To Nic, VampyreGirl86 and Hadley - I hope you realize how much I'm in awe of the selfless way you help me with this. Mwah!
I've been slack with review replies this week, sorry, but you kinda swamped me and you have no idea how much research I've been doing to make the story real. Thanks for every one you sent me.
Also thank you to the FicSisters for such an incredible write up. Wow!
Chapter 10
The tears don't come until I'm on the train, angry at myself for not heeding Rosalie's warnings about James. She knew he would never offer me a real job, and she knows I can't stay in England without one.
Itching to vent to someone and armed with my phone in my hand, I'm not ready for her to say, "I told you so," and Edward might not react well, so it will have to be Angela.
Glancing around me, I know it's inappropriate to discuss this in public, so I send Angela a text to see if she's working. Maybe I'll go to her bar, and she can ply me with alcohol.
Damn. They're having dinner with friends, and Edward is busy, so I decide I might as well go home and cook instead. I love to cook. I've missed cooking. The sauce is always better the second night anyway, and I should see as many people as I can tomorrow – not ideal with a hangover.
I'm coming out of the Tesco Express with groceries when my phone goes off. It's the voice of Charlotte, the editor I saw today, asking if I have a minute to talk to her. The street is loud and busy, so I step into the first pub I find.
"I've been discussing you with our senior editor this afternoon, Bella. We enjoyed your blog, and we were impressed with your number of followers."
"Thank you," I reply enthusiastically, hoping to cover the nerves invading my voice, almost certain she's going to say they know there was never any appointment.
"But…" she adds, and I feel my shoulders fall like she's already turning me away. "You write an amazing and positive travel experience, and it's not always like that. Sometimes you do actually miss the last ferry. There are setbacks to overcome."
"We didn't have too many setbacks. It really was the trip of a lifetime."
"I found a piece you wrote about a friend who was injured in St. Moritz and had to go home. It had poignancy. Will you submit something like that with more depth, and can you write it quickly, by tomorrow lunchtime?
"Yes," I answer without hesitation, knowing I can make something up if I can't find a real situation. It's just an exercise to see if I can write what they want, and whether I can meet a deadline.
"Excellent. I will send you an email as soon as I hang up. Submit 2,000 words, and then we'll call you if we want to talk about a job."
I have to clarify the submission time before I go ahead. "What time is lunchtime?"
She laughs and says, "I'll give you until one o'clock, and I will look forward to receiving it."
I'm so excited; I race home and start going over scenarios in my head while I chop my ingredients. We didn't miss any connections and escaped getting robbed like others we met. The places we stayed fit our circumstances, so we accepted that some were very basic or tiny because they were cheap. Maybe we had lower standards than most, or we were more realistic.
As I stir, I relive the trip backwards, trying to remember anything that stood out. There were some emotional moments In Paris, but they were mostly nostalgic.
Apart from the boy who was prostituting himself, the memories of Italy were all good, even though I was missing Edward. Then the idea is right in front of me. It would be devastating to lose the person you were travelling with, for whatever reason, ruining a visit to the place you'd always dreamed of going together. That would be a major setback.
Ensuring the lid is tight and turning the sauce down to simmer, I start up my laptop and begin an outline, making a list of emotive words while Googling the images I've seen before. Even though I never visited Lake Maggiore, it is the obvious location for my fictional non-fiction account of pushing on when your heart is aching.
If Edward hadn't contacted me, I know I would have tried to drag Rosalie there when it was only an hour from Milan. Maybe I would have gone on my own and caught up with her in Paris. Either way, I would have been on that ferry, searching for anyone with a tinge of auburn hair. Disembarking at Isola Bella and not finding him would have been soul destroying.
I'm glad I never had to put myself through that horrible, desolate experience.
The paragraphs in front of me fill with the emotion from the months on the island after Edward left, as desperate tears stream down my face. By the time I turn the stove off, I'm amazed at how much I've written. This has been such a cathartic exercise for me; I know I should have done it long ago.
I save that version for myself and start condensing the one I'll submit tomorrow. It's poignant all right.
Exhausted, I fall asleep before Angela and Ben come home, and they are already gone when I wake up the next day.
Editing and re-editing fills my morning, and I hit the send button just after twelve. I'm not kidding myself that they are going to accept the submission and offer me a job, so I dress in my business attire and get out there again.
Today I tackle Fleet Street, meeting the more astute women who think they run the business from the front counter, formidable at detecting my bluff. It's nothing short of embarrassing, but it teaches me to recognize what I'm up against and adjust my approach accordingly. I have to get past them.
Writing off the day as a learning exercise, I go home to make dinner. I'm looking forward to seeing Edward, and he surprises me by arriving early with two bottles of wine. He looks amazing in sunglasses, jeans, a dark button down shirt and a light jacket.
"Hey," he says quietly, smiling and handing me the wine while his eyes linger on my shirt. "You look nice."
Glancing down, I notice I haven't changed yet. "I've been out again, trying to get interviews."
"Any luck?" When I shake my head, he adds, "I'd hire you." He drops his eyes and slides his hands over my hips.
