Many thanks to WhatsMyNomdePlume for beta'ing and being a fun drinking buddy.
*0*0*
"Tell me all about it. Every word."
"It… I survived, Alice."
"You sound okay. Was it okay?"
"Well, I wouldn't say it was okay. I was kind of a wreck. But yeah… I didn't freak out."
"What did he say? What did you say?"
"It was an interview. Margaret was there for almost all of it. They talked about his work. I listened and took notes."
"Almost all of it?"
"I walked him out at the end."
"Just the two of you?"
"For a few minutes."
"Well? What did he say?"
"He said I looked good."
"I bet he did."
"Alice…"
"What? You do look good! Did you wear that black dress?"
"No, the navy wrap."
"Oh, that looks fantastic on you! Good."
"I'm not trying to seduce him, Alice."
"Still, there's nothing wrong with looking amazing. Aren't you glad I made you get those lowlights?"
"You're a genius."
"So what else did he say?"
"That was about it. Oh, he noticed my ring."
"Good! Was he upset?"
"Alice! Christ! No, he just… he saw it. And commented. I said I was engaged. That was it."
"Well, he'll see you with Alec at the fundraiser, I guess."
"What?"
"You told me that the fellowship finalists get invited to that cocktail party fundraiser thingy for the Van Lewen foundation, right?"
"Shit…"
"It'll be fine. You'll have Alec with you."
"He wasn't sure he could make it."
"Isabella, you have to make sure he's there. Should I come with you? Just in case you need support?"
"No. I'll call Alec and make sure he comes. He'll look out for me. Phil and Renee are coming, anyway."
"To the fundraiser? Why?"
"Some business thing. Everybody goes. It's philanthropic, but you can still work out a deal over the canapés, I guess."
"Well, your parents are pretty useless, you know that. But as long as Alec is there, you'll be fine, right?"
"Right."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. As long as I stay with Alec, I'll be fine."
"Of course you will be."
Imagining Alec at my side when I see Edward again doesn't make me feel the least bit better, though.
*0*0*
The courtyard of the Frick Collection looks magical. It's dark outside the overhead skylight, and there are thousands of votive candles tucked into every conceivable corner to illuminate the space. The water from the fountain in the center glitters with the light of them. The space is packed from wall-to-wall with dowagers in sparkling gowns and white-haired scions of industry in tuxedos.
I'm standing next to Alec as he talks with Phil and Renee, and looking around as best as I can without being obvious and standing on tip-toe. I tell the others it's because I'm keeping an eye out for Margaret, but that's not who I'm looking for.
I checked the guest list on the sly two days ago, so I know he's coming, along with the other nine finalists. There was no 'plus one' next to his name.
I hate this. I hate this grinding anticipation, knowing that I'm going to see him, but not when I am. And I hate that I still care. I'm standing next to my fiancé. I'm twenty-two. Everything is different, and none of that stuff that happened four years ago should matter at all. But it does, and I know it. I should feel nothing more than a mild embarrassment around him, and instead, I feel like I'm crawling out of my own skin. I'm self-conscious, smoothing my long black dress down over my hips, too aware of how completely bare my shoulders, back, and arms are.
I close my eyes to regroup and when I open them again, I focus on Alec and whatever it is he's saying to Phil. It's about the company though, and I don't really care, so it's hard to pay attention. There's some business contact that they want to cultivate and he's here tonight, so they're all about their strategy. My mother is rapt, ready to spring into action as need be to aid the cause. I'm trying not to yawn.
I reach out for Alec's hand, needing something— his warmth, his solidity— to hold me in the present and keep my imagination and anxiety from running away with me. He squeezes my fingers briefly and throws one distracted half-smile at me before turning back to my father. It's not much, but I focus on his palm against mine and it helps a little. It's here and it's real. Then he slides his hand away to gesture about something and the feeling is gone.
