A/N: As we come close to the end of our Christmas in June story here, I want to thank all of you for sticking with it when my muse took a long sabbatical over the winter months. It's been a crazy year and a half in our world, and Muse needed a break. Thanks for returning when she did. :)

Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine.

The epilogue will follow in a couple of days.

Chapter 13 – The Girl Who Experienced Two Holidays…and a Funeral

"B, what's up?"

"Hey, B!"

When Rose and Alice's images appear simultaneously on my phone screen, I expel a breath of relief at the knowledge that I'll get a chance to speak with them before the shit-fest before me. They're not going to like this, I know. But if I've learned one thing over the past two holidays here in London, it's this:

You can't give those you love – whether it's romantic or friendly love – less than honesty without it not only affecting your relationship but affecting you to your very core, to your inward makeup. Little by little, less-than-honesty eats at you. It turns you into a secretive person who becomes more and more comfortable keeping things to yourself and justifying that silence by telling yourself you can figure it out on your own, and you don't want to worry others, and you don't want your mistakes known, etc. Eventually, such an attitude turns into one of 'it's my life to lead, and no one else's because no one understands me.'

Bam! Dishonest person in the making.

So, my mistake wasn't so much Marcus – though he was a huge, fucking mistake, let's not act like he wasn't. But what's been going on with me is much bigger than the significance of one dishonest, cheating, insignificant character. My mistake was forgetting that while I can do it all on my own like I did while growing into an adult, as Edward pointed out the other day…I'm fortunate enough to have people I love and who love me. And it's so much better to go through life with a little bit of backup, with your loved ones there to catch you if and when you fall. Because eventually, no matter what, we'll all have a tumble. Or three.

You've got to allow your loved ones in.

At this time of the morning and while on holiday in Kent and Scotland, Rose and Alice are still in bed. Both also appear comfortably disheveled, with their phones balanced above their heads and their men beside them.

"Did I wake you guys?"

Aww, my girls; they offer sweet little lies.

"No, no."

"Not at all."

So when a contagious yawn makes its way from Rose to Alice, I can't blame them. After all, if it were up to me, I'd be in bed right now too, snuggled with Edward, though not necessarily sleeping; more like kissing…making love…wrapped up tightly in his arms…

Instead, Edward went to work for a few hours, and I'm briskly traversing the damp streets of London, cutting through a maze of pedestrian and vehicular traffic which, after two holidays, has returned with a fucking vengeance. Pewter clouds hover low in the gray sky. They're foreboding, like leftover silver Christmas tinsel sagging on a wilting Christmas tree and threatening to fall off and cause a mess.

Or perhaps it's just me finding it all apropos for the funerary hell to which I'm headed. Yet, it's a hell I must face, a form of purgatory, one might call it. I'm willing to navigate it if it means I can return to my personal heaven having shed that weight.

This is why after two glorious holiday mornings happily locked inside Edward's townhouse, I've untangled the messy knots in my hair and donned the pretty red dress – an Alice Brandon creation – that was meant for yesterday. That is, I would've worn the dress yesterday had I not spent the day lounging about in one of Edward's tee shirts and a pair of his boxers.

"B, why are you out so early in the morning?" Rose asks. She purses her lips and frowns at the hectic city scenery behind me. Beside her, Emmett teases me as well.

"My cousin is doing a shit job of keeping you happy if you're out after-Christmas shopping already."

"Your cousin is doing a magnificent job of- you know what, I didn't call for that."

Next to Alice, Jasper chuckles. "Bella, lass, weer is yer English cucum- Oof!" he grunts when Alice elbows him in the ribs.

"B, don't mind Jasper."

"Or Emmett. What's going on, B? Where are you off to in such a rush?"

"I'm in a bit of a bind, and-"

Instantly, all four are on full alert. Alice and Rose sit up in their respective beds while their other halves peek their heads into the screen.

"What's going on, B?"

"Are you okay?"

"Are you safe?"

"Dae ye need us tae get the polis or ambulette?"

I roll my eyes. "No! It's not that type of a bind."

"Oh, thank God," Alice says, resting a hand atop her heart.

"You scared the shite out of us," Emmett says.

"Ahh, so it's the sort of bind weer the laddy ties ye up," Jasper snickers.

"What? No! No, it's not that type of bind either. Though, Edward and I did do a bit of role-playing last night," I grin. "We used my bra straps to- Never mind that." I shake my head. "Focus, guys!"

