The Cost of Fun

The Cost of Fun
Isabella’s POV

The car ride started with chaos.

Damien had me pinned against the front door for what felt like forever…kissing me like he was trying to crawl inside my soul and live there. 

Deep, desperate, possessive kisses that left me dizzy and breathless. The girls were already in the SUV, honking and yelling protests through the open windows… “Damien, let her breathe!” “We’re burning daylight, caveman!” but he didn’t care. His hands were everywhere, gripping my waist, my face, my ass, like if he let go I’d vanish.

Finally…finally…he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, breathing hard.

“I’ll only let you go on the condition that Andre goes with you,” he rasped. “He stays at least a few feet away at all times. And he reports back to me every ten minutes. Picture. Location. That you’re breathing. That you’re smiling. Everything.”

I couldn’t even be mad. His voice was all gravel and need, eyes dark with that wild, obsessive energy that made my stomach flip in the best way. 

It wasn’t controlling in a scary way…it was him needing me safe so badly it hurt him. And God help me, I loved every possessive second of it. 

It made me feel wanted. Cherished. Alive in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

Agnes groaned from the backseat. “Ten minutes? Really? What is this, a hostage negotiation?”

Ellie laughed. “He’s basically putting a LoJack on her soul.”

I just grinned up at Damien, kissed him quick one last time, and whispered, “I’ll remind him to keep you updated. Promise.”

He groaned like I’d stabbed him, but he let me go.

Andre…poor Andre…ended up in the driver’s seat, looking like a man sentenced to community service in hell. He kept glancing at us in the rearview mirror like we were feral animals he’d been tasked with babysitting.

From then onwards, the day was perfect chaos.

First stop: the spa.

We booked the full package…massages, facials, hot stone, the works. The three of us lay face-down on the tables in one big room, robes barely covering anything, while three therapists worked us over.

Agnes moaned so loud the therapist actually paused. “Jesus, woman, what did you do to make your muscles this stiff?”

Ellie snorted into her pillow. “You have no idea. In fact, last night deserves a space in history books.”

I buried my face deeper and laughed. “Ellie stop talking.”

But she didn’t.

We spent the next hour comparing war wounds…bruises shaped like handprints, hickeys in ridiculous spots, sore muscles in muscles we didn’t know could get sore. It was gross. It was hilarious. It was the most gloriously unfiltered girl talk I’d had in forever.

After the spa we hit the shops.

Boutiques, jewelry stores, lingerie…Agnes insisted “for research purposes”, shoe stores. Bags piled up fast. 

Andre trailed behind us like a very grumpy shadow, arms loaded with glossy shopping bags, expression screaming I’d rather be waterboarded. But every now and then I caught him smirking when Agnes did a dramatic twirl in a new dress or when Ellie tried on absurdly high heels and nearly face-planted.

He was low-key having fun. He just refused to admit it.

By late afternoon Agnes declared we needed to “class up.”

“There’s this new place I saw on TikTok…super fancy, Michelin vibes. I need practice behaving like a lady. Because next week I’m meeting Mrs. Salvador. The Ice Queen herself. If I show up chewing with my mouth open or cursing like a sailor, she’ll have me deported. You know how judgmental she can be, Bella.”

“Absolutely, girl. You need to be on your A game. That woman is unbelievable,” I added as we began moving.

The restaurant was gorgeous…dim lighting, white tablecloths, waiters who spoke in hushed, reverent tones. Agnes sat ramrod straight, pinky out while sipping her sparkling water like she was at a royal tea. Ellie and I kept snickering…teasing her every now and then.

Between tiny bites of foie gras and truffle risotto, Agnes opened up about Jace.

“He’s… ridiculous,” she said softly, eyes going dreamy. “Growls like a bear when he’s jealous, but then he’ll spend twenty minutes braiding my hair because I’m too tired to do it myself. He remembers I like my coffee with two sugars and a splash of oat milk. He texts me good morning even when he’s in the same bed. I don’t know how I got this lucky. Oh, I do. It’s all thanks to Damien for taking you away.”

I laughed and reached over to squeeze her hand. “You two are the perfect match. Seriously. I’ve caught him looking at you like you hung the moon yourself.”

Agnes smiled…real, soft, vulnerable. “I’m going back to Texas with him next week. Jessie’s wedding. And… official introduction to the family. The whole terrifying Salvador drama.”

