Disclaimer: I'm the master of my fate, the captain of my soul and the owner of my laptop but I don't own Twilight. Don't sue.
Summary: Bella lives in Paris with Charlie while her mom lives in Seattle with her new husband and his two sons. In order to bond with her new family, she spends the summer in a villa in the south of France with them. An unforeseen romance might just be what Bella needs to spice up her summer.
Note: Welcome to my new story. For those of you who read The Beautiful and the Damned, I'm still working on that but this story wouldn't get out of my head. There is a lexicon of all things French in my author's note at the end of this chapter if you're interested.
Now for the complicated part, Bella, Esmée and Charlie are French but this story is written in English, so even if I don't indicate so, you should always believe that when my French characters speak to each other, they will speak in French, even if it's written in English. When they speak to Carlisle, Edward and Emmett, you should assume, unless I say otherwise, that they speak in English. The French bits I have added in the story are just for atmosphere purposes.
Thank you to BelleDean for betaing!
Warning: This story is rated M. There is underage drinking (for you Americans but not for my European readers) and there will be some sex scenes.
The Other Side of Summer
1. Il est cinq heures, Paris s'éveille
~ Bella ~
"Bella, ma chérie, réveille-toi !" I heard my dad's voice whisper as he shook me very gently. "Bella, sweetie, wake-up," he repeated, "today's the big day. I'm going out to the bakery to get you some croissants, pains au chocolat and even those little brioches you like so much. I'll be back in ten."
Ugh. The big day aka the day I got my baccalauréat results. It was seven in the morning and the results were only going to be posted at eleven but still, my dad woke me up early. I supposed he was more stressed than I was and that's saying something because I was on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Intellectually, I knew that I would get it. I knew I was a good student and I had a really good feeling after I got out of the exam room. But still, there was always that lingering doubt, the "what ifs": what if the examiner didn't like what I wrote for my philosophy essay? What if I completely missed the point in my French literature analysis? What if my Italian oral was not as good as I thought it was?
Ugh. I officially hated the 4th of July. For my mom, who lived in the United States, this day must have been so amazing but for me, all the way over the Atlantic, it was a disaster in the making. And what if I didn't get it? I would have to repeat my senior year of high school! I wouldn't be able to go to university with the rest of my friends. Ugh.
I reluctantly got out of bed and started my morning routine. I had just finished dressing in jeans and a t-shirt when I heard the key turn in the lock. My dad was back. I walked to the kitchen and I saw him juggling two huge paper bags filled with pastries. I could see that the butter from the baked goods had already seeped into the paper of the bag, making it translucent.
"Dad! You know, we're never going to eat all of that!" He started to take the croissants out of the top of one paper bag and put them on a plate. The pains au chocolat were next, then the escargots and finally the brioches.
"They had those little raspberry tartlets that you like, too and I also got some violet religieuses," he said as he got to the other bag and put the array of pastries on another plate.
"I'll make the coffee," I said, resigned. Dad had gone overboard with the food once more.
There was a heavy silence while I was making the coffee and my dad started munching on a chocolate éclair. After ten minutes, the coffee was done and I poured it into his cup and mine.
"Do you want me to drive you there?" he asked me.
"No, at this time of day, there'll be too much traffic. I'll just take the métro, it'll be faster." Mostly, I didn't want dad to drive me in his work car because he would insist on putting on the siren and the flashing lights and I would die of embarrassment. Dad worked at la Crim', which was the criminal department of the Parisian police.
"Are you sure? I could put on the sirens, like when you were little…" his voice went melancholy. "Remember? You used to love that…" Oh my god, was he going to cry?
"Dad, please. It's just an exam. It's not like I'm getting married and moving out."
"Are you going with Alice or is she meeting you there?"
"She's meeting me there." Alice and I were in the same class throughout all of high-school but she didn't live that close to me.
"Eat something," my dad urged and he pushed a religieuse in front of me. I did love those creamy, puffy pastries. And violet was my favorite flavor.
"When's mom getting there?" Mom was French but she lived in the United-States. She and my dad had had a short relationship, which had resulted in me. They had decided to break up and stay friends instead which had worked out quite good until mom had gotten an amazing job offer in Seattle when I was two. She had left me with my dad but she still came to see me one week every month. I used to see a lot less of her when I was younger but now that she's moved up in her firm, she could afford more vacation time.
