Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight no copyright infringement is intended. Beta'd by HollettLA.
To read a Quiet Storm outtake—takes place years prior to this sequel—please donate to MostlyALurker "Mal & Leo's Happily Ever After".
To learn more about MAL & Leo, please visit: mostlyalurker(dot)blogspot(dot)com
The Compilation is due to be sent out on 11/16
I'm also donating to Fandom4Texas.
Please go to: texasfires(dot)ysar(dot)info For more information.
My entry is a E/B Vampy/AU o/s, and it's pretty long. You know how I do, if you're going to pay/donate, I gotta make it work y'alls wild =D
It's a Dark Comedy/Romance, entitled "Have Mercy Baby." I really do suck at summaries, and so I have to think up a good one. Left for dead by her maker, Bella has lived the life of a nomadic vampire since 1952. She's not a vegetarian, but in her travels she meets the Cullens and thus her maker. Rated M because it's by me :)
All links are in my profile. . .
WARNING: Harsh Language/Adult Situations.
This chapter is a little different than most. I would have posted this as an outtake, but not all of you read the outtakes—which have some importance to the storyline. For Quiet Storm outtakes, visit my profile and click "Eye of the Storm" A compilation of Quiet Storm outtakes. Most are in the POV of QS's secondary players, and I think YOU ALL SHOULD READ THE EDWARD FLASHBACK. It's chapter 4 of the compilation (Again, "Eye of the Storm" Link/story in Profile).
Sorry for the lengthy A/N.
Please enjoy this chapter! (fingers crossed) POVs change.
Thank you for reading.
"Weather the Storm"
Chapter Eleven: Thou Mayest
When Esme had that little slip at the dinner table, Bella didn't think it was a big deal. She brushed it off, as if it didn't happen and wasn't important, but I heard it and saw it happen.
And that was no good. Too many people know Bella clipped that Russian as it is. Even if it happened more than ten years ago, I didn't want any more to know about it.
Of course, I didn't.
As dinner came to a close that Friday, I pulled Carlisle over to the side and asked to speak with his wife. Esme stared at me like I was crazy, but she came into my office willingly so we could have a little chat.
She swore she was just being catty and that there was nothing behind it.
I had nodded and was a good boy. Not once did I threaten her, yet I thought about it.
And I highly doubt Esme will ever open her mouth about the Atlantic City incident ever again. She and Carlisle both know the great lengths I'd go to keep my wife safe—out of harm's way.
Nanny, who was supposed to stay the entire weekend, chose to leave with my brother—to split the weekend with her two boys. It was a crock of shit. My grandmother is stubborn and still held a small grudge against Bella.
The wife feels like shit about that, but I told her to get over it—because Nanny will too.
When Spring Break ended, Bella and I received a notice from the school. Sister Pauline—Damion's teacher—had given out a small writing slash art assignment. The kids were to illustrate and tell the tales of their vacations.
Well, my son has quite the imagination and gave good ol' Sister Pauline something to write home about—a dinner table, three evil-looking women, and his mother dressed like Superwoman as she kicked the shit out of them.
Did I mention that the kid has talent? It almost looked like a fucking comic, but instead of ZOOM!, BAM!, and WHACK!, he threw the work "Fuck!" in there, along with something about a sandbox.
Personally, I found it to be hilarious—something I'd proudly hang on the refrigerator, however, the wife didn't find it funny. She also wore a smile while Sister Pauline prattled on about getting Damion into therapy, only walk out of the school and shout many profanities back at it as she waved her fist.
Our son is quirky, imaginative, and he's great with crayons. We're not the greatest parents, but we try our best, and we didn't think our seven year old needed a shrink just yet. Bella wouldn't let that shit go, thinking Sister Pauline insinuated that Damion had a screw loose.
Tell the whole world she murdered some dude, and Bella doesn't care.
Call one of her kids crazy, and the woman wants to go out for blood.
Even after all these years, she never ceases to amaze me with shit.
I also think it's hot, and so I hope she lets me fuck the shit out of her when I get home.
"What's that?" Aro asked, as I hung said picture on the wall in my office.
"A Cullen family dinner." I fastened the tacks, and then turned to face him.
"Huh?" He stared at it. "Oh . . . shit. Who did that, Sonny?"
"Dame," I laughed, taking a seat in my chair. "I was supposed to get rid of it, but—" I swiveled around to look at it again. "I used to draw—just like that. It's amazing."
"Despite the subject matter, it really is," he agreed, taking a seat. "Lau looks . . . tall."
I nodded, and then looked back to him. He was quiet now, and I noticed he wore a long face. "What's your problem?" I asked.
He slumped a little lower, keeping his fist clenched and a thumb leaning on his lips. "Just . . . stuff." He looked away from me, but I heard him sniffle.
"Are you crying?" I whispered.
He stared up at the ceiling now. "We've been talking about it—I never say anything, but . . . Lau wants a separation."
"So?" I shrugged.
"So . . . ?" He wiped his eyes.
"Who said you had to give her one?" I laughed. "Fuck that. It's death 'til you part for a reason, son. If ya don't want one, just tell her no." I pursed my lips and nodded. "That's what I'd do." Pointing to myself, I leaned back. "Bella'd have to kill me first—put a bullet in my fuckin' dome."
"What if there's someone else?"
"We take care of him." I shrugged. "What is up with you?" I couldn't get over how sensitive he was being. "You didn't go to court yet, right?"
"No . . . she just wants some space. Us being at the restaurant all the time—she knows, and this time I didn't deny it." He stared at the floor. "But . . . fuck it, right?"
"I dunno—what do you want?"
He shook his head. "I want normal. I don't want to fight anymore, and I want her happy, and that's why I sort of agreed. She wants some space. What am I going to do? It's just sad is all . . ." he rambled. "She's already talking about me taking the kids every other weekend." He palmed his face. "Shit is fucked."
I nodded, tapping my cigarette pack against my desk. "What about that other thing?" I asked.
He took a deep breath through his nose as he picked his head up. "It's done. Carlisle and Marcello took care of it last night. They had to go to his house since he's never alone on the street. We'll probably hear about it tomorrow or something."
I sniggered as I picked up my cell phone.
"What was that evil giggle for?" Aro cracked a small grin.
Putting up a finger, I waited for the florist shop to pick up the phone. "Dean's flowers?" It sounded like a kid, likely Dean's son.
"Hello, good afternoon. I'd like to speak with Dean, please," I said, grinning wickedly.
"Hang on . . . Dad!" the young boy had shouted.
"E…what are you—" Aro whispered.
"Yello!" Dean greeted me.
"Dean, it's E . . ." I chuckled.
"Mr. Cullen, how can I help you?"
"I need some flowers delivered . . ." I locked eyes with Aro.
"Anything you need," Dean assured me.
"A dozen long-stemmed roses—"
"To the missus?"
"No . . . these, sorry for the inconvenience, will be going out to Jersey—to a Mr. John Drasso." I nodded, while Aro laughed. Then I continued to give Dean the address of John's office out in Newark and told him I wanted them delivered some time tomorrow.
"Did . . . you want to send a sentiment?" Dean asked.
"Uh . . ." I thought about that for a minute. "Yes , something simple, but—I don't think I need to tell you this. My name is to be nowhere on this; you got that?"
"Of course, Mr. Cullen," Dean said.
"Just write, 'Checkmate'." I rolled my eyes, thinking that corny.
"Uh . . . no problem."
"Excellent." I ended the call.
As soon as my phone touched my desk, Aro asked, "What now?"
I sighed, sitting back and relaxing. "Lau wants space? Send her and the kids down to Disney."
"Shit. . ." He was holding his head again. "This is exactly the reason—she worries, hates what I'm doing, and I never, never hear the end of it."
