The Portrait and The Letter
Chapter 7
In Angloa, the final exams were usually held at the end of May and the beginning of June. The University of Safeira was no exception. For two weeks, every student would spend hours upon hours in the libraries, salons, and cafés of the city, not to mention their own bedrooms, studying until the small hours of the morning.
But just as the students would be occupied with sleepless nights of worrying, looking over old lecture notes and praying they would pass to whatever deity would listen, so were the professors and lecturers. And while they had some leeway before the first round of exams rolled in for corrections and grading, this time the university would find little rest with the AHEA breathing down their necks.
Bella Dwyer might not have let the stress get to her as much as it did under any usual circumstances, but Mr. Jacoby certainly knew when to show up at the worst instances. She had already gotten off on the wrong foot with him and having him in her office as she fervently tried to keep a façade of calm composure before the exams was difficult. Keeping her worries down over the portrait and over knowing where to start with searching for the missing letter was even worse. She would often stare into the distance, space out, only to fall back into reality as she noticed that Mr. Jacoby was watching her with a questioning glance. He must think her a dimwit at best, or impaired at worst.
But she couldn't help it. She would close her eyes and see the piercing golden eyes of the masked general, knowing what hid beneath—or at least what she had been told. Anyone could argue that it had just been a coincidence that the painting of William Fell should be hiding underneath the portrait of Cullen. She sighed; anyone could argue that the letter the Director of the SCR had mentioned was to keep her occupied. However, he had underlined the importance of this matter and Bella agreed. As she pondered on it further, she started getting a notion of what he had asked her—of what they were aiming to do: changing the fabric of Angloan history as they knew it. Such an important part of their nation, their national hero, who had given them their well-known chant Audeamus.
If Bella had pondered on this strange new development in her life, she might have remained more on the fact that she was walking into territory she was not used to; of secret organizations operating from the shadows, of someone who would go to great lengths for this secret not to be revealed. Maybe then she would indeed have worried for her own safety, had she ever had the propriety for it. She may be teaching at the university, but when it came to her own person, Bella could be quite oblivious—at least that was what Mike had said to her at times. And it made sense, she thought. She would aimlessly let her mouth run when she found herself in an uncomfortable situation, which never ended well.
But, the blond stranger that Bella had started mentally referring to as the Director, had been adamant about one thing. He wanted to assure Bella that she was now under SCR protection—and better protection was hard to find in the world, or at least that was how he had put it. Bella reasoned that it had to be true, for she had no idea she was under protection. The four mysterious masked members that she had seen that day at the hidden courtyard had never crossed her path again, but she figured they had to be close by. Indeed, they had said as much, that they would be by her side at all times, even in her apartment. She had tried to find them in her home, but had been unsuccessful.
"Ms. Dwyer?" someone suddenly said next to her, startling her to such a degree that she almost fell out of her chair.
Bella laughed nervously as she composed herself while Mr. Jacoby took a step back. Behind the thick dark beard and thick-rimmed glasses, she sensed the glaring eyes staring down at her. He wore tweed again. She wrinkled her nose unbeknownst to herself.
"Daydreaming again, are we?" Jacoby asked.
Bella grew flustered as she quickly started looking through some old essays on her desktop. "Lost in thought over an exam question, Mr. Jacoby!" she blurted out. When she wasn't at the university, she spent most of her time at the library or archives. Bella had developed a theory and knew in which direction she had to head now, but she didn't feel like calling the Director… there was something fishy about him and the SCR too that she had discovered from her findings. She would have to confront him about it and Bella abhorred such confrontations, especially with people of authority like he clearly was.
Mr. Jacoby disregarded her answer, presenting a small stack of papers. "As I was saying, I need you to fill these out for me before the end of the day."
Bella accepted them. Three papers that looked like a survey were placed in her hand.
"These are?"
"Some general questions about the department, faculty, and finally the university itself. You don't need to write your name on these as they are anonymous—"
"But you know I'd written these as I hand them over to you… and you'd recognize my handwriting," she cut off with an innocent smile.
He sighed. "I am merely handing over them to the head inspector. All teachers are required to fill these out. They are only handled by the inspectors at headquarters and none of your supervisors will see these. You may feel comfortable answering these as truthfully as possible."
"Thank you," she offered politely, the flush remaining but her thoughts drifting again.
"Ms. Dwyer," Jacoby said again.
"Yes?" What did he want now?
"Pardon my bluntness, but you seem tense."
Bella looked up with a frown. Did she? A set of blue eyes stared back at her, the fringe of his too-long black hair swept awkwardly to the side, reminiscent of a '70s haircut. But there was a gentleness to his question, as if he had asked not to reprimand but out of concern.
