Chapter 4 ~ Isabella
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I'm not sure who said that leather seats were great... But I have a feeling it must have been a man. Whoever he is, he needs a smack upside the head. Because no woman in her right mind would say that after sitting in a hot car with a short dress on.
My back is hot, more than likely putting a nice big sweat stain on my silk dress. My butt is sticking to the seat, and my knee-length dress does not keep my thighs from getting the skin ripped off every time I move.
We are all seated in the back of the limo, playing the part of the loving, upper-class family we present to the world. No one is talking, each staring out a window or looking at his or her phone, my mother fussing over her attire endlessly.
I peek at my sister, in her Oscar award-winning gold dress, as she stares out the window, legs crossed, her face with a blank expression, as if she could care less.
We are about to meet Amato Russo, head of the family organization.
How she can look so relaxed is beyond me.
I am a ball of nerves and I feel like throwing up.
Holding my stomach, I try to staunch the churning.
Sneaking a glance at my father. He's concentrating on his phone, his finger constantly swiping up, scrolling through what I'm hoping is his email.
At least It's not right or left. How awkward would that be? I chuckle in my head at that thought.
"Isabella!" My mother snaps, reaching over to tug my hand off my churning stomach. "You'll get wrinkles in your beautiful dress if you keep grabbing your stomach like that. Quit!”
She taps my hand like I'm a four-year-old in need of a smack.
Leaning back against the seat, she studies my face for a moment, sure to catch the fact that I only put on a bit of mascara and chapstick.
My hair is down, gathered over one shoulder and falling across my chest. I took the time to brush it until it shined; also, having it down, it kind of hides my big boobs.
Anna would be sooo disappointed in me, the perv.
My mother's hazel eyes examine the rest of my body, marking every flaw, and I can see it in her burning red face. She knows I'll come up short once the Russo family sees me.
My tummy rolls again, and I go to hold my stomach, but I remember her warning and drop my hand back to the seat. My mother's lips clench together, forming a tight white line, and she shakes her head at me in a warning.
I turn back to look out the window, hating this whole idea. Like, who the hell picked this match anyway? It's not like I said: "Hey? Mom? Dad? Give me the hottest guy in the organization you can find, Oh. And make sure he's next in line for the throne."
I never want to be in the spotlight... like ever!
I've always been a behind-the-scenes kind of girl.
I hate to be noticed and will go out of my way to disappear at any function I'm forced to attend with my family.
If you can find me, I'm usually out in the yard with the dog if they have one, or hiding in the back.
Picking some imaginary lint off her dress, my mother looks up at me; "Isabella, tonight is important.
This means as much to us as it does to the Russo family.
I've educated both of you girls on your obligations as family wives, and by being matched to Alexander, you will come into some influence of your own.
You will need to leave your childish anxiety behind now.
Sit beside him as an advantage, not a hindrance. "
Swiping her hand through the air, she says, "Enough with the sullen looks and the subdued silences.
No more disappearing in your head! You need to learn to face people with poise.
You will be in the public eye whether you like it or not.
You'll need to appear by his side at social and charity functions. Time to grow up! "
Crossing her arms, she leans in close to my face. In a cruel whisper, she states, "Do you know how hard we campaigned for this match?" She lifts one thin blond eyebrow and glowers at me.
I just sat there silently, blinking at her. Childish anxiety? Sullen looks? What the?
Oh, yeah, that's my life goal: to stop breathing in public and turn into a zombie whenever I'm overwhelmed. I can’t even find the words.
I'm not sure if she'd like my answer, because if I had a choice in the matter, I would have told both my parents to let me marry the Russo's gardener and hand this honour over to Rebekah.
Public life was not what I had in mind for my future.
I had hoped that after I graduated, they would forget about me.
Stupid Izzy, you're the prize cow. You keep forgetting that.
I’d just like to go back to work and lose myself in the fresco.
I just got handed the piece a few weeks ago, and it's a beautiful painting. I’ve only cleaned up a bit of it so far, but it's a lovely Roman scene of a garden, with pillars and a pool.
