AN: *waves*
You'll be happy to know I've pretty much finished writing WN. So bittersweet, but updates will be weekly again until we're done. Maybe sooner if I'm feeling nice, haha. I decided to split this chapter in two as it was too long, so I apologize for leaving it where I'm leaving it but it was the best place.
Some recs for you...
Body of Christ by Belladonna and TheFictionFreak: featuring Priestward... Yes, you read that right. But, like, a hot Priest and a snarky, sassy Bella.
Clutch by Sunshine1220: Sons of Anarchy inspired. Leather, motorbikes and a cast of morally questionable characters, I mean what more could you want?
Come Find Me by Orionsnights: Bella and Edward seperated in a dystopian New America. This is off to a cracking start and I can't wait to see how it unfolds.
These are all new-ish WIPs I'm reading. All quite different from each other but awesome all the same, check them out if you fancy new things to sink your teeth into.
Anyways. Here. We. Goooooo.
Chapter 28:
My dress is slinky, thin spaghetti straps criss-crossing, exposing skin right down to my lower back. I like the simplicity, the slightly off-white fabric, the timelessness of it.
Touching up neutral lipstick in the mirror, I nervously fiddle with the soft waves in my hair. Checking and double checking my clutch bag before I take a breath, a cursory glance around our hotel room before I leave.
The descent in the elevator is quiet and I find myself staring upward at the gold fixtures, ignoring the woman with her boyfriend who keeps staring at me, hoping to God she doesn't recognize me now. Not now. Not today.
Instead, just as we exit into the lobby, she touches my arm and tells me I look beautiful. I thank her with a small smile before turning, searching the crowds until I see him leaning against a pillar. A still figure in the hustle and bustle of people; checking in, checking out, suitcases everywhere.
Dark suit pants, white shirt open at the collar, sunglasses hiding his eyes, beard neatly trimmed. My heart skips, beating fast. He's so ridiculously good looking.
My heels click on marble floors as I make my way over, weaving in and out of people, not too fast in case I trip or slip.
The moment he spots me he lifts his sunglasses, meeting my eyes, mouthing 'wow', a thousand butterflies exploding in my stomach.
"You're seriously breathtakin', y'know that?" he murmurs, offering his hand to me. He lifts it, making me twirl and I let out a low laugh as he whistles. His hand comes to rest on the small of my back, his thumb rubbing the smallest circle as he pulls me close. I smile as I lean up to press a kiss to his jaw.
We're really doing this.
"Are you ready?" I ask, pulling back, his hand laced with mine.
"Let's go."
We dive out from the hotel, everything loud and hot as he opens and closes the door of a waiting cab for me, sliding in the opposite side moments later.
The drive, even though it's short, takes forever, and when we finally get out at the chapel, the taxi driver wishes us a lifetime of happiness.
The irony makes me wonder how many times a Vegas cab driver must say that a year? A week? A day? How many of those marriages survive? How are we going to survive this?
The wait in the chapel is excruciating. Not as excruciating as the day before when we got our license, but excruciating nevertheless. All of this is risky. If someone realizes who we are, we're fucked.
I'm not sure if it's even legal to get married under this name, but Masen wants to do this as much as I do. Cement this, cement us.
So we do. With big smiles and adoring eyes.
Man and wife.
Mr and Mrs Cullen.
He gets our wedding date tattooed down the inside of his ring finger in Roman numerals, after. A tangible reminder that this happened; that we pledge our love to each other; that he is mine and I am his, imprinted on his skin, forever.
Wedding days are supposed to be happy, and it is.
I am.
But this hurts.
Our time and luck is running out, and we both know it.
...
The hotel room phone rings in the middle of the night two days later, jarring us out of sleep, ominous as it cuts through the silence.
Masen grabs for it, alert as he sits up and answers, sheets pooled around his bare torso, moonlight bright on his skin. I listen with my heart in my mouth hearing Demetri say the two words we've both been dreading.
"They're here."
…
There's no knock on the door, it explodes; a roar of shouting and thundering feet. Voices yelling and screaming.
Don't move.
Hands up.
Fear holds my breath, hands that were entwined not thirty seconds ago raising slowly above our heads in surrender.
"Don't hurt her," Masen snaps as my hands are roughly pulled behind my back, metal closing around my wrists.