"I assure you it is not due to the load of my work; I am quite content with—"
"I asked out of concern, Ms. Dwyer. You have seemed tense these last few days."
Bella chewed her lower lip. "It is personal, I assure you, Mr. Jacoby." She took care in keeping her language as formal with him as he had with her.
Her colleagues had mentioned something similar. With the exams only a few weeks away it was normal for the students to be tense, but not for the teachers—not if they knew they had provided ample guidance and information to their students for them to be able to succeed during examination.
Due to the last few weeks' hectic schedule and the unveiling of strange new things in her personal life, Bella had been bad at keeping in contact with her family and friends. She and Mia had barely spoken since the time they had grabbed a coffee and the disappearance of the portrait had been announced. Her mother had asked Bella to return her calls on several occasions, but Bella hadn't even stopped to consider it, her mind filled only with theories and ideas on which institutions she should seek out first for the letter, sleepless nights typing away at her computer, looking, searching—anything that could help her find a direction for the next step to take. She had several theories, but she was finding discrepancies between them all. Even her colleagues at the university, Jennie, Eric, and Miranda, wondered about her. Bella ate lunch at her desk most days, glaring at the texts on the computer. It was obvious she was researching something—something she would not divulge them.
That afternoon, Mia's resolve had finally managed her a foot within Bella's apartment, bringing a bottle of rosé and an unyielding attitude—she would not turn away until she spoke with her best friend.
They sat in Bella's living room, the windows open and the white curtains lazily being shifted by the soft breeze. There was still a faint bite to the air early in the evenings that Bella loved.
As Mia poured two glasses of rosé by the kitchen counter, she regarded Bella up and down. "You look like shit."
Faint circles under Bella's eyes were clumsily covered with concealer that was a shade too dark for her light complexion. Her hair was frizzy and had been put in a messy bun that toppled over. Bella had hastily thrown on the first thing she'd found that morning—a gray sweater that she didn't notice had a coffee stain on it and a few moth holes. The reason she had put it out in the first place was because she had planned to turn it into a few rags for cleaning. Her painted nails were chipping to the point that not removing the polish looked sloppy. Bella didn't wear a lot of makeup but had tried to cover up a bit more and gone heavy on the eyeliner which had smudged during the day.
Bella took a sip. "Rough few weeks, Mia." She had an encrypted USB filled with her notes surrounding the portrait and several clues about the letter. She spent most of the nights sleepless, worrying or trying to puzzle the pieces together.
A hand suddenly covered hers. Bella looked up to find concerned eyes resting on her. Mia knew how to read her, she always had. "It's about Mike, isn't it?"
Bella tensed up, not because Mia had been right, but because she had no idea what to say now. She couldn't deny Mia's suspicion—knowing her friend she would continue to fish around until she was as close to the truth as possible. Truth, Bella thought. She had always been so focused on the truth. And in her quest to present the truth to Angloa, she would have to lie along the way.
"Come on, Mia," Bella said as she looked away and retrieved her hand.
"Mike is a shithead, he—" The look Mia received from Bella was enough to silence her.
"Sometimes I wake up in the morning and turn over in bed, expecting there to be someone there, expecting the warmth," she revealed as she bit her lip. The air of resignation enveloped her. What she said wasn't exactly a lie after all. "I miss how he would hug me, kiss me in the mornings. It's the little things, mostly," she reminisced. "Those are the hardest things getting over. And sometimes they blossom up."
But she was over him, although right now it might be better to convince Mia otherwise.
The pained and emphatic expression extending on Mia's face made Bella feel even worse for misleading her friend.
"Oh, Bella," Mia said as she reached over and pulled her friend into a warm embrace.
Bella closed her eyes, the platonic love between her and Mia was enough for a lifetime, and she was more than happy to have her in her life. She had been there every step of the way during the breakup. How Bella wished she could have some of Mia's wisdom now. She was certain Mia would know what to do or how to act in her situation. But she understood the danger the SCR Director had transmitted to her, involving Mia was out of the question.
"Thank you," Bella whispered into the embrace, closing her eyes.
Mia stepped back, downing her rosé and pushing the other glass into Bella's hands. "Listen, I have a thing tonight with the project, but I'll totally skip it and stay here. We can watch Bridget Jones again and gorge ourselves on Hagen Daaz."
Bella rolled her eyes. "That is such a stereotype to put myself in after a bad breakup."
"But it makes you feel better, doesn't it?"
"I prefer Ben and Jerry's, actually."
"I'm canceling as we speak!" Mia began.
