Beautiful Disaster

Ysabella felt herself panic inside after she had spoken; she wasn't sure what had compelled her to speak, it had been years since she had spoken to another person... almost a decade. Sometimes, if she didn't sing for an extended period of time, she even forgot what her own voice sounded like.

But there was something about the way that Mr. Ford acted; perhaps it was the fact that he simply a nice man that had compelled her to speak to him. Whatever the reason, her words had startled Ysabella herself... she could feel the surprise and shyness bubbling to the service, her cheeks blushing but luckily, concealed.

He offered her a movie as they continued to clean up the kitchen, placing their dishes in the dishwasher and cleaning off the counters.

Ysabella felt compelled to say yes to him – to offer him the same company that she had been been craving all these years, but she knew that this simply would not end well. She didn't want to grow attached to the young man, and did not want Miss Churchill to witness it, either. She was generally a calm woman, but in her current state, Ysabella doubted she would be pleased coming home to a dirty home and her boyfriend with another woman.

The thought in itself, of spending time with a taken man, made Ysabella uncomfortable. Actions like this... even speaking to him... would have her severely punished back home. Just the memories made her shake a bit, memories flashing.

Apprehensively, she shook her head and gestured to the house. Their cooking had taken much of the afternoon, and she knew there was still work to be done before Miranda arrived home.

Cameron smiled ruefully. "Oh, yeah, um, of course...because I totally forgot we were in my girlfriend's house. Shit. Well, I can help you. I'd hate for you to have to clean all this alone. I haven't folded laundry since I was...never, but I could try? And I'm doing it again. Sorry."

Smiling slightly beneath her hijab, Ysabella just shook her head and gingerly pushed him towards the living area. Cleaning was no job for a man, and she was thankful for what help he did offer her.

"I can't let you do all this alone, Ella!" he exclaimed, trying to contain a smirk. "C'mon, lemme help."
She pushed him a bit harder this time, "no... man, they sit..."
Cameron arched an eyebrow at her, fingers skating across her wrist. "I'm not like that, Ella. Really, just tell me what you need done and I'll do it."

Ysabella shook her head once more and abandoned her, returning to the laundry she had been doing earlier. She had spoken enough, and didn't want to let him in; she had already divulged too many of her thoughts, and only in a few words.
 
Cameron let out a soft sigh when she stalked off to do laundry, leaving him alone in the grand living room. He still had no heart to let her do this alone and figured the least he could do was take some of the burden of cleaning off her shoulders and start on the cluttered kitchen. What she couldn't see wouldn't hurt her, and Cameron knew she wouldn't attempt to deliberately stop him. He understood how hard it was to adapt to new customs after having such old, cruel ones instilled in her head for years. Cameron wanted to be the one to show her that men weren't always cruel and selfish creatures that had zero respect for women. After all, his mother, out of everyone, had taught him the best lessons of respecting females. He had never laid his hand on one and never intended to, ever, in his life. They always did say the way you treated your mother was the way you'd treat your wife and he happened to have a strong bond with his – guess he had always gravitated towards his mother more than anyone.

Cameron turned on the water, beginning to scrub at the many pots and pans that lined the sink as his thoughts continued to flood his mind. He had never expected in a million years she would actually talk back to him, and that was enough to have him grinning like an idiot moments after it had happened. Cameron couldn't begin to summarize what was going on in his head at the moment but he knew that no matter what he'd somehow get Ysabella to be more comfortable around him. He would just take baby steps with her and just like that tight line, he had to tread gently or their connection could dissipate before it even truly started.

Once the dishes were all finished, he grabbed a dish rag, wiping down the counters and surprisingly having a good time doing so. Growing up in a house hold where chores were nearly nonexistent, it felt good to clean something, despite how completely and totally weird that sounded. Not to mention, it was all for a good cause. Cameron snickered inwardly to himself, tidying up every crevice of the grand room before standing by the archway and admiring his work. Everything was squeaky clean and tidy, looking brand new. Even the leftovers were packed away in their according packages, stored in perfect order inside the fridge.


Not too shabby.
 
When Ysabella emerged from the basement, a large stack of clean clothing in the basket in her hands, she was surprised to find that Mr. Ford was still bustling around. Placing the basket down in the hallway she entered the living area, her brow furrowing when the TV wasn't as much as turned on. Timidly she walked into the next room, and her cerulean eyes widened significantly when she entered the kitchen, now spotless. Every spot put away, every left over vegetable stored for the next time she cooked. The aroma of their soup wafted in through her nose, but Ysabella as more focused on the man standing to the side, admiring his handy work.

Stepping further into the kitchen, Ysabella wrapped her arm around herself and bit her lip uncomfortably. Mr. Ford was still to approach, but she didn't meet his gaze now, her eyes downcast. How could he do such a thing when she was clearly opposed to it? Though she knew that his intentions were purely selfless, Ysabella felt guilt creep up on her as she surveyed the shiny counters and floors. It was no man's job to scrub as she did; he already had enough on his plate.

