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"I'd like it if you'd stop trying to get rid of me, honestly."
Aaron's complaint falls on deaf ears. She hums to herself, lost in her own little world made of dough and batter. He folds his arms, watching Isabelle set the flour aside. She pops a piece of chocolate in her mouth. The taste of smooth, creamy white chocolate makes her chest swell with pride.
No promises there, bodyguard.
Isabelle enjoys her free time, exploring the city on her own during the day. Thanks to that, she can commute well and found some shortcuts along the way. Along with potential hiding spots, but no one needed to know that. Especially not her nosy parents.
Even with her efforts to distract herself from it, that package sent to her friend sends a chill down her spine. It's a confidential report, an autopsy along with pictures that had a red mark. Her brothers picture was crossed out, and her face was encircled. She swallows, trying to drown her fear in sweets.
Is someone out to kill her? Being the child of Charlotte Cross, who made plenty of enemies, she usually had death threats for breakfast. It's nothing new, but she can't shake the feeling in her system.
There's a few people she can suspect. But with no evidence to back her up, she might as well be talking to a wall. Thankfully, she knows who to ask about such a package.
Isabelle hums a song, making decorations in thick white frosting. Aaron steals a spoonful of the treat and she pretends to not notice.
What was his name again? Tristan had introduced the two before and Isabelle, since then, became a constant client. But this time, however, was personal. The other day she deliberately sabotaged a meeting with her father and a slimy shareholder. A petty way of getting revenge, but it worked.
That shareholder forgot their place so Isabelle shook them awake with a kind reminder.
But why? What is the intent?
However, the body in the pictures does not belong to her brother. With so much questions, there's no clue where to begin. Sure, money talks but not everyone will be honest about their information. Who to trust, who to lie to? Isabelle could be misled. Worst case scenario, robbed and killed off in an alley.
He couldn't be dead already.
It takes more than a mere threat to kill a Cross. She knows his capabilities well, even with his over the roof libido. At the young age of nine, he taught her how to hide a blade underneath her tongue.
Goodness. She's starting to act more like Tristan than herself now, wary of danger. All she's doing is making pastries, yet her head is elsewhere.
"Iz?"
Isabelle got the recipe right after a box of wasted ingredients. His green eyes have a sparkle in them, watching her create. It reminds her of a curious kitten, eager to touch anything and explore.
The mansion is constantly clean, thanks to the array of staff and Charlottes obsession with no dust on anything. Because of this, the air always has some smell of a cleaning agent or bleach.
Like a hospital.
"You're lost in thought." Aaron plucks the spatula from her hand. She made a mess and didn't realize the batter was everywhere. Oh, goodness. This won't do.
She takes out a kit full of piping tips, mentally counting them. Paired with the marble counter and another new set of utensils, the kitchen is almost picture perfect. Isabelle knows any picture with her in it is beautiful, as Tristan said.
Why would mother bother with a kitchen when all the real cooking is done outside?
No matter. In four months the house would be redecorated again and her parents would bicker, again.
"That looks good. Don't mind if I-" He snatches a candied strawberry from the display, enjoying the treat. He reaches for another topping but she swats his hand away. One at a time!
"You do it, then."
"As you wish, princess." Aaron mocks. He leans on the countertop.
"Oh gosh stop calling me-"
"Is it different when I say it?" He raises an eyebrow.
Isabelle found it strange. Only Tristan or Xingchen would call her such nicknames and it wouldn't bother her. But when he said it, it's improper. Like her blonde companion trying to speak Mandarin with a thick accent. The memory brings a smile to her face, the sheer look of horror on Xingchens face.
Who is she kidding?
A beautiful face is a great, but beauty is skin deep. It's an unspoken rule that her parents would make such big decisions for her, hence the tension at home. Each of them have their own opinions, yet neither can accept that their daughter is not a child anymore.
"He is my friend. Who exactly are you to me, really?"
Tristan doesn't harbor any feelings for her aside friendship, she could tell. They playfully flirt with one another but neither of them made a serious move. The open talks they had with one another is comforting, if albeit a little awkward.
The random 3am phone calls about his sex life have died down now, on the bright side. Either he's relaxed or she's gotten used to it.
The cheeky bodyguard stays silent, avoiding eye contact.
"You're my parent's employee first," She pauses.
Aaron hands her the spatula. She fills the pastry bags with different colors, namely pink, blue and purple. Isabelle bites her lip as she smoothens the icing. She uses baby pink frosting to make little roses on the cupcakes.
"and my acquaintance second." She finishes.
