My Sweet Isabella (The Ambassador Trilogy #3)

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Acknowledgements

  The Ambassador Trilogy Book 3

  Mia Villano

  Mia Villano Books

  This book is fiction. Name, character, businesses, places, events and situations are still products of the authors imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the work mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Copyright © 2016 by Mia Villano

  My Sweet Isabella

  Cover Art by J.N. Sheats: http://www.jnsheats.com/

  Edited by M.E Montgomery

  All rights reserved

  I swallowed back the lump in my throat. My world was getting on the plane and leaving me alone. I loved her more than I loved anything. Words couldn’t express what I truly felt for her. She was beauty, passion, and indescribable love. My sweet Isabella made my life complete.

  Watching her take the steps up to the jet tore at my heart. I wouldn’t see her again for fourteen days. Two weeks before I could make love to her. Two weeks before I could smell her, taste her, and look at her. She turned around and waved at me. I couldn’t describe what went through my body at that moment. I caught a glimpse of her ring I put on her finger the day before. The Cartier diamond that promised me she would be my wife and love me forever. Her wild hair I loved to feel against my body blew around her angelic face. Her bare, tanned legs that brought me to my knees, were flexed sending me to thoughts of them wrapped around my waist. I was tempted to run up the steps and go with her, back to the United States. I couldn’t do that because I still had work to do in Paris.

  The night before she asked me about the threats on my life. A painful shot of guilt tore through me as I remembered that for the first time, I lied to her. I couldn’t tell her how bad the threats were. I didn’t want her to worry about me. She just dealt with Avery’s illness, the death of her ex-boyfriend, and making a career change; I couldn’t put her through more. When I looked into her eyes, they showed so much concern, so much hurt. I couldn’t add to the pain. No, I told her I was fine and everything was under control. I told her I was safe. I lied. I wasn’t safe. The threats were direct, and they were ominous. The terrorist group that I unraveled by killing their leader in a hostage rescue, was still vowing revenge. The threats had been ongoing for the past ten years. I didn’t think anything of it until I became the Ambassador, and that’s when the threats became more intimidating. Once I was in the public eye, this group made a point to single me out. The latest threat that came in was a video sent to my Paris office. They vowed revenge on me and anyone else that may have been with me that day when we rescued the hostages. They threatened to kill as many people as they could for what I had done. Was I afraid? This time, yes. This time, I felt something different. This time I feared the threats were real. and the action would be coming soon. I couldn’t tell Isabella. I let her go back home without knowing how much danger I could be in.

  After I watched the plane takeoff, I turned around and headed back to my office. I had a lot of work ahead of me. I powered through the day with meetings and conference calls to the United States. There was a briefing on the threats against me, and there was a new recorded message that came in I needed to watch.

  The last message was by someone in their group standing outside a barrack somewhere in a desert. All of the messages were verbal or emails, until I received this last one. This was the first actual video sent to the Paris Embassy. Watching the recorded message on my phone with earbuds, I didn’t notice Gustan standing in the doorway of my office. Gustan was our Embassy speaker, the office manager, my sometimes bodyguard, and most importantly, my friend. We served together in the Special Ops, and he was with me the night we rescued the hostages. He was with me when the helicopter exploded and set my body ablaze. He didn’t leave me that night until we made it safely to a hospital. I won’t ever forget that he was there for me. I took my earbuds out and stood up to greet him.

  He stretched out his arms. “So, did she say yes?” I had told Gustan I planned on asking Isabella to marry me when she came to Paris. I showed him the ring and told him what I planned on doing, having her entire family involved.

  I smiled and slapped him on the shoulder.

  I laughed as we embraced. “Of course, she did. How could she refuse me?”

  “I’m so happy for you both. Let’s celebrate. I’ll take you down to Le Chocolatier Coffee Shop. My treat.”

  Gustan stood about six-foot five with a lot more muscle mass than me. He was big, burly, and quite intimidating. I felt safer with him around. He’d had my back several times in difficult situations, and I hope having him with me in Paris would be the same. I told him about the threats, and since then he has been with me as much as possible.

  “Sounds perfect, but you will buy me a chocolate croissant,” I laughed.

  “Only if you give me details on how she thanked you that night.”

  “Gustan, you know I won’t do that. A man never kisses and tells. However, you will still buy me that croissant.” I laughed at him as we headed down the hall to the elevators. I thought about how she thanked me. She thanked me all night and the next morning. Thinking about what we did made miss her all over again.

  Le Chocolatier was one block away from our offices. The streets in Paris were busy with people going about their day, to lunch, shopping, and enjoying the beautiful weather. Not a cloud in the sky that afternoon and the temperature was perfect for a walk to my favorite place. Getting a coffee there every day was becoming a bad habit while I was in Paris. Sometimes, like today, I would sneak in a pastry. They made the best chocolate croissants in France.

