UNDER GLASS
Summary: Edward was facing financial ruin, when he received a call from his reclusive Uncle Aro who he hadn't seen since childhood. His uncle is dying and wants to leave his only nephew his fortune, but is the price tag too high? Rated M
This was my donation piece for No Kid Hungry. I hope you enjoy!
My undying gratitude goes to MarchHare5 for working so hard to help me bring my dark, twisted idea to fruition. Thanks also to Seraphslastkiss and Katie-Pocket for prereading.
Banner by the wonderfully talented Ysar.
Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyers owns all things Twilight.
Song: Colorblind by Counting Crows
"Thank you, Mr. Cullen. If you'll follow the drive to the right it will take you directly to the house. You're expected, so Mr. Volturi's personal assistant, Demetri, will be waiting for your arrival."
The guard returned my driver's license and acknowledged whoever was speaking into his Bluetooth that he was opening the gate and I should arrive in less than three minutes. I snorted in response and rolled my eyes at the elaborate security measures my uncle had taken to ensure his complete privacy—everything from the high walls, two armed security guards that patrolled the gate with four of the meanest looking hounds from Hell I'd ever laid eyes on, even going so far as to specify exactly how long it would take to get from the gate to the front door to prevent detours or dallying in between.
I drove my rental car along the winding, paved road past immaculate, manicured grounds that would put any public park or garden to shame. I spotted a couple of armed guards patrolling the grounds, each with their own snarling dog on a leash.
As I rounded the last curve the villa—fuck that—the castle came into view. I'd expected a mansion that showed off how wealthy he was, but a castle? It was like something out of the Middle Ages. All that was lacking was a damp mist in the air, fairies or nymphs playing hide and seek behind the shrubbery, and armored knights keeping watch from the battlements, and the image would be complete.
"Who builds a fucking castle?" I mumbled, shaking my head. "Dad was right; he's a complete loon." Yet I couldn't prevent the slight tug at the corner of my mouth and how it called to the romantic inside me. It was something I guarded closely as it didn't belong in the world of finance, but I could imagine the joy my uncle received at knowing he truly was the king of his castle.
We should all be so lucky.
I pulled into the circular drive, a man in a black suit, presumably Demetri, was standing on the step. He waited for me silently while I took in the view. The castle stood three stories, complete with stone gargoyles keeping watch against intruders and a high, central turret loomed above.
Raising my hand to shade my eyes against the bright sun, I squinted up at the windows near the top and saw a figure walk past the glass. I couldn't tell if it were a man or woman, but I imagined a virginal maiden from some childish fairytale trapped in the highest tower by an evil dragon, waiting to be rescued by Prince Charming.
"Mr. Cullen. If you wouldn't mind coming with me please, I'll see you settled into your rooms. Your uncle sends his regrets that he is unable to meet you himself, but his doctor is with him right now. He will join you for dinner this evening."
Demetri drew my attention away from my overactive imagination, and grabbing my bag from the trunk, I followed him inside.
"So how is he?" I asked.
"He has good days and bad days, but he'll explain more himself at dinner. He prefers formal dress for dinner. A suit is hanging in the closet if you didn't bring suitable attire."
He left me in my suite to get settled, and I had nothing else to do but sit and wait to be summoned for dinner in an hour. I still wasn't even sure why I'd been invited. I'd only met him a few times when I was a kid. He was my father's older brother from my grandmother's first marriage. He was fifteen years older than my father, so they hadn't been close growing up. He'd taken the inheritance his father had left him and moved to Italy as soon as he graduated from college.
Even so, he'd been my idol growing up. His father had been a wealthy man, and he'd used his inheritance to start his own investment firm. He was now at the top of the Forbes Richest People list, rubbing elbows with the likes of Bill Gates and Warren Buffett.
My parents were wealthy in their own right. My grandfather had been an executive with Ford Motor, my father was Chief of Staff of the largest hospital in Chicago, and my mother a well-known interior designer. Compared to my uncle, though, we were poor as church mice.
I'd worked hard in school, graduating at the top of my class with honors at Harvard. I had dreams of making a name for myself and hoped my uncle's Midas touch might have been passed down to me. I began on Wall Street, learning the ropes and working my way up in a prestigious brokerage house before setting out on my own.
