My Sweet Isabella (The Ambassador Trilogy #3) (15 page)

“Ronnie is downstairs waiting to take you to the office. Here, drink this coffee.” He handed me a to-go cup of coffee he brewed for me like he did every morning. I grabbed the cup and took a sip to shut him up. My stomach clenched when the warm liquid hit. The only thing going into my stomach lately has been vodka.

I stumbled as I slid into the back of the SUV. I no longer needed the cane, but I walked with a permanent limp, and drinking the night away didn’t help my balance.

Ronnie, like everyone else in my life, knew after so many weeks not to talk to me. I wouldn’t answer. I never did. He nodded as I struggled to get in the back seat. The back seat I had taken Isabella in so many times. The back seat held the memories of her straddling me as I rammed my cock into her. That was when I was able to make love to her like a real man. I ate her out right there as she clawed at my hair and begged me to let her come. I shook the memory out of my mind. I had to keep myself together.

Like every morning, I stared out the tinted window watching the traffic and looking for Isabella. Every morning I scanned the pedestrians looking for the one woman that stole my heart and my love. I needed to see her one more time. I needed to know she was okay. I swore a woman on the street was Isabella one morning. She had the same hair, and same body. She was dressed like Isabella. My heart jumped in my chest. The closer we drove to this person, I realized that woman wasn’t her. I kept searching, always searching. That’s what forced me to the office every morning. The thought I may catch a glimpse of my girl. That hair flowing across her face, and that body that brought me to my knees, those breasts that I wouldn’t touch or have in my mouth again. As we approached the Embassy, I mentally became ready to do my job. Gustan sat next to me ready to jump out and help my fucked up self out of the car.

Frustration and anger tore at me as I walked up to the elevator like a wounded animal to the office. Today, I had several meetings with my staff, a call to Russia, and another briefing on the attack that nearly took my life. My country caught the fucking bastards in charge of this attack. Andrea Noir was not with them. She was another mystery that could not be solved. I felt Isabella was somewhat safer now that most of the men were killed or captured. I wouldn’t be truly at peace till this Andrea was annihilated. I read a full report of the attack on me. The terrorists watched me when I was in Paris. They didn’t have the balls to get me in Washington. These cowards wanted to get me in my homeland, and wanted to kill my people along with me. I thank God, Isabella wasn’t with me that day. They knew I went to the Le Chocolatier Coffee Shop every day for lunch and knew that day would be crowded with people. I was told the group had been following me since I was appointed the Ambassador, lying in wait until the right moment presented itself. To these pieces of shit, the right moment was a crowded coffee shop full of people.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the glass doors. I looked like a fucking homeless man. Gustan was right. I needed to get some better fitting clothes.

“Good Morning Ambassador.”

“Fran.” I nodded. Fran tried every day to get me to smile. I couldn’t smile. I would never smile again.

She had more food for me. Every morning she handed me food, but I didn’t want it. This game went on every day with me waiting till she walked out and I would throw the food in the trash.

“Ambassador. You need to eat.” Her gaze followed me up and down. I’m sure I was a sight even to Fran.

“Thanks Fran. I’m aware of that. Leave the food on my desk and I will eat later.” I threw my bags down and sat down at my desk.

“No.” I looked up at her. My brow furrowed angrily. I didn’t need this ever, much less on a busy day. And who was she to argue with me?

“No?” I asked. She didn’t jump at the tone in my voice.

“No, I did that yesterday and every day for the last month only to have you throw my food in the garbage. The cleaning crew told me.” Her eyes never left my face as she stood in front of me with her arms crossed. I didn’t say anything else as I opened my laptop, turned on the news and went to work.

“I want to watch you eat something. I’m not leaving here until you do.” She kept her stance in front of me.

“I don’t need a babysitter.” This woman had balls taking me on.

“It seems you do, Ambassador. You need to eat so you don’t end up in the hospital again. Please.”

I reached for the food and opened a container to find it was filled with chicken noodle soup. The soup smelled good. I would take a few bites to get her to leave.

She unwrapped a plastic spoon and handed it to me with a napkin. My eyes bore into her.

Fran was a tiny woman with no sense of fashion or style. She still permed her hair once a month and insisted on taking the bus into work every day. She didn’t care about how she looked but she was the best office manager in the world. She sat down in the chair across form me, folded her arms, and waited. She was really going to watch me.

She smiled after I took a second bite. The soup tasted fine. Not as good as what my Isabella could cook.

“Happy?” I asked, not smiling back.

“No, I’ll be happy when you can eat a steak again like you used to. I’ll be happy when I see you put on some weight. I’ll be happy when I see you smile and I’ll be happy when you have Isabella back.” This damn woman. I loved her.

My stomach wasn’t accepting the soup as well as I thought. I drank the warm broth and left the noodles.

“You know I talked to her last week.” She said with an urgent tone in her voice. My heart skipped a beat. I knew what she meant. I knew who she talked to. I looked up and tried to read what she was going to say before she spoke.

“She’s a mess, Ambassador. Isabella loves you so much. She is thinner, unkept, and depressed. Her eyes looked like she had been crying nonstop, and her face looked so troubled.” She looked down at her hands in her lap. My girl looked bad. She could never look bad.

“Did you make her soup?” I asked, to lighten the mood.

