isabella [h.s.]

fourteen

**It's human nature
To want what you can't have**

HARRY

The event is being held in a luxury hotel in downtown New York. The same kind where rich upper east side socialites usually hold their philanthropic charity galas, swanning around to fancy music while drinking champagne and pretending to be good people. Tonight, thankfully, the majority of the people in the room aren't so corrupt - although, I suppose, that judgement would depend on your ideological beliefs towards law enforcement. Nevertheless, the atmosphere in the room tonight seems to be warm and supportive, full of laughter and friendly conversation, which is the usual for work events.

As Isabella and I walk through the entrance of the ballroom, the cloakroom attendant, a young boy who I assume is still in high school and managed to land this job last minute, offers to take Isabella's coat. She shrugs the black faux fur off her shoulders, handing it over to the boy who almost drops it straight to the floor again when she smiles at him sweetly in gratitude. He manages to compose himself though, nodding his head at her and avoiding my gaze as he scurries back into the cloakroom, as if I'm going to scold him for checking her out. I find the thought so humorous that I chuckle softly under my breath. Clearly hearing me, Isabella shoots me a faintly intrigued look, but I just ignore it and then offer her my arm, allowing her to loop hers through it before we begin our circle around the room.

As expected, Isabella brings a smile to the face of everyone that I introduce her to. Despite the fact that most of the people here are in a vastly different line of work than hers, she effortlessly keeps up with the conversations and offers her own perspectives on the array of topics discussed, which range from forensic psychology to the stock market. Whenever she's asked about her occupation, she either skilfully diverts the question back to the person who asked it, or makes a vague comment about being involved in the entertainment industry. I feel a pang of shame due to the fact that she isn't able to reveal her real job to my coworkers or the people I'm introducing her to, wishing that people could just be a little more understanding and not so stuck in their old-fashioned ways of thinking.

Nevertheless, it doesn't seem to bother Isabella too much, and she just continues to crack jokes with mostly everyone she meets as if she's known them for years. I feel a strange surge of pride as I watch her interact with every new person we run into, admiring her effortless confidence and intelligence, watching in awe as she practically flutters around the room like a beautiful social butterfly. She does look rather beautiful too, I have to admit. She's wearing an olive-green satin dress which fits her body as if it was made just for her, the colour perfectly complimenting the natural bronze tan of her skin.

I'm wearing a suit again, which originally was the same one from the meeting yesterday, until Isabella scolded me for that and pointed out that I looked like I was attending a funeral, so she made me change my shirt and tie only minutes before we left the apartment.

Inevitably, as we continue our circuit around the room, we run into a few unpleasant individuals who I only bother introducing Isabella to because of work obligations. A few of them make comments that both Isabella and I disagree with, and by the time Isabella is on the verge of entering a rather heated debate about the Rodney King case with one of the officers from another precinct, I save her from his ignorance by placing my arm on her lower back and guiding her over to the bar to get another drink, smirking to myself as she cusses him out under her breath.

"What a dumb prick!" Isabella mutters, shaking her head in complete disbelief over the conversation she just had. "They earned their innocence? Is he fucking joking? Those racist cops almost beat that poor man to death and practically got away with it!"