My eyes don't leave his, saying what my mouth can't. I love you.
We're dragged away from each other; my heart and his torn apart, as red and blue bleed into the night sky.
...
Detective Hale comes and sees me once they've transferred me back to Chicago.
"I could never put a finger on it," she says, "but there was always something about you."
I stare at her perfectly perfect blonde hair, as she walks around the interrogation room. Dark walls closing in, memories of a room not too dissimilar lurking in the back of my mind.
"Did you know who you are?"
I don't answer.
"You've been through a lot, Bella… Isabella. I get it. We don't doubt your ex did those things to you but Edward Cullen? What were you thinking? He's no better. He's a killer. And he's going down for a long time. If he forced you into anything you need to let us know. We can help you. Cooperation is key here."
I bite my tongue. Masen is nothing like James. Nothing. Instead of answering I look at her dully, telling her what I've told every other person who's been in this room, trying to get me to do the same.
"I want my lawyer."
...
Jenks is nothing if not efficient. He secures my release within a few hours of arriving. Dressed in an expensive looking grey three-piece suit, closely cropped dark hair, and an impatient, authoritative attitude; he means business.
They have nothing to charge me with, and no evidence to back it up. Me being alive has meant I've already submitted to DNA testing; to prove who I am, to help with the motion Jenks has filed with the courts to have Papà's conviction of my murder overturned; the murder of my Mamma re-examined.
He's positive it casts enough doubt they'll exonerate him of both crimes and warrant them suing the state of New York for damages over a serious miscarriage of justice. Even though they purposefully didn't fight the charges too hard at the time.
"How's Masen?" I ask, worriedly, waiting for the officer at the front desk to give me back my belongings. Jenks inclines his head, lowering his voice.
"Doing well, considering. Sticking to his story like we planned. I filed your marriage paperwork, by the way… ah, Demetri!"
They greet each other like old friends. They both work for Papà in some capacity so it's not a surprise they know each other. Papà is the one who's paying for this: defence attorneys. Not just for me, but for Masen too, albeit reluctantly. I knew he wouldn't stand a chance with a public defender, and with his holdall buried underneath the desert in Nevada, he hasn't got much to pay for anyone decent, either. The only condition is for me to visit him. Meet him, face to face, regularly.
A few cops are milling around to my left, stood by vending machines that wouldn't look out of place in the eighties, cheap white coffee cups in hand. It doesn't escape me the way one of them nudges another and they all look in my direction as the officer on the desk slides across a clear plastic bag of my belongings.
"Sign here," she says, in a bored tone, shoving a clipboard at me. I sign my new name, before looking up, the officers still looking my way.
"What? You gotta problem?"
Jenks pulls me away before I can unleash simmering anger. Demetri trailing, amused.
"Don't do that," Jenks reprimands. "You're above all this, remember?"
I look away, stubbornly.
"Just try to keep calm, get some sleep, a shower... I'll keep you up-to-date with Mr. Cullen. They're likely to keep him in as long as they can to try and get him to confess. We're in this for the long haul."
Jenks strides off out the front of the building. Masen isn't in this precinct, at a guess. My chest feels tight at the thought, that I can't be with him, that he's out there somewhere in custody waiting for fate to decide what hand it's going to deal him. Us. It hurts to think about, the consequences of this. Even though we knew.
"C'mon let's get you outta here, you look dead on your feet," Demetri says. "Put your hood up and cover your eyes. I got a car but you need to stick with me. You're big news, kid."
…
Demetri's right.
Our story has blown up.
Masen has always looked like he could be in magazine spreads, and that's what they've done. Only it's headlines in newspapers; his face and mine, plastered all over the news and gossip rags.
They've got pictures of me: everything bikini pictures from summers at the lakes, to hosting in the club, even high school year book photos. It's the same for Masen: pictures of him playing baseball and football in high school, a previous mugshot, the history of his dad, and his mom...
His mom.
I can't bear to think how she's feeling right now, how his brother and Esme are taking this. I should ring them. I should make sure they're OK, but I can't bring myself to do it right now when we're not even sure whether he'll be charged.
"It's getting down to the wire," Jenks says when he next calls. "The DA is going to have to charge him with something or let him go pretty soon. They're carrying out search warrants at his apartment and the shooting range as we speak, so here's hoping they don't find anything untoward."