"Her flight lands at 9:30pm and they're taking a cab. They got the earliest flight in, they're going to be exhausted by the time they get there," my dad answered. "She's bringing her new husband and his two kids. Are you excited for this summer?"
"Yes! I can't wait to see her! And I'm curious to get to know my new step-brothers." Mom had gotten married (for the first time too!) two months ago in complete secret. No one had been invited. I had met her boyfriend Carlisle the last times I had visited her; he was really nice (and really handsome). I had never gotten the chance to meet Carlisle's two sons, the first one had been away at college and the second one had been on some trip.
"Esmée sent me some pictures of the villa they're renting for the summer," dad said, "it looks amazing. The pool is pretty big." Every year, mom rented a villa in Provence and we spent the summer there. This year, it would be the first time that her husband and new step-sons would join us.
"I know. I already chose my room. It's the one that opens up directly in the gardens. I'm calling dibs as soon as we step into the house."
"You haven't changed your mind? You're still staying there until the end of August?" he asked in his dad voice.
"Yes. I can register for university in September, it's no problem, I've already checked with them. Don't worry so much about me, you'll get grey hairs."
Dad harrumphed a bit before taking our cups and putting them in the dishwasher. More than half of the pastries were still laying there on the plates. I guessed it wouldn't be wasted, they would still be good tomorrow and we would be six for breakfast.
Dad got ready to leave for work and I decided to lounge on the couch watching mind numbing TV until it was time to start making my way to the métro station.
"You can me right when you get your results, Bella, okay?" Dad gave his last recommendations. "And I'm cooking a special late dinner for your mom and her guests so don't go celebrating with Alice at Berthillon or Ladurée."
Damn! My plans were foiled! There was nothing I liked better than to go eat an ice-cream at Berthillon on a hot summer day.
I assured him that I wouldn't and he finally left for work. I received numerous text messages from my friends (who, like me, were already awake): some told me that they wouldn't be going to the exam center at eleven and instead would wait for the results to be online before going there and some others told me that they would bring the Champagne bottles, whether to celebrate or drown our sorrows.
I never thought that seeing my name on a list would make me this happy. I almost had a heart attack when I couldn't find my name on the list until I realized that my name was indeed on one list. The list I never dreamed my name would be: the list the mentions très bien. Alice was there and hugged me so tight I couldn't breathe for a whole minute. She, too, had a mention (bien) and she started to prattle about how the architecture school she applied to wouldn't be able to reject her and how happy she was. After some time, cries of joy began echoing and tears of sadness could be seen on the faces of some of the unlucky students. We found ourselves soaked in Champagne when our friends came to find us. All my friends had gotten their bac too. This was a happy time. I would remember the day I got my bac for the rest of my life: surrounded by all my friends, happy and lighthearted. In September, all that would change, we would go to different universities and I knew that I would lose contact with most of these people hugging and surrounding me. But, for the moment I didn't care, I just wanted to celebrate. This was the beginning of summer after all!
When I got back home, it was well past 10 pm; Dad was in the kitchen cooking, a sight rare enough to be worth mentioning. I would be glad to eat something; I had drunk way too much Champagne on an empty stomach. I felt lightheaded already.
"Bella, tell me you're not drunk," dad said in a stern but amused tone. "Oh God, I can smell the Champagne from here. Did you take a bath in it or did you just drink it?"
"I'm not drunk, I promise. I'm just a little dizzy." I sat on a chair at the kitchen table and dad threw me a bit of the baguette that he was slicing for our guests.
"Eat bread, it'll soak up the alcohol a bit," dad advised and he looked at the clock on the wall. "Esmée should be here in a little while, why don't you set the table."
"What are we eating?" I asked as I went to take out the plates and the cutlery.
"Ham from Prague with pineapples accompanied by rice," dad answered very proudly.
"Are you trying to impress the Americans?" I said while setting the table. I had tried to fold the napkins in a pretty way but it had failed miserably so I had just ended up putting them on the plates.
"I think it's their first time in France, I want them to have a good first impression."
"Finished!" I said happily. "Do you need help with anything?"