We're still standing at my front door, and I've got to get rid of the bottles I'm holding. "Come in, Edward. I'm cooking."
He closes the door, and I hear him groan. "Smells fantastic."
Feeling like teasing him, I ask, "Do you want to taste my sauce?" I hear him chuckle softly as I place the bottles on the counter.
When I lift the lid of the saucepan, he's right behind me with his fingers at my waist, leaning over my shoulder. Stirring a wooden spoon deep into the steaming sauce, I lift it and blow gently, turning to offer him some.
He's staring at my lips when he opens his mouth to take the spoon in. I swallow at the sight of his tongue and lean into him as he sucks the sauce off the spoon. Then his eyes close, and he surrounds me with his arms. When I replace the lid, I slide my hands up his chest, and we're locked there for an infinitesimal moment with his lips so close, I feel the tingle of a kiss.
"Your lips distract me." He purrs, brushing a thumb across my chin, creating a rush of seduction that sends my pulse racing. He's never unleashed this side on me before, and I have nerve endings lighting up all over me.
All I can think about is getting him in my bed. The thought of his tongue tasting of the sauce makes me whimper, and my fingers lose themselves in his hair.
"Just friends? I didn't think so." Angela startles us, dropping her bag on the couch when I didn't even hear her come in. "Nice to see you again, Edward," she adds with a smug look on her face, going into her room.
Edward pulls me to him, but I push on his chest and giggle, making him smirk.
"You are a bad influence on me," he says, running his hands over my ass.
"I'm a bad influence?" I ask in astonishment.
"Oh, yeah," he replies, tormenting me with another almost kiss. "Bad."
We grin at each other and then break apart so I can start the pasta. While the kettle is boiling, I set four glasses on the table and ask Edward to open the wine and sit down. We'll never get dinner tonight if he keeps hovering around me while I cook.
Ben arrives home, adding a third bottle of wine and shaking Edward's hand. They speak for a while about the pub and the plans for the renovations, showing an ease in each other's company that I enjoy watching. Filling their glasses encourages them to stay and keep me company while I finish the meal.
They're so different, but they speak the language of confident men. Questions like "How old are you?" and "What do you have to do to start a business in a foreign country?" roll off Ben's tongue with no apparent motive. He's just direct about what interests him, and Edward is happy to respond.
Angela joins us, and much to my surprise, it comes out that Edward was born here and has dual nationality, so he can stay as long as he wants. They toast this piece of news before refilling everyone's glass.
Ben asking how Edward can afford the property starts a conversation about Edward's diving job, and soon they are talking about diving bells and saturation.
When I see Angela shudder, gooseflesh spreads over me, and I ask, "You get saturated? Isn't it cold?"
Ben looks at Edward, at me, and then back at Edward. It's obvious I'm missing something.
Edward answers. "No, we have warm water suits to protect us from the cold. It's not that kind of saturation."
"Okay." I don't think of myself as stupid, so they can explain it to me. "What kind of saturation is it then?"
Edward looks like he's searching for a simple way to continue. "When you dive, the weight of the water puts pressure on your body. Under pressure, the gases in your body compress as well, so when you come up to the surface, the rate of ascent has to be carefully controlled so you don't form bubbles of gas in your bloodstream and your tissues.
"On a deep dive, the gases turn to liquid. Amazingly, the human body can stay in this saturated state without harm as long as the pressure keeps up, but the ascent to the surface takes a long time."
"Fascinating," Ben comments, enthralled with Edward's explanation. My hand is covering my mouth, and I'm losing my appetite.
"How long?" Angela asks at the same moment the words enter my brain.
"Five days."
"Crumbs," she comments with her face resting on her palm. My stomach feels like it just plummeted to the floor.
"It's not very cost-effective to pay us for five days decompressing after a dive, so they keep us under pressure for twenty-eight days. Then we can continue to dive and decompress once at the end."
"How do they keep you under pressure?" she asks, and I know I don't want this answer.
"Six of us live together in pressurized living quarters on the ship. Everything we need, like food and laundry, passes between us and the ship's crew via airlocks at the same pressure. When our shift starts, they attach the diving bell, three of us crawl in, and they lower us to the bottom. Two go in the water and one stays in the bell. At the end of the shift, they bring us back up, and twelve hours later, we do it all again."
In silence, we take all this in because, in describing the reality of their everyday life, Edward has revealed a kind of prison where they can't get out if they want to.
"Are we going to eat?" Ben asks, breaking the tension, and everyone looks at me.
Suddenly, Edward is on his feet, pulling out the chair next to me, cradling me in his lap and looking at me anxiously, while Angela jumps up to check on the food.
"I wasn't sure how you'd react, but I didn't think you'd go sheet white. Are you okay?" he asks, moving my hair over my shoulder.
I nod, but I don't know if I am okay. Just thinking about him working under water is bad enough, but now there's liquid gases, pressurized living quarters, and five days decompressing. It feels like I can't breathe properly.
"My chest feels tight. Don't you get claustrophobic?"
He shakes his head as if it doesn't worry him in the slightest, and I rest my head on his shoulder.
"How deep do you dive?" Angela continues, serving the food. I thank her and return to my seat, wanting to tell her it's time to shut up.
