Enjoy.

Chapter 3: Are we there yet?

I was getting antsy. The flight from Seattle to New York was nearly five hours long.

Five hours. Sigh.

It didn't seem so bad, thinking about it abstractly, during the excitement of planning. However, enduring five hours in an uncomfortable, confined seat was a wholly different thing. I wasn't sure if I could take it any longer. I was going stir-crazy. It didn't help that I was jittery from all the coffee I'd had at home and at the airport.

I had tried reading the book I'd brought with me on the plane. I only just started reading it recently, but was already really into it and was excited to have the long plane ride, with a nice block of time, to dedicate to reading it.

Little did I know…

I wasn't a seasoned traveler, so I didn't take into account the crying babies, restless children, distracting nearby conversations; having my seat bumped every two minutes by the person behind me; having the person in front of me unable to decide if they wanted their chair reclined a little, a lot or not at all; multiple interruptions by the flight attendants offering food and beverages; constantly being bumped by person after person with their trips to and from the bathroom…Why hadn't anyone ever warned me? I found out quickly, an airplane was not the most conducive environment for losing yourself in a good book.

I had chided Rosalie when she'd stopped at an airport terminal shop to buy a whole stack of different magazines. I figured she'd be through them before we were done with the first half of the flight; knowing there were generally only a couple of articles in each magazine that you wanted to read anyway. Plus, most of the ones she'd grabbed were rag mags and those could be flipped through really quickly; being mostly photos and quips or paragraphs. I personally didn't fully understand the appeal of those trash rags. It was rare that I would actually buy one. I usually only glanced at them, to pass the time, if I was standing in a long line at the grocery store; but Rosalie loved to look through them. She'd said a vacation wasn't complete without junk magazines and she assured me she would be perfectly fine with them to keep her entertained throughout the flight.

But yet there I was, not half-way through the flight to New York, swiping Rosalie's magazines. She gave me a playful smirk, but said nothing about making me eat my words, as I grabbed and flipped through first one, then another magazine as I bobbed my head along to the music on my iPod. It was when I began to slide the third magazine from the middle of the pile, however, that she piped up.

"Make sure that one doesn't get left on the plane," Rose said quickly when she noticed which one I had started to pull from the pile.

I stopped taking the magazine out from the stack and looked at the name that was peeking out from under the others. I looked back up at Rosalie questioningly. The name of it didn't spark any significance. I pulled out an ear bud to ask her what she meant, but she clarified the moment the bud was out of my ear, thinking I hadn't heard her.

"I don't care about the others, but don't leave that one on the plane," Rosalie instructed as if it was quite important. "I'm not done looking at it," she added lightly, giving a casual shrug. Then a smile began to play at the corner of her lips.

Curious, I pulled the magazine completely out from under the others. When my eyes fell upon the cover, I found a pair of stunning hazel-green eyes staring intensely back at me.

Wow.

He had short, cropped black hair and his square jaw that was covered in a close layer of stubble. The look on his face screamed sex and feral lust. He was wearing dog tags and a wife beater that showed off his huge shoulders and bulging biceps. I could vividly imagine that his chest and stomach looked every bit as rigidly toned.

I raised my eyebrows and looked at Rosalie. She unabashedly licked her lips and gave me a mischievous smile before turning back to the gossip magazine she was looking at.

I breathed a laugh and turned back to the magazine.

Emmett Cullen.

I knew of him. He was an actor, but I hadn't seen too many of his films because he typically played in action movies that were more geared toward guys—I figured it was because of his sheer size. Despite that, I definitely knew who he was. If I didn't Rose would have made sure I did—she kind of had a thing for him; like I kind of had a thing for Emmett's brother, Anthony, who was also an actor. Rosalie was probably the only hot-blooded, heterosexual female out there that, "did not really see the appeal," of Anthony Cullen, but she definitely saw it in Emmett. Rosalie seemed drawn to big, built guys with chiseled, bulging muscles—if I would have kept a photo log of Rose's boyfriend history, it would definitely display a pattern—Royce included.