"Bella?" Edward's voice comes simultaneous with his touch on the back of my bare arm. It's just his fingers brushing very lightly, to tell me he's there, but I still let out a yelp of surprise as I spin around.
He looks sheepish at startling me. He's not in a tux; just a plain dark suit, with a white shirt and a dark tie, but he looks better than any man here by a mile. His hair has been brushed but it's still in anarchy compared to the tidy executive haircuts on all sides of him. He's freshly-shaved and bright-eyed and so, so intoxicating to look at. His long, elegant fingers are curled around a highball glass and his other hand is stuffed casually in his pocket. I swallow and make myself look back to his face. He's looking back at me with an expression that makes the skin on the back of my neck prickle. If I felt exposed before, now I feel naked.
Then the look and the moment passes and he just smiles, friendly and open. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I just wanted to say hi."
"Oh, you're not…" I have to stop and start over and I'm so glad I don't still blush like I did when I was younger. "It's fine. I'm glad you could make it."
He raises his eyebrows as he looks around himself. "Yeah, this is really... something."
I smile in spite of my nerves. "They know how to throw a good party."
"That's for sure." He smiles back and his eyes drop quickly down my body and then back up. "You look really…"
"Isabella?" I turn to see my mother looking at me in question. Her eyes flick to Edward and then back to me. Edward's face has gone blank since she interrupted him. There's nothing remotely friendly in her expression, but her voice is pleasant enough. "Introduce us to your friend?"
Alec and Phil are still deep in their business conversation and not paying attention. More than anything, I don't want to do this, but I can't get out of it. I pretend for a minute that Edward is nothing more to me than what he seems; somebody I met through work.
"Of course," I say smoothly. "Mom, this is Edward Cullen. He's one of the finalists for the Van Lewen Fellowship. Edward, this is my mother, Renee Dwyer."
Renee sizes him up slowly before she reaches her hand out. She's got her freshly-done blonde hair swept up in a high French twist and the enormous diamond earrings Phil gave her for Christmas two years ago flash brightly in her ears. She finally lets him take her hand, but keeps her fingers limp. "Edward Cullen," she says, as if searching her memory. I decide to connect the dots for her before she says something snotty.
"Edward also taught Art Appreciation at Spencer during my senior year," I supply.
"Ah, yes!" Renee's veneer of delight would almost be believable to someone who doesn't know her as well as I do. "Mimi Weigert found you, isn't that right?"
I want to kill her for wording it that way, which was completely intentional, but Edward just keeps smiling. If she's gotten to him, he's not letting her see it. "Yes, that's me. How is Mimi these days?"
Renee's fake smile grows more brittle. "The same as ever. Always busy with some new… diversion."
I wish the stupid marble floor underneath us would open up and swallow her whole. But it doesn't, and she and Edward go on smiling their false smiles at each other. Inside, I'm cheering that he's refusing to be intimidated by my mother. I think she hates him for it. I think he knows she hates him for it. I think he doesn't give a shit.
Renee cracks first. "Do come and meet the rest of the family," she says. I hate it when she trots out her phony cultured manners, especially when I know where she really came from. They work for Margaret, but Renee just sounds ridiculous when she tries it. She taps Phil on his arm and he and Alec finally knock off their business meeting. All these glossy, society manners and the two of them are being so rude in the midst of it, completely ignoring the new person standing with us. But it's the kind of rudeness everyone will overlook, because their lack of manners and self-absorption makes us richer.
"Phillip, this is Edward Cullen, one of the artists from Isabella's charity. Edward, this is Isabella's father, Phillip Dwyer."
"It's not a charity," I snap, my anger at her flaring up "It's a philanthropic foundation."
Phil's eyes cut to me and then back to Edward. He's not used to any show of emotion from me and he has no idea how to handle it, so he just keeps on smiling and shaking Edward's hand. And Edward never misses a beat, in spite of Renee's nasty little dig. He smiles and shakes right back.