"It was 450 feet last time," Edward answers casually. "Someone said it was the height of the London Eye."
Oh, God. I think I'd rather he was still a criminal.
They devour the food while I move mine around my plate, trying to eat something since I spent so much time on it.
"This is really excellent. Can I have the recipe for the pub?" Edward asks, quite seriously.
"Sure," I answer, pushing my plate in his direction. "Do you want some more? I can't finish it."
He only waits for a few seconds before taking my plate and smiling as he starts on my leftovers.
"Hey, Bella, you haven't told us what happened with James," Angela asks.
Without knowing it, she is spoiling my evening with her incessant questions, but since Edward has been honest, I want to be too.
"I won't be seeing him again, Ang. I threw a glass of wine over him and walked out." Chuckling, I'm glad I changed my mind because it feels good now to admit what I did.
Edward puts his fork down and glares at me. "More information, please?"
"The man has no scruples. I still can't believe he actually spoke to my father and convinced him he was legit! He even paid me for work I did for his online magazine. After all the messages and phone calls, he goes and offers me a job to move in with him and look after his daughter when he's travelling. I don't think there was going to be much 'writing' if you know what I mean. Rosalie is going to have a field day with this."
"Did he touch you?" Edward asks, his eyes dark and angry.
"No," I answer, meeting his gaze in an attempt to settle him.
"Bloody tosser," Ben adds, slowly shaking his head, while Angela's eyes flit cautiously between the two men.
"I want to pay him a visit." I can't read Edward's expression now, and I'm sorry I spoke up.
"No, Edward," I challenge, trying to keep my voice calm.
"I really do want to pay him a visit, Bella. Where does he live?"
Ben snorts and adds, "I'll go with you, mate."
Edward's legs are vibrating under the table, making me panic. A visit from Edward could mean anything.
"I'm not telling you, so forget it, both of you."
Edward snatches my phone and goes over to the sink, intently scrolling the screen.
"Edward?" I get up and try to take it from him, but he spins out of my reach.
"I'm doing this," he demands, holding it to his ear, raising his eyebrows mischievously, and I sit down defeated. At least this is better than Edward turning up on James' doorstep and doing who knows what. Actually, I'm kinda interested to hear what he's going to say.
"Noh, not Bellah. A'm her coosin. Y'uv offendit our lassie, but sheez too nice to let me doo to you wot I want to doo to you and ah hae respect fur 'er. But we hae nae respect fur ye. Sae watch yer back coz me an' mah fowk wull be waitin'."
Jesus, the accent...
Ben slaps his leg and grins as Edward waits for whatever James is saying. After a roll of his eyes, Edward continues. "'Er faither's a policeman, ye divit. Don't com near 'er. Don't contact 'er. We noh where ye live. Understand?"
He hangs up, puts the phone down in front of me and smiles sweetly.
"He sounds like he just pissed himself."
They crack up, and Ben asks, "Where did you learn to speak like that?"
He can talk to me like that anytime...
"I just lived with four Scotsmen for a month, and that's how they talk. Oh, and he said to tell you he was sorry, Bella. You better block his number."
As I watch them talk with amusement about what just went down, I like that only I know the old Edward. I wish I was still in his lap because there's something about how dangerous he can be that's always turned me on.
When I put my hand on his thigh possessively, he covers it with his own.
Angela and Ben clean up, a little drunk and bumping hips as they wash the dishes. Ben seems so different to the reserved guy I first met. He's been kind and willing to help out, especially when I go to the trouble to make him dinner from scratch. This arrangement with them is working out really well, and I'm very happy they seem to like Edward.
"You finished?" Ben asks, when I'm the only one left with wine in my glass. Edward has long ago drained his, but while mine sits here, it feels like the evening isn't over, and he can't leave. He's yawned a couple of times, but it's awkward asking him to stay when they're still here with us. Since dinner has been over for a while, and he's made no move to go, I'm taking it as a good sign.
With a big stretch, Angela announces they are going to watch television for a while, and they thank me for dinner. With a TV in their room, they often do this, but Ben smacks her behind as they walk off tonight, making me chuckle.
"Do you want me to go?" Edward asks, and I shake my head quickly.
"Stay with me tonight." I kiss him deeply, making sure he understands what I mean.
He's so relieved, he pulls me into his lap. "I thought you were going to send me home."
I can only smirk as I reply. "Not now I've heard your Scottish accent."
"Oh, aye," he says with a chuckle. "Yae can call me McMasen if ya like." With a flick of his eyebrows, he adds, "I'll even show ya mah kilt."
I smother him with a hug and hum softly. "You're different, so much happier and content."
He pulls back and looks serious, moving my hair off my face. "I'm no different, Bella. I'm just… comfortable now. I don't have to think twice when someone asks me a question anymore, and it's all because of your influence. Thank you for making me feel free… and for not kicking me to the curb in the process."
After a tiny kiss, I say, "I love you, Edward. I never stopped loving you."
With a smile bursting across his face, he runs his fingers along my jaw. "This is how we're supposed to happen," and I know exactly what he means. "Let's go to bed."