Brilliance: A Story Of Romance & Fairies
Chapter III:
Chained By Love's Sight
June 15, 1911—Day Two
Edward's long fingers rapidly moved across the piano keys, creating sensational, rhythmic music that whispered throughout the room. He didn't even bother gazing at the movement of his hands; instead, staring into the polished wood of the piano as he took in the appearance of his morbid, emotionless expression. Was that always his same mood? He couldn't even tell—days and hours flew by without a thought, especially when around people murmuring about the latest, tedious scandal or… a pointless wedding that irritated him immensely.
Had Isabella even registered that many of the people at the table were speaking about her? Edward recalled glancing at several times, only to find her brown orbs glazed over and her face remaining still; as if her mind was working properly, but not her body. Thinking about her caused his fingers to jab violently at the keys now—how she blew smoke into his face, thinking it agitated him, but not knowing that in truth, it further made her more alluring. She possessed a frail body, but he could see the hurricane churning uncontrollably in her eyes.
But then again, she was mere woman using her enthralling skills to harvest the money of a wealthy man—all so that she wouldn't lose all the remainder of her money. She'd rather be primped into a little doll for the rest of her life instead of actually working—showing her inability to survive in reality, which in turn, made a certain part of him feel malice toward her.
A hand gently landed on his shoulder, abruptly ending the song from the piano. Expecting to see Esme, or maybe Rosalie, Edward shifted around, but his teeth ground together in unrestrained irritation as he found himself staring into Laura's bright blue eyes, now wide as if she had seen something shocking. Shrugging off her touch, he stood up and folded his arms across one another.
She took a faltering step back. "I have something to tell you—"
"Something important, please?"
"Well, I couldn't find Rosalie," Laura explained hurriedly, "So I'll have to tell you." Taking in a deep breath, he became curious as to why she could hardly breathe evenly. "Last night, the maid, Alice, snuck out of her quarters and visited Isabella Swan"—Edward winced, strangely, at the sound of her name—"and as they were talking, I found her… But I also found out that Isabella doesn't want to marry Jacob Black." Seeing the hint of shock on his face, Laura rushed with her words. "I know! Why wouldn't she?! Yes, she doesn't want to be a seamstress or any of that, but she's only marrying him so her mother doesn't have to suffer. Yes, it's all very noble of her, but really…? Why not leave Jacob to someone who can love him, right? It's not very—"
"… Laura."
She stared up, eyes glistening; expecting a reward, probably. "Yes?"
"Get out."
"… But I—"
"Laura," he cautioned softly. Noticing the warning present in his voice, she murmured something incoherent and ambled away; slamming the door loudly behind her. Edward, sighing, sat back down on the piano bench, now truly confused by the many emotions in his body. Learning that she's chained to an unwanted destiny made her, Isabella, seem… beautiful—inside and out. Selfless and independent, she was, and it pained his heart now. He could remember, in his innocent, young years, when he became infatuated with an adorable, funny girl… once realizing the hopelessness of it, he was able to eliminate the emotions; however, when she began talking to him sweetly again, it all came rushing back—the admiration, the love, and the affection. Of course, that had been a petty crush, but now, he was in the same predicament—more mature, but still the same… almost.
Isabella was to be married, and it was inevitable: his fondness and yearning for her was a lost cause that would never fully develop, especially seeing as she despised him greatly (maybe more than Jacob). She can't be his, no matter what, and Edward couldn't help but wonder how he could love a mere acquaintance so easily… Nothing in this world, at the moment, made sense.
He wanted her.
Isabella perched down on one of the lounge seats settled on the promenade deck. The sea, if you were to gaze over the railing, would be glistening and sparkling with the reflection from the sun (the sun, which hovered high in the sky). Jacob was off a few feet away, conversing with several officers—friends of his. Renee and Edna stood in the shade, their hands waving about as they discussed gowns and such other fashion. The sunshine poured onto the deck, warming her soul and body. Jesse listened intently to what Michael was saying, her eyes wide and attentive.