Aaron holds two in his hands. His slender, pale hands have white scars all over them. They were beautiful, but for some reason Isabelle was reminded of chicken feet with how bony they are. He tosses one mini cupcake into his mouth, a content smile on his lips.
Aaron scans the little treat tower and looks at her.
He might as well eat the whole display then.
"No." Isabelle said. They're her favorite and she'd rather not think of him while enjoying a treat. Especially the blue ones.
"I haven't even said anything yet."
Isabelle laughs. It's written all over his face.
"My lady?" Aaron teases. He takes a hearty bite out of one, cutting it in half. Absolutely not! Isabelle rolls her eyes. She just made those. Ah, no matter. Better he eat them before she does.
She shakes her head.
"How about cutie?"
"Okay, now you're doing it on purpose." She laughs, shaking her head.
"And if I am, cupcake?" Aaron presses, his emphasis being sickeningly sweet. Even if they don't end up together, Isabelle hopes to keep his bright smile in her life, as selfish as that is.
"In that case I'd prefer princess." She stuck her tongue out, like a child. He better watch out. She can't wait to wipe that smug grin off his face.
"Your words, boss."
She could have him fired for that!
"Jerk!" Isabelle sprinkles some flour onto Aaron, leaving visible spots on his black shirt. His eyes widen and she flips her hair in response.
"Oh it is on, princess!" Aaron retaliates with cupcake frosting, smearing it onto her cheek. Isabelle gasps. Oh yeah? She scoops up frosting with her bare hands and throws it onto him. Aaron's head is full of purple frosting now. Isabelle snorts, clutching her stomach in an attempt to cover her laughter.
"Take this!"
Aaron dumps a bag of flour all over over. She coughs and tosses more ingredients onto him. Marshmallows, chocolate chips, sprinkles and the like were scattered all over the floor. The sound of more shouts and laughter fill the kitchen.
"Miss Isabelle your mother-"
Hearing this, the two freeze in place. The voice belongs to Teresa, one of the housekeep. She has a questioning look in her eyes, more focused on the mess than anything else. Teresa has aged beautifully, her luscious brown hair now had white roots, accompanied by faint wrinkles on her skin. Though the way she looked at Isabelle never changed. The same, gentle brown eyes full of concern.
This time, though, she looks like she's fighting the urge to laugh.
"Do excuse me. I am not.. interrupting am I?" Teresa steps in, crushing ingredients under her feet. Isabelle feels frosting slide down her cheek, she wipes it off and splashes her face with water. Nailed it.
"Of course not, right, boss?" Aaron hides a cup of sprinkles behind his back. She nudges his arm with a sly grin. Idiot.
"You were saying?"
It's one thing to get called, but to send one of the housekeep could mean something important. If it's not some stupid limited edition designer bag, perhaps a pink diamond her mother is nuts over.
"Your mother would like to speak with you." Teresa bows. Isabelle grabs a cupcake and smears the frosting onto Aarons shirt. He gasps, snatching it from her hands before it falls. He takes a bite, content with the snack.
"Just between us, I'd pick you over them." Aaron whispers. He swipes some frosting onto his finger. Right from the shirt? Disgusting.
Teresa chuckles and hands the two damp face towels. She bids the two goodbye and excuses herself.
Isabelle wordlessly passes by the over the top wall decorations, mainly ornate weapons and paintings. The semi-gloss on the walls and lack of a scent makes her stop. Isabelle leans in and presses her ear to the walls, tapping around with her fingers. Not hearing anything unordinary, she shrugs.
False alarm.
Isabelle finds her mother on the couch, focused on documents with her reading glasses.
A quick shower would take too long. She fights the smile off her face and clears her throat.
"Yes, mom?" She sat quietly. Her mother dons a sleek, blue dress paired with white stilettos. Her age is catching up to her, her figure becoming less noticeable as the days went on. Isabelle assumes she just came from the office. As usual.
Charlotte Cross. Infamous for being too ambitious for her own good, engaged at a young age and involving herself in the company. Thanks to her, the company grew into a conglomerate, slowly buying smaller businesses. To think a multi-million company grew from one small, room from rent exactly 30 years ago.
Isabelle didn't understand why her mother feels the need to pester her father. He is doing fine, without her. Too prideful, perhaps?
"Yes, dear. We-what have you been doing!?" Charlotte exclaims. Isabelle laughs, fanning her face. She did look rather strange, courtesy of Aaron. Teresa hurriedly set some tea and scones on the coffee table.
"I.. was practicing." Isabelle said with a smile. Her mother didn't seem to believe it, but didn't press further. She set her purse on the couch and skims through a large file. How that could fit in a bag? Bring a whole suitcase at this point, mother.