  Before we walked in, I looked inside and noticed the shop was busier than usual. For one in the afternoon, the place was full of people. I remembered that day was an out-of-school day, and Le Chocolatier was full of children and moms taking a break from shopping, or just in there for a coffee and some good conversation. Gustan held the door for me, and I walked in front of him and took a place in line. Every day, like clockwork, we headed to Le Chocolatier for an afternoon cup and some conversation about work.

  I heard gun shots immediately after we walked in as I stood behind a mom and her small boy. My training told me to look for blood, and empty cartridges. I heard screaming and saw people fall to the floor. I noticed blood splattered everywhere. I spotted one of the gunmen out of the corner of my eye. He was firing at random people so quickly I didn’t have time to react. He wore a black mask and was shooting nonstop. Gustan was already on the other one. I lunged when a gunmen pointed the gun at the child’s head in front of me. In broken English he yelled, “This is because of you, Ambassador.” Isabella crossed my mind at that moment as I instinctively lunged toward him. I felt an unbearable burning shoot through me. I heard her voice in my head. Flashes of Isabella raced through my mind. I
was falling. My head hit something hard. There was screaming. More popping. The smell of blood was now strong in the air. Tears stung my eyes. Blackness enveloped me.

  A distant noise woke me up. I didn’t want to get up. I was peaceful and dreaming of Isabella, the love of my life; the woman I was born to be with. I heard a beeping sound in the distance. I was lying down, but not in my bed. The sheets didn’t feel soft like mine. The smell was familiar, but not from my home. I was able to see images. There were people standing around me. Unfamiliar faces were hovered around my bed, but I could barely make out who they were. I tried to focus on my surroundings. Where was I? Where was Isabella? She must be next to me, and this was a dream. No, she’d gone home. The damn beeping. My hands, I couldn’t move them. They wouldn’t move. Was I dead? I had to wake up from this dream. I tried to sit up with surprising effort but, my body wouldn’t move. A rush of nausea hit me. There was pain everywhere. My leg ached. I was hot and sweaty. There was something in my nose. What the fuck was going on? I began to hear voices more clearly. I felt warmth against my hot skin. Someone touched my skin. Soft fingers. “Don’t touch me,” I yelled, but nothing came out. Why couldn’t I speak? I forced myself to say something.

  “Isabella.” I tried to say. Was I speaking? Could she hear me? It was her. She woke me up from the bad dream. No, it couldn’t be her. She left to go home.

  Someone said my name. Images raced in my head again. I focused more, and I saw a hint of light.

  “Ambassador. Can you hear me?” I have never had a dream like that. Where was my Isabella?

  “Mr. Ambassador?” Who the hell kept talking? The voice was French and didn’t sound like her.

  I tried to say something. Nothing came out of my mouth. Deep terrifying panic of not being in control of my surroundings took over. I tried to get up again. I tried to move my body, but I still didn’t have the strength. My hands were still not moving. Where they tied down? Were these people trying to hurt me?

  “Is.” I barely eeked out a whisper. The pain in my leg was intense. Where the fuck was I?

  I focused on a face in front of me. A woman. This woman was not my Isabella. She was much older with a white coat, short hair and a French accent. Where was Gustan? Was he dead?

  “Ambassador. You are in the hospital. You are okay.” The hospital? Suddenly, I remembered. The coffee shop, the blood, screaming, the pain.

  “Ambassador, do you remember what happened to you?” Things came into focus more as I noticed the sparse room, putrid green walls, and the smell. The smell of antiseptic and sickness.

  I attempted to speak. My voice was barely a whisper.

  “I want Is…..Isabella.”

  “Isabella has been here with you the entire night, along with your parents. I sent her home to get some rest. Believe me, Ambassador, she didn’t want to go. You have an incredible fiancé.”

  I closed my eyes again to think of her. I pictured her sleeping in our bed. covered in the white comforter, so warm and soft. Her hair spilling over the pillow. I tried to envision her next to me. I found the most comfort with her snuggled against me. I wanted to be with her, but I couldn’t move my body.

  “Ambassador, please be still. You have to rest. Isabella will be right back. I will call her for you.” Another person in a white coat came over and stood next to the bed and tried to settle me down. I didn’t need to be talked to like a fucking idiot.

  I tried to lift my head. I needed my phone. I needed to call her so she could get me out of there. I had to hear her voice. Oh God, the pain. I cried out. This time I recognized my voice.

  “Ambassador, what’s wrong?” What the hell? She’s a doctor and knew what was wrong. I was shot, in pain, and I wanted my Isabella. Fuck, the pain was horrendous. Where was Gustan? Gustan had been with me. He needed to be here to get me out of this place.

  “I have to go home.” I attempted to get the IV out of my arm, but my hands weren’t working. I didn’t need this shit. As more feeling was coming back to my body, I fought to stand up and get out of bed, I noticed an armed guard outside my door and my leg in a huge cast. My body hurt. I had to get up. Why couldn’t I get up?

  “Ambassador, you need to settle down. You had major surgery. You were shot three days ago.” The doctor said something to the nurse and she nodded. Shot? Where was I shot? There was commotion around me. The nurse put something in my IV. Whatever she put in the IV, burned my arm then it felt warm and cozy.