Cameron finally noticed her, eyes slightly widening. "Is everything okay?"
She shook her head, leaning against the kitchen counter. The guilt wrapped around her like a blanket and she gripped onto the edge of her long sleeved shirt, trying to keep herself together. Her father would have killed her if he had seen something like this; would be scolded her for making him do a woman's work, screamed at her in that voice he had done to her mother's dead body.
Cameron walked over to her slowly, uncertainly placing his hands on her shoulders. "I did this because I wanted to, okay? Relax, Ella, really. I don't want you freaking out over it or anything."
His touch did little to alleviate her feelings; instead, they deepened, and the tears were teeming before she could stop it. What if her father had seem this... seen a courted man touching her, looking at her in the eye, cleaning this home as those it was his duty? And soon her emotions were spinning out of control, hot tears pooling and her lips parting in grief. Her father would have surely killed her, just as he tried to for all those years...
 
What began as a small smile turned into a deep frown, followed by his mouth slightly gaping open as the housemaid wept, tears spilling from her eyes and down her cheeks. Cameron had never been good with crying women and usually preferred it when they didn't, especially if it was over him. He honestly had no idea how to react, how to comfort her, because he realized there was a whole other story she hadn't told him about, or even wanted to, and Cameron felt terrible he wouldn't be able to relate anyways. But he would try to comfort her no matter what, although he knew it would have to be from a distance. Cameron could already sense how his touch effected her and how terrible it made her feel – he instantly let go of her shoulders as if he had been burned, backing away.

"Look, Ella, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to upset you, I was just trying to help…" he breathed, running a hand through his hair. It was hard to console someone when you had no idea what to do, or even how to go about it with a woman like Ysabella. "D-Do you want me to leave?" Although leaving was the last thing Cameron wanted to do, if it made her feel more comfortable, he would willingly oblige. Hurting her was never his attention, but now look what he had done. Cameron had never felt like more of a fuck-up than he did at that very moment.

Ysabella shook her head, covering her eyes with her hand, "... I... I... no?"

Cameron glanced down at the floor for a long minute before returning his gaze to hers, softly whispering, "tell me what's wrong, Ella. Please."

She was still shaking her head, trying to hold back her cries, "...you... you no understand."

"Then let me understand, Ella. I want to get you." Once a Ford had their mind on someone or something, the battle to let go of it wasn't exactly an easy one. Cameron wanted to get to know her and peel back those complex layers she seemed to have spent years building up.

"No... no... you d-do not. I am... I horrible person..." Horrible was a word that should not even be thought to use in the same sentence as Ysabella.

"How?" he breathed. "How are you so horrible? You are the sweetest person I've ever met, Ella. What are you talking about?"

"You not know me."

Cameron bit his lip, running a hand through his hair before nodding. "You're right. I have no idea who you are. And I guess it's not my place to interrogate you. J-just don't beat yourself up so much, okay?" Any woman in America would love to have a man clean for her, but now, he was beginning to believe his selfless gesture had caused more harm than good. One step forward, two steps back.

Ysabella just nodded timidly before returning to her work, lips sealed once more to him.

"I guess this is goodnight then," he whispered. "I'll see you...next time."

All she did was meet his eyes for a brief second, before disappearing completely. Cameron had stepped out of that house feeling like absolute scum, and not even a big deal could salvage his mood. He never wanted to make her feel that way, but he had, and something like that was unforgettable. She probably hated him. Closing the door behind him, he punched in Paul's number on speed dial, figuring he'd need a drink after all.
 
~ ~ ~

Naturally, it was only a few days later that the two of them reconciled – Miss Churchill and Mr. Ford, that is. Mr. Ford had sent her a bouquet of the most exquisite roses and lilies, and Miranda had accepted his apologies completely. The next day they flew to Tahiti for a tropical vacation, leaving Ysabella with only the house and a small amount to feed herself. She was content in her solitude, however, and was glad that Miranda had hired a security guard to protect the property when she was away.

As the nights wore on and Ysabella spent her days alone in the expansive home, she allowed her thoughts to wander to the last night she had spoken to Mr. Ford. Though he had many an appearance several times after that, she had been sure to stay out of his path, busying herself with her daily chores and cooking.
She felt awful for ignoring him, but felt it was better to return to their usual relationship; which consisted of little to nothing. He would try and shoot her an apologetic smile but Ysabella would simply look away, fearing that Miranda would jump to conclusions. Because of the young woman's shy and fearful tendencies, Miss Churchill had always advised her boyfriend not to talk to the maid.

And up until that day, Ysabella had preferred it that way. However, as the days grew longer and the nights were restless, she craved his companionship again, if even their conversations were broken or non-existent. She appreciated that he seemed to genuinely care for her, however, and felt awful about the way she had treated him. Ysabella knew she would never divulge her secrets to Mr. Ford, but still... she shouldn't have allowed her to break down in such a way.
 
