Beautiful Disaster

Ella smiled slightly to herself; she didn't mind his nosiness, just found it rather amusing. No one in this world or her old one had ever taken an interest in her life, and now it seemed that Cameron was genuinely intrigued by the manner in which she led it. She knew it probably had something to do with the fact that she was very unconventional in the States, but she enjoyed his interest.

“I no want to marry,” she confessed, “and what point of relation if no that?”

Why these words spilled out, Ysabella wasn't sure. She was always guarded about her life, and suddenly, just as quickly as he had gotten her speaking Mr. Ford had also weaselled his way into her trust. She felt compelled to offer him something back for his kindness however.

Cameron smirked. "Well, you can love someone without wanting to marry."
“But then it complicated,” Ella responded, “where I from, you no touch before you marry. So what more to it to man than that?”
He shook his head, a small chuckle escaping his lips. "Well in America we do alot of things before thinking to get married. Moving in...sex...everything, practically. Don't need a shiny ring to prove how much you love someone, at least in my opinion."

After placing a new stack of freshly folded clothing into the basket, grabbing a few more of the garments as she spoke. “Things very different. You know where I'm from?” She didn't wait for him to answer, knowing that he didn't – even Miranda didn't know where her mysterious maid had originated from. “Little country... Yemen. By Saudi Arabia. So many men, not many women. It Islam state, so I wear this”-she gestured to her niqad-“but it so different from here. Like two world... you go, and you be surprised.”
Cameron nodded. "Yemen is brutal. I couldn't...imagine what it'd be like over there, other than horrific."
“War bad... but it home for me. My heart there still.” Despite what had occurred, she would always called Yemen home; the culture, even of the people... she truly did belong there.

"Would you ever go back?" he questioned softly.
The question caught her off a guard, and she bit her lip, pondering the question. “When old. Right now, I refugee... no money to go back.”
Cameron nodded. "Well Mir should take good care of you."
Ella smiled, “she does.” But the more she talked about it, the more than Ella missed home; as awful as that place was sometimes, it was still home for her... where every woman looked like she did, in hijabs and niqabs, even felt like she did.

“I know I never return,” she told him a few seconds later.
"Good," Cameron murmured. "Wouldn't want you to get hurt over there."
Ysabella smiled but nodded; he had no idea what truly what await her at home. She was a single, vulnerable woman... no family, no husband... and thus a prime target for the older men there. As much as she felt a bond with the place, she knew she could never call it home again.
 
~ ~ ~

Cameron found visiting Ysabella’s room late at night simply another part of his nightly regimen. Since he usually didn’t get sleep until about midnight, their conversations were enough to keep him entertained until he would nod off to sleep, Ella usually doing the same. Tonight he had knocked on her door lightly, clad in a plain t-shirt and sweat pants for bed before being let in by the woman, cunning smile pulling at the corners of his lips. Even though what they were doing wasn’t scandalous in the least, he still diverted from telling Miranda such things in fear she’d manifest it into something it truly wasn’t.

“Hey,” he greeted, once she had opened the door, “am I interrupting?”

"No," she smiled lightly, "just let me change quickly..."

Cameron nodded, stepping away from the door and waiting there for several minutes until she was in a comfortable long-sleeved shirt and pajama pants. She gestured him in with a timid smile, shutting the door behind her once he was finally enclosed in the nicely-sized room.

“How are you?” he asked once seated on the sofa directly in front of her bed.

"Sleepy," she smirked, pulling herself up onto the mattress, "I glad you come though."

“Me too,” he responded with a grin, running a hand through his hair. “Nice to speak with people who are down-to-earth…you’re different, it’s refreshing.” Cameron couldn’t explain the relief he felt once meeting someone who couldn’t care less what his last name was, or his numerous accolades. She just enjoyed his company because of him, and she would never understand how assuaging that was.

"Earth?" she asked, confused.

Cameron chuckled, silently reminding himself to watch his American slang around Ysabella – after all, it didn’t make sense in her world. “Humble,” he explained. “Maybe I should make it a hobby on teaching you more of our Yankee slang. And of course, you could continue to show me your culture – I’ve always been intrigued with it.”

"Yankee?" she simpered, "you confuse me... stop."

Cameron simply smirked, winking at her playfully. “What if I like you confused?” He hadn’t realized how suggestive he sounded until the words were long gone off his tongue and sounding through the room.
 
