Conflict of Heart

Chapter 13

[A/N] Some people may find this chapter a little disturbing in terms of goriness, so please read with discretion if you are a sensitive reader. 

"I don't know if I should go with a more formal dress or a nice pair of jeans with a blouse. What do you think?" Isabella asked, turning on her slipper-clad heel to hold the two options of clothing out for her sister's perusal.

Rosa leaned back against her sister's headboard, pillows stacked as high as a mountain behind her back as she looked at the two choices, humming in thought. Her jaw and lips, which were once twice their size, had finally returned to their normal shape, but she was still sensitive when it came to eating certain foods, and a nice yellow bruise made itself known beneath her jaw.

"I would go with the dress, considering he's taking you to a fancy-shmancy restaurant."

Isabella's dark eyebrows pulled together as she stared at the dress. "I don't want him to think I'm trying too hard."

"Aren't you though?"

The dark look that was shot Rosa's way instantly made her hold up her hands in a show of surrender. "I'm just saying that for someone who doesn't seem too concerned about the guy, you sure are going through a lot of trouble picking the perfect outfit." She gestured to the growing pile of discarded clothes situated beside her on the bed to prove her point.

Isabella sighed and tossed both outfits on the bed before walking back into her closet. "I told you that I don't want to give him the wrong impression," she replied.

"Well, then go with your usual blouse and skirt!" Rosa called back.

"I'm tired of that!"

The younger sister tossed her head back against the pillows with an exasperated moan. "You make it sound like you're going on a date, but you're determined not to call tonight exactly that," she stated, listening to the sound of hangers sliding against the metal rails holding up her sister's clothes.

"Because it's not a date. We're still getting to know each other," Isabella explained as her eyes skimmed over her dresses, a frown deepening on her forehead.

She felt like such a failure in that moment. She had all the clothes in the world but still had nothing suitable to wear. How was that even possible?

"Whatever you say," came her sister's reply from the bed.

Isabella sighed as she reached for a sleeveless black dress, thinking back to the lunch she had had with Damien a few days ago. It was strange going out just to be social with someone other than her family. She was so used to business meetings that she actually found it rather difficult to converse at first.

She never really had friends outside of her family, only acquaintances and business associates—people who were quite comfortable not knowing about her personal life and would rather discuss the economy. As such, she felt rather stunted at trying to speak about the more ordinary topics of life.

She never realized this before with Damien, as his ability to spike her mood was always an effective icebreaker. But with his sudden display of civility, she found she was rather inadequate at conversation.

But one thing she discovered about him was that he was an extremely talented conversationalist. Able to change the direction of a conversation so effortlessly that it left her feeling a little irked and embarrassed at the same time. She could see now why he was so high up in the public relations department of his mother's company: his skills were exceptional.

And that was why she was trying to look her best this evening. She didn't want to seem inadequate, but it was tricky, as she didn't want to give him the wrong impression either.