I'd done well for myself, and things were looking like my feet were set on the path of gold when the economy tanked, along with half my investments. Now at thirty-two years old, I stood to lose it all: my company, my Fifth Avenue apartment, and my pride and joy—an Aston Martin V12 Vantage—if something didn't turn around for me very soon.
I took a shower and dressed in the black Armani suit that had been left for me. It was as close to a perfect fit as my own tailored suits hanging in my closet back in New York, and I wondered how he'd known my size. I straightened my tie and gave up trying to tame my unruly hair.
I left my room and headed downstairs, where a servant directed me to the study to wait for my uncle. Sniffing the contents of several crystal decanters sitting on the sideboard near the doorway, I poured a glass of Scotch to sip on while I waited. The room was cozy with its heavy fabrics, dark wood and leather furnishings, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. It conjured the image of powerful moguls of industry smoking cigars while plotting corporate takeovers, and I wondered how many rich and powerful men had stood in this very room over the years.
Wandering over to the fireplace, I studied the painting hanging above the mantle. I'd taken an art history class my freshman year of college, thinking it would give me an easy A to improve my GPA, only to learn art history was not easy. I barely pulled a B- when the semester ended, but I recognized the Monet painting—it had supposedly been destroyed in a fire at a French museum twenty years earlier, along with two paintings by Van Gogh and a sculpture by Michelangelo.
Hearing footsteps outside the door, I went to see if my uncle had come down, only to find Demetri coming from the opposite direction, following a servant carrying a serving tray laden with a drink and a plate covered by a silver dome.
"Is my uncle not feeling well enough to come down after all?" I asked, pointing to the servant climbing the stairs.
He paused, turning to address me. "Your uncle will join you in a few minutes if you'd like to take your drink into the dining room to wait," he assured me, gesturing to the doorway he'd obviously come from. "If you'll excuse me."
He nodded, and then followed the servant upstairs to the third floor before they disappeared down the hall.
I was lost in thought for several minutes, wondering if the tray were for the mysterious person in the turret. The servant's return on the stairs halted my musings as he disappeared back through the doorway he'd come from earlier. Just then the whirring sound of the home elevator behind the staircase indicated it was in use and descending. The doors opened, and I got my first glimpse in years of my reclusive uncle.
My memories and imagination were completely wrong.
I remembered him being larger than life, but then most grown-ups appeared that way to a child. He'd been as tall as my own father and carried wealth like a second skin so that even my young mind recognized power when I saw him. Forbes magazine had run a photo for their article on the richest people in the world a few months back, but it evidently hadn't been a recent one. That photograph had shown a man still capable of crushing opposition and commanding his empire.
I was quick to snap my mouth shut before he or Demetri, who pushed his wheelchair, caught me gaping at the frail man he'd become. His once thick, black hair had thinned and now hung lifeless around his gaunt face. Dark shadows under his eyes made them look bruised, the only color in his pasty, white flesh. He pulled the oxygen mask from his face with a hand that shook for the effort.
"You can stop gaping like a fish out of water, boy." His voice belied his weakened appearance; though it was gravelly and obviously took effort for him to speak if the wheeze coming from his lungs were any indication, it still demanded immediate compliance.
Clearing my throat and squaring my shoulders, I stepped forward to shake his hand, fighting the revulsion I felt when his cold, boney fingers clasped mine; the touch brought to mind something unholy and dead. "Uncle Aro. Please forgive me, I didn't know—I didn't expect—"
His harsh cackle cut off my poorly attempted apology. "My dying is nobody's business but my own, so of course you didn't know. Now you do."
"Mr. Volturi, dinner is ready if you'd like to continue your discussion with your nephew in the dining room," Demetri reminded him, glaring at me in disapproval for delaying his schedule. "The doctor said—"
Uncle Aro waved his hand dismissively, cutting off Demetri's concern. "Eating at a set time is not going to prolong my life one minute beyond when the Devil wants me, but if it makes you feel better, then by all means."
