Stephanie Meyer's Twilight; I lost track at the number of times Jake ran away.
An unexpected chapter and a Carlisle point of view to boot since so many asked for another one (okay, maybe three people did.)
As always, there will be errors, and they will be all mine.
Darling Carlisle,
Went to Sappho for a ride, will be back by dinner, if not, there are apples and brie in the refrigerator and the liquor cabinet has been restocked.
xo
-Esme
I often wonder at the complete satire of moving next to a place called, Sappho. A town named after the ancient Greek poetess, a woman who wrote of the love of both genders, and now a place nestled between Lake Pleasant and Beaver Lake.
x
"How was your ride?"
"I had to take a different mare than I normally do, I'm thinking about getting one of my own and stable her there," Esme says, conversationally. "Other than that, it was good," she sees that I'm not fully paying attention. "Lana came along."
She pauses to look at me, to see if I'll bite to her bait. I briefly look at my nails instead.
"Did you eat?"
"I had some of that brie, it was good. Finished off the vichyssoise, little grainy," I tell her.
Esme tightens her mouth. "Bella said it was good," she looks at me, still waiting for me to bite.
"Is that so? This was on Tuesday?" I had been wondering if Esme would bring up her dinner, I was curious to her motivation in inviting Bella over for a meal.
"Yes. Bella was quite complimentary to my cooking." It's almost entertaining to watch my wife act both indignant and smug.
"Really? It wouldn't have had anything to do with her feeling intimidated?" A definite amount of wryness held in my question.
"You think so little of me." Her words are harsh but her tone is mock innocence.
"Playing the victim doesn't suit you, Esme, you're far too cunning for that." My wife still has the surprising ability to blush. A blush is always enticing, always an invitation for more.
"I know," she gives me cheeky wink and a puckery kiss while her hand grips my face. "It seems Bella told you about our dinner, yes?"
Esme follows me as I take the mail off the counter. This conversation has now turned in the hunt for information, a, who knows what about whom. I'm trying not to engage.
"She went straight to your office?" Esme isn't letting this drop.
Setting down a catalog of horse tack, I reply. "Yes, I imagine she came by after she left from here."
Esme, trying to play it close to the vest and failing rather spectacularly, is twisting to find out the details of my conversation with Bella.
"I'm going to make you ask," I taunt, acting like I'm terribly involved in studying a bank statement.
"I don't know what you're talking about." The muscles around her mouth twitch trying not to smirk.
"Fine, then, have it your way." My face remains relaxed while I pick up the equine catalog again and resume my perusal. I sit down on the couch in the living room.
Several foot-jiggling minutes later, Esme, sitting in the chair next to me, cannot help herself.
"What did she say? She said I was mean, didn't she? Did she say anything about my cooking? I thought she was going to scamper away when I pounded out the veal. And she was mortified by her drink, utterly baffled by it."
Esme laughs lightly, although having the decency to cover her mouth like she was trying to stop herself.
"Are you through?"
Tipping her head to the side, Esme lets her laughing turn into a slow creeping smile of contentment across her face.
"Yes, I'm through. To be truthful, I didn't expect the dinner to go the way it did at all."
"What did you plan on happening?" I ask, again wondering what possibly went through my wife's head in extending an invitation to Bella.
"I don't know, really," Esme quietly answers. "She got here, and was trying so hard, giving me this hideously colored mum plant. Working her manners as best she knew, I just became so irritated with her. By her mere presence. I thought I wanted to be her friend. Talk to her about you, remember what it was like to be 18 years old, get excited when her life begins when she leaves Forks behind and starts fresh and gains new experiences."
Esme is earnest and serious in her recounting.
"But, what happened?" I ask, softly.
"I," pause, sigh, "honestly," nonchalant shrug and eyes close and reopen slowly, "I was threatened and maybe jealous." Esme gets up from her chair and sits next to me putting her legs across my lap and I rest my hand on the tops her calves.
