A/N- Most of you kind, beautiful people wanted outtakes, so here you go. First up is Edward's point of view of Chapters One through Three, condensed into this roughly 5,000 word nugget. I hope you enjoy watching the dear Captain squirm, he he he!
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Outtake One - EPOV
Captain Masen Catches the Feels
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I have a tradition. The night before my ship sets out on yet another cruise, I stop off at the best bar in town and have a few drinks for luck's sake. It isn't much of a tradition, I admit, but it does give me something to do.
"The best bar in town" happens to be inside the most elegant restaurant on the island. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling and violins play in the background. Normally I would avoid such a swanky place. Despite what my bank account may lead you to believe, I am a simple man with simple needs. What keeps me coming back here is the service. The bartender actually knows what he's doing. He is also friendly without being excessively nosy. It's a quality of character I truly appreciate.
The restaurant is packed tonight. The attached bar is substantially less crowded. I find my favorite stool and take a seat. It has an unobstructed view of most of the bar and restaurant, allowing me to people watch if I am inclined. Hank the bartender smiles when he spots me.
"Let me guess," he says. "Whiskey sour?"
"You've read my mind."
He chats while creating the drink. "Heading off on another cruise?"
"Three weeks with seven passengers," I confirm.
"Sounds like a lot of work."
"It is sometimes, but it sure as hell beats being stuck in an office all day."
"You got me there. Living on a luxury yacht must have its perks." He pours the finished drink into a glass and slides it over to me. "Ever thought about hiring someone to man the bar on Breaking Dawn? I'd put in an application."
"If you can double as a scuba instructor, I'll consider it."
He snaps his fingers. "Damn. I can't swim. Looks like I'll be a landlubber for the rest of my life."
"Nothing wrong with that," I reply wistfully. Sometimes I wish I could stay in one place too, put down roots... though I'll never say that out loud.
"Excuse me!" waves a patron a few seats away.
Hank nods in acknowledgement before turning back to me. "Let me know when you want another. Enjoy your drink."
After he leaves, I savor the first swallow. The sourness is perfectly balanced with the sweet. Neither overshadows the taste of the whiskey. It's the closest to heaven I'll ever get.
"Hello," purrs a voice into my ear.
Annoyed by the interruption, I turn towards the culprit. The bar stool to my right is now occupied by a woman. Her face is all hard angles and thin eyebrows. She might be considered pretty if not for the calculating glaze to her eyes.
"Drinking alone?" she asks huskily.
"Yes," I answer.
"I'm alone too." Her smirk does nothing to improve her general appearance. "We should join forces and keep each other company."
"No thanks. I'd rather concentrate on my drink."
Her confidence slips momentarily. Then, she laughs. "Oh, you almost got me there. For a second I thought you were serious!" Her hand comes to rest on the shoulder of my white dress shirt. The flame-red fingernails are pointed, reminding me of claws. "Tell me your name, stranger."
"Why?"
"So I'll know what to scream tonight when we're in bed."
And there it is: the pickup line. I was wondering how long it would take for her to get to the point. I throw back another swig of my drink before breaking the news to her.
"If sex is what you're after, you're going to be disappointed," I announce in dull monotone. "Better go find someone else willing to accommodate you."
"If I wanted someone else I wouldn't have come to you first." Her eyes narrow, stabbing like knives through the air. "Is this your way of saying that you're not interested in me?"
"Very perceptive."
"I don't believe this. Why not!"
Her shrill demand irritates me. I give her a brief appraisal before responding. "There's nothing physically wrong with you, per se. It's just that I have a type and you don't fit it." I glance again at the hand still planted possessively on my shoulder. Her fourth finger from the right has a suspiciously pale circle around it. "I also don't fuck around with married women, so it appears you were out of the running either way you look at it."
She snatches her purse off the bar and stands up. "Asshole!"
Interesting. She went directly into attack mode. I suppose my hunch was correct.
I lift my drink to her. "Cheers. Have a lovely night," I say sarcastically.
She stomps away, out the door and out of my mind. Good. Now I can drink in peace.
