Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight. And while it has probably grossed enough to buy out the Queen of England, I'm pretty sure I don't want to.
Hello, my friends. This is another fanfic. Yes, another one. It's cliche, because, well, it's Twilight. It just has to be cliche, and that's that. I thank you for reading this, for giving my humble story a chance. And why am I so polite and detached about this? Well, it probably has something to do with the fact that I'm not obsessed with Twilight anymore. In fact, it's lost its appeal completely. But that's okay, because when I started this, I was told it was good, so I owe it to myself and to everyone else to put this up, because I worked like Hell on it. Kay? Well, have fun reading. Here's Umbrella's debut.
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Chapter One
The London Rain
"Alright, students," Professor Callahan barked, "we're done for today!" And then, heaving a sigh, he snapped his big, intimidating black binder shut. Inside it undoubtedly laid a brochure wonderland, lesson plans, and, most importantly, our grades. I gulped nervously. Callahan was a wild card. You could never be sure about what horrible, horrible things that grade book of his held. So many of my now-graduated friends had learned this the hard way.
"You don't have to go home," he continued, screaming over the dull chatter that was my class, "but you can't stay here! Now, scatter, my pets, scatter!" I sighed, bringing a well-deserved slap to my forehead as my college professor continued to make a fool of himself.
The boy behind me, too, seemed peeved at the Professor's outbursts. "This is public property, sir," he muttered bitterly. That was Eric Yorkie, one of my classmates that actually managed to be geekier than his name suggested, and he was standing… right behind me. Literally. Somehow, I brought myself to shake my head in mild amusement and glance around Hyde Park aimlessly. By now, my classmates had swarmed off in different directions, heading to what they had claimed as their local hangouts.
As I was left - mostly - alone, shivers ran down my spine; I could feel Eric's hot breath wafting against the back of my neck. Just… too close. Really, I needed my personal bubble. My personal bubble was my prized possession, and Eric… well, he was bursting it quite easily. He was… the stalker type. That was pretty much his personality description. Too close, too creepy, too fixated. I, unfortunately, found myself as the object of his obsession. Oh, how I have horrible, horrible luck…
Rather than succumb to the eeriness, I grasped onto my umbrella tightly, watching the raindrops form streams as they trickled off the top of my small, rather ratty black umbrella. They fell to the sidewalk with tiny splashes that left my suede boots ruined, and my feet within in damp, cold, and probably edging towards a dark shade of blue.
And as I was absorbed by the discomfort of my shoes, Alice, my best friend in the world and the one who had forced me into said shoes, trotted over to my side. It couldn't be called a trot, really. She glided, she floated, she danced across the ground, like a graceful swan. Me, I stumbled, tripped, traipsed drunkenly across the ground on my better days. I made the tiny girl beside me look so much better, if she even needed that. Alice Brandon was a gorgeous, tiny, cute thing with short, spiky black hair, giant, knowing silver eyes, and pixie-like features that gave her the appearance of a winter sprite on rainy days such as this. She had a bounce in her step, and I had a limp in mine in comparison. And yet, I loved her so much. You know, in a totally straight, best friend, bordering on sister way.