Over an uncomfortable dinner Aro quizzed me on my business, letting me know in no uncertain terms that he was well aware of my failure and just how close to bankruptcy I was. He snorted his contempt over news of my parents still living in happily wedded bliss, making me a little defensive. Just because he'd never married didn't mean my father was any less of a man because he loved my mother.
To my mind it made him more so. My father met my mother when he was a resident at the hospital. She'd been horribly beaten and left for dead by an abusive boyfriend on the sidewalk in front of the emergency room. My father was just coming on shift when he found her, and he claimed it was love at first sight for him. My mother took longer to fall in love, unwilling to give her trust again so readily.
It had worked out for them, and they were still very much in love with one another. Witnessing that kind of love and devotion growing up made me yearn for my own fairytale of being someone's White Knight.
"Carlisle always was a romantic fool, but your mother is one of the few gems in this world worth a man losing his head over. If I'd seen Esme Platt first, I would have snatched her right from under his nose and whisked her away," he chuckled, though the sound was anything but pleasant. It was a sound filled with sour grapes. He took a sip of his red wine and his eyes took on a distant look. The scrape of my fork on my plate seemed to draw him out of whatever memory he was living and he shook his head. "A rare treasure indeed."
Hearing his thoughts about my mother surprised me. I knew my father was still as crazy about her today as he was when they first met, but I'd never known Aro was equally infatuated with her. I wondered if my father knew and if that had caused the rift between the brothers.
"Yes, well… I guess we can't all be that lucky," I offered. I wanted to change the subject from the uncomfortable direction it had taken, so I brought up the painting in the study. "I thought that particular Monet was destroyed. It doesn't look like a reproduction."
He leaned back and eyed me speculatively before answering. "Recognized it, did you?"
"Well, yes. I took art history in college for a semester. I don't know why I remembered the story. There were a couple of other paintings and a sculpture destroyed in the same fire, weren't there?"
He nodded thoughtfully, still eyeing me. "And what if they weren't?"
I didn't understand his interest in my thoughts on art that no longer existed, but answered the best way I could. "It doesn't matter to me one way or the other. They're gone."
"And if they weren't? Gone, that is? What then?" he prodded.
I shook my head in confusion and tossed my napkin on the table. "I'm sorry, Uncle. Perhaps I'm tired from my flight, but I don't understand your question."
He stared at me a moment, seeming to come to some conclusion, and then gestured for Demetri to come assist him, pushing his chair back from the table.
"Come with me. I want to show you something."
I followed them out of the dining room to the elevator, where Demetri produced a key, sliding it into the panel and pressing a button. We began descending instead of going up. After a moment the doors opened, and I followed them to a locked vault. Aro punched a code into the hidden panel that was revealed with another key Demetri produced, and then Demetri opened the heavy door.
My mouth gaped at the interior. Priceless works of art that belonged in museums hung on the walls, and several sculptures were dotted around the large room. Rich, leather wingback chairs were strategically placed throughout the room, so that no matter where a person sat, they could enjoy several pieces of art simultaneously.
One painting in particular caught my eye, so I walked over to look at it more closely. It was one of the Van Gogh pieces supposedly destroyed along with the Monet hanging in the study. Tidbits of information started coming back to me from my class about how the fire had been blamed on arson. Looking around the room, I recognized another painting that had been reported stolen from a museum in Manhattan just a few years ago. It had made front page news at the time because it was a recent acquisition to the museum and they'd been very excited about the donation.
I turned back to where Aro was watching me, a slight smile playing at his mouth. Demetri, on the other hand, was scowling behind him, obviously not happy that I'd been shown my uncle's secret. It stroked my ego that I'd been entrusted with knowledge that would get my uncle thrown in prison.
"You're an art thief," I laughed, completely blown away by the image of this frail man masterminding crimes around the world that to this day hadn't been solved.
"That's where you're wrong, boy," he snapped angrily. He held the oxygen mask up to his face, taking several long breaths. In my surprise I'd forgotten his failing health. He batted Demetri away when he tried to assist him and then pinned me with his black gaze. "I am a collector."
I shrugged. "Thief. Collector. What's the difference? Either way, you stole these items from their rightful owners."
