Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.
"His smile is like the silver plate on a coffin." – John Philpot Curran.
Her eyes blazing with fury, she lunged at me. I'm sure she would have plucked my eyes from the orbs had she been given half a chance. I swiftly dodged her attack, stepping aside while she tumbled to the floor. The commotion had attracted the attention of the other patronesses and soon a crowd observed the shrieking woman while she tried to untangle herself free from her skirts.
Fortunately, I spotted a dressing gown and hastily covered myself with it, trying to maintain as much dignity as possible given the situation. However, I was unprepared for the man who strolled inside the dressing room. Before my eyes the Duke of Whitlock pulled the woman up and thrusting her out, bid her to wait for him on the street. Yelling a foul word, she yanked the door opened and left. It was the last time I ever saw her.
Sighing, the Duke turned to me with a polite smile and what I believe was an apology on his lips. The apology would go forever unheard, the second his eyes met mine, what had been polite interest turned to blazing fire. And for the first time I was hit by the full force of his dimpled smile. Something inside me melted and changed, truly content, like a desperate person who long ago issued a call and had finally been answered.
Our connection lasted but a moment, but on those fleeting seconds our souls recognized each other. At the time I was too inexperienced to recognize the bond for it was, preferring to believe myself destined to love the Duke. The piercing voice of a reproachful Renée dispelled the magic, once again we were two strangers caught on an awkward situation. Bowing politely he expressed his deepest regrets for the role scene. Recognizing the man as my betrothed, Renée cannily accepted his apologies on the behalf of Lady Isabella Cullen-Swan, as I was largely known as deference to great-grandpapa.
Turning crimson with embarrassment, the Duke conveyed once again his sorrow for the whole incident, strategically inserting the information that the woman would be properly disposed of. Back then I did not understand that he was promising to break his relationship with the blond courtesan. Respectfully bowing to me, his eyes avoided the sight of me.
Hurt by his disregard, I had to fight back the tears that unbidden had come to my eyes. The fear of not being considered good enough came out of nowhere, for I should not care about the Duke's opinion, since I intended to avoid marriage to him at all cost. Misinterpreting my distress, Aunt Renée tried to sooth me by saying that every man seeks his pleasure with a mistress and it was unbecoming for a lady to comment on it.
"Besides, you are beautiful Isabella. Not on the fashionable way, that much is true. But you have the kind of beauty that makes a man loose his mind and fall to his knees. Use it wisely and you shall have everything you wish."
From Aunt Renée I had just discovered that I was indeed beautiful, however her assessment that it would bring me my heart's desire could not have been farther from the truth.
See you tomorrow.