With an enticing smile that could charm a cat into water, she linked her arm with mine and pulled my attention downward. Downward meaning… a little under a foot. I wasn't abnormally tall - well, with heels, I was almost as tall as my other best friend, Rosalie Hale, who happened to be a model - but instead, Alice was short. No, she was tiny. She was the type of person that you would expect to get stepped on in a crowd. It was like walking in New York City with a child. You didn't want to let someone as tiny as her out of your sight. And even then, looks were deceiving. Alice, when young, had gotten a black belt in karate, was about as strong as any professional rugby player, and had enough sass to beat anyone up if they messed with her. Nope, Alice was perfectly fine without me looking out for her with a magnifying glass. The roles were reversed, really…
"I'll meet up with you at the café in a few, okay, Bells?" she asked, though it wasn't really that much of a question, because it was Alice, and she wore the pants between us two, even if she loved skirts to death and I was deathly afraid of the things because of my inability to walk over a flat surface without falling. Well, it didn't help that I was morbidly afraid of being a girly girl, also…
"Alice," I moaned, trying to tug my arm away from her grip as she stared up at me, pleading and demanding at the same time. "Don't leave me here alone!" She smiled coyly, something that really meant she was up to absolutely no good, and a wise glimmer flashed through her gray eyes for a moment before disappearing from my suspicions. She wasn't going to comply, I knew it… Oh, how she loved to torture me… "Come on," I begged, "I'll even go shopping with you! You can play Bella Barbie again, as long as you don't leave me alone with Count Dweeb-ula over there." I jabbed a finger in Eric's direction for emphasis, as if ti wasn't obvious enough…
Alice only laughed and shook her head, puling out and opening her own bright, annoyingly pink umbrella. "I've seen something, Bella," she chided, a knowing, somewhat teasing look replacing whatever there was before in her expression, "and it's the chance of a lifetime that I can't let you pass up. You thank me for this in the long run, Bella." There was a lull in the conversation, and, glancing down the cobblestone path, then back at me, she sighed. "The very, very long run, I should think. I'll apologize in advance for anything I might cause."
"How convenient," I hissed, rolling my eyes and scowling as I refused to meet her eyes. I didn't want to see the excitement and hope in her eyes, because that was all for me. She wanted my life to get better by this, and I was being stubborn and stupid. I should accept her advice, because it's the most important of all, sometimes. It's because of her gift, because of her sight. Her sight into the future.
And it was because I knew her secret, the secret she kept from even her own parents, that I mentally resigned to whatever future she was pushing me towards. "Goodbye, Alice," I groaned, and she beamed up at me from her height of four feet, ten inches, no more, no less. Then, with a short, bone-crushing hug, she skipped off in the opposite direction she had pointedly stared off into before, already plotting how much she would spend on her daily shopping spree. It would be about ten times more that she planned, as usual. It was a relief that her parents made a Hell of a lot of money. I don't think Alice could survive without her shopping…
"Okay, I love you!" she cried over her shoulder, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes. "Buh-bye!" Instead, I looked to the darkening sky - as if that was possible, since it already seemed like night here in London - to make sure I wasn't about to be maimed by a falling anvil, safe, piano, or any other totally cliché, extremely heavy object. Buttons had it hard, my friends.
I groaned and began my trek along the deathly slippery rock path with none other than Eric close behind, following with all the grace of an amputee water buffalo. I huffed; he was stealing my gig. But eventually, he seemed to fade off into the background, and I knew he had gotten bored; out of all his vastly numbered, highly-nerdified brain cells, Eric Yorkie couldn't use a singe one to figure out a sufficient way to hide, unless he was in the middle of a terribly hard World of Warcraft battle. Now, with my luck, I would just get lost instead.
My college course, World Cultures, had taken off on a six-month trip around the world. Since Alice and I had taken and completed every other course we needed, our absence wasn't problematic. After all, the trip had started before school in August. So would be back in Phoenix by the end of February – in just a little over a month.
We were in London, the last stop on our trip. And, as great as it sounded, it was still school. Somehow, Alice had spotted our own little place to relax after classes: Twilight Café.
Twirling my umbrella slowly – and thinking back to the last time I had watched "Singing in the Rain" – I strutted lethargically down the tree-lined trail and watched the specks that were my classmates slip past the horizon.
I could still hear their whiny complaints about the constant rainfall of the British winter, but I didn't mind. I knew – having grown up in Forks, Washington, one of the rainiest places on Earth – rain was better than snow.
But my peers had been foolish. The women expected castles and hunky – not to mention rich – men to sweep them off their feet and shower them in jewels. The men were looking for the foreign beauty of British women and meaningless flings. All they got was rain.
But I had known better. I had long ago given up such childish dreams, and let my only expectations be horrible. That way I would always be surprised for the better. And Alice, well, she had gotten exactly what she wanted: amazing shopping.
Eventually, my feet began to ache like Hell – probably a blistered mess beneath layers of ruined suede – and I plopped down on the nearest bench with a few curses for Alice and her obscene love of fashion. She had been the one to mindlessly force me into these death traps, forgetting that we were in London. Cold, rainy, foggy London. Good job, short stuff...