"Well, as long as you're happy. "
Her mother chuckles and hands her an envelope. Isabelle pulls out a sheet and notices the picture of a young man. Oh for crying out loud! She went through the other files and saw other men as well. She rolls her eyes and slams the envelope on the table.
Isabelle stops hearing the world move for a few seconds. Nothing but sudden, jarring silence. The memory of what she read comes to life in her mind, voices of others and her own mixing together.
Not again. She looks around, naming five things. The sound of the kitchen and broom make her let out a breath she didn't realize she has been holding.
"I did not raise you to slam things." Her mother said. Insincere as ever. Her upbringing taught me many things, and being a problem isn't one of them.
"I want to date naturally, mother." She grits her teeth. It had only a been a few months since she had come of age. They wanted her to get married so soon? All for the sake of growing the company, marrying her off to some rich man's son. Goodness, she ought to move out.
"Think of your father, dear. About us." Charlotte pleads. She slides the envelopes towards her daughter. It was her mother's decision to marry her father, but she figures out it was just for money. At a younger age, it broke her heart.
Isabelle doesn't want that for herself. An empty, loveless marriage. Tolerating one another for the children they had together and the reputation.
"Your issues shouldn't include me." She replies. She takes a sip of tea, the taste of pomegranate calming her anger somewhat.
Now, she couldn't care less.
Mother or not, Isabelle will not allow herself to be used like that. She wondered if she spent too much time with Chloe, her way of thinking rubbed off of her. Most likely.
"I'm warning you, dear."
"And I'm telling you I don't care." She said.
For a second, her soul claws at her skin. An internal scream haunts her, watching Charlotte stand up. She slaps her cheek, leaving a flare of pain. Expected behavior. But it doesn't hurt any less.
"You live under our roof. The least you can do is do as I ask!" She exclaims. The whole house heard that for sure. Great. "When I tell you to roll over and die, you'll do it. Do I make myself clear?"
Isabelle said nothing and Charlotte kicks the table, sending cracked shards of glass everywhere.
What is she waiting for?
"Make a decision once you've cleared your head." Charlotte narrows her eyes and walks away, the sound of her heels echoing throughout the hall.
Isabelle heads to the garden. She stares at the pond, watching the koi swim around without a care in the world. In her next life, she'd rather be a jellyfish. That way she'd have no stress. Just floating through life, vibing. They don't even have a brain and live. There's hope for Tristan.
Teresa drops by and keeps her company for a while, up until Charlotte called for her. Great. The biscuits don't taste as good, eating them all by herself.
She closes her eyes. If she listened well enough, she can hear her brother's laughter. Isabelle places her hand atop her chest. Jake would've known what to say. She buries her face in her hands and sighs.
Forget it.
Jake would make a corny joke to lighten the mood and fail miserably. He'd get himself into even more trouble. In his own words, they'd get yelled at anyway so might as well have fun.
"Would you like to step out?"
Isabelle looks up. He still has bits of frosting in his hair. Cute. Does he want to attract bugs or what? Though, she must've looked no better herself. Aaron crosses his legs.
"You'd get in trouble." She stares at the fountain. Isabelle's mind went blank. The familiarity of the statues and sweet smell of flowers makes the pang on her chest heavy. Any more weight and she'd collapse, gasping for air.
Please come home soon, Jake.
"I don't mind being in trouble with you."
She shakes her head. Her parents might hurt him, that's too much to ask of anyone.
"I'm sorry about yesterday." She apologizes. . Had she gotten too angry to think? The pent up rage must be much worse than she thought. He nods. Aaron gently pats her head. Does she look like a dog to him? This cheeky, adorable guy is going to get on her nerves.
"Whenever I was upset, my uncle would pat my head like this. " Aaron scratches his cheek and looks away. Goodness, she'd rather have him be rude than this. His sweet side is unfamiliar to her.
Isabelle leans on his shoulder. The slap from earlier still stings. He pat her head so gently. She taps his cheeks, and stretches his skin. It doesn't feel as soft as it looks.
"Ice?"
"I'm fine, thank you."
She knows exactly what they were going to do today. First, a new batch of clothes. Second, a quick stop to the salon. A few drugstore remedies for that blemish should do. Chloe's advice worked better than her mothers, somehow.
Isabelle claps her hands together. Perfect! Aaron visibly pales, checking the time.
"Shopping again?"
It is tempting to spend, taking out her anger using her parents money. The sting on her skin hasn't gone away. Did she break the skin or what? Goodness. She touches her face.
"Isabelle you're bleeding!"