"Rightful owners? Bah! Those imbeciles can't appreciate the rare talent behind the artists that created these works. They don't understand the heart and soul that goes into these masterpieces. I do!"
He gestured for Demetri to take us back upstairs, and I spent the rest of the evening listening to my uncle explain the differences between a thief and a collector to me. What it boiled down to in his mind was he didn't sell his rare treasures; he kept them to himself. They were private, for his enjoyment only.
It was late when his strength finally failed, and he allowed Demetri to take him to his room.
"Think on what I've said and ask yourself if you're someone who can appreciate a rare find when you see it. Are you someone capable of holding onto that treasure and guarding it against those who would take it from you, Edward? I've only got a short time left, and I need to find someone to leave my treasures with. I won't have my collection broken up and given to museums just so some middle-class family who thinks velvet paintings of Elvis or dogs playing poker qualify as art can ogle it. I'll see it all destroyed myself first."
Just before the elevator doors closed he left me with a parting shot. "When you know if you're that person I can depend on, I'll show you the crown jewel in my collection." He pointed his boney finger at me, a smug grin spread across his sallow face. "You'd be untouchable with more riches than even you could imagine, so think wisely on my offer."
Over the following weeks I was left on my own to wander the castle, learning its history and legends, giving fuel to my fanciful thoughts of knights in shining armor and evil dragons. The fortress had fallen to ruin from wars and neglect, just a mass of crumbling stone until my uncle had restored it to its former glory. It made me wonder if he'd dreamed of bringing home his own bride to his castle when he'd begun the painstaking and costly endeavor.
Several times I observed Demetri following a servant with the same silver tray to the third floor, where they would disappear. In my wanderings I'd never met or heard word of the mysterious resident who required trays to be carried to them. My initial conclusion that it was my uncle didn't seem plausible since the trays were also taken upstairs on evenings when his health allowed him to join me for dinner.
When I asked, my uncle's eyes would gleam with some secret about which only he knew before changing the subject back to telling me more about the many treasures he owned.
Forbes was incorrect. My uncle wasn't one of the richest men in the world; he was the richest man in the world. His art collection alone outshone most museums. It had taken a lifetime for him to acquire the pieces, and I had to admit the idea of being the owner of so much treasure held a certain appeal.
My parents would never approve if they knew what I was being offered. They followed the straight and narrow and would be horrified if they learned just how seriously I was contemplating agreeing to my uncle's terms. There was just something about knowing you owned these rare treasures that gave a person a feeling of power and being untouchable. Just imagining it was all mine made me feel like a god.
It was a heady feeling I was beginning to like.
Three weeks after receiving my uncle's offer, I was coming in from a stroll around the grounds when Demetri met me at the bottom of the stairs, halting me.
"Your uncle would like you to join him," he stated, extending his hand to the stairs.
My brow wrinkled in confusion; I never saw Aro in the afternoons… or Demetri for that matter.
"Is he alright? Has he gotten worse?"
Demetri shook his head. "No, he's the same. He has requested your presence. He'll explain himself."
I followed him to the third floor, a sense of anticipation filling me, and I wondered if I was finally going to meet the castle's mysterious resident. We paused before a door at the end of the corridor where Demetri produced the key and opened it, gesturing for me to go ahead of him. It had looked like any ordinary wooden door when we'd approached, but after stepping through I recognized the illusion for what it was. It was solid wood backed with three-inch steel, a security camera trained on the entrance hiding another staircase, and I realized it must go to the turret.
As I climbed the narrow, winding stairs illuminated solely by evenly-spaced wall sconces, a vibration against the interior wall of the stairwell told me there was also a second elevator in the house. I looked back at Demetri with a raised eyebrow.
"It's only accessible from your uncle's suite and goes to the tower," he responded vaguely.
I mulled over that tidbit, trying to guess what was so special to be completely hidden away from the world. The thought came to me just as we stepped onto the landing at the top where my uncle sat waiting for us in his wheelchair, that same secretive gleam dancing in his eyes. I was about to see this crown jewel he had been hinting at since I'd arrived.