When I stop to check my GPS directions, I'm pushed and shoved by a swarm eager to get to their deals on Brompton Road's high fashion street. Meanwhile, all four on my phone screen are having a good laugh.

"Bella, once you confirm that your life isn't in danger, you can't blame us if our minds go to different types of binds. After all," Alice grins, "didn't Eavesdropper give you a bracelet for Christmas where he literally made it clear he wants to be the English ivy wrapped around you?"

I can't help grinning in return; and, of course, holding up my bracelet to the screen. "Isn't that just the sweetest…and hottest thing ever?"

"It is," Rose agrees.

"We're in love! Like real and true love! The once-in-a-lifetime kind!"

Emmett groans and turns over in bed to hug his pillow.

"'Right. Rose, love, wake me when she gets to the new bits, yeah?"

"B, honey, it's not that we don't love knowing that you and Edward are in love-" Rose chuckles.

"-but this isn't news," Alice finishes. "We've all known you and Edward are in love since the night of Edward's party. We discuss it often."

"Love has turned the lassie's heid to mince!" Jasper chortles.

Now, Rose yawns. "So, if you Facetimed us at this time of the morning to tell us you're bound by love, can we hold off on it until late morning?"

"That's not why I Facetimed. Look, I'm in the midst of a metamorphosis, and that means confession time. Full disclosure." I draw in a deep breath. "Marcus is in London!"

The women gasp. The men peek their heads back into the screen, eyebrows raised.

"Wha' in hells bells is Marcus then?"

"Marcus is an asshole," Rose snarls.

"A cheater," Alice spits.

"He's my married ex-lover, except I didn't know he was married when I started a relationship with him."

"Yeah, and as soon as she found out, she broke things off," Alice clarifies.

"But the fucker tried to convince Bella he was leaving his wife for her, and even though Bella told him to leave her alone until when and if that happened, he keeps contacting her."

"Bloody wanker," Emmett scowls.

"Feckin' walloper," Jasper growls.

"All of that, yeah. But then I met Edward and fell in love with him, and Marcus was…well, I saw how insignificant a person he is. However, Marcus texted me a couple of nights ago and told me he was in London."

"This we did not fucking know!" Rose yells, smacking a palm against her bed covers.

"Bella! Why didn't you tell us this?" Alice shrieks.

"I'm sorry! I didn't want to worry you guys, especially since I told him to fuck off, and he didn't contact me again. I figured I was done with that entire debacle, especially when I told Edward all about Marcus, and we decided together how irrelevant he was in our grand scheme."

"Oh, my God, I love that. Go, Eavesdropper, relegating rubbish to the trash bin where he belongs. Yeah!" Rose exclaims, fist-pumping the air.

"Woo-hoo!" Alice cheers. "And the Baron and his American girl lived happily ever-"

"Well, he's a Baron-to-be, and let's not get ahead of ourselves. There's still some story left, and it's not quite so fairytale-ish."

"What do you-"

"Didyme called me this morning."

All four fall silent, staring at the screen with similar expressions of confusion.

Rose raises a hand as if she's in class. "I think I speak for all when I ask, who the fuck is Didyme?"

"Didyme is Marcus' wife and…and my boss's sister."

"WHAT?" Alice shouts for them all.

"I found out a couple of weeks before I left for London, but again, I didn't want to worry you guys. However, she called me this morning because apparently, she's in London too-"

"What the hell, was there an airfare sale?" Rose wonders.

"Look, guys, Didyme is threatening to go to the tabloids with some sensational story about how I'm a gold-digging maneater unless I meet her in about ten minutes."

Rose snickers. "Pfft! Did she really think that would work?"

Alice, on the other hand, shrugs. "I mean, the tabloids here are pretty brutal, Rose."

"Which is all the more reason why she shouldn'a goh, Alice! A lie is halfway roon Scotland afore the truth has its boots oan!"

"Not sure what that means, Jasper, but I feel like, either way, I owe her a face-to-face."

"NO!" They all shout in agreement.

"Definitely not!"

"No way!"

"Bella, let's pause for a moment. Where is my cousin?" Emmett asks. "Does he know about any of this?"

"He had to go into work for a couple of hours, and he knows everything except that I'm on my way to meet Didyme – and don't you dare call him and tell him about this right now!" I add, threateningly pointing a deadly finger at him when I see him reach for his cell phone.