Bella shook her head, placing a hand on Mia's phone. "As much as I would love that, you have a duty to your job and the company…and I know you guys are working toward a deadline with the dress. Once the exam period is over, we should celebrate, okay?"
Mia frowned. "Are you sure?"
"Positive." Bella looked at the watch on her phone. "It's already seven, when do you have to be there?"
"In an hour and a half."
"So you're late already."
"Come on!" Mia laughed as Bella accompanied her to the door. "I really mean it, Bella…we should schedule a little getaway from Safeira for a week or so, once exams are over… maybe you could even come with me for the event we're designing the dress for!"
"I don't think I'd be able to leave Angloa this summer, I need to work on my thesis," Bella blinked back. "Besides, I'm not much for the beach."
Mia looked her up and down. "Well, with that body you always keep hiding away it's a pity, darling," she blinked as she put on her thin trench coat. She slung her designer bag over her shoulder. Her whole ensemble screamed of refined taste, a trendsetter rather than a trend follower.
"Call me tomorrow, just to talk, okay?" Mia asked.
Bella nodded.
Once her friend left, Bella rummaged through her purse for her headphones and changed into running clothes. She plugged in her ears and let herself be lost in the music as she let the minutes drift by, running up the hill to the closest park and doing a few rounds. She stopped a moment, letting the fresh air fill her lungs. She firmly closed her eyes. Nothing would come out of her spending sleepless nights when she had hit a wall that she was more than certain he could help her climb over.
Once back in her apartment, Bella searched for the burner phone she had been handed, making sure to close all windows and draw the curtains just in case.
The phone was picked up the instant she had dialed the number.
"That…that was quick," Bella said.
"What?" the Director said on the other end of the line.
"I mean I pictured you as a busy guy and didn't think you'd answer my call so quickly."
"Is there something you wished to speak of, Ms. Dwyer?"
"Oh, right!" Bella began, kicking off her shoes and tugging her ponytail free. Her heart raced, how pathetic that she was this nervous.
"The… uhm… the mayor of Hayes stuck with me," she said. "Lionel Wilson, so I looked him up or at least tried. I went to the national archives, I researched online, I even went to the national registry during my lunch break yesterday. I thought that since it has family registers dating back to the 1500's I'd find something. You know what is strange? There are mentions of a Wilson family, but no one that goes by the first name Lionel at the end of the 18th century. As a mayor of a town like Hayes, there should have at least been something about him. In the archives I looked up the provincial officials, he should be there but there is absolutely no mention of him."
The other end was silent, patiently waiting for her to continue.
"My only logical conclusion is that he has been erased…" Her tone was accusatory.
The other end was silent for a moment and Bella held her breath.
"I will get you the information you need—"
"How… how many more people have the SCR erased like this?" Bella was bubbling under the surface, the ire rising now. "And what gives you the right to mess with history that way?"
"I will get you the information you need, Ms. Dwyer." His words were final.
"But I did find something," Bella continued. "Lord Finnigan Ascham."
Silence prompted her to continue.
"Chancellor of the Exchequer from 1784 to 1795," she breathed into the phone. "He had strong ties with the king, he was also dismissed during the summer of 1795 and brought to court where he was sentenced as having embezzled countless funds from the Royal Treasury. One of the people who brought evidence against him was Willard Athar… the same Willard Athar that had earlier that year gone to Hayes."
"What does that have to do with Wilson?"
"I thought the SCR would know… Ascham had employed Wilson before he departed for Hayes… and even recommended him for the post to the provincial council of Cadherra. If Wilson had the letter to blackmail the king at the time, he must have been blackmailing Ascham as well. If I could get access to Ascham's personal family ledgers—he must have kept some at least—we could further trace the relationship between him and Wilson. The ledgers aren't in the archives, I couldn't think where else to find them unless they are kept in his estate."
"The Ascham estate is closed off to the public and difficult to access," the director said on the other line.
"Oh." Bella's heart dropped in her chest. She had been so certain and already they had met up with resistance.
"But I'll get you access," came the terse reply before the phone was hung up on the other side of the line.
She stared at the phone with a frown before putting it down. She had tried to look for the Ascham family ledgers and account books in the national archives but there were so many discrepancies. She was certain they had to be keeping more information in their estate. The current Lord Ascham sat as an elected member in the Conservative party in the Conventus. He made little fuss and was a rather private man, yet rumor had it he held tremendous power and influence within the party. She had no idea how the director would convince him.
She shrugged, some sweat still running down her temples and Bella settled on taking a shower. She removed the black top and tights on her way to the bathroom, casting them on the floor. She left the door glinting open. Why indeed would she lock it living alone?