And then, after I finished fretting over my feet, was when I first noticed him.
My eyes drifted slowly over to the figure beside me on the damp wooden bench. He didn't stare back. In fact, I wasn't sure if he had noticed me at all; not that it mattered. I was doomed to be forever invisible. Why would it make a difference now?
As I studied him, my heart jumped to a faster pace in my chest; from fright or something else I couldn't tell. He was pale; so pale he could have been dead. The dark circles that dipped far under his eyes left me shuddering; did he get any sleep at all? Just to reassure myself, I watched his chest expand contract as he breathed; I had no desire to sit next to a corpse, no matter how eerily beautiful it was.
Even from a quick side glance – though mine must have gone on for ages – I was sure he was handsome, definitely too attractive for his own good. His hair was dark, nearly black, from the rain and just long enough to cling to his skin. Not too long, though. When it was dry, his hair must have been messy and honey brown. His closed eyes were rimmed with long lashes that, somehow, didn't make him any less masculine.
He seemed so depressed that it came off him in waves, and I could felt myself drifting into the same dolorous state. It was like looking at a painting of a fallen angel, his wings broken and his eyes sparkling with tears not yet shed. With his posture reminding me of Auguste Rodin's The Thinker, he looked like a Greek god – definitely Adonis – deprived of his title and immortality. A broken soul.
I stared at the handle of my umbrella, regarding his waterlogged clothes, before thrusting it from my side and over the poor, drenched man. For what seemed like ages, he sat there, irresponsive. And then, the great sculpture came to life.
I was hit immediately with the unnatural depth of his shining green irises. For a moment, I felt lost in them, drowning in all the darkest shadows of his soul: wisdom, sorrow, diffidence, curiosity, shock, fury. They enveloped me in a sea of jade green, and I knew at that moment this stranger was no ordinary man.
I was only barely aware of my surroundings as he studied me with those hauntingly beautiful eyes. My heart began to beat faster, and I was sure he could hear it, because – although it was merely seconds – his glare seemed to delve deep into my soul, find every weakness, every fear, and expose them for all to see. Somehow, he looked utterly shocked.
And then, with a grimace hidden within a brilliant smile, he gave a gentle tap to my hand holding the umbrella. I was shielded from the rain and not he.
"Thank you, but I don't need your pity," he hissed. I was taken aback and, although I had stiffened and inched away from him, the umbrella somehow found itself over his head once again, courage returned to my lips.
"You'll catch a cold," I barked more harshly than I intended to, gazing at his soaked suit. I waited for him to bark at me again, but I realized he was better than that, that he had a charming side. "Besides, this is London, if I remember correctly. I might not know the area too well... but this shower? It's little a problem."
"How true," he laughed darkly, his head upturning to the gloomy sky. "Shower" was the understatement of the century, seeing as the streets were flooding despite the sewer grates. Still, he didn't point it out – I knew he at least thought it – and I was grateful. Then, his eyes appraised me shamelessly – my cheeks weren't blushing from only the cold – with a sly smile. "Let me repay you for your generosity. Would you do me the honor of your presence over coffee?"
He threw me a dashing smile so quickly that I was startled into silence, fought a blush, and turned away coyly. What a character change! Was this perfect (and I mean perfect) stranger attempting to flirt with me? (And, better yet, I wondered, was he schizophrenic?) I could still feel him staring at my turned back, though it was no lie to say he could easily have been smirking.
Millions of ways to decline his advances were running through my head, each of them brilliant and witty, but none of them made it past my tongue. Not adequate ones, anyway...
"A-actually, I was going to get coffee with my friend, so..." I didn't get to finish, for the man was standing before me, beaming, his hand outstretched to me. When had he gotten there?
"Perfect," he whispered, causing me to blush a deeper red. "Please, let me compensate?"
I weighed my choices, knowing very well that Alice and this man – or just the man, he could be a rapist for all I knew – could be a dangerous combination. Even so, I smiled and stood without his assistance, readjusting the umbrella so it was between us, keeping both our huddled bodies dry.
