A/N:
Inspiration for this chapter came from "Brukpocket Lament" by The Heavy.
LISTEN TO THIS SONG WHILE YOU READ. It completely sets the mood!
Against my wish and want, we stayed in Atlantic City for one more day longer than we should have. What did Edward not understand about my feelings for this place? Not only was this the area that Alice just lost her fiancé in, but also where a very nosey red-headed woman was basically tailing me around. Not that I had actually seen the woman or her accomplice, but I could constantly feel their eyes on my being.
We went out for breakfast in China Lanternis downtown, I could feel them. Mrs. Cullenciano invited me to come along as she browsed the boutique strip on 34th street, I swore footsteps mirrored my own to the tee. Edward and I shared drinks in the lobby of our hotel last night, and her mane of red locks exited the door as soon as we stepped in. in fear of arousing Edward's very perceptive curiosity, I fought the urge to look back or follow the woman. Instead, I tucked the strap of my purse in and leaned into the crook of his elbow as he showed me the way to the open bar.
But that was last night, when we could still stand the sight of each other. Perhaps it was the drunken atmosphere, or the fact that we had been in Atlantic City for the last two weeks which was out of my limit and far past Edward's patience, but it didn't exactly matter when it came down to it. Between Edward and myself, things got intense and heavy very easily. "Stop looking at that man." Edward chastisized me harshly, pressing his knee into my inner thigh pointedly. We sat on the high stools beside each other, but it was custom for a woman to face her man, and I was always one for custom. The nude piece I wore accentuated my form so nicely that even I had trouble not catching a glimpse of myself in the numerous mirrors in the cocktail lounge. It was a radical piece- the fabric wasn't your average cotton or polyester, it was almost a patent leather, shiny and the shade of skin. The dress definitely fit like a second piece of skin; but hey, this was Atlantic City! The East Coast's version of Las Vegas, some said.
I bought this dress while on a shopping day with Rosalie in mid-town Chicago, from a dress mistress on Louis Avenue- she explained that the dress was going to be haute couture any day. "Why?" I challenged his look with a piercing glare of my own. I dared him by shimming myself farther from his space and closer to the man on my other side- he loved to stare at me when I dressed for the occasion, but couldn't find it within himself to share my attention. It wasn't as though I planned on leaving the car with any of these men, I was solely devoted to Edward, but I refused to give into the chauvinistic man that he was being. My knees opened a little wider now that we were further away, and some of my bare thigh was now accessible to the eye.
My fiancé pursed his lips in an angered manner and threw back his jet black head of hair, finishing his dry scotch in one gulp before peering back at me. Silently, he called the bartender for another drink and the man attended to Edward almost immediately. "What is that you're wearing anyway? Cannot be Chanel, surely- when you wear her fabric, you're covered in a sophisticated, humble manner." The nasty look that went with his words made me want to choke him with his own Caraceni tie. Edward a mix between Italian and American, and the mixture was very evident in his fashion. He latched onto the zoot suit fad that currently rose to fame, but stayed with the Italian look of Caraceni, a man of utmost style and fashion with men accessories. From the jewelry to the ties to shoes Edward wore, he was making a statement. Without a care to the world about being accepted or looked upon nicely, my fiancé wore what he wanted and never cared about the price.
My mother had always called this style the "Italian look of lovers", which was the impeccable fabrics of Italy with the Western influence of American culture. As much as I respected her for giving me a keen eye to fashion, I long left the ankle-length church girl gowns with billowy skirts and ruffled tops. Fabrics clung to skin, accessories hung from different places than just the neck, heels were higher… I internally smiled at my rant. I was at the height of popularized fashion, and I was in a situation where price tags meant so little that I forget to glance at them. "It's a new designer." I flourished him with a devilish little smirk as I leant one elbow on the bar and swirled my glass of whiskey and Coke in tiny circles, trying my best to tantalize him rather than make a fool out of myself. "His name is Dior, Christian."
Edward's eyebrow rose in speculation. "His?" he parroted.
I nodded with a smile. "It was a relative of his that I bought it from. She says he's going to be the mogul of the fashion world next autumn when his designs are showcased in Milan and Paris." I gushed softly and took another long sip. He was so used to me walking around in Chanel, Ann Klein, Bonnie Cashin, Vera Maxwell… he had to realize that the movement of the "New Look" was going to sweep Chicago by storm, and with it I would be on the receiving end. "I look forward to purchasing more pieces as this when he starts his pioneering." I shrugged softly at the incredulous look on his face.
"I don't see things as you do currently, Bella. The dress… your attire is too loud and extravagant, it's going to attract all sorts of unwanted attention." His green eyes trailed down my exposed collarbone and went down to the tight fabric around my hip bones. Just to make it completely interesting, I was posh as to slip from the bar stool and stood between his knees, a nearly empty drink in my hand.
"But is this not what you wanted? A fiery, rule-breaking mob wife with diamonds raining from her fingers and wrists and ears?" Our eyes connected and I was so sure he was going to pounce forward and attack my mouth with his, so when he didn't, I put my drink down with a tired clank and slid my hands up his legs and stopped mid-thigh. "I thought you liked me in exposing pieces? Where my skin is sinning enough to make my mother cry and my legs are absolutely begging to be thrown apart?" This was a dangerous game, I knew that, but the sexy words slipped from my mouth before I could help it. "Or what of the way my shoes fit as I prance about- don't they shape my backside the way you love so?" It was common knowledge that the tightness when walking in heels made the seeming shape of the butt different, and Edward once commented his liking to me.