"And this is Alec Winters, Isabella's fiancé," she continues, gesturing to Alec. Edward swings around to face him and I'm almost—but not completely— sure I'm not imagining how his eyes narrow a little and his expression gets shrewd, like he's assessing Alec. Alec misses it all, of course, his mind still on business.
"Nice to meet you," he says with a distracted smile, shaking Edward's hand. I'm staring hard at Alec, willing him to notice the tension, to see how freaked out I am and save me. He's supposed to ground me. I want him to put his arm around me and make me feel settled again, the way he always does. But he's only barely here in the moment. I can tell from his expression that he can't wait until the niceties are dispensed with so he can get back to business.
"You too," Edward says, sounding entirely insincere. It clearly hasn't been nice for Edward to meet any of my family, especially not Alec.
"If you'll excuse us, Edward," Renee interrupts, reaching out for my arm, effectively cutting Edward out of our little cluster of people. He actually has to take a step back to avoid getting clipped by her grasping hand. "There's someone here that we were just about to go say 'hello' to."
I gape at her, horrified by her rudeness, but Edward just smiles and holds up a hand. "No problem. I just wanted to stop by and say hello to Bel… Isabella."
I look back at him and he's got his chin tucked into his chest, looking up at me with an expression I can't quite read. His face and his eyes make my pulse pound, but my mother is turning me away to follow Phil and Alec, and I don't have time to figure out what it means. I look back over my shoulder one more time at Edward as I get towed through the crowd. He's not smiling anymore. He just raises one hand to wave a little, watching me go.
My anger at how badly my mother treated him has done away with all my anxiety over seeing him again—I suppose it was helpful in that regard. I'm mad and also embarrassed, even though he didn't seem at all put-out. It was almost like he expected it from her, which makes it so much worse.
Phil, Renee and Alec are in full-court flattery with this man they're trying to impress, Richard something, so I hang back and pretend to listen. They've been talking to him for ten minutes before Richard realizes I'm with them and nobody's bothered to introduce me. He interrupts my mother mid-sentence, extending his hand to me and introducing himself. I smile and return his polite comments, glad that someone in this place is able to shame my family, even if it wasn't the person who had every right to.
It doesn't last long though, and they're back to business. Alec is more animated than I've ever seen him as he talks shop. It's so odd to see him like this, since it is nothing like he is with me. I don't know how I feel about that.
Another ten minutes of business chatter that means nothing to me and I've had enough. I tug on Alec's sleeve. "I'm going to go find Margaret," I whisper. At least she'll acknowledge my presence and provide a little interesting conversation.
"Okay, good. See you later, babe," he whispers back. He never turns his eyes away from Phil and Richard.
I stand there and stare at the side of his face for another minute, but he really is done. That's all of the response I'm getting out of him. So much for keeping me safe tonight.
I'm on my own.
I turn and head towards the bar in the corner of the courtyard. I greet a few people I know along the way, but I don't linger to chat. I want a drink and some breathing room, in that order. The bartender swoops in to wait on me immediately, and I'm gripping my gin and tonic in moments. I take several long swigs from it and the warmth moving through my body makes me feel a little better immediately.
"Hey."
I nearly splash my drink on my hand when Edward speaks behind me. "Jesus, will you quit sneaking up on me?"
He chuckles and smiles. "I have to move like a ninja to get a minute alone with you," he says. But his words suddenly seem loaded and we exchange a brief, awkward glance.
"I'm sorry about that earlier," I say after a minute.
"About what?"
"My mother. She was horrible."
He laughs again, "Oh, that. Nothing I'm not used to."
I shake my head, "It was inexcusable. She was just being…"
"Protective," Edward finishes my sentence for me.
"Pretentious," I correct him, and he smiles, one corner of his mouth hitching up higher in that same way I remember. It makes my heart clench tight in my chest.
"Where's your fiancé?"
I don't expect the question and I blink a couple of times instead of answering right away. "Alec? Um, taking care of some business thing."