She continued to stare all around. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of Edward Cullen sauntering her way, along with Rosalie and Jasper. Before she could begin piling up all the nasty remarks she could throw at him, the expression on his face caught her attention. Edward wore an expression of content and barely alive happiness—emotions she couldn't spot on him since their first meeting. Puzzled, Isabella slid onto her feet and waited for them to approach. However, the moment the three stopped in front of her, Rosalie strolled off in a rush, her eyes trained on something on the lower deck.
"Excuse my sister," Jasper murmured, as he stared after the blonde.
"Why is she going down with the—"
"How are you today, Isabella?" Edward interjected, smirking—not cruelly or deviously, but just a simple smirk that meant no harm. Her eyebrows pinched together and the confusion swept across her mind; jumbling her thoughts. Jasper, noticing this, chuckled lowly.
"I know—I have no idea why he's so cheery."
Edward frowned. "Cheery?"
"You do seem happy at the moment," Isabella agreed.
"It's the sun," he replied coolly.
"Sunshine brings more sunshine," she muttered sourly.
"What is Rose trying to pull?" Jasper hissed angrily. Isabella, curious, followed his seething gaze. Near the stern of the ship, in the third class deck, Rosalie talked animatedly with a strong, burly man, who grinned widely in return to her fast-moving lips and hand gestures. Her elbow slumped against the railing, supporting her weight as she leaned—too close for comfort—toward his chest, the man seemingly oblivious to her bold antics. Even from afar, Rosalie glowed glamorously. But what would she be doing with a lower class man?
Jasper sensed her curiosity. "She apparently pines after this man."
"Pines after him?" Edward groaned. "Any man with well-built arms strikes her fancy."
"She's driven solely by physicality."
Isabella frowned at their remarks, and added her own, "Maybe it's love at first sight…?" This, initially, spiked their interest, for both men stared peculiarly at her, unblinking. Rolling her eyes, she motioned once toward Rosalie, "Haven't you read in those romantic novels about being struck by love merely upon the sight of someone? Romeo & Juliet is an example." Aw, the play of the centuries. No one took one of Shakespeare's greatest pieces of literature into accord as she did. She'd often brewed up images of her very own Romeo, a man who would die and care for her.
"Yes, but these are novels," Edward contradicted, "And we inhabit reality."
"But everything written in fiction has been influenced by the real world," Isabella argued, "How can someone write so thoroughly of love without experiencing it for themselves?" It was more of a challenge to him more than a question: why write about love when you know nothing of it? Why create something as odd as "love at first sight" without seeing or ever have experiencing it in life? Her question seemingly had him stumped and rooted to the spot, musing on an answer, maybe?
"I believe she's beaten you," Jasper sniggered quietly.
Edward, unlike before, did not scowl disdainfully or snap at her. Instead, a crooked smile carved onto his marble face; the sunshine practically pouring into his eyes and softening them into a shimmering, innocent jade—not hardened, cold stone, as usual. A blissful sensation fluttered in her stomach, and she felt victorious that she had won their ongoing game of cat and mouse; spitting out insults and mocking one another.
"Do you believe in love?" Edward challenged softly.
She leaned away, somewhat offended by the question—who wouldn't believe in love? "Of course."
"Like the love you share for your fiancé?" Edward continued silently.
Her face drained of color; her bloodstream converting into ice. "Y-Yes…"
"Uh, I can not stand that woman!" Rosalie came sauntering back up to their deck, her lips curled into a savage frown. Slumping down on the lounge seat, she crossed her legs and rapidly began smoothing her fingers through her blonde curls, clearly distressed.
"What woman?"
Her eyes darkened dangerously. "That woman he continuously speaks about!" She threw her arms in the air. "Amelia"—she spat out—"is her name, and she's this little brunette that he plans to marry when he arrives in England. She's a devil, I say. He deserves better."
"Like yourself?" Jasper taunted.
Rosalie eyed him. "Maybe…"
"And you are not going to stop attempting to charm him until he is forced into loving you, am I right?" Edward laughed shortly. Isabella smiled brightly at the smooth, sturdiness of his laugh, a truly jovial sound. Rosalie merely flexed her jaw in response and gazed into the ocean; her chin held up proudly as confidence locked onto her body. Isabella could already tell that she was a persistent woman.