Before getting into the shower, she put on some music and let the warm water run down her worn body, closing her eyes as she relaxed in the stream. She started lathering her hair, mumbling along with the words of the song. Mia was right, she should treat herself this night and Bella settled on a cozy night in with romcoms, facemasks, and pedicures. It might seem girly and silly but pampering herself always made her feel extra glorious for the following days.
She put her hair into a towel and placed another around her body, walking to her room and retrieving a pair of comfortable panties.
Suddenly she froze, looking around. She remembered that one member of the SCR would always be with her at all times, which meant her workplace, wherever she went outside, and even inside her apartment. Bella thought this idea as a gross intrusion of her privacy. The first few days had stirred a paranoia in her that she was watched at all times, and she even wondered if there might be eyes in her bathroom. But she had been promised that no cameras had been installed. In fact, she had purchased a device for such detections and found nothing. That made her wonder where this SCR fellow might be hiding. She didn't exactly have many nooks and crannies where someone could go by unnoticed, yet the last few days she had seen no one in her apartment. She quickly put on a worn shirt and some jeans, rubbing her hair inside the towel and letting it out to air dry.
As she entered her living room, passing the small hallway which led to her bedroom, she thought her apartment was too dark. She turned on some lamps, feeling secure as the warm light illuminated the rooms. Despite knowing there was someone there—somewhere—she still had grown afraid of the dark and the unknown it brought with it. Ever since meeting the Director, Bella constantly looked over her shoulder, almost as if waiting for the day a car with strange men would come for her and there was nothing the SCR could do. She had no idea if the talents they boasted were up to parr... if they really could protect her. At moments she would question her foolish decision to ever delve into this in the first place. But then, she would sit in her office, look at essays and notes on the portrait or walk past a store with a movie poster of Cullen and Swan in a passionate embrace, and she would want nothing more than to prove to herself if what had been presented to her was the truth or some attempt at derailing her. If there was anything to be found in the Ascham estate that might aid her, wouldn't she want to know? And the mere mention that a letter had been written by William Fell himself on his deathbed had honestly kept her up at night.
She put on the kettle to prepare some tea, the only sound in the entire apartment. Despite the lights being turned on, Bella strolled around feeling strangely empty, alone. She missed the company of someone else. She looked out the window as the streetlights came on and sighed.
She placed some cookies on a plate and settled in front of the TV. Before turning it on, Bella looked around herself again, almost expecting someone in the corner. She stood up almost as if an unknown force urged her and went to draw the curtains. When she was certain no one could look into her apartment, Bella sat down again.
She almost wanted to call out, maybe he would appear? But that was a foolish thing. The agent was, after all, a supposed professional, trained and considered the best of the best. He wouldn't appear before her just because she simply asked.
Bella was curious and she wanted to talk to him, because even though the SCR had several members, she wondered if the man guarding her tonight was the same agent that she had stumbled upon in the Opera House garage.
She mindlessly zapped through the channels. It was as if the universe was sending strange signals to her, for on channel six, they were an hour into one of her favorite movies, Field Marshal. A string orchestra displayed the love theme of the movie as Cullen was depicted with Isabella Swan in the rose garden of Adelton Hall. It had been filmed at historically accurate locations. Bella settled back, glued to the flowy conversation between the two lovers. She loved this part of the film—when Swan had gotten over her initial fear of Cullen, when there was tenderness from both parts. It was before he left for the south, before he returned with prince William and the southern lords. The actor playing Cullen, Tobias Richie, had a deep and protruding voice that had always made her quiver. He was old school, delivering the role in a Shakespearean fashion. Her heart sighed at the tender glances, at the implicit love, knowing what came next. She rushed for a pint of mint chocolate ice cream and cozied herself up on the couch. The sun was rising on the screen, cascading over the rose garden as Cullen took Swan into his arms, the string orchestra growing stronger as he embraced her in what Bella thought was one of the most passionate film kisses the world had ever beheld.
"Cheeky bastard," she smirked through the ice cream.
She stayed up till late, watching several more movies, falling asleep on the couch.
In the morning, Bella woke up in her bed, never knowing how she got there although she had an inkling.
Paula had fought tooth and nail to get this job. She had honed her skills in communication for a decade and, through willpower and carefully placed connections, she had managed to follow Abigail along the campaign trail until eventually watching her secure her victory. Paula believed in what Abigail stood for. She, like the PM, knew Angloa needed a change. That was why she didn't understand how Abigail could have hired someone like Daryl as her Chief of Staff at first. He represented the old and worn-down. But, after a few weeks after Abigail's win, it all made sense to Paula. Daryl knew how the Conventus and its politics had worked under Barker, and they needed that knowledge to firmly plant their feet and understand what needed to be done to change that.