"You should go in your room. There might be a surprise waiting to be opened on your bed," dad said with a twinkle in his eye.
I didn't even have time to say 'what?' that I was already running to my room and getting my present. I came back with it in the kitchen and started to tear apart the wrapping paper.
"Dad, oh my God, you shouldn't have!" I exclaimed as I laid my eyes on a brand new MacBook Air. "It's way too expensive!" Dad was a cop; I wasn't sure where he had gotten the money to pay for it.
"Your mom paid for half of it." Ah, so that was how. "It's from both of us. We're so proud of you. Graduating high-school and you got such good grades on your bac as well. You worked so hard this year, you deserve it. Plus, this thing is so light, you can bring it to Provence with you and we can Skype!" he added happily.
I ran to hug him. "Thank you so much, Dad. I love it." He returned the hug warmly before turning back to his ham in the oven.
Since the table was set and dad had the dinner under control, I went in my room and started unboxing my new laptop. My files were in the middle of transferring while I took a shower to wash off the smell and stickiness of alcohol from my body. I dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and after that, I just played around on my new computer. It was so much faster than my old one.
I heard the intercom buzzing and I knew that Mom and my new recomposed family were going to be there in just a minute. We lived on the 3rd floor and there was an elevator. I took a minute to check myself in the mirror; all was where it should be.
I heard my dad opening the door and my mom's excited screams. I ran to the door and I saw my mom and my dad hugging each other. Mom was speaking in rapid French and was all over the place.
"Maman !" I cried out and she came running towards me. She hugged me close, my head nestled in her neck, and I could smell her trademark Chanel 5 perfume.
"Chérie ! Félicitations ! Je suis si fière de toi ! Tu m'as tellement manquée ! Je suis tellement contente de te voir !" she ranted in French so fast that I almost didn't catch all of it.
We hugged and spoke in hushed voices for a minute before dad cleared his throat to remind us that there were other people present. I noticed that Carlisle was there with a huge suitcase in each hand and that two young men were right behind him. I was even more surprised to hear Carlisle speaking in accented French with my dad. Thank God! Dad didn't speak a word of English except for hello and thank you.
"Let me introduce everyone, sweetie," mom said as she took my hand. "Carlisle, this is Charlie Swan, Bella's father," she pointed to dad. "Charlie, this is Carlisle and right behind him, his sons Emmett and Edward."
My dad shook hands with the three men and even managed an 'hi' to Carlisle's sons. Carlisle Cullen's sons were nothing like I would have imagined them to be. The elder one, Emmett was tall and heavily built with such a happy grin on his face that you couldn't tell he had been on a plane for the last ten hours. The younger one, Edward was also tall but lanky; he kept pushing his glasses up on his nose and he seemed so shy; he was the completely opposite of Emmett. They both had dark hair which they obviously hadn't gotten from Carlisle since he was blond like fields of wheat in the summer.
Mom let my hand go as Carlisle, Charlie and she took the suitcases in their bedrooms. I stepped up to meet them. I knew that Americans didn't kiss on the cheek to say hello so I held out my hand for Emmett to shake.
He surprised me with a hug that lifted me off my feet. "Hi, I'm Bella," I said in English.
"Bonjour Bella!" Emmett said when he had put me back on my feet.
"Tu parles français ?" I asked with surprise.
"Only bonjour and that voulez coucher stuff," he answered with a cheeky smirk. "This is my brother, Edward!"
I held out my hand to Edward "Hi Edward! Nice to meet you!" I said in English and he shook my hand gently. His hand was very warm and he was looking at me rather intently. I noticed that his eyes were green, a pretty unusual shade of green on top of that. Carlisle's and Emmett's were bright blue so I was guessing that he had inherited them from his late mother.
He answered very quietly a "Hi Bella," before heading in the direction of the guest bedrooms, where Carlisle had gone, almost tripping on the heavy carpet on his way.
I stayed back with Emmett and oh my god was he good-looking. Everything about him was attractive: his short curly hair, his blue eyes, his grin, his cute dimples, his shoulders (so defined and manly and toned), and his muscled body.
"I'm so excited to be in Paris!" Emmett exclaimed suddenly. "You'll be our tour guide for the next three days, right?" His excitement was definitely contagious.