"He'll be mine," she promised.
"A bit possessive, Rose," Jasper mumbled.
"Possessive," Edward echoed, all the while throwing Isabella a peculiar look—one that held somewhat of an accusation to it. He was becoming suspicious, she could tell, but… of what? Unnerved, she distracted herself by observing Rosalie, who arched her back and stretched luxuriously in the warm glow of the sun, thus attracting the gazes of several men on the deck. Isabella smirked inwardly at a young wife glaring at Rosalie and jabbing her husband disapprovingly as he stared ravenously at her. How could one woman erupt so much emotional chaos?
"Hello, Mr. Cullen."
Isabella shifted around as Jesse stood before Edward, staring adoringly into his eyes. Michael, taking on glance at Edward, flushed red with—irrational—silent anger, and stormed away. Jesse, clapping her hands together, shimmered with odd excitement as she spoke to each of them now (on a topic that was extremely painful to Isabella. "I can not wait for the wedding between Isabella and Jacob! Oh, I can't wait for when I'm to be wed—"
"Clearly," Isabella mumbled bitterly.
"—… Do you find yourself wishing for a wife, Edward?" Jesse questioned suggestively. His eyes flickered over to meet Isabella's as she quivered, not at all enjoying the hollowness engulfing her stomach. Her teeth pierced down on her lips—an inappropriate habit—and she slowly began nibbling at the tender flesh of them, prompting blood to trickle to the surface.
He shook his head, ripping his gaze away. "Not yet."
"Hmm…" Jesse smiled mischievously. "Maybe you will change your mind soon—"
"Jesse, dear, if he was to marry anyone in this wide world, it mostly certainly won't be you," Rosalie spoke up, her tone a mockery of politeness. She didn't even bother at staring Jesse in the eye, and didn't even seem at all fazed as the brunette, raked with embarrassment, ambled away, her eyes lowered to the ground. All pairs of eyes turned to Rosalie.
"What?" She cocked an eyebrow, blameless.
"Sister," Jasper said sternly, "Must you act like a cobra?"
She beamed, taking it as a compliment. "You think of me as a cobra? How brilliant!"
"No, Rosalie… not brilliant," Edward corrected, drawing out the last two words as if he was speaking to an idiotic child. Isabella smiled feebly, further fueling the "sunshine" in his eyes. "Not brilliant," he continued, staring at his cousin closely, "because sooner or later, women with such sour tempers as yours won't be tolerated for long… certainly not by men…"
"I digress," she giggled indulgently, motioning with her head toward a teenage boy who grinned goofily in return.
"I think he meant mature men," Isabella explained amusingly.
"Men…" Rosalie now appeared conflicted as her gaze traveled back to the third class deck, where the man had long departed, "Who needs them…"
Isabella snaked her arms around her body, willing the emptiness to disperse. "The ones who desire love."
Both men stared oddly at the wistful looks plastered to the two girls' faces. A serene image flickered across Isabella's mind; a vision of her skipping happily through a meadow of pink and magenta wildflowers, and far in the distance, the shape of a faceless, blurred man is situated, waiting for her with open arms. What a petty daydream, but for the few brief seconds it lasted in her mind… the hollow ache was gone.
Jasper leafed through the novel, the spine of it groaning in protest. Boredom consumed his mind, forcing him to read a novel that'd he already read before. In truth, nothing on the massive, luxurious ship appealed to him as much as it did others—not the dinner parties, our the smoke-filled rooms when the men huddled around one another, played poker, and drank the bitter brandy. None of it mattered. Not his suite, in which the wood was thoroughly polished and carved, or the bed sheets of warm, fitting wool. Why be given such luxury and not enjoy it, he often thought to himself. After all, in the corrupted society they lived in, there were people of poorer, less fortunate lives that would murder for what he possessed.
"Thinking, I see?"
Startled, Jasper unloosened his fingers, thus dropping the novel. However, standing by the doorway, Alice was situated, her eyes expressive and her hands clasped behind her back in an innocent manner. She was a year younger than him, but from the stories that Rosalie has told, she seems to have outwitted him in wisdom and intuition.