The last day of Tahiti was spent snuggling away in their private beach home as the crystal waves lapped on gold-speckled shores. Miranda's soothing fingers traced his exposed chest as she feathered sweet and tender kisses to his lips, murmuring, "why couldn't we always be like this, Cam?" To be honest, he had no idea. It was either their conflicting schedules, arguments, or other engagements that ripped them away from each other. His father had simply told him it was the many motions of being an A-lister, but was it really worth it? Unlike Miranda, Cameron felt extremely uncomfortable shooting around the L-bomb like it was nothing. To him, it was special, and had to be carefully thought about before said – exactly why he felt like a complete and utter asshole for telling her things he didn't sincerely mean. Cameron cared for her, more than anything, but he just wasn't at that point yet where he was certain it translated to love.

Not to mention his mind had been clouded with many other things, like Ysabella, and even days after it happened, he still felt like the worst person on earth. "Because we have bad time management skills?" he suggested, pushing away all thoughts with a joking smile. Cameron wanted to at least say he tried to make this work with Miranda before entirely writing her off.

Miranda chuckled, reaching up to pop him on the lips. "Well…I think we should really work on that so we can spend more time together. Deal?" She held up her pinky, a goofy grin stretching across her features. For a split second Cameron noticed the old Mir, who's million dollar smile not only managed to light up the room, but spread to others like the plague.

"Sounds like a damn good idea," he murmured back, returning that kiss. "I really want us to be happy, Mir."

She laced her fingers with his, "me too."

There was no way to predict if their relationship would last but Cameron knew quite clearly that only time would tell. He couldn't wear his heart on his sleeve just yet, not with someone else still on his mind.
 
She yearned to go outside, to feel the hot California sun on her skin, if even just her face. But the idea of going out there alone was frightening; she wasn't sure who would see her, and what control she could get herself into in the outside world. She for the duration of Miranda's vacation Ysabella remained inside, singing to her heart's content and cleaning the house from top to bottom as usual.

On the fifth of their vacation, the young woman arrived back, Mr. Ford wheeling the giant suitcase they shared into the massive foyer of the grand mansion. Miss Churchill was close behind, carrying a plethora of bags it looked like she had acquired at the airport. Ysabella always allowed the young woman to share all her purchases with her, smiling at each one and pretending as though she was interested. Sometimes, Miranda actually treated her more like a sister than a housemaid.

She stayed confined to the kitchen as they moved upstairs, carrying all their things with her.
A few minutes later a pair of small footsteps trotted down the grand staircase and Miranda soon appeared, the widest of smiles on her face. She approached Ysabella quickly, leaning in, "he offered to make me back next weekend, Ella! I hate to jump the gun, but I really think he's going to propose!"

Ysabella nodded her head, feeling a strange feeling bubble in her stomach; not happiness nor jealously, but somewhere in between... which caught her quite off guard. Why in the world would she feel jealously? After all, the two had been dating on and off since Ysabella had started working here, and never had she felt this way...
...guilt once more overwhelmed her, remembering the way that Mr. Ford had tried to console her. It was unfair to Miss Churchill for such things to occur, and Ysabella forced her eyes to smile a bit before she turned back to her dishes, hoping that her employer would return to her bedroom once more.
 
Cameron waited for Miranda to fall asleep that night once more before carefully slipping down the stairs and to the kitchen only to see Ysabella scrubbing away, causing nostalgia of several nights ago to plague his memory. He was about to approach her but was interrupted by the vibration of a phone from within the depths of his pocket. Furrowing his eyebrows in surprise, he revealed the iPhone, glancing down at the caller ID to see Paul's name across the screen. Cameron didn't even have to think twice on picking up on him, quickly and quietly pressing the phone to his ear as he disappeared down the corridor.

"Hey, man, what's up?" Cameron greeted, staring out the glass window panes and onto the expansive street filled with mansions.
"Hey. I don't know if your schedule got too hectic again but my debut was last night man. I didn't see you in the crowd."
He slapped a hand to his forehead, wincing with a curse. How the hell could he forget his best friend's concert? This was precisely why Cameron didn't have a large circle of friends, even if it was by choice. He knew he wouldn't be able to devote enough time to them – hell, he couldn't even devote the proper time for his girlfriend. "I'm so sorry, Paul. I, it completely slipped my mind. How can I make it up to you? And I'm not taking no for an answer."
"Encore performance, tomorrow, bring someone," he responded, a hint of disappointment on his tone although he hid it well. Cameron was so done disappointing people. He couldn't help it! But he wouldn't flake on his friend, no, not this time. He didn't care if the president of the United States wanted to meet with him tomorrow; he was going to that concert.
"I will be there. I promise."
"Alright, bro, let's hope. Talk to you later." With that, the phone clicked, a small groan escaping his lips as he turned towards the kitchen once more. Miranda hated bars with a burning passion, and even worse, ones in the not necessarily good part of town. Cameron definitely couldn't bring her. So who?