"Yes, of course!" I replied with a smile and a blush. "I don't know how much you'll actually see in three days but it never hurts to try!"
"Edward was going on and on in the plane about visiting as many museums as he could but I don't want to do all of that boring stuff," he smiled.
What? Museums? Boring? I had been planning to take them to Orsay. What kind of person actually thought museums were boring? This was really disappointing.
"I want to go up the Eiffel Tower and on the Champs-Elysées and I want to visit Notre-Dame and all the bars I heard there were in the Latin Quarter," Emmett carried on as he took his suitcase up to the guestroom.
"Sure, we can try to do all that stuff if you want but it's July so it'll be crowded everywhere!" I warned him.
"So, what are the sleeping arrangements?" Emmett asked as he saw that Edward was already unpacking on one of the bed in the guestroom.
"Well," I explained, "my Mom and Carlisle are taking my Dad's room, you two sleep in the guestroom, there're two beds, I sleep in my own room and the couch in the living room transforms into a bed so my Dad will sleep there."
I caught Edward staring at me again and when he finally noticed that I had caught him, his eyes immediately seemed to find the hardwood floors fascinating and his ears were blushing bright red.
"I'll leave you two to unpack. We'll be having dinner soon, my dad cooked. I hope you didn't eat the nasty airplane food."
As I closed the door, I heard Emmett's raucous laugh. "Dude, wipe the drool off your face. We get it, she's pretty."
"Shut up, Emmett." I barely heard Edward's much quieter and mumbled reply.
Emmett thought I was pretty?
"I have bought a new Bordeaux today, it'll go great with the ham," my dad said in French and I had to translate for Emmett and Edward whom I was sitting in between. "You have to try it," my dad asserted as he started to pour wine in each of our glasses.
As soon as the wine had been poured, Emmett gulped it down, finishing his glass in one sitting.
My dad was staring wide-eyed at Emmett. "This is good wine!" Emmett exclaimed with a giant smile on his face.
"Emmett, this is not the right way to drink wine," Carlisle said with a sigh, "it's not beer."
Emmett had a look on his face that clearly said 'whatever' and my dad politely refilled his wine glass with more Bordeaux before pouring the wine in Edward's glass.
"Oh no!" Edward exclaimed. "I can't have wine, I'm underage," he went on explaining.
"Bienvenue en France, Edward !" teased my dad.
"You can drink wine here, Edward," my mom explained. "There is no underage drinking in France. Bella is the same age you are and she's allowed to drink."
"It feels weird," Edward mumbled. "Like I'm doing something illegal."
"Relax, Edward," Emmett said. "It's not a big deal. Drink your wine, enjoy."
"If it would make you more at ease, Edward, I'm giving you permission," Carlisle added gently.
"Just try it," I said as well to encourage him. "The wine really is good."
Edward took a sip of his wine and I saw his face twist up in a grimace. Ah well, wine was an acquired taste.
I turned to Emmett. "So, you're already in college, right?" He nodded. "What are you studying?"
"I'm studying to be an engineer in food-processing," Emmett said much to my surprise. He had seemed too much like a jock to study something so brainy.
"And what exactly is that?" I asked for details.
"You know how you eat a yoghurt or a granola bar or peanut butter?" I didn't eat peanut butter but yes, I saw his point. "Well, some people had to design the chemical formula to mass product those things. You know, determine the level of fluffiness, how it tastes and feels in your mouth and then adjust the formula in function of what people want: softer, stronger, smoother etc…"
It sounded really boring. "It sounds fascinating," I said nonetheless. I didn't want to offend him so soon after our first meeting.
"What about you, Bella?" he asked. "If you're the same age as Edward, you'll enter university this year. What will you be studying?"
"I got accepted into the Beaux-Arts," I answered and I saw Edward raising his eyes to me in response as if he actually knew what that had meant. "It's an art school," I explained.
"A very prestigious art school," mom felt obligated to add and I blushed a little. "Bella is an amazing painter. I don't where she gets it."
"So you're into all that artsy stuff Edward loves so much?" Emmett asked and I couldn't help but feel a little offended.
"Yes, I'm into all that stuff. I love art and I love painting and drawing."