"Deep in thought, yes," he replied, smiling kindly at her.
She cocked her head and smiled sweetly. Jasper studied her closely—how short her curls were, but how they were adorably cropped against her face; her cheeks were prominent and her chin pointed. He could think of her as a magical, enticing figure in a mythical story or fairytale, especially in the way that she stared at people—gazing into their bodies and seeing what they could become in their future. Every time his eyes locked with hers, he could a hard, jade stones streaked with brown. Stone, because her eyes weren't glass—no, Alice wasn't one you could simply see through.
She was a complex, captivating creature…
Shock engulfed him once realizing how easily Alice consumed his thoughts.
"What were you reading?" Alice inquired curiously, before giggling. "Or rather, what were you staring at?"
He grasped the novel off the ground and handed it to her. Her fingers smoothed along the title engraving, a mysterious smile spreading across her beautiful face as she whispered, "Les Misérables… Cosette and Marius, love at first sight." Jasper recalled Isabella's remarks about love at first sight, and wondered why it was that women easily perceived love and affection—probably because of their motherly roles in the future or their natural sensitivity.
"I wonder if people can fall in love simply by locking eyes," Alice mused aloud.
"It must be true," Jasper offered, a bit ashamed that he was about to steal Isabella's words, "After all, for someone to have written about love at first sight, they must have known of its power and how true it is."
Alice, still maintaining her genuine smile, tapped her chin thoughtfully. As the agonizing moments ticked by—Jasper studying her every move and blink of the eye—, she shrugged her shoulders dismissively, as if ridding herself of a trivial thought, and sauntered over to the plush sofa he was perched on. Sitting down beside him, she rested the novel on the nearby table and began tapping her foot on the floor. She appeared awkward, an emotion that stunned him seeing as she never really faltered around anyone—not matter what class or ranking. She could be standing in front of a queen and never once fumbled with a word or allow her knees to buckle.
So why was she wavering now?
"Is something the matter, Alice?" Jasper asked, truly concerned for her well-being. She craned her neck, her eyes glassy and glistening—resisting the temptation of sobbing, he could tell. Her mouth opened, preparing to speak, but a deep choke rumbled from her throat and rolled off her tongue. Chest heaving, she leaned forward to stand, but Jasper, too swift, snaked his arm around her shoulder and pressed her frail body closer. Instead of weeping tremendously, she merely cried with salty tears slipping down her flushed red cheeks.
"I f-fear," Alice managed between sputters of tears, "that I am sinking into something terrible."
His eyebrows knotted together. "What exactly do you mean?"
"I can't take this ache in my chest," she clarified, pressing her palm to her chest area, "It's as if someone has taken a knife and carved a hole into my chest. It's all so hollow and… What does it mean? I am sad, maybe? But why so sudden and spontaneously?" She wiped at the wetness smoothed over her cheeks and closed her eyes tightly; several creases forming in her forehead.
"Depression, perhaps?" Jasper supplied.
"Aren't we all depressed," she choked a laugh.
"We're all sad," Jasper murmured, "But not depressed."
After staring at him for several minutes, unblinking, she tipped her head back and released a hearty laugh. "That makes absolutely no sense, Jasper!" Hearing his name slide across her lips caused a pleasant ache to expand in his stomach. "Jasper…" She patted his hand, so firm around her waist, "You can let go now… I'm a big girl… at the moment."
He jerked his arm away, his insides flaming. His heart stopped however, when she stood, bowed, and skipped out of the room with not so much as a goodbye or a thank you. Not so much complaining, but her unpredictable emotions puzzled and frightened him. When she had entered his room, she seemed in perfect balance, and nothing actually occurred that would shove her into a sobbing parade.
Her hazel orbs still plagued his mind. Her touch, so soft. Everything about her always did excite him. She was an extravagant creature. Alice Mary Brandon, a maid working under his family. How could he, Jasper Hale, so easily be swayed into her web of emotions? He felt affectionate toward her, and felt uneasy when she was away from his side; away from his line of sight.