"She's such a bright, young, insecure, smart, uncertain creature. I can imagine crawling into that brain of hers and laughing at the ridiculousness she probably comes up with. It would be like falling down a rabbit hole. Speaking of which, we have Alice's birthday coming up in a couple of weeks, I was thinking about getting her a plane ticket so she can spend time with us over Christmas. I thought we could take a weekend in Seattle, show her the Space Needle and the fish market, watching the mongers throw those fish around, she'd have so much fun."
"You changed the subject on me." I tell Esme.
"Yes, I didn't want to talk about Bella anymore."
"She offered to stop everything. She doesn't want to be something that puts strain on our marriage. She's finding it difficult to understand our relationship," I tell her.
"I think she's quite clever, but I'm torn between wanting to enjoy her company and wanting to protect you so you don't get mired in anything that would sully you and your good standing in the community."
"That's rich, coming from the woman who practically flung me in Isabella's direction."
"I didn't really think you'd go for it. I mean, it's so," she smiles again, "obvious," she slightly exaggerates the word. "I though you'd go to Seattle and find someone more worldly, or charm one of your pretty, little, blue pill drug reps. Or maybe one of the female nurses from Chicago, no longer having to worry about shitting where you eat, plus, giving you an excuse to venture away from gossipy Forks and back to the anonymity of a large, urban environment. But the 18 year old daughter of the chief of police, that's wickedly dangerous in the worst of ways."
"You have concerns," I state.
"Wouldn't you if you were me? What if Bella lets herself get pregnant? Or what if her father found out and decided to take matters into his own hands against you?"
I sat there with my head turned, watching her worry transform her features into creases and shadows.
We both remain quiet letting Esme's words hang low and heavy in the air.
"She just called me, Bella, asking to see me tomorrow," Esme tells me.
"Mmm," I say as my fingers absently work her muscled legs. "What did you tell her?"
Esme remains silent for a couple of moments before answering my question.
"I told her to come over. Why not? Either I condone this, or end it, isn't that the question?"
I search her face looking for malice or contempt but find none.
"If that's what you want," I tell her.
"What do you want? I can get you out of this if that's what you would like, if you're bored with her or done with her, or," she trails off as she waves her hand to complete her thought. "How do you feel about her?" Esme asks, her eyes searching my face for any evidence of an answer.
I mull her question over, wondering how best to respond. If I want to respond. If Esme deserves a response.
I'm not a man who enjoys uncertainty.
"You can answer honestly, it's just me," Esme gently prods.
Without more thought, I answer. "I'm captivated by her."
"Mind, body and soul?" She asks with unusual trepidation.
"Mind, possibly. Body, most definitely. Soul, not nearly," I answer, shaking my head.
I look over to find my wife fidgeting with the edge of her sweater. I reach over and put my finger under her chin and draw her gaze to meet mine.
"Talk to me," I ask her.
"I don't want you falling in love with her."
"I could say the same to you about Lana," I counter.
Esme ignores the Lana comment.
"She'll be leaving for college in the fall, you're not going to go chasing after her, or are you?" She says, her teasing, false, it's hiding an insecurity.
"Yes, that's what I plan to do, actually. Move into her dorm and be her big poppa. Really, Esme, you're concerned about this?"
"I was once a girl like Bella and you fell in love with me."
"You were never a girl like Bella and I fell in love with you because you were older and wiser, and knew where to get the best ice cream on the island."
"Speaking of, I'd like to spend a month at least at Martha's Vineyard next summer."
"I'll call my mother and see when she plans on using the house. I won't be able to be there for a month, but I can do a week, maybe 10 days."
"Did you know at age four we would be together?"
"I knew I'd follow you around for forever looking for the best ice cream. You wouldn't have had it any other way."
"So close to a tender moment yet botched in your very special way, my darling, my Carlisle." She gives me a sly look and a sardonic smile.