"Well, Edward, what is your decision?" His voice was raspy, barely intelligible. I didn't think he had more than a few weeks left. His oxygen mask stayed on almost constantly now to help him breathe. "Are you my man? If not, Demetri will book your flight back to the States, and you can leave tonight."
The time had come for me to decide which path I'd choose. I'd thought long and hard about his offer over the last couple of weeks. While instinctively I knew my uncle's convictions were wrong—immoral, even—power was addictive and had a unique flavor, one that I was only now beginning to appreciate. And here I was being offered the whole meal. I'd never have to settle for crumbs again. Powerful, rich men would pursue me instead of the other way around.
I could have it all.
I was looking at my uncle, only now I knew whom I was really seeing—the Devil. He was dangling the temptation of gold and riches, power and influence. My next words would seal my fate. Was I ready to sell my soul for baubles and gold?
Yes.
I licked my dry lips and took a breath. "I want it all."
He grinned, and for a moment I imagined I saw the fires of Hell dancing in his eyes.
"Demetri, have Jenks come after dinner to finalize my will."
He turned his wheelchair toward the only other door on the landing. Flipping open a cover on what appeared to be an alarm panel beside the door he entered a security code into the keypad, then used a key from the ring he carried to unlock the door. He picked up a remote control device he had in his lap and soft, classical music began from somewhere nearby. His black gaze flicked back to me. "Would you like to meet my beauty? You must be very quiet, though, so you don't startle her."
My eyes narrowed in confusion as I tried to process what he was saying. I couldn't think of a single art medium that responded to sound. I didn't have time to come to any conclusion before he unlocked the door and the music became louder, obviously coming from the interior. I followed Aro into the dim room, keeping his words in mind. It was set up like a viewing room with a large, glass wall to our right and a tall, throne-like chair on a raised dais facing the glass.
Demetri pulled Aro's wheelchair up onto the dais beside the throne he'd probably sat in before becoming wheelchair-bound. The sound of flutes and violins drifted through the speakers set in the walls, playing some lighthearted classical piece which conjured the image of fairies dancing in a meadow. Aro gestured to the throne for me to sit.
"May as well get a feel for it since it will all be yours soon," he croaked, quietly.
Sitting hesitantly, I draped my hands over the wooden arms, noticing what appeared to be a control panel for the sound system set into the right armrest. I shifted, trying to get comfortable on the velvet seat when movement beyond the glass wall caught my attention.
I nearly swallowed my tongue, stunned at the sight before us. In all my imagination, I never dreamed this was what my uncle was hiding. My jaw hung open, and I turned to my uncle, horrified. His focus was solely on the glass, ignoring me and Demetri. I looked to Demetri, who was watching my reaction, waiting for me to bolt out the door, I was sure. He lowered his arms from where they were crossed over his chest, silently pulling back his blazer to reveal the gun he carried, watching for my next move. I closed my mouth and nodded my head slightly, letting him know I understood the message. If I did anything, I wouldn't live to see another day.
Swallowing my horror, I settled uncomfortably against the high back on Aro's—now my throne—and watched. The music that was playing drifted over me, and letting the soft strains help settle my nerves, I focused on breathing. Her movements were flawless as she spun around the room. Mirrors lined the other three walls so no matter where I looked, her image was reflected back to me.
She was a dancer in a music box.
The music ended and then another melody began; this one more upbeat and requiring even more energy from her.
"I saw her for the first time three years ago in London," Aro explained quietly, mindful of his own rule not to disturb her, and I wondered if she could hear us if someone called out. "She was in a tiny dance troupe, but had captured the attention of the Royal Family and was fast becoming a favorite in the dance world." He went on to explain her background; she was actually American, from a small town in Washington, and had attended Julliard. She left school at seventeen when she received the offer to join the London troupe. "I knew the moment I saw her dance that she was perfection. Wouldn't you agree?"
I had to admit I knew nothing of dance, other than what went on in nightclubs, let alone ballet. I'd never gotten into the world of opera and ballet, but even my ignorant eye recognized her talent. Aro was right; she was magnificent—extraordinary even. I had yet to get a good look at her face since she performed most of her moves with her back to the glass wall, and I had to wonder if it were deliberate. I couldn't help but smile at the tenacity she must possess to tweak the old bastard in such a way. If the reflection I saw in the mirrors were to be believed then beauty didn't begin to describe her.