Sucking his teeth, he sets down his cell phone. "Bella, while I can understand you wanting to mitigate any negative gossip, I can guarantee you that my cousin doesn't care a whit what any tabloids might say."

"I know he doesn't. But your grandmother, Lady Charlotte already thinks I'm a gaudier reincarnation of Wallis Simpson, here to derail the heir to the Mason Baronetcy."

"Again, Edward won't care about Grandmother's issues. What's more, I think he should know about this, perhaps even accompany-"

"Of course, I'm going to tell Edward."

Emmett exhales a breath of relief. "Brilliant."

"I wouldn't keep this from him. But that being said, I'm going to meet Didyme, woman to woman. Guys, I care about all your opinions, but I didn't Facetime to ask if you think I should meet with Didyme or not."

Abruptly, I stop in my tracks as The Lanesborough Hotel comes into view.

Its location, within easy distance of Hyde Park and Buckingham Palace, means that the regal, Regency-style, ivory exterior comes as no surprise. This is the type of joint where Bentleys and Range Rover's a la Lady Charlotte pull up and park in front of a Corinthian-columned exterior while the vehicles' owners wait in back seats for their doors to be opened.

"I'm in the midst of a metamorphosis," I murmur, my gaze still on the hotel. "As much for my peace of mind as for Edward's reputation, I have to meet with Didyme. At the very least, the woman deserves to know the complete truth about her husband. I called you guys for your moral support, even if you can't agree with me. Because I've found that keeping secrets is what almost turned me into an insect."

"What?"

"Huh?"

"Pardon?"

"Whitfor is ye talking midgies nae?"

Rose releases a yielding sigh. "Al and I know what she means, and while the three of us are divided in our opinion of the necessity of this meeting-"

"The five of us," Emmett corrects with a grin.

"The six of us," I correct them all. "We're six now."

"The point is," Alice smiles, "you'll always have our full support, B."

"It'll go smashingly," Emmett grins encouragingly.

"Lang may yer lum reek, lassie," Jasper adds.

"Thank you," I grin. "That means a lot."

OOOOO

Much like its exterior, the Lanesborough's luxurious lobby is less shocking than it's inspiring of awed gawking. The heels on my tall leather boots click-clack over black and white marble floors. When I look up, the lobby's gilded ceilings momentarily distract the architect in me. I pass by artwork that must've been hanging around for two hundred years, at least. Bright, crystal chandeliers illuminate these works in a soft, golden glow. Upholstered, Queen Anne chairs arranged two or three in a group are meant to inspire quiet, thoughtful conversation. Heavy, oak double-doors lead into each parlor room, with a doorman stationed at each entrance, lest a patron is forced to open their own door.

This is beyond luxury; this, much like the party at Masen Park a few days ago, is the land of old money. It's meant to intimidate.

So, as I make my way to the double-door entry of Céleste, the swanky restaurant within the hotel where I'm to meet my married ex-lover's angry wife for a tête-à-tête, I smooth down my hair and pray I've gotten out most of the tangles. But I also lift my chin, smile at the doorman, and send up a silent plea.

Whoever's out there, please help me successfully straddle the line between repentant and indignant because if I fail, and any of this shit-show ends up in the tabloids, Lady Charlotte may run me through.

"With one of those ancient knights' swords hanging on the walls of Masen Park," I mutter to myself.

When the doors to the restaurant open, I'm greeted by more architectural swank. Decorative friezes run the room's perimeter, framing Corinthian columns and white-linen tables, all of it encased by a glass, domed roof that streams London's gray light in like a flood. The hum of cultivated conversations melds with the tinkling of expensive crystal and with the din of heavy silver. Classical music wafts in the background, an accompaniment to the sumptuous scent of exotic dishes.

A middle-aged woman in a dark skirt suit and an elegant coiffeur greets me with a cool, polished smile.

"Good morning, Miss. Table for one?"

"Good morning. I'm actually meeting someone-"

"Ah, Miss Swan, lovely to see you once again."

When I look over my shoulder, confused, it takes me a moment to place the face. After all, it's one of the last people I expected to see standing here before me.

"Jane?"

"Your party is waiting," Jane continues.

"My…party? What party?"

Jane, Lady Charlotte's unfortunate secretary, ignores my question and turns to the hostess.

"I've got her, thank you. Follow me, please, Miss Swan."