She sat opposite Julia Orlund, a conservative with minor liberal values that had finally answered Paula's messages. They had gone to university together and held a distant friendship. Their political differences had somewhat gotten in their way, but under Barker, Paula had understood that Julia had grown a strong distaste for the way he slowly tried to drag Angloa back into the dark ages. Now, as Article 13 was being considered, Paula hoped that Julia might offer some assistance.
"It's ridiculous, Paula, to even think I'd be of any help here—"
"You as well as I know that you wouldn't have agreed to meet me unless you were thinking this over," Paula answered confidently. "You want Article 13 to go through because you know Victoria would be a much better fit for the crown than Samuel."
"Victoria would side with you in an instant… we can't suffer another liberal royal that is worse than Leonore."
Paula's lips curled into a smile. "Yet you would suffer a conservative king that is worse than Barker or Ascham? You know what could happen should Samuel take the throne—he could disassemble the Conventus if he disagreed with—"
"The public outrage would be enough to deter him from ever doing such a thing."
"Do you truly think he cares about public outrage?" Paula asked knowingly as she took a sip of her wine. The section in which they sat at the Opera House restaurant was private, allowing them to speak in candor. "That boy does whatever he wants, especially to vex his mother. At least Victoria would be stable." Paula shook her head. "I know we come from very different political backgrounds, you have no reason to give any favors to me, but you can't refuse to help simply because of the reason that His Highness is more in line with your conservative political views. On the basis of that alone you know you would favor Victoria more, she just so happens to have taken another turn."
Julia grimaced, as if she had just bitten into a sour lemon. "What of Article 24?"
"What of it?" Paula shrugged.
"Rumor has it that she would invoke it the moment she'd be crowned, Paula. It… it would signify the end of an institution as we know it… we would never hear of it—"
"It wouldn't be bad for any of us in the Conventus, though, now would it? And Article 24 is just a rumor, something I suspect you also understand. That is why your side is so reluctant in letting Article 13 pass. But, Julia, you wouldn't happen to know who is backing these rumors, do you?"
Julia looked down with a sigh. "I thought Daryl would know of such things?"
"Daryl knows enough, I want the juicy stuff no one knows yet," Paula quipped back.
Julia's lips turned into a thin line. "What assurances do I get?"
"We won't go public that the prince and the conservatives are trying to stir shit, Julia."
Julia tried to give a retort, but couldn't find the adequate words, Paula held the upper hand, she had since the start of their conversation.
"Fine," she muttered. "I can't confirm it's Samuel, but there is a general acceptance that he has sent someone to stir these rumors, probably Ascham, I don't know."
"Foul play," Paula muttered back.
"It's these kinds of backdoor deals I abhor, Paula… that was the only reason I agreed to meet you, because I don't want these anymore… they taint what we both are trying to achieve."
"I'm not reprimanding you, Julia, but you got into bed with the wrong people."
"I'm not going to be able to convince them to vote for 13… and you certainly aren't."
Paula finished her wine, gathering her things. "None of us have the power to, but we both know who does." She stood up. "The irony of this all is that Leonore hates backdoor deals as well, but it looks like she can't run away from this one.
The campus grounds had turned fully green. Miranda, dressing in lighter colors than usual, had coaxed Bella out of her office for half an hour after work to enjoy the sun. They watched the flow of students, some spreading out on the geometrical plots of grass surrounding the buildings, studying under the afternoon sun. Bella smiled, remembering her own time as a student. Life had been simpler then, although she wouldn't have agreed then.
"Remember when your largest worries were if you had passed or failed an exam?" she murmured to Miranda.
The older woman next to her chuckled without responding. A gentle summer breeze caressed them, the wind carrying with it something Bella couldn't place. The trees lining the lawn rustled. She longed for a forest all of a sudden. Maybe, in a few weeks, she should go hiking with her mom in Sorossa. She needed a vacation after the turmoil of the last few weeks. Her thesis could wait a few weeks to be written this summer, after all.
She glanced at her wristband watch. "Mia is late," she sighed.
"We are in no rush," Miranda responded, she too enveloped in the comforting embrace of a gentle summer's afternoon slowly merging into evening.
As if on cue, Mia walked up the cobblestone pathway to the bench where they sat, waving at them. Bella and Miranda got up. Mia had overdressed, Bella chuckled to herself. She wore an elaborate red cocktail dress.
