by Ashley Hall
“Oh. I don't…I don't know. I haven't thought about it.”
“Not even a little?”
“I never thought that I would have a kid,” admits Isabella. “I didn't know that I would be a mother.”
“But you're going to be one,” says Gabe. He takes a step forward and rests his hands on Isabella's hips. “You're going to be a mother. You said that you were sure it's going to be a little girl.”
“I am. I can tell.”
“Then she needs a name. Isabella, can I help you come up with a name for her? I don't want someone else to raise that child,” says Gabe, an utmost seriousness to his words.
It's hard for Isabella not to reel back. She demands, “What do you mean?”
“I don't want another man to raise my child,” says Gabe. “I don't want someone else to help you take care of her. I want to be there for you, Isabella. Please, let me?”
“I don't know how to,” says Isabella. “I have to go back to Davaria, and my parents—”
“Your parents are dicks,” spits Gabe. His fingers dig tighter against Isabella's hips, but there's nothing cruel in the motion. Gabe just wants to hold her, just wants to be close to her. “I love you, Isabella. I want to be with you, no matter what it takes. That baby, she's mine too. Please, don't take her from me.”
Isabella wraps her arms around Gabe's neck. She's crying, unable to give an answer one way or another. It's horrible, being so close to happiness but unable to take it for herself. “I don't want you to go,” admits Isabella. “I don't want you to go, but I don't know how to let you stay. I think that I might love you, Gabe. I think that I might love you.”
“I love you, too,” says Gabe, wrapping the young princess in his arms. “Isabella, I love you, and I'm going to love that child.”
“You won't,” sobs Isabella. “You won't, and neither will I. My parents don't want me to keep the baby!”
“What?”
“They don't want me to keep the baby,” sobs Isabella, unable to control her tears any longer. She buries her face in the side of Gabe's neck, trying to get as close to the man as possible. “They want me to find another husband in Davaria. They have plans to make me give up our daughter and have another child with my new husband! I don't want that, Gabe! I don't want that!”
The man is struck silent. He can't offer any help, can only stand there and hold the sobbing princess, hands running over her back in an attempt to soothe her.
“I won't let that happen,” says Gabe. “Isabella, I won't let that happen.”
“How can you stop it?”
Gabe insists, “Just leave with me!”
Isabella finds that, rather than answer, she can only cry.
# # #
Even though Isabella should be back at the suite, they go from the park to a nearby diner. It's a cozy place, the likes of which Isabella is not usually allowed to stop at. She smiles at the waitress, smiles at the other people.
She looks at Gabe with red-rimmed eyes and tells him, “I'm going to the bathroom to freshen up a bit. I'll be back as soon as I can, okay?”
“Go take your time,” says Gabe. “I'll get the food coming. This place has good eats but they always take forever to get the food to the table.”
Isabella kisses Gabe on the cheek and then vanishes into the bathroom. She sits her purse on the bathroom counter and adjusts the rings on her hands, a nervous habit. She moves her mother's huge diamond wedding set back to an upright position on her finger. It's a little big for her, but she loves it and will always wear it, even now, with all of these issues taking place.
She looks at it, and she smiles. Isabella has only just started to reapply her tear-streaked makeup when the door opens.
It's not another woman, it's Gabe. He clicks the main lock on the door and grins at Isabella. “I thought that I could help you get your mood back up.”
“Gabe,” yelps Isabella. “You aren't supposed to be in here!”
Gabe's only answer is to descend upon Isabella with an open mouth and roving hands.
When Gabe pulls back form the fierce kiss, Isabella reaches out to touch his lips with her fingers, and tentatively, shyly, runs her fingers over them, outlining them, then moving her fingertips over their full surface. Unexpectedly, he opens his lips and takes one of her fingers into his mouth. This causes her to gasp in surprise.
Gabe smirks around his full mouth. Slowly, he sucks on one finger. It sends a static shock down Isabella's spine, right to her cunt. When he lets go of her finger, it's red and tingling.
The biker only pauses long enough to start rubbing at Isabella's breasts. His whole palm and fingers envelope as much of her breast as he can from the outside of her clothes, flicking his fingertips across her already hard nipple. She groans, leaning heavily against the porcelain sinks.
The next thing Isabella knows, she's got a hand on Gabe's pants, groping him through the denim. He laughs, a low, breathy sound. “I thought this would put you in a better mood. It's sure going to put me in one.”
“Do you really like touching me that much?”
“Baby, I love everything about you that much.”