For a few heartbeats, I simply watch her go, winding her way gracefully in between tables, blending in so sublimely that no one's attention is caught. She's just another elegant fixture amongst the many in this place. She may as well be a Victorian chandelier, a World War II-era tea set, aristocracy.

It's not until she's halfway across the room that I break out of my stupor.

"Jane!" I hiss. "Jane, wait!"

I dash after her, scurrying past restaurant patrons enjoying meals and conversation. Whereas Jane's traipse goes unnoticed, I might as well be an elephant in a china shop, Godzilla in a stomping rampage. Patrons pause, silver and crystal poised in midair, to observe me. Some seem simply curious. Some wear similar looks of confusion to what I'm feeling. Some openly glower my way, clearly indignant at having their pricey meals and riveting discourse interrupted. Even the wait staff shoots me furtive scowls.

"Jane! Jane, wait! I'm not sure what's going on, but-"

At the sight two tables down, in a quiet, private corner, my feet and my heart come to an abrupt halt.

Two women are seated at a table for three, with the empty seat between them. One woman is an old, gray-haired dragon lady wearing silk and diamonds. The other is a darker-haired woman with her back to me.

"Ahh, the Bee has finally arrived and making as spectacular an entrance as I would expect."

I approach slowly, fearing that invisible snake that always seems to appear when Lady Charlotte is around.

"Lady Charlotte?"

"Take a seat, Bee, please. We've been waiting."

"We've been…?" I echo stupidly. Despite her invitation to my funeral, for a few seconds, I merely stand there. Bewildered.

Where bewildered is the wrong word. Much like the hotel and restaurant's ostentatious appearance, I'm not so much surprised by how the scene is playing out, as I'm astounded by the levels to which Lady Charlotte is willing to go. What is that saying? The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

The thing is, for as much as I suspected Lady Charlotte disliked me, I honestly didn't consider us enemies. Yet, it seems that to her, I'm more than an uncouth American.

I'm a catastrophe, a cataclysmic, extinction-level event. I am to her bloodline what the asteroid was to dinosaurs; not merely a decimator to the species in its current form but a catalyst to its end because the species' next iteration will evolve into something wholly unlike the original. The majestic dinosaur will never again roam the Earth. Instead, these strange, smaller creatures called Mere Humans will take their place.

When Lady Charlotte looks at me, she sees the Masen line evolving into something much less select than what it once was.

I round the table with my gaze glued to the unfamiliar woman. Jane pulls out the chair between Lady Charlotte and the woman, and I take a seat.

"Thank you, Jane," I breathe, keeping my eyes on the woman.

Her features may as well be chiseled from stone – stone that, as I continue right on staring, I note is spackled with a plaster-like, orange-hued foundation. Regardless of its price point, the foundation does little to conceal the pigeon feet and smoker lines it's likely meant to hide. The woman's hair is pulled back into a severe bun that accentuates all these lines in addition to calling attention to her widow's peak and the sharpness of her nose and chin. She's an even harder-looking version of Sulpicia, which I didn't think possible.

"That will be all, Jane. Thank you," Lady Charlotte says.

While Jane disappears into the background, Lady Charlotte situates her napkin over her lap. Silently, the woman does the same. I fail to follow suit. Fuck it. What do I need a napkin on my lap for?

Lady Charlotte shoots me a look, much like the looks she shot me over tea a couple of mornings earlier. This time, however, I ignore them. Fuck her and her dainty manners as well.

Lady Charlotte sighs. The waitperson, a young woman in her mid-twenties or so, approaches.

"Good morning, Lady Charlotte. May I-"

"The usual, please," Lady Charlotte instructs.

"Yes, Lady Charlotte." The server scurries off.

"Bee, I trust you had a pleasant Christmas Day and Boxing Day with my grandson?"

I make no reply to this sham of a friendly inquiry.

To my left, the woman – Didyme – also remains silent, though the fury consuming her is unpleasantly palpable. It dominates the perimeter. Nonetheless, Lady Charlotte continues, content to hear the sound of her own voice, to living in her own bubble.

"As for my past two days of holiday, they were going rather splendidly; that is until I received a peculiar phone call from Ms. Volturi here."

Here, I start, and my brow furrows. "Wait, she called you? You didn't set this-"

"Yes, I called her."