Deep in my heart, I felt for him—I really did, but this isn't the time. We all agreed and came to terms with our impending war with Jersey. He needed to think logically and worry about his marriage at a later date—if he wants a wife and children to worry about. "You know what you have to do."
He picked his head up to look at me again. "I know. . . what are you doing with MC and the kids?"
I shook my head. "Lou and Nunz will stay close by. It's risky, but . . . this time I'm not sending them away. She'll just have to get used to group activities. It took me a long time to figure this out, but my wife is smart enough—can take care of herself if she needs to. We'll see what happens—"
"You're serious?"
I nodded. "I am . . . You and I both know that your wife—" I shook my head. "She'll get you and your kids killed, along with herself. Send her on vacation."
/=/=/=/=/=/
Later that night, Bella was less than enthused about carrying a piece with her.
"Put it in your fucking purse." I winced when she threw her slipper at me.
"Fuck you," she whispered.
I laughed. "Do it . . . I'm not discussing this any further." I kicked my shoes off.
She groaned at me, like she wanted to take a swing, but placed her Smith & Wesson in her Louis Vuitton clutch instead "I can't believe this . . . you're that bored? You just had to start trouble?" She spoke with her hands, and it was sexy.
I sighed as I started to unbutton my shirt. "It is what it is—couldn't be avoided."
Bella plopped down onto the bed, crossing her bare legs under her ass and wearing a pout. "Do we at least get a vacation out of this?"
I smiled and sat next to her. "You want to go away? Because . . . I can't follow." Looking back to her, I saw the instant frown.
She wrapped her arms around me. "Not if you can't come . . . I guess it's not that bad, though . . ." She kissed along my neck. "If it was, you'd send us away."
Humming and leaning into her, I agreed. "We'll see what happens. I gotta see how things play out. This was retaliation, he had it coming. They won't start at the top."
"Jersey?" she asked.
"Yup. I'll know by next week if you guys need to go upstate."
"Upstate?" Bella let go of me. "I thought the Bahamas or—"
After palming her cheeks, I pulled her in to kiss her forcefully. "You can't take a nine on a plane, so yeah. Upstate."
"What are Lauren and Esme doing?" she asked.
"I have no idea. I think Aro's sending Lau out to Disney. Esme refuses to leave, so. . ." Grinning, I trailed my hand up her smooth calf. "You shaved?"
She bit my lip to suck it back into her mouth. "I wanted to do something special," she giggled. "I even shaved my thighs." She placed my hand high—on the inside—near her pussy.
"Fancy." I moved to hover over her. She moaned softly and wrapped her legs around my waist, while I palmed both her cheeks and rested my elbows on either side of her. "First sign of trouble, anyone gets close, you're to take the kids and leave."
"I know." She didn't blink. Her lips didn't quiver, and her bravery turned me on even more.
"Both Lou and Nunz will be with you—they'll go with you to take the kids here and there—everywhere. Nunz will be with you, and Lou will be hanging out by St. Edmunds."
She nodded. "Esme watched Kylie today . . . what am I going to do?" she asked between kisses.
I slumped low and rolled away from her. "I'll—I'll stay with her while you go to school, but that means I might get home late on those days."
Bella straddled my lap. "I'd like that." She reached down to undo my pants. "I mean, I hate that you'll be home late, but I won't worry with Kylie being home with you." She stroked my length. I shuddered and groaned under her touch, and then I hopped up to watch when Bella slid lower on my body.
"Fuck." I palmed her head as she took me deep into that mouth.
.
.
.
.
.
/=/=/=/=/=/
Carlisle
/=/=/=/=/=/
After a hit, I always find myself to be a little emotional. In fact, I have no idea how guys like Aro, my brother, and the rest don't bat an eyelash when they do such things. Maybe I have a forgetful and forgiving heart, but as the days go by, I live my life, and I get over things. So, it only took a week or two for me to get over the broken ribs and damaged ego from the beat-down I received from Matthew.
At first, I was angry and wanted to return the favor, content to wait it out, and strike when he least expected it. However, Matthew went ahead and stole—hurt my brother's pockets, or whatever, and so he deserved to die.
Marcello and I broke into his apartment. Luckily, Matthew was alone and in the shower at the time. Then I popped two in his head, and Marcello put a few in his chest. No words were exchanged. We didn't even clean up, as Matthew was to be found. It was simple, an in-and-out job, and I can't shake the queasiness that comes along with doing such a task.
Sometimes, I hate my brother for this shit—all of that resentment seems to be something I can't get over.
Sometimes, I feel like the man—like my balls are bigger and shit—after I ice a motherfucker.
And sometimes, it drives me to drink.
Yet, all of that doesn't stop me from carrying out a hit.
After taking a huge gulp of scotch, I grabbed onto Candy's waist and placed her on my lap.
"I have to clean this place up," she protested, swatting my hands and rising to her feet again.
"I have to go soon." I gave her a whack on her ass, while she picked up Ant's toys from the carpet.
"I thought you were—"
"Not tonight," I sighed, looking into her beautiful brown eyes. "Come here, we have to talk." I smiled, but what I said made her frown. "Nothing bad—well, not really." I shrugged, grabbing for my drink again.
"Just tell me." She looked stiff, as if she was preparing for a blow.
"Relax." I pulled her to me again. "It's okay." While I hugged her tight, Anthony came running out of his bedroom.
"Daddy!"
Chuckling, I called him over, and then I had them both in my lap.
"You're supposed to be in bed." Candy tickled his stomach.
I palmed my son's face and noticed how fallen he looked. "What's wrong?" I pulled him in closer and kissed his hair.
"Bad dream." He wiped the sleep out of his eyes.
"Tell us about it," I suggested and then turned to place a kiss in Candy's neck. "You smell good."
She giggled a response and placed her arms around Anthony and me. "Go on," she told our son.
His lip quivered as he looked down. "The-the monster man. He came and-and you were in the shower. Then dere was all dis' bud." He threw himself at me, knocking Candy on her shoulder, and hugged me tightly around my neck. He said "bud", which means "blood".
Candy and I shared a look, and I was mortified. What Anthony said really freaked me out. Plus, what kind of dream is that for a three-year-old to have?
"Shhh…" I rubbed his back, and kept eye contact with Candy. "I'm here," I said softly. "Did you watch a scary movie with him?"
Candace raised a brow and shook her head no, while standing from my lap. "Why don't you put him in bed?"
I nodded, rising from the couch while holding Anthony to me. "I'll read you a story?" I asked as we walked back to his bedroom. He whimpered and tightened his hold, but agreed.
Nestled in his small twin bed, I opened Where the Sidewalk Ends and urged him to get comfortable. No matter how many poems and no matter how far we get nightly, Anthony insists I start at the beginning. "Are you ready?" I kissed his cheek.
He was wrapped like a little burrito with only his head poking out. "Ready, Freddy."
I grinned and wished I didn't have to leave tonight. "Okay," I sighed and cleared my throat.
"If you are a dreamer, come in,
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A hoper, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer. . .
If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire
For we have some flax-golden tales to spin.
Come in!
Come in!"
Looking back to Anthony, I saw that his lids were getting heavy. "You should read the next one. . . before you fall asleep."
He sat up and took the book from me, and then recited the Acrobats poem verbatim. Anthony didn't stutter or stammer; meanwhile, the kid can't read yet. He knows some words, as Candy has been teaching him, and he has a small lisp, but I always understand him. Anthony knows the first few poems by heart.
"That was excellent. How'd you get so smart?" I leaned back and rested my head on my hand.
He shrugged. "You think I'm smart?"
I nodded. "I do. . . I really do." I placed my arm around him and left the book open between us. "Are you ready for some magic?"
