Happy Monday!
Here's the next one. I bet you are ALL wondering what the heck Rosalie did last time. We're about to find out.
A few housekeeping items.
1. Thank you to Alice's White Rabbit, Midnight Cougar and SunflowerFran for editing and beta'ing. They keep my dialog tags, ellipses, and rogue repetitions straight. Thank you to RobsmyyummyCabanaboy and Deh for being my plot coaches and shoulders to cry on.
2. My other completed story "Everything I Knew Was Wrong" is up on TwifictionRecs in the "Top 10 Completed Fics of 2020" poll with a slew of other fantastic (and all completed) stories to vote for, if you are so inclined. Vote once per day until Feb 26. Link: 2021/02/06/ vote-for-your-top-10-fics-completed-in-2020/ [delete spaces and actual dot]
3. I checked into the picture album link on my profile because someone pointed out in a review that it wasn't working. It actually does work, please make sure you delete all the unnecessary spaces and replace actual dots. FFnet does not like links.
4. I got a few guest reviews about Edward commenting on Bella's word usage and pinning her as a Brit because of it and not because of her accent, and that her accent would have been a more prominent and somehow definitive way of pinpointing her provenance. Fair point, except that linguistically (and this is my wheelhouse, folks, I study this stuff) accent is NOT a definitive marker of provenance because it can be honed, neutralized, imitated, etc. You name it. Some people grow up in hybrid households or learn English as a second language. Or grew up with a socially undesirable accent that they later learn to mask. So, first of all, not a definitive "tell". Also, consider this, if you will: Edward is an actor, bound to be more sensitive or attentive to people's accents because it's his stock-in-trade. If Bella did have a peculiar (or markedly British) accent, he would have noticed. If he isn't saying so... why isn't he saying so? Stick a pin in it.
BUSINESS CLASS GIRL - CHAPTER 24
Edward's POV
Bella runs out of the showroom like a bat out of hell. I follow her to the limo, leaving a discombobulated Maurice in my wake.
When I get downstairs, Tyler waits for me at the car. "Where to, sir? Miss Swan gave no instructions."
"Just drive home, Tyler. We're both done for the day. And please close the divider." We're going to need privacy for whatever conversation will ensue.
I climb into the car and plop down beside her as the divider slides shut with a nearly imperceptible snick. Silence. Again. I gave her space earlier, but I can't keep up with this. I don't know what she's thinking. I don't know what happened. It clearly upset her and seeing her like this just breaks something inside me.
Bella sits stock-still, her face still as ashen as it was ten minutes ago. She seems to have collapsed on herself in a heap. She's thrown her purse to the floor of the limo, but her laptop bag still lies in her lap. In fact, she's banging her head against it, amidst a stream of unintelligible mutterings. I wonder if she's even noticed I just joined her. I'm sorely tempted to teleport to London to find out what exactly Rosalie did to distress my Bella so much.
But if Bella doesn't talk to me, then I don't know how to fix this. I don't even know if it can be fixed. And I want to fix this, badly, because I cannot bear to see her like this.
I put my arm around her shoulders and gather her into my side. She doesn't refuse me. My shoulder suddenly feels moist.
"Don't cry, love. Come here."
Right now, this is all I can do. The only way I know how to fix this—be here for her. I gather her in my arms, holding her closer to me until her sobs quietly subside.
"I'm sorry you're seeing me like this. Again."
"You don't need to apologise."
"I know, but it keeps happening around you. One of these days you'll decide I'm emotionally unstable or something."
I need to look her in the eye. With a lingering caress that ends with my hand under her chin, I tilt her face upwards to mine. "No. Just weird."
Her reply is a feeble chuckle. We're getting somewhere.
"Adorably weird."
"Okay, not emotionally unstable, just a regular weirdo. I can live with that," she replies through hiccups.
"My weirdo, if you please." She smiles into my kiss. That's my opening. "Now, Miss Swan, would you please care to explain what in the ever-loving fuck that was back there?"
After a few seconds, "Suicide Blonde" suddenly resonates through the limo again. Bella disentangles herself from my embrace and flings the phone away, letting the call go to voicemail. Her phone all but crashes against the partition. I hope Tyler's insurance covers acts of vandalism.
Silence. Again. I've seen her retreat into herself before—when Jacob the asshat called out of the blue a while ago. I'm not letting her get away with being cryptic or pulling away from me this time, though. I'm no longer just her boss, overly involved in her life because I've been carrying a torch for her for god knows how long. I'm her boyfriend now. What kind of relationship can we hope to have if we can't communicate?
