A/N: Hi everyone, thanks so much for the comments, I really appreciate them – they mean a lot! Here's the second installment… Edward's turn! Happy reading, and please keep up the reviews!
Chapter Two – Edward
"Here – this should be – about – everything," Emmett panted, dropping the last of my luggage on the parquet floor. Then he collapsed on the closest sofa, wheezing; slightly over dramatic for someone who had been practicing weightlifting for the last ten years or so.
Apparently Rosalie, his wife of two years, shared my thoughts. She rolled her eyes at him as she took a few sodas out of the fridge, one for each of us. The kitchen was adjoined to the living room; only a counter separated them. She kicked the fridge shut with her foot and crossed the room towards us. "What's the matter, Em? Too heavy for you?" she teased him, smiling sweetly. She winked at me as she handed me one of the drinks.
"Maybe I'm just getting old," he fired back before he pulled at her arm. She fell onto his lap with a yelp.
"Ew, let me go, you're all sweaty!" she giggled.
"You love it," he murmured in what I assumed he considered his sexiest tone, before he began nuzzling her neck.
She burst into a fresh fit of giggles as she squirmed and tried to get away from his grip. "Stop it, you jerk, you're embarrassing your brother!"
To be honest, he wasn't. Not really. I was used to that kind of behavior with my older brother. He and Rose were sickeningly sweet together, even after two years of marriage. It was as if someone had forgotten to tell them the honeymoon was over. In big family reunions we all used to tease them mercilessly about it, and pretend to be horrified with their public display of affection, especially my cousin and I, but I didn't really mind. Rosalie brought out a softer side in Emmett, one which none of us even suspected had existed.
The funniest thing was that they were so different. Tall and blonde like an exquisite porcelain doll, Rosalie looked like a fairytale princess who got stuck in the twentieth century by mistake. She was a musician, and she preferred her cello to the grand piano in their apartment in New York City. Emmett was big and muscular, and looked like the wrestler he had always dreamt of being. And still, I had never met a couple as perfect as these two. Love worked in funny ways sometimes. As cliché as it sounded, Emmett and Rosalie were meant for one another.
"Ah, well. Later then," said Emmett, raising his eyebrows suggestively, as he grabbed the soda from her hand.
I smirked and looked around me, at what was to be my home for the upcoming year. I still couldn't believe how fast time had gone. I was about to begin my second year in the music division at Juilliard in September. I spent my first year at the school's lodgings like first year students should. I was counting the days and hours until I could leave that tiny apartment, where I didn't even have a piano to properly practice on. There was about a month until the end of the semester, and it felt like forever. I liked my roommate, but I longed for my own space.
I was exceptionally lucky. I didn't even have to search for an apartment in the city like most of my classmates had. Rosalie got a job at the Los Angeles Orchestra and she and Emmett were relocating to the West Coast for the year. Emmett was about to begin his masters in psychology and sports studies in UCLA. I was supposed to move in with them anyway, since they had a spare room, but the new arrangement was even better. I wouldn't have to feel uncomfortable for invading their privacy, and they could sleep well at night knowing their apartment was well taken care off in their absence.
We spent the weekend moving most of my things into their apartment. It was the beginning of what was going to be a busy summer. I wasn't looking forward to most of it, honestly. I was grateful for Rosalie, a Juilliard graduate of two years, who got me a job there. I was to play in the auditions of the dance division in a few weeks. It was only for a week or so, and I wished it could have been for longer so I could have a proper excuse not to attend our annual family reunion at home. Every summer, my parents would throw a party, and it was kind of big deal, especially now when we also celebrated Emmett and Rosalie's anniversary. In the past few years, though, attending the party had become a burden. It wasn't that I didn't want to see my parents, because I hadn't seen them since Christmas and I missed them. No, I dreaded family reunions from a completely different reason.
I'd always known I was going to be a musician. It wasn't typical for young children, to know what their future would be. When I was in elementary school, I had a friend who wanted to be a pilot one day and an astronaut in the other. But not me. Music had always been my passion. I had taken piano lessons from a very young age, and taught myself the more complicated compositions, the ones they had never taught kids my age. My parents didn't mind. Both of them had always respected our choices. When Emmett and I were little, they used to tease us and say that it would be okay with them even if we decided to work in a zoo in Australia or whatnot. Whatever made us happy, they had said. My mother Esme was the artist in the family, and so she had supported me wholeheartedly. My father, Carlisle, said I could be whatever I chose to be, that he had faith both in me and in my brother.
