Charles Swan wanted to spend Easter with his daughter.
Considering the fact that neither of them were particularly religious, she gathered that he had a particular reason to want to speak with her or that his last set of holidays had been lonely. Since her last set of holidays had been lonely, she agreed.
They met for brunch at a halfway point between Allentown and New York. He had made the reservations. It was a nice place, but not nice enough that Isabella wished she had access to her upscale wardrobe that had long since been donated to a non-profit that helped women enter into the workforce. Her $40 pastel dress from Macy's allowed her to fit in enough with the Easter crowd.
Since she was skeptical that her father actually wanted to commemorate the resurrection of Jesus, she ordered a mimosa. And when the waiter informed her there was a bottomless option, she upgraded.
"So," she said, sipping the orange juice and champagne. They had made small talk about the weather and traffic already. "What's up?"
"Can't a father spend a holiday with his daughter?" It was like he had been waiting to say it.
Isabella nodded. "He can. Even if the inclination is rare."
"We know that goes both ways," he said, accusing her of the same thing.
Another sip. Another nod.
"That being said, I did have something I had been meaning to talk to you about." There was a hint of a smirk on his lips and Isabella rolled her eyes in what she hoped would be viewed as playful.
"I told Dick about this whole Scotland situation when we were golfing down in Mar-a-Lago," he said casually, setting a manila envelope on the table between them. Isabella frowned and took another sip of her drink, well actually this time it was a gulp.
"And by situation you mean…"
"The accusation of marriage fraud and forgery."
Isabella raised an eyebrow but did not say anything.
"Well, he thought it best to give Salmond a call and work the whole mess out before anything got ugly."
Isabella recognized that name.
"You asked the former Vice President, Dick Cheney, to call the First Minister of Scotland about my marriage?" she asked incredulously.
"He volunteered," Charles clarified.
Isabella was speechless.
"Here's what I can do for you," he continued without acknowledging her tone, "after investigation, Salmond found that there was no case for forced marriage. That law was meant to catch mail-order brides, not you."
Isabella nodded, still clutching her mimosa tighter than she realized.
"Now, the forgery piece was legally an issue. They had to revoke that Rupert guy's license and-"
"He had just retired!"
Charles leveled her with a hard stare.
Apparently he knew that and didn't think she was giving him enough credit. Or he didn't appreciate the interruption, it was difficult to say with her father.
"And he's to pay a thousand pound fine."
"I'll pay it," she said immediately.
"No you won't. Nothing that smells of corruption or bribery," he said firmly. "It's just a thousand."
"That's a lot of money for people, Dad," she replied coolly.
Charles sighed but dropped the argument.
"Despite that, they decided that your marriage is recognized as legally binding in Scotland."
Any argument about the fine fled from Isabella's mind.
She was still married. Legally married.
To Edward. Edward James Godfrey Cullen MacDonald.
"And that's where these come in," he said, handing her the envelope. Rather than tell her what was in it, he made her set down the now empty glass and open it herself.
"Divorce papers?" she said quietly, not looking up from the black and white print.
Charles hummed an affirmative.
"If you want, they would need your signature and Mr. MacDonald's. It can be done over fax, you wouldn't need a notary."
Later, back at her house with a glass of wine (she couldn't bring herself to buy whisky), she read through the papers again. And she realized that with three words, her father had forgiven her and accepted her all at once.
"If you want."
~O~
At the end of winter Edward finally ran into MacLeod at the petrol station outside of Portree. He had not noticed him when he first got out of his car, rubbing his hands together for warmth against the cold air. It wasn't until he inserted his battered debit card that he noticed that he was on the pump directly in front of him.
As soon as Edward looked up, MacLeod looked down. He seemed determined to stare at his car hood as the gas filled.
It was a nice car, Edward nodded to himself.
Still a wanker, he also thought to himself.
But then he let out a sigh.
Sleat was safely under Diageo's checkbook and management. The contract had gone through before Sleat would have been in serious trouble from the rapid withdrawal of funds when Edward had written the check to return Bella her money.