"It's not the end of the world. Or is it?" I venture.
"'Floods of tears and doors slamming' … Yeah, we might as well be in Pet Shop Boys territory."
How can she instantly quote a rather obscure lyric after a rattling phone call like that? Also, not the answer I expected either. Go figure. But that's Bella's brain for you. A never-ending web of connections. Sometimes, they're logical. Apparent. So much so, that even an oblivious sod like me could get them. Sometimes, less so. But they are clues. I hang on to those like a climber on Mt. Everest.
"Should I expect stomping feet across the landing next? Best teenage angst song on the other side of the Atlantic, by the way."
"There are a couple good others that are right up there, though." Her reply ends in a belaboured sigh. But a hint of a smile appears on her lips right there at the end. Thank goodness.
"True, B. But barely relevant."
"Hmph."
Back to Shakespeare, are we? She's stalling. I can sense the cogs are turning in her head. Processing. Strategizing. Figuring out what to tell me.
"It might be more of an REM situation, though. More accurate reference." Another stuttering sigh.
Ah. There's the rub. "It's the End of the World as We Know It." What in the fresh hell has Rosalie gone and done? Can it be fixed? Does Bella even want to fix it, whatever it is?
"It's a mess, Edward. An unbelievable, unfathomable, unconscionable mess …"
I know a thing or two about messes. I had my fair share of those before Bella came along. Before I knew about calendar invites and keeping my taxes straight on either side of the pond. But this sounds like a different kettle of fish.
"Tell me about this mess, B. And then we'll un-mess it. Together."
She exhales a deeper, less-harried breath. The usual twinkle in her eyes dims with uncertainty, and hints of dried tear tracks stain her cheek. Silken skin meets the pads of my fingers as I brush those tears away. She leans into me, weaving her arms around me. She's not running from this, from me, anymore.
Bella raises her gaze toward me again. "Together?"
"Together."
Right at this beatific moment—as I was just about to kiss my girl—the limo abruptly stops in the middle of downtown traffic. At the same time, dissonant guitar chords break the spell. What is it with all these people calling her?
"Put me in a special school, cuz I am such a fool …"
Sod off, Emmett. Leave it to him to ruin a moment. His timing, as usual, is golden.
###BCG###
BCG's POV
"Where in the world is my phone?"
Right. On the floor. Where I flung it ten minutes ago after I refused to talk to my best friend.
And now Emmett is calling. If I don't pick up, he'll get antsy and suspicious and just keep calling. The last thing I need is Emmett breathing down my neck, or worse, unleashing the Admiral on me from across the pond while I attempt to make sense of this cock-up.
I scramble for my phone and take a deep, cleansing breath. Square my shoulders. There's no mantra to prepare me for this. Or maybe there is. "My best friend just sold me out" somehow doesn't quite have that much of a ring to it, though.
Before Weezer gets to the chorus, I manage to find my phone and reluctantly press "Accept."
"I'm with Edward, Emmett. At, you know, work."
"Cut the crap, BeeBee. You know why I'm calling."
Where's a stress ball when you need one? Why squeeze one of those when Edward's knee is available? In moderation, though. I quite like his knees, and I can't break one before a red carpet event. Maurice would kill me if I ruined Edward's look with a crutch.
"Hang on, Em. I'll put you on speaker."
He tries to protest, but I cut him off. "Edward can hear whatever you're going to tell me and vice-versa. Saves me from repeating myself."
"All right, BeeBee," he concedes. He knows to let me deal with things on my terms.
Edward threads his fingers through mine where I still have my hand firmly planted on his knee. He winks at me, ever my willing co-conspirator.
Phone balanced in my lap, I get back to my brother. "What do you know, Em?"
"Uh. You hung up on Rose and sorta sent her packing. You're dodging her calls."
"That all she told you?"
"Yep."
"So, you don't know what Rosalie did, do you?"
Silence. Crickets. Lots of crickets.
"Is the peanut gallery still with us?" In these frustrating cases, sarcasm is my weapon of choice. A good shrink would have plenty to say about it. Not that I care right about now.
Em huffs through the phone again. "Look, guys …"
"Do. You. Know?" I prod him again.
I won't ask him to take sides, but I need to know, at the very least, that he has a full, clear picture before he forms an opinion on the clusterfuck du jour—whatever that opinion might be.
More crickets. Emmett grumbles unintelligibly through the speaker. Then, finally, a strained sound filters through.