I know this already because Emmett's face has been on the news, hurriedly shoving his hand to block the camera. How they even knew the search was going down, I don't know.
I ask Jenks about all the media attention and he just chuckles down the phone. I frown, because I'm not finding it very funny.
"Look, you're both young, white, and attractive; your association is with something that's been glamorized in movies since the seventies. The mafia, the mob… The media loves stuff like this and people eat it up. Can bet if you were of color, like myself, they wouldn't give a shit."
"That's—that's just stupid. And pathetic."
"It is what it is, but listen, if anything appears that's untrue, let me know and we'll lodge some libel claims against the publications and persons involved."
"OK," I agree before he tells me he needs to go.
I sigh, sitting on the end of the bed in the hotel room Demetri's taken me to, twirling a lock of unwashed hair around my finger. I should really grab that shower; wash travel and holding cell grime off, but the last shower I had was with Masen and I pathetically don't want to let that go. Like somehow it'll be washing him away too.
I sit thinking, instead. I know they won't find anything at the range; Masen told me before, it's completely legitimate. It's profitable enough he can afford the life he does: his apartment, the cars… It's his cover, and he's maintained that for years; he's been careful, he told me.
His apartment, however... I don't know. I just don't know what they'll find. I know they won't find the gun he used that night because that's at the bottom of a lake in Arizona but I'm not sure what, if anything else he has stashed there.
Eventually, I drag myself under warm water, unable to sleep or eat, mind running away with endless possibilities.
Afterwards, despite my eyes itching and heavy, I pace.
And pace.
And pace.
Demetri brings cigarettes and food as I ignore his advice of getting some rest and wait for the next call, hoping it'll be Jenks telling me Masen's made bail.
...
Hours and hours later my hand finds my face, pinching the bridge of my nose to try to stop the rush of tears, but I'm already crying before Jenks has even finished.
Two counts of murder, and to make matters worse, they found an unlicensed gun in his apartment, so they charging him for that too.
Fuck.
Demetri has a hand on my shoulder, trying to comfort me but I shrug him off.
"Give me the phone," he says prising it off me gently.
I bury my face in the sleeves of Masen's hoodie, hopeless, helpless, gutted, a stream of swear words leaving my mouth.
Caius was right about one thing.
Life isn't fair.
...
"Look at them," I murmur as the car passes by a crowd of people outside the courthouse. "What the fuck is wrong with people?"
Demetri shrugs a little. "Vultures. The lot of 'em."
"I feel sick," I tell him once he's parked up, gazing up at the imposing dark glass building, tugging at the corner of my white blouse, stomach churning.
I've spent pretty much the whole of the last two days before Masen's arraignment lying in bed until Demetri told me in no uncertain terms I need to pull it together, for him.
Because even though this is the absolute worst outcome, I'm not the one looking at spending the rest of my life locked up.
"Just breathe," he tells me.
I'm shaking my head, opening the car door, throwing up in the gutter before I can even tell him otherwise.
"Jesus fucking Christ," I mumble, wiping at my mouth.
Demetri pats my arm sympathetically, passing me chewing gum and a bottle of water.
"C'mon. Jenks said eleven, you only got ten minutes… Put your sunglasses on, head up, and don't let anything they're saying get to you. Don't speak, just ignore."
He guides me in to the building, arm wrapped protectively over my shoulders as people, reporters, shout things at me; asking stupid question, after stupid question.
...
My heart thunders away, my hands clenched, sweaty, as they lead him into the courtroom. He's dressed in standard issue brown-grey jumpsuit, hands cuffed. Raising his head, tired eyes search until they find me behind Jenks; he slows his walk so he can give me a half smile, before his eyes scan along. I glance where he's looking. His mom is here, his brother, and Esme.
God, do they hate him? They can't hate him. Because all of this is my fault, I've realized. All of it. If I hadn't left his apartment and gone to work that night, none of this would be happening. I should've listened to him.
Why do I never listen?
My hands twist in the dark grey blazer one of Jenks' assistants bought over for me last night. She'd bought me an entire outfit. Black jeans, grey blazer, white shirt. He said he couldn't have me showing up in court in Masen's hoodie, as if I would have.
Maybe I would have. It's what I felt like doing.