Although my dismissal of her may have been rude, I am no stranger to one night stands. Not so long ago I viewed them as a necessary evil. They were great at relieving tension before I went out to sea for weeks at a time. Years ago when Emmett and I made this island the ship's home port, I discovered early on that sleeping with a local was out of the question. Most people who live around here are devoutly religious. To them, propositioning for sex is the same as proposing marriage. Obviously, that put a damper on my sex life.
Locals usually avoid coming to this bar. They consider it unnecessarily expensive. Tourists are who keep this place going. They turned out to be the solution to my problem. Tourists come to the island, stay a few days, then they leave forever. They don't want your phone number or your full name. Nor will they ask if they can see you again in the near future. All they want from you is one night of no strings attached fun.
It was exactly what I had been looking for.
Once upon a time, I would come to this bar, grab a drink, and wait to see if anyone caught my eye. I admit I was picky about who I approached. On nights when I did find someone, the itinerary was always the same. I would follow them back to their hotel room, we would use each other for a while, and then I'd leave. It was a simple, mutually beneficial transaction and nothing more. Everyone went their separate ways with no hard feelings. It was perfect... until it wasn't.
I gulp down my drink as I think back on that night approximately one year ago. The woman was close enough to my type that I didn't reject her when she introduced herself. One thing led to another and I ended up sleeping with her. The sex itself was decent. I had no complaints. Afterwards I went to the bathroom to clean up. That's when I saw them plain as day out on the counter.
A wedding ring set.
I saw red.
Since she had already gotten what she wanted out of me, she didn't deny it when I confronted her with the evidence. There was a husband and kids back home. Apparently, she and a couple of friends were enjoying an all-girl vacation. She ditched the friends for the evening, found me, and deliberately led me to believe she was single.
I gathered up my shit and stormed out of the hotel. Never again, I vowed. No more one night stands. I'd rather live like a goddamn monk than risk messing with a woman who's a fucking liar and a cheater.
That's what bothered me the most. I was made a participant in an affair. Suddenly, I was no better than my brother.
Growing up, Peter had a bit of a competitive streak. He always had to be smarter, stronger, better than me at everything. My accomplishments were eventually, inevitably, overshadowed by his own.
Edward has a 3.7 GPA? That's nice, but mine is 3.9.
Edward was chosen as the pitcher on the baseball team? Wow. Oh, by the way, did you hear that Coach is making me quarterback?
And so it went for years. I learned to ignore the disappointment of always coming in as second best in my family. Then the one time I thought I earned something special that he couldn't take away, he proved me wrong.
Fucking Heidi.
Sixteen years have passed. I still wonder sometimes why she did it. I gave her everything. Heart, soul, money; you name it. All I asked in return was that she wait for me until I got out of the Navy. She agreed. Was I so replaceable that any man would do? Or, did Peter resemble me just enough to cleanse her conscience of wrongdoing?
The best I can say about her is she had a gift for writing pretty words. The last message she ever sent me is proof of that. At the time, I was a homesick seaman recruit stationed on a destroyer in the Atlantic. Every letter from home was a thing to treasure. Heidi's was no exception. She described how much she loved me, and how she was counting the days until we could be together again.
Unbeknownst to me, she was also seven weeks pregnant with Peter's baby.
If actions speak louder than words, what does that say about Heidi? I figured it out eventually. Underneath the makeup and gleaming-white smiles, she was - and most likely still is - a heartless, self-centered cow. As for Peter, I try to look at the bigger picture. He did me an enormous favor when he seduced my fiancée. Their affair turned marriage saved me from making the biggest mistake of my life. Love had blinded me from the truth: Heidi and I weren't compatible. She wanted a lavish lifestyle of social functions and country clubs that the Masen surname could provide. I could have given it all to her, but I would have sacrificed my own happiness in the process. So I'm not jealous Peter won her in the end. In my opinion, they deserve each other.
Finding my glass empty, I raise a finger to attract Hank's attention. He mixes up another drink and slides it over. I mumble my thanks but say nothing more. He nods and moves on to another customer. That's another thing I like about Hank. He knows when to speak and when to leave me alone with my thoughts.
I close my eyes as the alcohol works its magic, purging the subject of Peter and Heidi's betrayal from my mind. When I lower the glass from my field of vision, I once again look straight ahead. What I see strikes me dumb.
A woman has appeared at the far end of the bar. This isn't some random, ordinary woman.
She is my type personified.