It was his father, my grandfather, who had resented my choice of profession. My dad was a third generation of doctors in the Cullen family, and Emmett and I were expected to follow suit. Emmett wasn't given as much trouble as I had been. Physiology was part of his degree, and I assumed my grandfather thought it was close enough to medicine. He was given the cold shoulder when he and Rosalie – also a musician – made things official, but my grandfather's resentment was short-lived. We had always suspected he had secretly liked Rosalie. He almost got a heart attack when he had heard I had been accepted into Juilliard. He had hardly spoken with my cousin Alice last Christmas when he had discovered she had meant to follow me into school this upcoming year.
I hated the thought of letting my grandfather down. He was one of the most important people in my life as I was growing up. Most of my musical education came from him. It was ironic, really. It was partly thanks to him I decided to seriously engage in music, and now he resented me because of my decision. My dad said I shouldn't mind him. My grandfather could be a little narrow-minded; it worsened with old age. But it was more than that. I could see the disappointment in his eyes whenever he looked at me, and it hurt. I wanted him to be proud of me. I respected his opinion as much as I did my own parents'. I wished he could at least try to understand.
So this was why I was less than thrilled to attend my parents' party in August. I suspected that this year would be no different, if not worse. And yet, I was also anxious to see them all. My parents; our pug, Sophie, my cousin Alice. I smiled when I thought about her. I would see her in a few weeks regardless, when she came to her audition. She was a magnificent dancer, the best I'd ever seen. She was about my age, my cousin on my mother's side. When we were kids, she, Emmett and I had been inseparable. We still were. I hadn't seen her for months, and although we kept in touch the best we could with emails and texts and random postcards, I was looking forward to her visit.
"What is it, Edward?" Rosalie's soft voice put an end to my musings. I blinked and met her gaze. There was laughter in her eyes. "Second thoughts?"
"About spending the next year in your filthy apartment?" I teased. Their apartment was anything but filthy. Walking in there was like stepping into a Home & Gardens photoshoot. Everything was immaculate, and perfectly in place. Interior design was Rosalie's passion, second only to her music. Aesthetic wasn't Emmett's strongest trait, but Rosalie had kept their place spotless. Only yesterday I witnessed her catching Emmett as he sat with his legs propped against the glass coffee table. He was distracted by some random show on ESPN, and so he didn't notice her approach.
"Legs down, Emmett," was all she said. Her vicious glare did the rest. I got goosebumps from her icy tone alone.
So did Emmett, apparently. His legs were down in a split second. He lowered his head like a reprimanded schoolboy, and murmured something that sounded like 'sorry, Rose'. I smiled now when this memory floated, lighter than any of my other grim thoughts.
"No, I was thinking about Alice, actually."
"Too bad we're going to miss her visit," Rosalie said, shaking her head sorrowfully. "It could be fun."
"You'll see her at mom and dad's party." Alice had always spent most of the summer vacation in Forks with us. She was an only child, so when we were younger, it was easier for her mom to drop her at our place during the summer, where she could spend time with us. The Brandons lived in Seattle, and her parents thought she'd get into less trouble in a small town than in a city as big as Seattle. Nothing could go wrong in Forks, they believed. They thought it was worth the long drive back and forth, and we were all glad that they did. It worked in everyone's favor.
Emmett sighed, and for a moment I thought it was in response to what I'd said. When an idle grin curled on his lips, I realized my mistake. "Just imagine," he said, his grin widening. "When Alice is accepted to Juilliard, she'll have all those hot friends and you can invite them over here…" But he didn't have a chance to complete the thought when a stuffed cushion flew in his direction. While it was impossible to detect from her appearance, Rosalie was actually a good shot. Her aim was perfect; the cushion hit Emmett's head before it fell to the floor. "For him, not for me! I'm not into dancers!"
His voice soon faltered, as if he realized how far fetched it sounded. Rosalie rolled her eyes. "Speaking of hot friends, Edward, Teena is still waiting for you to call her," she said.