As we walked, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his dripping suit and, I could have sworn, leaned in closer. I dismissed it as either my own paranoia or an attempt to stay out of the rain; my umbrella was barely big enough for myself, let alone another as well.
"So," the man muttered, trying to take a break from the uncomfortable silence. I stared at him for a moment before turning my eyes back to the once-charming, now annoying and slippery cobblestone path through the park. I needed to be careful, for I was cursed with enough clumsiness for the whole world to share, and falling wouldn't exactly seem endearing.
But then again, why would I care if I seemed endearing to this random stranger? I shrugged it off; no one wants to be embarrassed.
"This is a very enticing conversation," he joked, smiling sheepishly at me. I blushed – yes, again – and nodded; my tongue had been stolen long ago. And then, my stupid, stupid mouth betrayed me.
So brilliantly, I blurted out, "I'm not allowed to talk to strangers." And then, as my brain processed my words – too late – I gasped and my eyes widened, a hand flew to my mouth. "I mean...!"
Barney is a dinosaur from our imagination… I slapped my forehead unnecessarily; bad, bad memories…
"Then allow me to properly introduce myself," the man said as politely as possible as he chuckled at my juvenile words and my masochistic display of violence. "I am Edward Mason, and it a great pleasure to make the acquaintance of such a lovely, stranger-safe young lady."
Edward offered his pallid hand to me, and I blushed as I grasped it. The moment our skin touched, shivers ran up an down my spine, an unfamiliar emotion coursing through my veins. And then, after an uncomfortable moment of utter silence and stillness, his frozen lips were molded against the back of my hand.
I gasped and shivered before he – very reluctantly – let go. As my hand found my side again, I began to believe that somehow my classmates weren't completely delusional. Perhaps there was a romantic element to England; I had just been to cynical to notice it before. Or maybe it was something in the water this "Edward" drank.
"I-I'm Bella!" I barked out, suddenly ashamed of my slightly nasal, very American accent and the informality that came along with it. In fairy tales, princes, knights, and whatnot only saved princesses that were just as beautiful, proper, and interesting as themselves. Honestly, I half expected Edward to snort at my ignorance and stomp off right then and there, nevermind the blasted umbrella.
Instead, he went in exactly the opposite direction. "Beautiful," Edward whispered. Even the sound of his voice gave me gooseflesh. And when I realized he was talking to me of all people, I nearly forgot to breath.
We started walking one more, finally coming to the end of the park, and, consequentially, a crosswalk I recognized. We were heading right towards the coffee house, where Alice would surely be waiting.
Oh, God, if I dared to step foot in the building with Edward, she would start the Twenty Questions; probably right in front of him. There goes any chance I had... not like I did have any. Or that I would ever want to. I knew to stay in my class... and Edward was definitely not part of the Abnormally-Normal-and-Pretty-Broke group.
"Hey, Edward," I said, laughing sheepishly. My hands found their way down to the side of my black trench coat, tugging uncomfortably at the cloth. "Here's a crazy idea. Why don't you forget about this whole compensation thing...? I'm fine, really. Or go and make another girl's day, not that you're making mine or anything," I suggested, only partially hoping he would listed to me. The other part of me was screaming at such a thought; I was the one kind enough to lend an umbrella to a seemingly hot god! I was the one going to reap the benefits!
"Not a chance," Edward said, laughing right back at my suddenly horrified facial expression. "You're different, somehow, from other girls. I like it. All the others are too... needy. Clingy. Shallow. Take your pick."
Taking one look at his obvious disgust, I had to laugh along with Edward. My possessive side was glowing. "Don't blame them," I chided. "You're too handsome for your own good." Ah, too straightforward... Edward noticed, and one of his impeccably shaped eyebrows rose to his forehead. "What? I'm getting glares from every female we pass, and we're a good five inches apart. I think even to touch you would be suicide. Your girlfriend must be extremely daring."
"Girlfriend?" Edward asked, and his eyes laughed at the thought. "I've never really kept one for long. That might be one reason why. Of course, they were always boring, and they weren't at all reserved. Too simply put it, I need a mystery, someone who won't give it all up on a whim."