"Nope." Consistency, thy name is Emmett. "No, I don't."
There you have it.
"Look, guys … I hate having talks like this with an inanimate object."
He has a point; I'll give him that. And I could use a break.
Without any prompting, Edward steps in to speak. "Em, you at the house?"
"Where else, Wonder Boy?"
There's no hint of reproach in Emmett's voice. At least there's a chance that shrapnel from the bomb Rosalie's actions just detonated won't ricochet into his relationship with Edward, whether on the job or out of it.
The divider lowers just enough for Edward to ask Tyler where we are and to get an ETA before it rolls back up.
"We'll meet you there in twenty, coach."
"Okay. You take care of BeeBee until then, you feel me?"
"Always."
"Good," Emmett replies just before disconnecting the call.
###BCG###
We spend the rest of the ride in silence. Edward doesn't ask questions. He just holds me while his left hand runs lazy, soothing circles on my back.
About a half hour later, the limo stops in front of Edward's house. Before I can interject, Edward's already redirecting Tyler.
"Drive us over to Miss Swan's, please."
Tyler nods and corrects his course right away.
"We could have walked over through the backyard."
He silences me with a kiss. "Absolutely not. I will not have you traipsing through the neighbourhood in those torture devices you and Ang call footwear."
"It's two doors down. It's hardly the London Marathon."
He silences me with another kiss, and then playfully bops my nose with his index finger. "I am taking you home. This is not up for debate, my lovely."
My heart swells with gratitude. He's taking care of me as best he knows how. As far as I'll let him. He's not asking for the moon. I'd give that to him and more. And yet, I'm terrified to let him in. Can I really let him know me? Can this—us—working together, being together … work? And now? Now there's another blast from my past. Not a good one.
London Bella would be running for the hills. London Bella would go it alone. L.A. Bella stays. L.A. Bella is learning to accept help from others. L.A. Bella will fight if she must—but she won't run from the challenge.
"Thank you." My reward is one of Edward's signature disarming smiles. For me, not for the cameras. "I'm much too used to being independent. I don't know what it's like to be so …" Can I buy a vowel? This bodes really well for my writing career.
"Hush, just let me be here for you. You take such good care of me every day. It's not exactly nothing—sorting out my schedule, scaring off the likes of Aro Ziegfeld, having me show up on time at every single one of my appointments, or fixing a lousy script so I can nail an audition. It's not nothing."
"You had that one in the bag already."
He's so close that his nose skims mine as he shakes his head.
"I won't allow you to downplay what you do for me. You can't imagine how that feels. I can focus on real work instead of feeling perpetually inadequate. I'm no longer a clueless sod. I look like I know what I'm doing. It's monumental."
The car pulls up in front of Emmett's. In a few seconds, Tyler will open that door and our little bubble will pop. I pull Edward closer to me and ghost his face with light kisses all over. My skin hums; every nerve ending is a live wire, the thrill of him charges through me like an electromagnetic field. "Then don't downplay what you're doing for me either, Edward. Please?"
"It's nothing …"
My turn to silence him with another kiss. What I don't count on is Edward's reaction. His hands wind around me and through my hair, pulling me closer and closer still until I melt into him, surrender into his kiss. For a few seconds, I forget I had a point. An argument. Words. That kind of thing.
Conscious thoughts resurface at long last. "It's not nothing. You're giving me time and space to deal with this shit on my terms. You're by my side. Always. You always seem to know, instinctively, what I need. I'm so, so thankful for that. So, thank you. You don't give yourself nearly enough credit."
Edward's nose skims mine again in an almost Eskimo kiss, his gaze never wandering away from mine.
"It takes one to know one, I guess?"
"You've got a point there, mate."
Chuckles. He's chuckling at me.
"I'm your mate, now?"
I contemplate teasing him back but bite my tongue. My sarcastic remark suddenly evaporates when I look into his eyes. "You are way, way more than that."
A determined expression emerges on his face. "That mess isn't going to untangle itself. You ready?"
"Yes. Let's go."
###BCG###
Emmett's version of a worried, supportive hug is as close as you can get to a grizzly bear tackling you, and living to tell the tale.
"You good, BeeBee?"
"Rattled. There's a lot to unpack. It's been a surreal day."
"Wanna tell me about it, little sis?"
"That's what we're here for."
He releases me from his vice-tight grip and takes a good look at me. With a slightly non-Emmett flourish, he motions for me to sit down at the breakfast bar and elaborate.