  I was more alert this time when I woke up. This time something was better. I felt her warmth across my chest. The essence of her familiar sweet perfume was in the air. My sweet Isabella was with me.

  My eyes struggled to open but, the struggle was worth the effort. She looked up at me and I gazed into the most beautiful face in the world. An angel. She made it worthwhile to breathe. Her eyes were fixed on my face.

  “Fabrice.” I focused on her face better. The love in her eyes brought me relief. The pain eased as I focused on her and relaxed for the first time in that strange place. She came back to me.

  “Isabella.” The words came out weak, but my whisper was enough for her to hear me.

  “I love you. I love you so much,” she cried. I tried to lift my arm to stroke her head and comfort her. I didn’t have the strength and the pain instinctively made me leave my hand where it was.

  She brought her mouth to mine. The taste of her lips told me I was still alive. Her sweet breath told me she was real and not a dream.

  I kissed her back as best I could, barely able to open my parched lips, but needing the life she could breathe into me.

  Thoughts of the first time I saw her came rushing back into my mind: her standing in my office, the first time I made love to her and how delicious her body tasted, the first time I let her see my scars and the night she promised to be my wife. I couldn’t let her go. I would never let her go. And now she’d flown back to me after she just left to go home.

  The doctor walked over to us and smiled. She was the same woman from earlier.

  “You are one lucky man, Ambassador Arbidoux. Isabella flew back to you as soon as she heard and she has been with you ever since.” She smiled at me and looked at Isabella. I didn’t feel lucky. I felt like shit and she was smiling at me. She had no idea what she was saying. I couldn’t move and she was telling me I was lucky.

  “What happened?” I asked. Isabella sat softly down on the bed next to me and caressed my brow. Her hands were so warm and soft on my skin, soothing my pissed off mood.

  “I will let Isabella tell you. It’s a long story and I’m going to do my rounds and come back later to go over some things. I’m very happy you are awake, Ambassador. You have been through two surgeries in the last three days. You are one tough man.”

  I looked again at Isabella’s face. She smiled affectionately. My thoughts were spinning out of control and I was still confused. Two surgeries?

  “I will be back to see you later. I want you to rest as much as possible this morning because we plan on getting you out of here tomorrow,” said the doctor.

  “Tell me, is Gustan okay? That boy. There was a boy they were going to kill. Did they kill him?” The doctor walked out as I was still talking. Bits and pieces of that moment were coming back into my memory. I held that boys face in my mind. He was maybe six years old, holding his mother’s hand with a look of shock in his eyes. They had a gun pointed at his head. His mother begged for the coward not to shoot him, for the gunman to shoot her instead. Lunging towards the gunman was the last thing I remembered.

  “Gustan is fine. He didn’t get shot. He saved your life. I don’t know about the boy. What boy?”

  “There was a young boy. They were going to kill him. He was small and so afraid. He was whimpering, trying not to cry. He wasn’t saying a word just making noises.”

  “I don’t know, Fabrice. I have no idea about a boy.” I needed to know. I had to find out he was fine.

  “Listen to me. You were shot with a high powered rifle. The bullet w
ent through your leg and missed the femoral artery and major nerves. However, the bullet shattered the bone in your leg. They were afraid you may lose your leg. You’ve had two surgeries and have been in the hospital for a few days. I was so afraid. All I heard was that you may bleed to death or get an infection. These last three days have been hell.” Her voice changed as she cried.

  I looked at her as I tried to take in what she said. I was shot? In all my years in Special Ops I had not been hit, despite many attempts.

  “Who did this to me?”

  “The men who have been threatening you over the past ten years. They had waited and watched you. They knew you went to the coffee shop every day while you were in Paris. The attack was revenge for the hostage rescue. Remember before I left, you said I was overreacting? You said the threats were fine and they were nothing. They were definitely something.”

  “How many people died?”

  “I don’t know exactly. I’ve been more worried about you.” She was lying to me. I could tell by the tone in her voice that she knew.

  “Tell me, Isabella.” I was so weak and in so much pain, to speak was a struggle.

  She closed her eyes and whispered. “Ten people were killed and eight injured in the coffee shop.” Oh my God. I shut my eyes and turned my head away from her. Those fucking cowards killed innocent people to get to me.

  “I need to know if the boy was killed. I need to find out where he is.”

  “I will ask Gustan and have him find out. Please rest, Fabrice. You have to rest.”

  How could I rest knowing what happened because of me. “Are those bastards dead?”

  “Yes, there were two of them and Gustan killed them both. Fabrice, I could have lost you. You could have been one of the ten. You could have died. You were supposed to have been killed. If it weren’t for Gustan, you wouldn’t be here.” She laid her head on my chest and cried. Her tears were warm as they trickled down onto my hospital gown. With determination, I was able to finally lift my arm and caress her head. I brought a few strands of her hair to my nose and breathed in the scent of her shampoo.