It was over. She was gone.
He wished she wasn't. He could admit that to himself now after thinking about it so long. He had overreacted and lost her. He had fallen right into MacLeod's hands; the man knew what he thought of bankers and used it against him, catching him by surprise.
But even though she was gone, Sleat remained with the MacDonalds.
Yet it didn't feel over.
Against his better judgment, Edward growled under his breath and then called, "MacLeod."
The banker looked up from his car with a hard stare, sent him a quick nod, and then stared back at the hood.
"I wanted to apologize," Edward continued, meaning to shock him.
It worked.
MacLeod's eyes snapped up.
"Fer whit?" he asked coldly.
"I dinnae ken about my da and what he did to yer maw. I'm sorry about it."
That seemed to have been the last thing MacLeod was expecting him to say.
"Aye, well…" He trailed off.
"I hope she's doing awright," Edward added sincerely.
Perhaps MacLeod was tired of the anger too, because he simply nodded.
"Awright," he said in acceptance of the apology.
They wouldn't shake hands and they wouldn't say any more on it.
But it was finished
~O~
By the time June rolled around, the stream of tourists was starting to pick up. Recession or not, the Isle of Skye still was a magical place and people knew it. Carlisle and Jasper were both working full-time at the distillery, leaving the work at the inn and on the fishing boats. Robert and Ian were still part time, but the work had been regular for them, a welcome fact given how tight money had been that winter.
After Isabella left, Edward had forced himself to get a better handle on the financial aspects of the business. He cared little how the numbers were formatted but he recognized that other people cared a lot about how they were formatted. It meant more time in the office, time where he would sit and gaze out the window at the view of the loch next to the distillery. He had seen Isabella do it plenty of times, afterwards shyly admitting that it reminded her of the grandparents that raised her.
He still thought about her all the time.
He missed her.
Jasper thought he needed to move on, but after bringing it up once and nearly having his head bitten off by Edward, he didn't bring it up again.
Esme still seemed to think that she would return.
Part of him had thought that Esme was right. Had hoped so anyway.
But weeks had turned into months and she had not come back.
It was his hope that the summer months, their busiest months, would be the distraction he needed to finally get back to normal. He didn't much care for the person he had become since she left; he was short with his family, easily irritable, and overall not much fun to be around. He could see it happening, almost as if he was watching a show, powerless to do anything other than let it play its course.
Edward blinked, wondering how long he had been staring at the loch. His tea had long since gone cold and he had forgotten what he had been doing sitting at the desk in the first place. He rubbed at his eyes and stared at the mug. His mother considered it a sin to reheat tea in the microwave, always insisting that a new pot be made instead.
Oh maw.
He'd been thinking about her a lot since his wedding. Seeing Isabella in her dress had only been the catalyst of his thoughts on her. He desperately wished he could talk to her. Or his father. He needed their counsel.
The phone on the desk rang.
He hoped it wasn't Diageo.
They were turning out to be nightmares. At first it wasn't bad. But the consultants who had been assigned to Sleat called every bloody day to walk through their growth plan with him. They called about logos, websites, the distilling process, bottle suppliers…every bloody thing they wanted to change.
And yet it was the decision he made and he had to live it.
With a sigh of duty, he picked up the phone. He was filled with relief when it turned out to be Carlisle.
"Someone is here with a question about the distilling history who wants to talk to ye," Carlisle told him. Before Edward could respond, he continued, "Aye, I'll send 'em in."
Had he been listening, he would have noticed that this is exactly how Carlisle described his mother's reason for barging into his father's office all those years ago.
There was a knock on the door, to which he replied with a holler, "Come in!"
In walked Bella.
She looked nervous, he immediately noticed. She was clutching a large purse with both of her hands and her body was tense. Yet her face…God she was so beautiful.
Edward realized he hadn't said anything.
How many times had he laid awake, envisioning this exact moment? Thinking of it as a fantasy, not as something that would actually happen. He scrambled to remember what he had envisioned himself doing in this scenario.
"Hi," she finally said after he just stared at her.
