Part Eight

The Mayor gone, Isabella now stands alone in her living room. She sees Kristen's glasses lying on the ottoman and picks them up. It seems too early, but she realizes she has to force the issue now or face losing Edward to his demons forever. And that's not what she came here for.

She checks the time.

He's not answering his phone, but a letter by courier should get his attention. Given that rush hour is soon upon them, it will take Edward quite some time to get here once he receives it, so she won't be able to leave for her conference on time. But that's okay - that is not why she's here - HE is.

She composes the letter and sends it off.

Her complete transformation into Kristen shouldn't take her that long, but she sets out what she needs for it in the bathroom ahead of time anyway. Now for the long wait . . .

She spies the book on the Van Dahls that she'd been reading. Oh, yes . . .

A theory had been nagging at her – in fact, it seemed clear as day – about a long-lost Van Dahl family secret that she might have uncovered from perusing that book. But she needed more facts to back it up - facts that should be easy enough to find among the public records.

Most surprisingly – and in a way, least surprisingly because it was the lynchpin tying everything together – was the fact that many staff employed at the Van Dahl estate bore the last names of Kapelput and Van Dahl. All but one of them could be accounted for in the family tree of the antiquarian book on the Van Dahls – and all of them were illegitimate. The one that was missing was Gertrud. Why was she special?

Isabella had a theory. Eric's arrest record for the first rape of his sister-in-law, Miranda coincided with the birth of Gertrud Kapelput in Hungary. It was exactly nine months off. And, as expected, according to the public records in Hungary, Gertrud was Miranda's daughter – with no father listed on the birth record.

So, Gertrud was an illegitimate Van Dahl – Eric's daughter. And she was ultimately treated like one – eventually being forced to work as a servant at the estate in her mid-teens. But she was never acknowledged as such.

Isabella then realizes she has just uncovered a deep, dark family secret.

Elijah must have had no idea how closely related he was to Gertrud – his half-sister. Isabella wondered if he even knew she was his cousin. In that picture, Gertrude had already been relegated to the kitchen instead of standing by her mother's side. Had she been a lowly servant back in Hungary, too? The shame of her own mother? Gertrud was certainly the shame of Eric – not even listed among his other illegitimate progeny in the book.

And why had Miranda eventually disposed of Gertrud at the Van Dahl estate? Was it because she knew she was planning to kill herself when she returned to Hungary? Had Eric committed suicide upon the discovery of Oswald's birth? His death had followed shortly thereafter. Had that just been a coincidence?

These were the questions that the records just couldn't answer.

But there was enough here between the antiquarian book and the public records to understand just why Elijah's parents were so dead set against the match, and it wasn't just because of their difference in station. Elijah and Gertrude were half-siblings and genetically even closer seeing as their mothers were twins, sharing the same DNA. It was a miracle Oswald had been born healthy enough to survive.

Isabella picks up the antiquarian book once more, holding it in her hands solemnly, her fingers brushing over the textured leather. This information could destroy Oswald politically. From her conversations with Edward, she knew that the Mayor was still trying to find his place among the elite of Gotham. Any scandal could wreck him. And this information had been so easy to piece together just from perusing this book.

What to do with it . . . ?


Edward lets himself into her home. Isabella's still getting ready - still making herself look exactly like Kristen. She's playing one of Kristen's favorite songs, too. This is going to be hard for him, but it needs to be done.

He calls out to her, concerned that she's going to be late.

"I can be late, Edward." She finishes applying her lipstick – a shade only Kristen would wear. "This is more important."

It most definitely is.

"Oswald. . . the Mayor -" Edward cleared his throat nervously. "He informed me of your position, but believe me, I think our breaking up is for the best."

"No, Edward. It's not. I understand your fear. It comes from a place of love." She steps around the door. "I know you won't hurt me. You never could."

His reaction upon seeing her – dressed like Kristen, made up like Kristen, her hair now exactly like Kristen's, a shade of red, not blonde, pulled up into a ponytail – is as expected.

He even calls her Kristen – holds his hands up in defense. Isabella starts to give him a logical explanation that he can wrap his brain around instead of the truth – that she found old pictures of Kristen and made herself up to look like them, but he makes for the door in a panic.

Isabella stops him, grabs him by the elbows, and spins him back into her living room saying, "No, no, no, no. Look at me. LOOK AT ME."

"You don't know what you're doing," Edward tells her, his voice deep with fear.

She slaps him and then grabs him by the neck. "I am forcing you to face your fear. You won't hurt me. Even when I look like this."

His head is bowed again, he can't look at her, despite her insistence.

"Edward." She raises his head, but he keeps his eyes closed. She whispers, "Edward."