"But what, besides your obvious looks, makes you so irresistible?" I asked, much more to myself than the man beside me. "Terribly romantic? Too mysterious? A bad boy just waiting to be tamed?"
Edward's only response was a smirk that screamed, "I'll never tell."
"It's all overrated," I scoffed, and Edward sighed, as if any allure he had was gone. Ha. "I mean, I can't even fathom seeing a foreign guy. What's a relationship if you can't continue it? And it's even worse if you can't understand each other."
"Parlez-vous francais?" (Do you speak French?) Edward laughed, throwing me a lopsided grin. Somehow, his eyes shone with mild disappointment. "Vous etes un pessimiste, non?" (You are a pessimist, no?)
I nodded, thankfully understanding the babble that was the French language. "You're lucky I took three years of French in high school," I murmured. "De... mere... que vous...?"
(Bella meant to say "as are you", but she mistook mere, mother, for meme, same, and thus said "of mother that you")
Edward laughed again, grabbing the umbrella in his own hand. When our skin brushed again – fire on ice – his laughed died down, replaced with thick silence. I stared into his emerald eyes, and he down into my brown irises, and, as we stopped our slow prance across the sidewalk, the world just melted away. That is, until a passing car disturbed a large puddle and sent a tsunami-like wave crashing over both of us.
I, the one with common sense, huffed and crossed my arms, annoyed by Edward's unsurprisingly musical laugh once more. How could he find this funny? I had been a nice dry, warm lady just a second ago, and within moments I had turned into a wet cat-like thing, water rushing down my body in streams. Then again, Edward had already been soaked to the bone...
"Ugh, I groaned, sweeping a lock hair that was now near-black off of my face. "Somewhere out there Mlle Beaufort is laughing at me, punished for my horrible French. I don't want to know, but what the hell did I say?"
Edward paused, watching my face for just an inkling of amusement. When he found none, the smirk decorating his angular face lessened just the tiniest bit. My inner self laughed; so pretty boy had a common sense. "You might have referred to me as your mother."
"Oh," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "Well, that wasn't too bad. Paris wasn't the easiest city to visit... especially with a vengeful French teacher watching from Hell." Edward's eyebrows rose substantially – I seemed to puzzle him quite a bit – as he stared down at me. God... was I that short?
"How much traveling have you done?" he asked ever so innocently, but I knew deep down he was hoping to test me on some other language. Little did he know I was so much better at Spanish! Then again... who wasn't?
"I'm currently on a trip around the world with my college class," I answered, thinking back tot he past tourist cities. "I've been to Tokyo, Sydney, Beijing, Hong Kong, Bombay, Athens, Rome, Paris, Milan, Berlin, Dublin, Copenhagen, Lisbon, Barcelona..."
"Wow," Edward exhaled, looking me up and down a few times. "You get around." I sneered at the double meaning, not like he meant it. Hopefully. "Well, we're here." I looked up, and sure enough, there was the sign to the coffeehouse. Twilight Cafe, it read.
He snapped the umbrella shut and held open the door for me, just like a perfect gentleman. I out ruled my bad by theory. The bell jingled merrily as I walked through, then Edward.
"I'll go get us some coffee," he bent down to whisper in my ear, sending shivers down my spine. And then, just as he walked away, Alice bounced over.
"Oh my God, Bella," she squealed, pouncing on me like a lion for the kill. As she latched onto me, I felt the circulation in my arms cut off. Apparently, she didn't realize how iron tight her grip was, and continued ranting. "I thought you had gotten kidnapped! Or tripped and fell down the stairs in the park like that one time in high school!" She pulled away and groaned, finding her shirt soaked. "Geez, you could have warned me that you went swimming in one of the puddles... You're so lucky this blouse is pink, not white."
"Alice," I groaned as she continued to talk my ear off, finally unlatching herself from my waist.
"That was your worst concussion by far! Then again, those stairs were steep… When I got back from shopping and you weren't here... Oi vei, you gave me a hernia!" she muttered, and I followed the path she took back to a table where, unsurprisingly, was a giant pile of numerous shopping bags. "Don't scare me like that, Bella! I thought you had run into a wall or gotten run over by a parked car, or something equally you-ish!"