Ever since she'd become my sister-in-law, Rosalie had made it her purpose to set me up with her classmates. Teena Williams was her most recent attempt, and the most unsuccessful one. I shuddered inwardly. Teena was witty and intelligent, and we spent a nice evening together, but something about her was just too striking for my taste. I would never admit it to Rose, but I was sort of intimidated by her.
"I've been busy," I murmured, looking away from Rosalie. Her tone was casual and non-caring, but her eyes were pinning me with that intense gaze of hers, the one I had been trying to avoid whenever I could help it.
"I thought you liked Teena," she reproached me.
"What's not to like?" Emmett muttered, ducking against a second cushion just in time.
"It's not that I didn't like her, Rose. It's just that…"
"It's just that glamorous blondes are not his type," Emmett interjected. "It's totally not his thing. His thing is more like… the girl next door; a brunette, a bookworm, a Jane Austen lover."
I did a double take. "Do you even know who Jane Austen is, Emmett?" I asked, still gawking at my brother. The last time I checked, he thought Hamlet was the name of a hero in an action film on the AXN channel.
"Sure I do," he replied, dismissing my amazement. "She's the chick who directed Gone with the Wind, isn't she?"
I stared at him for a second. His expression was unreadable; I couldn't decide if he was joking or if he actually meant it. "Uh… sure, Emmett, that's the one."
"Well, why didn't you say so in the first place? I wouldn't have wasted my time finding the hot ones," Rosalie laughed. I was relieved that she wasn't offended by my rejection. She couldn't help the company she'd kept. She was gorgeous; of course her friends would be equally attractive. She sighed dramatically and laid a hand against my shoulder. "What are you going to do without us this year?"
"Gee, I don't know. Ruin my social life?" I joked. Not that I had much of those to begin with. Practicing the piano had become a major pastime. Since I didn't have an available piano at school, in the past year I'd spent almost every afternoon at Emmett and Rosalie's place where I could practice for hours, uninterrupted.
"Give Teena a call, and you'll be redeemed," Rosalie backfired, and then turned her back on us and disappeared down the hall.
xoxox
"Edward, order's ready!" The girl at Starbucks called, and smiled at me as I picked the plastic cups from the counter. I returned her smile; she wished me a nice day.
"God, Edward, who knew that you could be so irresistible? Did you see the way she was checking you out?"
I rolled my eyes. So typically Alice. Wordlessly, I handed her her vanilla latte and watched her as she added sugar into it and stirred it. I blew over mine. I didn't get much sleep the night before; I never got proper sleep with Alice around. I needed to keep my focus this morning. "Will there ever come a time when you and Rose quit with the matchmaking?" I wondered aloud.
"Yes," she beamed at me. "When we will think you can do better on your own."
"Thanks for your support, Munchkin. It's so nice when your family has faith in you."
Somehow, she managed to look graceful even with her face screwed into a frown. "Don't call me that."
I opened the café's door for her. "Why not? It fits you perfectly."
"If you ever call me that on school grounds, I'll make sure everyone knows who your favorite Smurf was."
I snorted and sipped my coffee. It burnt its way down my throat. "Listen to her, talking as if she's already been accepted."
"Didn't I tell you? I can see the future. Of course I'll be accepted!"
I had to run to keep up with her as she danced the rest of the way to school.
xoxox
I held back a yawn and flipped through the score in front of me. I was looking forward for this job, but now, three days into the audition week, it just got tedious. It was probably due to my massive lack of sleep, which I blamed Alice for. I was hardly paying attention to the auditions as they were taking place. Most of the dancers weren't much to look at, anyway. I didn't know what time it was – time as I knew it ceased to exist in this bare auditorium. Only the renewing supply of coffee and water for the judge committee, brought in every half an hour or so, marked the time. I needed coffee desperately, but I couldn't leave my place on stage. And none of the judges had offered me a cup, so I just swallowed my resentment and flashed a polite smile at the next dancer in a black who handed me her score.
I was playing on auto-pilot. My fingers flew on the keys mechanically. I hardly saw the notes or heard the music. It was routine, and good practice. I was grateful for the opportunity to prove myself in front of the members of the staff. It never hurt your reputation, in a place like this.
God, what kind of a summer vacation is this? I should be on Ellis Island, or on the beach in Boston, or surfing at First Beach at home with Emmett, not rotting in some dimly-lit auditorium with wannabe prima ballerinas who didn't know left from right. Increasingly, I was becoming very frustrated. This week seemed to be going on forever.