"What do you want to do with a degree like that?" Emmett kept on asking. "It's not like you can make a career out of selling paintings."
Okay, now I was really offended. "I don't know yet, maybe I'll do the Ecole du Louvre afterwards to work in a museum as a curator or something."
"Work in a museum for the rest of your life?" Emmett cried out almost in disgust. "I can't think of something more boring to do."
"I'm sure working benched over a desk while trying to determine the right formula for peanut butter is much more exotic and adventurous," I said venomously. "I mean, clearly, you're changing the world one peanut butter jar at the time."
"I didn't mean to offend you, Bella," Emmett started to backtrack and I saw Edward looking oddly pleased.
"In a thousand year, people will forget all about your silly peanut butter formulas! People never forget about art. Art is perennial; art stays with its civilization and carries on into the next. It may be lost but it is never forgotten. When was the last time people went into a laboratory to admire a formula? Try thinking about that the next time you think art is boring!"
After my little soliloquy, I realized that I was really thirsty and I started gulping down my wine, shaking with fury.
"I'm really sorry, Bella," Emmett apologized. "I'm a hard science guy. I don't get all of the Humanities stuff like art, music or literature. I don't understand it and it seems really uninteresting to me. I'm sorry if I offended you. I'm sure you feel the same way about chemical formulas than I do about art. I could write you a symphony about the beauty of chemistry," he finishes with a grin.
I was bit mollified by the wine and the apology and I decided to let it go. "It's okay," I mumbled. Now I felt silly for losing my temper. "It's just, people are always saying that going to art school will lead straight to unemployment and after a while, it starts rubbing the wrong way."
Emmett only nodded at me and then turned to his father to take part in his conversation with Carlisle and my parents. I turned to Edward; he was still eating his ham and his rice. He had been very quiet all evening, not even talking to my mom or Carlisle.
"What about you, Edward?" I asked. "What you going to be studying?"
"I got accepted at the University of Rochester at the Eastman School of Music," he answered in a soft-spoken voice.
"That's nice. What instrument do you play?" I inquired, very curious. Edward seemed to be more on my wavelength than Emmett.
"The piano," he answered, his eyes staring at his plate.
"Edward plays beautifully," commented my mom who had apparently been listening in our conversation. "Il m'a composé une chanson tu sais, Bella. Il l'a appelée la chanson d'Esmée, c'est magnifique!" she added in French so that Edward wouldn't understand and be embarrassed.
Edward had somehow understood we were talking about him and he looked panicked. "What did Esmée just said?" he asked me with an edge of dread in his voice.
"She was just telling me that you had written a song for her and that she thought it was really beautiful." I saw his whole face and his ears blush bright red.
"It wasn't that good," he murmured. I didn't know if he was being truthful or modest, my mom did have a tendency to be hyperbolic.
"Is that what you want to do?" I inquired again. "Composition?"
"Yes, it's my major," he answered, not really looking at me.
"Well, if you're interested, there's a music museum in Paris. It's a bit far and I've never been but I'm sure you would find it interesting," I offered.
He didn't answer; he just stared at me for a few seconds before looking at his plate again. I did not dare think that Edward was weird but he was peculiar. Obviously, he wasn't the talkative type and he didn't make an effort to sustain the conversation either. Maybe he was just tired from all the travelling. More than ten hours on a plane would make me grumpy and silent too.
Emmett who had been listening in on our conversation turned to speak to me. "Your English is really good, Bella," he complimented me. "Did you learn it in high-school?"
"Yes. I did a baccalauréat littéraire, which means that it put a very strong accent on everything literary: French, history, philosophy and the languages. We had five hours per week and I go and visit my mother often enough so it helps with the accent," I explained. "I try to read a lot in English too and I only watch movies and TV shows in version originale."
"My dad speaks really good French," Emmett told me. "He started to learn the day he met Esmée and now look at him, speaking with your dad."
I listened in on Carlisle and my dad's conversation and indeed, Carlisle's French was really good even if it was quite accented. I didn't mind the accent; it was all kinds of cute and sexy. Most people usually understood better than they spoke but that was obviously not the case for Carlisle. "Maybe he can teach my dad English and my dad will teach him some more French,' I joked.