Just then, a scoff, followed by hushed – though still coherent – laughter erupted from beside us. There, with two cups of coffee in his hands, stood Edward, trying to stifle the near-silent chuckles that managed to escape him anyway.
"You're capable of being run over by a parked car?" he asked in between bursts of laughter. I rolled my eyes and slapped his shoulder – my hand was met with a hardness that should have been concrete – with my still tingling hand.
"In my defense," I muttered sourly, "it was dark. All three times."
Alice took one very long, suspicious look at me, then Edward, and back again at me before her face erupted into a gigantic – and slightly creepy – grin. "Who is he?" she asked in the sweetest voice I had ever heard her use – though her teeth were still clenched into that smug smirk of hers – and I found myself unable to answer, though the first words that would come to me lips would me, "I have no idea. He just followed me here like some pathetic lost puppy." Not a good explanation...
"I'm the man who bought Bella coffee," Edward said, beating me to it. And then, the most handsome smirk yet to be worn crossed his face, and the swoon factor was getting a bit extreme. He handed one of the cups to me, and, still staring at his gloriously smug face, I grasped the source of heat that rivaled the icy coolness of Edward's fingertips; honestly, I preferred his frozen touch.
"Thanks," I muttered dryly – an attempt to brush off any ulterior motives Alice might have been delusional to dream up for either one of us – before staring down at the Sharpie-written order. VCL. Hesitantly, I lifted the top to my lips and took the tiniest sip I could manage, a gagging reflex activated not by the wrong taste or the burning heat, but at the disbelief that Edward had guessed my favorite right on the first try.
"You don't like it?" Edward asked, knitting his eyebrows together in a way that would look horrible on most people. On the contrary, he looked just as perfect as ever. Inward groan. "I could always get you something else; I'd give you mine, but it's the same thing. And I, uh, already drank from it."
"No, no," I said hastily – as soon as I swallowed the burning liquid in my mouth – and smiled gratefully at the concerned man before me. "You guessed perfectly, I was just surprised. Vanilla Cinnamon Latte is my favorite here. It's just... amazing... how you guessed out of all the different drinks..."
"Well," Edward shrugged, "I'm pretty good at reading people – though you're a mystery to me – and it seemed like you. Sweet, but not too sweet, with a hint of spice. Hot," I blushed, "and... authentic," he explained, taking my chin in his hand.
I stared up him with wide eyes, and he smirked. Edward pulled away too soon for my liking, taking the sweet scent of him away as well.
"You know," Edward muttered, "Vanilla Cinnamon is my favorite, too." And then, handing my umbrella back to me and kissing my cheek tenderly, he was out the door within seconds.
"Bella, look!" Alice squealed, pointing to the cardboard cup in my hand. There, between the heat-insulated holder and the cup, was a slip of paper. Upon inspection, a phone number was written in the most beautiful handwriting. And, under that, was Edward's full signature in perfect script: Edward Anthony Mason
Blushing, I looked out the window as a way to mask the scarlet coloring that was soon to become a permanent resident on my cheeks. I achieved no such thing, because there stood Edward just outside the window, beaming up at the dark sky. And, as he turned to go, he gave me a wink and strolled away. Over his head was a dark red umbrella.
"You can stand under my umbrella
Under my umbrella"
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Well, how did you like it? That's chapter one. Mysterious, right? No? Okay then, I can take the hint. But isn't Edward just dreamy? Mmm… Brisish… with an accent… Perfection. Ha. (Notice the change in personality? this is prewritten.)
Ok, did anybody find the first reference of the day? You know, besides the ones that I practically handed to you on a silver plate, like Barney, Singing in the Rain, and the Thinker. There are two I'm really leaning towards. Hmm, I use so many references that I think I'll make this a semi-regular thing, like the Wheel of Morality. Anybody get that? Eh, I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up. Oh well. Oh, and if you want to be my beta, for some reason (seeing the chapters earlier...?) then just send me an example of your work and we can talk and maybe you'll get the absolutelt wage-freaa, volunteer job. ;D I'm sure you'd love that.
Review! Thanks. Neko out.
