*Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Stephanie Meyer except my original ideas.

Femme Fatale

I blinked once, then a second time. Edward was looking down at me intently, I responded by raising my eyebrow quizzically. He just laughed. "You fainted, Bella," he said by way of explanation. "We are headed to the nurse's office right now."

"That's not possible," I crossed my hands over my chest. "I'm not walking." I felt Edward stop moving and his chest rumble with laughter. Wait. No, he did not just…there was no way he was… "You're carrying me?" I managed to splutter.

He nodded, "Which diet are you on? It's working for you."

Was he joking? "None, I'm on this au naturel kick at the moment."

He broke into a smile and then (get this) started walking again. "Edward," I said pointedly.

"Yes, Bella?" I cannot believe he is trying to act innocent!

"Put me down."

"I simply cannot do that I am afraid?"

"Please put me down."

"Nope." Good Lord, he was absolutely cheerful about the whole ordeal.

"Why not?" I demanded, trying to squirm out of his arms.

"As a gentleman, I have a moral obligation to get you to the nurse safely. And it is clear that walking is not a safe option for you," Edward looked at me mischievously as I continued to wrestle against him. I tried flailing my legs, wiggling my arms, the whole shebang—but no, he was holding me too tightly for me to truly do anything of consequence.

"You look ridiculous," he informed me matter-of-factly. Gee, thanks Edward, I thought as I tried futilely to free myself. After a couple more failed attempts, I finally relaxed against his chest.

"Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"What do you bench press? Like 220? I was giving it a good go," I asked incredulously. I mean seriously, he hadn't even been fazed when I had tried to remove myself from his arms.

"I don't bench press. I prefer running."

"Oh." I mean, what else do you say to that? Well, golly, then do you just naturally have super-strength? We lapsed into a comfortable silence. His breathing was reassuring, steady. I couldn't help but think that I fit perfectly into his arms. After a few moments I suddenly asked, "Why are you always around?"

"Sorry?"

"Every time, I'm in any sort of trouble you're always there. Without fail. I mean, I'm not usually a damsel in distress but the two times I have been — you were always right there... You always manage to get to me just in time. Not that I'm not grateful, I am. I'm just beginning to think there may be more than coincidence here." I spoke breathlessly, afraid that if I took a breath, I wouldn't be able to continue. I felt him stiffen. I looked up expecting to see his mouth drawn in that thin line that told me the subject was no longer open for discussion. Instead, he gave me a sad smile, gazing down at me with his deep, expressionless eyes.

"What can I say? You're my own femme fatale, Bella." He gently put me down, opened the glass door that was somehow right in front of us, and ushered me into the school's medical building. I was acutely aware of his hand pressing on the small of my back as he steered me toward the nurse behind the counter, as I tried to understand what Edward had meant.


"There's a group of us going to La Push, this weekend," I said hesitantly, unsure of his answer.

He flashed me a smile. "Somehow, I can't seem to picture you in a diving suit."

"Oh, I won't be diving. God, no, I'd kill myself," my words fumbled over each other as my cheeks burned bright red. Diving suits hugged every contour of your body, like a second skin, so the diver could be insulated but still maintain maximum mobility. Next to going nude, a diving suit was the single most revealing piece of clothing in the world—and Edward had just tried to picture me in one! "I'll just be going to look at the bio-pools," I finished lamely, desperately trying not to show how much I had been affected by his off-hand comment. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him raise an eyebrow.

"As much as I would love to indulge myself with your company, going to La Push is not the best idea for me," Edward said.

"Why not?"

"My family had a disagreement with some of the families on the reservation. I think it best not to open old wounds," he said it with a sense of cold finality.

I was peeling the potatoes for dinner while I mulled over the conversation that I had with Edward in the hover car as he drove me home. What did he mean "old wounds"? Admittedly, I did not truly know the members of Edward's family other than his father, Carlisle, but I could not wrap my head around what possible disagreement the Cullens could be capable of having. What possible connection could Edward's family have with the reservation folk? I was, as Edward would say, quite flabbergasted by the whole affair. And then there was the whole diving suit comment…

I quickly finished preparing for dinner, tossed the potatoes into the SteamOven® and climbed the stairs to my bedroom to begin my homework. I even briefly moped about being such a goody too-shoes, coming home directly from school, saying a very chaste goodbye to a guy outside my door, getting dinner ready, and then promptly beginning my indescribably boring homework. Look at me the all-American domestic goddess! I mentally berated myself after realizing that my history teacher would be proud—remembering some horrible catchphrase from two thousand years ago.

Thankfully, I was saved from myself by the sound of Charlie's gruff voice as he tried to muffle his curse words. With nothing else to do but procrastinate, I naturally bounded out of my room and down the stairs with unparalleled enthusiasm. (Ugh, Lord, did I really just think that? I need to get out more; I'm starting to talk like Edward.)

I stumbled upon Charlie fiddling with some mechanical bits strewn over the living room floor. He let out an exasperated grunt, "Damn machines!"

"Dad?"

Charlie looked up, a lopsided smile beginning on his face, "Sorry Bells, didn't see you there."

I matched his grin with an easy one of my own, "Where did you get that? I didn't hear anything being delivered to the house."

"That," Charlie said, dropping the machine parts to the floor and standing up, "is because I brought it in myself, no delivery necessary. Waste of money, if you can do it yourself, I always say."

"Um, do you need any help?" I asked, scanning the den. It was littered with cogs, wires, hinges, screws, and other miscellaneous pieces of machinery.

"Sure, thanks Bells."

"No problem. Where's the instruction manual?"

Charlie glanced at me, comically confused, "It comes with one of those?"

I rolled my eyes and set about finding the instructions, praying that when I did find it, it would be written in plain English. I cannot tell you the amount of times the all-important "How to Do It" pamphlet was either in confusing pictures or in some Nordic language. Honestly, how many people actually speak Swedish, or Danish?

"Aha, here it is," I said triumphantly after lifting it out of the Styrofoam pecans (apparently Styrofoam peanuts became a controversial phrase after the infamous Peanut Lynching of '53). Wait a minute—this couldn't possibly be a... "Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"What are we trying to build, again?"

"Our new Conference Simulator."

Oh. I hadn't quite expected Charlie to go out and buy one so fast. "Thanks for buying it. Mom will be pleased."

"I didn't buy it. In fact, if it were up to me, I wouldn't have ever replaced it."

"Well then who—?"

"It was a birthday bonus—I think that's what they called it anyway."

"From the station?" I asked hesitantly, afraid I already knew the answer. Turns out, I did know.

"No, Rhonda gave it to me." I had to laugh, in spite of myself. When I finally was able to control myself, I turned to Charlie and suggested that perhaps, she should be the first person we Conference. After all, I couldn't think of any other way to christen the machine.


Sorry I was not able to post on Monday. I am a voracious reader and couldn't tear myself away from a book! I want to rework and re-edit the next chapter because I feel that it needs a little extra oomph, for lack of a better SAT word. However, it should be up by this Friday.

As always please, please review!