Part Four

He approaches Isabella at work later that afternoon. Oswald Cobblepot. The mayor. Edward's friend.

He claims he is interested in doing some research on Gotham's first families for the Founder's Dinner. "My chief of staff suggested I might come here. I think you might know him."

"Yes, I know Edward. We just met. But . . ." She doesn't know why she feels like opening up to this man. Perhaps it is because she feels some familiarity with him from all the time she spent researching Edward's life prior to this assignment. Or perhaps it is because she knows he is Edward's friend. She continues breathily, ". . . I feel like I've known him my whole life."

And that's when it hits her. She really does feel that way. Suddenly, she feels a little weak.

Oswald says, "How romantic."

"Oh, listen to me blathering on. You wanted a book." Time to focus on her job, not Edward for once. This was getting ridiculous. She turns away to look for what he wants.

"I'm so glad you appreciate Ed."

What? She turns back around and notices him staring at the paper dolls she had made over the lunch hour, her heart's desire displayed for all the world to see in colored pencil.

Oh, how embarrassing. They really had just met. Oswald must think she's unhinged. She hurriedly grabs the dolls, folds them up, and hides them from view between the pages of a book.

But then Oswald drops a bombshell . . . and it's not the content of the words falling from his lips that are shocking. Isabella already knows that Edward had been locked away for the murder of his first love, Kristen Kringle. Intimately. What is shocking is Oswald's betrayal of his friend. Isabella had not been expecting that.

She plays along, feigning innocence, but becomes overwhelmed at one point and walks away from him, pretending to find a book she needs to work with. But Oswald will not let it go. He walks over to her and makes it very clear just how much she looks like Kristen Kringle, down to having the same swan-like neck. Isabella raises a hand and places it near her own neck, suddenly feeling threatened. Kristen had been strangled.

"Ed loves the neck!" Oswald exclaims in a mockingly jovial tone. Then he takes the book she has in her hands – it has nothing to do with Gotham's first families – and walks out.

Wow. She had no idea just how sick Edward's best friend was. Poor thing.

Isabella takes her time carefully selecting what to wear for her date that evening with Edward at the Mayor's mansion. She wants to wear something subdued . . . but her entire wardrobe is subdued, so that doesn't exactly narrow it down. She frowns. She tends to wear many high-necked dresses and tops but after her conversation with Oswald that afternoon she's leaning towards something that would expose her neck. She's curious about how Edward might react to that. Would seeing her neck – which was exactly like Kristen's - be as traumatic as Oswald's theatrics that afternoon seemed to imply?

If so, would that move Edward closer to where she needs him to be?

She chooses a black dress with a sweetheart neckline and sighs. This is all moving so fast . . .

Isabella arrives at the door of the Mayor's mansion promptly at eight. Edward greets her himself and ushers her in. He is deliciously handsome in an impeccable forest green suit.

"May I?" he asks, offering to remove her coat.

She nods.

He stands behind her and dips his head towards hers, close enough so that the strands of her updo must be tickling his nose. She can feel his breath on her ear as he begins to lift the collar of her coat from her neck. Such close proximity causes a delightful tingle to trail down her spine. Once her coat is off, she turns around to face him.

He draws in a quick breath, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Edward? What's wrong?"

He fumbles with the coat in his hands for a moment before looking at her neck and then looking back up at her face and saying, "Uh, nothing. It's just you look -"

"I look like her," Isabella says. "Your Miss Kringle."

"Yes."

He turns away nervously and quickly hangs her coat in the coat closet. That small gesture having allowed him to gather his composure, he turns back to her and says matter-of-factly, "Isabella, I haven't told you about her -"

"No." But Oswald had had no qualms in telling her plenty.

"But I – I think I need to. Before we – Before I – Before this goes too far."

"Okay, Edward."

"Please, take a seat." Edward gestures over to a table laden with various wine flasks. A hearty fire roars behind it.

Isabella places her purse on the dark wood, pulls out a chair and turns it around. Calmly, she sits down to face him, to listen to his side of the story. But Edward is anything but calm. He paces nervously as he tells her the story she already knows . . . yet this time the tale is punctuated with his sorrow, his remorse. It is heartbreaking, but she needs to hear it. And he needs to tell it.

". . . So, while I did kill my girlfriend who does look rather similar to you - it was not out of malice or intent - it was an accident that I deeply regret."

When he has finally finished pouring his heart out Isabella says, "Edward, I know what you did."

Shocked, he asks, "You do?"

She tells him that she had spent the afternoon reading every article she could find about him. She doesn't mention that she had done extensive research in heaven before she had come down as well.

"You know what I did and yet you still came on this date anyway?" His voice nearly breaks.

Isabella can tell he doesn't feel worthy of love and it brings a tear to her eye. "Well. . ."

"That's not logical," he says, reflexively denying the possibility. . .

"Love isn't logical," she says firmly, standing up. Because that's what this is. Love. She barely knows him, but she knows what this is. She needs to explain it to him.

"I've lived my whole life inside the pages of books . . ."

And up in heaven.

"And the other men I've dated . . ."

The other assignments I've had . . .

". . . they didn't compare to the lovers I spent my life with. Anthony. Cleopatra. Romeo and Juliet. Othello and Desdemona."

"All of them died," Edward says with an odd smile.

The best romantic heroes do . . .

"Edward, you're the first to measure up." Isabella tries to hold back her tears as the truth hits her hard from just saying the words . . . "You're the one I've been waiting for."

"You're not scared of me?" He smiles, almost unbelieving.

"Of course I am," she answers. This is terrifying. She takes his hand and places it on her chest. "Can you feel how fast my heart's beating?"

He gulps, glancing at their hands resting together on her chest before looking back at her face. After the briefest of moments, he takes her in his arms . . . and accepts it. All of it.

Their lips meet in a gentle but blazing kiss.