Full Summary

A serious field accident ended Edward Cullen's career as a war correspondent six years ago, and left him with more scars than are visible to the naked eye.
After a personal and professional betrayal uprooted her life in Europe, Isabella Swan has navigated a sexist and elitist industry by smashing stereotypes and glass ceilings everywhere, one concert and one social media post at a time.
They have nothing in common, until their worlds collide one fateful day for an interview that can't be rescheduled.
What kind of havoc will Isabella's appearance wreak on Edward's monotonous, solitary life?

OlderWard. PianistElla. Set in Boston.


Thank you for joining me on this new journey.

Big thanks to Team Momo who work tirelessly to help me make this readable.
Alice's White Rabbit and Midnight Cougar are in the editing chairs. AGoodWitch, IAmBeagle, Driving Edward and RobsmyyummyCabanaBoy pre-read.
I continue to own nothing of this, it's all SM's sandbox and I just like to play in it - with EditorWard.

Thank you for all the alerts and reviews! I treasure each and every one of them.
Reminder that if you ask questions and are not signed in, I have no way of replying to you.
Also, blanket advice for the story: there are a lot of moving parts and details to bear in mind. If you skim, you'll miss them.
In general, let it all unfold slowly. Operative word there being SLOWLY. This will be a slow burn.
These early chapters are short, but they will get considerably longer starting from chapter 4. So bear with me for a couple weeks, pretty please?


BEHIND THE IVORIES – CHAPTER 2

THE BACK BAY TATLER – May 2014

The Back Bay Tatler dot com - askalicealready

ASK ALICE ALREADY

Our resident advice columnist Alice Brandon-Hale answers life's burning questions.
Share your quandaries—moral and otherwise—with Alice at Ask_Alice_Already at BackBayTatler dot com.


Dear Alice,

How do you come back from a two-pronged backstabbing, both professional and personal?

I'll give you as much context as I can. I work in a niche industry where everyone knows everyone and cliques can be vicious. Because I'm a born contrarian, I've long rejected the mold I was expected to fit, again both personally and professionally. Professionally, it's been, in equal measures, a struggle and a great satisfaction, but I won't complain. When I decided to stick to my dream and my inclination—which I knew would lead to some professional clashes and some ostracism—I went for it with my eyes wide open and, I hoped, with the support of my nearest and dearest.

Given how insular and peculiar my line of work is, a lot of people end up with significant others from the same industry or in adjacent professions. I was no different. Was—because as of last night, I no longer have a significant other. And I found out in the most devastating, humiliating way. At our engagement party. A lavish engagement party I didn't really want but went along with because it meant a lot to him. Announcing the engagement to all and sundry was also his idea, but I went along with it because, again, it meant a lot to him.

What would have meant a lot to me would have been not to find him in a dark room, out of the way of our guests, with his pants down and pistoning his hips into his boss's daughter.

What would have meant a lot to me would have been not to discover that his support of me was all a front.

What would have meant a lot to me would have been a minute of honesty.

He couldn't—or wouldn't—spare any of it for me.

Again, because of how insular this industry is, everyone who's anyone in it knows what happened at that party. I also no longer have a network of friends or work acquaintances. It doesn't affect my job, per se, or my ability to stay employable, for which I can now thank my contrarian tendencies. But it affects a lot of professional and personal relationships. It affects the environment I have to contend with, professionally, for part of my time. It has tainted the experience of living in a city I loved—every memory and place in it is now tainted with the bitter aftertaste of his betrayal. Of their betrayal. Of their two-faced mendacity.

So I'm wondering, dear Alice, and I'm asking you, would it be so terrible if I bailed on this city, this environment, and this lot of duplicitous professional and personal connections to get a fresh start for myself somewhere else?

Would it be quitting?

I'm wondering.

Choc B Flat


Dear Choc,

May I call you Choc? I hope you won't mind if I do.

You're not providing a lot of details about your situation, but the key brushstrokes of the entire clusterfuck are clearly painted in your letter.

You also mentioned a few things you did for his sake. I'm not in a position to judge why or how you came to those decisions, and it's simply not up to me to do that. But allow me one question for you—food for thought, if you will—was he ever as amenable to your wishes and needs?

Instead, I could wax poetic about resilience, about the value of not quitting, and spout all sorts of platitudes along the lines of "if you quit they win."

But it would be a crock of steaming horse manure. What happened to you was awful, painful, and humiliating. But you shouldn't be confronted with it every time you go for a coffee. You are not the one who behaved like a two-timing bastard. He did. They did.

Resilience has zero value if it ends up making your life toxic. Embrace your contrarian side and fly free into that fresh start you crave. If that industry is so cliquish, maybe it was a great idea to escape their clutches to start with. Go for it 100 percent. Leave the toxic baggage behind.

Stop wondering. Start planning your great escape.

Alice


So, who is Alice's secret advice-seeker? Any good guesses?
More on that next week.