“You take advantage,” Ysabella murmured, tucking herself back into her pillows and relaxing her body, “you amused by confusion... not right. I speak Arabic you, and you know how it feels!”

Over the last few days, the young woman had found a great companionship with Mr. Ford; he had become more of a friend than just Miranda's boyfriend, and seemed genuinely interested in her person and past. He was always asking questions and cracking jokes, lightening the mood around them. Though Ysabella tried not to dwell on it, she looked forward to see his sleek car pull up in the drive everyday; sometimes, she even felt she looked forward to his visits more than Miss Churchill did.

Cameron chuckled. "Speaking in different languages tends to turn me on, so go ahead at your own risk," he responded, obviously teasing.
“The light on, already?”
"Oh right, slang again," he replied with a grin. "Means to excite me, or attract in simpler terms."
Ysabella found her cheeks flushing involuntarily and she pushed herself further into her pillows, adjusting her niqab at the same time. “No, no... that no good.”
Cameron watched her incredulously, stifling a snicker. "I'm playin' with you, Ella. Although hearing you speak Arabic would be awesome."
She rolled over in the bed to face him, blinking a bit before saying, “إنك تجعلني أشعر بالخجل ... that make you happy?” There was no stopping the flushing in her cheeks around him; he didn't even have to compliment her and he had her going read... once again making her feel thankful that her hijab came in between her face and the outside world. She didn't want to know what "attraction" he would feel if he had seen her flushed cheeks...

"Very," he responded. "You should teach me one of these days."
She shrugged and then laughed lightly, "I not want to switch you on, Mr. Ford."
 
Cameron burst out into a fit of laughter at her comment, satisfied to learn she had a great sense of humor, too. This was exactly why he hadn’t managed to stay away from her – enthralled by her mysterious beauty and craving to learn of a past she fervently kept under wraps. He knew it wasn’t his place, though, and would wait for the day she trusted him enough to fill him in on what had happened years ago, and most importantly, why it drove her into muteness. Cameron’s nosiness was truly a bothersome thing but he was far from figuring out how to control it, especially around people like Ysabella.

“Good answer,” he responded with a small snicker. Even though Cameron was joking with her, he had a strange affinity for accents and otherworldly languages. There was something attractive about other exotic countries, which explained why he enjoyed traveling the world. “And you’re already picking up on this American slang thing – pretty soon you’ll be a pro!”

"Oh no," Ysabella smiled, "not yet... learn lot still."

Cameron simply grinned, basking in silence for several minutes. He enjoyed how they could say absolutely nothing without it being the least bit awkward, just quietly enjoying the company of each other. Eyes wandering to the bed, he couldn’t help but take in as many features as the hijab allowed, that curiosity to see her face once more overwhelming. Slowly rising from the couch, he kept a respectable distance from her bed, asking with a playful wink, “you know you don’t have to wear that around me, right?”

Her eyes softened a bit, "... I... I... I used to it. It annoying, but it protect me."

“You’re safe with me,” he pointed out, reaching to squeeze her hand warmly.

Gradually, Ysabella removed the fabric, her beauty fully accentuated for him to enjoy. She murmured, "at home, it way to keep men from looking. No one want woman covered."

“You shouldn’t hide your beauty,” Cameron whispered, automatically catching himself. “Well-I mean, it’s wrong to treat women that way.” In all seriousness, he wouldn’t be able to survive in a place such as Yemen, being a natural-born gentleman.
 
After she removed the fabric, Ysabella felt utterly self conscious; it had been a long time since someone else's eyes had seen her entire face. However, there was a certain sense of trust and relief that washed through her as she looked at Cameron, watching his eyes scan the features once hidden.
She didn't wear the hijab for religious reasons, and that was essentially why she could so easily remove it in front of Mr. Ford, now that she trusted him. Though no longer of Islam faith, she had kept the scarf for multiple reasons – however, the man was due to the fact that it held her emotions in, preventing others from seeing her smiles and frowns.
Ysabella was still surprised that she could let Mr. Ford in so easily; she hated her emotions, yet somehow, with him it seemed he enjoyed them more than anything.