Didyme finally speaks, her voice a blistering hiss similar to her sister's yet even more biting. When I meet her gaze, the fiery flames shooting from her eyes could burn this pricey joint to the ground. They also emphasize the strange and unnatural melon-toned shade of her skin all the more. Someone should tell her it's not a good color on her.

"When I saw your pictures on social media, I figured the matriarch of your latest conquest should know exactly what sort of woman her grandson, the heir to the family's title, has gotten himself entangled with."

"There is nothing-"

"What exactly do you mean by that, Ms. Volturi?"

What follows for the next few minutes is a strange cross-examination, a sort of one-sided tennis match where Lady Charlotte provides sideline commentary, and I'm never really handed the ball.

"Did you think I was going to let you get away with it?"

"I'm not trying to get away with any-"

"What was the Bee trying to get away with? Such a claim must be corroborated."

"Did you think you were special?"

"I never said-"

"She does tend to behave as if she believes this is so, yes, but I rather find that true of all American women."

The waitperson arrives with an assistant, one carrying tea implements and the other one of those three-tiered serving trays.

"The young lady will take three lumps of sugar," Lady Charlotte instructs.

Well, I do prefer three lumps. "Thank you," I offer the server once my tea is ready.

"And you, ma'am?" the server questions Didyme. "How many lumps of sugar may I offer you?"

Didyme waves an impatient hand. "I couldn't care less."

Lady Charlotte quirks a brow. "Could not care? It's an important decision, I assure you."

Didyme huffs. "Just throw one lump in there."

"Just throw…?" Lady Charlotte peers around the restaurant as if expecting shock from everyone at this blasphemy. Then, to the server, "One lump, thank you."

Once the tea is prepared, Lady Charlotte ensures the conversation resumes exactly where it left off.

"Now, where were we? Ahh, yes. The Bee's uniqueness."

As she stirs her tea, I do so as well. It comes instinctively to me now to do so in the manner the dragon lady taught me. After all, who wants to make a bunch of noise while stirring tea?

Apparently, Didyme does. She stirs as if she's churning butter. While I wince at the annoying sound, Lady Charlotte's cataract eyes grow wide.

"Do take care with the tea set, Ms. Volturi. These pieces are not department store specials."

"Seriously," I mutter.

Didyme ignores us and keeps right on churning.

"Look, Didyme, I'm not trying to get away with anything, and neither do I believe myself any more special than any other woman. That being said, I didn't know that Marcus-"

"What are you going to say now," Didyme sneers, "that you didn't know he was married?"

"That's exactly right, yes."

"Ahh," Lady Charlotte nods sagely, taking a sip of tea as calmly as if we're discussing the English weather. "So, we are discussing an affair. A dalliance. A liaison."

"No, we're not, Lady Charlotte!" I say emphatically, following it up with a sip of tea. It really is calming. "I didn't know that her husband was married. He never told me."

"Are you stupid?" Didyme asks.

"No, I'm not stupid. Are you?" Drawing in a deep breath, I force my voice into a more conciliatory tone. "But I am sorry for being so naïve."

"Please," Didyme scoffs. When she lifts her cup and slurps her tea, I grimace at the harshness of that particular noise.

"Dear Lord," Lady Charlotte says, "it's tea, Ms. Volturi, not-"

"-not ale," I finish.

Lady Charlotte's eyes meet mine.

Clearing my throat, I turn back to Didyme. "I know my apology for being naïve means nothing-"

"It doesn't," Didyme expels bitterly.

"-but I wanted to meet you here to make sure you knew that I didn't ask him to divorce you. I told him if he asked you for a divorce, to do so because it was the best thing for him…for both of you. Not for me."

For a sickening half-minute, Didyme glares at me silently. Then she grins a cold, mocking grin.

"A divorce? Is that why you think I'm here?"

My brow furrows. "I mean…he said he was already planning on asking you for one; after your birthday party, of course, because he didn't want to ruin that for you."

"What birthday party?"

My chest heaves. Meanwhile, Lady Charlotte looks riveted – a Wimbledon spectator in the midst of witnessing a fifth-set tiebreaker. She continues sipping her tea.

Didyme shakes her head, that grin still plastered to her overdone face. "A divorce?" she repeats. "Did you really think he'd ask me for a divorce to be with you?"

"I just said I told him not to do so for me. He said your marriage had been over for a long while, that he was holding off from bringing up divorce to you until he'd saved up enough money to pay your family and you back for his education – until he could be sure he gave you a fair settlement. He said he'd grown comfortable, that you'd both grown comfortable with living in the same home yet separately, but that he was going to wait until after your party over the holidays and then ask you-"

"Again, are you stupid?"