My preference was introduced at an early age. My father was (and still is) a lifelong Lord of the Rings fan. He gifted me the books when I was ten, which I quickly read from beginning to end. I loved the adventure and loyalty among the fellowship. I also paid special attention to the description of Arwen Undómiel's unearthly beauty. When I saw the movie interpretation of the character, my type became forever sealed.
Dark hair. Striking eyes. Glowing skin. Pouty lips. Soft curves. To this very day, these are some of the physical qualities I appreciate in a woman.
My first girlfriend in high school had the dark hair, but her eyes were dull blue. Heidi had the striking eyes and hair, but her lips were thin and her figure lacked curves. That has been my problem from the start. Locating a woman with every trait I find attractive has been a challenge.
The lady at the end of the bar checks nearly every box.
Her hair is dark and glossy. The eyes are deep, sparkling, and lined in black. Even though her body is hidden underneath a sexy-as-hell cocktail dress, I can see that she has curves in all the right places. She sits daintily on the edge of a bar stool, bent over in order to adjust a shoe. It's one of those towering high heels that seem closer to works of art than legitimate footwear. I honestly have no clue how women manage to walk around in them - but I am extremely grateful they do. They make this woman's legs look like they go on for miles.
My grip around the drinking glass tightens as I watch her. I want those legs wrapped around me. I want to see that dress of hers pooled on the floor, as far away from her body as possible. I haven't wanted someone this bad in... well, ever. There's this pull in my chest, one that demands I close the distance between us. My self-control fights against this urge.
I am losing.
Surprisingly, I don't give a damn.
All I need is one night with her. Just one. If she allows it, I swear I'll never participate in another one night stand again. Why would I need to? I doubt any could match this one. Tonight I will be living out the fantasy I have held for well over twenty years.
I force my eyes closed. Look at me. What a pathetic excuse of a man I've become. All it takes is one pretty face to make me forget my vow? No. I need to be stronger than that. I should leave her alone. It would be the smart thing to do, the right thing to do.
My mind made up, I look away from temptation and focus on less interesting individuals scattered around. Hank is busy cleaning the bar with a rag. A middle-aged man is nursing a beer while scrolling through his phone. And in the corner, some punk I've never seen before is leering at my fantasy woman. The guy's beady little eyes say it all: He's moments away from slinking over and hitting on her.
Any control I had left snaps in half.
Fuck my vow. If anyone is going to proposition her tonight, it's going to be me.
As I'm preparing to make my move before dipshit beats me to it, the unexpected happens. The woman slides off the stool, smoothes down her dress, and leaves the bar behind without a second glance.
Looks like neither of us will be enjoying her company tonight.
To say that I am disappointed would be the understatement of the year. But, I must admit watching this woman walk away almost makes up for it. Her hips sway bewitchingly when she moves. Not forced or exaggerated, it's completely natural. And I haven't even mentioned her ass yet. In my eyes, it's perfect. Not too big or too small.
And the final box has been checked. This woman must have walked out of my dreams and straight into reality.
I'm still watching as she cuts through the restaurant. People (mostly male) seated at nearby tables stop mid-chew to stare. The woman never bats an eye. Either she knows she's getting lots of attention and doesn't care, or she is exceptionally unobservant.
The table where she chooses to sit is already occupied. A lone man greets her. His slicked back hairstyle combined with an irritatingly eager expression reminds me of a used car salesman about to close a deal. The two of them engage in a short conversation. I notice she shows a hint of disgust as she eats. Even that doesn't make her look any less attractive.
Jesus Christ. Stop watching this woman. She's with someone.
Somehow I gather the determination to look elsewhere. Resistance doesn't last long. My gaze is drawn back to her within seconds - just in time to see her sweep her tongue over her bottom lip.
What's gotten into me? I feel like a sex-starved teenager again. Where the hell did Hank wander off to? I need a stronger drink, stat.
Without warning, everything changes. The woman spits something into her napkin. The man makes a grab at it and goes down to one knee.
Goddamn. He has a ring.
"Bella, meeting you was the best thing that's ever happened to me," he loudly proclaims. "You are the light of my life, the apple of my eye, the cream in my coffee. Will you marry me?"
