Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight, but Carlisle Cullen owns me.

How Do You Talk To An Angel?

Bella Swan's Point of View

I was so nervous I couldn't even speak. I had hardly said a word to Carlisle since we had left his house. It was just so overwhelming, being with him in his car, with him smelling better than any man should have a right to smell, close enough to accidentally brush his arm.

I was very careful not to accidentally brush his arm.

My mind was on the hospital, when he was touching my hand and my arm, and guiding me through doorways with his hand on the small of my back. Once he tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, his hand resting for a moment on the side of my head, and when he looked at me my imagination conjured up fondness in his eyes.

I felt like I was being rude, sitting there not saying anything. Carlisle was doing me a huge favor. I had dreaded the possibility of losing the use of my hand, and he was saving me from that while feeding a lie to Charlie.

It made me feel warm inside to have him taking care of me. I had never had a man take care of me when he hadn't hurt me first. This wasn't Carlisle's responsibility, but he was stepping in anyway. It made me feel important, valuable.

Not that he cared at all for me. He was a doctor, and doctors had a sense of responsibility about these things. Still, it was awfully pleasant to imagine that the tenderness in his touch was the result of something more than excellent bedside manner.

I was fascinated by his hands. As he carefully cleaned and stitched my cut, I had stared at them, nimble and cool, with long, tapered fingers. I tried not to imagine those gorgeous fingers touching me in other places . . . at least not yet. That was a thought I would save for a more private moment.

He watched me a lot, particularly while driving, which made me nervous. I was afraid that he would find out what had happened with Charlie. I didn't want him to think too hard, and if I had been able to reason clearly I would have tried to distract him with conversation.

But I didn't have the first idea what to say.

Carlisle parked the car and came around to help me out. It was probably good he did, because my hip gave out as I was pushing myself to my feet, and I stumbled against him. His arms shot around me, keeping me from falling, and I once again found myself wrapped in his embrace due to my own clumsiness.

I clung to him maybe a little bit longer than necessary, until he pulled back a little. "Are you alright, Isabella?" he asked gently.

I nodded, blushing. "Yeah, I'm just being my usual klutzy self."

He smiled warmly and tucked my hand in the crook of his arm, escorting me to the house. I could hear the piano playing as we approached the door, and when Carlisle pushed it open I saw that it was Edward playing, with Esme seated on the bench next to him. He gave his mother an adoring smile, and she ruffled his hair affectionately before standing up and moving to kiss Carlisle quickly on the cheek.

A sharp pain shot through me, and I nearly doubled over from it. I held myself in check fairly well, only displaying a minor flinch which no one seemed to notice.

Esme turned to me and smiled. "Bella, it's nice to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you." She took my hand and pressed it between her own. "I'm Esme."

"It's nice to meet you, too," I mumbled.

Carlisle's hands touched my shoulders, and I jumped a little in surprise. He smiled softly as he helped me off with my coat and hung it in the closet for me.

"I'll get lunch ready," Esme said with a smile.

"Aw, but who will I play for?" Edward complained.

"Play for Bella. You wouldn't mind feeding Edward's enormous ego for a few minutes, would you, dear?"

Edward grinned at me and patted the piano bench next to him, so I stepped self-consciously to his side and settled next to him.

"Do you like piano music?" he asked.

"I like pretty much any music."

Carlisle moved to the side of the piano, leaning casually against it and watching Edward speculatively.

Edward grinned and started playing a piece I had never heard before. It was stunning, haunting and wistful, and it burrowed into my chest, taking hold of my heart. "That's beautiful," I whispered. "What is it?"

Edward was smiling crookedly at Carlisle, who was frowning at him in disapproval. "It's mine," he said. "I haven't named it yet. Maybe A Lilac Bloom." He smirked at Carlisle, and it was clear there was some sort of inside joke between them–one that Edward thought was much funnier than Carlisle did.

"So, Carlisle and I have been having this argument," Edward said casually, changing the subject.

I glanced up at Carlisle, but quickly looked away when I saw his eyes on me. This seemed like a private conversation, and I wasn't sure why Edward was telling me about it.

"See, he's made this decision," he went, ignoring my discomfort, "and I disagree with it."

"Edward," Carlisle said warningly.

He just smiled blandly and continued. "It's not really my place to say whether his decision is right or wrong." He paused in his playing and fixed his gaze on his father. "But it is wrong." He resumed his music. "And even though everyone agrees with me–"

"Edward," Carlisle said again, more sharply.

"All right, fine, everyone except Rosalie–who by the way, is even more wrong than you are–anyway, even though most of them agree with me, it's not really their place to question it either."

"That's right," Carlisle said softly. "It's not."

Edward smiled at me and played for a few moments. I had almost started to hope he was going to drop the subject when he spoke again.

"No, my problem with it is that he acts like there's nobody else who should have a say in the decision."

"Do you . . . want me to give you guys a minute?" I asked hesitantly.

"Oh, no," Edward said, shaking his head. "Carlisle has all kind of unpleasant words he wants to say to me that he would never utter in front of a lady." He grinned at me. "Your presence is saving me from a very severe tongue-lashing. Anyway, as I was saying, he seems to think this is his decision alone."

I felt a sinking in my stomach. If Edward had to use me as a buffer for his father's anger, maybe Carlisle Cullen wasn't the perfect, TV Land father I had hoped he was. It was a lot more disappointing that it should have been, and I swallowed against the sudden thickness in my throat.

"Edward," Carlisle said firmly, "it is my decision alone."