Rosalie hadn't been coy when she told me why she liked that kind of guy. We'd only known one another a very short time when she'd said, that not only did she love the way a built guy looked, she liked a guy that could "handle" her in the bedroom. When I had looked at her stupidly, unable to grasp what she meant, being an innocent, naïve college-age virgin, she elaborated for me. She'd told me that there was nothing better than a guy that could pick you up and fling you around in the bedroom, adding that the position options were far greater, the more flexible you were and the stronger he was. I'd, naturally, flushed tomato red from head to toe and my mouth hung open from shock and embarrassment. I was completely mortified by her casual reference to such a personal topic. Rosalie had laughed at my reaction and told me to keep hanging out with her and she'd break me out of my meek and innocent little shell.

I smiled; knowing that while I probably would never be as brash and open as she was, she had definitely helped me overcome my extreme introvert tendencies, by exposing me to many new experiences throughout our years of friendship.

I flipped open the magazine and started to page through it. When I stopped at the article on Emmett Cullen, I looked over the photos of him. In the first photo, he was standing, shirtless with black sunglasses on and wearing a black, wool jacket with the collar popped up. He looked nothing short of incredible—in a league of his own, out of anyone's reach. In the second photo, he was—shirtless again, of course—but this time he was only in a pair of button-fly jeans that were half undone. That photo was hot, sensual and erotic. It screamed sexual anticipation. The way he was positioned and the look on his face, it suggested that he might have been about to reach in and grab himself. I blushed, for no apparent reason other than at the thought that had just crossed my mind, and moved on to the next picture hoping to cool my warmed face, but it was no less tame. In the next one, he was down to just a lowly pair of very tight fitting, plain, boxer briefs, showcasing his body's etched-to-perfection muscles and, um, package, while he held up a naked woman. She was strategically placed so all vital areas were covered and she was straddling—yes straddling—the one arm he held her up with. Her arms were casually draped on his shoulder, as she looked seductively into the camera, while he held her up with just one arm and his other arm was draped casually at his side. Somehow, he managed to make holding up an entire woman with one arm appear effortless, while looking brooding and sexy as hell. How did he do that? Sure the girl was probably at most a hundred pounds soaking wet, but still.

Feeling like I was being watched, I looked up at Rose. But she wasn't looking at me, she was looking at the photo of Emmett Cullen looking like he was taking the woman on his arm back to his cave. Even without the small humming sound that escaped her throat, as she looked at the photograph, the smirk on her lips and the way her eyes shone, I knew what she was thinking. The memory of Rose telling me why she liked the guys she did, came flooding back to me for the second time in minutes. I knew that the mental images running through her mind would have made me blush fire engine red—wait. Yep, even without knowing exactly what she was thinking, I could feel my face flush.

Rose's eyes flashed up to mine.

"Are you blushing Bella?" Rose's smirk became noticeably bigger with her tease. "He's not even naked. I don't think we'll ever be able to take the innocence out of you. Will we?"

"He doesn't have to be naked, that photograph is probably more erotic because he isn't naked." Seriously, those photos were like porn for women. "Besides, you say that like it's a bad thing. For your information, I'm blushing more because I can pretty much guess what you're thinking about the pictures, not really about the pictures themselves," I defended myself, feeling my face grow slightly warmer with my partial lie.

"Okay," she said in a way that made me think she didn't actually believe me. "And, for the record, I don't think your innocent blushes are a bad thing. It's sweet, but it makes me doubt I'll ever succeed in getting the both of us laid on this trip."

"I didn't know that was on the list of things to do," I laughed once, masking my discomfort, as I closed the magazine. This knowledge surprised me, though I knew I should have fully expected Rose to decide to make a "trip to do list" that would be something so far out of my comfort realm that I couldn't grasp if I would really want to participate.

"To do", certainly just took on a whole new meaning.

"Sure as shit it's on the list," Rose said sternly. "It's at the fucking top."

Oh no.

"I've been far too responsible, for far too long," she continued. "And we'll be on the complete opposite side of the country from our real lives, obligations and responsibilities—I have every intention to stop giving a flying fuck and do whatever and whomever I damn well please, while we're in New York!"

"And… how is that attitude any different than any other day for you, Rose?" I quipped.

"It's not, really, I guess with the 'doing whatever' part, but I haven't exactly let loose on the 'whomever' since Henry came. So, I'm upping the ante, for myself, and putting it on the table for you. The biggest difference is now I have half a chance in hell to convince you to adopt the same attitude—for the duration of this trip anyway," she laughed and then her voice turned pleading. "Come on Bell. Let loose. You're not going to be single forever, live a little while you can. A little fun won't kill you."