I'm still in my work clothes. A D&G pantsuit and four-inch Louboutin's are not my attire of choice for convoluted explanations of fuck-ups past and present.
"I can't think decked out like this. Give me a five-minute time-out and I'll be back."
"Okay. Anything I can do in the meantime?"
I let out a huff, suddenly pensive. An odd sense of relief washes over me, which makes no sense, since there's no end to the fuck-up nor is a solution in sight. Being home will do that to you. Safe harbour, in the Admiral's words.
"Get me a stiff one, will you? And keep Edward entertained, please?"
He raises an eyebrow. "I don't believe I have the right equipment for that."
And with one signature schoolyard-humour punchline from Emmett's distinguished repertoire, I snort. Out loud. More tension washes off my shoulders.
"Hey, I heard that, you wanker!"
Emmett's roaring laugh erupts at Edward's riposte.
My brother playfully swats my sides and removes my laptop bag from my shoulder. "Leave your crap downstairs. We'll get it sorted later. Go do your thing and come back when you're ready. We'll be here."
"Thank you. I mean it."
"Anytime, sis. Anytime."
###BCG###
Edward's POV
Watching my girl interact with Emmett is always an experience. Alice and I are close, but our relationship is laced with a healthy dose of sibling annoyance. Emmett is different around my girl. He can be grossly inappropriate one minute—calling her "Hot Stuff" or swatting her behind—and fiercely protective and affectionate the next. He truly is making up for lost time. He knows whatever shit she's had to deal with in the past and wants to shield her from dealing with any more of it now. That's a sentiment I can get behind.
Without me even asking, a bottle of London Pride appears in front of me.
"Thanks, mate." I'm parched and I didn't even know it. Besides, the upcoming conversation with Bella might require some Dutch courage. Just so I mellow out instead of either jumping to conclusions or on the next plane to London town to give Rosalie a piece of my mind before we even know what's what.
"No, thank you. For bringing her home."
"It was the least I could do."
Bella's usual red Starbucks mug appears on the counter. "Let me guess. Bella's version of a stiff one is what, a spot of Prince of Wales tea?"
Emmett freezes for a second, his back to me. Then he turns as if in a daze, his eyebrows knotted together. He opens and closes his mouth in rapid succession, but no words come out.
Emmett losing his cheek? That's a new one.
"Breathe, mate."
He shakes his head to collect himself and plops down on a stool next to me at the breakfast bar. "Eton was right. You're not just a pretty face."
"Thanks, I guess?"
He slaps my shoulder in his own unrestrained version of an appreciative gesture. Is it assault and battery if your personal trainer dislocates your shoulder?
Next thing I know, he jumps back off the stool and ambles to the microwave, with a mug of water, about to programme it, when Bella bellows from the other end of the kitchen.
"You have no couth whatsoever, Emmett. Stop ruining my tea, you uncivilized Yankee!"
Emmett freezes again. He throws a tortured glance in my direction. I throw him a lifeline.
"I think she means you should use a regular kettle."
"Thank goodness someone knows the proper way to brew a cuppa around here."
"Sorry, sis. I was going for speed."
"It's okay. I can talk while I wait for the water to boil. Gives me something to do."
Bella perches herself on the barstool beside me and graces me with a sweet kiss. She just reappeared wearing yoga pants and a tank top. She's barefoot and barefaced. She also picked up her trusted golf ball from her room, and she's tossing it from one hand to the other. I've seen her do this before. I could get used to this.
My hands grip tighter around the beer bottle. Otherwise, I'd have serious trouble keeping them to myself.
"So …" Bella's voice breaks me out of my momentary lust-filled haze. "Rosalie sold me out to Jacob. For a lofty, fast-tracked promotion and a location of her choice."
I snort beer out of my nose and break into a fit of coughs. Talk about a massive bag of shit.
Emmett is more vocal about it.
"She what?"
This voice sounds foreign, nothing like the Emmett I've known so far. Cold. Unforgiving. Methinks he's already picked a dog in this fight.
"Care to elaborate on that, sis?"
"Rosalie did something she shouldn't have. Jacob seized on it and retaliated with a threat and a devil's bargain. She took the devil's bargain. As a result, Rosalie gets a few votes she was missing on her business case, and Jacob, in turn, gets Rosalie's support on his relocation to another office and my current whereabouts."
A loud whistle pierces through Emmett's strangled groan.
Right. The kettle.
