Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.
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"You know Bella, I'm sure I could pull a few strings and reserve St. James' Cathedral for the ceremony. I know that they have a ridiculous waiting list, but I'm positive we could bump our way to the top and avoid an extremely long engagement." Mike pulled me close to his side as we exited the church.
"I would want nothing more than to be married to you as quickly as possible," he said in a hushed tone as he turned me to face him. I painted a pleased expression across my face.
Please buy it, I whimpered internally.
He must have because he smoothly pulled me into a tight embrace. It was a full body hug that reminded me how well we fit together. He was taller than me, but not in an overwhelming way. My head fit just into the crook of his neck and I instinctually placed a soft kiss onto his starched collar. I could feel him talking, the even reverberations moving into my chest, but I wasn't processing his words.
Did I really think that anything could pull me from this?
"Well, what do you think?" he pressed, oblivious to my lack of concentration. He held me at arms length and I looked into his blue eyes. I couldn't bear to tell him what I was really thinking – that I wanted to run away and not look back, but only if I could do it without hurting him.
"I think that that would be marvelous," I whispered and pulled him close for another kiss. I sighed and he mistook it for contentedness. I just didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise. We stood outside the church for a few more moments as he soaked in the enormity of what we were entering into and I feigned bravery and commitment.
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It was Tuesday and work was slow.
It had been a week since the Father-with-two-questions-that-will-fuck-your-future Debacle. I still hadn't brought up the internal struggle that I was having with Mike. It was more than we could handle at this point. He had brought home a stack of wedding magazines last night and was heartily encouraging me to get to planning. I couldn't bring myself to even take them out of the plastic bag.
He was being overly attentive. This really bothered me and I couldn't figure out why. I wanted to tell him to untuck his dick and start acting like a man. I didn't enjoy the extra vagina around the house, but naturally I didn't. Instead, I hid myself in the bathroom with a hot bath and multiple bottles of Moscato. After an evening of drinking and minor panicking, I resigned to the fact that this situation was seriously fucked. I still didn't have a game plan outside of my Travelocity search for a one-way ticket to Hollywoodland.
"Getting excited yet?" a chipper voice pulled me from my haze. I looked up from my desktop and into the smiling face of my coworker Alice Brandon.
"Huh?" I asked confused. My head hadn't stopped hurting all day and I was in a delirious state of unrest. I rubbed my temples slowly and sighed.
"Are you excited about planning? I see you've broken down and bought some bridal magazines. Found a color scheme that you like?"
She picked through the pile of magazines and settled on what I assumed was the newest issue of Martha Stewart Weddings. It had an assortment of multicolored cupcakes arranged in a heart. My stomach churned, but I wasn't sure if it was the aftershocks of two bottles of wine on a relatively empty stomach or the sickening display of love splayed in Technicolor across the pages of the magazine.
"Oh, yeah. Those. Mike brought them home to me last night. He is eager for me to get started, but I think I'm going to let him take the lead. The last wedding I went to was in 1998 and I was 12. His mom would get a kick out of planning it anyway." I nonchalantly opened my desk drawer and pushed the pile of magazines into it.
The only reason that these things were even at my desk was because as I packed my things for work this morning Mike had shoved them into my bag. He suggested that I look through them on my lunch break. I put on my excited face, kissed him with as much fervor as I could muster at 6:39 in the morning and agreed. I was committed to being who he needed when I agreed to marry him and this was yet another display of that commitment.
"Girl, you're crazy. You can't let a man plan your wedding. It will end up being all browns and grays. The bridesmaids will have on halter tops and flip flops. And if your mother-in-law plans it, ugh, I can't even go there… this is one of those things you just have to do. Now come on, let's go down to the cafeteria and get to looking." Alice opened up the drawer I had just shoved the magazines into and heaped them into her arms.
"Alice, I really can't today. I have to get these graphics together for McMillian and get started on the web site. I'm swamped." I didn't even have the energy to fake it for her. I must have looked like a miserable motherfucker and I was slowly coming to the realization that I was.
She studied me for a second and I suppose the look on my face was encouraging her to just step off. She did and left me with little more than a promise to sit with me tomorrow and flag dresses that I liked.
I palmed my temple and squeezed my eyes shut. What was I going to do? I couldn't just continue pushing off the wedding onto someone else. I was going to be the one up there exchanging vows and doing the 'I do's.'
I just needed to get back to Mike. I needed him to wrap his arms around me and tell me that I wasn't crazy and he really had thought about boning Jessica Alba when the priest asked him about temptations. I needed to know that he was a nasty bastard that liked to dominate me in bed. I needed him to cuss me out for being a whore in college and tell me that he really did smoke weed at one of the haughty summer camps he attended when he was in 10th grade. I needed to know that the truths that I had suppressed for so long really didn't matter and that I could be whatever version of me I was that day and he would still love me.
I cracked one eye. What I really needed to do was take back these horrible magazines.
I realized that I was clicking my pen insanely and looked around my office paranoid.
Did I say anything out loud?
I didn't hear snickering coming from anyone and I straightened up in my chair. I was cool. This was cool. Everything was going to be cool. Deep breaths.
