Continental Life

Five

Two painfully slow days after her and Xander's private appointment in his office, Bella prepared for her meeting with the DDTC heads. She would be facing a panel of her prospective instructors, including Xander, for an in-depth discussion regarding the questionnaire she had received the day before. Also, to discuss the strict guidelines Xander had alluded to. After that, she would be taken on a tour of the school and given her course syllabus.

The nervous energy coursing through her veins made her feel as if she would piss her pants. She hadn't been that  anxious since her interview with Xander five years earlier. She had begged him to give her a hint of what kinds of responses they wanted on the feedback form so she could word her answers appropriately, but he'd stated it would be an unfair advantage and that she just needed to respond truthfully. That was easier said than done. After all, she wasn't only representing herself but her future husband, aka Professor Pettifor. Fear of disappointing him was more prevalent than nervousness, and she suddenly felt lightheaded and nauseous.

This was even more troublesome to think about than when she faced the medical board of the University for her admittance interview.

Dressed in the navy-blue nautical retro pin-up dress and matching platform shoes that Xander had set out for her, she exited the Rolls and thanked Dante. With so much of her time spent at school and doing clinical hours, it wasn't often she got the pleasure of being chauffeured around like in the old days. When she started school, she had pled her case to Xander and explained that being driven to the University in a Rolls Royce Ghost would be counteractive to being taken seriously by her peers and professors. Though she may have been his 'Princess,' she most certainly didn't want to come off as one. After presenting all of her reasons in a calm and clear-headed manner, he gave his consent and allowed her to drive herself to school. In an uncharacteristically passive gesture, he even permitted her to choose her own vehicle; after laying out the five options he had deemed acceptably safe, of course. After much contemplation, she chose the least flashy of the luxury choices.

Clutching her wristlet, she stood outside the enormous mahogany, double-door entrance and scanned the premises. There were no other buildings near, and the secluded spot only added to the intrigue surrounding the DDTC. The four-story structure sat neatly tucked into one of the coves that she had eyed a few nights before, but it was no ordinary building. It was a home. The architecture was modern-Victorian and exuded nothing less than majestic grandeur. The serenity enveloping the area was astounding. Perhaps it was the San Francisco Bay within view or the perfectly manicured lawn and floral greenery. It was hard to put her finger on exactly what it was.

She peered down at the lawn beneath her feet. Not a single blade of grass was out of place. She bent over and touched a nearby calla lily to make sure it was real. It was. When she rose, she pinched her arm to make sure she wasn't dreaming. She wasn't.

The bulky wrought-iron gates clanged shut behind her as Dante drove away, and the damp sea air whipped her hair all around her face. The magnificent sunset reflected off the amber-tinted windows of the renovated residence, nearly blinding her as she continued to soak up the ambiance. It was odd, but she had expected something ... different. She had dreamt of this place several times, but in her dreams, the edifice was gothic and foreboding, larger and menacing with endless halls and dark dungeons in the basement filled with sexual tools of torture. This place was nothing like that. It was astonishingly beautiful and tranquil, at least on outward appearances. Hopefully, the interior was just as peaceful.

Xander was already at The Center waiting for her. On the nights when he taught, he drove himself in what he deemed to be a less conspicuous mode of transportation—his version of less conspicuous being a pearl white Rossion Q1. She was marrying a man with unabashed extravagant tastes, she reminded herself.