A/N Here's another update. This is probably one of my favorite chapters...so far. So enjoy!

~Axelrocks~

Chapter 9

"Oh, James isn't that good news?!" Isabella said excitedly.

But James face still held a sombre look. "Not if I have to leave within a couple of days."

Instantly Isabella's smile was gone. "You have to go? So soon? But-" Tears filled her eyes, and she couldn't go on.

"I'm sorry, I must go. It's part of my job to be ready at a moment's notice." James saddened when he saw her tears.

"But a couple of days is such a short notice." She sat on the couch.

James remained standing. "I know," he sighed, "I wish Beckett had told me sooner."

"First my brother, and now you." She broke down in tears.

"Oh, Isabella." He sat down by her and gathered her in his arms. I don't want to leave you. Ever.

"I just don't want you to go."

They stayed like that for a while.

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James was walking Isabella home. Her tears had long since dried and now it was silent. Neither one knowing what to say.

But finally Isabella spoke up. "James, I'm sorry about earlier."

James looked at her, surprised. "Sorry? For what?"

"I was acting immature," she sighed, "Or as my mother would say, childish."

"It was quite alright. I understand you are upset about your brother leaving."

"It's not just him, James." She stopped and looked at him. "It's you."

"W-What?" He stopped walking too.

"I'm going to miss you, James, I'm going to miss you so much." She grabbed his hand, and on instinct he pulled her closer.

"I'm going to miss you too, Isabella." He placed a hand on her waist, and drew her even closer.

Their faces were now just inches apart.

"Isabella! There you are!"

They jumped apart at the sound of Isabella's mother's voice. It cut through the night air and made Isabella wince.

She turned and saw, not only her mother, but Lord Beckett. What was he doing here? And by the confused look on James's face he was wondering the same thing.

"Mother, I told you I was with James."

"Oh dear." She waved her hand in the air. "It must have slipped my mind." She turned to Beckett. "I am so sorry Lord Beckett for having you on this wild chase."

Beckett smiled. "It is alright, Mrs. Dobbs, I had feared that Miss Isabella was harmed. But I see she was safe with Commodore Norrington."

"Yes, she was quite safe with me, Mrs. Dobbs. And I was just escorting her home," said James to Isabella's mother.

"Well, Commodore, if you don't mind I can escort these two lovely ladies home." Beckett smiled, and James read something evil in his eyes.

James was reluctant. He didn't want to hand Isabella over to Beckett. But he couldn't refuse him. He was his boss, after all.

"I do not mind, Lord Beckett." Then he turned to Isabella and kissed her hand. "I shall see you tomorrow."

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"Well, ladies, I have safely escorted you home." He bent and kissed both of their hand, but lingered on Isabella. "I am looking forward to seeing you tomorrow evening."

"As well as I, Lord Beckett." She forced smile, hoping he couldn't tell it was fake.

"Oh, please call me, Cutler."

Isabella's mother smiled. "Well I am fatigued. So I shall leave you two out here if you wish to talk." And then she walked into the house.

Isabella clenched her fist, the one Cutler wasn't holding. She knew exactly what her mother was doing.

Cutler then let go of her hand, much to her relief, but didn't leave.

"I know Commodore Norrington is escorting you to my party, but I would be delighted if you would save me a dance."

She knew he couldn't refuse him. And she knew he probably knew the same thing. So she had no choice but to say yes.

Cutler smiled. "Until tomorrow then, dear Isabella."

She winced when he said her name but plastered another smile on her face. "Yes, tomorrow."

He gave her a small bow and was gone.

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She was glad he had gone. She didn't like the attention he was giving her. She walked into her house, expected to see her mother there. But she wasn't. Something wasn't right. She expected her mother to bombard her with questions, but she was no where in sight.

Isabella made her way upstairs, to her bedroom. She opened the door and jumped back when she saw her mother sitting on her bed.

She didn't look happy.

"What did I tell you about James? I don't want you anywhere near him," she said, her voice was low and menacing.

