
She didn't have an excuse to see him. Isabelle pat her face. Just imagining seeing him again made her self conscious.
She tossed on a silk bathrobe and head downstairs, eager for some breakfast. Not in the mood to do much, she made some toaster waffles. The satisfying crunch as it melted in her mouth was everything.
The doorbell rings. Who would drop by this early? It's barely seven in the morning and Isabelle isn't expecting anyone. Among her circle, she's the only early bird.
Holding a waffle in one hand she checks the cameras. A woman in her mid twenties, rubbing her stomach while carrying a small bag. Definately not a beggar, the staff would usher them away. She is well dressed, even with no visible jewelry.
Upon seeing her face, Isabelle drops her food and pushes the gates open. The staff whisper among themselves in shock.
"Jaine!" Isabelle hugs her tight. Gosh, it had been far too long!
"It's good to see you so lively, Isabelle." She comments. Isabelle invites her in and prepares a proper breakfast.
Jaine Davis. As gentle and beautiful as ever. Isabelle had met her a few times before, finding her in her brothers apartment and sometimes when out. She can't exactly say they're close, but Jaine is no stranger.
Calm, tired eyes and a kind smile. She still smelled like warm vanilla, just as she remembered.
"I've missed you so much! I was wondering where you were." She set a plate of hot pancakes infront of her guest.
"Sorry. I was looking for my husband."
She slowly took a bite.
The mention of Jake dampened Isabelle's mood a bit. Her sister-in-law didn't seem so good. Her visit is odd, but that's another story for another time.
"I'm willing to lend an ear."
Jaine gives a light squeeze and let out a small sigh.
"My family couldn't accept that we got married. They're denying me, well.." Jaine trails off.
She didn't remember any grand gesture nor some invitations. Perhaps just a civil wedding.
Jaine didn't need to say it. She could feel the pain in her voice.
"My family keeps harassing me. I'm looking for Jake because, he needs to know," She pauses.
Isabelle felt her heartbeat in her throat. Jaine smiled softly and rubbed her stomach. Oh. Oh?
"I'm pregnant." Jaine finishes. She pulls her in for a hug.
How should she feel, exactly? She'd be an auntie, but her absentee of a brother would be a problem. Her parents wouldn't mind, Isabelle was confident they'd protect Jaine. They accepted her, even when she was his girlfriend.
Jaine said nothing but Isabelle understood. One thing is for sure, she knew what to go shopping for now.
"Jake is off in London for some business. I can't say when he'll be back." Isabelle lies smoothly, a big smile on her face. Jaine continues to eat slowly.
"I want to talk to him."
"I'll... send a message. Going back, we need to go shopping!" Isabelle winks.
"Please, I'd rather rest."
Ah, great. One lie isn't too bad. Jake would appear sooner or later and things will wrap up nicely. It has to.
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