Isabella's POV
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As soon as we both entered my room, mom said, "Now as I have told you before, be a good girl and don't create a sce-" She merely sat on the bed as I turned around and gave her a critical look. On the grouchy face of Squid Ward.
"You've said that already nine times, mama."
I am aware of how unpredictable you can be. She argued for herself.
"Mama!" I grumbled.
"Fine! Don't make a scene, though. Have this on hand as well in case any weird men beg you to follow them. I gave her a wide-eyed look as she shoved a can of pepper spray into my hand.
Usually, pepper spray wasn't this huge! With a loud groan, I stood up and went to the dressing table to check my face in the mirror. Since young master entered the kitchen and asserted that he was the one who ordered my attire, I had felt as flushed as I appeared.
He didn't glance at me when he was saying it, and even if he did, I couldn't tell because I wasn't glancing in his direction. I couldn't get the memory of him yelling my name in his room the other day out of my head, and I would die of shame if he ever brought it up.
All I'm saying is, "Baby, be careful." Mama uttered.
She treated me as if she were the big bad wolf himself, inviting me out on a first date. Yes, young master may have been a metaphorical big scary wolf. It wasn't like he would slit my throat if I did something improper.
Mama, I will. I will."
You're aware of how much I read. One of the aprons was already embroidered when she began working on the other, which was still next to her and waiting for its turn. Although I tried not to seem self-conscious, I was a little concerned about how my mother was acting. Did she not want me to go or was she concerned that I might suffer a poor outcome?
"Mama, what do you have to say?" I muttered.
"Yes, I have a story to support it," she said. The girl went to a ball with her boss so she could meet a certain wealthy businessman she had a crush on. The crush was really strong, and she was very delighted.
"Mama, I don't have a crush on him!" I screamed and whispered as if it were illegal for anyone to hear me. She kept saying, "Crush." Crush was so large and crush was so different. Was it really wrong of me to develop feelings for the young master?
I would argue that it most certainly was. His glares would undoubtedly pierce through me one day and bore a permanent hole in my face, so I didn't want to consider being in the same room with him or breathing the same air as he did!
I never claimed that you did, Isabella mio. She laughed as if she had just heard a joke. She still had the smile on her face, so I shook my head and turned my head away as my cheeks began to heat up.
"So, what became of the girl?" I sat down next to the vanity, facing her.
Her smile brightened my day, and I grinned as well. "Yes. She complied when this skinny man suddenly appeared to inform her that her employer had requested that he call her into another hallway where so many other businessmen were present since she had a crush on one of them. When they reached the room, he shoved her inside and slammed the door. That was it, she said seriously. "She left with him, leaving the crowded hallway alone. What was her goal in doing all of this?
Is the girl dumb for following a man she didn't know? My question is. Mom scowled at me.
"No! Stop hate on my character; it is only a tale, and the girl is brave. My mouth stood open as she spoke so confidently in support of the character.
I'm sorry for disparaging your character, I-I. I grumbled and got to my feet, encircling her with my arms. Long and contented, she exhaled. Before she could continue, there was a knock on the door, so I got up to answer it.
It was Genevieve, my goodness.
Isabella called out, "You're back!" I opened the door, and Genevieve literally leapt on me. I consented to her hug with a little smile. Though I couldn't say the same, she appeared overjoyed to see me.
When the young master first began building this house, Genevieve, a housekeeper, began working for him. The young master, my mother, and I left the mansion where his parents lived at that time.
Despite being two inches taller, she nevertheless patted my head as if I were her younger sister despite her height advantage. She lied a great deal and had blue eyes that twinkled constantly. She claimed to have a master's degree in English language when she initially came to this place, but every time we spoke, I would shudder within. She did not employ English grammar in a particularly wonderful manner.
As she spoke terribly and patched together her phrases with slang, she would smile. She had, however, made enormous progress since arriving. Undoubtedly, she attended college and earned a master's degree.
She also claimed that she had followed a family to Italy because her American parents had perished in a plane disaster, but she had to flee when she could because she was being mistreated by them.
Even though she made frequent boasts about America, she was ignorant of the cuisine and style of life there.
She was unfamiliar with the region's locations and educational institutions. She was unaware that she spent her entire fifteen-year residence in America. Having said that, I didn't find it necessary for her to lie and claim to be somebody she was obviously not. Despite this, I had no objections to her telling me any of those things. Genevieve gave my room a grating grin as she widened the door and entered. She turned to me where I was now sat after greeting my mother.
She attempted to act like the older sister I never had while being a year my senior. Perfectly lovely. I searched through my closet for my underwear.
Where are you headed? She enquired. Mama was very quiet, so I glanced in her direction to see why.
A happening. Simply put, I said.
"Hmm. There would be a lot of attractive young men there, and I know some of them would be from the United States. Genevieve seemed to be deep in contemplation as she murmured. She began jumping on my bed all of a sudden.
I could not protest because I was accustomed to it, but Genevieve seemed unaware of it or didn't seem to care that her mother was nearby sewing an apron with a needle. Mama was silent, as I knew she would be. But she never did. Of course, she was mommy.
I yelled, "Genevieve," between gritted teeth.
"Yes?" I glared at the matted brown hair covering her head as she batted her eyelashes.
Saying "Stop that."
"What?" Faking ignorance, she shrugged.
Stop jumping that way, please. Don't you realize that Mama is sewing right next to you?
"Isabella, my dear?" Mommy called.
I inhaled deeply and slowly. "Sí mama?"
"We should probably head out by now. Come downstairs and get ready fast. Prepare the list of items we'll need because you and I are going to the grocery store together, Genevieve. Move forward. Mama followed Genevieve as she got up and walked away.
"Madré?"
"Sí?" With her hand on the doorknob, she turned around.
What ultimately happened to the girl from the story? Do they live happily ever after once she finally met the businessman she was smitten on?
"No. Do not forget that she was taken. With a little smile, Mama told me. I did the head-bob. In other words, the young man she was in love with married someone else and was unaware of her feelings. Furthermore, due to various issues, she wasn't permitted to leave that house for a while. As she spoke, she sent a sad glance directly in my direction.
"What was the name of your character? I'm referring to the guy you liked so much.
I refer to him as Federico. She spoke while keeping her gaze seemingly far away, clearing her throat before her face turned serious. "We are unable to predict when you will meet your own Frederico. Don't keep the young master waiting; get dressed.
I gave her a kiss and nodded before going on with what I was doing.
If I had my way, my mother would resume writing novels and even break into the elite ranks of published, best-selling authors. She was talented at crafting tales, and I was certain that the figure she had just described to me was one she adored. She had previously given me a ton of stories, all of which were excellent.
She also found inspiration quickly, whether it came from a song or a simple chat. It was truly astounding how much she adored anything having to do with writing, storytelling, or historical events.
After an hour, I had taken a shower, covered my body with cream, and clothed myself while daydreaming the entire time. As I was doing my final touches of makeup, there was a soft knock on the door once more.