Edward's eyebrows hike up. "Business? Tonight? Isn't this your night?"
I try not to get defensive. After all, I'm pissed at Alec right now for exactly that reason. "I guess. But it was important."
"So are you," Edward says with a shrug.
I look back up at him. His roguish grin fades to a soft smile and his eyes stay on mine.
"Come inside and look at the paintings with me?" he says quietly, tipping his head towards the door beside us. His eyes are glinting in the candlelight and there's a teasing little smile appearing and disappearing on his lips as he watches me think about it.
I stare back at him for a long time. All kinds of thoughts play out in my head. The rational part of me knows I should say no. I should stay out here and avoid Edward at all costs. He's still a danger to me, that much is clear now. There's so much about him that I don't understand and he confuses and scares me.
I know I should stay here where I belong…with Alec. Except Alec is far away right now, literally and figuratively. He doesn't know or care where I am. He's not going to come looking for me. No one will. Except Edward. He's come looking for me twice tonight.
He doesn't look away once as I battle it all out in my head, the shoulds versus the wants. In the end, no one is there to witness my surrender to the latter, to the want. I give a tiny nod of my head and Edward's answering smile is glowing.
He steps a little to the side and extends his arm. I walk into the entrance hall just ahead of him. There are party guests scattered everywhere inside. It's quieter in here, so they've come to talk.
"This way," he murmurs, right over my shoulder, so close I can feel his breath. He moves in front of me to lead the way and his coat sleeve brushes against my bare arm. I get goosebumps. I close my eyes and swallow hard before I follow him.
We walk past the grand staircase and into the South Hall. There are still other people, but not as many, just a few clusters of people engaged in quiet conversations. Edward glances to the side and his eye is caught by the paintings lining one wall. I know them well. I know all these paintings well as I've spent hours and hours here. There are two Vermeers here, flanking a side table. In spite of Edward's overwhelming presence at my side, I can't help but get drawn in by the tiny pools of light, the subtle blending of colors, the clean, quiet compositions. We both slow to a stop, then stand side-by-side to look at them.
After a minute, Edward notices that he's lost my attention. "Do you like Vermeer?"
I sigh, never taking my eyes off the painting. "There's no art in your soul if you don't like Vermeer."
Edward chuckles. "I think I have to agree with you about that. His depiction of light is like no one else's. He can make the universe exist in a drop of water, right? He's like the god of small worlds."
I nod in agreement. "It's such a simple space he's created in there. In all these genre scenes, he depicts these tiny moments in a day, playing out in that same little room. The same cool beige wall, the same map, the same drape, the same window. The color repeats, too. He uses the same yellow ochre in almost all the clothes, and that same bright blue. It's almost lapis blue. Even the light feels the same. Quiet, cool, early morning light. It's so familiar and uncluttered. Life seems so much more manageable in there."
I snap out of my fog and realize that Edward's not looking at the painting; he's looking at the side of my face while I look at the painting.
"What?" I ask.
"Wow," he says, shaking his head. "You… you're different."
I straighten my shoulders a little bit. "I'm older."
"It's not just that. Before…" His eyes cut away as he says the word, because so far, we've carefully avoided any mention of before. "Before, all of this was new to you. Your responses were so instinctive and simple. Now…"
"College," I say, cutting him off before this gets any more uncomfortable. "I got my degree in this."
"It shows. You've been studying hard."
I want to say something sharp, like studying was all I could manage to do after he ran away, but I don't. I just move past him into the Living Gallery. He follows and we wander the room, mostly in silence, looking at the paintings scattered along the walls. There's a group of tuxedoed businessmen in here, though. Their conversation is really loud and obnoxious as they sip their scotch and compliment each other on their mastery of the universe. I look over and meet Edward's eyes. We exchange a brief, silent communication about them and we both smile before he tips his head in the direction of the next room.