He couldn't begin to understand what his emotions were screaming at him to comprehend.
During the evening, as the sun began to plunge itself under the sea, Renee and Isabella took a short stroll with Carlisle Hale and his wife, Esme; Isabella being overcome with a nauseas sickness at the sight of the two gazing adorably into one another's eyes, and it didn't help matters as they stood near the deck's railing, overlooking the vast ocean—a picture of love as they embraced each other with the orange-painted sky and the blazing sun etched right behind them, a pure masterpiece. "I love them so dearly," Renee sighed dreamily, gazing wistfully at the couple.
"Love them?" Isabella arched an eyebrow.
"It won't be long before you become such a perfect image," Renee reassured, blind to the lack of affectionate development between her and Jacob. Although Isabella could not blame her mother, she could certainly pout endlessly. But then again, Renee was a woman of denial who would rather see illusion than the cold truth—the illusion being that Jacob and Isabella were truly meant for each other.
"Did you ever have a perfect image?" Isabella inquired gently.
Renee frowned; past pain embedded into her blue orbs. "Once…"
"Can you tell me that love story then?" Isabella pressed, now eager to hear the scandalized story of Charlie Swan, a third class man with little money, and Renee Higginbotham, a woman already courted to be wed and groomed into a proper lady of society. Renee, after staring longingly into the ocean's breezy currents, exhaled a prolonged sigh, before sitting down upon one of the plush, outdoor-seats; Isabella following suit beside her.
"I figure the year was 1895, during early January. I was seventeen and promised to marry Phillip Dwyer, a rich tycoon. The wedding would come in February, early in the year in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. In that January, I met a man"—her eyes sparkled dramatically—"named Charlie Swan. He was twenty-two, reckless, but a responsible workingman concentrating on helping his family's financial issues. Of course, we came from separate classes; separate societies. I grew up in a wealthy family, and I am ashamed to say this…" She lowered her eyes to the ground. "Because of how I grew up and was raised, I suppose I held a certain amount of revulsion him—unjust, terrible prejudice.
"But I don't know what happened… after we began warming up to each other, the love just settled in with us. I never even told him of my engagement during the entire one-month affair. The day before my wedding, and we… It was wonderful and enthralling, Isabella!" Renee exhaled another breath, more jubilant this time. "Anyway, I still hadn't informed him that I was going to be married. So as I lay, naked in bed, staring at the ceiling, I tried going through my options… I could runaway with him, or be married and miserable. I was so committed to the first option at that moment, that I thought nothing would stop me from just leaving with him…
"However, I met my mother that evening for supper. She was extremely blissful and content, that I couldn't bear to look at her. I loved my family, and in that moment of vulnerability, I chose the safer of the two…" She smiled at Isabella, however solemn. "It was safe because I was able to bring you up without struggle because of the wealth, and that is all I cared about… You."
Grim fingers laced through Isabella's brown hairs, and blue eyes gazed into pale brown ones—both lost in the love story. "It would have been nearly impossible to raise you if I ran away with Charlie, but… I can't even imagine the look on his face when he realized I was no longer in his life, with no goodbye… I'm sure he read of my wedding in the paper, though."
"Oh, mother…" Isabella, frowning with pity, wound her arms around her mother and clung to her. Although Renee neither wept nor reminisced, the emotional turmoil practically radiated off her body like sunshine in the summer. Once pulled away from each other, Isabella caught sight of something in the corner of her eye, so dangerously close. Startled, she gasped.
Carlisle and Esme sat on the seat adjacent to the one shared between her and Renee; both leaning close to Renee, immensely fascinated. They had heard the entire story, and now, Esme's eyes appeared glassy; her cheeks stained with crimson from the; her nose a delicate shade of red. Carlisle was grimacing, truly moved by the story, Isabella could tell. Seeing their faces, Renee couldn't help but laugh half-heartedly.
"I'm so terribly sorry for eavesdropping," Esme apologized softly, her hand pressed to her chest, "And… that was such a sad story. How could you pick yourself up so easily, and be the way you are today? I wouldn't be able to survive without Carlisle!" They exchanged a look, so filled with emotion that it excited Isabella to know that such a love existed.
