REMY
Isabella knowswhere George is being held.
She produces a slim tablet from her purse, taps the screen, and tells me that he is in a room in the basement. “They’ll leave him alone for a while, give him time to ponder his actions and hold his hands up.”
“There’s no chance of that happening.”
Isabella smiles. “You know him better than you think you do.”
Her plan is for me to speak to him about his feelings for Isabella, tell him that I still love him, confuse him enough to confess that he and his fiancée signed a contract confirming an alliance between their families.
It will never work.
She doesn’t know about the conversation George and I had in the executive suite.
“I don’t think you should come with me.”
“Why?” Isabella has resumed her go-to persona, efficient, practical, calm. “I won't let you speak to him alone.”
“I won’t be alone.”
While she was hacking into the Titan’s internal systems, I’ve been formulating a plan of my own. So far, I only have the skeleton of an idea, but I feel it gathering legs.
“I’ll ask Terry to come with me.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. George will play up to his audience, and we’ll have lost the battle before we’ve even begun. He’ll twist this entire situation around on me. And you.”
I’m about to protest that I’m the innocent party in this, but deep down, I know she is right. George Quinn is a coward. He is unhappy. He is denying his sexuality for his family legacy, and he’ll lash out at anyone who happens to be in his path, inflicting his own wounds onto others. If he can blame me for goading him into using his fist, he will.
Terry won’t believe him, of course. I’m sure they’ve dealt with plenty of men like George Quinn. But the damage will be done.
Unless…
“Isabella, do you and George… Do you have…?” I don’t even apologize in advance for the half-formed insensitive question. Ariel would be proud of me. Once she got over me colluding with the enemy.
“No. Never.”
I sigh with relief that I don’t have to spell it out.
“Not even toconsummate the engagement?” I whisper.
“Not even that. I take it as a gigantic fucking win.”
“Has he—” Jeez, there’s no easy way to put this, so I just have to come right out with it “—ever mentioned anyone else?”
“He doesn’t need to, Remy. He doesn’t love me. I don’t love him. We’re both throwing our lives away because of a legacy written in blood by our ancestors.”
“Do you trust me?” It’s perhaps a silly question given that I’m not the one using another human being as leverage to sort my shit out.
Isabella kneels in front of me and takes my hand in hers. “Did you ever watch the movieNotting Hill?” I shake my head, and she continues, “There’s this one scene where Julia Roberts’ character, a famous actress, says to Hugh Grant, ‘I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.’ This is totally not the same, Remy, but I’m going to say it anyway because it’s my favorite movie line of all time. I’m just a girl, kneeling in front of another girl, asking her to help me.”
Fuck. I’m such an emotional wreck that I wrap my arms around her and hug her tightly. “I must watch it sometime.” I sniff back tears.
“Do. You won’t regret it.” Isabella extricates herself from my embrace. Her face is flushed, and I can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or hope. “You think you can make this work, don’t you?”
I don’t remind her that it’s a long shot, and if I miss the target, we won’t get another chance. Her eyes are glittering. We’re two women with a common interest, and I like to think that if the roles were reversed, she would do the same for me.
“What do we have to lose?” I ask.