She shook her head, “it not bad thing.” When he cocked his head to the side a bit, she patted the edge of the mattress and once he sat beside her, she told him, “it seem weird to you, to see all woman here in United States. But home, modesty special... it stop cheat, keeps woman pure... not a way to repress.”
Cameron still didn't look entirely convinced, arching an eyebrow in her direction. "It doesn't encourage cheating or modesty, which I suppose is a good point, but women didn't have much of a choice did they? They got brutally murdered for committing those crimes regardless. I can't imagine a man lighting their wife on fire because she stared at another man too long...it's horrific."
Ysabella looked at him, blinking a few times and then murmuring timidly, “but still men here, killing wives for cheating? You no win no where... that why I wear... to keep away people, may hurt me.”
Cameron laced his fingers gently around hers. "Well you don't have to worry about me hurting you anytime soon."

She sat up a bit further this time, looking down at their laced fingers and then back to his face, rather close to hers now. She could see the small grains of stubble he had missed earlier than morning, and the few wisps of hair that stuck against his forehead. Leaning forward, Ysabella rested her forehead against his shoulder.
Then, she asked him, “why you talk to me? You have all money and girlfriend, and you speak to me... maid that know bad English?"
 
Cameron smiled softly at her, the light illuminating the soft but angular curves of her face, gorgeous cerulean blue eyes glittering under the light. She was beautiful, and there was simply no other way to put it. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to her, although he intended on controlling himself, for both of their well-beings. Cameron turned his body so he was lying next to her on that pillow, body comfortably above the comforter. He could have stayed like that with her forever, locking out the rest of the world and all the drama that came with it.

“Well,” he began, glancing up at the ceiling to collect his thoughts. “First off, money is far from buying happiness, contrary to popular belief. Matter fact, it spoils people. And, you’re just down to earth, y’know? When I’m with you, I feel like any other guy and you have no idea how much that means to me. Plus, your English isn’t bad! It’s actually quite good given it’s not your first language.” Cameron leaned his head against the crown of hers, basking in her warmth. “And why do you hang out with me? Some stranger you’ve only known for two weeks who is supposedly conceited and rich?” Of course the former didn’t describe him at all, but it was a term most commonly associated with affluent people.

"You no like that, though," she smiled softly.

Cameron shrugged with a tiny smirk. “Unfortunately that’s what people automatically assume about well-to-do folk. Although I do admit our track record isn’t all too respectable.”

She shrugged and then repeated, "you no like that."

“That’s reassuring,” he responded with a chuckle.
 
“You know,” Ysabelle said softly, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to pay too much attention to Mr. Ford's warm breath on her neck and his chocolate eyes gazing into her, “no person ever talk. They see niqab, and that I no speak... and then walk. I useless to them, no body and no person... but you... no.” She shifted her gaze and smiled at him warmly, trying to convey in her own way how much she truly did enjoy his companionship. After years of living in the USA and not speaking to anyone, it was both comforting and refreshing to know that someone did care.


“I think that you're interesting and a nice girl,” Cameron confessed, “you just have some secrets.”
Ysabella nodded her head, catching his eyes once more; intrigue sat deep down in them, and pure care for the young woman he laid with. She could easily see the interest in his face, compelling her to speak once more.
She told him, “they no secrets. Just... things I know tell anyone.”
Cameron chuckled lightly and once more he was gripping her hand, “those are secrets, Ella.”
She shook her head hastily, “no...”


He laughed and before Ysabella could even comprehend what was happening, she reached into her nightstand, pulling out a very small book. It was an old Arabic novel, but every few pages had been ripped away, allowing the young woman to adhere her own worn, grainy photos to the pages that were left.


When she lifted the first page, an image of her parents and a tiny baby in this arms was first.
Ysabella showed him the image and then pointed to the two grown adults in it, “that my mother, and my father. Me baby. It a long story, but my mum die I small... I miss her much.”
“What happened to her?” Cameron dared to ask, gingerly running his fingers over the edge of the book.
“She very young, my father very old. Thirty year between... no good. He kill her when I sleep. I no want you to think that alway happen in Yemen, but that my parents. Then I live with my father for long time and it not good... we travel lot, in war, and he try to find me husband. But I knew he kill mother and I no speak, so no man want me.”

Cameron looked generally stunned, and turned one of the pages, showing Ysabella as a small girl in her first niqab. Her father was pictured, but not her mother. The next few pages progressed rapidly, showing the young woman in full Muslim dress, always with her father. In a few another male would appear, but Ysabella then explained that they never lasted long.

“There are good things to men in my world. Woman modest in niqab... pure, never married before... they speak and obey,” she told him, “I disobey, I no speak because I no want them. And so I punished as my father age, disgrace of daughter with no marriage...”
 
