"I should have known. Marinell isn't a man that plays." Edward spilled the truth to me as we lay on the bed, beneath the silent ceiling fan and the golden curtain of our bed.
"It's not your fault." I kissed his forehead and held him closer. My arms wrapped around him, my body clad tight to his. It was a warm spring, but being close so him was good enough weather. "You couldn't have known that kind of thing-"
His chuckle stopped me. "These things never happen. Isabella, nothing happens if I don't want it to." I wanted to wipe the cocky tone out of his mouth by saying that if that was true, there wouldn't be a dead man on his conscious. But I second thought it, thinking that it was too low of a blow- too soon. "This is a war I've been avoiding. Shipments have been off for the past two months, I have a collection of threat letters, my men are getting odd calls all through the night, and I've had to take care of several," he stressed that one word, "double-crossers."
"Vengeance is going to be your death." I whispered into his chest, my hands playing with his one large one. It was dark, the moon having faded away with the clouds. The hallway light was dimmer than ever, and his eyes glowed. I hated that what I said was so true. Why couldn't he let this go? Call a truce? Draw up a contract of peace?
"A death men are proud to bestow." He sighed and nestled his head into the crook of my shoulder. His light breaths played against my hair, which tickled my cheek ever so lightly. His short hair was soft enough to lie with, yet the hard gel had long since died from its day of hard work- stressful work.
I held a breath, still adjusting to our positions. Since when did I allow him to hold me? Since was it alright for him to be so close? "Don't leave me." My broken soul couldn't take someone else leaving me. Whether or not I wanted to believe it, I had no one but Edward. He had no response, only held me tighter to him. We fell asleep like that and didn't wake 'til the late afternoon, which was spent lazily flirting and eating on trays the house-help brought us. I forgot that the next day was Thursday, and not a weekend. He skipped work to stay with me and do absolutely nothing. It felt wonderful to know that he cared for me- they weren't just words now. They were something.
Monday-
I blinked a few times and decided to cross my legs. Alice choked the strap of her poor purse, which was ironically Chanel. Her soft blue dress and new shiny black shoes made her the perfect debutante in my book. My mother often made me into an award-winning society gal. Alice was just that, and so naturally. "He hasn't called. That wiseguy." She swallowed visibly and played with the soft material of Edward's couch. "Makes me look like a coumare." She rolled her eyes. I flushed at her use of slang, and slander upon her part. From what I knew, a coumare was a mistress of a man- a man of the mafia, that is.
"Alice." I started softly and placed my hand on her knee. The designs on her panty hoes were too explicit for me. I stuck to soft white stockings and conservative heels. Her large, nearly hazel eyes caught mine in a moment that nearly embarrassed me. "He…Reynaldo, he-" My breath caught in my throat. Why was this so hard? I didn't even know the lad. But this part…this part of my soul that belonged to the sweet Alice Cullenciano cringed when her eyes went unblinking and her hold on her purse loosened, sending the garb to the floor. I felt my throat constrict, and his pain of being shot went right through me. I imagined what the horrible man looked like when he killed Alice's love. I could see all of the blood dancing along the walls. My stomach churned.
"No. No." She shook her head and the small muscles in her jaw worked themselves into frenzy. Her crystal blue eyes and the modern hair cut she had framed her face; she made crying look beautiful. "No, no, no, no, no." Her eyes skirted around, taking in the soft fabric of our couches, the beige colors of the walls, the glass vas that housed a million lilies, and perhaps the specks of dirt Edward's faithful dog Leopold trudged in that morning.
I folded my hands in my lap. Composure. Composer, Bella. "Alice, I'm so sorry." I held out my hand, yet she only looked at it.
"What can you be sorry for?" Her wet eyes, which bled her thick mascara, made me want to back away and retire for the rest of the week. "It's only just begun." Her small voice was void of her reassuring drawl, that all-knowing way she foresaw things. "And that's," Alice sobbed into her fist, of which she brought to her mouth, "…the worst…part." I embraced her in what I felt was as real as it would get. We lounged on the crème sofa and listened to a jazz tape on the recorder. I didn't even need to stuff it with cloth like I did when I lived with my parents. We let it play loud as it drained away our sorrows. Alice kicked off her shoes and lay close to me, her small body fitting next to me. I felt as if she were my sister, or even my daughter. I felt as if a million little needles had attacked my heart and with it, my capability to breathe properly went.
Wednesday-
"You're acting like an uptown today, Isabella." I spun on my heel and glared him down. I wore the lavender stilettos Alice bought me before the fallout, and with it, I wore my heart on my sleeve. Edward was being so cruel. It had been a little over a week since I told Alice what happened, and later that day, we would lay him to rest.
"Excuse me?" I kept eye contact, something he didn't like. It was an authority factor, I assumed. "Oh, right." I sent a sarcastic smile his way. He knew I hated that word! "I should perhaps be a flig like you." I sneered at him and stormed off, locking myself in our room and took out my frustration on my hair. I curled it with the hot iron and nearly burned a piece off. My finger got too close to the scorching metal and it seared through the pad of my finger. I swore under my breath, making my face warm. Edward never used swear words in front of me, he was too much of a gentleman, but I had picked up on some from my own childhood and Emmett's quick temper. I couldn't take the sting for long and swung the open the door. On the other side, Edward was standing there, his hand cocked as if we going to attempt to open it. I tried to walk past him, but he slammed his hand in front of my face, trapping me. I rolled my eyes. "Please. I burned my finger.' I held it up for his inspection.
He scrutinized it and held it gingerly. My eyebrows knitted together. Since when was he the general surgeon? I thought he was going to let it go, but he tricked me by pulling me closer. Between the pad of thumb and his forefinger, he squeezed the red digit. It was cruel, really. I emitted a yelp of pain and tried my hardest to pull it away from him. It seemed he knew torture tactics better than the rest. "Take it back." He murmured his voice full of his arrogant way of being. I shook my head and yanked one more time. "Choke on your words. Tell me I'm not a flig, and I'll stop." He demanded through clenched teeth.
I was going to grit my teeth and fight, but my whole hand was on fire by then. I nodded, apprehensively, then very quickly. "Okay. You aren't a flig…I'm sorry!" I yelped and he let go. I brought the offended part to my chest and clutched it there. My eyelashes were wet from the pain that was shooting through my phalanges. When he reached for my hand, I snatched it away with as much vigor as I could. I would not be calling him a flig. Ever.
"Bella." He sighed, his face looking a lot older than he was. He grabbed my hand and brought the finger to him again. I shut my eyes against the pain I knew was coming. Instead, I felt the utmost comfort; like a cocoon was surrounding my soreness. When I felt a wet caress, my eyes shot open and snapped to him. The pad of my digit was enveloped by his mouth; shudders of an excitement I knew nothing off ran down my spine.
When he took his last feats, he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped it clean. "Saliva is the best treatment." He winked at me. I nodded and turned away, back to my vanity where I continued with my hair. I didn't need that icepack after all.