He giggled and nodded.
"Sandra's seen a leprechaun,
Eddie touched a troll—"
"I know Eddie," he said.
"You do?" I raised a brow. "What'd he say about the troll?" I chuckled.
He shook his head. "Not pretend; Mommy's friend."
"Oh. . ." I remembered Candy saying Edward came by to get Kylie. "Edward is your uncle."
"My uncle?" He made a face. "Like Mommy's brother that died?"
I nodded. "You have another uncle—my brother."
"Can he come to my birthday party?"
"Your birthday is nine months away," I said.
"I want a Team Umizoomi party." He reached to grab his stuffed Agent Oso and hugged him tight. "Right, Oso?" he laughed and kissed his bear. "Or should it be Special Agent Oso?" he asked me.
"Whatever you want," I promised.
"Can Uncle Eddie and the baby come to my party? She touches my stuff, but she's okay, I guess." He started fidgeting around, and I stopped him.
"We'll worry about that when the time comes, but I think . . . I think so." I reached to turn off the lamp. "You get some sleep."
"Will you be here in the morning?" he asked.
I kissed his forehead and stood from the bed. "No, buddy. I'm sorry."
"Why can't you just live with Mommy?" He stuck his finger in his nose, and I was fast to take it away.
"Use a tissue, please." I grabbed one from the box on his nightstand and held it to his little nose. "Blow."
Anthony closed his eyes tightly and did so.
After wiping his nose and giving him another kiss, I left his bedroom and took my post on the couch again. Letting out an elongated sigh, I sipped my drink.
"How long are you going to lie to him?" Candace asked.
"Don't start, okay?"
"Lie to me—make up whatever—but I can't stand you lying to him." She placed her hands on her hips and stared daggers at me.
I stared right back. "What do you want me to do? The truth is too complicated, and I'd rather he not hate me at such a young age."
"You can evade the questions—"
"He asks me the same shit daily. And I give him the same answers. Again . . . what would you have me tell him?" I widened my arms. "Candy, I love you . . . and I'm doing the best I can. I'm here. I'm there. I work. I put food on two goddamn tables, and I was forced into that other garbage. What more do you want me to do? Tell me . . . I'll try my best."
She relaxed her stance and looked to her feet. "I'm sorry."
"Me, too." I rubbed my face.
"Can I say one more thing?"
Wordlessly, I gestured for her to continue, while she came to sit next to me.
"Don't have another kid—not with her. Please, I—"
"What?" I shook my head, trying to understand what she was saying.
"If you love me, don't have another child. We can have another. If you need—"
"Shhh." I pulled her into my side. "I don't need another child. Esme wants one, and . . . Baby, she's my wife."
"I don't care." She shook her head. "Why can't you leave her?"
"The girls and—"
"That's bullshit."
"I don't want to—" My body jerked after she punched my chest.
"I'm sorry." She cupped her mouth, but then reached for me.
I leaned away. "Don't." After standing, I looked down to her. "I have no idea what I'm doing. I love you. I love her. I love my children—all of them. I'm torn. I'm an asshole. I'm disgusting . . . I'm a lot of things, and you know this. I just—I-" I paused, staring into her eyes.
For years, Candace has been my only ally—the one person in my corner who knew the truth—who knew everything. "I'm not going to fight with you. I can't." I turned away to grab my coat from the kitchen chair.
"Don't leave. You said we had to talk." She wrapped her arms around me.
Blowing out a breath, I backed away to put my coat on. "You have to go. Tomorrow, I'll set a few things up. I want you out of Brooklyn—out of New York. Do you understand?"
Her face fell. "Are you coming?"
"I'm sorry. Figure out where you want to go and call my cell. I'll set it up." What I love most about Candace is that she really understands. She doesn't ask questions when it comes to things like this either. She knows I can't answer, and so she doesn't bother.
The rest of it, though . . . she can be a ball-buster.
And I feel awful, because if I had to choose—she might be it. She has no idea just how important she is to me. But, she's never—flat out—asked me to choose, and I am a very selfish man. I want them both, and so I have the both of them because neither have given me that ultimatum just yet.
"I have a friend in Colorado. She's been asking if I could visit."
"See about going—leaving tomorrow. You call me with whatever info, and I'll make it happen." I placed a soft kiss on her lips.
"I'll call her in the morning."
"I'll see you before you leave." I promised.
And after another kiss, I left.
.
.
.
.
.
/=/=/=/=/
ARO
/=/=/=/=/
After sending Rob, my driver, away, my stomach tied in knots, partly because I knew Lau was going to shit a brick about leaving. It's funny how having the best intentions gets me nowhere, although I do talk a good game.
With my key in the door, I steadied my nerves—preparing for whatever the fuck.
The house was dark and quiet, and the first place I looked was the kitchen, trying to scope if Lau had cooked something. It was clean, everything in its place, and that was okay. I'm not hungry anyway.
"You're home late."
I closed the refrigerator and turned to Katie. "Why aren't you in bed?" I asked as I walked over. "Can't sleep?" I kissed her soft, light-brown hair.
She looked up to me. "I wanted to wait up for you."
"Oh . . .?" I took off my jacket to drape it over a chair.
"My friend Natalie? Her birthday party is this weekend, and Mom said I had to ask you."
"Me?" I pointed to myself, wondering when I was suddenly supposed to make decisions about our children. Mostly, I discipline and love them—that's all I'm allowed to do.
"She says she's not going to be here." She looked confused as she stared back me. "Uncle Leo is sick, remember?"
I shook my head. "Right." This was the first time I was hearing about this. "Mom has to fly back to California?"
Katie nodded. "You didn't know," she whispered.
I looked around myself. "Where's your mom?"
"She had a migraine. We came home early from the restaurant—I fed and gave Peto a bath. Um, he wouldn't go down. He actually fell asleep in my bed."
I pulled her in for a tight hug. "That's not your job, baby girl."
"I don't mind, Daddy—honest. AJ made us some sandwiches, and we watched TV. No big deal. We did our homework earlier. Everything's okay." She sounded wary, knowing how I hate it when Lauren pushes her caretaking off onto Katie—our child.
I kissed her hair and let her go. "I know." Gritting my teeth together, I promised myself I wouldn't lose my temper. "We'll see about the party. I might have to work at La Bella Italia this weekend, so . . . you guys might be joining your mother."
"Awww, Dad . . ." she whined.
"Go to bed. We'll discuss it another time, okay?"
She slumped her shoulders and walked out of the kitchen.
I groaned, instead of punching a wall, and then grabbed a beer out of the fridge. After chugging it down in less than ten seconds, I quietly walked to Katie's room. "Katie?" I whispered, poking my head in.
My mood immediately shifted, seeing her and Peto curled up in the blankets.
"Yeah, Dad?" She picked her head up.
I let myself in. "Just wanted to put him in his crib."
"Okay."
Bending low, I gave my daughter another smooch and scooped up her brother. "Get to sleep."
My baby boy didn't stir while I placed him down. I also hung out in his room for a few minutes—needing the tranquility of his sound machine and the image of him sleeping. Alas, I couldn't stay in here all night, and so I walked on and into AJ's room.
He was sound asleep with his iPod resting on his chest and still had his glasses on. I made sure to turn down the volume, but left his music playing before I placed his glasses on his nightstand. "Love you," I whispered, kissing his forehead.
AJ didn't wake up, and I left his bedroom.
Now faced with my own, I paused in front of the door. But sometimes in life, shit is like ripping off a Band-Aid. "What the . . ." When I tried the door, it was locked. "Fucking—" I grumbled under my breath as I reached back for my wallet. Then with one of my credit cards, I got the lock to give.
Lauren wasn't going to shut me out tonight.