"I made a mistake," I expel indignantly, "but I tried to correct it as best as I could at the time. I pushed him away-"

"He did not ask me for a divorce. He has never asked me for a divorce, and he never will."

"You mean…you mean this has happened before?"

"There's a strict no-cheating clause in the prenup I made Marcus sign when we married. He knows that the day he asks me for a divorce, I'm going to pull out proof of all the affairs he's had, and I'm going to sue him for divorce. He ask me for a divorce? Please," she snorts. "I can't believe you fell for that one and agreed to the affair."

"Once again, I didn't know I was party to an affair."

"Yet, you keep speaking to him."

"He keeps texting me!"

"You keep answering him."

"Only to tell him to stop texting me!"

"Or to entice him into following you here?"

"What? Are you kidding me?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"What?"

"When you did find out he was married, why didn't you reach out to me and let me know what was going on? Why didn't you tell Sulpicia?"

"Pardon," Lady Charlotte interrupts, "but who is Sulpicia now?"

"My sister."

"My boss."

"Oh, dear." Setting down her tea, Lady Charlotte sweeps her eyes toward me. "Bee, this grows all the more complicated, even for you."

"I…I was confused, I was-"

"You were full of shit. You are full of shit," Didyme sneers.

"Look, maybe I should've reached out to you, but I just wanted to get away. I wanted to get out of it and didn't know how-"

Didyme and I are both temporarily distracted by the sight of Lady Charlotte texting.

"Don't mind me. Please, continue."

"You want to play the victim?" Didyme says bitingly. "Consider this your career's funeral because once I speak to my sister…"

While she continues with her threat, I try to keep my features composed though I want to howl in fury. After all, from the moment I found out that Didyme and Sulpicia were sisters, some part of me knew my days at Volturi Architecture were numbered.

"Didyme, I plan to let Sulpicia know myself as soon as I'm back in New York."

She snorts. "Oh, now you plan to be honest?" She pulls out her cell phone. "Well, I'm not willing to wait that long to-"

"Ms. Volturi, you wear quite an impressive amount of makeup."

Didyme reels back. "Excuse me?"

"Please don't misunderstand. I comprehend the necessity. The Bee likely doesn't know it yet, but I understand how, when a woman reaches a certain age, she must keep up with her beauty regiment. Look at her; not a wrinkle, not a touch of makeup. The Bee will learn, however. Everything is a learning process."

Didyme looks as lost as I feel. "What the hell does my beauty regiment have to do with-"

"I assume your husband is also a gentleman of significant years, is he not? Or are you one of those, what is the term?" Lady Charlotte taps her chin. "Lions, tigers?"

"Do you mean cougar?" I volunteer in bewilderment.

She grins broadly. "Yes! Yes, that is the term. Tell me, Ms. Volturi, are you a cougar?"

"No, I'm not a cougar," Didyme expels in an irate rush. "My husband is in his forties as well!"

"Ahh, so, for clarification, you are not a cougar, your husband is also in his forties, and he was having an affair with a woman in her early twenties. Is that correct?"

Didyme purses her lips, her reply delivered with obvious reluctance. "I suppose it is."

"It's an unfortunate state of affairs, though apparently, it occurs across the world. Women grow older, and some men stray."

"Yes, but these men aren't straying by themselves," Didyme hisses.

"Again, I didn't know-"

Someone suddenly grabs my hand under the table, and I give a little jump, my eyes bulging when I realize it's Lady Charlotte.

"Ms. Volturi, you say you knew that your husband was having an affair with the Bee, did you not?"

"Yes. And?"

"May I ask why you did not reach out to her and warn her that she was involved with a married man? Conversely, why did you, being an older, experienced woman of the world and knowing that your husband tends to…ahem, stray, not warn the Bee that a married man was trifling with her?"

"If she doesn't know who she's fucking, that's her problem, not mine."

For a second, I actually worry that the old bat might have a heart attack upon hearing that word. On top of everything else, I'll be forced to attend her funeral.

However, Lady Charlotte barely blinks. "In this country, I believe the term is boffing. And if your husband was boffing another woman, I would think it is your problem. After all, is that not why you're here? To confront the other woman?"