Masen stands when asked; back straight, shoulders down. I want to reach out and run my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. He's so close but yet so impossibly out of each.
When he speaks to confirm his name and date of birth, his voice never breaks. He's quiet and firm—resolute—when he pleads not guilty to the murder charges. When it comes to the unlicensed firearm though, he hesitates for a second. A second too long. A second that lets me pre-empt the next word out of his mouth.
"Guilty."
The judge is talking, saying something about sentencing, taking recommendations from the prosecution about his bond conditions, but I can't focus. I'm in a fog of disbelief, my jaw clenching, blindsided. Hoping he's taken a plea deal. Why did Jenks not warn me?
Masen turns before he's lead away, leaning over the wooden divider, kissing me. Lingering words brushed against my mouth.
"Sorry."
"It's gonna be fine."
Something catches his eye over my shoulder and his expression hardens, his body tensing.
His eyes return to me, serious. "Be safe," he warns before he's forced to move, disappearing.
My shoulders drop, my head lowering, fighting back the swell of emotion in my chest.
"C'mon," Demetri says, his large hand heavy on my shoulder.
After we exit the courtroom, I see him. He stays just long enough to make sure I do, a smile twisting his lips.
Alec.
Anger surges. Was it him? Who's done this? After everything Masen did for him? I start towards him but I'm suddenly distracted by Elizabeth appearing, her hand reaching out for me.
She hugs me tight, as we sway against each other, and I relax into her embrace, tension seeping away as she hugs me like a mother would.
"We're going to get through this," she says, tearfully as she releases me.
Esme hovering at Elizabeth's shoulder, just as sincere when she hugs me tight too.
And I can only hope they're right.
…
"Bella!"
The voice is distinctive enough amongst the sounds of the city for me to stop in my tracks. A familiarity I'm desperate for right now. I twist my head seeing Charlotte running to catch up with us, running until she's flung herself at me with an, "Oh my God!"
"Char?"
She pulls back, hands either side of my arms, gripping me firmly, her face wrinkled with concern.
"What are you—what are you doing here?" I ask as Demetri stops beside me.
"I'm here for you," she says as if it's nothing.
I look around, conscious there's people all around us, a few lingering photographers and reporters.
"We should get moving, your friend coming?" Demetri implores as they spot us, no big our way.
I look at Charlotte as her hand slides down my arm, taking my own.
"Lead the way."
Demetri gives us privacy when we're back inside the hotel, muttering something about staying down at the bar to leave us 'women folk' to catch up and I'm glad he's not hovering.
"What is he, some kinda like, bodyguard or somethin'?" Charlotte quizzes as soon as the door slams shut.
"Friend of Dad's."
"This is crazy," Charlotte continues, eyes roving around the hotel room. "Girl, have you seen? You're all over the news. Didn't I tell you to be careful with him? And this whole thing with your parents and your identity? I up your life from a shitty lifetime movie to an HBO six part drama."
I manage a laugh, the first in days, before my face drops.
"It's all such a mess Char, everything's so fucked up. I can't believe this is happening. Any of it."
"Tell me everything," she says as we settle on the bed, stroking my hair and it feels just like old times.
I tell her almost everything apart from whether Masen's actually responsible. I leave her to draw her own conclusions on that, but Caius, him wanting me dead, the events that transpired that night. I don't gloss over that. Not with her.
"You must've been so scared, B," she whispers, wiping a stray tear from her face. "If he did kill them, it was the least either of them deserved. Hell, I'd have done the same. Anyone would. That guy sure loves you, huh?"
I look at my ring finger and her eyes flicker to it.
"No. Freakin'. Way?! You married him? Oh my God, Bella!"
"It felt right. It always feels right with him," I say, fighting back tears.
She's shushing me as my shoulders shake until I'm running to the bathroom to relieve this ever present nausea.
Charlotte follows me, appearing at the door, something hesitant about the way she's looking me over, eyebrows drawn together.
"What?"
"You been doing that a lot?"
I wrinkle my nose.
"I guess. Just everything makes me feel so queasy. I got the weakest stomach, the anxiety and worry and stress. It's not a big deal, really. I'm fine."
She stares and crosses her arms.
"When was your last period, B?"
AN: Just a disclaimer to say my knowledge of the American legal system is novice level. I researched but man you guys are complicated. If I got anything wrong apologies. :)