I scrounged around in the garbage can underneath my desk and pulled out the plastic bag the magazines had been given to me in. I did an internal fist pump when I found that the receipt was still inside. I know taking back a magazine seems like an insane idea, but I found it to be rather therapeutic. I could handle planning a fucking, I mean freaking, wedding on my own. I didn't need a reformed prisoner to tell me what color ranunculus to use or whether I should use place cards or place mats.
I flipped over the receipt and tried to ignore the fact that he'd spent forty-five buck on six magazines.
The Page on Pike
I had heard of this bookstore. It was conveniently located just a block down from the office building Mike called home nine hours a day. Being an avid lover of bookstores, I was surprised to find that I'd never graced the establishment. For some weird reason, I felt like anytime I was in a bookstore my IQ shot up like 75 points. I would get overwhelmed by the possibilities the books represented. I mean where else can you learn Japanese, how to plant an herb gardening, and the art of tantric sex all at the same time?
I carefully slid the magazines back into the sack and placed them inside my bag. I stuffed the receipt into my wallet and turned off my desktop. Flinging my bag over my shoulder, I grabbed my Blackberry and shuffled out of the office.
The eight block walk from my office building to the bookstore was pleasant. The weather was unseasonably warm and the sun was just barely peaking through the gray clouds. Unfortunately, the weather did little to improve my sour mood.
I turned onto Pike Street and looked in the windows of the stores as I passed. Once I made it to The Page on Pike, I walked in and moved quickly to the cashier, receipt in hand. A stocky twentysomething stood behind the counter talking with what I assumed to be a customer on the telephone.
"No, we do not have that book in stock," she said curtly, "I can order it, but I'm not sure when."
Aren't we helpful.
After a few more moments, she hung up the phone and looked up at me wordlessly.
"Ah, hi, I need to return some magazines." I handed the receipt to her and began to pull the sack of magazines out of my leather bag. She looked at me unenthusiastically and then down to the stack of bridal magazines.
"I'm sorry, but you can't return these."
"Are you sure?" I smiled, "I mean I've got my receipt and these were purchased yesterday. Can I at least get a store credit?" I bargained.
Remember, you get more bees with honey than vinegar, I reminded myself.
"No, I can't be sure that you didn't use them and bring them back," she stated. Her dead eyes looked at me accusingly. I lost the smile and matched her gaze as I felt my heartbeat quicken. This was not the week to pick a fight with me.
"Are you kidding me? How can I use them?" I looked at her incredulously.
"They aren't Playboy's I can't take them to the bathroom with me and use them. Check the spines, they've never been opened." I pushed the magazines toward her. This bitch was going to take these godforsaken things back.
"Lady, I won't take them back. You're the one who bought these things anyway. Why don't you just take them home, cut out the pretty pictures and paste them into one of the wedding planning guides on aisle eight." She thrust the magazines back in my direction and sneered. She started to leave and I felt the blood drain from my face.
Oh no, Emo bitch is going down.
"Listen, I did not even look at these damn magazines. I have my receipt and am in full accordance with your return policy. So help me, if you don't refund my money or give me a store credit, I will get your fucking boss and take your ass down." She spun around to meet my burning gaze, her own face twisted into a smirk, testing my resolve. So what if they were dumb bridal magazines, I didn't want them and she was going to take them back.
"I'm not kidding," I assured.
Without another word, the plump cashier turned on her heel and walked around the counter and disappeared into the rows of bookcases. A few moments later, her poorly dyed purple-black hair peaked around the corner as she shuffled towards the desk. I eyed her harshly as she approached. Her gaze was as cold as my own.
"He is coming, but don't count on getting your money back," she mumbled. She started to mutter something else, but was speaking too low for me to hear. I was able to make out something about bridezilla.
"Twat was that? I cunt hear you," I snapped smartly.
Yeah, I know it was adult of me, but it was that or throw something sharp at her. I've been trying so hard since Mike and I got engaged to straighten up and lose the sailor talk. I've even gone so far as censoring my inner monologues and it is killing me. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to do some therapeutic tongue lashing without being chastised for having such a 'foul mouth'.
Big girl just rolled her eyes and looked at me with an open mouth, saying nothing. I hoped against hope that she would push me further, but instead she just walked back in the direction of the bookcases.
I waited impatiently, tapping my fingernails against the countertop. There were a multitude of business cards, flyers for open mic nights, and restaurant menus stuck under a clear sheet of acrylic. Reading the menus made me hungry and I felt my stomach growl. I patted my belly and turned to see a few people had formed a line behind me.
I sighed and grabbed my damned magazines and moved to the vacant end of the counter. I looked around wantonly and tried to plan my defense strategy. Since when were people so hard on customer returns?
Hee hee, I said hard on.
Another employee came to the register and began ringing people up. I briefly contemplated asking them to refund my purchase, but decided I'd get Emo in trouble. Yep, I'm a nasty bitch.
I leaned against the counter began rubbing my still pounding head. I guess I did go a little overboard with the drinking. It had been a while since the last time I'd passed out in the bathtub only to wake up in freezing cold bathwater with pruned appendages. I really should be more careful in the future; I'd hate to drown in a Jacuzzi.