"I'm here to collect information so that one day, when I've tired of this game, when I'm ready for a divorce," she says, digging her finger into her chest, "I can leave Marcus in the gutter. But yes, I also get a kick of socially burying the women he boffs, whether they knew or not that he was married. So when I saw the coverage everywhere about how The Bee here had moved on from Marcus to a member of the English aristocracy, I contacted you, Baroness, so that you could protect your family's reputation."

"By helping you bury the Bee."

Didyme grins. "She'll be the talk of the tabloids here, and once I speak to Sulpicia, she won't have a job to return to in-"

"Didyme, I came here to apologize to you for the way things went down, but now I see that both you and Marcus are giant piles of sh-"

When Lady Charlotte squeezes my hand under the table again, harder than I thought the old dragon could manage, I cut myself off.

"You did well in contacting me, Ms. Volturi, for I am this family's matriarch. For decades now, I've kept the Masen Baronetcy, already one of the oldest baronetcies in England, one of the most respected as well. This family needs a strong matriarch because, let's be honest, we all know it's the women who run things. But if you'll indulge an old woman, please provide one final clarification."

"What now?" Didyme spits out.

"Despite all your husband's many affairs, you've been aware and have eventually confronted the women after the fact. Because you've decided to remain in the marriage until you are ready to end this game. Is that correct?"

Didyme doesn't reply.

"So, if this is the case, these other women whom you blame for your straying husband, women like the Bee, have been unwitting pawns in your game."

"Oh, please. Whether she knew or not that Marcus was married, are we really going to pretend she's blameless?"

"Because women are always to blame, are they not? It's interesting how some things change drastically with the times, yet others remain sadly the same."

Didyme's nostrils flare.

"Ms. Volturi, I will be the first to agree that the Bee is singularly brilliant at botching up the most straightforward issues. Why, you should see her at a Wassailing event! Heaven forfend the crystal survive! But your husband is a predator, Ms. Volturi, and you are an enabler. If you go anywhere near the tabloids with this story, it'll be your funeral, my dear – or should I say the funeral of your social life lest someone overhear and accuses me of threatening your life!" Lady Charlotte titters. She actually titters. "This family protects its own, and the Bee here is well on her way to becoming one of our own, a future matriarch in her own right. Now, Bee, please close your mouth. It's a singularly unattractive look, and I will not have it in my family. Ms. Volturi, your mouth may remain hanging if you so please."

As per Lady Charlotte's gentle suggestion, I go ahead and pick my jaw up off the table. After a few moments of open-mouthed gaping, so does Didyme; though, while I remain speechless from shock, Didyme has more to say.

"You want to stand behind this little tramp here in your country simply so she won't embarrass you? That's fine." Didyme casts me a baleful glare full of loathing. "But your fucking career in the U.S. is over once I speak to Sulpicia-"

"Didyme, please don't speak for me."

The three of us sweep startled eyes to the phone resting on the table.

"Sulpicia?" Didyme asks.

"Yeah, dumbass. It's me."

"I didn't realize I actually called-"

"You know, usually I require someone be dead or dying before I'm interrupted during work hours, but this was enlightening."

"Your assistant has been fucking my husband-"

"From my end, it sounds more like your husband has been messing around with my assistant, with your knowledge."

"I-"

"Didyme, you know how much I abhor workplace drama! As if I don't have enough issues with HR demanding I provide a safe working environment, can you imagine the field day they'd have with this? The hours of lost productivity while they questioned Isabella and me?"

"Sulpicia-"

"Which is why I'm nipping this shit in the bud. Tyler, get in here!" we hear her bark through the phone.

While we wait for Tyler to appear at the summons, Sulpicia questions me on some work issues as if we're on a business call. Meanwhile, Lady Charlotte sips her tea.

"Bee, your tea is growing tepid."

"Oh!" I sip my tea.

"Yes, Sulpicia?" we finally hear Tyler say, his voice tremulous.

"Tyler, take the elevator down ten floors, find my brother-in-law, Marcus, and let him know he's fired."

"You want me to-"

"Yes! Now! Go!"

"Uhm, actually Sulpicia, Marcus texted me a couple of days ago to inform me he was here in London."

"That's right, he did take time off," Sulpicia recalls. "And that's where he went? Stalker."

Lady Charlotte shakes her head and sips her tea. "Harasser."

"He indeed is a stalker and a harasser, and in this country, we have laws against such."