There was something ethereal about her, as though she were an angel that had fallen to earth, only to become ensnared in a gilded cage. The thought made me ill, but I had to ask.
"Did you kidnap her?"
Aro's eyes never left the glass, but I saw the smirk that played at the corner of his mouth.
"Kidnap is an ugly word, one that implies intent to do harm or hold for ransom. I intend neither. I've merely acquired an exquisite piece to top off my collection. I thought you understood my motivations, Edward. I value rare items and hold them in high esteem. I protect them and cherish them. Others can't begin to appreciate my Isabella the way I do—the way you will."
I shot up from my seat, sickened by his implication. "I won't be party to kidnapping. It's one thing to hang onto your art collection, but this—" I gestured to the beautiful girl. "This is vile even for you, and I want no part of it."
Demetri's hand went to his weapon, only to pause when Aro raised his hand to stop him. "That's quite alright, Demetri. My nephew is merely overwhelmed by his responsibility to my collection. If he is unable to handle the inheritance I'm offering him, then you'll follow your orders to destroy my collection so that it doesn't fall into the hands of anyone else."
Demetri squared his shoulders and his jaw set, a grim determination settling in his eyes. "Of course, sir. I'll see to it personally that everything is destroyed."
I looked between the two of them, feeling like I'd stepped into some twisted horror film "You can't mean… Surely you'd let her go?"
He faced me, and I saw the insanity clearly in his eyes. He truly didn't see anything wrong with having kidnapped a young girl and holding her prisoner in a gilded cage or having her murdered when he died just so no one else could ever see her dance. "I told you, Edward, I won't allow my collection to go to others who don't appreciate their true worth. That includes Isabella. She is a part of that collection." He shifted his attention back to the glass, and I realized the music had faded. He clapped his feeble hands and cooed. "Ah, Isabella, you never fail to impress me. You are truly exquisite."
I saw the brief shudder in her shoulders at his words and knew she feared my uncle, and with good reason. The girl—Isabella, he'd said was her name—stood in the center of the room, her chest rising and falling quickly from the exertion of her dancing, tendrils of soft, brown hair having escaped the bun on top of her head and hanging around her face. Even standing still she was beautiful, and I couldn't bear knowing what my uncle intended for her.
"I'll keep my word and watch over your collection." At his raised eyebrow, I knew what he was asking. "All of your collection."
"Not mine any longer, Edward. It's yours now. Cherish it and treat it well." He turned back to the glass. "Isabella, I'd like for you to meet someone. Come forward, please."
Her chin tilted a little higher. She knew we were here discussing his plans to murder her if I didn't step up, and she also heard my promise to continue to keep her imprisoned here. I vowed silently to find a way to save her and set her free after Aro died.
Over the next month I spent my afternoons in the observation room in the tower, watching Bella—as I'd come to call her, for she truly was beautiful—dance every afternoon, though I refused to sit on that throne again. Doing so implied I really was okay with keeping her prisoner forever. Aro came with me each day until his health took a turn for the worse and he could no longer get out of his bed. Demetri had educated me on her routine and care. The doctor that oversaw my uncle's care was also entrusted with Bella's health. The servants who brought her meals and cleaned her room were completely trustworthy. No one else was aware of her existence in the tower.
I spoke to her briefly each day so she'd become comfortable with my presence in her life, each time silently vowing to set her free at the earliest opportunity. Once my uncle could no longer make the journey to the tower, I'd forbidden Demetri from entering the observation room with me. I didn't want him interfering in my time with Bella, and since he technically worked for me now, he had to follow my orders.
"Bella, you don't have to dance for me," I explained the first day we were alone. "I'm horrified by what my uncle has put you through. I promise I'll free you just as soon as he's dead."
I gestured for her to join me in front of the glass where I sat on the ground in an attempt to appear non-threatening. Demetri might follow my orders and give me privacy with Bella, but he also held the key to her cage, not deeming me completely trustworthy yet. She approached cautiously; her eyes filled with suspicion, but refused to sit.