"I told her we were going out for drinks, not to a gala," Bella leaned over and murmured to Miranda.
"I like her style," Miranda winked.
"What a day! We need to find a place to sit outside," Mia said as she approached. "I had Jerry get us a table at Stearman's, right by the water."
"Let's get wasted," Miranda answered as the three of them started heading for the shore.
Just as they were leaving campus grounds, Bella got a glimpse of Mr. Jacoby carrying a large briefcase. He must have collected all lecturers' and professors' signatures at this stage. Mia followed Bella's line of sight. Her intuition was strong, leaning in to ask immediately. "Who's that?"
"Oh," Miranda began with a knowing smirk, "the assigned inspector from the AHEA to our department. He's alright, though he's been paying particular attention to Izzy over here."
"Um, no he hasn't?" Bella defended herself.
"Well, he sits mostly in your office."
"Because he was assigned the empty desk in it."
"He always looks at you," Miranda teased. "I've caught him once or twice, when he thinks no one else is watching."
Bella pursed her lips. "Well, he shouldn't, that's very unprofessional of him."
Mia grinned. "The hair is hideous, not to mention that beard! But the tweed ensemble is quite cute actually!"
"Don't encourage her, Mia," Bella chastised her friend.
Mia stretched her neck, looking at Jacoby again. "But that hair…" she wrinkled her nose.
"He chooses how he likes to wear it," Bella scoffed as they approached the tram.
Mia shrugged. "Doesn't mean it's right."
When they arrived at Stearman's, a bustling bistro and bar that in the summer months had a terrace right by the water, Mia's friend Jerry had already ordered a few bottles of cava. Eric had joined as well together with two other of Mia's friends, Clarissa and Joan. There was heated and agreeable conversation flowing as they ordered in a few entrées to accompany the drink, soon deciding on dining at the place as well. As the sun started to set, Bella already felt the buzz affecting her.
And that's when she saw him.
It had been months, more than she could remember. Probably not since last December had she seen him. She could still vividly remember their final encounter as he collected his final boxes at her place, standing silently by the doorway before leaving her and her apartment.
She had avoided the spots she knew he would usually frequent like the plague, and it was by sheer luck that she for almost seven months had not stumbled upon him in Safeira. After, all, as Mia so eloquently had put it, the capital was a rather close-knit town. You were bound to stumble upon someone you knew eventually.
Bella gulped down her entire glass of rosé. He looked good, she frowned. The fair hair was combed away from his face, yet some locks managed to boyishly topple over his forehead. She had always found that so irresistible. He had shaven his short beard since last, displaying handsome features. His bright blue eyes sparkled as the smile grew into a laugh. He took a sip of his pint. He was wearing the leather jacket she so loved, the brown one.
Mia, ever susceptible, followed Bella's gaze and her eyes darkened.
"Don't," Bella whispered to her friend. She didn't want a scene. She didn't even want Mike to know that she was there for if he did, she would never be rid of him.
Mia clenched her fists. "He looks fatter," Mia growled back in an attempt to cheer Bella. The rest of the group save Miranda had noticed the shift in both younger women and she soon realized the reason.
Bella clumsily started collecting her things, hoping to slip by unnoticed by Mike Newton.
"Izzy, already leaving?" Eric asked with a frown. Bella slung her purse over her shoulder and steadied herself. Mia stood up as well.
"The buzz is too strong," Mia quickly interceded. "She's taking me home."
Bella gave a silent prayer to her best friend. "I don't want her to go alone."
"What about you?" Clarissa frowned.
"Please," Miranda cut off. "Izzy if anyone knows how to take care of herself, don't you, dear?" Miranda gave Bella an arched eyebrow and a smile of encouragement.
It was already late, the sun had set hours ago and they were slowly passing into the small hours of the morning. Bella grabbed Mia's hand and they steadied themselves as they drunkenly left the group. The entire time, as they approached the entrance, Bella hoped she had not been spotted.
They seemed to slip by Mike and his friends without drawing any attention to themselves which Mia of course had to comment because how could Mike not have noticed his ex-girlfriend of almost five years in the crowd?
When they got to the street, Bella thought them in the clear and breathed deeply. She hadn't confronted Mike ever since breaking up with him. It had been her decision, a difficult decision that had taken a lot out of her and Mike hadn't made it any easier by refusing to fully accept that she had dumped him—even if he should have seen it coming a mile away.