"No." Edward stared straight into Carlisle's eyes. "There is one other person who is directly affected by it, Carlisle. Affected, we now know, exactly as much as you are."

I ducked my head, wishing they wouldn't talk about this in front of me. I didn't want to be a witness to their family's secrets, particularly if they were anything like my family's secrets.

"Enough," Carlisle said with an air of finality. He looked intently at Edward, an eyebrow raising as he stared him down.

A slow smile spread across Edward's face. "Yes, sir."

Esme pushed the kitchen door open then and announced that lunch was ready, and Edward stood. "I'll let Alice and Jasper know."

Carlisle moved to my side, offering me his arm once more, and led me to the table in the dining room. He took his place at the head of the table after helping me into a chair next to his. Esme sat on his other side, across from me, and reached out to squeeze his hand. The gesture made me ache inside.

After a moment we were joined by the other three. Edward took a seat next to Esme, and Alice plopped down beside me. "Hey, Bella! How's your hand."

I held up the hand encased in the black brace. "Broken, apparently," I said with a rueful smile. "I'm even clumsier than I thought."

Alice giggled. "Only you, Bella."

Jasper settled into the seat next to her and reached out to capture her hand in his. He leaned forward enough to nod an acknowledgment to me around her, and I gave him a smile.

Esme took the lead and started serving a thick soup from the dish at the center of the table, as Carlisle began passing around a plate of warm bread.

"I hope you like lobster bisque," Esme smiled at me.

I smiled back, torn between wanting to hate her and wanting to be her, but finding myself just liking her. "I've heard rumors about your amazing cooking."

She smiled sweetly. "The kids are too kind."

"Oh, no, we were terribly rude," Edward corrected her. "We told Bella how your cooking has ruined us to the point that we can't eat anything else."

Esme practically glowed. "I'm sure I should tell you that you need to learn to like all kinds of food, but I'm afraid I enjoy the flattery too much," she laughed, a beautiful, warming sound.

No wonder Carlisle loved her. She was perfect.

Esme filled everyone's bowls, but nobody started eating right away. I waited, wondering if they were a family that said grace together the way I had sometimes seen on television. But eventually Carlisle picked up his spoon and dipped it into the bisque, bringing it to his lips.

God, those lips. . . .

That seemed to signal everyone to begin, and they all started eating. I sipped in a mouthful of the soup and nearly groaned with pleasure.

"Wow, Mrs. Cullen, this is amazing," I breathed.

Once again, she nearly glowed. "Thank you, Bella. But please, call me Esme."

"So Isabella," Carlisle said, "Edward tells me that you like to read. Are you working on something now?"

I felt my cheeks warm a little as everyone turned to look at me. "Uh, yeah, Candide."

Carlisle raised a curious eyebrow. "Candide? That's an interesting choice. What made you decide to read that one?"

"I saw it on the reading list for an English class at UW."

The corner of his mouth pulled up. "With what other books?"

"Um," I tried to remember what was on it. "Indiana, Dubliners, The Prince . . . there were a few more."

"Why choose Candide?"

"I'm . . . reading them all. I've finished Indiana and The Prince."

He smiled delightedly. "You read The Prince? The Machiavelli?"

My cheeks warmed even further. "Yeah. It was kind of boring, actually. Everyone made it out to be this monstrous thing, but," I shrugged again. "I don't know. It was just psychology. Manipulation."

"And how are you liking Candide?"

"It's a surprisingly light-hearted for being so depressing."

Carlisle chuckled. "That it is."

"It gives you hope for a happy ending," I said. "Even when you know there won't be one."

Carlisle looked at me intently. "Have you read it before?"

"No, but I've been told it ends badly."

"It takes a sour view on the world," he confirmed. "And you're right, Voltaire is very skillful at building hope before crushing it."

I nodded.

Alice was watching me, puzzled. "You need to read happier books."

"Yeah, maybe you're right," I laughed self-consciously. "It hasn't really been an optimistic reading list."

Edward was looking at me speculatively. "Have you read anything with a happy ending recently?"

"Uh, yeah. A Doll's House."

Alice gaped at me. "The Ibsen play?"

"Yeah."

"Bella, how is that happy? Nora walks out on her husband and kids at the end."

I shrugged. "I don't know. Who hasn't fantasized about just walking away and leaving everything behind?"

Edward and Jasper exchanged another one of their glances.

"Is that what you fantasize about?" Alice giggled. "Because I have this magazine spread of Jude Law I could show you that would totally change your life."

"Hey!" Jasper said indignantly.

Alice smiled sweetly at him. "Of course he could never compare to you, darling."

He smiled smugly.

Alice changed the subject then, apparently deciding my obsession with depressing literature was less interesting than fashion. She started telling me about a dress she was thinking of wearing to an upcoming school dance, and I listened and responded gamely. I had no doubt she would look stunning–she could wear an old burlap sack and still leave the guys drooling. If they could tear their eyes away from Rosalie, that is.

I wondered vaguely where Rosalie and Emmett were, though it was a little bit of a relief that they weren't here. It wasn't that I didn't like them, because really, how could I know? I had never even talked to them. But the two of them were intimidating. Emmett, of course, was huge and imposing, and Rosalie was so indescribably beautiful that she made me want to cry. Being here was stressful enough with just Carlisle and his frustratingly-perfect wife. If I had had to hang out with Emmett and Rosalie, I would probably have run away and hid in a corner.

When we finished lunch, Carlisle stood and offered me a hand to help me up. "Come, Isabella, Alice. It's time we got to work on those tests."