Title: Little Bird

Summary: Welcome to the arranged marriage between the Princess of the Swans and the Prince of the Cullen Clan. Two countries, two families, two very different individuals. What could go wrong?

Pairing: Bella and Edward

Rating: M

Word Count: 4074

The door closes behind me with a gentle thud and immediately I'm overcome by a rush of relief so strong that it pulls my feet out from under me. My back slides against the enormous wooden door as my knees buckle and I crumble to the floor; gasping for breath. God, if Mãe could see me now, she'd probably slap me silly and remind me of how privileged I am; how much a Família is depending on me to do what needs to be done. Instead of feeling comforted by a memory of my mother, I feel panic surge through me and I have to force myself to calm down. There is a subtle snap of a lock and I realize that they've locked me in. The fact, although somewhat unnerving, surprisingly helps me focus on my task at hand. The locked door ensures that I'll be left alone for the time being. Taking a few moments I turn my focus inward and towards my breathing. I inhale deeply through my nose, hold my breath for a second or two and then release it through my mouth until I'm able to do so in a controlled manner.

After a few seconds, I feel the panic subside and am slowly able open my eyes. Raising them, I allow my gaze to move across the room. It's an exquisite suite with all the luxury and comfort fit for a queen. A humorless laugh escapes my lips before I can stop it and I find myself shaking my head at the irony. I'm finally in the country I've always dreamt of going to all my life, the Land of Opportunity, the Land of the Free. My laughter echoes in the room as it grows louder and more hysterical. I can hear the tinge of sarcasm and hopelessness in my tone. If there is one thing I know for certain, it is that I am not free… I have never been and I never will be.

My gilded cage in Salvador da Bahia, Brazil, has simply been replaced by another here in New York, and my keeper, also replaced-. I break off my train of thought as tears of frustration burn in my eyes and I quickly bite the inside of my cheek as hard as I can to redirect my emotions. The blast of pain and taste of blood is strangely familiar and a wave of calm instantly flows through me, replacing my tears and building frustration with numbness and apathy.

Eu sou a Princesa dos Cisnes. I am the Princess of Swans, the eldest daughter of Charles Abrão de Oliveira, the leader and king of one of the largest crime families in all of Latin America: Os Cisnes, the Swans. Through my father's rule, the Swans and their "business ventures" have stretched far beyond Brazil's borders and they have flourished beyond belief. Never has an organized crime family managed to gain such power and displayed such unity as the Swans. My father's brutality, brilliance and bold, yet highly effective ideas, have cemented his status as O Rei dos Cisnes: the King of Swans.

The manner in which he rules his kingdom is with a strong, unforgiving iron fist and he treats his family the exact same way. We have never wanted for anything and my father has always showered his wife and daughters with gifts… those gifts, however, mean very little when you are on the receiving end of his explosive fury. No one speaks against my father unless they are asking for punishment. My sisters, Rosa and Alissandra, and I have all felt the brunt of his anger on several occasions growing up. Rosa is the only one of us that is still unable to control her temper around him. Alissandra and I have just given up; we've become numb like our mother and I'm not proud of it. It breaks my heart when I see how the fight in my middle sister's caramel eyes is slowly fading as well; her spark. She's always been a spitfire, but now-. I shudder at the thought of what will happen to my family now that I'm not there anymore to take care of them. If there was anyone able to calm my father down from one of his explosive tantrums; it was me. I can only hope that this union between the Swans and the Cullens might lighten my father's mood and subdue him slightly. Hopefully, it will give me enough time to come up with some kind of plan.

Feeling more like myself, I push up from the floor and rise up on shaky legs. Kicking off my high heels, I instantly wince when my feet touch the floor and thousands of needles explode beneath my skin as my numb feet begin to awaken. I force myself to shift all of my weight onto my feet, welcoming the pain. The room looks just like it is out of some magazine, perfectly designed just as the rest of this mansion is, though it is very different from what I'm used to. The colors here are dark and there is a lot more furniture and decorations than in my home in Brazil. There, everything is so bright and cheerful, and I'm not just talking about the interior design. The constant blazing hot sun brings out a special effect on its people and I can already feel a deep sorrow when I think about not being around that infectious joy that lies within each and every person that lives in Brazil. No matter how difficult their lives are, as a people we radiate happiness and excitement about just being alive and through that, we are able to cope… What am I going to do now when things get unbearable?