I follow him into the library—it's much better in here. We're nearly alone. There are just two older women talking in the corner. We look at the portraits together— Gainsborough, Reynolds and Sargent. We stop in front of an eighteenth-century portrait by Reynolds of Lady Skipwith. She's beautiful, in her elegant dress, with her pale, delicate hands. But her face is vacant and she looks hopelessly bored.
God, do I know that face.
"Do you like these?" he asks. He keeps asking me which works I like. He was always this way, I remember, puzzling me out by my likes and dislikes.
I shrug. "They're pretty."
He laughs. "So you don't. That's what you're saying."
"I just said that they're pretty."
"After you waxed rhapsodic about the Vermeers? Faint praise."
"Alright, fine," I concede. "They're just pretty. Rich, pretty people, being painted prettily, so that those same rich people can look at their pretty portrait and feel good about themselves. It's no different than those loud assholes next door."
"Okaaay then," Edward says, smirking at me, holding his hands up in defense. I can't help but smile back.
"You asked."
He looks at me closely again. "I did ask. Because I wanted to know."
And damn it, it's still there. That energy racing down my spine, the warmth flooding my body. How can he still have this hold on me all these years later? And he knows it's there. His face gets serious and he doesn't look away. Finally, I do, to preserve my own sanity. I clear my throat.
"There are some pieces in the West Gallery that you should see."
He follows me into the long, open West Gallery and I lead him halfway down the room, to the pair of Turners facing each other across the gallery. Edward stands in front of the painting of the harbor at Dieppe and shoves his hands in his pockets, drinking it in.
"You remember that I like Turner," he finally says, his voice a little soft with wonder.
"I remember."
"These are fantastic. The light… it's like they're lit from within. He created his own sun. It's amazing, right? And the color… it's incendiary but at the same time, it's just the sky. And what he does with brushwork…" His voice trails off as he gets lost in the painting.
I nod. "They're some of my favorites here."
"You come here a lot?" Just like that, his attention is off the Turner and one hundred percent back on me.
"Yes," I say. I don't want him to know that for a long time, whenever I was home, I would come and sit on the bench in the middle of the room and just stare at these paintings like they were Edward himself.
"Show me your favorite?" he asks. I remember this question. I asked him this, four years ago. He's remembering, too. I can see it in his face.
Without a word, I turn and lead him out of the West Gallery, back to the North Hall. My favorite is here. It's one most people probably walk right past on their way to the much showier royal portraits and epic baroque allegories back in the West Gallery. Whistler's Symphony in Gray and Green. It's a view of a Chilean harbor; a serene composition of cool colors and simple shapes.
Edward stops at my side and smiles. "Figures that you'd like Whistler."
"Why do you say that?"
"It looks like you."
My eyebrows furrow. "Explain that, please."
Edward shrugs. "No explaining it, really. I just look at that and it… feels like… you. Quiet, elegant, a little melancholy…"
"Melancholy?"
He shrugs, his eyes still on the painting. "Sad."
"You think I'm sad?"
He turns his head to look at me. "Are you happy?"
I open my mouth and then close it again quickly. All the polite platitudes are right there on the tip of my tongue; all the right things to say. But none of the words will come and I just scowl in confusion. He always did bring the truth out of me, whether I wanted to tell him or not.
Edward is still looking at me, and his whole face goes soft. I remember this face. It was the way he looked that long-ago day at the Met when I told him all about my family. "You were supposed to be happy," he finally says gently.
"What do you mean?"
"I was hoping that you were happy. And you're not."
I can't take the weight of this moment and everything he might be trying to say. I don't know if I'm ready for this conversation; I don't know if I'll ever be. I look back at the Whistler and say nothing for a minute. Edward, thankfully, is silent, too.
"It's odd that the Whistler reminds you of me," I finally say, retreating to what I think is the safety of art. But I should know that there's no place that's safe for me where he's concerned.
"Why?" Edward asks.
"Because it always made me think of you." I flinch inwardly as soon as the words leave my mouth, because now I've done it. I've talked us right back around to there. That day, that place, that dangerous place. The place I was trying so hard to stay clear of.