My heart swelled. “You want me there?”

“Heck yes!” she said immediately. “I don’t want you to miss it for the world. Everyone’s gonna lose their minds when they see you. Your old colleagues at the gallery? They’ll probably faint. Especially Linda. Gosh, she asks about you every single time I’m in town. ‘Have you found Bella yet? Is she okay? Tell her I miss her sketches.’”

Warmth flooded my chest. “I’ve missed them all so much. Especially Linda. God, I’ve missed her.”

Agnes leaned in. “She kept asking. Every visit. And because my phone is gone…lost in all the mess…I can’t even connect you two despite being here with you. But now… you’ll see her in person soon.”

I smiled so wide it hurt. “I can’t wait.”

Then reality hit me like a brick.

“Hold up… oh God…my family.”

Agnes rolled her eyes dramatically. “You’re just now asking? What kind of daughter are you? You’re in the same damn country and it took you this long?”

I winced. “I was… held. For a long time…you know the story. Then everything with the prison, the murder stories, Damien getting out… I haven’t had a second to breathe, let alone think straight.”

Agnes softened instantly. “I know, babe. And Jace kept his end of the deal. He’s been sending money to your mom and your brother..,who’s still schooling abroad. Every month. Through me. I told your parents you went on this wild art discovery trip called… uh… ‘The Global Muse Expedition for Young Emerging Contemporary Visionaries.’”

I stared. “You did what?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know! It sounded fancy and vague. They bought it. I said there’s no network where you are, but you’ll call the second you’re out. They’re proud. Worried. But proud.”

Relief crashed over me so hard I almost cried. “What could I have done without you, Agnes?”

“Nothing,” she replied cheekily. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Thank you. Oh my God, thank you. I’ll go see them tonight,” I said firmly. “Right after this. As soon as we’re done here.”

Ellie nodded. “Damien will want to go too.”

“Yeah,” I said. “He will. But… not yet. Maybe after I’ve smoothed the ground. Explained everything slowly.”

We were deep in the restaurant now…Agnes was still trying so hard to be classy, pinky out, tiny sips, perfect posture…while we gossiped about the proposal. I told them every detail: the towel dropping, the knee, the no-ring-but-I’ll-get-you-the-best speech. They squealed and clutched each other like teenagers.

Andre sat at a table a few feet away…close enough to see us, far enough to give “space.” 

He looked bored out of his mind, scrolling on his phone, but every ten minutes on the dot he’d snap a discreet photo of us laughing and send it to Damien.

I excused myself to the bathroom, bladder finally protesting after too much sparkling water.

I finished my business, washed my hands at the marble sink, head bowed as the water rushed over my fingers.

The door opened behind me.

I didn’t look up right away…just saw black boots in the mirror reflection. Heavy. Male.

My stomach dropped. Is the person lost? This bathroom is for ladies.

I lifted my eyes slowly and a man was standing right there…masked…black balaclava.

Before I could scream, a hand clamped over my mouth from behind…rough, gloved…pressing a handkerchief soaked in something sharp and chemical against my nose and lips.

Time slowed to a sickening crawl as realization dawned on me that I’m being kidnapped.

The chemical stink from the handkerchief burned my nostrils, sharp and sweet like nail polish remover mixed with something darker. My lungs seized. 

I kicked backward…heel connecting with a shin…hard enough to make the man behind me grunt, but his grip only tightened. One arm banded across my chest like iron, pinning my arms to my sides. The other hand pressed the cloth so firmly over my mouth and nose that my lips mashed against my teeth.

I couldn’t scream.

Couldn’t breathe without inhaling that awful smell.

Black spots bloomed at the edges of my vision.

The masked man in front…the one I’d seen in the mirror…stepped closer slowly but didn’t speak. Just tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he’d already solved. 

His gloved hand reached out, almost casual, and brushed a strand of hair off my forehead in a way that made me sick.

I thrashed harder…wild, frantic…twisting my hips, slamming my head back into the man holding me. Pain exploded across my skull when it connected with his nose. He hissed, curse muffled behind his mask, but didn’t let go. If anything, the cloth pressed harder. My kicks grew weaker. My legs felt like they were filling with lead.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Agnes stepped in.