I was all for fun, but I wasn't cut out for the hooking up world. Rose knew that, so I doubted she'd try too hard to get me to hop on to her "let loose" agenda with her. Though it probably meant I might have a hotel room to myself one of the nights we were here.

Hmm, that thought kind of sounded nice; a night to myself to curl up, relax and lay low. Plus, it might at least give me a chance to put a dent into my book I was unable to read on the flight. Being able to have some downtime during our busy schedule that was sure to fill the rest of the trip was not an unwelcomed thought.

Static on the intercom system interrupted my train of thought and saved me from an inevitable moment of temporary insanity where I would actually agree to Rosalie's plea.

"This is your captain speaking. I will be turning on the "fasten seatbelt light," as in a few minutes we will be begin our preparations for landing. The weather in New York City is clear and seventy-seven degrees. The local time is one seventeen in the afternoon. We are currently flying ahead of schedule folks. We are set to arrive about ten minutes ahead of our scheduled landing time, allowing a bit of extra time for those of you with connections, to check in for your next flight. It has been a pleasure flying for you; and for those of who are staying in New York, I hope you enjoy your stay. Thank you for flying with us today." There was a pause and then static rustling….."Flight attendants please prepare for landing."

"Ready or not…" Rose said with a smirk.

"Us or New York?" I returned her contagious grin.

"Both," she laughed.

XXXXX

As we rode in the taxi, the biggest impression New York City gave me was that it was absolutely massive. The buildings were crammed tightly next to each other; one in chaotic levels of heights; one block right after the next. And it was so busy. The streets were teeming with people along the buildings, spilling in and out—it reminded me of when I was a kid and Jake would turn over rocks to find swarms of bugs packed in underneath to try to gross Jess and me out. The people were just everywhere. I thought, several times, that the cab driver was going to run people over, during our drive from the airport to the hotel. People just kept walking across the street. They didn't stop when the lights changed. They just kept on going. The cabs pressed through the throngs of people, honking and pushing towards the pedestrians until they were past them. Then they did it all over again at the next intersection. It was definitely something to see.

We'd booked a room in a large chain hotel just off of Times Square. It was a nice hotel in the middle of everything, but it was nothing extravagant. With the hotel prices in New York City, we couldn't afford to shell out the money it took for a swanky hotel. Besides, we didn't plan to spend that much time at the hotel, other than to sleep anyway; so accommodations that had a five page long list of amenities was not a requisite.

Surprisingly, despite the rudeness and lack of courtesy that we'd seen over and over on the ride from the airport, the hotel staff was very pleasant. I wondered if the city had a Dr. Jackal and Mr. Hyde thing going on. That the people there were nice and friendly until it came to the streets, then the gloves were off. Since, I had only about an hour's worth of observation to go on I'd have to wait until the end of the trip to make a more educated ruling.

When we finally made it up to our room, I looked around the crisp, clean-looking space we'd be calling our "home away from home" for the duration of our stay. I surveyed the multi-hued, grey patterned carpet, the light colored bathroom, the light designed curtains, the dark wood table and chairs and the new-looking, flat-screen television that I knew Jake and Charlie would appreciate, as I walked into the room. I liked it. It was generically comforting. We'd lucked out, a decent place for far less than we could have spent.

Then, I laid eyes on the bed that I would be calling mine for the next week and we locked eyes. Never mind that beds don't have eyes—because I saw them nestled sleepily in the form of pillows that laid resting against the bed's dark, swooped headboard. The eyes, disguised as fluffy, soft pillows, looked back at me with a lazy, welcoming expression. I walked over to the bed, keeping eye-contact with its pillow-eyes and stood in front of it with longing. After my lack of sleep, the past several nights, due to getting ready for The Trip and the long flight, I wanted nothing more than to collapse on the plush, cozy, inviting bed to take a nap.

The bed smiled and opened its arms to me. It called to me. It talked to me. It begged me to curl up in it, telling me I'd find blissful dreams there. It promised happiness and heavenly sleep.

Oh no.

Not the bed too. I wondered if I had either lost my mind, or I had tapped into the unknown intelligence of inanimate objects…..essentially meaning, to the modern world, that I'd lost my mind. So I guessed it didn't matter which it was, the end verdict was the same; I was crazy.

Shit.

Well, I guess I'd always wondered as much. I had always viewed the world and my experiences in it, differently from others. I knew this and had accepted it long ago, but it still concerned me from time to time.