Cameron was more than flattered when Ysabella began to open up to him, explaining each and every picture in great detail. He couldn’t imagine the courage it took to show him such a sentimental piece of her background, given they hadn’t known each other for long. Losing his mother was something Cameron couldn’t even begin to imagine and harsh reality hit him that other people had it much worse than him. He only squeezed her hand a little tighter, offering any solace he could as they flipped through the pages.

“Why didn’t you want them?” he whispered. “I mean-considering your father expected it from you.” Just from the days they had spent together, Ysabella seemed like the type to remain hell bent to her customs and rules.

"I too young for them," she murmured, "and I simply not like them. Too old, too mean, for most..."

“Understandable,” Cameron responded, glancing at the clock to see eleven-thirty PM in glaring neon letters. He suddenly realized he was the one keeping her up; intruding on the private time she had. “Ah, I’m sorry, are you tired? Don’t want to keep you up because I’ve been a partial insomniac the last week.” With work that needed to be done, he had barely gotten the healthy six hours of sleep every day.

"No, you stay," she smiled gently, "I always up late."

He grinned, racking his mind for more things he wanted to know about her. Maybe some light-hearted questions would eradicate the darkness. “All time question – favorite color?” Was he really doing this? Playing fifty questions with a housemaid he had only met less than a week ago? But Cameron knew she was more than just some worker to him now – she was a friend, a really good one, and that’s all to the extent of their relationship he wanted to believe.

"Pink!" Ysabella giggled, "yours?"

“Really?” he gasped, “Me too!” He let a few seconds pass before bursting into a fit of laughter, quickly correcting, “Nah, it’s blue.”

It was crazy how he could be in the same proximity with Ysabella for less than half an hour and already laugh like he hadn’t for nearly ten years. She was amazing.
 
It was odd seeing this side of Mr. Ford, but enjoyable at the same time; she was used to seeing him in suits and ready for business meetings. And even when he was around Miranda, there was always that underlying professional edge to him, curtaining this side of him completely. In his completely, “regular man” glory, however, he was everything that Ysabella wanted in a friend. He didn't pry too much as she feared, didn't press her for more details. She appreciated his respect for her privacy, and surprisingly found that it brought her to tell him more and more.

“Em... favourite food?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Anything ethnic," he replied. "Although Indian has to be my particular favorite now thanks to you." That cunning smile flitted across his lips before adding, "what about you?"

She couldn't control the smile that spread across her lips when he said that; to know that he had enjoyed her food so thoroughly warmed her in places she were sure had been frozen cold. And even if he was just trying to flatter her, his words still meant a lot. After all these years of cooking and cleaning for others, it was rare that someone said they actually liked something.

“We backwards,” Ysabella said, fiddling with the end of her comforter, “I like American... cheeseburger? Is that called... from... quick meal place?” When she had first arrived, Miss Churchill had purchased her one from downtown... since then, Ysabella had never enjoyed one again, but she had always remember its delicious taste.
Cameron chuckled, arching his eyebrows in surprise. "McDonalds? Never pegged you to like fast food, Ella! That's cool."
She shrugged, “it different from home... that why I like.”
He nodded. "Well then, we should get along just fine considering Mir is always on my case for eating burgers, or worse, pizza."
“Pizza?” she asked.
Cameron just looked at her incredulously, laughing at her stunned expression when he explained what this typical American food was.

After at least another hour of talking, sending questions back and forth, Ysabella found her eyelids threatening to shut. Mr. Ford seemed like he could have stayed up for several more hours, and despite her attempts to keep up the conversation, she found herself drifting in their brief moments of silence. The day had been exhausting, and now that it was stretching into the next day, she could feel the draining effects of what was behind them.
And so eventually she succumbed to sleep, the last thing registering was the feeling of a hand pushing her hair aside and another pulling the comforter up past her shoulders.
 
After wrapping Ysabella delicately in her comforter, he pushed back a tendril of hair softly, taking in her features for a quick moment before retreating to that sofa and relaxing in it. Even though she wasn’t awake, he still fondly enjoyed being in her presence. There was just something about her that didn’t make him want to ever leave and she was almost like Novocain – highly addictive. Cameron even felt himself nodding in and out of sleep, never able to fall completely into a subconscious state. Instead, he treaded to the balcony, hands deep within his pockets as he stared out onto the sweeping terrace, miles and miles of evergreens stretching in all directions. Memories of spending summers here when he was a child plagued his memory, he and Mir darting up and down the vineyards as their parents conversated.