"Isabella Swan."
I raised my head from the keys, squinting against the darkness, as my gaze focused on the girl who followed Miss Sheldon on stage. The name pulled me out of my boredom. It had a familiar ring to it. I was sure I'd heard it before, but I couldn't remember where or when.
"Good afternoon, Miss Swan. Hand your music to Edward there and we could start."
Before I knew it, she was in front of me, and I made the connection. She was Chief Swan's daughter. The last time I'd seen her was two years ago, but she had hardly changed at all. She handed me the score with a tight smile. I felt my lips curl into an involuntary smile in reply. "Good luck," I murmured. She mumbled a quick 'thank you' and walked to the center of the stage. I couldn't help but stare after her. I had never seen anyone who had carried herself with more grace than she did, not even Rosalie. Her hair was tied in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. It made her dark brown eyes look huge. I idly wondered how she would look with her hair down, tumbling down her back, framing her face in soft brown ringlets –
Someone cleared his throat at the third row. "Whenever you're ready, Mr. Cullen."
Embarrassed, I arranged her score in front of me. I hoped she didn't notice me observing her. I nodded towards her as if to ask she was ready; she still looked tense, but she nodded in reply. I plunged into the first notes of the composition – it was one of my favorites. For the first time today, I was actually paying attention to the audition and not only the notes. She was very good. She moved as if she was one with the music, as if she was born to do this. Her routine was simple, free of pretensions or presumptions. She didn't need a complicated piece to show how good she was. It was there in her every movement. The only one who could dance as well as her was Alice, and it wasn't just because I was biased. Either you were born to be a dancer, or you weren't.
Apparently, Isabella Swan was.
I should have guessed she was a dancer though, I thought, reminiscing to that warm evening in August when I had first noticed her, in Emmett and Rosalie's wedding. She didn't even dance that evening, but there was something in the way she moved, this fluidity of motion. I remembered every bit about her from that time, basically since I couldn't take my eyes off her all evening. I remembered the exact color of her dress, the way her hair fell softly down her shoulders, the dimple in her cheek when she smiled. For weeks I was beating myself up for not getting up the courage to ask her to dance that evening. It had been a while before her image had completely vanished from my mind.
And now she was literally dancing back into my life.
I was sure she would pass the audition. I might not have paid close attention, but I looked enough to know she was one of the best dancers on this stage in the past three days. I stole a glance at the judges at the third row. They looked impressed. Mr. Collins, by far the toughest of the five, leaned over to whisper something in his Mr. Rogers' ear. The shorter man nodded in what looked like restraint enthusiasm. As if they didn't want to appear too eager in her presence.
Slowly, the music drifted to a close. Her ending was beautiful; I found myself transfixed once more. There was a moment of silence before any of the judges spoke. "That was very nice, Miss Swan. Thank you," said Mr. Collins. "Miss Sheldon will show you out."
"Thank you, sir," she said, and disappeared at the wings. I realized a second too late she'd forgotten her music.
"Well, gentlemen?"
"Definitely in," said Mr. Rogers. I held myself back from cheering aloud.
"I vote for a break," a female voice said. I recognized it as Mrs. Anderson's. "If I don't get real coffee now, I might not survive the afternoon auditions," she laughed. Then she threw a glance in my direction. "Fifteen minutes, Mr. Cullen."
I sprang out of my seat. I knew it was stupid and idiotic, an impulsive whim, but suddenly I wanted nothing more than running after her. I didn't know what came over me. I was never that courageous when it came to girls. I didn't have enough guts to speak to her when I had first seen her two years ago. But this was too much of a coincidence, too good a chance to lose. I didn't even know how I was going to find her. If this audition round was anything like the one I'd taken part in the year before, the hallways would be in chaos.
I was luckier than I thought. Just when I stepped out of the auditorium, I saw her at the other end of the hallway, loosening her hair. I stopped dead on my tracks; luckily everyone was too preoccupied to notice me. Her hair was longer than I remembered, and looked so soft I found myself wondering how it would feel like to thread my fingers through it. She looked around, as if she was looking for someone. Was she looking for someone? I didn't know, but I thought I'd take the opportunity as long as I had it.
And so I made my way towards her, and called her name.