I opened the door wide and walked in. The room was dark and there was a lump under the covers. The sight alone pissed me off, and so I tore those sonofabitches off. The blanket landed on the floor, and Lauren continued to lay still.
"I know you're up," I whispered. And I really didn't know—took a lucky guess. "And don't give me some shit about a headache either." I was proud of myself because I maintained a low tone.
Lauren huffed and sat up to stare at me. "Can I help you?"
I chuckled bitterly. "Why is Katie taking care of Peto? More and more, she tells me—"
"I didn't feel well."
"And yesterday? I came home to see her occupying him while you hid in here and watched TV." I kicked off my shoes. "I don't want to fight with you, but—"
"What's there to fight about? I'm tired, Artaro!" she shouted.
"Keep your fucking voice down." I spat out through clenched teeth. "Now what's this I hear about you going back to Cali?"
She shrugged. "What do you care?"
"Don't do this. I'd like to have an adult conversation with my wife . . . Is she available?" I raised a brow.
She looked away from me. "I need some 'me' time, so . . . I planned to go out there and stay with my mother."
"Why'd you tell the kids your brother was sick?" I started to unbutton my shirt.
She shrugged. "Didn't want them to think . . . I don't know. I just need a few days away."
"You're taking them with you—"
"What?" she shrieked. "That defeats the purpose of going. I need to clear my head!"
"Go to California or go down to Disney. Those are your two options, and you will be taking my children with you."
"Who the fuck are you to dictate anything? You with all your lies—your secret life!"
I groaned. "I, for damn sure, am not having that conversation either. You never complained when you got the jewelry, your own restaurant, this fucking house, your car—sending the kids to private school." I counted on my fingers. "How the fuck do you think we pulled all that off? None of our businesses are booming."
"I just—"
"You know, and I know," I waved a finger between us, "that you always knew. Maybe I never agreed or admitted, but you knew there was no me getting out. Now, because I didn't deny it, you finally have something on me—something to hang over my head, and so you're using that as ammo." I sucked in a large breath; meanwhile, it felt great to get all that off my chest.
"I hate you!"
"And even if you don't want to be around my children, just do me the solid of taking them out of town this week. Next week . . ." I stopped talking, hating my fleeting thoughts.
"Next week?" she whispered.
I shrugged, shaking that other thought away. "You, uh, might have to be away more than a week. You'll know when I do."
She hopped out of bed. "We're in danger?"
"I never said that." I took my shirt off and threw it into the hamper. "You just have to leave town."
"What's going on, Aro?" She stood with her arms folded across her chest, still staring—like she wanted to kill me. Maybe not, as one has to care or be passionate to do something like that.
"I can't tell you that." And I saw no point in lying. "I won't lie to you, but I won't tell you either. You and the kids need to pack up some shit and hit the road. That's all you need to know." I turned to place my Glock—no reason to hide it now—on the dresser.
"You're-you're such a—" She let out a low scream of frustration and threw a pillow at me. "I don't want to see that thing!" She picked up the pillow to hit me with it some more.
"Nice." I left my piece in my pants and faced her. Then I tore her weapon out of her hands.
"You did something to put me—our children in danger, and you can't tell me?"
Feeling defeated and like I might lose my temper, I nodded in agreement.
"Unbelievable!" she scoffed. "Why can't you tell me?"
Ironically, I didn't feel the need to lie about that either. "Maybe if I could trust you—"
"I'm your wife!"
"And you want a divorce—a separation," I corrected her.
"That's bullshit!" she spat. "You haven't confided in me for years, which is obvious . . . with 'your secret life' and all." She used air quotes.
I laughed. "Well, maybe if you acted like my wife and not some annoying, coldhearted bitch with half a brain! I'd tell you a thing or two!"
"Get out!" She pointed to the door.
"This is my fucking house. You leave." I stood my ground, and then we both became quiet for a moment. We both stared at the floor. "Lau, I-"
"You used to tell me things," she whispered.
"I used to trust you. Now that you know about what I do, what makes you think I'd tell you anything?"
"You promised when AJ was born—"
"And I lied. I'm sorry, but you honestly never believed me, did you?"
She didn't reply.
"Why should I confide in you now when you want to bounce?" I asked. "I can't do that. If I did, sorry, sweetheart, but you'd be stuck with me forever—'til death due us part . . . Ignorance is bliss, or so I'm told . . . Is it?"
"Now I'm ignorant? Why should I want to stay with you? Everything out of your mouth is-" She raced toward me to hit me, and I steadied her by holding her arms.
"Don't do it," I warned.
"Oh, this fits the bill. Are you going to hit me?"
I smirked and let go of her. "Don't tempt me," I teased and palmed her cheek, hoping and wishing to see—feel some of the fire that used to be us—what we used to have. We'd love hard and fight and make up just as passionately.
"Don't touch me." She jerked her head away.
I groaned, dropping my shoulders. "Is this really it?" I pulled her to me again.
"I'm sorry." She didn't even have tears in her eyes.
"Me, too." I turned from her. "Is there someone else? We haven't . . . in a really long time." I hated admitting that, even to her when she knows it too. "Lau?" I risked a glance back at her.
She was staring down at the carpet. "Would it make a difference?"
Honestly, the only difference it would make now was either me kicking her out of the house with nothing or us going to bed—indifferent, with me on the couch as usual. "I just want to know. You can tell me, or I'll just find out anyway." And a part of me hated myself for not caring enough to find out before.
"There's . . . someone I'd like to know better, but I never acted on it," she whispered.
For some reason, I didn't feel sick to my stomach or upset. "We get a separation, and I'll be looking to get laid—maybe find someone I can fuck and spend time with." I didn't say it to hurt her, although if she was, it might give me hope. But I wasn't even sure I wanted to fight for us. "I'm just being honest with you."
"Like you haven't already," she scoffed and sat on the bed.
Never—throughout our whole marriage—have I cheated. Yet, something inside me wanted to stay quiet—to let her believe I was unfaithful. Did I want the separation, too? "Who is he?"
She smirked at me. "Who is she?"
"You don't give a fuck, do you?" I chuckled bitterly.
She sucked in a shaky breath. "Aro . . . I love you, but I haven't felt… like what I used to, in a long time." She shook her head, keeping her gaze down. "And no matter how happy I look in public, or how many times I lie to others about us, it doesn't change. We never change, and we haven't been us in-in forever." She gave me a brief glance. "Maybe if we had some time apart, let absence make our hearts grow fonder, we can try to reconnect?"
I let out a noncommittal grunt of amusement.
"You're the father of my children. I'll always—always love you. I just—I feel trapped. You have no idea what's it like. I—I—"
"What it's like?" I smiled, but I wasn't happy. "What, being my wife, raising my children, living in a multi-million dollar house? What, Lau? Tell me what it's like to have everything handed to you. If Lau wanted it, Aro bought it. You have a pretty cushy life. So, tell me! Tell me what it's like to be you!" I punched my chest.
She stood up. "I can't even talk to you."
I pulled her back to my side. "Yes, you can." I palmed her cheek and combed my stretched fingers through her hair. "So, you're not in love with me?" I didn't give her a chance to respond and kissed her deeply.
"Stop—"
I didn't give her a chance to protest, holding her face close to mine before I hovered over her. "React!" I shouted, kissing down her neck—getting the spots that used to drive her crazy. "Please." I felt frantic inside, and my knees kicked her legs apart.
"Just be quick," she whispered.
"What . . .?" I pulled back to look at her.
"I'm dead inside, but if you have to . . ." She covered her face with her hands.
"Look at me." I took her hands way from her face, afraid she might be crying and thinking she might need therapy. Maybe she's clinically depressed or goo-gootz. It would explain so much. "Baby." I gazed into her eyes, and she wasn't crying—she just didn't want to look at me. After rolling onto my back, I stared up to the ceiling. "And you haven't fucked this dude yet?" I asked.