I gestured to the floor again. "Please," I asked. This time she slowly sank to her knees before me, and her eyes filled with tears.
"Why?"
That one word held so much anguish and fear I knew I had to save her. "I'm not my uncle. I don't condone his actions to keep you a prisoner. If I could, I'd free you today. But I can't until he dies. It shouldn't be much longer; he's fully bedridden now."
"What about Demetri?" she asked. A shudder went through her, and her eyes took on a haunted look, making me wonder what she was remembering.
I hadn't given Demetri's involvement much thought beyond my uncle's death. I supposed I could always dismiss him if necessary. "If I have to, then I'll fire him. No one will stop me from saving you," I vowed. I'd never been this rash before, but for her—for my Bella—I would slay the fiercest dragon to set her free.
Each day we grew closer, as she told me more about her life before becoming trapped in her gilded cage. I learned her likes and dislikes in food, music, even literature. It had taken some serious coaxing to get her to open up. She didn't trust me and had no reason to, but I'd slowly begun earning that trust.
I'd gotten to know Bella over the weeks we'd spent together, and I believed our budding friendship had grown into something deeper. I refused to tell her I'd fallen in love with her while the glass stood between us. The first time we declared those feelings for one another I wanted to hold her in my arms and feel her lips against mine. I knew she felt the connection we shared; I could see it in those deep brown eyes each time she looked at me.
"Bella, I promise my only motive is to make your stay as pleasant as I possibly can," I promised. "The doctor has said Aro won't live out the day. Then I'll be able to get you out of here."
"I want to believe you," she whispered. Her fingers pressed against the glass where my own hand rested. "It's been so long since I've had hope. I'm afraid."
Soft, classical music—Debussy—played over the speakers. It was one of her favorite pieces. I'd been surprised when she asked me to turn it on due to the connection between music and Uncle Aro's demands on her. The sound system had only ever been turned on when Aro came to watch her dance. My uncle had only seen her as an object—a spectacular work of art—not as a human being with feelings or needs.
It was one of the reasons she loved me. I saw the beautiful girl, not just the dancer and I knew her,where my uncle never had. I had wanted to show her I was different from Aro, so I never turned on the music unless she asked. When all this was over and behind us, dancing would always be her choice.
"It won't be for much longer—just a few days at the most until everything is finalized and I can do something about Demetri," I assured her. "He's the biggest obstacle we face."
Her eyes took on a dreamy quality. "It's been so long since I've felt the sun on my skin. I want to lie on a beach somewhere and just soak up the sun until my skin turns pink. Then I want to go to a sidewalk café and drink coffee with lots of cream and sugar, eat a giant double chocolate chip cookie and just people-watch for hours." She sighed, wrapping her arms tightly around her middle, choking on a sob. "I've been trapped here for almost three years now. So much is going to be different when I get home," she whispered mournfully. "I'm afraid he will have given up after all this time."
"Bella, your father loves you, so of course he'd continue to hold out hope that you'd be found one day. That's what any good parent does, and your father's a police chief. That would make him even more determined not to give up, even if it was hopeless."
Her eyes closed against the painful reminder that there hadn't been any hope of her being found as long as Aro kept her hidden in her cage. "I just want to go home."
"Do you think your father will approve of me?" I asked, imagining their reunion and Bella introducing me to her father as her knight in shining armor. She'd told me he loved to fish. I hadn't fished a day in my life and didn't know the first thing about it. "You know I don't know anything about fishing. What would I talk to him about?"
She leaned away from the glass and scrunched up her face in question. She was so adorable when she did that, and I fell a little more in love with her.
"Why would you need to know how to fish? It's not like you'd have a reason to ever meet him, Edward." She shrugged, raising her hands before dropping them in her lap again. "I mean, it's sweet and all that you'd want to, but really I just want to put this whole ordeal behind me and pretend it never happened. I want Jacob to hold me until this becomes nothing more than a bad dream.
"Jacob? I thought your dad's name was Charlie?" I asked, confused.