"You said you restocked the liquor cabinet?"
x
"Carlisle."
"Esme," I answer in return, she's calling me from her car.
"I'm on my way to pick up Lana, we're going to Seattle until Tuesday night. I've left you provisions and have your suits to take to the dry cleaner you like in the city. I'll have your shirts laundered and pressed as well. Anything else you need help with?"
"No, I want my shirts on hangers though, not folded, I don't like the creases." Every time, Esme got them folded, I think they were easier to transport in the thin cardboard box, rather than being hung up and trying to fit in her car.
"How was your morning?" Making me ask about her coffee date with Bella is more bothersome than I care to admit.
"Oh, yes," she feigns absentmindedness. "She brought me a gift, two, actually."
Jesus Christ, it's a fucking coffee klatch of the two women I'm sleeping with.
"You sound surprised," I say as I click through next week's office calendar. The supply rep was scheduled and I wanted to be present. Last time she tried to sell Siobhan on the idea of brown exam table paper that they were developing, claiming it would be friendly to, or of, or for the environment. That may very well be the case but I wanted to make it clear I was running a Doctor's office, not a family restaurant with plastic cups filled with crayons and sticky ketchup bottles.
"Surprised she brought me a gift? Yes, I was, and more surprised by how clever her gifts were," she says with the air of one-upmanship I've become accustomed to. Esme wants to start a contest of who Bella likes better. I don't have the heart to tell Esme that I'm fairly certain I'd win that competition. Unless of course Bella developed a desire for female companionship, and even if she did, I don't think she'd seek Esme out for such activities.
"I'm sorry, Esme, you were saying?"
"She brought me over two biographies of women who were in open marriages. Can you imagine something like that? I wouldn't have thought Bella had that kind of flare."
"Mmm," I say in response, thinking back to her narration while she stripped for me. That was flare.
"She was very forthright," She pauses, wondering if I'm paying attention to her.
"I suppose she is. Is there a particular reason why you're saying this?"
Esme takes a deep breath through her nose before releasing it in a fortifying manner.
"I thought this was what I wanted," Esme says, small traces of lament lacing and twining around her words. "But when she came over on Tuesday, I hated her. I wanted nothing more than to diminish her because," she pauses like the next part would be difficult. "I realized I was being selfish and greedy."
I keep my mouth shut, turning my back to the computer screen, waiting her out while turning her words over in my mind.
"I can't have it all. I can't keep you for myself unless I give the same back to you." Through the Bluetooth, I hear her take deep breath letting it out audibly. "I'm just not ready to give myself back to you entirely."
Our lives together had been spent with a silent agreement; follow or lead when needed or wanted. Esme was currently the one leading.
"Things will remain status quo, is what you're saying?" I ask as a question but it was more of a confirmation.
"That's what I'm saying. I'm at Lana's, I'll call you when we get to Seattle."
"Please do," I say, turning back around to my computer screen.
"I love you, Carlisle." And with that, she hung up to meet up with her lover.
x
I slowly swirl my apple while sitting outside and watch the moon disappear behind the heavy storm clouds moving in.
Mind, body and soul?
I can imagine crawling into that brain of hers and laughing at the ridiculousness she probably comes up with. It would be like falling down a rabbit hole.
I hated her.
The drops of rain begin to fall, but I'm not ready to go back inside, yet. I get up and raise the patio umbrella and make a note to build a partial roof in the spring. Poor design planning not having solid cover.
The rain is slow, working itself up for a strong and steady release. It beats along the top of the waxed canvas cover, circling me while I sit at the table. I hear the wetness penetrate the soft, lush earth just beyond where I sit.
Isabella's charged narrative again replays through my mind; what she does on these rainy nights after everyone's gone to sleep. I wonder if that's what she's doing now. Opening her pajama top, running her hands up her stomach, along her ribs, fanning over her breasts and gripping them. Knowing she needs more, pushing her clothing off of her completely, touching herself while the rest of the neighborhood slumbers around her.