The deadline for a concrete marriage was rapidly approaching and Cameron was well-aware both of their families were growing anxious. His father had offered to take him ring shopping the other day, in which he declined with some flimsy excuse just to get out of it. Cameron wasn’t ready for that commitment or a life with Miranda, not when his feelings were so up in the air. But there was no one to blame but himself; perhaps he was digging himself a deeper grave by constantly feeding her with lies and false “I love you”s. Cameron couldn’t help himself! He knew that if he didn’t respond a certain way she would question him and then their relationship would crumble even more before he could properly figure out his feelings for her.

Cameron just hoped he came to a conclusive decision before it was too late; but hell, the woman sleeping in that bed before him was making things incredibly difficult for reasons he didn’t yet understand.
 
Exhaustion brought the nightmares on more heavily and more often... it was as though she had fallen into a deeper sleep much quicker, and the images would plague her almost immediately after she closed her eyes. And then she would sleep for much longer, spiralling downwards into a sea of outlandish images and horrible thoughts.

“Yamma!” a form of Ysabella, just fourteen or fifteen, called out into the streets of her hometown.
When no one came, no one stopping her as she ploughed through the crowds on the streets, she began to run faster. She could hear her mother in the background, crying out for help, for her daughter to save her from some unknown force. And as her mother's sobs grew louder, people were beginning to grip at Ysabella's arm, pulling her in the opposite direction. She was walking against them all, looking past the confused and pained faces as she pushed them aside.
Her father soon appeared in the faces, gripping her stronger than anyone else had. In their native tongue he cursed her, telling her that she must follow everyone else; that going back would only cause her more pain.

“Yamma!” she cried out again, hot tears falling down her cheeks as her father dragged her in the direction of everyone else. He continued to curse at her, dragging her by the shoulder roughly.
Ysabella protested, but her efforts were fruitless, and soon her mother's cries died off altogether.
“Papa! No! No!” she called out.

But rapidly the scene changed once more, and Ysabella and her father were in a large room, white walls and granite flooring covering every inch of what was around them. There were no doors, no even a ceiling; the walls just continued up and up.

She was surprised with her father spoke, but this time in English, “these men will make you the woman your mother never was. They will show you the ways of the earth, my daughter.”

They were the words – though not the same language – that he had said numerous times he had tried to set her up with other men. All of them had been forceful, barbaric... just like he was himself. And then several of them appeared, ones she had almost married, while others she had only met once or twice. All looked nearly identical; dark hair and midnight eyes, tall and bulky statures that a slender woman like her had no power against.

She was naked, clad in just her panties. Her skin was cold and when she tried to cover herself with her hands, her father beat her to the floor. “You will not disobey me!” he yelled. And soon the others were closing in, saying the same words, but this time in her native tongue.

She screamed, cried for help... but no one came. No one ever came.
 
Cameron was just about to settle back into the sofa until the sound of heavy breathing followed by a bed creak snapped his attention to a very startled looking Ysabella. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion; concern welling across his features as he automatically flew to her side, scrutinizing her porcelain face. “Ella, what happened? What’s wrong?” he questioned, gripping her fingers softly.

"My... I... my... father...," she whimpered
“What about your father?” he murmured, sitting on the edge of her bed.
She pressed her hands to her face, "he... he... hurt us..."
“Who’s us?” Cameron murmured, quickly catching himself. He was doing that prodding thing again and at the worst possible time. Instead, he tried to lighten her mood, reassuring her that, “Look, Ella. Your father will never find you, not under my watch, or even Miranda’s. This place is surrounded by security twenty four seven. You’re perfectly safe with us.” Cameron knew Mir would never let anything hurt her, or her employees.
"It... he already do damage. No matter he here, he still... still hurt me."
Cameron squeezed her hand gently, racking his mind for the appropriate response. He had no idea how to relate to her, even though he wanted to with every fiber of his being. He just wanted to say something that would lift her mood again miraculously. “You’re going to let him win if you keep thinking about it,” Cameron murmured. “He wants you to keep all those horrible memories imprinted in your mind. If you keep yourself from feeding into it, you’ll be surprised with how much he begins to fade from your life.”
"He never leave," she whispered, "he... he... it not easy... he hurt me like you not know. And it never go away."

