Chapter 128: fear

As they walked, Isabella talked nonstop.

She talked about the music playing in the background, she asked about the history of the lake, she teased Aaron about how different he probably looked among regular people, and she laughed out loud when he made cynical comments about the local art stalls.

The more comfortable she got with him, the more her true self came spilling out. She wasn’t shy. She was quick-witted, stubborn, and completely unafraid to call him out when he was being arrogant.

Aaron loved every second of it. He spent half his time poking at her, making playful, sarcastic remarks just to watch her green eyes flash with fire as she shot back a snappy response.

They stopped near a large wooden stage set up in the middle of the square, where a crowd of people was cheering wildly.

"What’s going on over there?" Isabella asked, leaning over to listen.

Aaron squinted through the crowd. "It’s a contest. A bunch of local men sitting at a long table eating bowls of pasta mixed with heavy red pepper oil."

"A spicy eating competition?" Isabella asked, her interest peaking instantly.

"Looks like it," Aaron said, watching a man on stage turn bright red and throw down his fork, surrendering to the heat. "Ridiculous."

Isabella’s mouth curved into a wicked, challenging little smile. "I can eat spicy food."

Aaron looked down at her, a skeptical smirk on his face. "Isabella, those peppers are local calabrian chilis. They look like they could melt paint off a wall. You’re from New York."

"So?" she demanded, stepping away from him toward the stage. "Are you saying I can’t handle it?"

"I’m saying you’ll be crying in ten seconds."

That was all it took.

"Excuse me!" Isabella called out in the direction of the stage announcer, raising her hand high in the air. "I want to join!"

Aaron’s jaw dropped slightly, his eyes widening in rare, genuine shock. "Isabella, no. Absolutely not."

"Yes!" she said stubbornly, already letting the enthusiastic stage host grab her hand and help her up the wooden steps. "I’m doing it!"

The crowd cheered loudly, excited to see a small, beautiful young woman joining a table full of burly Italian men.

Aaron stood at the front of the crowd, rubbing his forehead with two fingers, a mixture of utter disbelief and dark amusement washing over him.

Ten minutes later, Isabella was sitting at the wooden table, a massive bowl of dark red pasta set in front of her.

The host yelled, "Go!"

While the men beside her started shoving huge forkfuls into their mouths, gasping and reaching for water within three bites, Isabella took a small, deliberate forkful and chewed calmly. The heat hit her tongue like a lightning bolt, making her eyes water instantly and her throat burn, but she refused to give Aaron the satisfaction of seeing her quit.

She took another bite. And another.

Down in the front row, Aaron watched her, his arms crossed over his chest, a low, quiet laugh escaping his throat.

She was sitting there with tears streaming down her pink cheeks, her throat on fire, stubbornly chewing her way through the spicy noodles just to prove a point to him.

She didn’t win, a local butcher swallowed his third bowl in record time but when she stepped down off the stage, coughing slightly and laughing at herself, the crowd gave her a massive round of applause.

Aaron caught her at the bottom of the steps, handing her a cold glass of milk he had grabbed from a sweet shop nearby.

"You’re completely out of your mind," he said, though his eyes were warm, filled with an intense, admiring light as he watched her gulp down the milk.

"I proved my point," she gasped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her face still red from the spices. "You doubted me."

"I stand corrected," Aaron said softly, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from her cheek. "You’re terrifying."

They kept walking through the festival as the late afternoon sun began to dip behind the mountains, casting long, golden shadows across the stone square.

Near the edge of the market, a street performer was juggling flaming torches while a small band played fast, upbeat folk music. A large crowd had gathered around them, standing shoulder to shoulder, clapping along to the beat.

Isabella was listening to the music, entranced by the sound of the fiddle, moving her feet to the rhythm.

Aaron was standing right behind her, his eyes scanning the crowd out of habit. Suddenly, a group of loud, laughing tourists pushed through the back of the circle, carrying giant armfuls of souvenir balloons and baskets.

A sudden surge In the crowd shoved people forward.

Someone bumped hard into Aaron’s shoulder, throwing him off balance for a fraction of a second. In that split second, a wave of people moved between him and Isabella.

When Aaron straightened up, she was gone.

The air left his lungs in a sharp, brutal rush.

"Isabella!" he called out, his voice cutting through the noise of the music like a blade.

No answer.

Panic flooded his veins in a fraction of a second. His calm, controlled demeanor shattered instantly.

His blue eyes turned lethal, his heart hammer-pounding against his ribs as he shoved through the crowd without care, pushing people aside with brutal force.

His security team instantly reacted, drawing closer, their hands moving under their jackets as the air around them turned deadly.

He thought of the driver. He thought of the hitmen. He thought of Kian’s people, or his own enemies in Moscow. He thought of someone grabbing her blind, defenseless self and dragging her into an alley.

"Isabella!" he roared, his chest heaving.

Five steps away, near a small flower cart, a quiet voice spoke up.

"Aaron? Why are you shouting?"

Aaron spun around.

Isabella was standing right by the wooden wheel of the flower cart, holding a small pot of purple lavender in her hands.

She had simply stepped two feet to the left to smell the flowers, completely oblivious to the sudden, violent storm that had almost erupted around her.

Aaron closed the distance between them in two heavy strides.

He grabbed her by the arms, pulling her body flush against his chest so hard she let out a small gasp.

His heart was hammering against her collarbone like a trapped animal, his hand coming up to cup the back of her short hair, pressing her face into his neck.

Isabella froze, feeling the fierce, erratic beat of his heart, feeling the slight tremor in his hands.

"Aaron?" she asked softly, her tone changing completely. "Are you okay?"

Aaron took a long, rough breath, burying his face in her hair, smelling the sweet lemon soap from the salon.

He pulled back just enough to look at her face, his thumb pressing hard against her cheek.

"Don’t ever step away from me like that again," he said, his voice quiet, rough, and dangerously low. "Do you understand me?"

Isabella felt a strange warmth bloom in the middle of her chest. She nodded slowly, reaching her hands up to touch his forearms. "I’m sorry. I just wanted to smell the lavender."

Aaron stared down at her for a long moment, slowly catching his breath, forcing the dark panic back down into the depths of his mind. He looked at the purple flowers in her hands, then up at her soft, sweet face.

He took a deep breath, smoothing his coat down, his usual cool mask slipping back into place, though his grip on her hand remained tight, unyielding.

"We’re leaving," he said, turning her toward the edge of the square.

"What?" Isabella complained, though there was no real bite to it this time. "Why? The music is still playing!"

"Because I’ve had enough heart attacks for one afternoon," Aaron said, guiding her smoothly through the dispersing crowd. "And because we have a party to get ready for."