19

The hostess shifted her wide, blue eyes from the podium in front of her, first looking at me and then at Carlisle. Her expression turned from pleasant to excitement when she looked at him, and I suspected that she knew exactly who he was. Just how powerful was the Cullen name in San Francisco?

"We're meeting —" Carlisle started, but stopped when the hostess interrupted.

"He's already here, sir."

And without giving either of us another look, she turned and led us through the restaurant to a set of double doors in the back, the kind that always led to small, private rooms where they slaughter unsuspecting fiancé of sons who are at a station below what they deem worthy. Or not. Maybe I was letting my imagination get the best of me, but it was becoming clear that I wasn't in Forks anymore. San Francisco was like being on another planet, one where people were sophisticated and glamorous. I wasn't that kind of person. I wore jeans and T-shirts, I drank from the milk carton, and enjoyed dancing to Joan Jett in just my panties. Would I belong in Carlisle's world?

The hostess gripped both handles, turned them, and pushed the doors open before stepping to the side and allowing the two of us to enter. My legs felt heavy and it if wasn't for Carlisle's hand stroking the bare skin at the stop of my exposed shoulders, I wouldn't have been able to walk into the room, but as always, he gave me the strength to face his world.

Sitting at a table set for three was his father. Tall, thin, and handsome, he had the same blond hair and blue eyes that Carlisle had. The only difference came in the wrinkles biting into his skin, mostly around the corners of his eyes and lips. He stood up, placing his hand on his stomach as his lips turned into a pleasant smile.

"Carlisle," he said, reaching out to his son with his other hand.

Carlisle stepped away from me and walked over to his father, taking his hand before leaning up and wrapping his arm around him in one of those awkward one-armed hugs that men seemed to do all the time. When Carlisle took a step backward, his father brought his hand up to his face, smiling and shaking his head.

"You look . . . good," he said, softly. "Really good."

"So do you," Carlisle replied before he turned and face me. "I'd like you to meet someone."

His father shifted his eyes to me, not hiding the fact that he looked down the length of my body before once again catching my eye. "Oh, yes, the new girlfriend."

And there was something in the way he said girlfriend that had me on edge. It wasn't rude, or even harsh, just awkward and he had me nervous. Carlisle gave him a look before he walked over to me, slid his arm around my waist, and gently nudged me forward. "It's fiancée, actually," he said, and his father lifted an eyebrow in question. "Isabella has agreed to marry me."

"I see," he said, his tone tight. He looked back at me. "Isabella, it's nice to meet you. I'm Peter Cullen."

"Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Cullen," I murmured. "But please call me Bella. I'm afraid Carlisle is the only one I allow to call me Isabella."

"It's Dr. Cullen, actually, but you may call me Peter," he said, smiling and offering me his hand. Sharing a look with Carlisle first, I slowly placed mine in his. He shocked me by lifting my hand up to his lips, placing a kiss on my knuckles. "My sons didn't do you justice, my dear. They said you were beautiful, but that's simply not true." And before I could be offended, he added, "You're exquisite."

"Dad," Carlisle groaned. "Stop flirting with her."

Peter laughed, but nodded and released my hand. He turned and gestured to the table. "Please, sit."

Before Carlisle could pull out a chair for me, Peter did. I felt my skin warm as I slid into the seat, placing my hands in my lap. Carlisle sat on one side of me while Peter took the chair on the other side. For a moment, the three of us just sat there in silence, the weight of the evening resting on all three of our shoulders.

Peter cleared his throat as he leaned over and grabbed a bottle of wine, holding it up. "Bella, would you like a glass?"

"Um," I said, looking at Carlisle first. "No. I'm not much of a drinker. Plus, the whole being underage thing."

Peter nodded. "Of course." He filled his wine glass before offering the bottle to Carlisle.

"No, thank you," he replied. "I'm driving."

Placing the wine back onto the table, Peter picked up his glass and took a sip. "How are the boys?"

"They're good," Carlisle said with a smile. "Michael got all A's, something he's very proud of, and Tyler just read his first book all on his own. He insisted on reading it to both me and Isabella over the phone."

Peter smiled. "That's great. I bet they're getting big."

Carlisle nodded. "Maybe you should have come visit over Christmas like I asked. Then you would know just how big they've gotten."