His eyes then locked with Ysabella, pressing the phone to his lips as he pondered the possibility. This would be the perfect 'I'm sorry' gift! She clearly liked music, and he needed a partner, so they would both be benefiting from this.

With little to no thought, he strolled into the kitchen, grinning at Ella slightly as he declared, "you, me, concert tomorrow at eight. I mean, you do still like music and all, right?"
 
His voice startled her from behind and Ysabella jumped, practically breaking one of the expensive china plates as it clattered around the sink. When she turned, Mr. Ford was apologizing and approaching her carefully. It took the young woman a few minutes as she watched him, realizing that he had just offered to take her out. At first the words didn't register, as though she had just imagined that he had asked her.

Her brow furrowed slightly, and she pulled her headscarf closer against her mouth, a self conscious tick. "Miss Churchill?" she inquired. After all, the woman was his girlfriend... soon to be fiance... so why he was he inviting her, the timid housemaid that no one knew much about?

"Well, Miranda isn't into that sort of thing..." he trailed, "but I knew you would be."

Ysabella shook her head immediately, feeling her pulse quicken. She had never been to a bar before, or a concert, and could only imagine how uncomfortable and unsafe she could feel, crowded in with all those sweaty, drunk people. She hadn't even been to one before in America and already knew she would hate it!

She shook her head once more, meeting his gaze, "that... that... no. I not safe." The possibility of being spotted in one of those places was something she couldn't risk. Especially if there was media coverage, or even photos being taken.
Cameron arched an eyebrow. "You will be, with me. It's a little off-the-map place...you'll be fine."
"Pictures?" she asked.
"No, no cameras. No nothing. Just good music."
Fiddling with the hem of her hijab, Ysabella looked away, her gaze apprehensive. "Miss Churchill... she not like me there..."
"She'll be fine," Cameron responded. "We're going as friends, so she wouldn't mind."

Ysabella bit her lip, fighting between the two sides of herself; she wanted to go, but on the other hand, her heart told her it was much too dangerous. Her lips were moving before she could stop them, though, and her hand reached out to touch Mr. Ford's wrist. She murmured, "I... I will go... but... you protect me."
 
Cameron was thrilled when she accepted, honestly not expecting such a thing, not after what happened. Was this a sign of…forgiveness? Of course Cameron wouldn't change his ways of helping regardless of how she thought a typical male should act, but he wouldn't try to impede on what she was paid to do. In a mix of excitement, it hadn't registered that she had begun talking to him, almost a full conversation, without him noticing particularly at the time. Cameron couldn't help but grin at Ysabella before wrapping her in a hug, not waiting for a response as he murmured, "I'll pick you up at seven forty-five tomorrow." With that, he casually strolled out of the kitchen, making his way back up to the bedroom.

For some reason, he couldn't possibly be more excited for the next day.

~ ~ ~

Miranda watched as her boyfriend began to shave early that morning, running a hand through his shaggy brunette locks as he continuously checked his appearance in the mirror. "I don't think I've seen you primp this much," she mused, arching an eyebrow. "What's up?"

Cameron stammered for words, offering a small grin in her direction as he leaned in closer to nibble on her earlobe. "I'm going to a friend's concert tonight, actually. You know I can't step in public looking any sort of way."

She scoffed as if her boyfriend had told her the most ridiculous thing ever. "Since when do you care how the media perceives you? I seem to recall you getting piss drunk with that Paul friend of yours last year in The Avalon. You were in all the news rags for at least a month; your parents threw a hissy fit!"

"Well, I'm trying to change," he responded, pushing back a tendril of her long blonde waves. "Now stop worrying. You should be proud." Cameron felt like an ass for lying, but wasn't he simply just…neglecting details? She didn't have to know everything – it was best for Ella and him both. Miranda was always the type to get jealous whenever he went out with anyone of the opposite sex; him and Ysabella were just friends, but lord knows what she would try and twist it into. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her, and Cameron intended for it to remain that way.

"I am, I am," she breathed, cupping his cheeks with a tender kiss. "But I kind of liked the stubble. Don't shave next time, kay?"

"Deal," he breathed with a grin.
 
In addition not to stand out too much, Ysabella opted for a pair of dark jeans, a long black turtleneck, and of course a black scarf wrapped around her head, covering everything but her eyes. She knew that in San Diego women in hijabs were not the most common (must Muslims in American opted out of the headscarf) but she knew that they were no way she was going to venture out without it. She used her niqab as a guise, hoping that any man would simply skim over her covered form.

