Paradise Kiss Fan Fiction ❯ Love's No Secret ❯ Even The Prettiest Rose Has It's Thorns ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: Right, I don't own Paradise Kiss or any of the characters used in this fic. I'm just pulling crap outta my head and handing it to you in story form. Don't sue me. I have a grand total of … [checks pockets] twenty dollars.

~Chapter One~

She gently clutched her lace curtains as she stared out her window, the bright sun causing her to squint slightly. George strode up the walkway; a large decorated box tucked under one arm, his smile as cocky as ever.

She quickly glanced at the mirror across the room, insuring that she didn't look as if she'd just woken up. She began to play with long strands of her hair, trying to make them sit properly, until a thought crossed her mind and made her stop and look back out the window at the boy who walked ever so slowly as if time didn't affect him.

/What's the use?/

She thought bitterly, cursing her foolishness as well as his as if it were George's fault that he couldn't see the way Isabella felt about him. She forced a smile. Wouldn't want to make things more uncomfortable between the two. The uncomfortable feeling that Isabella figured George was oblivious to was always apparent to her.

/We're better as friends anyways./

A quick knock at the door, and George's head popped up in the doorway, a smirk playing across his lips and a glint in his eye masked with blue lens sunglasses causing Isabella's face lit up when she saw him. This was, after all, the boy she devoted all her time and energy to and all her troubled thoughts vanished away whenever he entered a room.

"Good morning, Miss Yamamoto." He said, a smile spreading across his face. Isabella felt warm blood rush to her face, turning it a violent shade of pink. "I've brought you something."

George entered the room and swung the brightly colored box around and placed it in front of her. Isabella brought her gloved hands to her chin, pretending to be surprised to see the box. She felt her heart flutter. A present from George, was not an uncommon thing but Isabella was sucker for romance.

"You shouldn't have. What's inside?" she asked running her hand along the top of the box. She'd already had a good idea of what was inside, though she enjoyed playing along. She stared at the box that had a great deal of purple and blue ribbons, the box itself being white.

"You have to open it to find out." George smiled, lifting the box closer to her. She took the box into her hands and sat on the edge of her bed, sinking slightly into the fluffy duvet cover.

Carefully removing each ribbon as if each were as precious as what could lay inside, she lifted the lid of the box and pulled out a dress. A long flowing dress of deep violet, close to the color of a plum and as soft as silk. She ran her hands down the skirt and the sleeves finding black lace sewn to the cuffs. Elegant, the same as any dress that George had ever made, especially those he made for her.

"George, you spoil me, you know." She said looking up at him, her stomach rustling with the anticipation of what the dress would look like once she put it on. "Why give me such a marvelous dress? What is the occasion?"

George stared at her for a moment, possibly trying to come up with just the right occasion or possibly trying to think of what to say next. He smiled and looked at the floor, being short for words was not his style.

"Why should there be an occasion?" He smiled, speaking in a slow, soothing manner, which made Isabella's insides grow warm. "Can't I give my friend a gift for no reason at all other than the fact that it's Tuesday?"

Isabella giggled standing holding the dress up to her as they both gazed in the mirror at her reflection. George smiled, and brushed the fabric down, touching Isabella's leg in the process. Isabella felt her heart do a small dance, as it often did whenever George did little things such as that. Things that went unnoticed in George's mind, a designers mind with just the simple intention of smoothing out the fabric on his creation, not necessarily meaning to strike a nerve within Isabella.

"It's beautiful." She said clutching the dress close to her chest. She stared at her and George's reflection, finding it impossible to not smile.

"You make it beautiful." He said, kissing Isabella's cheek. Isabella made a tsk sound, implying that George was full of shit. "I saw this fabric at the store and I couldn't help but think of you."

Isabella blushed once again, and put the dress down on the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles and taking one last look at the garment before turning back to George who was busy pouring drinks. He turned around two glasses of wine resting in each palm, playing the part of a gentleman whose intentions were never noble. He held the glass out, beckoning for Isabella to take it with the simple nod of his head.

She took the glass from his palm, looking through the purple liquid at the distorted figures that lay on the other side. Her glass felt slick and slightly cold through her thin, translucent gloves. George held up his glass, his smile never fading.

"To Tuesday." He said with a small wink. Isabella giggled, raised her glass to his, making a faint clink, and repeated the words. Her first sip, bringing old, fond memories back into her mind, memories of times such as this.

Isabella sat elegantly on the chair, looking more sophisticated then any other woman could. George leaned against the vanity table, sipping the wine slowly as he gazed around the room. Isabella smiled to herself at the simplicity of the moment and how it just felt so wonderful.

/How can something so simple feel so… perfect?/ She looked down at the floor, her forehead creasing as that familiar feeling of discomfort washed over her.

The two were silent for a moment, George not noticing Isabella's discomfort, simply enjoying the company. Isabella looked up at George who was still busy gazing around her room as if he'd never seen it before. She giggled quietly, his facial expression amusing her in such a way that couldn't be explained, because it wasn't like George had never been in her room.

Her laughs faded after they'd gone unnoticed. Her mind wandered of into wonder. She couldn't help but wonder why he was in such a mood.

