“Isabella–” Amy called out softly, trying to reason with me.
I rested my hand on the folder, lifting my head up so I can meet her gaze with my calm ones. “Don’t you trust me?” I asked, my gaze never leaving hers.
She gave me a pointed look. “This is not a matter of trust. It is your future we are talking about.” She tried to reason. “I know how important this is to you, that is why I am worried. You seem way too calm when I am certain even your half siblings are freaking out about this. It is not an easy feat.”
“Exactly, this is important to me.” I said, ignoring the other things she said because I know my half siblings way too much to doubt her words. Believe me, neither of them will be freaking out right now-they are probably nose deep into trying to find a way and increase their sales in general. “Which is why I need you to trust me on this. We can do this. Don’t you trust my capabilities?” I tried to joke, though I was half serious.
Amy sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Of course, I do.”
I smiled, “Great. So, worry less and let us make this fashion show a success. It sets the basis of everything for me. So, let’s give it our all, hmm?” There is a reason why I am putting all my energy into the success of this-I mean it when I say it lays the foundation of my reigning success, hopefully.
Amy still seemed to have her doubts, but she decided to trust me. So, she nodded, offering me a small, certified smile. “Alright. Let’s do this.”
I grinned, “Now that’s the spirit.” I then focused my attention back on the illustrations, my brows drawing in. “Also, I want you to bring me the list of the potential models for the show which I asked the planning team to draw out. I will go through it over the weekend and give them my response by Monday.”
“On it, boss.”
Just then, my phone that was beside me begin to ring. Picking it up, I threw it a quick glance, my brows knitting at the new number there. Not many people have my contact, so I have the contact of almost everyone I interact with already and as so, is always wary when I get new numbers calling me.
But then I remembered the work I have ongoing, I asked my people to dig up information on a certain someone and I do not save their number on my phone-they tend to change it for security purpose as well. So, I just assumed that they are the ones calling me, and so without another thought, I tapped the answer button and dismissed Amy with a nod of my head, before bringing the phone to my ear.
“Isabella Montague speaking.” I watched as Amy walked out of the room and will no doubt inform the models to wait till I finish my call before they make their way in.
Silence came from the other side, and just as my brows furrowed in question, a voice came, easing my growing worry. “Hello, love.” The cool, husky voice reached my ears, the endearment rolling off his lips so casually as if he was used to saying it.
My shoulders slumped, as I buried my thumbnail into my index finger, fighting the urge to release a relieved sigh upon hearing his voice after worrying about him earlier-though I will never admit it. “Who is this?” I feigned ignorance, my tone sounding genuinely curious.
A slight scoff, akin to a deep brief laugh came from the other end, before his voice came again with a response. “Your husband.”
I hummed, “Which husband, exactly?” I still managed to keep my tone indifferent, despite wanting nothing more than to laugh at his responses.
His next response was not as cool as the others, in fact, there was a certain edge to it-the kind when one is starting to get upset and weirdly enough, I enjoy getting under his skin. He does it as well, why can’t I? “How many husbands do you have?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged, despite knowing he cannot see me. Sighing, I carried on. “I mean for one there is–“
He did not let me finish before his response came, “I swear to God, Isabella. If the name that comes past your pretty lips isn’t Christian Kingston I will send someone’s child to an early grave, whoever he is.”He threatened, and believe me when I say nothing about his tone was light-it had lost all traces of lark he usually has.
He sounded dead serious.
I released a small laugh, trying to convince myself otherwise. “You’re joking.” I hoped he will say yes.
“Does it sound like I am joking, love?” No. He does not sound like he is joking in the slightest. He continued. “But if you still have doubts, go ahead and try me.” His tone morphed into a soft, and cool one. The kind one has before completely snapping.
He did not sound like he was joking in the slightest. He was dead serious.
***
Isabella Montague.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.