Luckily, Miranda had departed for the evening for another late night drinking session with her mother, leaving Ysabella to wait alone in the front window for Mr. Ford. She felt like a schoolgirl waiting for her first date arrive, a thought that she dismissed almost as quickly as it came; they were simply going as friends, nothing more... after all, it would be utterly inappropriate if it were anything else.

When he finally arrived and the headlights practically blinded Ella from the front window, she walked to the door only to find he was already at it. He knocked carefully as she slipped on her shoes and when she opened the door to him finally, she smiled slightly when she noticed his fresh appearance; casual but dressy at the same time, his face and hair groomed. When he offered his arm playfully to her, Ysabella hesitated but then eventually took it, feeling warmth spread through her when his arm touched hers.

What would her father say? Surely he would have her head... he was taken, after all, and she wasn't meant to be with a man such as him.

As the breeze blew through the finely trimmed and nearly groomed shrubbery, Ysabella pulled herself a little closer to his side, squeezing Mr. Ford's arm. "You... you tell Miss Churchill we go?"
She hated the idea of going behind the woman's back; after all, if the outing was purely innocent, why did secrets have to be kept?
"I told her of the concert, yes. Don't worry about it Ella."
Ysabella nodded her head meekly, not asking anymore; she didn't want to know. Mr. Ford was her boyfriend, and it was his business what he told her.

Soon they were driving out of the suburbs and into the city, the bright eyes catching Ysabella by surprise. She had never seen a world so vibrant and enthusiastic before; it was like the images on the television, only ten times brighter and more fascinating.
 
Cameron felt good taking her out, considering he assumed she didn't get much time outside the confines of the house to begin with. Of course she had free will to go wherever she wanted; he just assumed no one had given her the true push she needed to get out there. But seeing her look at all the lights and sights with curiosity and wonderment in her eyes was enough to perk up his mood instantly. He glanced down at his phone, the concert starting in seven minutes – they would make good time.

"Is this your first concert?" he inquired, to spark conversation.
She nodded her head eagerly.

Cameron simply smirked, watching as the buildings started to become closer knit, the glitz and glamour of the richer side of town now diminishing into nothing. Paul had warned him the club was stationed in the middle-lower/class region, practically like stepping from one world to another. He simply shrugged it off, not giving much of a damn. So what? He liked to think he was more than capable of taking care of himself regardless of the scenario he happened to be placed in.

Once the limo parked in a lot half a block away from the club, he helped Ysabella out of the car, waving off the driver as they began to make their way down the sidewalk. In a few minutes tops The Sting came into view, hundreds of people trying to fit in. Cameron felt Ella grip his arm a little tighter as they approached the ticket booth, a stocky sticking out his meaty hand for the money. He forked it over with no problem, retrieving the two tickets and handing one to Ella.

The inside was industrial-styled, a two level building with tables scattered about the floor, dimly lit with candles. For a place so seedy, the inside was surprisingly inviting, save for the people stuffed at every corner, excited to see his friend. They eventually found a table near the center that was conveniently free, just in time for Paul to begin tuning his guitar.
 
The place was bustling with people, and though she knew that she was simply overreacting, Ysabella felt like they were all watching her. She stared up at them through thick lashes, holding onto Mr. Ford's arm the entire time. Even once they had sat down she refused to let go, and luckily, he didn't reject her; instead he simply moved his chair a bit closer, allowing her to latch on.

As the beautiful music gradually began to play, Ysabella found her thoughts drifting; suddenly the world around had ceased to exist, the people no longer staring at her... All she was truly aware of was Mr. Ford's strong grip on her hand and beautiful melody that flowed through the microphone.
As different as this place was from the Middle East, it reminded Ysabella much of home... the people crammed in every corner just for a bit of cheap entertainment, some drinking, but most just enjoying the night sober. The man at the stage, whom Ysabella imagined was Mr. Ford's friend as he seemed rather fond of him, was incredible, as well; his voice and strumming skills on his guitar perfect to her ears.

"He... he... wonderful?" she whispered in between the songs, hoping she had used the correct adjective. What English she did know she had learned from the television and radio, and it was apparent in her broken sentences.
Cameron smirked. "Man, I can tell he'd love you. But I'm glad you're enjoying - he's great."
Ysabella nodded in agreement. "Love me?" she laughed softly, incredulous.
"Well, I mean, he'd really like you. Americans use that word very loosely," he responded with a chuckle.
She nodded her head, a bit of relief washing through her, and a small smile lighting up her eyes. "Good... I no marry him."
"Yeah, you're way better than Paul. He'd never be able to score a beautiful exotic girl," Cameron mused, staring forward at the stage.

Beautiful?
Ysabella smiled and felt her stomach flutter. He had called her beautiful... perhaps indirectly, but he had done so nonetheless. The fact that he had never even seen her face made Ysabella believe he was talking more about her person, which was enough to make her stomach rumble even more.

