It showed no messages. She sighed, and headed for one of the huge, luxurious couches over by the fireplace. All around, there were couples sitting closely together, whispering or cuddling. It made her feel grossly out of place.A waiter came over to ask if she'd like anything. She ordered a glass of Zinfandel, meanwhile looked at her watch again. The waiter nodded and hurried off. She stared over at the blazing fire in the corner of the room. It gave off a warmth that made her feel safe and warm. She glanced toward the door. It opened and closed, again and again, and still no Michael. She wondered if he had had car trouble, or some kind of accident. The snow was coming down harder now, and it was almost fully dark. Twenty minutes past 6. Almost 90 minutes late. She was really beginning to worry when the waiter walked over and asked if she was by chance Lisa Robertson. "Yes I am, " she replied. "Message for you. Came in at 3 p.m., but the caller didn't describe you." He then turned and. He had grown used to the reaction of the many rich “divas” he gardened for over the years. They all had some opinion of how or when he should work, all the while none of them having a clue what the term 'work' actually meant. Over the years, he had learned how to address them, calming them down and eventually convincing them to let him do his work in peace, but nothing had prepared him for Isabella. As he turned around, bracing for the verbal assault, he stopped, stunned by the picture that met him.The once determined and furious Isabella now stood before him, silent and still. Her kimono, softly blowing in the breeze, was showing not only the soft curves of the body barely concealed but also revealing the hardened nipples and large breasts as it opened almost down to her waist. He tried to manage a hello but couldn’t find the word in his mind as he took in this angelic being that stood motionless before him.Isabella felt frozen; she could feel the breeze pushing her kimono open.
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