Disclaimer: All things Twilight belong to the original author. Mask'Charade's plot line belong to Chynnadoll.
A/N: What can I say except I had a concept enter my head, and I had to get it down on paper. I hope you'll enjoy this story.
I stare into the mirror, gently massaging my now shortened tresses. I briefly recall the day I walked into the hair salon and told my hairdresser that I wanted something more edgy and hot. She was as shocked to hear me say the words, as I was to be saying them.
But he had a way of subtly planting things into my mind; things that I wasn't used to saying and most certainly was not used to doing.
You have the most beautiful, baby-soft hair, Isabella.
I can still hear his soft grunts in my ear, his warm breath caressing my cheek as he winds my hair around his wrist. I shudder deliciously at the memory of him taking me deliberately, yet savagely from behind.
You should cut it. Your neck and back are exquisite; they should always be visible for everyone to admire.
I instinctively arch my neck to the side; my hand absentmindedly caresses my neck as I remember his touch, as I hear his voice. He used words like perfection,, exquisite as he made love to me, when he fucked me; when he'd take me to 'another level', as he'd put it.
Those words have embedded themselves in my head, like he'd taken a branding iron to my brain. He had a way of doing that without even trying.
"Bella, what the hell?" He appears again, snapping me out of my reverie.
"I'm coming," I appease him and he turns without another word.
Guests are mingling, and I'm fluttering around like the perfect hostess, working hard to make this important night perfect for my husband. I know that he's counting on landing an important deal tonight.
"Bella, Sweetheart, over here." James beckons. He's at the center of a group of people.
He wraps his arm possessively around my waist as soon as I reach him, and starts introducing me to the circle of people I've yet to meet.
"Edward, I want you to meet my beautiful wife, Isabella."
I look up into hypnotic green eyes, and my legs feel as if they're about to collapse from under me. The oxygen leaves my body as I stare at him, dumbfounded.
He takes my hand without a spark of recognition in his eyes, no acknowledgement of me whatsoever in his expression.
End note: This is a B&E story. FoolForEdward, my beta and now co-author, and I have a number of joint projects, which we have no intention of neglecting. We are working on those constantly. In addition, we each have our own projects that we work on co-currently. Mask'Charade is my project and will be posted under my profile Chynnadoll.