"No."
I nodded, but whoever he is, he was a dead man either way. "And you don't want to fuck me?"
"I'm sorry."
"What happened?" I mostly asked myself.
"Over the years, we just drifted apart," she whispered. "We both stopped caring."
"You really want this?" I looked back to her.
She looked calm and her eyes were unseeing as she stared across the room. "I want my freedom. I can't—I could never be what you wanted. I'm sick of pretending. You can admit that I've never made you happy. I mean, if it weren't for AJ, we never would have gotten married."
"That's not true," I said.
"I don't regret it, not one bit . . . I thought Peto might bring us closer—that maybe we could salvage what we had—"
"After he was born, we drifted even further apart." I sat up to rub my face.
"I'm tired."
"Yeah, me too." I nodded.
"No, I mean, the seafood shipment is coming in at five. Fernando can't be there, so I should get some sleep." She turned to start arranging the pillows, and then turned back to me. "Where will you stay?"
That question surprised me. "Stay?"
"Living together defeats the purpose of separating." She pulled the blanket back onto the bed.
While pursing my lips, I helped to cover her with it.
"Thank you."
"I'll figure something out." I stared down at her.
"I honestly don't care what or who you do." She looked away from me again. "I just don't want any strippers or skanks around my children. I won't keep the kids from you. You can take them whenever. I don't hate you or have ill feelings, I just—"
I smiled. "You're just not in love with me anymore, I get it." Every time she said that, it felt as though she was rubbing salt into an open wound. "I also want my children. When you guys come back," I shrugged, sucking my teeth and keeping my arms wide, "I want my fucking kids. YOU—" I couldn't rein in my anger anymore, "can visit any time you like. You want out of this family, you know where the fuckin' door is; you got that? You don't want to be a wife or a mother, fine! We'll get along fine without you."
"Whoa. Whoa. Whoa—"
"It is what it is." I pushed her over, so I could sit on the edge of the bed. "And don't try any silly stunts—running away and thinking I won't find you." I palmed her cheek again. "Wait . . ." I chuckled a bit. "You can do what you wish. Lau," I shook my head, "just leave my fucking kids here, in Brooklyn, with me, and we'll have no problems."
She raised her brows and sat up to face me. "I'll take you to court—"
"Will you?" I asked. "Will you, really?"
Her brave stance faltered. "Taking a few days for myself—wanting to—doesn't mean I don't want them."
"Our daughter takes better care of our toddler than you do—" My head whipped to the side after she slapped me, and I was fast to react—fast on her. I fucking snapped.
My hands found her neck quickly, and I fucking squeezed.
"Stop!" She coughed and started to hit me, and I increased my hold. "I'm—Aro, stop!" she rasped, and her face started to turn red.
My teeth were starting hurt; I was gritting them so tightly.
"No—don't!" Lau managed to shout as her nails dug into my forearms.
"Every day—I have loved you, spoiled you, wanted you to be happy!" My grasp was so tight that I pulled her from the bed by her neck. "I never—never cheated, even during the past two years. I was devoted—a good husband. I love you . . ." My tears fell onto her face, and she had finally started to cry too. "I just—why, Lau, why are you—" I let go of her.
And while she coughed and cried out, I curled onto my side next to her. "I'm sorry—fuck!" I punched my nightstand and jumped from the bed. "I have to go." I grabbed a shirt out of my closet. And while I put it on, I slipped my feet into my shoes.
"I'm sorry. Don't go. We should talk." Lauren rushed out in a raspy whisper, rising to her knees in an effort to reach me while she coughed a bit, too.
But all I could do was stare at the red marks my hands had made on neck. "Baby...I'm so fucking sorry." I shook my head.
"Me, too." She said again. "I really am. I never meant to hurt you—"
"Stop," I begged in a whisper.
And it wasn't so heartbreaking—the thought of losing Lauren. I was afraid of the unknown: possibly losing my family, the thought of another man playing my role in the future. Maybe everything worked out for the best. By me keeping so much from her, she can actually leave. She has an out because she doesn't know shit, nothing to incriminate me or anyone else. "I have to leave, and so do you. I'll be back tomorrow, and we'll figure it out," I whispered.
"Okay." She hugged herself now.
"Um . . . I'll have Rob come by—take the ride with you to the school and to drop Peto off. I'm sorry, but—"
She waved a hand like she didn't care. "Where are you going?"
"Don't worry about it." I stared, willing her to give a fuck. "I meant what I said . . . all of it. Does that change anything?"
She shook her head no. "I don't think so."
"So . . . we're separated?" I asked, buttoning my shirt.
"I guess we are."
"That's all I needed to know." I turned to stalk back into the kitchen for my coat.
As soon as I entered the garage and my car, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. After speaking to my buddy Lenny—who owns The Gregory Hotel in Bay Ridge—and booking a room, I scrolled through my contacts. I didn't want to be alone, and so I dialed a number I've had for years but never used.
"This is a surprise. It's late," she said.
"How are you?" I asked, hearing whispers in the background.
"Good, good, and you?"
"Not so good. Can you get away?" I found myself crossing my fingers, desperately needing her company.
"What's going on?" she countered.
"Just meet me at The Gregory." After waiting several long moments—being greeted with silence on the other end, I asked, "You there?"
"I'm still here." She paused again. "I'll be there soon," she said before she ended the call.
.
.
.
.
.
.
/=/=/=/=/=/
Carlisle
/=/=/=/=/=/
To my surprise, I found Carli curled up in our bed when I got home. She hugged onto Esme, and they both looked adorable.
"Carli?" Esme sighed, barely opening her eyes.
"It's me." I placed my hand on her hip.
"Can you?" She pulled away from our daughter. "She has to stop being so afraid of the dark." Esme yawned and stretched. "I can't believe I fell asleep," she giggled. "Carli's like a little heat machine." Esme fanned out her shirt, and now I saw how soaked with sweat she was.
Chuckling, I quickly kissed the side of her mouth, before she could protest. She didn't give me any dirty looks, but grinned.
"Come on, baby," I whispered, gathering Carli into my arms. She woke up on our way to her bedroom and refused to let go of my neck when I went to place her down.
"But I'm scared."
I pushed her hair away from her face. "How 'bout you use the nightlight? It'll be our secret."
"Momma says I'm a big girl." She pouted.
I grinned. "And sometimes, even big girls get scared of the dark."
"Really?" Her beautiful brown eyes were wide as she stared at me.
"Really, truly, and honestly." I pecked her cheek. "It's time for bed."
"Can you stay until I fall asleep?"
"Of course." I sat back on the bed.
She giggled as she hugged me around my waist. "With you here, I don't need the light."
I grinned and wrapped her blanket around us.
"Tell me about how I was born." She mumbled into my stomach.
"The day you were born. . ." I smiled so wide at the memory. "Short or long version?"
"Short." She yawned out a big one, and I knew she'd be asleep in less than five minutes.
"Okay. It was the week after New Year's Eve, and New York had one of the biggest snowstorms in years—"
"How much snow?"
"A lot—like they have in the North Pole—"
"Where Santa lives?" She asks the same question every time.
"Yup. Cars were covered, and it was so hard to get around." I shook my head. "The city was shut down." And I gave her the same answer I always do.
"Even McDonald's was closed."
"That's right. Your mother, or you, I should say. . . in her tummy, loved those McFlurries," I tickled her side, "even when it was bitterly cold out."
Her eyes were so droopy, she barely laughed. "Wh-what else?"
