Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Michelle (meschelw) made this readable. Thank you!
Chapter 1
Houston, TX - May
"Just the water, please," Isabella said to the waiter. "I'm waiting for someone."
The fancy restaurant was popular, so it was crowded. The miracle was she was able to make a reservation for two at such short notice.
She sighed as she observed the glass with the sparkling water the waiter'd brought her. She was supposed to make a contact soon and get along with the plan.
The plan. It was ridiculous from the very beginning to the much desired ending.
It took almost half a year to set everything in motion. Half a year of anxiety, of anticipation and frustration.
She hated it. Just as she hated everything. The city, beautiful, yet pretentious and strangely more humid than Austin. Her apartment in West U. They located her in a very nice neighborhood, the furniture was designer, the shelves full of books. They set her with fat bank account but she hated it too.
She had to play along and she didn't have a choice. Not anymore. She signed the papers. Signed her life away.
Isabella bit her lip as she recalled her quarrel with the boss.
"How long did you know?" She yelled from the top of her lungs. "How long?"
"For some time, but it's not-"
"I don't care! I fucking hate you! How could you do this to me? I thought we were something, that we had something!" She tried to fight her tears as she screamed the painful words in his face. "You didn't even try-"
His eyes widened, he interrupted her angrily.
"You think I didn't try? I fucking tried everything! I tried to pull strings, tried to call on the old favors and everything went to hell! All I gained were suspicions about us! Fuck, I'd rather took a bullet than send you on this mission! Every fucking time I think about you near this animal I want to die!"
She laughed bitterly and shook her head.
"Damn, meet me halfway. It's not on me," he spat out and threw the laptop from the table. It landed on the floor and shattered to pieces. She just looked at it and shrugged.
"They had chosen you because you were a perfect candidate," he said more calmly.
She noticed it more than once before; he tried to hide behind his position and authority, tried to be official and bossy every time he felt stressed or unsure, behind his orders, his classified info. But all she saw was his cowardice.
"Is that so? And what the hell makes me so perfect to send me on this disgusting, suicide mission?" She was polite, but her voice could cut the glass to tiny shards.
"You have the best background among all the female agents in our agency," he explained, ignoring her sarcasm. "And you…," he hesitated.
"What?"
"And you succeeded before," he finished his sentence and sighed.
"What the fuck? Really? I succeeded? McCarthy was a dumb fuck, it took two dates only and he spilt his guts already! And I was under surveillance and was wearing fucking wire!" She yelled. "I can't believe this shit!"
She stood up and began to gather her things.
"I'm sorry, it's in your file, Isabella," he said. "Please, don't make it harder than it is. You can always say no."
"Seriously? The minute I decline I'll be out. You know it, Edward," she whispered, tired of the fight. "You want me out?"
"Of course not. But maybe you should reconsider this option."
"Fuck you," she said and stormed out of the room.
As soon as she signed to papers, the endless meetings started. Another team took over and her boss didn't attend. The details were classified.
They discussed everything. Grilled her over and over.
.
"Who am I gonna be?" Isabella asked Bree Johnson, the head of the new team.
Bree smiled, completely relaxed. Her stance made Isabella less anxious.
"We decided that you'll be yourself."
"Excuse me?" Isabella coughed, surprised.
"You have the background we need and it has to be flawless. He's gonna check it thoroughly and he's gonna check it again. And again. We can't have any troubles with your story, unless you want to end at the bottom of Buffalo Bayou."
"But-"
"You'll be yourself. Isabella Swan, Forks, Washington, daughter of Charles Swan, chef of the local police. University of Washington graduate, currently writing her PhD in Comparative Literature in Houston. Everything is perfect, just think about it."
"And the agency?" Isabella asked, confused.
"What agency?" Bree smiled again.
"There will be a three years gap."
"No, it won't. We got it covered," Bree stated. "You were shot in a robbery that went wrong, recovered, but suffered in PTSD and temporary memory loss. Three years of therapy and voila, you're good to continue your studies."
"It's just stupid," Isabella rolled her eyes.
"Got better explanation of your bullet marks?" Bree asked, her perfect eyebrow raised in question.
Isabella grimaced. Her scars could raise suspicions. Goddamn the shooter who managed to miss her bulletproof vest and hit her arm and leg.
"But it's my life. If something went wrong…"
"We got it under control. You need to trust us and focus on the mission."
Bree was so sure of herself.
.
"You should go back to your natural hair color," Bree suggested. "We know he likes brunettes."
"No fucking way, I like my hair blond," Isabella shook her head. "Just leave it."
"And that stubborn attitude of yours. It could get you in trouble. We assumed he prefers his women more…submissive," Bree added shyly.
"You assumed?" Isabella snorted and observed with pleasure as Bree's stoic face suddenly changed just for the moment.
"We got in touch with his ex-wife, but…she wasn't very helpful."
"I said leave it. I'm not coloring, curling up or cutting my hair, is that clear?"
.
"Isabella, we should discuss the best solution the birth control issue, please-"
"I'm going to throw up, I'm done here."
.
"What if he's not interested?"
"You have to make him interested. We got only one chance."
.
Five months of fights. Five months of solitude. The same day she learned about her fate she asked her boss to move out. He did it without a word.
But he called her often; she wasn't answering. The messages he left she knew by heart.
"It changes nothing. I will always love you. Please, answer your phone. I miss you. I fear for you. I'm going crazy. I love you."
It was the last evening of her old life. That's why she wanted to have a dinner with him. She didn't want to end it like that.
But Edward was late.
She didn't know how long she sat, looking at the glass, the water not sparkling anymore.
Her iPhone vibrated and she opened new message.
"I couldn't make it. I'm sorry."
Isabella felt one single tear rolling down her cheek. She brushed it angrily with her palm and decided to go home.
"It's on the house," the waiter startled her; he appeared out of nowhere and placed new glass with amber liquid in front of her.
"Thank you, but…" she stuttered.
"The owner of our restaurant would like to introduce himself, if you please," the waiter said, his voice trembling slightly.
"What? I mean…I don't know what to say…"
"He's standing next to the bar, on the left."
She glanced in that direction and froze. It couldn't be. It wasn't meant to happen now.
But there he was. Her target. Her nightmare. The curse of her life.
The King of Houston.
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