"Earth to Bella," Rosalie called snapping me out of my moment with the bed. "Stop daydreaming woman. We have to get moving. We're supposed to be there by four."

Rose had been able to score us tickets to "The Late Show" with Aro Volterra. She'd gone online to request tickets once we'd finally nailed down a certain date for The Trip. I had to say I was pretty excited about it. I'd never been in close proximity to someone famous and the idea was kind of exciting to me. Plus, it just seemed like a fun thing to do in New York City.

I nodded to Rose before petting the bed as if telling it that I fully expected to keep it to its promises later that night. Then I threw my bag on the foot of the bed and zipped it open.

Rose had insisted we go shopping before The Trip. I had resisted, pointing out that New York was like the shopping Mecca of the country—not to mention that shopping really wasn't my thing. Rose had rolled her eyes, impatiently telling me that we needed some nice, new outfits to wear before we had a chance to shop in NYC. She also insisted we should bring suitcases that were a good size larger than what we needed so we would have room for our shopping spoils for the way home. I had shaken my head, but wisely listened to her.

I peered into my case. It looked a bit sad in there, being only half full.

I looked at Rose, to take a cue from her, to see what she was going to change into—what did one wear to an evening talk show taping? I hadn't a clue. She was slipping on a simple but dressy blouse. It was a rich, bold red that slipped slightly off her shoulder. The deep color looked stunning with her light, golden blonde hair.

I sighed in discouragement. Did it really matter what I wore when I'd be standing next to her?

No. Not really. But for some reason I kept trying. Probably from Rose's encouragement—well, either that or I was just a masochist who loved to try to attain the impossible.

I looked back down at my clothes and began flipping through them. Hmmm. I really wasn't good at this.

Obviously.

I'd worn plaid without realizing it. The breadths and depths of fashion were quite far beyond me. Though Rose, bless her, continued to try.

I stared at the clothes. I'd not worn most of the items in there before. Not only was it a bit daunting to determine what to wear when I couldn't pull out a favorite article of clothing, but it also felt like I was looking at someone else's stuff. I was suddenly pining away for my comfy green hoodie. I sighed in longing. I knew I should have packed that.

Rose must have sensed my dilemma because she paused from her shoe debate and walked over to me as I stood, dumbfounded, in front of my open suitcase.

"Why don't you wear this one?" she said pulling out a light, rich blue blouse.

I pulled it on and turned to Rose in question.

Rose nodded enthusiastically—of course she liked it on me, she'd picked the damn thing out and told me I "had" to buy it. Then she shoved pants and shoes in my arms to put on with it.

XXXXX

Waiting to go into the taping of "The Late Show" felt kind of like trying to get into a club. We went to confirm, with an employee, that we were on the list and then were corralled into a queue to wait to be seated. I lightly rolled my eyes at Rosalie who was chatting with a moderately cute page about good places to go out at night in the city. The guy looked at her just like every single guy I'd known looked at Rose—James included. He seemed so enthused that she was paying attention to him that I was nearly surprised he hadn't started to drool all over himself. I shook my head, but I was thankful when she asked about good places to eat nearby because I hadn't eaten yet today and was painfully aware that it was lunchtime back home.

All the interns and pages were tightlipped about who the guests were. They just kept saying that it was going to be a great show. I wondered though if the workers even knew themselves.

As I watched the employees flitter around getting everyone situated and everything set for the show it seemed that all the female staff were almost…giddy. I didn't know if that meant they knew who the guests were and they were a bit beside themselves about it, or if they were just really stoked about their jobs.

Or maybe they were all fed some sort of happy pill at the beginning of their shift.

Uppers; job perk.

I giggled.

As we were led to our seats I noticed the place was much larger than what they utilized. There was a lower and upper level and only the closest rows of the upper level were filled. The place was frigidly cold making me wish I'd known to wear something warmer. The seating area was dimly lit and darkly decorated, while the stage and band area were drastically opposite, draped in such intense lighting the areas glowed.

When everyone was seated, a severe-looking, strict woman named Jane, with tightly secured white-blonde hair, instructed the audience on rules and how they had to be obeyed or we would be removed from the theater immediately. She warned us harshly that there were no second chances.

Then after the light little "pep talk" from Jane, other staff members had us practice cheering and laughing.

Yeah, we all felt like laughing after that "bubbly" lecture Jane had given. I thought sarcastically.