Bella, in a tea-induced Pavlovian reaction, stands and turns off the burner. Emmett and I are silent. He's probably stewing over B's revelation, and I'm trying to make sense of it. I need details and a translation into plain English. Before I realise it, I've already opened my big mouth.
"Whatever possessed her to do that?"
"Thank you, Wonder Boy. I was gonna ask the same damn question."
Yep. Em's picked sides already. And Rosalie's lost this one. Sorry, Barbie, we're all about Bella around here.
"It's a long story," my girl replies after dumping a tea infuser into an antique-looking teapot.
"I think I can keep up," I counter. I guess Emmett's still too stunned to react.
"All right. Brace yourselves. It's about to get bumpy."
Emmett and I nod. "You have the floor, sis. Regale us."
Bella paces back and forth in front of the stove, still bouncing the golf ball from one hand to the other.
"Her BlackBerry seized up and wouldn't work. She took it to IT to fix pronto because she was supposed to dial into an earnings call on her way to Heathrow. Without thinking twice about it, her assistant gave IT her passcodes so they'd fix the damned contraption. What neither she nor her assistant knew at the time is that Jacob himself was upstairs at IT and worked his smarmy charm on the IT guys so they'd let him look at Rosalie's data. He said it was for a harmless prank, and they fell for it. Jacob hit a jackpot that should never have existed in the first place and got his hands on copies of Christmas pics Rose took here. And all her contacts, which include a significant chunk of sensitive information on her clients. And when I say all her contacts, that includes mine."
"What an unbelievable piece of shit."
"Fucking wanker. Massive prick." Emmett fist-bumps me, evidently approving my choice of words. "Now, I'm not the lawyerly chap around here, but …"
Emmett picks up my train of thought and runs away with it. "That's a load of crap. Those IT jerks should get fired STAT. Why didn't Rose get them fired? Why?"
"Because Edward is in those pictures, you moron. And not only Edward, but Edward with me, Alice, and Jasper, too. In our goddamn kitchen. Those pics are not exactly suitable for public consumption. There's nothing lewd, or NSFW, but in the wrong hands, the potential for damage is untold. For all parties involved. And Jacob, like the tosser he is, used it as leverage against her in the worst possible way."
"What did Mr. Asshole Extraordinaire do this time?"
There's the same cold, hard edge to his voice. Cheerful, cheeky Emmett has left the building. Bella sits back on another stool across from us, nursing a piping hot mug of tea in her hands.
"He threatened to go to the press with the pictures. And who knows what he'd do to the pictures before he leaked them and to what kind of rag he'd leak them. Then he unveiled his diabolical deal, and to get him off her back, she took it. He said he'd back off and delete his copy of the photos if she supported him in his campaign to get transferred back to the US. And he told her he'd also grease the wheels in turn so her promotion would be expedited."
"Well, shit." That about sums it up, Emmett. Thanks for the recap.
"But that's when it gets hairy. Rose found out later—like two days later—that Jacob had also selectively purloined her data. He'd only mentioned the pics first. Only later did she find out about the client data and the contacts. He really pulled a fast one on her."
"How so?"
This gets more convoluted by the minute. And I thought Hollywood was a nest of vipers.
"Well, the tosser withheld from her two vital data points. Rosalie will get promoted to a Managing Director position a year earlier, but she'll be stuck in London for two more years. She'll get to pick a location of her choice … eventually. On the other hand, Jacob gets to move now … wait for it … to Los Angeles. And he knows I'm here. To top it all off, based on the jerk's track record, what guarantees us that he deleted each and every copy of both the pics and the data?"
Emmett growls and reduces the beer can he was drinking from to a shapeless ball of aluminium. "And now Jacob has your contact info. Your new contact info."
"All of it, Emmett! Not just my phone numbers. You know how Rose is. I'm lucky if my bra size isn't noted somewhere on my contact card."
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Em shouts, banging his fists on the counter. It rattles. For a moment, I fear the granite might crack in two.
"It wasn't enough for you to refuse to move to New York for him. It wasn't enough for you to dump that son of a bitch. It wasn't enough for you to move halfway across the globe. What the fuck does he want with you now? And why can't that fucker take a fucking hint?"
Once again, I wholeheartedly second his assessment. This is a massive fuck-up. Of biblical proportions. Worse, even.
I can't hold it together any longer. I jump out of my seat and wrap my arms around Bella from behind. And then I let my frustration loose.
"This douchenozzle should be in the slammer. Or in the loony bin. Preferably both."