Renee smiled feebly. "My daughter… she is how I survived."
"Jasper and Rosalie," Esme recalled, speaking more to herself, "And Edward."
"Edward?" Isabella prompted, puzzled.
Esme grinned sheepishly. "Yes, I think of Edward as my other son." She glimpsed at Carlisle. "He is my sister's son, after all. He has no mother now, so I'm trying my hardest to help ease the grief." She rubbed her temple. "I would never call myself a replacement of Elizabeth, but I could sure as hell be his second mother—I am his Godmother."
"How very kind of you," Renee breathed, seemingly astonished.
"It's all I have to offer," Esme replied genuinely, "My love."
Isabella droned out their conversation now, truly sickened by the word "love".
It was dinner, once again, but with less of a crowd lingering around the table, much to Isabella's relief; she wouldn't be able to endure more of their insufferable chatter. Instead, it was now Isabella, Renee, Edna, Victoria, Michael, Jacob, Billy, and Jack (his wife and daughter off somewhere else). Edna and Renee, just as before, gushed manically of the wedding, leaving the four men to discuss other, less "womanly" topics—those topics being the stability of the ship, how a wife should be (although Jacob and Billy dramatically differed in opinion), and of course, their wealth and superiority over the world.
Both conversations lacked depth.
"Are you satisfied with the color?" Edna inquired, staring intensely at Isabella.
She nodded absently, knowing of the coloring of her bridal gown. "Yes." Edna, smiling happily, cast a look at the mute Victoria, who gazed blankly at her own, barely touched meal; eyes glazed over with an empty void to them.
"And how has your day gone, Ms. Blaire?"
Victoria lifted her chin. "Wonderful," she responded acidly.
"Well…" Edna tugged at her silver necklace, visibly uncomfortable. However, her eyes brightened, once again, as Carlisle and Esme strolled toward the table; not to join their party, but merely to say a short hello. Edna's face, of course, was flushed pink at the sight of Carlisle, and Isabella had a vague feeling that she held a vicious animosity toward Esme; that feeling being triggered by envy.
"Hello, Carlisle…" Edna's expression darkened. "Esme."
"Hello," Esme nodded, smiling kindly.
As another exchange of words came, Isabella's face paled as she caught the look on Victoria's face, so filled with outrage. Her dark eyes glared at the couple, her lips pressed into a firm line, and her gaunt cheeks were a patch of red. The veins on her arms protruded as she clenched her fists and her body became rigid and stoic. Isabella was baffled by her behavior.
"Hello, Ms. Blair," Esme greeted finally, her voice, however, quiet.
Victoria nodded once.
"Have a good evening," Carlisle finished awkwardly toward them, before hooking his arm around his fiancée's and sauntering toward another, empty table far away where the lights most shined in the room. Edna sighed wistfully, but it was Renee and Jacob who appeared to have noticed the savageness displayed on Victoria's face.
"What is wrong with you?" Jacob demanded.
Victoria whipped her head toward him, seething as she said, "He was the doctor who aided my husband for a short while… up until his death."
"And…?" Jacob couldn't understand, nor could Isabella.
"Nothing important left to say."
They all stared at her for several moments, attempting to unveil the true meaning of her words, before submitting back into their own conversations. Well, all except Isabella, who couldn't dislodge the sudden flare of dislike that wavered in the actress's direction. Was Victoria blaming Carlisle, an extraordinary doctor, for her husband's demise at the hand's of a sickness that was already most likely to kill him? It was even said in the papers that the moment James—her famous husband—had contracted the deadly cancer, that his death was inevitable. Could she possibly hold the blame on Carlisle?
As Isabella stared into the actress's eyes, the answer spiraled into her head.
Yes… yes she could.
A premonition of sorts lingered in her head; that this emotional stress in Victoria's deteriorating body would soon prove as a thorn in Carlisle's family—and Isabella couldn't help but feel pitiful for both of them: Victoria and Carlisle (along with his family).
This ship wasn't so luxurious anymore.