Peter inhaled a sharp breath before he shifted his eyes to me. "Tell me, Bella, has my son told you what a cold-hearted bastard I am?"

I could feel Carlisle's attention shift to me as I replied, "Yes. And I'm starting to believe he was right."

I expected the man to scowl, or grimace, even lash out at me with rage, but he didn't. Peter leaned back in his seat and smiled. The man fucking smiled as I insulted him right to his face. "I didn't handle it well when my wife became ill, I'm afraid," he said and Carlisle snorted, drawing his father's attention to him. "Your mother was my world, Carlisle. I loved her, and watching her suffer gutted me."

"I know," Carlisle said. "And you blamed me for not being there, for abandoning her. I lost my mother, Dad, and instead of letting me grieve, you called me a coward, accused me of being selfish and ungrateful for everything I had."

Peter pressed his lips together. "You're right, I did, and I can't change the way I behaved. No matter how much I want to, no matter how much I regret the way I reacted."

I shifted my eyes to Carlisle, whose jaw was tight and rigid, and I felt very out of place. They shouldn't be having this conversation with me sitting here, they should be in private, somewhere where they won't draw attention. I reached over and placed my hand on top of Carlisle's, who looked over at me. His eyes softened, and I saw a bit of the tension in his shoulders ease away.

"What are you doing here?" Carlisle asked, looking at Peter. "Why did you want to have dinner? You haven't spoken to me in six months? Why reach out to me now?"

"Because of her," he answered, tilting his head toward me.

"Me?" I blurted out, drawing his attention to me.

"Yes, Bella." He laughed, and based on the look of shock on Carlisle's face, he hadn't seen his father this relaxed in a long time. "When Garrett and Marcus told me about you, I have to admit that I was sure you were —"

"Be very careful how you end that sentence, Dad," Carlisle groused. "Isabella and I have heard it all. She's not like that, and I'm not going to sit here and listen to you badmouth her."

"I wasn't planning on badmouthing her," Peter said, defending himself. "I was just going to say that when I first heard that you and Bella had started seeing each other, I was sure she was, like most girls her age, immature."

"That's just a polite way of calling me a child," I drawled, not missing the underlying insult hidden in his words.

"That was not my intention," he backpedaled.

"Wasn't it?" I challenged. "You don't know me. You don't know what I've been through, so I can understand why you'd assume that I was some silly, school girl, who likes the idea of playing house with the older man. But that's not me, not the real me. Whatever your sons have told you about me is only a smidge of who I am. Carlisle knows me, he understands how . . ." I trailed off, struggling to find the words to explain just how much Carlisle had done for me. "I'm naïve; I can admit that. When Carlisle and I gave in to our feelings and made the decision to be together, I didn't anticipate the way people would look at us. I don't see him as a man ten years older than me. I see him as the man who welcomed me into his life, gave me two little boys to love, gave me . . . a safe place to hide when my mother drank herself into a stupor and called me a whore, Peter."

The man's eyes darkened, yet he didn't say anything.

"I wasn't prepared for her to turn on me, to hit me, and leave me. You think you know me, because Garrett and Marcus told you about my mother dying? You don't know anything about me, about how alone I've been since my father was shot and killed while responding to a breaking and entering call, how my mother preferred to lose herself in a bottle of vodka than talk to me because I was a constant reminder of the love she lost. And I wasn't prepared to have my classmates mutter under their breath and call me a slut, about me being easy because I fell in love with your son. And I certainly wasn't prepared for my teacher to attack me, to attempt to rape me because he assumed that since I was so willing to fuck Carlisle that I must be a whore and willing to fuck him, too," I snarled, my temper getting the better of me.

"Isabella," Carlisle whispered, giving my hand a gentle squeeze, but I kept my attention on Peter, waiting for his reaction.

I expected him to be outraged that I would dare speak to him so rudely, scold me for being an audacious child, demand that Carlisle end his relationship with me, and send me packing, not that Carlisle would do that. I knew that if he had to choose between his father and me that he would pick me, but I didn't want him to have to make that decision. I had, I'd picked my love for him over my mother and it had driven her insane and in the end, she'd killed herself.