Wait a minute. That sounded familiar. Did this Bozo just quote directly from a cartoon? I mean, I like Who Framed Roger Rabbit? just as much as the next guy, but come on! This is a fucking proposal. What's next? A poem from SpongeBob?
The woman - Bella, evidently - freezes in the classic deer in headlights stance. Her complexion has paled to a sickly green. It appears the very idea of marrying this clown has her on the brink of vomiting. I predict she's going to run away screaming any second. In the meantime, everyone from diners to the waitstaff have stopped what they were doing in order to witness this proposal disaster in real time.
This should be entertaining.
Her obvious apathy gradually gives way to something else. First she straightens her posture. Her eyes take on a inexplicable gleam. Lifting her wine glass, she takes a long sip and finally acknowledges the poor guy still on his knee.
"Sure," she answers flippantly. "Why not?"
The restaurant erupts in cheers and polite applause. The guy - now her fiancé - shakes several hands offered in congratulations. Bella sits there thoroughly pleased with herself, like a cat who caught the canary.
I don't like it. I've seen bullshit like this before.
A memory transports me unwillingly to another time and place. I once asked someone I cared about to marry me. I was too excited at the time to realize the faces Heidi made weren't just from nerves. Her body language cried out "no" when I first popped the question, much like Bella just now. Then, something changed inside of her. She forced a smile and answered yes. Emmett thinks that's when Heidi remembered my trust fund. I had been her meal ticket up until Peter came along.
Thoroughly repulsed by the similarities, I flag down Hank and close my tab. I don't give a shit how beautiful that woman is over there. What she's doing is wrong. If she doesn't love the guy, she should stop playing games and tell him she's not interested.
I can't stand looking at them a minute more. I've got to get out of here. Now.
Free from the scene at the restaurant, I breathe in the warm night air as I shuffle down the sidewalk. I could have hailed a taxi but I decided the exercise would do me good. My walk is lonely but pleasant. All is peaceful at the harbor. Breaking Dawn is as it should be, stately and welcoming. She's easily the largest yacht in a hundred mile radius. She is also one of the few things I can be proud of.
Once upon a time, the ship had been a plaything for a billionaire... until he decided he wanted something bigger. Years later, Emmett and I were searching for a vessel to begin our soon-to-be diving cruise business. I found her languishing in a shipyard outside of Miami. The sun was just coming up. The rays lit the ship from behind, giving a mystical glow. I named her Breaking Dawn and made her mine. All the ship needed was a good cleaning and some new customizations to bring her back to life.
Emmett and I poured ourselves into the business. It grew beyond our expectations. We cater to small groups of tourists, ones who are willing to pay a great deal to visit exotic locales that can't be easily accessed. We're looking to expand in the near future. My goal is to one day have a fleet of ships touring the islands of the central and south Pacific. It will employ dozens. That's something this region needs more of - jobs.
Most of the interior lights of Breaking Dawn are off since we're not carrying passengers at this time. Emmett and I live below deck in the crew's quarters. It's more cramped, less luxurious, but easier to manage.
I discover my business partner and best friend sprawled on the couch. A wooden board with crackers and other shit is balanced on his lower half. He grabs the remote when he sees me and turns down the TV's volume.
"Hey! What are you doing back home so soon?"
I loosen my tie, buying me extra time to form a satisfactory answer. "The bar was dead. I got bored, so I left."
"Ah. The chick selection must've been lousy."
"That's right."
Lie.
Emmett adjusts the angle of his head and squints. "Hmm. That's funny. Lately when I've said that, you'd always respond with something like, 'I don't know. I wasn't paying attention.' So what does that mean, Edward? Were you actually looking for a woman tonight?"
I evade his surprisingly astute gaze. "No."
"Thank God," he utters in relief. "I'm glad you gave up that hook-up lifestyle for good. That was Step One. Step Two is finding a nice girl and settling down." Upon this optimistic declaration, he stuffs a cracker/cheese combo into his mouth and chomps loudly.
I huff, unamused. "Not happening."
"Why not? We're not getting any younger, dude. If we don't find babes soon, we'll be shit out of luck. I don't wanna be trapped in Bachelor City forever."
"Do whatever you want, Emmett. I'll be just fine there by myself."
He shakes his head and sighs. "Geez. Heidi really did a number on you."
"Yeah, she did - past tense. That was a long time ago and I'm over it now."