"Momma woke me up at five a.m., very early, and said you were coming. Since it was so bad outside, we panicked—worried we wouldn't get Mom to the hospital in enough time. I tried my best to shovel us out, and I hurt my back pretty bad . . . Your mother found me keeled over in the snow," I laughed. "And so, we had to call the paramedics. We waited for so long for them to show up, but when they did . . ." I looked down to see her eyes closed. "Me and your mom were both worse for wear—practically shared a gurney." I brought my voice down to a whisper and tried to scoot away without jostling her awake.
"It was one of the best days of my life." She stirred a bit, but then rolled over onto her side.
"Carli says she likes your voice," Hanna said from the doorway, "says it's soothing and keeps the fantasmi away."
My head had whipped to her. This was the first she's spoken to me since Easter. The Monday after the holiday, Esme and I had a huge argument. While Esme was speaking to me, Hanna heard us argue over Anthony. She knows I've been seeing a woman that is not her mother. She said she hated me and that I was disgusting.
I agreed with her—my daughter, my heart—but I prayed she didn't learn of her brother that way, from her parents arguing.
"And . . . what do you think?" I whispered, walking out and closing the bedroom door behind me.
Hanna stared down at the floor. "I don't know."
"The day you were born was—"
"It was Uncle Edward's birthday party. Aunt Bella was this big—pregnant with Sonny." She held her arms out. "I know—I remember." She rolled her eyes.
Swallowing became difficult. My throat was thick, and my eyes pricked as tears were ready to form. "You're almost an adult. I should be able to speak to you like one, right?" I asked.
She sighed. "Can I have some money? I wanna go to the mall this weekend." And that was likely the only reason she was speaking to me.
"We just went to the mall—bought you a whole spring wardrobe," I said.
She stared at me, waiting for me to cave, but I didn't think I was. "Giving you money won't erase what you heard. We have to talk about it."
"About you having a girlfriend?" Her face turned a deep shade of red.
"Hanna-" I reached to cup her cheek.
She stepped away from me. "About you ruining my life? You're disgusting, and I can't believe Mom's talking to you." She was crying now. "I hate that she's letting you stay here and I hate you! Just go back to your girlfriend's house!" She spat before she ran into her bedroom to slam the door closed.
Feeling like the smallest piece of shit on the planet, I moseyed back into my bedroom. The shower was running, and Esme left the door open a little bit, so I stuck my head in. "I-I come in peace . . . Can we talk?" I rasped as tears fell down my cheeks.
She poked her head around the curtain. "What do you want?" Now that Carli wasn't around, she was finished playing nice. ". . . you with those crocodile tears. Cry me a river, you asshole."
"Funny," I lied and sat down on the closed toilet bowl. "H-how old were you when you learned your father was-was seeing another woman?" I asked.
"Oh, no . . ." she said shakily. "I will not do this for you. There's no way."
I stood up to pull the curtain away. "Esme, please."
She rinsed the shampoo out of her hair, while glaring at me. "She'll never get over it, but she'll learn to live with it—forgive you. Hanna needs to know that just because our marriage is shit, it doesn't take away your love for her." She turned away from me. "Don't give up, keep trying to talk to her."
I didn't care about getting wet and stepped into the shower.
"Carlisle, what—"
I hugged her tightly.
"You still have your shoes on."
I grinned and leaned away to kiss her cheek. "I don't care." I wasn't soaked, as she was mainly under the spray, and I loved the feel of her flush against my body. When my hands roamed lower, she stiffened in our embrace.
"I'll be out in a minute." She was kind enough not to push me back, but still asked me to leave in her own way.
"Right." After stepping out, I stripped down and gathered the contents of my pockets to go into my bedroom.
Dressed in pajamas, I walked down the hall to Hanna's room. "Hanny?" I gently knocked.
She didn't answer.
"I know you're awake." I waited a minute. "Um, okay, I just—wanted to say I love you and goodnight." I waited again, placing my hand on the closed door and willing her to open it. When I knew she wouldn't, I went back into my bedroom.
Esme was bent over, wearing a silk nightgown as she dried her hair. I also spied that she was wearing a matching thong. "Are you ovulating?"
"No," she whispered.
"Are you sure you don't want to get away? You can still go to Cancun—take the girls. I bet if you asked Bella, she'd go too—same with Lauren. It might be fun." I turned down my side of the bed and sat down.
She stood up, making her long, wet hair whip against her back. "No, having Marcello around will work out." She winked at me, but then frowned. "And what kind of shit is that to tell me over the phone? I bet your whore got to hear it face-to-face from you."
"I just came from the office—" I didn't mean to lie. With her jumping at me it just came out. It was instinctual.
"Bull-fucking-shit!" she hissed.
"Fine." I put my hands up, giving in.
"Did you fuck her?"
"No."
"Don't lie to me!" She chucked her hairbrush at me.
I barely dodged it—her actions and words pissing me off a bit—a lot, actually. "What do you want to hear? About how she made me dinner, how the three of us sat down like a family and ate—because she cares enough to cook a fucking meal. How I fucked her in the bathroom so our son wouldn't hear? Tell me, because I'm so fucking tired of guessing and lying . . ." I looked to Esme's face, and then realized what I had just said.
It doesn't matter anyway.
She learned nearly a month ago about Candace and uses it against me to get what she wants. What I said was petty and hurtful, but since she already knew—I've been nothing but truthful, maybe not about Anthony, she just knew where I was. I had no reason to lie about being at work anymore.
And she didn't give a fuck, as long as she got what she wanted.
Anthony was another story. Since then, she's seen his picture and cried, stating he's what our son would have likely resembled. Then, she actually asked if she could meet him, which threw me for one.
I doubt Candace would allow that, unless he was meeting his siblings. But that can't take place until they're older and can handle such a thing emotionally.
It's so fucking sick, and I even disgust myself. Sometimes, I think they'd all be better without me, even my brother.
Esme stood there mortified as she stared at me. "I wish—" she paused, "with everything that I am, that my father had never died. I wish that every day," she spouted in a calm, deadly whisper. "Because divorce is too fucking good for you. I'd console my girls, and we'd get on just the same . . ." By now her eyes had fallen to the carpet.
I grinned but didn't mean it. "Too bad he's dead, your father—the murderer."
She shrugged. "Maybe the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree."
"Hmm." I lay back to rest on my folded arms. "Choose for me." It was a half-assed request, but my wife knows me well enough to understand what I was getting at.
She chuckled. "No-fucking-way. That's not my decision to make. You think I want you here, when you probably want her? Maybe one day you'll tell me what she has that I don't."
That was a loaded question, one which I didn't have the answer to. My dick chose Candace before my brain did, and then Candy was pregnant. There was no way I was going to abandon her, and then I grew to love her—not more than Esme. Candace is just different. I can be myself with her, but I can and have been being myself lately with Esme.
I always think—know—if I had to, I'd want to be with Candace, but would I really choose her over Esme? I wasn't sure.
"I can't answer that. You know it didn't mean anything, and then she got pregnant. Well, now you know she got pregnant. It was just sex, and then—"
"Did you really fuck her today?" she asked.
I shook my head no. "I ate at La Bella Italia—had dinner with Edward, had to give him the play-by-play of that shit last night. I only stopped there to say goodnight to Anthony before I came home. I was there . . . maybe an hour at the most."
"Truth?"
"God's honest." I put my hands up. "You can call Edward."
She sat on the edge of the bed. "What happened last night?"
"Es," I gave her a look, "you know better."
She shook her head. "I'm my mother. I turned into Didyme Misone." Her voice broke. "When did that happen?"
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"You know what's sad?" she laughed. "I know you are."
I nudged her with my toe, which made her crack a grin. "Thank you . . . not for accepting, but knowing, I guess. And—" I took in a deep breath before continuing.
