DISCLAIMER: THE STORY DOESN'T BELONG TO ME; THE CHARACTERS ARE PROPERTY OF S. MEYER AND THE PLOT BELONGS TO ANN ARSTON ARA.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LETTING ME SHARE YOUR STORY IN ENGLISH!

¡GRACIAS ANN, POR DARME ESTA OPORTUNIDAD!

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Chapter 8

Amazing

"Throughout time, art has been classified in many different ways. From the medieval distinction between liberal arts and vulgar or "mechanical" arts, through the modern distinction between fine arts and minor or applied arts, to the contemporary multiplicity, which understands as art almost any manifestation of human creativity. The successive expansion of the list of the..."

I wrote down what the professor was saying, moving my foot to a rhythm I could feel in my veins. Professor Banner was like an old Elvis Presley, the King of Rock. I imagined myself on a dance floor alone moving and jumping to the beat...

"Miss Swan, could you answer the question?" I blushed deeply. Damn, I had been caught thinking about the king of rock.

The press kept wanting to see me, but they hadn't managed to get a single statement from me since I had forbidden visitors to my dressing room at The Dolls' Salon. Besides, although they had my name and where I lived, they didn't know exactly what I looked like and they didn't know I was still studying, so at least, at the university, I had some peace of mind. Of course, how could a dancer be studying at the university? Riffraff, that's what those people, who prejudge before knowing anything, just because of a job.

Luckily, Aro had not put up any trouble and since the news, The Dolls' Salon was more crowded than usual and to some extent that was a benefit to him.

We did our special show, we hung from the american bars* and dropped the ribbons to wind ourselves up on them aerobically. I felt the flashes of several cameras as they were pointed at my face, but I ignored them and went about my business. It was my moment of distraction, and they weren't going to ruin it no matter how many pictures they took.

When the show ended, James waved me over to him and offered me a bottle of water.

"Are you very busy?" I frowned at his question and denied.

"No. We have one more show in an hour, but Tanya can cover for me, why do you ask?" James sighed a little embarrassed before answering.

"There's a rich woman waiting for you in the dressing room. She insisted on seeing you. She says she knows you. She is not a journalist."

"I'm not expecting anyone," I admitted although it could have been Rosalie. James just shrugged and left me standing there, thinking about whether I should go or not, so I made up my mind and walked to the dressing rooms after leaving Tanya in charge of the next show. And sure enough, a blonde woman who was not Rosalie, with eyes that looked familiar to me was looking at me sitting, cross-legged, princess-like, in my seat.

She was a rather tall woman, who, although she was very well preserved, it was clear that she was about fifty years old. She was thin, but not emaciated, and looked like a porcelain doll, because of her fair skin and stiff bearing. She stood up when she noticed me and examined my clothes, or perhaps the lack of them, with a critical eye, looking at me from my feet to my blonde wig rolled up in a calculating bun.

I was told you were expecting me," I said, taking a robe to cover my lime green corset, uncomfortable with the way she was looking at me. The woman sat back down and took the newspaper I had been keeping on my dresser, as if it were hers, spreading it out. Then her green eyes focused on my face trying to find something. I couldn't read her, she was cryptic. There were very few emotions on her face, but one was quite visible on her and that is the dislike she felt. She did not like me in the least.

"You look a lot like your mother."

"I was told," I answered, tense and defensive, not knowing what else to say to this woman who looked like something out of an exemplary women's magazine. I knew my mother and obviously she was not so exemplary. Not that my mother had been bad, but this woman didn't seem like the type to get her hands dirty in any way. The blonde stood up and muttered:

"The world is a handkerchief," she took a pink feather scarf in her hands as if it had shit on it before continuing to look at me with her scrutinizing eyes as she tossed it back to its earlier place.

"Renée wanted to steal my husband and now you want to steal my son…"

"I don't understand," I interrupted her. She smiled humorlessly and continued as if I hadn't interrupted her.

"Of course not. How can a street trash like you understand me?" What? Who the hell does this stiff think she is?

"No one offends me in my dressing room," I growled when she blurted out the insult. This was a lot for me to take in and I was about to leave the blonde with no eyes.

"You're not going to order me around," she muttered, "I don't like people messing with what's mine, and Edward is mine. He's my son! I'm going to protect him from you." That's when I recognized her eyes. Edward's mother. I was surprised when she approached me as if she wanted to hit me. Yet, she only threatened me.

"It's not you who makes those kinds of decisions, ma'am," I asserted, taking a step away. She raised her hand looking like she was going to hit me, and I instinctively closed my eyes and turned my cheek ready to take a punch and hit her back a couple of times.

"Elizabeth!" We both jumped as soon as Edward's voice reached our ears. The blonde paled and I cursed under my breath as I realized what was about to happen.

"What are you doing here?" asked this Elizabeth, trembling, clenching her hands into fists. Edward walked towards her and grabbed her arm to pull her out of the dressing room without even looking at me. I dropped into my chair and sighed a couple of times before I felt my eyes fill with tears. That woman was mean and scary. How could she know my mother? Why didn't I stop her and throw her out of here? I could have easily done it, but I couldn't. That woman conveyed evil.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit," I mumbled, looking at myself in the mirror. My makeup had smudged, and I needed to fix it.

"Are you... okay?" I wiped my eyes hard and stood up.

"Yes, don't worry," I managed to mumble before I grabbed my makeup kit and started to open it with shaking hands. Damn brooch!