"If you were really over it, you would date and have relationships with women that last longer than one night. You, my friend, are in denial."
"I am not! Just because I refuse to put myself in a vulnerable position ever again doesn't mean there's something wrong with me."
Emmett stares for a stretch of time, not even blinking. Then, he makes a sound in the back of his throat, reminiscent of a telephone's ring. With his thumb and pinky finger extended, he places them to his ear and mouth.
"Hello? Oh, hey, Doctor Freud. What's up? You wanna speak to Edward about denial? Sorry, but he isn't ready to discuss it yet. Better check in some other decade. Maybe by then he'll finally admit he has a problem. Buh-bye."
I scowl at his performance. "You are absurd."
"Nope, I'm a hundred percent correct. You need to work on yourself, bro, before it's too late. One day some woman is going to walk into your life and knock you to your knees. You had better be ready."
"Highly unlikely, Emmett - though I admit it might make for an interesting subplot on your favorite daytime soap." I snatch a piece of cheese and a handful of smoked turkey slices from the charcuterie board he created. "I'm going to bed."
As I'm walking away and eating what I swiped, Emmett manages to get in the final word. "You wish! Days of Our Lives has better writers than that!"
Upon shutting my bedroom door, I finally relax. Emmett usually isn't so confrontational. He's the type who always sees the bright side of everything. Basically, he is my polar opposite. While I'm busy worrying over every little detail of the cruise, he's shmoozing the passengers and keeping them happy. I suppose that's why we work well as a team. He doesn't like to worry and I'd rather shoot myself than schmooze.
I unbutton my shirt and shove down my slacks. After a quick shower, I crawl into bed. Even with the lights off, I still see her. Images of the woman from the bar refuse to leave my head.
If I'm going to be awake anyway, I might as well make the most of it.
The bedside lamp clicks back on. Sliding open the drawer to my nightstand, I locate my notepad.
Drawing has always come naturally to me. Childish scribbles gave way to a more mature style as I aged. I've filled hundreds of notepads and sketch books over the years. I only draw things which interest me. Emmett knows about my hobby; my family does not. I'm sure my parents would have been proud, but they were never the problem. Peter, however... Well, if he had known I could draw, he would have ruined it for me somehow. I refused to give him the pleasure.
I flip to an empty page. From memory I recall how Bella looked tonight. Trying to capture her allure on paper proves to be a challenge. She exudes life, and sex appeal.
A shit load of sex appeal.
In spite of needing to wake up extra early tomorrow, I draw deep into the night. I am determined to get this drawing done while she is still fresh on my mind. My pencil works tirelessly to sketch out her sensuously crossed legs, wavy hair, and the inviting shape of her lips.
By the time the picture is complete, Bella looks real enough to step right off the page. The result has left me simultaneously exhausted and turned on. I could go hammer nails with the hard-on I'm sporting. Sleep is out of the question when it gets like this. That leaves me with little choice.
I must take matters into my own hands, so to speak.
I get comfortable and focus on the image I created. It's an almost perfect replica of a woman I'll never see again. I feel no shame in what I'm doing. Why should I? Indulging in a little fantasy never hurt anyone.
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The next day, Emmett and I are up before the sun rises. He gets a head start on prepping for future meals. I double check our supplies and the condition of the engine room. Although there's plenty of work to do, I keep getting distracted. Pervasive thoughts about a woman with flashing eyes and strawberry lips stay with me all morning.
Meilani, the lady who owns a local maid service, swings by with her crew to deep clean the passenger cabins and other living areas. They do such a good job, Emmett and I can usually get by with only doing light upkeep once we're out at sea. They're in and out by nine.
It's nearing ten in the morning when the first of our passengers arrive, consisting of an older gentleman, his wife, their grown daughter, and a young grandson. The wife seems especially excited to be here. The daughter is more subdued. Emmett escorts them to the seats positioned near the bow of the ship.
I head up to the wheelhouse and briefly monitor the radio. I also check to make sure all the navigation equipment is operational. Nothing appears amiss. The weather service indicates the area will receive periodic light rainfall in the days ahead, which is normal for this time of year.
While descending from the upper levels of the ship, I hear voices chattering on the main deck.
"She was so surprised at first, she didn't know what to say!"