Walking over to a closed door next to the absolutely gigantic bed in the center of the room, I see that my suitcases have been meticulously unpacked and my clothes are now perfectly placed in the huge walk-in closet. My clothing takes up less than half of the space in the room and I realize that I'll probably have to get used to wearing a lot more clothes and outfits than I'm used to. The excitement I've always had of actually getting to dress accordingly for four different seasons falls quite short in the mix of all of my other emotions. Grabbing one of my silky camisole sets and my favorite powder pink silk satin robe, I walk with determined steps to another open door where I find the master bathroom. Again, my breath catches at the overly luxurious space complete with an enormous bathtub, separate shower and exquisite chandelier.

I cast a longing glance at the tub, but quickly decide that a shower is quicker. Even though my father's private jet holds every comfort imaginable, making the long trip from Salvador to New York felt like a piece of cake, I still feel dirty and uncomfortable in my own skin. Quickly ridding myself of clothes I step into the shower that easily could fit about 5 people comfortably. There are several knobs and showerheads, but luckily it doesn't take me long to find the ceiling mounted rain shower. Closing my eyes, I try to push everything away as I focus on the searing hot water falling against my skin as it washes away each of my worries. In this blissful moment, I'm able to pretend that I'm back home with my sisters and not in this lavish, unfamiliar and frigid mansion that I'm to call home for the next two weeks.

Two weeks where I'm supposed to help plan my wedding to a man I don't know and become acquainted with a family that I have absolutely no inclination of wanting to know. By the end of the two weeks, my family will fly in to be here as I walk down the aisle and marry the man I've been promised to since my birth. Through our union the Swans will finally have a very profitable business agreement in North America and the Cullen Clan, one of the largest crime families in the Northern Hemisphere, will have a direct connection to the South. It's a perfect arrangement that was planned just days after my birth by my father and the Captain of the Cullen Clan. The Princess of Swans and the Prince of the Cullen Clan. Just the thought of it, makes me feel sick.

Turning the knob, I force myself to stand still as freezing water thunders against my body like piercing knives. I'm shivering and gasping for breath when I finally turn off the water. The alleviation of stress is short lived, because I'm suddenly aware of the fact that I'm not alone. The icy cold water from my shower is nothing compared to the blast of chills that spread inside of my body like the cold wind on a winter's night as my eyes trail over the tall masculine frame that has suddenly appeared from thin air. The droplets of water on the glass between us makes it difficult for me to see him properly, but for some reason I have no doubt of who my trespasser is: Edward Cullen, my betrothed. Allowing my eyes to study him for a second I quickly see that I'm right. My father showed me a picture of him years ago and my sisters and I have searched his name online on several occasions. He's a handsome man, I've known that for years, but I also know that physical beauty reveals absolutely nothing about a person's character. From what I've heard the Chief of the Cullen Clan has a reputation that is just as brutal, if not more so, than my father's. A heavy rock sinks in the pit of my stomach when I realize that my new keeper is here to inspect his merchandise before our wedding night. For some reason a flare of anger rises within me and it gives me the strength I need to meet and hold his roving gaze.

Rolling my shoulders back, I keep my head held high as I step out of the shower and pause. My wet, dark hair sticking to my skin, my perfectly applied make-up undoubtedly running down my face because of the water, my body bare for him to see. I make sure to fix my eyes on his face and stand completely still as his calculating eyes roam across my body as though I'm some animal put out on display

After years of practice with my mother and father's mental and physical abuse, I'm an expert at hiding my emotions. The mask of indifference that I expertly hold on my face is one that I've perfected and although all I want to do is shield my body from my intruder, I know that would only make matters worse. When his eyes finally meet mine, I can see a hint of surprise in them. My heart skips a beat before it continues to race in my chest as his piercing jade eyes lock onto mine. A very strange and unfamiliar heat spreads through me and the fire of blazing anger ignites within me.

"Are you done, Senhor?" I ask him in a harsh tone that I try to sweeten by using a Portuguese term of respect.

The tension between us builds as he continues to study my face for a moment. Then his lips turn upwards into a wicked half smile and his eyes sparkle with mirth as if he's enjoying this. His pink tongue peeks out as he wets his lips before moving his head as though he is granting me permission to move. I have to bite my teeth together to keep from screaming out in anger, but I'm able to keep my composure as I grab a towel and begin to wipe myself off. I turn my back to him as I do so, but can feel his hot gaze as it lingers on every exposed part of my skin. When I have to bend down slightly to wipe away the drops of water on my legs and feet, I can hear a gentle shuffle and for a moment I freeze as cold fear spreads through me. Is he going to take me now? I pause, but he doesn't move.