I contemplate finding out.
Mind, body and soul?
I hated her.
I reach for my phone and enter her number. She answers and it's obvious to me I've interrupted; my closed-mouth smile is slow and satisfied as it spreads along my face.
"It's raining on a Sunday night." I turn, lean back and stretch my legs out in front of me, reaching over for my tumbler of scotch.
"Yes, it is," she whispers slowly, expectantly.
Is this what my life's been reduced to?
I ask her if she's in bed.
"Yes," she lisps out, the corner of my mouth creeps up.
"What are you thinking about?" I ask.
I can see her nipples hardening and her shoulders blades moving back like outstretched wings.
"I'm thinking about you," she answers me as the rain picks up its pace.
"What about me?"
How many more weekends will Esme be spending in Seattle with her lover?
"I'm imagining a different scenario in your office than what was last Tuesday."
I laugh, of course she is.
"Is that so?" I lead her on.
"Yeah," she labors out, stretching out the moment while I'm certain she's circling her clit.
"I don't want to interrupt you, then," I tease, wanting to make her squirm, wanting to hear her beg and sound desperate and need me to make her come.
It would be like falling down a rabbit hole.
But then, as has been typical fashion between us, she guilelessly shifts to ask for what she wants, taking what she needs.
"Talk to me," she breathes out like a French film star.
I shouldn't be surprised she wants me to talk dirty to her. I briefly entertain the option before deciding not to. She was already on her way to getting herself off; I want to hear where she goes with it.
"Mmm, no, I want to hear you. Words or sounds, it's you I want to hear," I tell her, enjoying my evening solitude.
Isabella is quiet for several moments and I close my eyes imagining where her hands are moving and touching and feeling.
I adjust my cock and realize she must be at home by herself.
Mind, body and soul?
"You make me so very wet."
"I like doing that to you," I tell her. She's predictable in very pleasant and pleasurable ways.
"Are you touching yourself?"
I smile to myself. Funny girl. So confident and unabashed one moment and near desperate for reassurance the next. I reach for my drink and apple slices and lean back, closing my eyes and don't wonder why I'm doing this.
This momentary introspection passes and I continue on.
"Listening to you is satisfying enough. The way your body shifts and writhes when you're building up to an orgasm. The way your rich, red lips separate and sound comes from the back of your throat. How your hair looks spread across my bed, and how your eyes close long before you come, like you want to shut out all around you and only feel the sensations and hear our breathing." For fuck's sake, she purrs. She'd make the most phlegmatic of men palm their dicks wanting to get her to make that sound.
"Oh Carlisle," falls from those illicit red lips.
I reach over and find my scotch and again get comfortable. She takes her time. I hear the murmurings, the gasps and the fevered pitches of her striding to reach her little death.
"I'm so close," she says to me. I hear the phone drop onto scratchy sounding sheets. I can picture her chest rising and falling, her tongue slowly wetting those lips, that middle finger coaxing her swollen clit towards completion.
I move to adjust my cock and again don't ask myself why I'm doing this. Or why I'm not with a drug rep or nurse from the city. Or why I didn't ignore Esme when she alluded to this. And I don't think about any of those things as I listen to Bella reach her climax; so long, so satisfying, so very unacceptable outside the confines of my marriage and its agreements.
Mind, body and soul?
It would be like falling down a rabbit hole.
I hated her.
"That was stunning," I tell her. "Good night, Isabella."
I hated her.
A/N Carlisle's being ambiguous, don't assume it's Bella, or do, we'll have to see what happens.
So yeah, let me know what you think, if Esme henpecks Carlisle or if they hold their own against one another. Or if you've changed your opinion on Esme since many of you dislike her. Personally, I'd want to hang out with her at a hotel bar and have her give me a running critique on all the guests. She'd most definitely drink some sort of martini, probably a dirty.
Happy (belated) birthday, Coco, cool your jets.