Someone titters. "That is so sweet. Proposals can be rather overwhelming."
Curious, I look to find that the family who arrived earlier are no longer alone. Two additional passengers have joined them.
My feet slam to a halt on the stairs.
I don't fucking believe it. Fantasy woman and her clown fiancé are on my ship.
The fiancé continues to happily flap his gums to his audience, describing in detail how he proposed. Bella doesn't appear interested in participating in the conversation. She stares in my direction, saying not a word. And fuck me. Even without the curve-hugging black dress and elaborate makeup, she is a knock out. Her flowing white sundress and big Bambi eyes give her an appealing look of innocence.
But goddamn it. She's not innocent. I remember how she treated that hopeless moron last night. She doesn't love him at all. She must be using him for some fucked up reason. Her face may be that of an angel, but her heart is pure poison.
I bolt inside to the relative quiet of the lounge. However, true escape is impossible. I begin pacing back and forth. The enormity of the situation gets worse the more I think it over. Here's the rundown:
I am going to be trapped for the next three weeks with the most beautiful, engaged woman I have ever seen. And even with all the terrible things I know, every fiber of my being still craves her like a drug.
Nothing like this has happened to me before. I have always carefully separated my professional life from my private. One night stands and unobtainable fantasies are meant to stay on shore once I'm safely out at sea. They're not supposed to follow me! I am the captain of this ship. I have numerous responsibilities to uphold. I can't function normally when there's a femme fatale on board. What the hell am I going to do?
Thankfully, there's someone nearby who can help. Surely Emmett will think of a clever way to get me out of this. I'm willing to do just about anything to save myself from weeks of stress.
I find him stowing away the boarding plank. That means all seven passengers have arrived. He does a double take when he notices me.
"Dude, what's wrong? You look like you've just seen the Loch Ness Monster!"
"Shh! Lower your voice," I hiss. "I don't want the passengers to overhear."
"Oh, sorry. So what's up?"
"I'm in trouble, Emmett. It all started last night. I saw the most gorgeous woman at the bar. She... made me weak. I wanted her bad the instant I laid eyes on her."
Emmett stops me with a raised hand. "Hold on. I thought you said-"
"I know what I said! I lied, ok? I've never wanted someone like this before in my entire life. If I could, I would have thrown her over a shoulder, walked out of that bar, and had my way with her. The only reason I didn't was because I watched her get proposed to by someone else."
On hearing this information, his eyebrows lift slightly.
"Yeah. She's engaged now. You want to know the most fucked up part? She's been on my mind all night and all goddamn morning. It's driving me insane. The only thing that made me feel better was knowing I'd get rid of this... infatuation once I lost myself in my work." I huff in frustration. "But now that's been shot to hell. I could really use some advice on what to do right about now because..." I jab a thumb over my shoulder. "-Because she and her new fiancé are right over there."
Emmett gapes at me, stunned mute. I'm sure it's only a temporary reaction. He's never let me down before. I wait patiently for his words of wisdom.
"Bwahaha!" he cackles instead. "You... Her... Ha, ha, ha!"
He does nothing except laugh his ass off. All hope of saving myself dies.
I should have known he would be greatly amused by how quickly his prediction from last night came true. This woman has most definitely knocked me to my knees. I suppose I'll have to find my own way to stand back up.
Duty calls. I have no choice but to carry on as best as I can. Ignoring Emmett's hearty laughter, I slip on my mask of professionalism and march to where seven passengers await.
My speech before departure is always the same. I welcome our guests, go over the rules, and talk about safety. I wisely avoid looking at the tempting brunette nearby.
My luck, however, remains at shit level.
The person who volunteered to demonstrate how to put on a life jacket continually makes eyes at me. She's blonde, weirdly top-heavy, and doesn't look old enough to drink a beer. Then there's Emmett. He keeps smiling and winking at Bella just to piss me off. Last but certainly not least, her fiancé makes an ass of himself when he cracks some x-rated joke about manholes, not seeming to care that the small child on board could have overheard.
Fuck my life. This is going to feel like the longest cruise in history.
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A/N-
Part Two of Edward's pov will be posted in around one week. The poor guy has a little (ok, a lot) of trouble dealing with his feelings, and Emmett enjoys Edward's torment way too much!
Thanks for reading. :-)