After a moment, I'm able to dress into my white camisole set and am drying my wet hair when I finally turn around to face him again. He looks perfectly put together, wearing an expensive looking suit as he leans nonchalantly against the sink while he observes me with an almost bored look on his face. This unnerves me more than anything. My father has kept our interaction with the opposite sex to a minimum, doing what he can to protect his daughters' virtue. All of our lives we've learned that our innocence and virginity is our greatest asset, but that it isn't ours to give to whomever we please. That task lies on our father's shoulders and it is one of the only values that we hold as his daughters. Even though our interaction with the male sex has been minimal, I've always known that I'm an attractive woman and I've quickly become accustomed to the attention and heated looks sent my way. This cold and calculating look coming from my future husband when he sees much more of me than I've ever shown anyone, scares me.

I feel as though I'm held captive by his apathetic gaze and can hardly breathe when he suddenly advances, my pink robe in his hands. He abruptly stops right in front of me and I swallow heavily as my heartbeats begin to pound so hard in my chest that I'm sure he'll hear them. He's tall and much leaner than many of my father's henchmen, but I have no doubt, this man is lethal and I have to make sure that I don't anger him. Inhaling shakily, I catch a hint of his scent. He smells good, I realize, his rich scent subtle and very unlike most of the men in my father's guard whose overpowering aftershave often gives me a headache. Over the pounding sound of my heartbeats in my ears, I can faintly hear him inhale deeply as well, before a rush of hot air blows over the top of my head as he exhales. He's standing extremely close and I can almost feel the heat of his body against mine. A strange, yet very powerful, tingle of excitement spreads in the pit of my stomach and I can feel my cheeks heat as blood rushes to them.

The hand that isn't holding my robe, brushes against my wrist and I realize that he's checking my pulse. His longer fingers burn against my cold skin and instantly send a flash of heat through me. Confused by his actions, I glance upwards to those vibrant green eyes and yet again my breath catches and my mouth runs dry. I'm captivated by him, I realize, like a lamb before slaughter. He holds my gaze as his finger takes a more determined hold around my wrist. Unable to do anything else, I drop the small towel I've been holding and allow him to take control.

"Mhmm," he hums as a wide and intimidating smile spreads across his lips. Then he throws my robe over his shoulder so that he is free to use both of his hands.

"You're good at masking your emotions, m'eun beag*, but you have much to learn," his husky voice is remarkably hypnotizing and it's as if I can feel the deep vibrato of his voice vibrate through my entire body.

(*my little bird)

"Your heart is racing like the rapid flutter of a bird's wings."

My intruder keeps his fingers wrapped around my wrist almost as a human handcuff as a single long digit of his other hand suddenly begins to trail up my other arm leaving a wave of goosebumps in its wake. When his finger reaches my shoulder and then begins to move across my clavicle, I'm unable to hide my uneven breathing as my chest rises and falls with each breath. I keep my eyes locked on his face, but his jade orbs are now fixated on his finger as it moves across my skin raising an unfamiliar, but oddly pleasurable sensation on my body. There's a part of me that desperately wants to brush his touch away and fight him, but I know that I wouldn't stand a chance, so instead I allow it, but I hadn't expected how much his touch would affect me.

His tongue makes yet another appearance and my gaze is suddenly strangely drawn to those light pink lips and for some reason I can't help but wonder what they would feel like against my own. I've never even been kissed and although I know that our relationship is very different from those romantic movies that I love so dearly, I'm surprised when I realize that the feelings that are building inside of me are those of desire. I don't even know this man, but his touch is igniting my body with a round of intense sensations that I've never experienced before. When his finger suddenly stops at the dip between my clavicle and sternum, his eyes suddenly return to mine and this time I can see a flash of hot desire and silent question in them, he isn't immune to this either. Something in my gaze must give him the answer he needs because his finger begins to trail down my sternum, but when it suddenly dips below the soft material of my camisole and his entire palm cups my right breast, I've reached my limit.

"Get your hands off me," I bite out between clenched teeth and a daring expression spreads across his face.

There's a short pause and I know that if he should choose to take this further that I would be helpless to stop it. My father made sure that each of his daughters were taught how to fight and use weapons, but I'm no match for this man. I have no doubt that me fighting him will only make matters much worse. I tighten my jaw, but force myself to stand completely still as my future husband makes up his mind. When he releases his hold on my breast, I force myself to keep my stance firm even though an overwhelming wave of relief rolls through me.

