I sit up straight and run my hand through my hair. I can do this. Remain calm, like my father, and shove all emotions aside. Clicking on my computer to bring up the security feed. Scrolling through each room until I find her bedroom camera.
She’s closing the bedroom door, tossing her sweater behind her as she makes her way to the bathroom. I’m assuming she’s going to shower. For once she is listening to what I tell her. Easing back in my chair I press the intercom for the kitchen. Rose answers, and I ask her to prepare a full breakfast tray for Isabella and bring a coffee to my office.
I keep checking her monitor as I pull folders out and start packing my briefcase for the trip. She comes out of the bathroom in a towel and heads to her suitcase and pulls out a pair of jeans and a sweater. A pill bottle falls to the floor. She bends to pick it up.
Her expression makes my stomach knot as she holds the bottle tight in her hand and looks up at the ceiling as tears fall down her cheeks.
I’m standing now, leaning on my desk as I focus on the screen as I watch her grip the bottle and look at the bathroom and back at her hand.
I watch as she goes into the bathroom and my heart drops. She wouldn’t, would she?
I’m frozen. My chest is so tight I can’t suck air in. I make a move to the door, and I see her come out and head back to her suitcase. Dropping back in my chair I put my head on the desk and breathe a sigh of relief.
I look up at the screen. She’s just pulling her sweater on. She heads to the door and looks around her room. I click on the hall monitor and watch her as she places her hand on my door, wiping away tears.
She’s headed down the hall. Rose knocks on my door and comes in with my coffee, places it on the side of my desk and leaves.
I take a sip; click on the foyer, and watch as she smiles at Carlos. They exchange a few words, and she’s now heading to my office.
The door opens, and Isabella crosses the room quietly to my desk. She sets the keys down and takes her seat across from me, gathering her hair over one shoulder to hold in her hands on her lap. Isabella looks up into my eyes; she's not hiding her face from me. Her demeanour is one of humility and quiet acceptance. No tears, no apologetic pleas--just a stoic expression on her face.
I was prepared for a weeping mess, not those detached green eyes staring at me. I clear my throat continuing to tell her the rules she must follow while I’m away. Still, she gives no response, not one ripple on her face, or any reaction at all. How far will I have to take this before she breaks?
So I push harder, telling her Anna won’t be allowed in my home until my return. Still nothing, just a porcelain doll with green eyes boring into mine. I didn’t want her tears before, but now, I’d give anything to see at least a sheen in her eyes, anything.
Like the cruel bastard I am, I double the threat and tell her about the call I placed to her boss yesterday evening, requesting her time off to prepare for the wedding. The only indication that she understood what I said was her hands gripping her hair tighter, turning her knuckles white. Isabella releases her grip quickly and I finish telling her the remainder of the rules till I come home.
I wait. I watch her closely, waiting for anything, any sign she will fight, scream, or show any reaction at all.
She doesn’t move or say a word. She sits there quietly, holding her now drying hair in her hand with that stoic expression on her face.
My anger rises again. I don’t know what I wanted out of this exchange. I expected to argue, to lay down the law, to show herhow shaken I was by the whole thing. But how can you argue with someone who doesn't fight back?
Her calm demeanour makes me feel as though I did something wrong and just like when she left me in the dining room, I sit here holding my dick in the air with nowhere to vent my frustrations.
Finally excusing her to leave and go to her room. I bring up the monitor on the foyer camera so I can watch her reactions when she thinks she is out of my view. She exchanges a few words with Carlos and walks up the stairs.
Carlos scowls at my office door and then clenches his fist, turning and walking away. He's pissed and showed more reaction than Isabella had during the half hour she sat at my desk.
I follow her as she walks down the hall, opening her door. I bring up her room on full screen and she sits on the couch, her hands folded in her lap, her feet resting on the coffee table. She just sits there staring at the window.
What the hell?
No tears, no throwing her pillows, nothing that I would expect out of a woman who’s been told she’s a prisoner till I get back. She doesn’t weep for her friend, her job, or her freedom. Nothing.
Sasha arrives with her breakfast; they exchange a few words, and Isabella sits on the couch preparing her meal while Sasha leaves.
She picks up her plate and sits on the window seat overlooking the backyard. All I can see is her shoulder and half her body. She’s tucked into the wall eating her breakfast.
Once she is done, she moves the tray to the door and then sits down on the couch again, staring at the bouquet she moved to the table.
I notice her hand wringing a few times before she settles back into the couch, raising her feet to the coffee table once more, and begins to pick at her finger with her thumb, silently staring at the flowers.
I watch her for a few more minutes and then leave my office, heading for my bedroom to pack the last of my clothes for the trip.
I need to head into the office before meeting my father to get on the plane for New York. Jogging up the stairs, and heading down the hall, I stop at her door to put my ear closer, but nothing. No noise, no quiet sobs not even the sound of the TV.
Silent.
