Belle Morte Bites (Belle Morte 4.3)

The Next Step

Modern Day (set after the events of Changes, but before Gideon and Jason's wedding)

Isabeau Aguillon reclined on her bed, and waited for her freshly painted toenails to dry. Even though she never went barefoot in Belle Morte, or even wore open-toed shoes, nail varnish was one of the life's little luxuries, and Isabeau hated to see her toes unpainted.

A quiet knock came at the door, and Isabeau sat up, a smile breaking across her face. She knew that knock.

"How many times do I have to tell you – you don't need to knock," she called.

Ysanne came into the room. She was dressed as impeccably as ever, in a navy pencil skirt and ivory blouse, her diamond pendant glittering in the hollow of her throat, and her skyscraper heels adding a few inches to her height.

Decades had passed since Isabeau had first caught sight of this woman, in a crowded London bar, and the sight of her still made Isabeau's heart flutter, like she was seeing her that first time, again and again and again.

Twice she had lost her, and twice they had found their way back to each other.

"What do you think?" Isabeau asked, pointing her toes.

"Lovely," Ysanne said, though she barely looked.

Isabeau narrowed her eyes. Ysanne never looked nervous, but there was something tense about the way she held herself now, as if she was bracing herself for some reason.

"What's wrong?" Isabeau said.

Ysanne walked around Isabeau's bed, each step measured and precise, then she paused and walked back the way she'd come. Her high heels made almost no noise on the thick carpet.

Isabeau's stomach gave a little twist.

A few months ago, vampires had gone through the worst period since they'd revealed themselves to the world. Power coups, betrayals, murders, abductions, and more had plagued Belle Morte and the other houses in the UK and Ireland, leading to violent protests at the mansion's gates, the revelation that vampires weren't entitled to protection under the Human Rights Act, and the very real possibility that they'd lose their homes, their donor system, and would be forced back into the shadows. In the months that had followed, the wounds that Etienne and Jemima had caused had begun to heal, and Isabeau couldn't stand the thought that another threat might have cropped up.

"There's something I'd like you to think about," Ysanne said.

"I'm listening."

But instead of saying anything, Ysanne walked around the bed again, tracing the steps she'd taken before.

"Ysanne?" Isabeau climbed off the bed. "Tell me what's going on. Whatever it is, we can handle it."

"It's nothing bad," Ysanne said.

"Alright," said Isabeau slowly. Confusion was replacing the hollow feeling of dread in her stomach.

Ysanne clasped her hands in front of her and briefly looked up at the ceiling. "Isabeau, I'd like you to consider moving in with me," she said.

Isabeau blinked. That was not what she'd expected.

"You mean, in your room?" she said.

"Or yours, if you prefer," Ysanne said.

Isabeau grinned. "Yours is bigger."

Ysanne acknowledged that with a small smile and a tilt of her head.

"Do you mean it?" Isabeau asked.

In the technical sense, she and Ysanne had already lived together these last ten and a half years, but for most of that time, their relationship had been conducted in secret. It was why Ysanne always knocked – because she couldn't be seen to treat Isabeau any differently. Isabeau had assumed that that was how things might always be, and she'd accepted it as the price to pay for being with the woman she loved.