He keeps his hold on my wrist, but moves behind me in a slow and almost catlike movement. Then his eyes meet mine in our reflection in the mirror. He, the picture of control and grace in his perfect suit without a hair out of place, and me the complete opposite with runny make-up, mussed up hair and bright red cheeks. I'm a complete and utter mess. This is definitely not the first impression Mãe restlessly trained me to make… oddly, I don't even care. He wasn't there when I stepped off the plane today and when I met his family for the first time. He was the one who missed my perfectly practiced performance. His loss, not mine.

Surprisingly, the man behind me delicately takes a hold of my silk satin robe on his shoulder before holding it out to me in a very gentlemanly fashion. I have to hold back a snort, but I play my part and slowly do what is expected of me. As soon as the silky material hits my skin, I quickly take a step away from him towards the sink and tighten my robe around my waist. Ignoring my intruder, I find my toiletry bag and begin wiping the leftovers of my makeup with some wet wipes I have. Without my make-up I know I look much younger than my 18 years and for a short moment I find myself feeling a little self-conscious about the fact. I know he is 10 years my senior and I suddenly recall an argument I overheard between my father and Carlisle Cullen, the Cullen Clan's Captain, once where the Cullens were asking to delay our marriage for a few more years so that I'd be a little older. Perhaps my future husband doesn't approve of my age? In the mirror I can see that he's found a seat on the edge of the tub and is silently observing me.

"Are you going to watch my every move now?" I question him and I can see that we both know that I'm not only asking about the present.

"Not necessarily," he answers vaguely and I continue with my nightly routine as though he isn't there, but I can feel his presence in every single fiber of my being.

His silence and cold observation annoys me and that flare of anger from earlier begins to build again. When I finally finish I can't help myself, turning around to face him, I raise my hands, palms open in question.

"Have I passed your inspection?!" I ask in a raised voice that I would never dare use in front of my father.

He simply raises an eyebrow and I instantly regret my quick reaction. There will be consequences for my disrespect, I know it. When he rises, it takes everything in me not to cower away. Stopping directly in front of me again, his eyes burn into mine and I have to force myself to hold his gaze and not look away. This appears to please him and his lips turn upward into an indescribable smile.

"Good to see that the Princess of Swans has some spirit. I was briefly worried that I'd gotten an Ice Princess instead of a fiery Brazilian woman that I was expecting. I'll take great pleasure in taming you," he taunts and I'm forced to bite my tongue to keep from lashing out at him.

Apparently, that is the exact reaction he wants from me. I decide then and there that I will do everything in my power to keep my emotions in check and be the perfect subdued "wife" I've been brought up to be. His dancing and daring eyes hold mine for a second as though he's waiting for me to change my mind. With an almost disappointed sigh, he leans forward and kisses me gently on each cheek, a common greeting in my country, but that feels extraordinarily intimate coming from him.

"I will see you in the morning, Little Bird," he tells me and at the mention of his nickname for me.

Again, I can't help myself.

"My name is Isabella."

My words make him smile as though he is remembering a good joke and a tingle of something that feels like a mix of fear and excitement spreads within me.

"Isabella Maria de Oliveira, a Princesa dos Cisnes," he says in perfect Portuguese and my mouth immediately drops open in surprise at his revelation. His smile widens and he moves closer, leaning down to whisper in my ear.

"Está com surpresa, minha querida*? I figured that it was only fair for me to learn your language considering the fact that you had to learn mine."

(*Are you surprised, my dear?)

His words send a shiver down my spine, he is confirming my suspicions now to let me know that there will be no secrets. He will not be held in the dark, although the same courtesy will not be extended to me. I already know that he speaks at least another language as well which he revealed during our conversation earlier. The same finger that explored some of my exposed skin earlier, touches my chin before tracing my jaw before another finger joins as he finds my pulse at that spot in the beginning of my neck. I know he can feel how fast my heart is beating and his lips purse for a brief second before they rise into a knowing smile.

"Sleep well, Little Bird," he whispers before he releases his hold on me and briskly walks away.

My racing heart doesn't calm down until hours later and I'm barely able to sleep a wink, constantly looking over my shoulder to see if my intruder decides to come for yet another visit. If this continues for the remaining two weeks, I'll be dead on my feet before the wedding.