"I always wanted a boy." She looked to me. "What if—"
"Don't." I nearly shouted, having a feeling of what her next words might be.
"He's your son. He can be with us—you—full-time. Don't you want that?"
"Be mad at me, threaten me—all Candace is guilty of is—"
"Don't say her fucking name in my house!" she yelled.
I flew at Esme to hug her tight, and she let me while she cried. "Baby, look at me."
She sniffled and picked her head up.
"I'm sorry. If I could go back . . . I can't say that."
She shook her head. "Anthony is adorable. He's your son. You can't regret that."
Tears welled up in my eyes again. "Thank you."
"I'll never forgive you."
"I know." I kissed her cheek.
"I hate you."
"I hate me, too. Sometimes, I wish—"
"That little boy deserves a family, not some whore of a mother and a father he sees an hour a day." Her tone was venomous while she pulled away from me.
"Stop," I begged. "Anthony is staying with his mother. It would kill her, and it's just wrong. Do you even hear yourself right now?" I pointed to my temple.
"Oh, fuck her. She knew you were married."
"It's not her fault—"
"Like hell it isn't. She used to work at Isle Esme—after you told me some bullshit story about Aro needing to find a job for her. She knew me, she knew we were married. She fucking hated me, and so she fucked my husband."
"We'll go for in vitro, whatever you want. I'll give you another—" I stopped when her phone rang.
She stared at it confused. "Who would be—"
"Who's calling you so late?" I asked.
She looked to me before she placed it to her ear. "This is a surprise. It's late," she said.
"Who is it?" I mouthed.
"Lauren," she said without sound, rolling her eyes and grinning. "Good, good, and you?"
"Everything okay?" I placed my hand on her shoulder, worried; she shrugged me off.
"What's going on?" she spoke to Lauren and then stared at me.
"What?" I whispered.
"I'm still here." She cleared her throat and turned from me. "I'll be there soon." She ended the call.
"Where are you going?" I was quick to ask. "What's going on?" I sat up, ready to stand.
"Lauren . . ." Esme stared at me, tongue in cheek while she tapped her cell phone to her thigh. "I have to go."
"What's up?" I widened my arms. "It's after eleven."
She sighed and walked to her closet. "It's girl shit, wife shit—whatever you want to call it." She grabbed a pair of jeans off the shelf and eased herself into them.
"It's late. I'll call Aro—have him go home and deal with it—"
"Don't." She turned to face me and placed a knit sweater over her nightgown. "My friend needs me, and I don't give a fuck what you say. I'm going."
"Okay—relax." I stared at her, confused, and I knew in my heart she was lying. "You can tell me the truth, you know?"
She grinned. "Not everyone is as deceitful as you." She slipped some flats onto her feet while holding onto the closet door.
I shook my head. "You can at least put on a bra," I said, of all the things I could have.
She laughed at me. "Sometimes, Carlisle . . . you're cute."
"Esme, where are you really going? This isn't the time to—" I stopped and hopped up to grab for her phone.
She got to it before me. "Just stop."
"I know you hate me, but fuck. Some shit is going down. You can't just walk out of this house without protection."
She placed her phone under her arm and fluffed her damp hair with her hands. "I'll be safe. I'm going door to car, car to door."
"She meeting you at a bar or something?" I leaned back. "I should call Aro."
She let out a groan of frustration.
"Who is he, Esme?" I demanded.
She turned back to me while she put on her wool coat. "I can't tell you. Edward would kill him, since you're such a fucking coward." She covered her mouth with her hand.
And despite our truthfulness as of late, I realized she had no idea who I was anymore. Once upon a time I would go to Edward. Hell, I have gone to Edward, asking him to take care of such things, but not anymore. "Who is he? Judging by what you just said, I know the poor sonofabitch."
She scrunched her nose. "You don't. And the least you can do is extend me the same respect I give to you." She slumped her shoulders. "I'm sorry. I really am going to meet Lauren. She's having a hard time, and you know Edward would never let Bella out this late—"
"With good reason." I thought she might be telling the truth. "It's not safe right now."
"Car to door, I promise." She grabbed her purse. "If I'm not home in the morning—if I drink and can't drive—"
"If so, you call me, and I'll have Marcello pick you up."
She continued as if I hadn't spoken. "Tomorrow is Multicultural Day at school. There are pastries in the refrigerator. Make sure Carli doesn't forget them." She opened our bedroom door, and then she was gone.
Knowing I wouldn't be able to sleep, I grabbed the remote control and put the television on to channel surf. Still trying not to think about anything, I left some late-night talk show on and relaxed back. Then I remembered there were pastries in the fridge.
Before I went for them, I turned on my laptop to start the locating program. Esme has a GPS in her phone, so I have access to her whereabouts, every move. My brother is paranoid. When we got those new iPhones, we tricked them with tracking devices. Little did he know, Sonny would end up owning the phone. It was no big deal. He just got Bella a new one, and he was glad he'd be able to track Sonny.
While I waited for that, I went to eat some biscotti over the sink. As I chewed, my mind wandered again, and I grew agitated. Then I reached for the cordless and dialed Aro's number. Ever curious, I wanted to know what was going on; if Esme lied to me.
In true Aro fashion, or should I say Edward's, he didn't say anything when he picked up the phone.
"It's me," I said.
"What's up?" he asked.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
/=/=/=/=/=/
Aro
/=/=/=/=/=/
"Uh . . ." It sounded like Carlisle was chewing. "What's Lauren's deal? Is everything okay?"
I turned down the volume on the television and sat up. "We . . . had an argument. Why do you ask?"
"Are you home?"
"What's with all the questions?" Turning the television off, I leaned forward to kick off my shoes.
"Sorry, bro. I wasn't prying, but your wife just called mine. I'll know where she is in a moment, but this isn't exactly the best time for her to be out—"
"Nothing will pop this soon—be more cautious in a few days," I sighed and sat back. "I'm sure she's safe—"
"So, you're not home?"
"No, I'm not. Lau, well, she's serious about that separation shit." I wanted to get off the phone with him so badly. "Look, let me go."
"You guys fought." It wasn't a question, and I heard him let out a breath. "I bet that's why Es went over."
There was a knock at the door.
"I gotta go," I said as I rose to answer it.
"Where are you staying?"
Ignoring his question, I drew my nine and looked through the peephole.
"Hello?"
Holding the phone to my chest, I opened the door but hid behind it to let her in.
"What's going on?" she asked.
"Shhh." I placed my finger over my lips as I closed the door and locked it. "Yeah." I put the phone to my ear. "I'm here," I told Carlisle.
"Is that Lauren?" she asked.
My eyes widened, a gesture telling her to be quiet.
She grinned, looking gorgeous as always while she took a seat on the bed.
"Who's with you? You didn't waste much time, did you?" Carlisle laughed, and for a second I forgot he was on the phone.
"You're judging me? A piece of shit like you—"
"Whoa . . . Dude, everyone's on my ass. Not you too?"
I didn't reply, rolling my eyes and nodding my head—wanting to hang up on him.
"Look bro, it's cool. I gotta check some shit out. Take care . . ."
I sucked my teeth and ended the call. "Give me your fucking phone!" I rushed over to Esme's purse.
"What?" She handed it over.
"Your phone." I found it lying right on top, and was quick to wrestle out the battery and sim card. "Fuck . . . I don't know how these things work." I threw her phone down. "There's probably a chip or something. Lau has the same-" I just stopped speaking.
Her eyes widened. "What are you talking about?"
Sighing, I looked up to the ceiling.
"Aro, what's going on?"
I shook it off. "Beer?" I pointed to the fridge. "It's warm—I just put them in."
She stared at the refrigerator and slowly turned to give me a wary glance. "Sure."