"Mam, were you the customer with a question about a return?" a man's voice broke through my thoughts. I slowly turned my face up, careful not to move too quickly and make my headache even worse.
My breath caught in my throat. I completely lost my train of thought and my ears started ringing.
One word was repeating over and over in my head.
Temptation.
He was tall with a shock of messy copper hair. He was wearing a kitschy t-shirt with a button down loose over top. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows which exposed his lean forearms. He wore a silly lanyard bracelet with silver beads on one wrist and a watch with a leather band on the other. My eyes raked over him and I felt a heat rise to my cheeks. His face was open and angular with a strong jawline, a perfect ski-slope nose and deep green eyes. A soft smile was set on his pink lips.
"Ah, yes," I stuttered before pushing the aforementioned magazines in front of him, "I don't want these anymore."
Good one Bella.
"Ok, and what seems to be the problem? Nancy said you needed to speak with me," he asked confused.
"Oh, right. She said I couldn't return them because they were used but I didn't buy them or look at them and can take a store credit," I stammered. I nervously began gathering my hair into a ponytail. It was one of those weird things I do when I get frazzled.
The look on his face made it clear that he wasn't following. I felt like Miley Cyrus, stuttering idiotically. I took a deep breath and attempted to regroup.
"What I am trying to say is that my fiancé bought them for me and I don't need them. I never looked at them and just want to return them. Nancy here seems to think that I've made photocopies or something and won't refund my purchase," I explained and laughed nervously.
He smiled as he shook his head and I suddenly lost my thirst for vengeance against the dimwit known as Nancy.
"I understand. We do have a no refund policy regarding certain magazines, but they are of the more adult variety if you know what I mean," he grinned playfully and reached to take the magazines from their place on the counter.
I thought I was going to die. Adult activities. I felt a blush creep down my neck. I put a hand over the flesh exposed by my v-neck shirt in hopes of camouflaging the redness swelling over my breasts.
"Follow me this way. I'll take you in the back."
Yes, yes sir you can.
I followed closely behind mystery man as he sauntered expertly around bookcases. I took notice of his long frame and broad shoulders. His dark pants fell low on his hips and he wore brown leather boots that laced up the front. His clothes didn't match at all and yet he seemed irresistible all the same. He had that bohemian hipster appeal.
We made our way to the back of the store to a cash register in the far corner. He turned on the computer monitor and fumbled with the mouse, clicking around until he found whatever it was he was looking for.
I tried in vain not to stare at the man before me, but found myself loosing the battle. I absentmindedly ducked a hand into my purse to pull out my cell in hopes of appearing occupied while he got things sorted out.
"Did you say you wanted a refund or store credit?" he asked as he looked up from the screen. He was perched on a barstool behind the counter with one hand on the mouse and one hand on the stack of magazines.
"Uhh," I hesitated. If I got cash I'd have to leave now, but if I took a store credit, I could hang around the store and stare for a little while longer.
"A credit will be fine."
I reached to adjust my ponytail and my hand got caught in my hair as I brought it back down to my side. I flinched and tugged it down to find a few brown hairs caught in the setting of my engagement ring. It was modern platinum setting with a sparkling diamond flanked by baguettes. My heart sputtered in my chest.
You slut. Not only are you tempted by a movie star in Hollywood, an unattainable movie star might I add, but now you're practically handing your panties over to a hipster in a bookstore.
I sighed dejectedly. Was I really handing my panties over? Nah…
"I'm sorry, this crap computer is struggling with the concept of a credit." He apologized, playfully landing a right hook on the side of the monitor.
I smiled and shook my head.
"No, you're fine. It has just been a long day, or rather week for that matter."
"Well, I apologize if Nancy was a bear earlier. Sometimes her signals get mixed. When she means to be helpful, she occasionally comes across as a bitch." He smiled sheepishly and tore a receipt from the printer.
"You've got forty-six dollars and eighty-two cents to play with. Best of luck, I know we've got plenty of wedding related reads around here." He handed me the receipt and stood up from the barstool.
"Oh, uh, no. I mean, I don't. I think I'll just be getting some biographies." I flushed again. He looked at me quizzically.
"Ok then. Biographies are right this way." He stood and began the trek to the front of the store. I must have come across as a lunatic. A pink blush emanating from between my breasts, wild eyes darting around nervously, and a mouth that could seem to form coherent sentences. I caught glimpses from other women in the store and decided that I my reaction to him was more of the rule than the exception.
He extended his arm indicating the section of biographies.
"Let us know if you need anything," he lowered his voice and leaned closer, "and by us, I mean me. Nancy may be less than helpful." He winked at me and I felt my heart stop completely.
"Pardon, Edward, I've got a question when you're done," a guy with suspenders interrupted my starefest.
Edward: God of all things beautiful and tempting
He looked at me and smiled that dangerous smile. I nodded dismissively and turned to the bookshelves in front of me. I studied the spines as I took deep breaths attempting to calm my fucking nerves.