However, Peter simply turned his attention toward our server, who had been waiting patiently next to the door. "We're ready for our appetizers," he said, before looking back at me and Carlisle. "I took the liberty of ordering ahead. I hope you don't mind."

"Depends on what you ordered," I quipped.

Beside me, Carlisle laughed. "That was presumptions, Dad. After all, for all you know Isabella could be deathly allergic to whatever you ordered."

Peter smirked. "Bella doesn't have any allergies. I checked."

"What? You checked up on me?" I asked.

Peter scoffed. "Of course I did. Did you really think I would meet you for dinner without knowing everything I could about you?" He shook his head. "My dear, while I appreciate your fierceness and protectiveness of my son, it's my job to safeguard my families interests. Richard Gerandy told me all about you and your relationship with my son."

Pressing my lips together, I shifted my eyes to Carlisle, and based on how tight his jaw was clenched together, he didn't appreciate his father's behavior any more than I did. Peter, however, appeared to be unphased by the expression on his son's face, or the outrage on mine. He leaned forward, picked up his wine glass, and took a hearty drink.

"My son is awfully dramatic, don't you think, Bella?" he asked.

"No," I said, honestly. "What gives you the right to delve into my life like that?"

Peter smirked. "Seeing as my son is worth a great deal of money, Bella, I believe that I have every right to protect his asset, as well as my grandsons' assets."

I simply stared at him. "You think I'm after his money?"

"Are you?" he countered. "I don't mean to be insensitive, but you have nothing, Bella. Your father's pension and retirement fund from the police department barely saved your house. Your mother didn't have any savings. From where I'm sitting, you don't have two dimes to rub together."

Closing my eyes for just a moment, I released a deep breath before I looked over at Carlisle. "I'm sorry."

"About what?" he asked.

However, instead of answering him, I pushed away from the table, grabbed Peter's wine glass and threw the liquid in his face, not that he reacted. "Fuck you," I snarled. "I don't give a fuck about Carlisle's money, and for you to sit there and insinuate otherwise is not only insulting but goddamn outrageous!" I slammed the glass back onto the table. "And as for your good friend, Dr. Gerandy, that son of a bitch had done nothing but abuse his power at the hospital, put my well-being in danger after he threw your son out of my hospital room less than twenty-four hours after I suffered a head injury, thanks to my mother. Not only that, but he dared to show up to my mother's funeral and call me a selfish bitch. So you'll forgive me if I don't give a fuck what that asshole thinks about me or Carlisle. Honestly, I don't give a fuck what you think about me," I spat.

I turned to walk away, but stopped when Peter reached out and grabbed my arm. However, before I could tell him to release me, I felt his hand get ripped off of me and looked over my shoulder to see Carlisle with his father pinned up against the nearest wall.

"Do not ever put your hands on her," Carlisle snarled.

"I'm sorry," Peter said, putting his hands up in defense. "I just wanted to explain myself."

Carlisle released his hold on his father and took a step back. "If you had questions about Isabella, you should have called me. I would have told you everything about her, but as usual, you can't be bothered to talk to me."

"I'm sorry. You're right. I just knew that if I called you and asked about her, that you'd automatically become defensive, and the last thing I want is to fight with you, Carlisle."

"Then you shouldn't start them," he argued. "I've never once hidden my life from you, but instead of coming to me, you go to Dr. Gerandy? Really? After everything that he's done to us, you went to him?"

"I went to him because I knew that he would tell me his side of the events that lead to your decision to sue the hospital. I also know that he's a bastard, and he only tells the parts that make him look like a martyr, which is why I disregarded eighty percent of what he told me." Peter shifted his attention to me. "I am truly sorry if I offended you, Bella. That was not my intention."

I took a deep breath and tried to keep my tears from falling. "I am in love with Carlisle. He is in love with me. And neither of us have room in our lives for anyone who won't support us. You have a choice to make, Peter; you can stand beside your son or you can continue to push him away. Either way, I'm his forever."

Carlisle looked over at his father for a moment before he turned and walked over to me, wrapped his arm around my waist, and led me out of the room, leaving his father standing there with a flabbergasted expression on his face.