After popping the top off for her, I let out a large breath. "That was Carlisle, and he mentioned something about knowing where you are. I'm going to guess his techy ass put some sort of GPS on your phone . . . I mean, how else, you know?" I didn't want to admit that I knew he did, and that I took the same precautions with my own wife—for her safety of course.
"Fuck him." She sipped the Amstel Light. "So . . . " She let the longneck rest on her denim-covered thigh.
"So . . . he'll probably know you were here. I doubt he'll come through. C's not like that. He'll wait." I stared down at her. "He just can't know I was here, which won't be a problem."
Esme didn't care about all of that. "Why'd you call me? Don't you usually go crying to Bella when shit goes wrong?"
I laughed at her bravado. "It was late, and I knew you'd come."
She stared at me while I walked behind her to sit high on the bed. "What happened?" she whispered.
Shaking my head, I didn't want to talk about it. "How was your night?"
She shrugged. "I think I threw Carlisle for one when he got home." She looked down. "I'm not exactly the naïve little girl he married."
Grinning and cocking a brow, I said, "At least Marcello doesn't think so."
Her jaw dropped a bit, but she recovered quickly. "How'd—how'd you know about that?" She began to chug her beer back.
Sighing, I leaned forward to lie on my stomach—to be closer to someone. "You honestly think Marcello didn't tell anyone about baggin' you? He learned a harsh lesson in keeping his mouth shut—he only told Nunz." I shrugged, resting my chin on my folded forearms. "I overheard it, knocked him one in the mouth. No biggie."
She gasped. "That's why he had to get caps on his teeth?"
I laughed. "It was either that or tell Carlisle, which would result in Marcello gettin' clipped." While I closed my eyes, I felt Esme start to rub my back.
"You can talk to me."
I rolled onto my back. "It's over." My face started to crumble, but I recovered quickly by placing my arms over my face.
"She's so stupid." She rubbed my chest now, and I stopped her hand.
"Cool it." I closed my eyes again and enjoyed a peaceful moment. Maybe I didn't want to talk, and maybe I just needed someone with me. Her sitting next to me was all I really needed.
"Aro. . . ?" she asked.
Removing my arms, I looked up to her, as she was leaning in close. "Why am I here?" She cupped my cheek and trailed her fingers through my hair with her other hand.
I placed my hands on hers. "I don't know."
"I think you do." She started to close the distance.
"No." I held her chin. "Not like this." Frowning, I hated denying her—'Cause only God knows how long I've wanted her. Deep down, I've wanted her since my freshman year at college.
"You're a good man."
"Yeah, yeah." I grumbled. "I'm so fucking good, I almost choked the shit out of her tonight. Who does that?"
Esme was right to move away from me. Even if it was only an inch—a slight cringe—I saw it. "What'd she do?"
"She threatened to take me to court for the kids. I wasn't thinking logically. I just figure, she wants out of our family then she can go. I was also pissed she denied me, um, I'm just—fucked up." I palmed my face again.
"Lauren's told me a lot lately."
"She has?" I asked without looking at her.
"You'd rather stay married to someone who's not in love with you, and you deny the advances of someone who could be?" She stared away from me.
Groaning, I sat up to palm her cheek. "Look at me."
She refused, shaking her head while I saw the tears forming. "Since I was fifteen, Aro. It would have been so easy—effortless." She turned to face me. "But you were too busy chasing Angela. And my life was already mapped out." She sniffled, placing her hands on my shoulders.
"I know," I admitted, grinning and pushing her unkempt hair away from her face. "But you did—or do—love Carlisle."
"If wasn't without effort," she whispered. "It wasn't like I had a choice. It was easier to love him—put my all into it. And look where that got me. Loving someone or falling for them, shouldn't be that hard. I have always . . . when it came to you—"
"I'm so sorry for his shit. He's fucked." I pointed to my temple. "There's something wrong with him."
She laughed, shaking her head no. "Carlisle only truly—deeply cares about two things: his kids and Edward. I don't deny that he loves me. I know he does . . . in his own way. It's just not enough."
"That's still no excuse."
"I give him a hard time. Yet, never do I forget that he was in the same boat as me—we were on the same course. We never had a choice. And sometimes, I mean, people do fall out of love. Do you still—be honest with me—feel the same way you used to about Lauren?"
I shook my head no. "That still doesn't mean I want a divorce. My parents are still married—you work at it. It's what you do." I shrugged.
"That's not living—"
"And you are?" I countered. "Sitting—waiting around for anything Carlisle's willing to give?"
She opened her mouth to respond, but I didn't let her.
"Was blowing Marcello—will fucking me make you happier, erase the problems you'll still have at home?" Esme tried to look away from me; I steadied her chin. "It's just us here," I reminded her.
"You and I both know that if we fucked, it wouldn't be a one-time thing." She avoided my questions with some sassy act, winking with a brave face while her eyes were still red from her tears.
"It's just me. It's Aro," I said again. "Let me in, Es. I need you to." My eyes pleaded, and my hands itched to touch her. After a minute of just staring and rubbing her jaw with my thumb, she threw herself at me—wrapped her arms around my neck to hug me tight.
"I wish you could take it all away," she sobbed.
I rubbed her back, but didn't reply. It's funny how I thought she'd console me, yet this reversal felt so right.
"We never even talk—let people see us interact—it's all an act. No one knows anything. Even if we never speak, I know you're there. I never forget."
"I know," I whispered into her neck, and it felt amazing to have Esme in my arms. She was warm. Her skin was so soft, and she smelled incredible. Also, having human contact with someone who wasn't my kids filled my gut with excitement—a sense of fulfillment—satisfaction. "Can I hold you tonight?" I pulled back to lightly kiss her lips, and then paused—realizing what I did after being so caught up in the moment.
"Aro," she breathed.
"I'm sorry." I searched her eyes and then looked to her lips. "I didn't mean—yes, I did, but I apologize."
"I can't do this—not with you. It'd break me." She shook in our embrace.
"Shhh." I hugged her tight to steady her.
"I'd want you again . . . and again." She kissed just under my ear, and I moaned from the feeling. "You . . ." She let that hang there.
"Me, what?" I asked.
"I don't know," she let out a little giggle. "Just you."
I sighed and let her go to scoot up higher on the bed. "Lay with me." I widened my arms. "Just snuggle with me. No funny business." I waved a finger.
She raised a brow and took off her sweater. Esme revealed the silk, fitted, purple negligée she was wearing. It also didn't escape my notice that she wasn't wearing a bra.
Her headlights were beaming in my direction. "You don't play fair." My shirt was already open, and so I shrugged out of that, and then threw my undershirt across the room. Of course I wore a smug grin when I caught her staring, but that only lasted until she eased out of her jeans. "And now you're playing with fire." I tried not to look at her and failed.
"I rushed out of the house—just threw clothes over my PJs." She started to crawl toward me.
"Sleep, conversation—that's it." I grunted out, just staring at her gorgeous body.
"I'm thinking of actually leaving Carlisle, like for real."
"You should. He doesn't deserve you."
"Do you?" she asked, sitting back on her legs.
"Probably not." I pulled her into my side and relaxed us back.
Thank you for reading.
Please leave me your thoughts.
And . . . I know I probably lost a few of you with this update - some of you will love it and some will absolutely hate it. But, this chapter actually wrote itself. The Warning was because I found the words shared between couples to be quite harsh, along with the situations. *wince* Maybe I'm the wimp *shrug*
Then again, I NEVER promised anyone a fairytale, just a HEA, and that E and B would NOT cheat ;)
Anyway, those of you who are still with me, are you ready for some action?
Next chap, we'll pick right back up with Edward
:)
Hit that review button
.
.
.
.
.
V