My breath hitches, and as a pair of warm and strong hands curve around my shoulders, I turn around and find the most amazing man in the world standing behind me.

"Ahh, there's my grandson, the solicitor, and future heir to the Masen baronetcy," Lady Charlotte exclaims proudly.

"Dowager Baroness Masen - Grandmother," he grins, his expression infused with both love and dark humor when he meets my eyes. "Isabella, my Peculiar American."

"My Eavesdropper, eavesdropping as he does," I chuckle.

"Who the hell is that?" Sulpicia asks over the phone.

Edward clears his throat and offers Didyme a courteous nod while at the same time furtively showing me his cell phone screen. There's a text from Lady Charlotte, which I read to myself and smile. Meanwhile, Edward goes into an involved speech.

"Ms. Volturi and Ms. Volturi, as Miss Isabella Swan's legal representative while she is here in the U.K., I shall be filing harassment charges against Mister Marcus Stone as per the Public Order Act of 1986. For now, he shall be fined upon his departure from our borders. If he commits another offense against Miss Swan while in the U.K, I will see him imprisoned for six months, at the least. What's more, I shall be looking into contacting my counterparts in America if necessary."

"Holy fuck, Didyme, did you hear that? Marcus has turned into a goddamned liability. Hell no, I'm not dealing with the HR nightmare this'll mean. This company is cutting ties with him, and I suggest you do the same, Diddy."

"Sulpie!"

"Solicitor, give me thirty seconds. I'm firing his ass via text as we speak."

"Sulpicia, while I…appreciate it," I say, "I honestly think it would be best if I looked for another job once I return to the U.S."

Edward leans into my ear and whispers, "Or perhaps don't return at all?"

Sulpicia is momentarily silent. "Isabella, while you're a great assistant, and I'd hate to see you go because Lord knows Tyler can't compare – Tyler, you may go now – that's entirely up to you. Obviously, you'll receive a stellar recommendation."

"As she should after all that nonsense. Hmph," Lady Charlotte volunteers, sipping away. "Bee, your tea."

Didyme pushes back her chair, scraping noisily against the marble floors. Without another word, she stalks off.

"Hmph. Such barbarity," Lady Charlotte exclaims, shaking her head.

Edward takes her vacated seat and serves himself a cup of tea. "So," he smirks my way, stuffing a pastry into his mouth, chewing, and swallowing. When he leans in close to me, I use a fingertip to wipe the excess sugar off his lips, barely restraining myself from licking it.

Edward chuckles as if he can read my thoughts. "Not one for remaining quietly in bed and waiting for your guy to return home from work, are you?"

"Try me again," I grin. "I might do so better this time.

"I plan to," he chuckles, kissing me despite his grandmother's presence, "over and over. Though, perhaps I won't leave the bed either, just to be sure you remain."

"We can brainstorm some more for your comic! I've come up with ideas," I whisper.

"We can. Or we can-"

"Tea," Lady Charlotte says, interrupting.

"Pardon?" Edward asks.

"Excuse me?" I say.

"Bee, there is one massively important lesson I've learned in my many years and many dealings. Tea is the key."

"Tea? As in gossip?"

Her silver eyebrows furrow and pucker. "Gossip? Goodness, no. Gossip is below our rank. Tea – as in never trust someone who does not know, nor is willing to learn, how to serve and sip a proper cup. You may as well be dealing with a Neanderthal." Her old shoulders shudder.

I can't help laughing loudly. "Thank you for your assistance, Lady Charlotte," I say much more quietly but with loads of feeling.

She makes a face that says, 'What choice did I have?'

"I only ask one small favor from you in return."

"Grandmother," Edward warns.

"What is it, Lady Charlotte?" I smile.

"Pass down a narrative of our heritage – the good and the bad – to your future children. Ensure they know their long history, both English and American."

I swallow thickly, my heart close to bursting. When I look at Edward, he sips his tea calmly, but his emerald eyes, so much like his grandmother's, glow in the sudden London sun that shines through the restaurant's dome.

"Lady Charlotte, you're getting us a bit ahead of ourselves. While I do love your grandson," I say, taking his hand over the table, "we're nowhere near talk of children."

She doesn't reply. Instead, The Honorable Dowager Baroness Masen, Lady Charlotte Cullen, squeezes my other hand so that the three of us resemble a chain, a bracelet…

…a link through past, present, and future.

A/N: Thoughts?

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Epilogue next. :)

"See" you soon!