—TB—

The moment we got back into our hotel room, I dropped my purse on the couch and walked out onto the balance, needing the fresh air. Dinner hadn't gone as I expected, not that I had high expectations. Carlisle had told me that his father was a bastard, and he wasn't wrong. I couldn't believe that he'd invaded my privacy like that, that he'd sat there and accused me of using Carlisle for his money. Was I trading the hell of Forks for the hell of San Francisco? Was I going from being a naïve girl who allowed him to woo me into a relationship to being a money-grubbing whore who only saw him as someone able to finance my future?

From inside the suite, I heard Carlisle turn on some music, and when I looked over my shoulder, I saw him standing in the doorway. He'd taken his jacket and tie off and had unbuttoned several buttons on his shirt, leaving him looking sexy. God, he was beautiful.

"Thank you," he laughed, and I cringed, not realizing that I'd said that out loud. "But for the record, I think you're the beautiful one."

"You do?" I asked, feeling my skin warm.

He nodded and walked over to me, sliding his hands on my hips and tugging me toward him. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"For what?"

He sighed. "My father. I knew it was a mistake to go to dinner. A part of me hoped that, I don't know, maybe he'd see you, the real you, and understand why I love you."

"It's not your fault," I murmured, sliding my hands inside his shirt and placing them on his chest. Carlisle shivered.

Smirking, I took a step backward and reached to the left side of my dress and slowly lowered the zipper. Letting the dress pool at me feet, I smirked when Carlisle's eyes drifted down my body, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip. I was only wearing a pair of black lace panties and thigh high stockings and the black heels he'd ordered to go with the dress.

He grabbed the front of his shirt and ripped it open the rest of the way, sending buttons flying as he tore it off his body. Flinging it to the side, he then moved his hands to his belt, but stopped when I pushed his hands out of the way and began undoing it myself.

Without a word, I pulled the belt from the loops on his pants, tossing it onto the ground and yanked the button and zipper open with force. Carlisle moaned as I slipped my hand inside, gripping his cock through his boxer-briefs. Sliding my hands to his hips, I slipped them inside his boxers-briefs, reached back and grabbed his ass before shimming his pants and boxers down to his feet. His cock was hard and long.

I shifted my eyes up to his before I lowered myself to my knees and wrapped my lips around his tip.

"Oh, Jesus fuck," he groaned, his hand coming to the back of my head. He pulled the clip out, allowing my hair to fall around my face. I kept my eyes locked on his as I swirled my tongue around his slit and then slid him into my mouth, letting him hit the back of my throat. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Inwardly, I smirked as I began to move my mouth of him, massaging him with my tongue before slipping my lips to the end and starting the process over again and again. I made love to his cock, feasted on him, needed him to want me. And he did. The soft moans and mumbled curse words were my affirmation that he wanted me, that he needed me. He was mine and I was his, and we'd face our lives together. Us and the boys.

Just as I was sure he was about to come, Carlisle grabbed my arm, pulling me to my feet and spinning me around so that my back was toward him. His hands were inside my panties, pulling them down before I could take as much as a breath.

Wrapping his arm around my torso so that his fingers were brushing my pussy, his other hand came up to my breast. He fondled my nipple as he bent our bodies forward, shifted his hips forward, and filled me. I gasped, the feeling of him inside of me like this always took my breath away, but there was something raw and real about the way he was taking me, the way he was reinforcing his claim over my heart, soul, and body.

"I love you so fucking much, Isabella," he growled, his lips nipping at the crest of my ear. "I can't wait until you're my wife. I'm going to wake you up every morning by tasting you on my tongue. And every night, I'm going to make love to you. You will never doubt how much I love you, baby. Never."

"I love you, too," I gasped, barely able to put the four words together with the way he was making me feel. I reached behind me and grabbed his hips, letting him set the pace.

"Never leave me," he whispered.

"Never," I echoed.

"Never stop needing me," he murmured.

"Never," I repeated.

As Carlisle made love to me, as our bodies trembled with our mutual climaxes, I was overwhelmed by the emotions building inside of me. The simple way he touched me, the way he made sure I knew that I wasn't some foolish girl to him, but a woman. No, the woman he loved, the woman who had given him a reason to laugh and smile. Where Carlisle gave me hope for a future I didn't know I wanted, I realized that I had given him the same. We were forever, and I knew that regardless of who approved or disapproved, we'd fight through hell to be together.

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