"It is. Jacob is my fiancé. We were supposed to be married by now." I was blinded by the incredible expression of love that suddenly shone in her eyes. "I love him so much. I was ready to give up all hope of ever seeing him again until you came along. Thank you so much, Edward. I'll never be able to repay you for what you're doing." She gazed at me with those wide, beautiful, brown eyes filled with…gratitude.
Pain pierced my heart at her words, and I realized all our talks had meant more to me than they did to her. I'd done everything to make her life more bearable in her gilded cage. I'd opened my heart to her and dreamed of our life together once we left this stone fortress and the whole time she'd been dreaming of being reunited with another man—a man who had probably forgotten about her and moved on by now. Even as I voiced the thought to myself I knew better. No man would willingly give up the hope of having Bella in their life. Every other woman would pale in comparison.
I was wrong in my assumption that she could want to spend time with me once I set her free. Of course she'd lump me in with the nightmare my uncle had made of her life, even though I'd had nothing to do with her kidnapping or imprisonment. I'd only known her a short time.
"No, of course not," I laughed, though it sounded harsh to my own ears. "It was a ridiculous notion. I need to check on Aro, but I'll be back tomorrow. Have a pleasant evening. I hope you enjoy your novel."
I stepped away from the glass and spun on my heel, leaving the observation room swiftly. Demetri was waiting for me downstairs when I locked the door to the tower, shoving the keys into my pocket.
"What?" I snapped. I was angry at myself for being so naïve to think Bella would see me as her White Knight.
"Your uncle passed away just a few moments ago. I thought you'd like to know. My condolences."
The air rushed out of me as everything became very real. Aro was dead. He'd left me his sole heir to his entire fortune—other than a few bequeaths to Demetri and several loyal staff members—and his collection. I turned back to look at the closed door and thought of Bella in her gilded cage at the top of the stairs.
"I guess we have arrangements to make then."
"Edward, what's happening? It's been a month since the funeral. Why won't you let me out now?"
Every day she asked the same questions.
"I'm sorry, but I have to be careful so Demetri doesn't become suspicious. I'm trying to make arrangements for you for when you leave, but until my uncle's will clears the courts I can't touch any of his money."
She sighed dejectedly and slumped against the glass. I stayed a few feet back, no longer willing to stand too near. It wouldn't do to be so close to her, knowing she didn't feel the same way about me as I felt about her.
"I wish I could make things move faster for you, but my hands are tied. I lost everything when my company went under, so I don't have the means to do it on my own."
She shook her head without raising it. "No, I understand," she offered quietly. "I just—I'm so close to going home and it's hard not being able to leave." She finally looked up, and I was captured by her soft, brown eyes again. "Could you at least let me out of here? I don't understand why you can't do that."
I offered her a sad smile filled with sincere regret. "I told you yesterday; I don't have the key to the door to your suite. Demetri has it."
She pounded her fist against the glass and screamed her frustration, tugging at her hair. "I'm going crazy in here, Edward! I don't know what to do."
I shuffled my feet, my heel bumping into the dais. I hadn't realized each day since she broke my heart I'd been moving farther away from the glass and closer to Aro's—my—throne. It was like my body had already made the decision my conscience had been warring with since I first set foot in the tower.
I eased my body down onto the soft padded seat, pulling the ring of keys from my pocket to set beside me and leaned against the high back. It wasn't as unpleasant as I'd first believed. It was actually very nice—not as nice as the leather interior of my new Rolls Royce Phantom that had been delivered just this morning, but still very comfortable. I thumbed the electronic pad on the right armrest that operated the sound system, turning it on and pressed play. The first strains of Swan Lake filled the air.
Bella's head flew up, and she stared at me with wide eyes, sucking in her breath.
"Edward?" she whispered.
"Dance for me, Isabella."
End note: I know I've been absent for a while. Real life is keeping me running non-stop this summer. My middle daughter is getting married and my baby is leaving for college—both in August.
I appreciate your patience. Everything will go back to normal after mid-August. I have been working on CAM & LOMO when time permits me to get a few words down so I'm hoping to have a chapter for both up shortly after my "empty nest" meltdown I'm sure I will have.
Take care! Mic