As Paul began to play a few slower songs, Ysabella couldn't help but allow her eyes to close slightly, her cheek beginning to rest against Mr. Ford's broad shoulder. It was like the perfect cushion and Paul's voice the perfect lullaby; Ysabella wished she could have them both there every night, and perhaps the nightmares would have been as intense each time she closed her eyes.
 
Cameron couldn't help when Ysabella rested her cheek against his shoulder, even if it was only slightly, as the soft music continued to filter through the club. He honestly couldn't remember any other night when he simply felt normal, like a paparazzi wouldn't chase him down for his picture. It was just good music, a fun girl, and catching up with an old best friend. There was no way in hell this night could take a downward slope.

"Tired?" he whispered into her ear. Cameron hadn't realized the time and how quickly it tended to wither away when you were having a hell of a good time.

She blinked a bit and then blushed, "music... it... it is soothing."

He grinned, watching the stage for a moment before responding, "It is. I almost don't wanna leave." Leaving would mean unfortunately returning to the real world with real priorities and work that constantly liked to pile up on his desk. Even though the company was his dream, it tended to be overwhelming at times with press conferences every other day or business galas and parties. Cameron wanted to live one day without the Ford title, fame, and riches – for that twenty four hours, he just wanted to be average and see what it felt like.


Ysabella simply smiled, fingers still hooked around his arm as they watched the duration of the show before Paul was strumming his final ballad and thanking the crowd for being so good. Cameron snuck backstage briefly, catching his friend before he was pulled off by another groupie.

"Hey man," Cameron greeted, "awesome show."
An easy smile flashed across the man's lips as he nodded. "Thanks. I think the owner wants to make me a regular act here. Offered a pretty penny too."
"I'm happy for you!" he exclaimed, satisfied to see one of his closest friends doing something with his life. Cameron just hoped he wouldn't fade away again without as much as a phone call. "But, excuse my manners, this is Ysabella." He gestured to the petite woman who was holding onto his arm tighter than ever in front of the new company.
"Ahh, nice to meet you," Paul replied with a friendly wink. "Typical of a Ford man to carry around supermodels on their arms, although, I do have to say she's a little different than your usual flavor…"
Cameron could feel the blush creeping to his cheeks, something that rarely happened as he slugged his friend in the arm. "She's a friend, Paul. I'm with Miranda, remember? The one you were inquiring about just the other day?"
"Oh, right!" he exclaimed. "I knew she'd never come to one of these things – god forbid a Churchill be seen in a dive bar."
Cameron shook his head, trying to contain that smile. "She's trying, Paul. But anyway, I gotta take this lovely lady home so we'll catch drinks tomorrow?"
Paul snickered. "Alright, bro, sounds good."
 
These men were surely silly, and rather good at making Ysabella blush heavily behind her scarf; calling her beautiful and a supermodel, and though she knew she was far from either, it was sweet of them to make such comments. Though she knew better than to enjoy and accept their compliments, they reached her deep down, and make her genuinely smile, despite how it was hidden.

Ysabella stayed latched onto Mr. Ford as they exited the club. A few people – mainly women – stopped them and gabbed on to Mr. Ford about the various things they had read and seen about him. Ysabella couldn't help but notice that most asked of a wedding, leading her to believe that Miss Churchill was correct when she had suspected he was going to propose. After all, Mr. Ford did not tell reject any of their comments for a large wedding, only nodding his head slightly and moving his lips occasionally.

Once they were finally resettled back into the plush and spacious back of the limousine, Ysabella finally let go on her companion's arm. Immediately after doing so, however, she regretted it; the warm that had once been there disappeared, leaving an empty void by her side. Still, she tried not to grow attracted to his warmth, or even used to it; after all, he was soon to be married... and even if he was not, Ysabella knew he was not hers to hold in such a way.

Resting her head against the back of her seat, Ysabella softly asked, "you... ask... you marry Miss Churchill?
Cameron let out a sigh, pondering the question longer than he should have. "I have no idea," he murmured, looking her directly in the eyes. "I mean, we've known each other forever and I have feelings for her, but I-I guess I'm not sure if she's my forever yet, and I want to make sure before I pop the question, even though that's what everyone wants."
Ysabella watched him carefully, realizing that the subject pained him dearly; she could see the strain in his eyes immediately. He had clearly contemplated this many times before and imagined the the stress of others around him did not help with his decisions.
Marriage at home was often much less complicated; you married who your parents chose, and it wasn't often that someone rejected the match. After all, your parents knew you best, and thus picked the perfect individual for you. She could only have wished her parents had been the "perfect match".