Cameron nodded grimly, quickly realizing this wasn’t a problem words could easily assuage. It had been a lasting scar in the woman’s life for clearly a long time and there was nothing he could truly do to dissect her mind and try to solve it. It was one of those personal struggles that could only be defeated by yourself, and no one else. So Cameron just held her hand on the edge of that bed, hoping his presence would be enough for now.
 
They settled into silence, only Ysabella's occasional sniffles and the creaking of the bed breaking it ever so often. She felt bad for making him stay here, but his presence was more than comfort than she cared to acknowledge; waiting up to someone, rather than an empty and cold bedroom, brought her much warmth.

Rolling onto her side, Ysabella cradled his hand close as though it was dear to her. Hot tears fell down her face, and she sniffled once more, “he why I no speak for so long.”

Cameron used his free hand to wipe away the tears gently, eyes downcast. "You're beautiful inside out, don't let him hold power over you, Ella. I know it's hard, but, you have such a long life ahead of you. I'd hate for you to keep yourself prisoner to him."

She shifted so that she sat up, back resting against the headboard of her bed. Then she replied in a soft voice, “but it like your father tell you everyday something... and then one day people start tell you it all wrong. It so hard... like he still be here with me.”

"I know it's hard," Cameron responded, straightening up so he was in a position that matched her own, "and no doubt it will take time, but you have to be open to new things. I can't tell you to let him go because it's harder than that, but I guess what I'm trying to say is, you have to try and put your past behind you and look forward to the future."

Gripping onto his hand, Ysabella pulled him so that he once more laid across the length of her, the comforter separating them. He seemed stunned by the action but laid beside her anyways, smiling gently when he rested his head on the pillow beside her.

Staring down at his hands, Ysabella confessed, “I.. I.. I tell... you what happen? Then you understand... I not want you think I crazy.”

She knew it was going to take all the willpower and strength inside of her to tell Mr. Ford what had happened, but felt compelled to speak. After all, he deserved it after all he brought out in her... her voice, her confidence, even her happiness, more and more each.

Cameron glanced in her direction, a rueful smile slightly pulling at his lips. "I don't think you're crazy, Ella. But telling me would sure help me understand."

Ysabella nodded her head slightly, moving her free hand so that it touched his shoulder. She watched in amazement as the muscles rippled underneath his t-shirt, and then looked him in the eye.

She began carefully, “he... he, shoot mother. In front of child, me... I ask him why and he say I would be better than her when I grow. And as grew, he molded me into 'perfect' wife. I ask him why I do things and he tell me that... that it make me good wife late. And so I let him hurt me, in front of people and family. Then no do nothing. I hurt and cry but he not stop. Then there other men... he say they be my husband and when I say no they beat. It hurt so bad...” Slowly, she reached down and pulled her top to reveal her hip, tiny, scarring marks left behind. “He burn, and I scream, and no one help. That why I no marry.”
 
Cameron allowed his jaw to drop a little as she showed him the tiny scars that shrouded her hips, each one telling a story of its own. Grief welled through his being, entirely new to hearing stories that were actually horrific. His parents had really done a good job trapping him in this little artificial world where nothing bad happened and the extent of suffering was forgetting one of your shiny golden credit cards on a shopping spree. Cameron couldn’t relate to anyone who had struggled even in the slightest due to the fact his parents nurtured him for most of his life. He bit his lip, dragging her shirt back down so he wouldn’t have to stare at it any longer – the pain that each dull line exuded.

“I’m sorry, Ella,” was all he could whisper as all the words left him.
"No you sorry," she murmured, "it no your fault..."
His thumb drew small circles along the back of his hand as breathed, “is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” Cameron hated to see her cry, hated to see anyone cry, and would do anything in his power to bring her to that happier mood once more. Hell, if he had to lay in this bed every night with her, he would, if that assured she would stop thinking so lowly about herself.
She smiled, "you already do enough, Mr. Ford." Then, she carefully leaned forward, planting a kiss on his cheek and lingering for a moment.

Cameron was surprised with how much the kiss reawakened an old excitement within himself, those butterflies swarming low in his stomach. And without thinking, he cupped Ysabella’s cheeks, looking into her cerulean blue eyes for a few moments before grazing his lips softly against hers, a gentle peck touching the delicate skin there.
 
Kissing his on the cheek had made Ysabella's lips tingle and her head spin a bit, but when he leaned in once more and kissed her properly, she was sure her stomach had never swam with so many butterflies or her lips felt so warm. Immediately a hot flush warmed her cheeks and even when he fulled away, she could still feel the heat and attraction that mingled between them.