"Leave that, I'll do it," he said, gently taking my arm. He sighed heavily as he opened the kid and looked up.

"I'm sorry." I shook my head. He didn't have to be sorry, the one who was going to get beaten by his mother was me. He had defended me from that woman. He had defended me from his own mother.

"It's... kind of silly that a woman her age can play with the mind of someone like me," I croaked, a little annoyed as I fixed my makeup. Edward shrugged and sat down in a chair that was close to mine.

"Well, she caught you off guard. Elizabeth is usually like that with everyone."

"She's your mother Edward." I pointed out. Edward shrugged again, playing it down.

"It can be hard to deal with her sometimes," I snorted and heard Edward chuckle.

"She made me feel like a child who did something wrong," I grumbled, crossing my arms. Edward smiled and grabbed my hand, forcing me to uncross them, as he looked at me turning me around, so we were facing each other. Fuck, what beautiful eyes he has.

"You are an amazing woman," he touched his forehead and said, smiling. "I know." What a beautiful smile. Thousands of little butterflies flew around us and many little hearts hit my head hard. But the magic was broken when Tanya came in and gave me an annoyed look, forcing us to put space between Edward and me.

"Caius is looking for you."

Damn it!

"You go," I said, feeling a shiver run through me. Edward frowned, watching us without letting go of my hand. He hadn't let go of my hand! Tanya, on the other hand, just ignored him.

"He said he wants you," I looked at Edward for a moment before nodding. Caius is a scary man. He's always wanted me to sleep with him, but fuck, he scares me, and I wouldn't sleep with him for a million dollars.

"I have to work," I whispered. Edward tilted his face to the side as he let go of my hand and asked.

"Work?" I nodded shyly. This man makes me do things I never do. Me, shy?

"That man always asks for a private so… I have to go."

"I didn't know you did private shows," he mumbled uncomfortably, fixing his glasses as he looked at me annoyed. I stood up and walked away from Edward, who looked shocked when I dropped my robe and sighed before answering him.

"Yes, but the private ones don't include sex, at least not mine." Something sparkled in Edward's eyes, but he didn't say anything, and I didn't say anything either. This is my life. I chose it, so I wasn't going to start complaining about having to dance in front of a pervert either. After all that was what paid for my college and my bills.

Caius was always a scary man. I'll say it again, he looks like a sculpture made of granite with dark eyes and blond hair that was glued to his cheeks with some cheap hair spray, but I couldn't refuse to dance. He had an unhealthy obsession with me. I had told him a thousand times no and the poor guy couldn't get it through his head, either one. I sighed as I stood behind the curtain in the private area. This, no doubt, was going to be a long night.

The privates are a room that has an american bar, on a small stage and a comfortable armchair. Mine is divided by glass that looks like a showcase that opens from the inside by a button on the floor near my feet. I never liked the music Aro chooses for privates, so I always brought my own music. Caius blew me a kiss that made me shiver. I closed my eyes and ignored everything, including him.

Amazing. Edward had called me amazing and even though his mother almost ripped my face off, that didn't matter as soon as he looked at me and smiled. I'm fucked up, so fucked up. Edward can't make me feel stupid shit like the butterflies dancing in my stomach, while I danced on the tube.

.

.

.

"James!" The blond looked up from the glass he was pouring and looked at me carefully. "The lady who stopped by to see me is forbidden to come back in." James nodded and dispensed the drink before putting his elbows on the bar and beckoning me closer.

"What's with you and the baby?" I smiled at the nickname James had given Edward and leaned over James as if to tell him a secret.

"It's none of your business," I whispered, smacking his cheek. James rolled his eyes and then shrugged.

"Then it's not worth me telling you about the one that went down today when the baby dragged the old lady out of your dressing room." He smiled, the bastard smiled like that cat in Alice in Wonderland and if I hadn't had him so far away I'd break the chin of the son of a...

Adorable mother. Don't be so wrong-headed. What a barbarity.

"You're fucking with me, aren't you?" I asked sitting at the bar. James narrowed his eyes and then poured several drinks before answering me.

"Sorry angel, but I like natural blondes better." He winked and then came over to me sighing theatrically.

"So, what's up with you and the baby?" He asked again close to me, I shrugged my shoulders.

"We can be friends, you know?"

"I'd believe you," he started to say before uncorking a few beers and then handing them over, "but it would be like pretending Kate isn't my wife."

He poured a few more drinks and I frowned, saying.

"What do you mean?" James again gestured for me to come closer and after smacking my cheek, he replied.

"It's none of your business."

"You know I can tell Kate about Victoria, right?" I pretended I didn't care to talk, looking at my nails, but well, James didn't take it as a joke. He grabbed my hand and pulled me in, surprising me.

"Sure. Do that and I'll cut you like a lemon," he let go and I straightened up. He had surprised me. "Men, angel, we're like my mother's delicious fried chicken: tasty and crispy, but easy to know the recipe. The baby drools for you." I laughed and denied but James wouldn't let me speak.

"If he didn't like you so much, he wouldn't have dragged his own mother out of the club, like a lion hunting." James walked away from me when a boy asked him for juice and went to bring it to the cellar. And I... I stood there like a fool. Fried chicken How could James compare Edward to fried chicken?

Fuck, I'm surrounded by crazy people.

American bars: another name for the tube where they dance

Hello everyone! Well, it seems like Bella IS surrounded by crazy people. How can Edward be compared to fried chicken? It doesn't make any sense.