She expressed this to him by saying, "it lucky... to choose. Home... my parents, they choose for me."
Cameron frowned. "You know you don't have to do that anymore, right? I mean, you're in America. You can find an amazing guy that you like, which I'm sure you will, and marry them without someone telling you to. Can't decide who you love, it just sort of...happens."
Ysabella smiled, "that... complic... comp... comp-lee-cated. My parents... I trust, my heart do not. What if choose wrong person?"
Cameron shook his head, a small smile tinging at the corners of his lips. "You just sort of know. I'm about to sound incredibly cheesy, so brace yourself, but, follow your heart. It's never wrong."
She smiled again, feeling her cheeks warm with the new knowledge. Then, her smirk wavered a bit, "no marry... no."
 
Cameron wasn't even sure how long he remained smiling out that window. Ysabella had fallen asleep on his shoulder long ago, leaving him to watch the buildings rush by the window, shop lights bright against the night. They were entering the affluent part again, the changes in architecture becoming excruciatingly different than the ones that plagued the slums of the town. Instead, Gucci and Prada boutiques, mixed in with other luxury brands, littered the streets, fancy neighborhoods at every corner. It didn't take long for them to return to the house, its lights shut off and Miranda gone. Cameron was beginning to wonder if he spent more time at her house than his apartment, only visiting the loft on and off throughout the duration of the last two weeks. He felt guilty for thinking Miranda wasn't the sole reason he came by so often.

Glancing sideways at Ysabella, he didn't have the heart to wake her, slowly and gently lifting her from that plush leather seat before slamming the limousine door behind him. The sleek black car took off down the street as he made his way towards the door, turning the house key in the lock to be greeted by an empty parlor. They ascended the grand stairs, Cameron finding her room rather quickly along the lengthy corridor.

Once they were in her room, he placed her gently on her bed after pushing back the covers and tucking her in. Cameron couldn't help but examine her closely, his curiosity piqued as to what she looked like underneath the fabric barrier. Gradually he removed the hijab, mouth parting slightly as her face came into full view. Cameron had expected her to be beautiful, but never this stunning. Just the way her jaw bones were at the perfect height without the use of injections to the way her plump lips slightly protruded in an inviting way that drove him crazy. He quickly controlled himself, stepping back from her sleeping form with the chiffon in his hand. Cameron decided to find a place to put it for now, pulling open her top drawer just for his eyes to widen in surprise.

A single picture stood out amongst many other things like her passport and papers, a young woman with golden brunette hair such as Ysabella's own with the most striking of cerulean blue eyes. Cameron was stunned by their uncanny resemblance, figuring she took to her mother which was certainly a good thing. Storm eyes scanning over the photo for several moments, he nearly jumped when Ysabella started to stir, quickly placing the picture back in the drawer where it belonged before she woke up.
 
When Ysabella woke the next morning at the crack of dawn, she was surprised to find that she was still in her clothing from the previous night. And as she ran her hand across her face and her tongue along her teeth, she realized that she hadn't been the one to put herself to bed the previous night; the last thing she remembered was sitting in the limo with Mr. Ford, and imagined that he had been the one to take her inside.

There was little noise from the upper levels – but it was much too early for Miss Churchill to be rising. Despite her often overwhelming schedule, the young woman always had the luxury of sleeping in past ten. The only exceptions were when she was flying, and even then she never woke before Ysabella.

As she began to undo her blouse from the previous night, Ysabella realized that there was another soul in the room with her. It was the faint snoring that startled her at first, causing her to hastily pull a sweater to cover her exposed frame. When she smiled, she was thankful that Mr. Ford was still sleeping, his lean but muscular frame stretched up along the small sofa in her room. His eyes were closed, and he looked as though he had been sleeping for awhile.

Ysabella quickly dressed and pulled on her hijab, realizing that her one from the night before had vanished; leading her to believe that, one way or another, Mr. Ford had seen her face without the barrier. The thought was both comforting and unsettling; though she was not Muslim, she preferred to keep her face and emotions hidden from all. It was much easier that way, made hiding and any temptations easier to bear.

"Mr. Ford," Ella prompted, gingerly touching his bicep, "you... you going to hurt. You need bed, wake up."
Cameron's eyes popped open in surprise, rubbing his eyelids as he took in his surroundings. "Oh...damn. What time is it? I probably fell asleep in your room."
She nodded her head, drawing backwards and smirking lightly, pulling at the edges of her scarf, "yes. But Miss Churchill... she not wake until late. You fine. But I go... work, clean..."
He nodded softly, murmuring, "well if you need anything, let me know."

Before she left, Ysabella added, "I tell Miss Churchill... about concert and bed? Or no?"
Cameron rapidly shook his head. "No! I mean, no. That's a bad idea. It's not like I'm trying to hide what we did, it's just unnecessary drama that both you and I don't need. Especially since me and Mir are on relatively good terms now."


Ysabella smiled and nodded her head before abandoning him, imagining that Miss Churchill would be angry if she woke to a clean house and no food on the table. As much as Ysabella would have loved to curl back into her bed and talk with Mr. Ford, she knew that such things were out of her reach...
 
