7: Chocolate Rolls

Asher was furious. Mostly with himself for losing his cool. He had let Isabella get under his skin, and now he wasn't sure how he should behave in her presence. He stepped out of the car and headed straight to his quarters. He needed a smoke. Or a shot of whiskey. Or both. Just to get his mind to calm down and reign in his temper. He had barely made it to the servant quarters when he bumped into his supervisor. Apparently one of the other bodyguards had called in sick, so Asher was to accompany Lucas, his wife, and their brats to a party at their friend's house. He tried to argue that he was responsible for Isabella, but the older man assured him that he will have his eyes on Isabella instead. Despite his indifference towards Lucas' brats, Asher had no option but to accompany them.

He excused himself briefly and went to check on Isabella before he left, but she wouldn't open her door or even answer him. He passed by the kitchen and informed Marcia of his absence, and she promised to look out for Isabella.

Asher was tasked to drive the brats to the party. It was the longest ride of his life. Apart from the fact that they were blatantly throwing themselves at him, Asher hated their dead sense of humor. He would take a thousand Isabellas any time instead of her half-sisters. “I will ask dad to transfer you to us permanently.” Jacinta, the elder sister declared, making Olivia smile in agreement.

“You are so much better than our other bodyguards.” Olivia gushed excitedly, making Asher grimace. He stepped on the gas more, willing the venue to get closer if that is even possible.

He groaned when Jacinta laid her hand on his shoulder and caressed it gently. “We are much better company than that slut Isabella, anyway. Right?” Asher wanted nothing more than to scream hell no, but for the sake of his job he nodded taking a sharp corner, so she could jerk and get her hands off him. And she did. With a scream, asking him to watch it. Asher smiled internally.

After what felt like an eternity, he got to the named venue. He hastily parked and got out to open the door for his passengers. Of course, they wasted time checking their appearances. Time Asher wanted to be left alone. He couldn't describe his relief when they got out and sauntered towards the mansion where the ball was held. He got back in the car, sighing in relief. Luckily, everyone attending the party was from executive families, so there was no need for bodyguards inside.

He adjusted his seat and squeezed his eyes shut, breathing out deeply. His mind automatically drifted back to Isabella. And their earlier fight when she had accused him of being Jealous. Asher ran his hand over his face in frustration. She was right. He was jealous. He had been the whole time, and that's why he couldn't stand seeing other men fuck her.

*******

Isabella on the other hand was unable to stop thinking of Asher's insult. She knew she was a slut. But hearing it from Asher's mouth hurt. For some reason, she couldn't seem to understand, since she never really cares about what anyone thinks of her. Not since her mother died, anyway. Isabella turned and clutched the duvet tightly. She had got into bed immediately after she got to her room, for she didn't feel like doing anything.

There was a knock at the door, which made her groan with a frown, wondering if it was the Annoying Asher who had come back again. “Go away," she shouted.

“Open up,” or was Marcia. Isabella got out of the bed and opened the door ready to tell Marcia she wasn't in the mood for a company, but then her eyes fall on the chocolate rolls. Her mouth watered instantly. She swallowed, licking her lips which made Marcia chuckle. “I thought you could be a little sweetness,” Marcia smirked, handing the plate to her. Isabella took it eagerly and grabbed one roll and took a big bite. She moaned loudly, savoring the taste.

“Mmh… this is sinful.” She muffled taking another bite. Marcia stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her. Isabella sank onto the couch by the foot of her massive bed, and Marcia sat next to her. “Mother used to make these,” she said with a mouthful.

“It's her recipe,” Marcia confessed. At Isabella's raised brows, she elaborated. “She taught me how to make them and I have never forgotten.”

“Could you write it down for me please?"

“Of course, sweetheart.” Marcia agreed readily. “I am sorry I didn't make it often. I was afraid it might rouse bad memories for you.” Isabella chuckled humorously.

“The bad memories never left, Marcia.” She informed. “And I am convinced they never will.”