CHAPTER TWO
1517 Words
At a certain hour in the late morning, the penthouse is … breathable.
Not soft. Not safe.
Only looser — when the walls are mooning themselves enough to let air in.
By the time I’m done washing last night’s assignment and its faint perfume from my skin, sunlight is spilling in long, thin sheets across the living room.
The city is so fast, and the penthouse hasn’t quite caught up. It is the only time of day I can almost act like this place is my own.
Almost.
I pull on a pale blouse tucked into simple trousers and knot my hair in something low and neat.
No gown, no façade—not yet.
Just Isabella.
Rosie is horizontal on the couch, painting her nails a pearlescent pink and humming along to a song that in no way fits with her voice.
“You’re clothed,” she says without raising her eyes.
“I’m going out.”
Her head snaps up. “Out where?”
“Lunch.”
“Lunch?” She blinks as if I’ve just told her that I’m running away to the circus. “By yourself?”
“Yes.”
She narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Are you meeting someone?”
“Silly,” I say, grabbing my bag. “You know the rules.”
Rosie breathes a sigh of relief, sinking back into the cushions. “Okay, okay… just checking. You know how Victor is if one of us breathes the wrong way.”
I don’t answer.
She doesn’t expect me to.
The familiar weight settles over me when I enter the hallway — the invisible chain that Victor keeps around my neck is slack, but it’s there. I breeze past girls on their way to prep for their afternoon shoots, spa appointments, fittings. Quiet hubbub and whispers follows me – Ava is fighting with Mila about hair extensions, someone laughing in low tones, another is complaining about the height of heels Victor wants her to wear tonight.
Normal.
Almost normal.
The elevator ride is silent. On the ground floor, I fling open the glass doors and allow a breath of New York to embrace me — warm pavement, honking taxis, a slight wind off the river.
I walk.
Alone.
And for a minute I feel like a thirteen year old again, before I belonged to anything but what I chose.
I pick a café two blocks over — one of those little, dark roam-around types that is wedged between a bookstore and some florist. A place no one around the agency wants to see. The server knows who I am and plays dumb. That’s why I keep coming.
I sit by the window, sipping coffee and eating a light sandwich, allowing the city to blur beyond me. The sun hits my glass, making my hands gold.
It is my rebellion, in secret.
No diamonds.
No heels.
No guys gawking at me like I’m a piece of merchandise they can unwrap.
Just… me.
My phone buzzes softly.
Lily.
My pulse does this strange, warm thing as I answer.
“Hey, little flower.”
Her voice cuts through, clear as a bell. “Bella! Are you busy? Are you working on your Orchid stuff?”
I bite back a smile. “Just eating.”
“Ooh. Fancy?” She says, I could hear the excitement in her voice
“Not at all.” I look around the tiny cafe. “Very un-fancy.”
I feel her soft giggle and it weaves into my chest like silk. “I got the flowers you sent.”
“Which ones came today?” I ask her trying to call the attention of the server
“The white ones with the purple rings. They smell like something expensive.” She says
“They’re orchids, baby.” I smile as I tell her
“I figured,” she says proudly. “I looked them up. You know, orchids can grow almost anywhere if they’re nurtured properly?”
I smile into my coffee. “I knew you’d like that.”
She hesitates. “I put them by my window. They look… peaceful.”
I swallow.
“Are you okay?” Lily asks suddenly.
“Yes.” I say trying to sound strong. She always asks me that everytime we talk and I hate that I always have to lie to her.
“You sure?” She asks.
“Mm.”
“Do you like the new school, baby?” I ask her trying to change the conversation.
“You sound tired.” Of course she ignores my question.
“I’m just thinking baby, that’s all. I promise I’m fine” I say to her.
“About what?” She asks.
“Nothing important.”I tell her.
A quiet pause.
She’s too smart for that to appeal to her, but she doesn’t press.
Then she murmurs, “Thanks for the flowers, Bella.”
Her burden of thanks is heavier than the one Victor imposes upon me. I close my eyes and pause for a second, allowing the heat to sink in.
“Anything for you, Lily.” I say to her my voice almost shaky. If only she knows what I truly mean.
“You say that every time.” She tells me.
“Because it’s true every time.” I say to her, feeling the mood lightening.
She giggles again, brighter now. “I drew something today. I’ll send it to you.” She says.
“I’ll be waiting.” I tell her.
“Okay! I love you, Bella.” She basically shouts it.
My throat tightens. “I love you too.”
There’s a pause and when the call drops, I look out the window again — this time seeing the world more clearly. Louder. More real.
It’s Lily’s voice that always returns me to the one thing I need to remember.
The reason I obey.
The reason I survive.
The reason I stay.
I finish my lunch slowly. People glide by the café window — lovers holding hands, tourists pointing at tall buildings, a homeless man dragging a cart, a late-to-work woman scurrying. All of them going somewhere.
I move only away.
Away from danger.
Away from risk.
Out of any possible weapon Victor could use against me.
Which is… everything.
I pay, tip and step out onto the sidewalk. Between my feet, the city hums and breathes and lives and lets loose.
Freedom, as my people taste it in the West Bank, tastes like the air I can’t swallow and like water from bottles we are reluctant to open because there is no certainty about how long that freedom lasts.
As I stride, I make mental lists of the rules — the unwritten, invisible lines that Victor keeps pulling up to cinch another notch every year.
Do not be seen with a man more than twice.
It leaves clients longing, craving, hungry for more.
It keeps reporters from spotting patterns.
It keeps Victor safe.
Never fall in love.
Love makes you soft.
Love makes you slip.
You don’t remember the leash with love.
Never try to leave.
He doesn’t have to say the rest.
Lily’s face is always enough.
When the elevator doors slide open to Rosie pacing in the living room like a mother hen, I’m ready for her.
“
“There you are!” She rushes over. “You were out for almost two hours. I thought maybe—”
“I was having lunch,” I interrupt, putting down my briefcase.
Rosie sags with a dramatic "Ugh." “Next time text me. I was about to call the FBI.”
“You’d be arrested before you got through the call.” I say taking off my shoes.
“Still worth it.”
I laugh softly.
She brightens instantly.
“What did you eat?” she says, hooking her arm through mine as we make our way toward the bedroom hall.
“A sandwich.” I tell her.
“A sandwich?” She looks offended. “Isabella, you are The Orchid. Queens don’t eat sandwiches.”
“I was hungry, okay” I tell her with a smile on my face
“You’re impossible.” She says
“Mm.”
She squeezes my arm. “Did you call Lily?”
“Yes.” I tell her
“How is she?” She asks
“Good. She loved the flowers.” I say to her plopping walking to my room.
“Of course she did. She’s your sister.”
There is something warm in Rosie’s eyes when she says that, a sisterly softness I never dared hope to find in this place. It tugs at me gently.
We reach my room. Rosie is in the doorway, hands on her hips.
“So?” she says, tilting her head. “Ready for tonight?”
“Not even remotely.” I sigh.
“Perfect. That means we’re on schedule.” She winks. “Come on. Let’s start your glam.”
I groan.
She laughs.
And for a few minutes, the world is lighter.
Even here.
Even now.
- Writer