Mia noticed her friend's tension. "You got out of there, you didn't crumble… you got this, Bella." She squeezed Bella's hand and Bella squeezed back. Surprisingly, thinking she would falter at the mere sight of Mike, Bella had prepared for the worst. But she was alright, she was more than alright, in fact. Maybe it was the ambiance of the evening, the alcohol flowing in her, or the thousand other things occupying her mind. They started walking, turning onto a smaller street as they headed for the tram, when a familiar voice called out her name.
Bella's smile wiped away as she came to a clumsy halt, Mia gracefully turned around with a frown that soon grew into a deep scowl.
As he neared them, she was the first to speak, never letting go of Bella's hand. "Well, if it isn't the mighty Lord Newton," Mia scowled, the words dripping sarcasm until the final syllable.
Mike stopped a few feet from them, his hands up. "I just… I want to talk to Izzy, alone."
"Really?" Mia bit back. She looked around them. "I suppose here is fine, no one would see you wasting time with commoners like us." Bella still had her back turned to Mike although he could see her hands had turned into fists.
"Izzy," he began, hoping she would listen, "I… I just… you look good," he said, in hopes of striking up a conversation.
"Why are you here, Mike?"
"Because I miss you."
Isabella Dwyer turned around, her lips in a thin line, her eyes partially foggy due to the excess amount of wine and cava she had previously consumed.
"You reduced me to nothing, I was never enough for you, and had I known you were ashamed of being seen with someone like me earlier I would never have wasted years on you, Michael." Bella took a deep breath as his shoulders lowered in defeat. "We make choices in this world. You made yours and it left us where we are. I don't want any words of explanation, of reaching out because I don't want someone like you in my life anymore."
Her words were harsh, and it was evident that Mike was surprised by them. He had never expected something similar to escape the sweet mouth of Isabella Dwyer. He tried to search for adequate words but fumbled along the way. "I still love you, Izzy, believe that at least."
"Then you shouldn't have lied to your family and peers about our relationship and hidden me because you were ashamed of me… because I wasn't from your circles nor up to the supposed standards that you had set for yourself," Bella responded, her words a twinge more slurred.
"Disgusting," Mia lashed out.
"How could you come here with a straight face and tell me you still love me while you hid me from everyone in your life? That wasn't love, Mike."
Mike remained silent because he had nothing to say in his defense.
"And the worst part is that I put up with it for almost five years too long," she sighed, placing a hand on Mia's shoulder. Bella took a few unsteady steps toward the man she thought she would one day have married. She looked up at him, the familiar scent of him hitting him with all the nostalgia it could muster.
"If you still care for me, you will never seek me out again, you will never call me and never even look my way." There was sincerity in her eyes, a moment of vulnerability.
Mike's lips thinned as his frown grew deeper. "I swear, on my life, that I never meant to hurt you, the circumstances were difficult. You know how my father can be."
Bella nodded. "I know," she sighed as the weakness enveloped her… he stood before her so apologetic, so willing. But she knew she could never forgive him or take him back. That train had long since left the station. "You should have fought for me, instead of hiding your tail between your legs. If you ever see me in a crowd, on the street, on the metro or tram, at a party or restaurant we might acknowledge each other, but I don't want you to come up to me, I don't want you to speak with me. I don't want you to reopen wounds that took so long to heal."
"Damn, Dwyer, you were always so brutal with your words," he said, and she could hear his voice partially shake.
"Promise me," she said, a poignant finger on his chest.
He clenched his fists. "Izzy," he said but was cut off before he could continue.
"Don't call me that," she whispered, the nickname bringing up so many painful memories.
Mia approached them and collected Bella into her embrace, moving her away from him. "She asked you to leave her alone, smartass. If I ever see you near her, I'll taze your ass!"
Mia urged Bella into a quick walk away from there. They didn't stop until they were on the tram. Bella thought she would crash down, crumble from what had just transpired. But, instead, she remained calm, almost emboldened by the confrontation. She had survived her first direct meeting with Mike since they had broken up, and she had not faltered.
Mia stared at her drunk friend, uncertain if speaking was the best option. Bella was pale and would probably suffer greatly in the morning from her intoxication. She wasn't used to such high consumption of alcohol that—by Mia's standards—was the norm.
"I can't believe he actively hid you from his family for all that time," Mia muttered after a while.
Bella leaned on the window, looking out at the glittering lights on the streets of Safeira. The world around them sped by as the tram left yet another station. "When we got found out, he denied our relationship," she muttered.
Mia's lips thinned in a frown. "Oh, Bella," she sighed as she took her friend's hand. She only wanted her happiness. Bella had always been such a big supporter of Mia, even when her own parents were being a bother—as was usually the norm. Bella had been with her every step of the way.