It was wrong... oh so wrong; he was to be married so soon and she was not meant to do such things with men before her own wedding... but there was no stopping the thoughts that entered her mind, now. The attraction and chemistry scared her a bit, in fact; she felt compelled to kiss him again, to touch his shoulders as she done before. Never had she experienced these feelings before, and though she knew to push them away, she didn't have the willpower to.

After doing what everyone else wanted for so long, Ysabella just wanted to enjoy herself for once. She immediately knew that nothing could become of it, but that didn't mean she had to stop enjoying his affections now, did it?

Touching her lips in surprise, Ysabella laughed nervously, “you kiss me, Mr. Ford.”

"I kind of wanna do it again, before I remember how bad all this actually is." With that, he pressed his lips to hers once more, wrapped in a haze of secret pleasures being fulfilled. She enjoyed the kiss, allowing her fingers to reach and wrap around his neck, drinking in his taste and inhaling the musky scent that wrapped around him

When they pulled away, Ysabella pressed her finger to his lip this time, “no ruin... I... I... I know bad, but no stop.” She wasn't planning on letting him go anytime soon, either.

Cameron bit his lip, pulling away. "Yeah, maybe I-should I go?"

Ysabella smiled and then moved, shifting her frame closer against his, “no. I no tell, you no tell? I... I... I know you feel too, so we keep secret.”
 
Cameron had never felt so attracted to one particular girl in his life and it took everything in him to stop himself from doing more. When their lips touched, his stomach felt uneasy in a shockingly good way. At first he hadn’t understood Ysabella’s wishes, thinking she wanted to shoo him away before it got out of hand, but when she explained, he rapidly nodded his head, pushing back a tendril of hair as they pressed their lips together once more, tongues tangling as they enjoyed each other’s taste. Cameron couldn’t help but let out a small groan of excitement once she pressed her body to his, fingers trailing down her silky back.

Their chemistry was electric – something he hadn’t felt with Miranda in a long time. Just the way their bodies seemed to mold perfectly together like two puzzle pieces falling into place, acted as another signal that there was more to their attraction than he had originally let on. Cameron loved the excitement of keeping a secret – being with the gorgeous housemaid he had pined for, albeit secretly, from the beginning. The way he always wanted to spend time with her was a clue that he should have picked up sooner – maybe it was bravery he had been holding back until now.

“Good,” he breathed against her lips, nibbling on her lower one seductively, with the confines of the blanket still between them. “I don’t want to stop.”

She closed her eyes, "we not until day, okay? One night, just us... and then we stop? All I need, promise."

Cameron didn’t want to admit that a night wasn’t enough and he’d always want more. But for now, just a few more hours of this was enough until the next day. He pulled back the sheets that had been dividing them, slipping underneath as the warmth of her slender body awoke his body in many different ways. Dragging his lips across her jaw, he nibbled on the lobe provocatively, getting pleasure out of the soft moans that escaped her plush lips. Cameron wasn’t sure how long he could control his body and remain a gentleman.
 
As his lips trailed along her ear and neck, Ysabella promised herself that this was where this relationship would be and remain - tonight would be their sole to be enjoy each other in such a way, and then when tomorrow rolled around, they would return to their regular lives... and he to Miranda. Ysabella felt awesome for betraying her genuinely sweet and caring employer, kissing her boyfriend, but there was no stopping the attraction that rumbled deep down in her stomach. At least not tonight...

She wasn't exactly sure how to respond to his tendering and soft groans, but he seemed rather pleased by the faint, little whimpers that left her lips as he moved his nose into her neck.
Before she knew it, his hands were trailing around her waist, finding the skin underneath her t-shirt and pulling it up just slightly. Luckily, his fingertips avoided where her scars laid, trailing around the small of her back and then the front of her belly.
Ysabella reached for one of his hands that trailed underneath her top, "I no want you to be mad in morning."
Cameron murmured solemnly, "I won't."
And then he moved so that he was hovering over top of her, his legs on either side of her knees and his lips still joined passionately, but tenderly, to her own. She was sure that she had never been treated so well in her life, and that was precisely why Ysabella didn't stop him. She enjoyed the attention he gave, and until tomorrow, she wasn't going to think about the implications.
 