His hands move down her body, sliding sensuously along the soft curves of her waist and hips, across her thighs, and settling between her creamy white legs. Gabe bundles up the fabric of Isabella's dress, hiking it up around her waist. Not so gently, he separates her legs with his hands and arms. She is more than willing to accommodate his unspoken commands. Standing with legs as far apart as she can, she feels her wetness begin to drip down her thighs.
It's a strange thing, being here in the bathroom. Isabella keeps glancing towards the locked door. “Won't we get in trouble?”
“Only if you're too loud,” says Gabe with a low laugh. “So be quiet, baby, and everything will work out just fine.”
He feels for her black thong barely running down the crack of her butt, dividing her glorious ass cheeks and covering her wet pussy. He cannot bear it any longer and grabs her cheeks hard, separating them and kneading them. He slips a finger underneath her thong and traces it downwards along the crack of her ass to her pussy. His fingers barely touch her pussy, and she gasps. Her core is so wet. She hopes he will stick his finger inside. She spreads her legs subconsciously as if inviting him in. His middle finger probes her pussy and finds it to be wet and slick.
Gabe says, “You need to get your mind off this shit. Your parents aren't going to give in. One of these days, Isabella, you're just going to have to step up and do things on your own.”
He pushes a finger into her cunt, crooking it and easily finding that one spot in her that makes lights dance across her eyes. Isabella groans, her head falling back, just barely missing the mirror.
Gabe is relentless. This is different from trying to get off, and it's different from trying to get close. It's fast in all the best ways. One finger’s slipping in after the other; there’s no lube this time, only the slick juice that's dripping out of her burning pussy.
Isabella's hands curl against Gabe's shoulders, scrabbling for purchase. She mewls and twists beneath his touch; she wails and shudders when he pulls his fingers out, just to jam them all back into her cunt with one swift twist of his wrist.
“You need to forget about them,” says Gabe. “You need to move on. What's more important, making them happy or making yourself happy?”
Isabella scratches at his shoulders in lieu of an answer. She can barely catch her breath, let alone form any sort of proper response. But that's okay because Gabe isn't looking for an actual response. Gabe just wants the young princess to understand that nothing is going to change unless she makes it. He just wants her to understand that nothing's going to change unless she steps up and demands that the world starts turning in her favor.
So he finger fucks her—hard and fast. Someone knocks on the door outside, and Isabella bites down on her palm in an attempt to muffle her wanton moans and desperate gasps. Gabe doesn't let up, even when someone calls, “Hello? Why's
this door locked?”
He snorts. Gabe asks, “You want me to tell her what we're doing in here?”
Isabella shakes her head.
“Are you sure? I could. I could tell her that you're in here getting fucked by the man of your dreams. You're in here trying to figure out life and trying not to be too loud because you're about to have the best fuck of your life.”
That's a lie.
Gabe has no plans on actually entering Isabella right now.
But talking, that doesn't have to be truthful. The words fall off his tongue like molten silver, and they drip straight into Isabella's veins. She cums with a shudder that goes bone-deep, with a cry that is loud even against her spit-slicked and tooth-marked palm.
Slowly, Gabe withdraws his hand. He wipes the cum and slick off on the inside of Isabella's skirt, tugs up her panties, and hauls her panting form against his chest.
He asks, “Did that help?”
Isabella shakes her head. Then she hooks her trembling arms around Gabe's neck and nods. “Can we still get something to eat?”
Gabe laughs. “I already paid for it, so you'd better have plans on eating still.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
After having such a rough day out, walking back to the suite both feels like a salve and like a death sentence. It's a pretty enough place, with a manicured lawn and a quiet front desk. No one even looks at Isabella as she steps inside, swiping the guest key that activates the elevator.
Music plays as she rides up to the second floor. The door across from her room is closed and locked, and Isabella feels like her heart is closed up and locked, too.
She steps into her bedroom. There are suitcases laid out on her bed. A note is resting in one of them.
Due to previously discussed circumstance, we will be returning to Davaria ahead of schedule. Our flight arrangements have already been placed, and I expect that you will be ready and waiting, on time, for it.
We will be leaving very early tomorrow. The fact that you aren't in your room now only farther proves to me, and to your father, that we cannot waste any more time in this dreadful country. It has corrupted you. It has broken you, and it has fouled you.
Thankfully, some men are desperate. Thankfully, some men will take even the foul. Tomorrow, we leave for Davaria. Upon our return home, you will meet with a man named Sir Calbert Eisenhower. He will be, should all go according to plan, your new suitor.