After Ysabella departed, he returned to Miranda's room as she remained fast asleep, light snores sputtering past her lips. He snickered, walking through to the bathroom while managing to unbutton his shirt and get his pants off. Once stripped naked, he stepped into the searing hot box, feeling the drops against his taut skin, almost instantly relaxing. He and Mir had dinner at his parent's house tonight, a monthly tradition where the two families combined and talked about future plans for their children. Needless to say, he wasn't all too excited with the prospect. Hell, even Miranda confessed how weird it was when they brought up the idea of kids in the future, discussing in great detail how many they should have. Not to mention, her mother made it a habit to remind him that at his young age, recently twenty nine, he should seize the opportunity of getting it out of the way. Both of their mothers had them much later in life – thirty four for him and thirty five for Mir. The only thing that preserved the two women's beauty was the power of Botox.

After stepping out of the shower, he grabbed his blade to shave, just to remember Miranda preferred stubble. Running a hand over the stubs that covered his jaw, he left it as it was, retreating to the bedroom and quickly getting dressed in the clothes he had found in her drawer – a simple black t-shirt and Levis. She still snored quite comfortably, it only being nine forty five in the morning. Miranda tended to make it a habit to wake up after ten o'clock when most days allowed, and these were one of them.

Cameron trotted down the stairs with his car keys, only to smell the decadent aroma of a good breakfast being laid out on the table – a buffet of scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, apple turnovers fresh out of the oven, and a variety of many other things steamed from its silver trays, looking like it had been cut from a food catalog.

Ysabella stepped from the kitchen, eyes glimmering from beneath her hijab as she asked, "Mr. Ford, you no stay for breakfast?"

Cameron glanced at the doorway, although his stomach protested. "Why the hell not," he muttered, cunning smile in her direction as he replied louder, "It smells too good for me to decline."
 
It wasn't long after Mr. Ford settled down at the table that Miranda joined him, her slim form fitted in a loose t-shirt and a pair of extremely short shorts. She gave her boyfriend a generous kiss upon entering before sitting down at the table herself, and as she turned her back, Ysabella placed her finger on her lip, signalling Mr. Ford not to speak to her. As much as she appreciated his company, she didn't want Miss Churchill to know that she was beginning to speak once more. Their relationship thus far comfortable and mutual, and after all this time, Ysabella didn't want to to jeopardize that. She had a hard enough taking to Mr. Ford; she could only imagine how awful she would be, trying to converse with Miss Churchill... much more proud and self centred than he.


She placed a plate of the food in front of Miss Churchill, nodding when the woman thanked her. Then she abandoned the room to tend to her other chores; however, before she could leave the room, Mr. Ford's gaze caught hers and he smirked slightly.


As she began to fold the laundry in a nearby room, Ysabella overheard their conversation. As usual, it revolved around the fact that their parents had been pressuring them for marriage and children. Ysabella knew what that feeling was like, though she never had a choice in the matter. The only reason she had never married the men her father had chosen was because none of them fancied a mute wife. But she knew how Miss Churchill felt... the idea of bearing children and a ring not keen on her mind.


After their breakfast was finished, Miss Churchill escaped back up to the bedroom, and Mr. Ford joined Ysabella in one of the nicely sized seating rooms. He immediately reached for some of the laundry she was folding, but Ysabella swatted him away.


"N-No, no... you no do that," she murmured.
Mr. Ford's brows furrowed and he reached for the garment anyways, taking the white t-shirt and quickly folding it up, "I can help, Ella."
She shook her head, looking over his shoulder, "Miss Churchill... she no like that."
 
Cameron couldn't help his morals. No matter how Ella had been raised, for some reason he wanted to prove to her he was worlds away from the men that took women for granted back in her home country – hell, if folding some laundry merited more speaking time with the mysterious woman, he would willingly oblige. He would make sure his actions were careful though, in fear he might hurt her again. If she absolutely didn't want him to help, he would respect her wishes, but at least he had gotten the point across to her he had no problem helping.

"She wouldn't care," Cameron responded. "After all, she'll be in bed for another two-three hours. Lord knows how long she sleeps on the weekends."

"Are you sure?" she whispered, "I not... I no want her angry."

"Yeah, Mir isn't like that. No worries." He reached for a tank top, folding it neatly and placing it in a tall pile off to the side as he repeated the process for a few other articles of clothing. "Out of curiosity, I mean this is none of my business and all, but, do you ever think or consider being in a relationship?" Cameron was shameless random, and considering they'd be in the same capacity for a few hours, wouldn't hurt to spark interesting conversation.

Ysabella looked up at him immediately, "why?"

Cameron's eyes were fixated on the laundry as he shrugged. "Never mind, I'm sorry, that was personal. None of my business." He had this embarrassing quirk of being unintentionally nosy; especially to people that were nothing short of strangers. Shit, he would have to work on that.
 
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