Hello people! Happy Holidays!
This is a short holiday fic I'm posting daily from Christmas Day until New Year's Eve, and it's my end of year gift to Team Momo.
I gave them all a break for this one, and left the red pen to Midnight Cougar.
But this goes out to Team Momo, and without them my stories wouldn't exist: hats off to Alice's White Rabbit, AGoodWitch, Driving Edward, Mel, Maplestyle, and Eternally Addicted.
Let's hear from BCG herself, shall we?
~~Bella~~
"Don't move yet. Stay with me?" I murmur into Edward's neck, as we lie spent and sated side by side.
"Mmm." His assent rumbles along my skin from where he kisses my temple, his hands still woven through my hair.
He's growing soft inside me, but I don't want to feel the loss of him yet. I've spent too long without him this past month, and our crazy schedules haven't helped one bit.
"How was London?" he asks.
"The usual. Lovingly chaotic. The Admiral says hi."
Edward chuckles. "I talked to him last week. Shit, I owe him ten quid."
"You two been betting about soccer matches again?"
Edward's attack of the giggles continues, and he ends up slipping out of me, but then he holds me close in his arms. Everything's all right in my world.
"It was just once. You know how he gets," he whines.
Over the years, Charlie and Edward have forged a bond built on disastrous sports bets, antique cars and bikes, and ranking James Bond villains' performances. Whenever we spend time at Moor Lodge, I sit through their movie marathons pretending to be annoyed. In fact, I huddle in my window nook with my laptop and eavesdrop on their running commentary.
"I've missed you this past month," he says, suddenly serious. "I fucking hated this filming schedule. New director, new executive producer—nothing Seth tried to butter them up with worked."
"It's not your fault. Sometimes that's just the way the damn cookie crumbles. We'll plan better next year. Before I forget …"
"Yes, my lovely?" He starts it as a question, but it turns into a yawn, and when he stretches out, he falls onto his back to lie down a little away from me.
And because I sure as hell don't want to miss that view—the same one I've loved for the last eight years—I lean on my elbow and prop my chin on his naked chest.
"Alice will be in town for about a month in February. She's planning on being here for award season, and her flagship store opening. Busy times ahead."
Mrs. Whitlock—as she calls herself these days—has more than dipped her toes in the fashion pool in recent years. After a successful stint at Temperley's in London, and with some help from Rose in finding investors, she set up her own fashion house. She called it "AW La La," in an effort to mask her association with Edward, but still put her name to it.
By mutual agreement, Alice doesn't dress Edward for red carpets, but Maurice—who is still the only stylist Edward tolerates—slips me a few frocks from her collections every now and then.
"She's not staying here, right?" Edward asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Nope. There's a loft above her studio."
"Good. Good. Now, Mrs. Cullen, since it is our anniversary …" he begins.
"Seventh anniversary. Let's hope we pass the year and avoid the itch," I grouse.
He waggles his eyebrows at me. "Not if I have anything to do with it. But, back to the subject. I know we put a cap on gift prices."
I huff a little, but smile at the thought of his extravagance. He does it out of love. "A hundred grand. You spent a hundred grand on that necklace."
His face scrunches up, and when he sits, he pulls me with him until we're leaning against the headboard. He's pouting. He's adorable—and underhanded, because he knows I'll give him anything if he pouts. "But it was so fucking pretty. And you loved it. You do love it, right?"
I put my arms around him and kiss the corner of his mouth. "I do. And I love you. But damn, man. A hundred grand."
"You weren't supposed to know. It's all Seth's fault, him and his big mouth," he grumbles.
Being friends with your husband's assistant has its perks, especially when the same guy is also your part-time assistant. After all this time, Seth is still with us. He follows Edward and his kooky filming schedule, and coordinates everything that goes on behind the scenes. I had to give up Seth, since his plate's been too full with Edward's stuff alone. Mandy keeps my diary straight and runs my social media feeds these days, and does an exceptional job of it.
"Still. It's the—"
"Principle of it, I know," he adds, finishing my thought, as usual. "I've learned my lesson. It's not about things; it's about us."
"See, you get it. So, your gift this year isn't portable, which is why I don't have it with me now, but I can show you a picture."
I hate to extricate myself from him, and from the warmth under the covers, but needs must. I tiptoe out of bed and reach for my phone. Thankfully, it's on the dresser in our bedroom, and not in some random location around the house. We were a tad too preoccupied last night to worry about where our phones would be.
After a few taps, I hand him my phone. In silence, he stares at the screen for a solid minute. I don't know if that's a good or bad reaction. Yet.
"Is this … is this a Triumph Bonneville?" he finally asks, his voice dripping with awe.
"1968. Red."
With a giddy smile, he turns to me. "You got me a bike? A bike like yours? Is that why it's not here?"
I nod, smiling back at his barrage of questions. "Yes to all those. It's also not here because it's at Moor Lodge. So you can restore it with your buddy."
He drops the phone, rubbing his hands in glee. "Oooh, I gotta tell the Admiral." A second later, he stops in his tracks.
I've been waiting for the pieces to fall into place. "Who do you think helped me source one that wouldn't be a total dud?"
"Thank you." His voice cracks and his hands cradle my face. "Thank you. I love you." With those green eyes of his that still unleash butterflies in my belly after all these years, his tender look gives way to a glint of mischief. "My turn. Don't move."
He rummages in his duffle bag for a minute, then produces a glossy, purple envelope. I don't recognize the logo on it. He hands it to me with a flourish, and the adorable, bashful expression on his face returns.
A plain white card, two glossy key cards, and a brochure emerge when I shake the envelope into my lap. "Purple Haze? What is it?"
"A new chain of high-end day spas to the glitterati. A friend of a friend of Maurice's owns part of it. When I heard about what they do, I knew this was the right gift for us."
Day spas, Maurice—the connection is so obvious it's not even funny. Figures. "What's with the two key cards?"
"I bought us a package of twenty-four couples' massages, so we get a membership card each. They have an establishment here in L.A., one in New York, and one in London. Our major bases are covered, because their packages are valid throughout their network."
I nod again, appreciating about how much forethought and dedication went into this. Sure, he may have had an assist from Maurice, and he probably blew our price cap on gifts out of the water, but I don't feel like casting a pall on his efforts.
"So? I'm agonizing here!"
"This is so very thoughtful, baby. I love it. It's just what we need."
We need time together, away from ticking clocks and directors, away from looming deadlines and book award shortlists, away from mountains of scripts and filming rights options. We need time to reconnect, be together without constraints and without the expectation of procreation-friendly intimacy.
Edward gets me. After all these years, after the speed bumps, after the roadblocks, and after my fucking period that re-emerges every damn month like clockwork, without a baby to show for it, he gets me.
He knows we need time for us. Together.
While we make sense of this dream, and of whether it's going to be out of reach for us forever.
Notes on a few things because BCG was soooo long ago:
- Moor Lodge is the Admiral's house in the countryside of Devon. Bella retreated there to finish editing her first book.
- Bella has a blue 1968 Triump Bonneville, which she and the Admiral restored together. She keeps it at Moor Lodge.
For other BCG visuals, check out the links on my profile or, better yet, come join the shenanigans on FB at LaMomo's Lair (just type it in the search bar).
See y'all tomorrow!