"That's Jacob for you," B interjects, her head minutely relaxing into my chest. She's trying to keep her cool, but I feel her trembling against me.
In a blur, Emmett grabs the house phone from its cradle on the counter, nearly uprooting the cable. "I'm calling Jasper. I don't give a flying fuck where this asshole is, but he's done fucking with your life. I'm hitting him with a restraining order. Now."
My arms suddenly feel empty. Bella's gone. She's in front of Emmett, trying to wrestle the phone away from his hands.
"Why are you even stopping me?"
"Because it's fucking pointless. No judge is going to grant one. On what grounds? And where are you going to petition for one? Here? In London? Mars?"
"But …"
Bella slumps down to the floor, her back against the reflective chrome surface of the refrigerator. He crouches down to his knees to look her in the eye. "And you and Rose? Where does that leave the two of you?"
I'm dying to run in there and scoop her up in my arms, but this moment doesn't belong to me. I'm merely a spectator. My gorgeous, amazing girl is in pain; her new existence, carefully carved out in a safe, familiar, love-filled place away from the wanker of the century, is being threatened. And I'm utterly helpless as she crumbles into her brother's arms, racked by sobs.
"Damn, BeeBee. Tell me how to fix this. I can't see you like this."
You and me both, Em. Join the club.
Before long, she takes a deep breath, gets back on her feet, and emerges from behind Em.
"I'm done running."
"So, what do we do?"
"We sit tight. Live our lives. It might take weeks or even months for him to get here for good. If he does."
It's not soon enough to have him relegated to the seventh circle of hell. Not in my book. I can't allow this. "No. I am not okay with this, Bella."
She tries to wave me away.
"No. I'm not willing to risk your safety. This chap's a wanker. And a lunatic borderline criminal. I'm not keen on him being on the same continent as you, let alone in the same city, love. I won't risk it."
"But I will, Edward. I will."
Her hands cradle my face; her chocolate eyes, now rimmed with tears for the second time today, roam over my features. Of all things on God's green earth, she's reassuring me. Me.
"Why, love? Why are you putting yourself through this?"
"Because I love this life. I love living here. I love my job. I love my obnoxious, overbearing brother. And I love my overprotective boss. I'm not letting that twatwaffle run me away from my turf."
Wait, what? She loves me. Shit. Wow. She loves me. She. Loves. Me.
"Yes, you fool. I do." She's smiling through tears. If I didn't have ears, my own smile would be wrapping around the back of my head.
"You love me."
Did I say that out loud?
"You did." She's still smiling. This girl will be the death of me.
"God, Isabella." Is this even real? I think my filter is broken. "Bella … I love you. I love you. I love you."
A dam just collapsed within me. I don't think I can ever stop telling her now. Or showing her. This girl holds my life, heart, and soul in her hands. My restraint gone, I lose myself in her, kissing the living daylights out of her, letting my hands roam, completely oblivious that we're standing in the middle of the kitchen with Emmett in a front-row seat to this. Time stands still in my girl's arms.
"In the Navy … Yes, you can sail the seven seas … In the Navy …"
Booming seventies music floods the kitchen from somewhere around the house, and a cough not so subtly interrupts our moment. Bella's lips disappear. The sudden lack of contact is almost physically painful. My brain is still scrambled. She coughs, too, trying to recompose herself and un-pretzel her legs from around my hips. Of course, her squirming around doesn't help with the situation in my nether regions. A puzzled look forms on her features as she turns towards her brother.
"Em, did you play Village People for your work-outs again and forget to reset the timer on the player?"
"Nope. Appears to be coming from your messenger bag."
"In the Navy … Yes, you can sail the seven seas … In the Navy …"
Emmett's features contort into a horrified grimace. Bella's eyes get as wide as saucers.
"Crap."
"Shit."
In sync like a set of creepy twins from a B-type horror movie, they exclaim again.
"Oh, no …"
"The Admiral."
My filter is still broken, so of course, I ask out loud, "Who's the Admiral?"
The creepy twins answer in unison again. "Our dad."
Uh-oh. We're about to meet Charlie. What do we think now of the Rosalie kerfuffle?
Songs in the chapter: "Troublemaker" (Emmett's ringtone) belongs to Weezer. The Pet Shop Boys song Edward quotes is "The End of the World". "The End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)" belongs to REM. "In The Navy" belongs to the Village People. All songs are in the Spotify playlist on my profile - usual deal, delete unnecessary spaces etc.
See you all next week!