Edward's eyebrows pitch up in surprise. We're back to looking at the painting again instead of at each other. Poor Whistler is having to stand in as our intercessor. "Me? Why me?" he says, and I know he won't let this one go without an explanation.
"Well, your work. One work, really. The one you were working on…" I have to stop and close my eyes, trying to feel my way through this in the least painful way possible, but it's no use. I have to just say it. "The one I saw in your apartment. You know… that day I was there."
I keep my eyes away from him; I look at the Whistler, at the edge of the gilt frame and the little dragonfly that's carved there. Edward says nothing. It's so quiet in this hallway that I can hear every breath he takes. When he finally speaks, his voice is so low he's almost whispering. "That painting was about you."
I stop breathing and close my eyes. I can't deal with what he's telling me. Because what he's saying is that I was tangled up in him just like he's been tangled up in me all this time. And he left anyway. Left and stayed away for all these years. I don't understand it and it hurts and my chest feels like it's caving in on itself.
"Bella…" he murmurs at my side. I feel him take a step closer to me and then I feel his hand, wrapping around my arm, just above my elbow. Every nerve ending comes alive where he touches me.
"I can't…" I don't even know what I want to say. I'm a mess. He can't do this to me. He can't say things to me with that quiet, secret voice after all these years of leaving me alone, and he just can't touch me this way. I'm too weak and I can't do it.
"Isabella?"
My eyes snap open.
Alec.
Edward instantly lets go of my arm, his hand falling to his side. I take a quick step back away from him. We've been standing too close together in this empty hallway; I don't even know how long we've been here. I turn to see Alec standing at the end of the hall, in the doorway. His eyes are hard and fixed on Edward.
"Alec, I…"
"Your parents are leaving and they didn't know where you'd gotten to." He talks right over me, never looking away from Edward.
"Edward and I were just catching up," I say, my manners and instincts finally kicking in. I glance at Edward and he's staring back at Alec, chin up. The looks they're throwing at each other could light this place on fire.
"I see that," Alec says, his jaw clenched.
I bristle at his tone. After all, I never would have had the time to wander off and get lost with Edward if he'd paid even passing attention to me tonight.
"Yes, you were busy, so we came to look at the paintings," I snap.
His eyes finally glance at me and he looks mildly abashed before flicking back to Edward. "Right. You're into this art stuff like Isabella."
Edward snorts and the corner of his mouth curls up, but he's not remotely amused. He looks furious. It's beyond tense, standing here in the middle of the hall, with the two of them at either end glaring, so I bring the whole thing to a quick close.
"It was really nice talking to you, Edward," I say over my shoulder, not meeting his eyes. "Are my parents waiting, Alec?"
"No, they went ahead. You can ride with me."
"Can you call the car?"
Alec hovers for another second, uncertain about leaving me alone with Edward. I start moving towards him, like I'm following him out. "I need to say goodnight to Margaret. I'll meet you at the front door."
Alec nods tightly and leaves. I keep moving, not wanting to get caught alone with Edward again. I need some time alone to think about this exchange and how I feel about it.
But Edward's not done with me. I'm walking away from him, but I hear his step on the marble floor right behind me.
"Bella."
His hand closes around my arm again and I stop short, but I don't turn to face him. I squeeze my eyes closed, bracing for what comes next. I don't know if I'm dreading it or desperate for it.
Edward doesn't drag it out, though. He just leans forward, until his mouth is right next to my ear. "They don't deserve you. None of them."
Then he releases my arm and moves away. I still don't face him. I just drag in a deep breath and stare straight ahead.
"Do you?" I whisper.
I can't see his face, but I can hear the defeat in his voice. "No, I don't," he whispers back.
"I have to go. Alec will be looking for me."
"I'll see you soon," he says, sounding like a promise and not just a platitude.