Cameron gave all of himself to her that night, dragging down the fabric of clothes that separated them as he feathered soft kisses along her jaw line while keeping at a nice pace and making sure he wasn’t too hard or too soft on her. He had just wanted to get close to her for the longest time now, hot skin on hers as their clothes laid a mess on the floor. Then, Cameron didn’t think of any of the consequences that could have been waiting for him in the morning – fuck, he didn’t care. All he cared about was Ysabella and making her feel on top of the world tonight. It was her call in the morning if she wanted it to end, but that wouldn’t stop Cameron from coming back. There was something about the ways their bodies connected – the lip biting, moaning, and perfect rhythm of their bodies as she met each and every one of his thrusts – that made him believe there was a spark.

He wasn’t sure how long they went at it, although when the sun began to make its gradual rise above the terrace, their bodies were side-by-side, completely spent but still tingling with ecstasy. Cameron crumpled the condom wrapper, tossing it in a nearby trash can before returning all his attention to Ysabella, fingers lightly tracing her inner thigh.

“What’s on your mind?” he whispered, allowing them to drag higher and higher as he touched at the supple skin, lips dragging across her ear.
"Nothing," she murmured sleepily, "I get up soon... work."
“It’s seven AM,” Cameron pointed out, glancing at the clock to check. “Don’t you have half an hour to spare?”
She cocked her head to the side a bit and then smiled weakly, "For you."
He grinned, reaching over to press a tender kiss to her lips, exposed bodies pressing together underneath the comforter. “Mmm, you owe me shower time, too. I think that might wake you up a little more.” Suds and soap coupled with Ysabella’s gorgeous and irresistibly bare body? Sounded like hell of a plan.
 
As they crept up one flight of stairs early that morning, Ysabella felt a rush of adrenaline through her body; she knew she should have felt guilty for being the “other woman” in Cameron's life, but she felt more exhilarated than anything. The way he had made her feel the night before was unlike anything she had experienced; he made her body tingle from her head down to her toes, and certain parts still felt like they were on fire long after the passion had died down.

They soon slipped into the bathroom, shutting the locking the door. Ysabella wrapped her arms around her waist as Cameron started the shower, but soon he was pulling at her hands, guiding her into the hot stream. He moved so that she got most of the water, and she laughed softly at it beat down on her back and hair, running down her body and into the drain.

If being in bed together had been wonderful, this was surely something much more... erotic, if that was the correct word? But there was something that made Ysabella warm and tingling as their bodies slipped against each other, the heat and the steam heating the room further, though never suffocating.

Cameron grabbed a bar of soap and gingerly began to run it along her skin. When he reached her breast, she laughed softly and bit her lip. When he looked at her incredulously, she smirked, “that tickles...” And not to mention made her feel ten times more need for him than the previous night.
Cameron murmured, "oh really now?" He grinned at her mischieviously, adding, "You shouldn't have told me that." With that, he ran his lips along her breast, feathering soft kisses there. "I'm now forced to tickle you."
Ysabella couldn't help but allow a soft whimper to escape her lips, “now that doesn't tickle...”
 
Cameron still hadn’t come to full grips with how perfect this morning and night was turning out to be, and how unlike it was anything he ever experienced. Enjoying a nice, hot shower with Ysabella was only something that plagued his most ‘out-of-reach’ fantasies until it was actually happening and he was sucking on every inch he could reach while her whimpers excited him more. If she didn’t stop being so attractive, Cameron would want a replay of last night right there in that shower, but he managed to control himself to an extent in fear she could only handle so much. She had only gotten a taste of what he tended to do in bed – he tended to be slightly rough, a side she would soon learn if she kept tempting his body and mind.

“You make it hard not to ravage you every damn second,” Cameron breathed with a sardonic smirk. “I thought I was well-controlled, guess not.”
"Sorry?" she laughed.

Cameron snickered, pushing back a lock of her wet hair with another tender kiss. After several more minutes of touching and joking, they stepped out of the shower, cutting off the water. He glanced at the time to see eight o’clock flashing across the clock, Ysabella quickly wrapping the hijab around her face as she stepped towards the door. Clad in only jeans, he grabbed her hands, wrapping her in another warm hug before she had to run off to whatever list of chores were laying around, leaving him alone in the room.

His phone buzzed from the chair, reminder reading: “Business Proposal Meeting at 9:30.” Cameron let out a small sigh, the real world crashing down on him again as he pulled on the nearest hoodie, intending to rush home and find more suitable clothes for the office.

Still, as Cameron left the house, that tiny smirk remained across his lips.