"George," Isabella said rather quietly, her amusement fading and her wonder taking over most of her thoughts. George looked at her, his smile had yet to disappear from his lips. She approached the question carefully, not so much worried that George would be uncomfortable, but that he would see through her. "What is going on with you and Seiji?"

George looked at her for a moment, hiding his amused grin behind the wine glass. He asked her what she had meant, staring at the ground.

"You know what I mean." She said quietly sitting back, forcing a smile to play across her lips. George smiled at her, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "I'd hate to think that you'd lie to me."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to say to that." He said seemingly amused by it all. Isabella merely stared at her wine glass, not willing to repeat the question and not willing to let the subject drop. She didn't like the fact that George was being so private about his rumored relationship with Seiji.

An uncomfortable silence had fallen upon them. George's smile faded for a moment before he stood up, finishing his wine, pressing his gloved hand to his wet lips. He looked back at her, a slight smirk creeping across his face.

"What does that matter anyways?" he said, setting down the wine glass. He walked to the chair and took her glass setting it on the table. He took her hands into his own. "I'm with you right now. Let's go for a walk. Your garden is in full bloom."

He lifted her to her feet, and led her by the hand out to the gardens of the Yamamoto Estate. The suns rays warmly kissing their skin as the stepped out onto the front step of the house, slowly making their way, hand in hand to the garden.

They walked through slowly, not speaking just admiring the vibrant colors and fragrances that surrounded them. George leant against a tall willow tree as Isabella knelt to look a particularly gorgeous rose that had bloomed such a shade of pink that it seemed it stuck out from all the rest. A small tear fell from Isabella's eye.

"This rose reminds me of you, George." She said, flicking away the tear quickly to show him the rose without having the presence of that sad emotion. She turned to see him stare at the rose with a curious look on his face, not comprehending what she had meant. Turning back to the rose, she began to explain, "It's far more pink than all the others. You can't help but notice it, because it looks like it worked the hardest to be the best. It attracts all the attention by simply sitting there and being itself, as if it knew that it was the only one worth looking at."

George stared at it for a moment before looking back at her. He looked down, as if he now realized for the first time the way she felt for him, and the uncomfortable silence fell again.

"You silly girl." He muttered under his breath, shaking his head slowly.

Isabella looked back at the pretty rose, wiping yet another tear from her cheek.

/Even the prettiest rose… has its thorns/

And throughout the rest of their walk in the garden…

He didn't say a word.

~*~

Isabella opened the door to her room to discover the dress still lying on her bed. She picked up the dress and held it to her thin frame once again, looking at her reflection in the full-length mirror that hung on her wall. She slipped out of the dress she'd been wearing that day and pulled on the deep violet dress that clung tightly to her thin frame before flowing gently into a long skirt that bunched at the back.

She couldn't help but think that George must know her measurements like the back of his hand, because a dress that fit so well could never have been made of the top of his head. She reached around to her back, fastening the buttons that were far more elegant than a zipper, but a little more difficult to do by yourself.

She hugged herself tightly, feeling comfortable in the dress that he'd made her with his own hands. A dress that was made for no one else, just her

She sat, with the dress still on, at her vanity table, looking at herself in the small mirror surrounds by soft glowing bulbs. She reached into the drawers and took the oil she used for removing makeup out.

Leaning in close to the mirror with the tips of her finger, she gently pulled off the tiny, strategically placed silver beads that she put on the end of her eyelashes almost every morning.

Tipping the oil onto a cotton ball, she ran it down her cheek, removing the thin layer of makeup from off of her face. She repeated it again, removing the black and light violet eye makeup, smearing slightly on her cheek.

She repeated it again and again until every inch of makeup had been wiped clean off her face, until the face that stared back at her was that of a male. A very feminine male, indeed, but a male nonetheless.

The face of a male that had been primped and pampered so much that it looked so feminine to anyone else who looked at it, but Isabella found every flaw lying with her features. The flaws that no one would notice unless they were looking for them specifically. The flaws that no one would ever consider flaws anyways.

She giggled slightly as an amusing notion crossed her mind.

/Maybe…/ she thought looking at her face closely. /…he'd like me better this way/

She smiled oddly and pushed the thought from her brain. She wasn't going to change. Being a man would never suit her.

Carefully she pulled the clip holding her hair in place out. Her hair fell gracefully onto her shoulders clashing slightly with the dark dress. She pulled an ordinary elastic from a drawer and tied her hair back, grimacing slightly at her reflection, at the sight of the ordinary ponytail that had no flair and no glamour at all to it.

She carefully slipped the dress off, hanging it in the closet next to all of George's other creations that had been given to her. She reached into her dresser drawer, pulling out a long white nightgown. She pulled it over her head and made her way downstairs to fetch a glass of milk from the kitchen. It was already late in the house and everyone was asleep, she never enjoyed waking people up they always seemed so grumpy.

She stood in the kitchen drinking the milk and looking around the room. She scanned the countertop and nearly choked when her eyes came across the darkened figure of a flower. She set the milk on the table walking over to the counter, picking the rose up gently twirling it in her fingers.

A rose, with a shade of pink so bright, begged to be noticed.

**

Well… that was the first chapter. I know it's short. There will be lemony-goodness in chapter three.. which is also the last chapter I'm planning. This is the first parakiss fic that I've ever done, so feel free to criticize. Tell me where I can/need to improve.

-Miyuki.