The maid was lifting water into pitchers.
The work is painstaking, but I enjoy exposing more of the picture as I work.
They uncovered a giant slab of rock a year ago, and we get to house the exhibit at the museum once all the pieces are restored.
It is going to be epic for me. It will be my first one as a restoration artist. I love my job at the museum.
I was lucky. Somehow I managed to get an understudy spot in the Department of Art and Restoration.
I spend most of my days with my face in a magnifying glass, a q-tip in one hand, and tweezers in the other.
Turpentine and paint thinner are my perfume and I love it! The job suits me.
"Back off the girl, Sophia! It's a done deal and it's settled. She knows her role. "
My father's voice booms in the small space, making me jump in my seat and ripping more skin off the back of my knees.
I reach down to rub the sensitive spot, praying that when I step out of this car, I don't have huge red patches on the backs of my legs.
Grabbing my chin, my father turns my face in a firm but gentle grip.
I stare into identical eyes and jet-black hair, so much like my own that it reflects a hint of blue in strands from the sun's rays streaming in the window. No fatherly love stares back, no affection or a warm smile. Just a steel resolution.
His voice has become more patronizing as he speaks leaving a hollow pit in my stomach. "You'll do fine, Izzy. If not, well, you will be Alexander's problem to sort out. We've done our part."
He lets go of my chin, nudging my face toward my window as if he can't stand to look at me anymore, and drops his hand back into his lap, ignoring all of us to focus on his phone once more.
My insides start to quake again, and I can feel a slight tremor starting in my hands.
I grab the leather seat on either side of my legs, gripping tight to keep the shakes under control.
I want to ask why they even bothered petitioning for me to be his wife.
If I was this big of a screw-up, which by these lovely conversations, I must be?
Why not give this man to Rebekah? She is his equal in every way, as far as I can tell.
I’m not sure why I torture myself. I don't need to ask. My heart knows the reason. This contract will bring them closer to the top of command, a higher seat within the family organization, and increased social standing, adding to my wealth. I'm the prize cow they need to sell to get to the top.
After my father's comment, there is a deafening silence in the car.
Before, the atmosphere was gloomy, but now the tension is thick like smoke and makes it much more difficult for me to breathe.
The car begins to slow, coming to a stop before an immense black iron gate with a massive gold filigree "R" in the middle that screams wealth.
The driver leans over and presses the intercom, announcing our arrival.
I can actually feel the blood leaving my face.
I’m not ready for this. I’m really not.
I talked myself into thinking this was a simple dinner, and Anna had me convinced it was no big deal. Why do I believe her? She is so out there, she doesn’t care what anyone thinks about her.
The gate begins to open and as we pass through, I let out a big huff of air and try to concentrate on the grounds as we drive closer to what I assume will be my impending death.
I take in the huge cedar trees lining both sides of the interlocking brick driveway, hiding the rest of the grounds from my view.
We round a corner, and I catch my breath as the cedar trees give way, turning into a landscape of lush flower gardens and gravel pathways with benches to rest on or sit and read.
All the stress and anxiety are suddenly forgotten; I am just sitting here awestruck.
I’m glad the windows are blacked out because I literally have my face plastered to them trying to take everything in.
There is a small man-made lake far off in the back of the property with a little dock jutting out into the calm water. Cattails grow along the edge, making it the perfect place to hide out from the world and paint.
The circle driveway leading up to the massive Tuscan mansion has a huge three-tiered Fleur de Lis fountain in the centre.
Water trickles over its edges, cascading into a massive pond.
Water lilies are scattered on the surface, and I just want to jump out of the car right now to look and see if they have coy fish swimming among the reeds.
I almost want to clap my hands at how excited I am.
It’s like little snippets of my home in my head are here for me to touch in reality.
I feel like a painting that came to life before my eyes, and my fingers itch to touch everything, to sketch this wonder. I’m desperate to transfer its beauty onto canvas.