You will carry the baby to term. Upon its birth, a wonderful family in Castrao will take him as their own. The news will be made aware of your miscarriage. You will be distraught, and you will hide away for as long as we can manage.
After a year, you and Calbert will have a child of your own. This one, should your behavior have been rectified, you will raise as your own. As per our arrangements, you will wait two years and have another child.
Calbert requests very little from you. As he knows and understands your proclivities, I have no problems agreeing to the few things that he does want, among which are three sons and at least one daughter. You should have no problems meeting those requests.
I can only imagine that this arrangement will work just fine for you. It is far less respectable than having a single crown heir, but I do not see that you are capable of reigning yourself in, so this will have to do.
Alexandra
The note isn't even signed Mother, and that might be almost worse than the note itself. Everything is happening so fast—too fast—and a sudden wave of dizziness washes over the young princess. Isabella sits down heavily on the edge of the bed, next to the suitcases. She stares at the note, reading it again.
On the third pass, her gaze goes to certain lines and certain phrases.
Calbert requests very little from you. As he knows and understands your proclivities, I have no problems agreeing to the few things that he does want, among which are three sons and at least one daughter. You should have no problems meeting those requests.
I do not see that you are capable of reigning yourself in, so this will have to do.
We will be returning to Davaria ahead of schedule.
You will carry the baby to term. Upon its birth, a wonderful family in Castrao will take him as their own.
As per our arrangements, you will wait two years and have another child.
This seemed even worse than just a simple arranged marriage to the Duke of Cambridge. This, to her, seemed like the end of everything. Isabella's reality hinged on her parents’ love and respect for they had the power to set her life on an easy path or a hard one, just like what was written in the note.
And that is the thing about being royalty that most people don't understand. Children cry out to their parents about how they want to be a princess, and young teenagers lament their homely lives, and widows sit in their rocking chairs and wonder what life would have been like if only they had the crown.
But the truth of the matter is this: all that glitters isn't gold.
Being royalty is hard. Being the crown heir? That's even worse than the title of a queen or king. As the daughter to the leading monarchs of Davaria, Isabella has very little freewill of her own. She is a glorified slave, with gowns and bracelets serving as her shackles and a country serving as her cell.
What is written on that paper, no matter how much she wishes otherwise, will come to pass. That is her life. That is her burden to bear, and it is also the burden of every princess around the world. Their riches come at a price, and their souls were sold off at birth.
Isabella, simply put, has no choice in the matter.
She will go home to Davaria. She will marry Sir Calbert Eisenhower. She will have three sons and one daughter.
She will give her life up for the crown, as her parents gave their lives up for the crown.
The difference is, that choice doesn't belong to her.
The reality is, that choice belongs to no princess.
# # #
Eventually, Isabella has no choice but to get up and pack. It's strange. Someone usually packs her luggage for Isabella. It seems, though, that everyone has been told of her wrongdoings. It seems that she is being punished by doing these remedial tasks.
Normally, Isabella would relish in the chance to do something on her own. Today, though, it is nothing more than a reminder that her parents have, for all intents and purposes, given up on her. And so she packs the room in silence, although she occasionally hums something under her breath.
The song is tuneless. It's wordless but not always. Isabella hums the lullaby that Queen Alexandra used to sing when the princess was young and sick. She remembers wrapping her arms about her mother's waist and crying into the folds of her velvet gown. She remembers ring-clad fingers running through her golden hair and that tuneless song.
Pick a pack
of laughter
Pick a pack
of cheer
Live and laugh
forever
Live and laugh
right here
The palace walls are homely
Even late at night
The palace walls are homely
And they'll hold you tight
Listen to the bells ring
From the churchyard near
Listen to the bells ring
Know that home is always here
Pick a pack
of laughter
Pick a pack
of cheer
Live and laugh
forever
Live and laugh
right here
Isabella pulls out each dress, each blouse, and each skirt. She shakes them out and folds them up as best that she can. It's hard getting everything to look neat. It's even more difficult to get the clothing to fit in her suitcases like it's supposed to.
And then, of course, comes everything else. Isabella must gather her shoes, her purses, and her makeup. She has to pick up her bathroom belongings, and empty out the dresser drawers, and locate all the chargers for her various gadgets.
She tries to remind herself that her mother is being cruel. Isabella reads the letter that Queen Alexandra left her over and over again that night, just to remind herself that things aren't alright. It's not her fault. She isn't the reason this has happened.