I felt completely idiotic wishing we would have had time for a drink or two before we arrived to stifle my self-consciousness of acting stupid cheering and forcing laughs.

First a comedian came out. I was surprised, but now thinking about it I shouldn't have been. It made sense to get us laughing before the interviews started–-they needed us to be in a laughing mood for the taping, but I hadn't expected a comedy show too. Personally, I thought the guy was a bit crude and smarmy; and his jokes really weren't that great. He relied too heavily on the shock factor and it came off as just plain gross.

I was starting to feel disappointed, but the show's band came out and played a few songs for us. They were great and very entertaining. They definitely knew how to win over the crowd. I thought they should ditch the bad comedian and have the band members play and joke around with the audience because they were definitely more entertaining.

Finally, Aro Volterra, the host of "The Late Show" walked out on stage and greeted the crowd, over the music, while the cameras zoomed in on him to start the show.

"We have a fabulous show for you tonight," Aro grinned to the audience, as the band quieted.

Aro was a very confusing character to watch in person. He looked creepy with his slick, black hair and light-colored eyes that had a hazy look to them. Despite his creepy appearance, there was something about him that was comforting at the same time. As he spoke, I decided it was his voice that was comforting, conflicting with his really creepy looks. I was surprised how overwhelmingly eerie he was in person, when at home, watching on television, he'd never given me heebie-jeebies.

I stifled a giggle when Rose made a face and shuddered. Apparently, Aro gave her the same feeling.

"Tonight," Aro continued, "we have actor, Anthony Cullen here with us," my stomach tightened and leaped to my throat with excitement as the women in the audience erupted loudly. I looked over at Rose and mouthed, "Holy crow!" as a huge smile swept involuntarily across my face. I could feel my eyes were hugely wide and if I was being honest, I kind of felt like screaming like a school girl.

Anthony Cullen. Holy shit!

Aro continued to talk and joke with the audience, as Rosalie struggled to hold back her laughter at me—not to spare me embarrassment, but to not get us kicked out, as was promised by Jane, who even frightened Rose. I realized in that moment, I may or may not have bounced in my seat a little bit with the wave of excitement that washed through me. Her laughter caused me to blush fiercely, which only made her laugh more.

I saw Jane standing to the side of the seating area, eyeing Rose with a look that felt like it could have shot pain through a person, as if daring Rosalie to make the smallest peep. Jane looked like a predator waiting to swoop in, as she eyed Rose who's body shook silently with laughter as she tried to recover from her amusement with me. Thankfully, Rose was able to prevent an audible laugh because the woman looked like she was almost hoping for the chance to toss Rosalie out of the studio.

I didn't understand what Rose thought was so funny. She knew I liked his movies and really liked to look at him—but really, who didn't? Okay, so it might have had something to do with the fact that I was a bit giddy that I was going to get to see Anthony Cullen in person. I'd always felt some kind of draw to him, beyond thinking he was probably the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen.

Of course, it didn't help that Rose had never really understood the thing I had for Anthony Cullen. I remembered how she had crinkled her nose, asking if I was joking when I'd admitted my lust for him. She had shrugged her shoulders and said she just didn't see it. She'd always told me that I could have him because she'd just want him to introduce her to his brother.

That was fine with me because let's face it, in the imaginary world where Rose and I would meet Anthony Cullen, if Rose wanted him too, I'd not have stood a chance in hell with him.

Like Rose not being interested in Anthony Cullen actually gave you a chance in hell, even if you did meet him, Bella. Ha!

Great, even my subconscious was laughing at me.

Hey! I said "imaginary" world, didn't I? I defended hotly. Then I realized that I was not only talking to myself, I was arguing with myself. I was sorely relieved that the argument happened completely in my head where no one had heard my moment of questioned sanity.

Aro was done talking. The band was playing for us during a commercial break. A commercial break? Wasn't this show taped? Weird.

"I'm sorry," Rosalie said still breathing a laugh, not really sounding sorry at all, as the band played. "I shouldn't laugh at you. It's kind of cute how you're turning all teenager-like about seeing him. I don't think I've ever seen you act this way about a guy before."

"I am not turning teenager-like," I defended petulantly. "Did I squeal?"

Crap. Wait. Did I squeal? I didn't think I did. No. I was pretty sure I hadn't. Oh, thank God for that.