“Yes, as a matter of fact I did. But, she has her family around her, so I don’t need to babysit her. They won’t leave her side. They’re very worried about her. I have never seen such a family. And her roommate with the heart problem is in the hospital again.”

What? Avery in the hospital? Oh God, Isabella would be a mess. I promised if something happened to Avery, I would be there for Isabella. I broke another promise.

“Who was with her?” I asked.

“Her mom won’t leave her. Her sister Sophia and the baby. Isabella’s niece is the cutest baby I’ve ever seen.”

Oh my God. What have I done to my girl? I reached into my pocket and felt for the ring again. She was living her life without me.

T
he
first few months after I arrived back from Paris, things were quiet and a good time to get readjusted to my role as the Ambassador. One of those adjustments was hosting an event at the mansion. I had to force myself to have a black tie affair at my home. I wasn’t looking forward to socializing. The thought of people traipsing through my home and asking where Isabella was, sounded like a nightmare. However, entertaining was part of the job. A job I chose before this and one I was obligated to keep. Since I had not spoken publicly about the attack, this was a good time to answer any questions and make an appearance.

The morning of the affair, I woke up pissed off and in pain. My leg hurt from exercising too much and I needed to dull the ache somehow. Vodka would do the job. I was pathetic drinking in the morning. I had not been much of a big drinker until the attack. Now, here I was having a double shot with breakfast to face the start of my day.

The caterers were already scurrying around while I showered and dressed. I wanted to go to the office a couple of hours before the bullshit started. Security was going to be a bitch. With what was going on in the Middle East, my so called assassination attempt, and my brother possibly linked to the widow of a known terrorist, Gustan felt the need to add extra measures. The extra measures were more armed guards at the door and metal detectors outside before the guests walked in.

“Good morning, Ambassador.” The cook was in an all-out sweat with these strangers in his kitchen, he would have a fit if Isabella cooked, and I hoped he was stressed to the limit.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to talk. I wanted a cup of coffee to go with my vodka waiting for me in my room.

“Can I make you breakfast?” I stopped what I was doing and turned to look at him.

“We go through this song and dance every morning and what do I say?”

His gaze locked onto mine, seemingly surprised that I answered with anything other than a no.

“You say, ‘no’,” he murmured.

“Okay, so why would today be any different?”

He shrugged. I walked over to the coffee pot and chose a strong blend and brewed a cup. I don’t know why he feels the need to harass me every morning with this eating shit.

“This place will be getting crazy soon.” I felt bad for snapping at him so I made a little small talk. This new attitude of mine was going to ruin me if I didn’t get a hold of myself. There was no need to be a dick to people who had nothing to do with my situation.

“Yes, the caterers are already destroying my kitchen. I will be glad when the night is over.” He busied himself at the stove stirring some kind of shit.

“You and me both.” I grabbed my coffee and walked back upstairs to finish getting ready.

While I was gone, my home was transformed into what resembled a night club. Usually, this type of thing didn’t bother me until after the attack. I seem not to have patience for anything social. The night was endless and so were the drinks I was consuming. I tried not to make it obvious I was drunk by the time the last guests left. Women were throwing themselves at me left and right and I had no interest in any of them. The thought actually sickened me. These weren’t just any women. The women in my home that night were highly sought after models and socialites. The type I liked to fuck back in the day. Before Isabella, I would have thought nothing about taking a couple up to my room. Yes, I would take a couple. Back then, I loved a good threesome. That was all behind me now and something I would not consider again. Gustan offered to find me a woman several times. I couldn’t and I wouldn’t. If there was no Isabella in my life, there was no one. No matter how hard I willed her to walk through that door, it wasn’t going to happen. My eyes stayed glued to the front door, imagining her walk through the door as she did the night of the gala. Her parents usually attended these things, but this one was not one of them. I looked for them, hoped to see them, but this was more for government officials. I had to make my way around the party and talk about things that didn’t interest me. I told the story about the attack at least fifty times, answered questions about what it felt like to be shot, and asked when I was going back to Paris. I made small talk with the Secretary of State, the Defense Minister, and the Head of Homeland Security. Just another night in the life of an Ambassador.

When the night was over and the ass kissing ended, I was exhausted, in pain, and quite drunk. I fell into bed and slept for a few hours until the next day brought a hangover and more pain, both physical and mental. I was living a life of hell from day to day with no escape.

~~~~~~~~~~~

I considered showing up for Sunday dinner one day at Isabella’s house. What would happen? Would she see me? Would her family be glad to see me? I was so lonely that the idea of being with family sounded inviting. I drove the thought out of my mind when the phone rang and snapped me out of my crazy idea.

“Yeah.” I said into my phone.

“Fabrice, its Romain.” I rolled my eyes.

“Romain, how are you?” I was still playing the idiot game about what I knew and pretending like nothing was different. We still haven’t determined his true connection to Andrea. I still and would forever blame him for losing Isabella. To talk to him again was torture.

“I’m not good.” I could care less.

“What’s wrong?” Christ if he asked me for money, I would have thrown the phone across the room.

“My fiancé has been missing for weeks now, and the police are questioning me about her disappearance.”

“You mean Andrea is missing?” I laid the shock on good and strong.

“Yes, I haven’t heard from her in over a month. She hasn’t answered my texts, calls, or my emails. That isn’t like her.”