Aaron pulls out a packet of tissues and presses it on her cheek.
Oh. So that's why it kept stinging.
Perhaps the ring on Charlotte's finger caused a tear. Isabelle sits quietly, allowing him to put some ointment and a tiny butterfly bandage.
She picks at her nails. The memory of calm sea salt, scented oils and a soothing jelly mask makes her smile. Precisely. Skincare is the best remedy for stress.
A quick prep, like some facial hair maintenance for him and a whole kit for the bathroom. Jake was rather particular about them, so hopefully Aaron would be conscious as well.
"Are you listening, Iz?"
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"Again."
It's nearly evening, now. Rather than ease her stress, it only aggravated her. From the array of too many choices to pick out in a day to the traffic jam, nothing seemed to be in her favor at all.
How disappointing. Not even the trinket she bought for luck worked.
Perhaps her approach to today did not align the universe to be in her favor.
Whether the slap from earlier would leave a scar doesn't matter to her. One quick laser procedure and it'd be gone. Isabelle likes it, feeling a bit closer to Jake now. Even big brother has a scar on his face.
A day of shopping and accompanying her with her whims is nothing short of exhausting. It comes with the salary. Were he to complain, she'd have him replaced with one snap of her fingers. He'd be her guest than bodyguard, instead.
"Your phone memory will be full at this point." Aaron explains.
"Keep trying different angles. Like, it wasn't on purpose." Isabelle points out. She pats her bag and emphasizes her poise, oblivious to the passersby.
Oh, lovely. More attention, as if she didn't have enough.
He rolls his eyes but obliges.
Today, she chose a simple yet elegant dress in navy blue. Teresa suggested to pair the outfit with pearls, which were perfect. Isabelle raises her chin proudly, confident that her white heels match her earrings.
"Don't cover your bag!" He exclaims. She smiles sheepishly. A majority of her collection were gifts from friends, mainly Tristan and Xingchen's family. Chloe's tastes were a kind of out of this world for her.
"Right. Sorry!" She said. She places her fuchsia pink slingbag beside her and looks past her shoulder. Upon seeing his thumbs up, she motions for him to come close.
"You're beautiful. I'm sure you'd have plenty to post later, princess."
Isabelle slaps his arm playfully. She swipes past each photo.
Not bad at all. For a man with terrible fashion sense, he's a decent photographer. She looks at Aaron with a wide smile and hugs him.
"Thank you so so much!"
Isabelle rests her chin on his chest and looks up at him. Aaron is seventy percent legs. If she had to look at him like this more often, she'd get neck pain. She brings him from one store to another before eventually getting tired. They relax in a café.
She helps herself to a cake slice while Aaron has a cup of mocha with whipped cream. This never gets old! The ambiance and subtle smell of cinnamon and books in the air set the mood.
Perfect for a date.
"What's your type?" She blurts. Aaron coughs, setting his mug down. Too blunt? Perhaps a more quiet, subtle way of asking would've been better.
"What?" He has some whipped cream on his nose.
"I heard from Samuel that you haven't dated before." Isabelle hands him a napkin. His face drains of color.
Would he be honest or not? She expected a lie, as any other staff would do. Honesty does matter, but at the cost of their job? Only an idiot would do that.
"Well.." He trails off.
She leans in, eager to hear his answer. A lover who is gentle, sweet? Perhaps someone who's assertive?
"I'm not interested in women." He stares at his drink, avoiding eye contact. He didn't need to answer truthfully. They aren't friends, as far as she's concerned.
He rubs his hands together and avoids eye contact.
"No biggie." Isabelle picks at her fingernails. She blinks repeatedly, fighting off the sting behind her eyes. Not out of sadness, no, but because he's so honest. Only a fool would betray someone's trust.
He's so honest, she's touched. It's enough to bring her to tears.
"You're not..?" Aaron looks up, his eyes wide.
"I'm.. touched. You trust me." Isabelle beams. No matter. She'd help him find the best boyfriend out there!
Whomever he'd fall in love with, they were truly lucky. Unless they break his heart. Isabelle would make arrangements.
Aaron deserves the world. He has such a sweet, kind nature even with his sourpuss moments from time to time. If only his taste in clothes would grow.
"After you've finished, let's go around."
It wouldn't be a bad time to check out some real estate nearby. She kept a huge amount of savings safely and secretly stored away where not a single family member knows about. Aside Jake.
She can't trust them after what they did to their own son. If she's not mistaken, she's their next target.
After confirming with the info broker, they sent that package. Is it time to fake her death and follow Jake, now? Isabelle rubs the pendant in-between her fingers, silently observing the people around her.
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