*0*0*
"Can you believe the fucking nerve of that guy?" Alec says, once we're moving. I lean back into the cool leather seat and stare out the window.
"What are you talking about?"
"That artist asshole you were talking to," he nearly shouts. He must have had more than a few scotches with Phil, because I've never seen Alec so animated. His eyes are bright and his cheeks are slightly pink. "He had you practically backed into the wall."
"Don't be ridiculous. He was just…"
"I mean, that he even thought he had the right to touch you…" Alec bulldozes right through like I didn't speak, and what he says makes me flush with rage.
"Excuse me?" I snap. "The right? What the hell does that mean?"
Alec finally looks at me, and seems surprised that I'm upset. "Isabella, come on. He's just some bottom-dwelling leech. I know you and Margaret think he's got some amazing talent or whatever, and maybe he does. I sure as hell don't know anything about that. But trust me; the guy's just working his angle, the same as everybody else."
I open my mouth to snap back at him, but then I remember Mimi Weigert and the woman at his apartment years ago and the words die on my tongue. Alec isn't done though. He's half-drunk and loquacious.
"It's one thing to kiss up to you girls for the fellowship or whatever. But the dude has some ridiculous nerve putting the moves on you. Like that was ever going to happen."
"Do you hear yourself right now? God, you're like a cliché, Alec."
He finally seems to realize that he's crossed a line with me. His face softens and he reaches out to stroke my shoulder. I wrap my arms tightly around myself. "Babe, come on. You know I'm just looking out for you. I'm trying to keep you safe from the creeps."
He smiles a little, trying to lighten the tension that's heavy in the car. I slouch down into my seat, but say nothing. After another long minute of silence, he says. "Do you want to come over to my place tonight?"
I'm still staring out the window. "I'm really tired. I just want to go home and sleep."
Alec's hand slides off my shoulder, not even attempting to argue or convince me. "No problem, babe."
Minutes later, the car pulls up in front of my building.
"I'll walk you up," Alec says, reaching for his door handle.
"It's really not necessary, Alec. Santiago is right there."
"Okay…" he pauses awkwardly, not sure how we're leaving things. I'm not sure either. Finally, he leans forward and kisses my cheek. I'm out of the car before he even sits all the way back.
I stand on the sidewalk and watch the tail lights of his car until it turns the corner. It's a nice night out; just a little cool, with a slight breeze. I want to walk. I wish I could just take off and go until I run out of streets and hit water. I want to be alone, just me and the night. But Santiago is looking at me expectantly. My mother and Phil are no doubt, waiting upstairs to discuss the evening. And tomorrow there will be Alec to face again. I can't even begin to address Edward and the way that tonight unraveled me.
So I just turn and head in through the heavy glass door that Santiago holds open for me, back to the life that's waiting for me inside.
*0*0*
A/N: First, I want to say THANK YOU for all your support and enthusiasm for this story. The response has truly blown me away and I never expected it. I know I've been utter fail about replying to reviews, but my time is really limited right now and y'all are just overwhelming me! Hopefully after the New Year, things will quiet down and I can thank people individually for all the lovely things they've said in reviews. Just know that I'm reading them all and they mean the world to me.
Also, I'm about to launch into my holiday marathon. I'm working like crazy, out of town, surrounded by family… the works. So you probably won't hear from me again until after New Year's. I'm working hard on it whenever I get a spare minute, but there aren't many of those right now.
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I referenced a lot of real places and real artworks in this chapter. There are pictures of most of it on my live journal page:
http : / spanglemaker9 . livejournal . com/5341 . html
Remove all the spaces, or you can find a direct link on my profile.
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I have some thanks this week:
The lovely DeeDreamer featured all my fics and said many lovely things about them on Random Acts of Rob.
Cyra Bear also recc'd The Art Teacher in a recent chapter of For Whom the Bell Tolls, which is amazing and you should be reading it.
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And lastly, if you're still reading, I have a recc:
Through the Oak Door by struckatthesky
