A Modern Day Fairy Tale

Chapter Forty-Eight

Disclaimer: All characters are not mine. No copyright infringement was intended. Thank you to Stephenie Meyer for creating Edward and Bella for our enjoyment. I just like playing with them, making them my own ... even for just a little while.

We will be switching back to Bella and having a bit of a time jump, to be honest. Right now, it's the beginning of March in the story. (Bella and Jake had their car accident on Valentine's Day). We're going to find out more about how the pictures were leaked and who was behind it. We'll also celebrate Masen's birthday and perhaps, some schmexy times.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Bella

"Another one, Lady Bella," said my torturer, erm, physical therapist, Karen. "Last one. Let's go, let's go, let's go!"

"I hate you," I grumbled as I finished my exercises, pressing against her hand. I fell back on the table and wiped my brow, which was covered in sweat. Karen helped me back and she picked up the massage cream. "Okay, never mind. I don't hate you. Massage away, Karen."

"The scar is looking better," Karen murmured as she placed a roll of towels underneath my knee. She began working her strong fingers into my leg and I took deep breaths, trying to ignore the pain.

I wrinkled my nose, seeing a long, nasty scar running from my lower thigh to the top of my shin. It was red and puckered, nasty and angry. So different from the initial scar I'd received from my surgery in New York. We'd been in the summer Gevalian palace for about three months. Shortly after our arrival in early March, I was feeling better and I was heading to the kitchen without my crutches or knee brace. My knee was still unstable and I took a tumble, completely jacking up my knee, reinjuring it and causing me to have an open ACL reconstruction surgery by the palace physician. What had been tiny laparoscopic scars was now a zipper from the top of my shin to my lower thigh. "It's ugly, Karen," I grumbled.

"It's already fading, Lady Bella," Karen said, giving me a warm smile. She was an older woman, in her late forties, early fifties, who worked with her husband, Doug, for my physical therapy. "You're getting stronger every day we work. I'm thinking that you will be completely free of the crutches by the time you celebrate Prince Edward's birthday in a couple of weeks. He's mentioned that he has plans for the two of you."

"What about the brace?" I asked. I blinked at her. "And, what plans?"

"I think we may be able to streamline it," Karen chuckled. "My husband will get the measurements for you, fitting you by the next week. And, I'm sworn to secrecy."

"Thanks, Karen," I smiled as she finished my massage. When she was done, she attached electrodes to my knee and I spent fifteen minutes getting my knee stimmed and iced. I attached my knee in the clunky knee brace, I hobbled to where Masen was working out. He was running, his gait perfect and his bare chest streaked with sweat. I wanted to lick his tattoo, tasting his skin.

I also missed running. Not that I was any good at it, but seeing Masen's smooth and graceful stride on the treadmill made me jealous of my own gimpiness. I cursed the paparazzi for causing the accident that resulted in my injuries.

Fucking vultures.

I sat down, blatantly ogling my fiancé. He was singing to whatever song was playing on his iPod and focused on his feet pounding the treadmill. He blinked over to me, a crooked smile spreading over his face. Despite the speed he was running, he crooned some love song in French. I didn't know what he was saying, but he was giving it his all. He slowed down and hopped down, ending the song while on his knee and holding my hand.

"You've missed your calling, Masen," I giggled as he beamed at me goofily. "You should have been a singer."

"Surely you jest," Masen chuckled, standing up and picking up the t-shirt that was draped over the side of the treadmill. "I can play the piano, guitar and violin, but singing is not my talent. Emmett is a beautiful baritone."