"Maybe you'll teach me some French," Emmett said with a smile. Was he flirting with me? God, I hoped so. Even if was completely disinterested in art, he was very good-looking and very engaging.
"Why not," I flirted back. "But you'll have to be a very disciplined student if you really want to learn," I warned lightly in my best teacher voice.
I heard Edward's fork and knife clatter on his plate when he abruptly stood up. "May I please be excused?" Edward asked very formally. "I'm really tired and I'd like to go to bed."
My mom and Carlisle immediately excused him and he headed to his room, stumbling on the heavy carpet once again.
"Please excuse him," Carlisle said with a sigh, "he's really introverted and he doesn't deal well with meeting new people. It should get better in a few days."
"The only thing he knows how to communicate with is his piano", quipped Emmett with a smile.
"Quel dommage," mom said looking right at me. "He's such a handsome young man, isn't he?"
I didn't know why she was telling me this or whether she expected me to agree with her but it was indeed a shame that Edward was so withdrawn. I would have loved for him to tell me more about his music.
After a while and some dessert, the conversation started to dwindle down. Everyone was exhausted and we told each other good night before retiring to our respective rooms.
I changed into my night clothes which only consisted of a big and loose t-shirt and panties before going to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I was nearly done and spitting in the sink when the door opened brusquely, no knock, no nothing.
It was Edward. He obviously didn't expect anyone to be in here because when he saw me, he stepped back so fast his head hit the door behind him with a crack.
"Are you okay?" I asked concerned he might have a bump or worse that he could be bleeding.
"Yes," he groaned. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know you'd be in there, I promise." He was trying very hard not to look at me but he was failing completely. I had no bra on and my t-shirt stopped very short on my thighs.
"It's okay," I reassured him. "There's only one bathroom in this apartment, it was bound to happen. Did you need something?"
"I just wanted to wash my face," he said looking down at the tiles on the floor. "It's really hot in my room." He was dressed very conservatively in a t-shirt and some soft looking pants. I had a mind to tell him to remove the pants but feared he might self-combust by blushing.
"Yeah, very few people have AC in France," I explained. "You'll get used to it, I promise. Open a window, don't worry about the mosquitoes, there aren't any." Edward made his way to the sink and I was getting ready to leave when he put his hand on my arm. I felt an electric current run through me. His hand was warm and a bit clammy but strangely, it felt nice.
He removed his hand from my skin only after a few seconds. "Could you give me the Wi-Fi code for your apartment, please?" he asked in a small voice. Had he waited that long to dare venture out of his room and ask me that? Would he have even dared ask someone if he hadn't met me by chance in the bathroom?
"Hum, sure, it's bcswanvoltaire3," I told him. "Do you know how to spell Voltaire?" I wanted to make sure.
"Like the writer right?" he asked for confirmation. Well at least he didn't say like the clothing brand.
"Yes. It's also the name of the street we live on. You know, Boulevard Voltaire," I explained.
A gleam of understanding came into his eyes. "Oh, I get it. Bella and Charlie Swan, boulevard Voltaire, third floor." His cute American accent had spread a curious warmth in my lower belly and had made my heart skip a beat.
"Good night, Edward," I told him.
"Good night, Bella," he repeated in his gentle voice.
I closed the bathroom door and went back to my room. No way would I fall asleep now; I was wide awake and couldn't stop thinking about Edward and his hand. I was such a crazy, hormonal teenager… I took my new computer to bed with me and surfed the web until I could feel my eyes closing on their own.
AN: Comments, questions, concerns? Let me know. Leave me a review if you enjoyed it, it would make my day!
Now, for the French lexicon:
A religieuse, literally is a nun, but in this context, it's a delicious French pastry: it's made with cream puff (the same dough used in éclairs), filled with pastry cream and glazed with whatever flavor used in the filling. It's delicious. Google it.
An escargot, literally is a snail, but it's also a pastry made of croissant dough shaped like a snail, usually with raisins or chocolate chips in it.
The baccalauréat is the very important exam at the end of the senior year of high-school in France. You have to have it in order to go to university so it's a pretty big deal. There are three different types of bac: literary, scientific and economic. You choose one according to your strengths and what you want to do later on (it'll be much harder to go to med school with a literary bac than it would be with a scientific one).