"Thank you for not making a scene," Bella began, suddenly feeling something stirring in her stomach. Oh no, she thought. She didn't want to spill her guts—quite literally—in front of Mia. All she wanted to do was lie down and crawl under her covers and forget tonight had ever happened. Having Mia stay at her place would only make Bella remember tonight even more.
"I'm walking you to your door, at least," Mia said, as if reading her mind.
"And wait for the next tram that leaves in thirty minutes?" Bella slurred. "I don't think so!"
"I'll grab a cab," Mia shrugged.
"Too expensive," Bella sighed. "Mia, I'll be fine. My door is literally within view from the tram, you can watch me from the wagon."
Mia pursed her lips in a frown.
"Please," Bella begged. "Please, I'm fine and just want to sleep it off." The tram was coming to a halt, the doors opening and the evening breeze enveloping them both in a fragrant hug. Bella stepped out, happy to see that Mia still hesitated.
"I'm coming by tomorrow with croissants, a large latte and Nutella!" Mia exclaimed as the doors closed.
'I love you', Bella mouthed as the tram moved away. Her spirits now higher, she ignored the sickening feeling once more creeping up on her. She kept herself steady until the tram turned the corner before emptying her stomach into the trashcan by the small platform. She was lucky no one was there to see her pathetic state. Some tears ran down her cheeks as she straightened up.
"At least I got it out," she slurred to herself. She sighed. "Good girl."
She looked around the street, standing on the platform in the middle. Before her stretched the vast trees of the park, the leaves gently rustling in the breeze. The air smelt of fresh grass and blossoms she couldn't quite place. She reasoned she had to turn around so that she could get home.
With great effort, Bella slowly walked to her apartment complex, staring at the keypad for a long while. She couldn't believe she had forgotten her code, snickering at the audacity of her brain to forget such a crucial thing. She was nearly on the verge of tears when the four digits popped into her mind. She grunted as she pushed the heavy wooden door open, tripping up the stairs and seeing the beloved elevator—only big enough for one person. She got in and closed her eyes as another bout of nausea overtook her. Stepping onto her floor, Bella walked down the short hallway dry heaving, digging for her keys in her purse. She panicked, thinking she wouldn't make it in time. She got the keys, finding that the keyhole was too small and wondering what she was to do now.
Before she reasoned she might call on a neighbor at three in the morning, the door to her apartment opened and Bella was ushered in. Without a word, the drunk woman was quickly led to the bathroom. The lid was opened for her and without pausing she leaned over the toilet bowl and emptied her stomach once more before sitting back with closed eyes. Bella breathed deeply as someone flushed her toilet for her.
She finally opened her eyes when a large glass of water was gently pressed into her hands.
She was face to face with the insect-like eyes of his black mask.
"Drink that," he nodded toward the glass. The pale woman before him did as he bade, gulping it down before his hand came to stop her. "Small sips," he said.
Bella leaned against the wall as she stared at her designated SCR agent. Somehow, she was glad not to be alone now, even if it was with a stranger. He was kneeling before her, clad all in black as usual. But now, with his face on her level, he didn't seem as frightening as before. Even less when she reasoned that this was basically her babysitter.
"Did you see everything?" she murmured after a while as she set down the now empty glass.
He nodded.
Bella sighed as she pinched her eyes shut. She suspected he would be gone once she opened her eyes, but was surprised to find him still there, watching over her.
"How do you feel?" the dark voice asked after a while.
"Tired…" She couldn't manage much of a conversation even though there were a thousand questions she wanted to ask him.
"I meant if you feel sick."
Despite herself, Bella managed to blush. "Oh," she looked up. "I won't on you, if that's what you're worried about."
Without pause, he leaned to pick her up, catching her by surprise. Bella widened her eyes as he carried her out the bathroom with the same ease she would carry a pillow. She hadn't yet thought to ask him how he had gotten into her apartment before she had and without a key. Then again, she surmised that she was dealing with the SCR after all.
He walked into her bedroom and gently lowered her onto the bed. He removed her heels and helped remove her jacket before placing the covers over her.
"Are you… are you him? From the Opera House?" she asked as he turned to leave, but she knew he wouldn't really leave her. He would remain there as he probably had since her first meeting with the Director.
He turned around, noting her eyelids heavy, her cheeks now rosy. Good, he thought, some color had returned, and he couldn't help but smile under the mask.
"Sleep, Ms. Dwyer."
A/N: Thank you for reading this chapter. As I am editing by myself, it takes a while longer to work through the text and make sure the plotline adds up. Thank you for your patience in waiting for this chapter, I hope you enjoyed it :)
Cheers!
Isabelle