Isabella was speechless. Why was her mother doing this to her?

Her mother stood and smoothed her dress. "It seems Lord Beckett is quite taken with you."

"I will not hurt him." Isabella found her voice.

Her mother looked at her in shock. "W-What?"

"I will not hurt James," she said determinedly.

"He is a soldier, he will get over it." Her mother waved her hand in the air, she didn't care how James felt.

"No, Mother, you do not understand. I will not leave him."

"You will obey your mother!" Her mother came closer.

"No!"

Slap! The sound echoed around the room. Isabella put a hand on her stinging cheek. Tears of anger filled her eyes. But she blinked them back.

"You will not disobey me, Isabella, I am giving you a roof over your head!"

Isabella stepped back. "Then you can take it back. I will not hurt him!"

"God help me, Isa-"

"Mother, I love him!" she interrupted her mother and burst out. She was glad she had admitted to it out loud.

Her mother had to sit down. "What?"

Tears were in her eyes once again. "Yes, Mother, I love him. And I will not have you take him away from me."

Her mother's face grew hard, and she stood. "I will do all in my power to not see you wed to him." And she walked out of the room.

What? Isabella went to her bed and sat. Tears freely coursing down her cheeks now. What was her mother going to do? How could she be so cruel?

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James walked home angry. How could he let Beckett walk Isabella home? How was he supposed to ever win her over, when he always handed her to other men. He opened the door, but couldn't help but slam the door.

Christa came bustling out. "James, what is the matter?"

James softened. "Nothing, Christa, just a little angry at myself, that's all." He began making his way to the staircase.

"Is it about that young woman, Isabella?" she asked him.

He turned and faced her, a little smile playing on his lips. "Christa, I think sometimes you know me a little too well." And he walked up the rest of the steps.

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Isabella woke up, fully clothed. She hadn't bothered to take her clothes off. She had cried herself to sleep. She walked over to her mirror, and almost reeled back at the state of her hair.

"I better fix myself before I see James," she said to herself, and instantly tears came to her eyes.

James. She loved him.

She grabbed her brush and began to smooth her hair out. And at the moment her mother walked in the room.

"Oh good you're finally up," she sniffed. "I suggest you look your best, you are trying to get a wedding proposal today."

Isabella turned in her seat, surprised written all over her face. "I thought you wouldn't let me marry James."

"James?!" she snorted. "Who said anything about him? No, Lord Beckett, of course."

"No."She set down her brush, and stood up. "I will not marry him, either, Mother."

Her mother only smirked. "We will see about that, my daughter, we will see." And she walked out of the room.

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Isabella checked herself again. James was going to be here any minute, and she wanted to look her best.

After she ruled herself suitable there was a knock at the door. It was him! She rushed to the door and opened it herself.

James stood there, and in his hands was a bouquet of flowers. Roses, her favorite. He seemed a little nervous when he greeted her. "Good evening, Isabella. Uh, I got these for you." He handed them to her, and continued, "I hope you like them."

She giggled and took them. "These are lovely." She buried her nose in them and inhaled their aroma.

Then she felt a dark presence behind her. She turned and was face to face with her mother. And her mother didn't look happy. The corners of her mouth were turned severely down, and her eyes smouldered. She wasn't happy at all. But then again, Isabella didn't care.

"Look, Mother," she said. "James has brought me some lovely roses. Aren't they beautiful?"

Her mother didn't answer her questions. "Dear, I think you should leave if you don't want to be late."

"You're right, Mother." She smiled down at her roses. "Mother, may you put these in a nice vase for me, please?" She handed them to her.

"I'll see you when I get home." She took James arm and they made their way to the awaiting carriage.

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Behind the closed door, Isabella's mother gripped the roses in her hand so hard she smashed the thorn-less stems together. If Isabella wanted to play, she was going to play. She flung the roses at the wall, where they fell unceremoniously to the ground. Smashed. Destroyed. Forgotten.