He finally meets her eyes. She lets out a breath.

Now's the time . . . she needs him to face this.

She grabs hold of his wrist and slowly draws his hand up to her neck. As predicted, he begins to panic a little, whispering, "No, no, no. . ."

But once his hand is on her neck, she gives him an assuring nod.

His face twitches as his hand begins to tighten around it, not wanting to do what he believes he's destined to do, but doing it anyway. However, she knows she can't die before her time. Which comes in handy because she needs to show Edward that he can't kill her.

Once his grip tightens enough, she whispers his name through her throttled throat. His gaze had been so intently focused on his constricting hand, yet now he returns it to her eyes and his grip loosens as relief washes over his face. His hand stays there as his lips crash into hers.

It is the first time that a kiss between them does not retain some level of softness. It is pure, driving passion. She knows where this is going.

As their lips part, she asks, "Should I take the glasses off?"

"Keep 'em on," he says huskily.

Their lips crush together once again, and she jumps up, encircling her legs about him. The both realize that they have way too many clothes on as he carries her to the kitchen and lays her down on the table. They have a burning desire to connect NOW.

His suit, shirt, and tie are removed within seconds, but Isabella grabs the tie out of his hands before it can make its way to the floor. Impishly she says, "We might need that."

He smiles wickedly and shoves up her skirt. He hurriedly pulls her panties down . . . only observing once he gets them down to her strappy-shoed feet that . . . "Kristen didn't have these."

"No, Edward," Isabella purrs as he removes her satiny pink undergarments. "Those are all mine."

She sits up as they hit the floor and undoes his belt buckle all the way. That wicked, twisted smile returns to his face as her legs wrap about him.

"What are you looking at?" she asks almost shyly.

"Your neck," he says lowly with a dangerous glint in his eye.

Her heart flutters. Oh really? Two can play at that game.

She reaches for the tie that she had set aside, not having finished freeing him from his pants just yet. She makes a knot in it at the base of a loose loop, which she puts over his head. As he reaches down and frees himself from his pants, she tightens the knot, pulling it up to his Adam's apple. But not too tight . . .

She pulls him down to her for a searing kiss and as she loosens her grip on the tie and he pulls away, his hand makes it back to her throat. He presses down on it as he shoves himself inside of her. Hard. And deep.

Isabella lets out a gasp of pleasure. And then his fingers constrict.

His cock feels so good pummeling into her, her bare ass stuck to the table, the heels of her shoes crossing over each other behind his back, that she almost doesn't notice how breathless she's getting.

But he does.

"Isabella?" he says worriedly and loosens his grip.

Good. He's going to be okay. Tears come to Isabella's eyes.

"Have I hurt you?"

"No. Don't stop," Isabella manages, although she doesn't have much breath to talk with. "Whatever you do, Edward, don't stop."

And he doesn't. He buries his head in her neck, arms holding her tightly. She digs her nails into his back, crying out now that her throat is released and she can. They're entwined, locked together in a fierce embrace on top of that table.

At one point he flips her over and with a deft motion wraps the tie about her neck. As he enters her from behind, he pulls back on it, but not enough to strangle her. He gives her time to respond, to give in to it, to go where it guides her. She throws her head back in pleasure and he leans over to kiss her. This time the kiss is reminiscent of their softer ones – in harsh contrast to his strong fingers digging into her hip as he pulls her into his cock again and again and again.

Even though he doesn't know it, Edward can't kill her, but he's nowhere in danger of doing that. He's learning just how far he can go . . . and when to stop himself. What happened with Kristen won't be happening again.

As their lips part, Isabella sighs blissfully with the knowledge that she's helped him to overcome this. Her vision begins to lose focus as he reaches around to tease her nipples and finally take her over the edge.

When she's done and panting, he pulls her up and holds her close to him, his hot, slick chest pressed into her back, clasping his arms over her racing heart.

"Isabella?" he asks, breathing heavily into her ear.

"Yes?" she asks breathlessly.

"I love you." He buries his head in her shoulder after he says it.

"I love you too, Edward," she says and reaches up to stroke his hair, damp with sweat. She really does. He's the only man she's ever had such intense feelings for.

There is a long silence before he says quietly into her ear, "I'm never going to hurt you, am I?"

"No, Edward. You can't." She turns around and they are now face to face, kneeling on the kitchen table together, holding hands. "You're not capable of it."

He gulps.

"Kristen was an accident." She touches his cheek tenderly. "That's never going to happen again."

"I don't want to lose you."

"You won't," she reassures him.

He presses her back down onto the table and they continue exploring the pleasures of an unrestrained passion.