Edward swallowed.
"Hi," he said.
It seemed she hadn't remembered what her plan was either.
"You came back," he said. He wasn't sure if it sounded like an accusation or a veneration.
"I came back," she repeated. He watched as it seemed a war took place. The woman who had burst into the distillery originally, offering her hand in marriage to save it from an unknown banker, wanted to come out, but Isabella kept her back.
"I um, have something for you," she finally said, reaching into her giant purse and pulling out a packet of papers.
Edward was silent as she set them in front of him.
Petition to divorce.
He swallowed as if trying to physically swallow down the hurt and anger that boiled up in him. No word for months and then she shows up with divorce papers for him to sign?
Perhaps he truly hadn't known the real her.
He swallowed again.
Then he noticed.
"Ye have no signed them."
"No," she agreed, "I haven't."
Edward set the papers flat on the desk.
"Why have ye come back, Bella?" It was said calmly, even with some tenderness.
He hadn't been expecting her eyes to well up with tears at the question. He couldn't help the look of concern that spread across his features.
"I quit my job at the firm the day after I left Scotland. I sold the house. Well, actually I gave it back to the Montgomery's and I think they sold it. I moved out, taking only some of my stuff and donating the rest. I wanted to get out of Wall Street, out of New York. And then my grandparents' house was for sale from a lovely couple that just wanted to move to Florida. And they left furniture that they said was nice, and it actually was quite nice. And then I made a resume. And I got a job as a manager of a small museum. I went on one date and it ended by 6:30pm. And then I tried to take up cooking as a hobby and it only made me think of you. Actually everything made me think of you. Every morning and usually the rest of the day. I considered repairing my relationship with my father but I think we both realized there wasn't really a relationship to repair in the first place. And then I thought about gardening but my heart wasn't in it. I've even been talking to a therapist about Jake and his death and the collapse of morals on Wall Street and how I maybe could have prevented it. I think that will be a "what if" that I am doomed to live with forever. And then after all of that, I got the information that our marriage was legally recognized by the Scottish government and that you have been officially cleared of any potential criminal punishment and um- here I am."
Edward tried to follow her rambling but got lost somewhere with the cooking piece where she admitted she thought about him all the time. He was glad to know he had not been alone in that. How many times had he gazed at the kitchen stool where she had sat each morning, sipping coffee while he prepared breakfast?
But she wasn't finished.
"All that to say, I tried to build a life. I tried to build a life that I wanted to live, a life that I was proud of, a life that was mine, not that of a husband or father. I thought you didn't want to see me again…and so, so I tried to get back to the person I was when I was younger, before the world told me what and who to be."
He didn't breathe.
"And?" he finally asked, not sure if he wanted the answer.
"And I failed miserably," she admitted, her whole body tired.
He watched as she took a deep breath, looking as if the tears might spill over onto her lovely cheeks. She looked at him with so many emotions that he would never be able to name them all. But he saw fear. He saw trust.
"You make me the Bella I want to be."
And then she was wrapped up in his arms and together they took the first real breath either of them had had in months.
He was squeezing her so tight against him that he didn't even notice that some tears had leaked out of his eyes. He was consumed with relief that she was back. He could not even fathom why he had wanted her to go in the first place. It had been a moment of anger that he should have never allowed to surface.
Finally, the two of them broke apart. Each of them laughed breathlessly when they saw the matching tears of joy.
He rested his forehead against hers, cradling her face in both of his hands, forcing her to look up at him.
There was more that needed to be said.
Yet, when he opened his mouth, all that came out was, "Ye have come so far. Are ye hungry?"
A startled laugh burst through her lips as he nuzzled his nose against hers.
"According to those papers, ye are still my wife, and ye'll remember how I feel about keep-"
"Keeping your wife fed," she finished for him with a smile. "I vaguely recall."
Edward kissed her forehead.
"Let's go then."
more to discuss. not much...but a wee bit more.
feeling lost as I finish this story and wait for my next plot to captivate me. or perhaps this is it for me? unlikely, but oh how I've grown all these years on this site.