"Have I started crying?" I asked lightening my tone. "Have I tried running backstage to attack him? No. Thank you very much."

"No," Rose smirked. "But I bet you thought about it."

I stuck out the tip of my tongue at her, being unable to conjure a witty reply.

"I better call Jane over here," Rose laughed. "Sticking out your tongue is the first symptom of teenager regression. Next, you'll let out a squeal, and then before anyone can stop you, you'll be charging the stage."

I flashed her the most annoyed, pissed off look I could and replied smartly, "How much do you want to bet his brother is back stage keeping him company?"

I watched Rose's entire body visibly perk up. Her eyes snapped to the stage before she could stop herself from doing so.

"Now who's the one in danger of charging the stage?" I teased, grinning hugely now that the ridicule wasn't pointed at me for the moment.

"Oh shut the fuck up," Rose snapped, but then a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

I giggled at her.

Then our attention was being called to the stage as Aro re-entered and sat down behind his desk. We were cued to clap and cheer as the music faded. Then Aro started to speak over the clapping.

"Please welcome our first guest, actor Anthony Cullen!" Aro called excitedly as the clapping faded and then picked up to a roar.

As Anthony Cullen came into view from behind the stage, it was almost as if he sauntered out in slow motion. The first thing I saw was the profile of his face that showcased his strong, faint-inducing, square jaw that drew a line up and back. It drew my eyes to his neck that was the home to the sexiest Adams Apple I'd ever seen in my life.

What? A sexy Adams Apple?

Yes. Holy hell, yes.

Then as he rounded the divider, his head dipped down, hiding his face from view, but the action showed off his riot of bronze-brown hair that lay in a disheveled disarray atop his head. As he walked out dressed simply in a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, he pushed his hand through his hair as if he could read my mind, knowing that it would make my breathing stutter.

"You might want to close your mouth Bell. I'm sure drooling isn't one of his turn-ons," Rose whispered breathing a laugh.

It was then I realized that while the rest of the audience was clapping and cheering, I'd sat there with my mouth open agape as I took him in.

I shook my head to dispel the daze and began to clap with the rest of the audience. Anthony looked up, smiled and waved to the audience before shaking hands with Aro and sitting down in the guest chair nearest to Aro's desk.

"Anthony! So good to see you again my friend! How are you?"

"Good. Good," he smiled wide but shyly, nodding his head.

"What are you going to do while you're here in New York?" Aro prompted making a bit of small talk. "Anything planned?"

"Wow. Um. I don't know," Anthony said seeming to have been stumped by this question as he raked his hand through his hair and cleared his throat. "I don't know what I'm going to do while I'm here, actually, except say hello to my brother who's wrapping up a film here in the city right now."

"That's right!" Aro clasped his hands seemingly overly excited about that simple tidbit of information. "Emmett is…"

Just then, someone let out her own little shout-out for Emmett… or Anthony, or Anthony and Emmett both being in the city at the same time as they were, or something that made her overwhelmingly happy that she just couldn't contain herself from yelling out. I started. The scream was so near me I actually thought it was Rose at first because it sounded like it was right in my ear.

No sooner did Anthony let out a laugh of amusement, at the fan's enthusiasm for interrupting them, than Jane and her army of security swooped in to usher the girl out of the audience.

I looked away from the girl being removed from the studio, over to Anthony who looked surprised by the reaction of the show's security, and then to Aro. He sat looking at the audience member seeming amused at her outburst as she was being ordered to leave and escorted out. But, something told me that he was behind the strict policy. I had gotten the feeling Aro did not like to be interrupted.

Aro took the opportunity to throw out a bad joke to the crowd, during the distraction, to which they forced a laugh from cue, probably all now worried about making a wrong move resulting in them being removed as well.

I drew my eyes away from the creeptastic Aro and back over to the fucktastic Anthony Cullen, more than happy to have an opportunity and an excuse to stare at him.

I watched as Anthony looked at Aro questioningly and then back over to the exiting figures, obviously confused by the whole scene that had resulted from a simple shout-out. He began to turn his face back towards Aro when his stunningly green eyes, slipped down from the unfortunate person exiled from the room, and met mine. I felt a shivering jolt of want race through my entire body and I couldn't look away. His head jerked with a sudden mid-movement redirection as he snapped it back and directly faced me. Anthony's eyes locked with mine, causing a strange warm, electric sensation to intensely dance through my entire body.

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