I knew it wasn't just other men he was worried about, it was the police as well. He didn't like us to be too flashy or too crowd-drawing when we went places outside of Chicago; he really didn't even like me to wear my furs or tall high heels when we were out. But when we were in Chicago… he owned that city, we wore and did anything and everything we wanted to. When I zipped up the side of this dress back in the hotel room, I knew it was going to start a fight between us, but I just couldn't smother my rebellious side for tonight. "No, Bella, this outfit doesn't do any of those things." Edward finished his drink and tossed it aside, perhaps evening cracking the thick glass on its way; we were in a full bar, with dozens of high class alcoholic idiots milling about and loud blues playing in a live band across the way. Our scene went unnoticed, or so I thought.
His hands traveled to my waist then over my thick hips until finally finding their way to each side of my half-exposed thighs. We never touched like this in public, it was just atrocious! But I didn't dare move my hands, even if they were so near his bulging crotch area, but the redness in my cheeks was unmistaken. This was utterly embarrassing now. "Then tell me, Edwardo Cullenciano," I used his full name as I leaned in and bit at my lower lip, "what does this outfit do?"
He seemed thoroughly amused at my drunken vixen coming out to play. "It is not what your clothes do, it is what they say." My finished drink sloshed crazily inside of my head, and the flute of champagne earlier in my room I downed before meeting Edward downstairs did nothing to help me. But I smiled through the slight pain and confusion it put me under and took a harder grip on his thighs.
"Oh, yes?" One of my manicured eyebrows rose at his words; so, he knew everything about me, did he? Just because he knew one common designer's name didn't put a whole lot of fashion respect above his head! Everyone knew Coco Chanel. I titled my head at him. "And what are they saying?
Before I knew it, he leaned in and had my lips beneath his in a crushing kiss. The man from earlier was forgotten, seeing as I only used him to ploy Edward in a small game of innocent cat and mouse. And it wasn't like the man a table away even held a candle to my fiancé… Edward was sometimes from another Universe with the things he said and did to and for me. So, this was what my clothes said to him? I smiled into the kiss and couldn't help the cocky smirk that overtook my features when he breathlessly separated from me. "It says you are a whore." The words bit at me like a spiteful bitch in heat- that one small sentence hit me like a bucket of cold water on a winter day. My eyes darted his darkened ones, and they dared me to say something wretched back at him. My hand itched to slap this man across his face as I contemplated all of the mean things I could say, all of the dramatic things I could do. But then I felt my eyes start to build up a few tears, and I just plainly refused to cry in front of him.
So I snatched my purse from the counter and stepped away. "I'll be in the powder room, accentuating to the whore look you were so fond of last night." Was my only response. I stomped away and just barely made it to the restroom in time for the tears to start rolling down my face. I slammed my dainty fist against the rose-printed wallpaper along the walls, making a loud frustrated noise. Everything I wore was for him, how dare he call me a whore? These jewels were heavy, the dress was tight, the shoes were painful… did he truly believe that I walked around with all of these things for strangers? I did it for him, but he wouldn't ever understand that, would he? After a few deep breaths and a five minute fix-up to my face makeup, I was ready for war in my armor once again. But as I stepped out of the Ladies' Room, I noticed Edward's back to me from the bar. What if… just what if I could prove a point to him without yelling or hitting him? My mind raced as I looked around the room, catching the tall stranger's brown eyes once more.
I caught his attention when I first walked in with Edward, but I paid so little mind to him because Edward seemed hell-bent on bringing him up every five seconds. Without another thought, I strode to his lonely table and settled my fingers along his suited arm. "Would you like to dance, sir? I don't swing, but I'm sure a slow blues will do." I smiled at the man and he smiled back, which was friendly enough.
"Neither do I, M'am. I would love to care for you hand in a dance." His suave voice and smooth hands unsettled me in just the slightest- I had no doubt he was a pampered pretty boy, whom was very use to dazzling women out of their panties. But those details didn't matter, I wasn't exactly looking to take him back to my room that night. We were on the dance floor at once and a new, more intense blues song immediately played. The male singer had a deep, throaty baritone as he sang about the death of a man that couldn't live without his woman's love; it was so befitting in that moment.
I tried to love her
Best that I could.
I tried to live like
A good man should.
I tried too hard
But where did I go?
My baby don't want to know.
I closed my eyes for a moment too long, because the man holding me to his body leaned in from an impromptu kiss that sent me in a frenzy- my hands went to his shoulders to try and tear his mouth from mine. It was all done in vain, but a pair of rough hands snatched me from my place beside this man all too soon, sending me into another state of shock. Edward's orbs were deadly as they processed what just happened, and my forearm felt like it was going to break under his tight grasp. "Edward!" I screamed out in agony, not being able to take the pain anymore.
"Let go of her-" My dancing partner said aloud and reached for my arm, but Edward shoved him back with only one movement.
"What the fuck were you thinking?" My soon-to-be-husband roared like an inflamed, wild animal atop his greatest mountain. His chest was heaving up and down like the madman he was, but I trained my eyes to stay dead and set in stone. I was not going to let him have the satisfaction of seeing me cry- he would not see that weakness of mine, especially not in front of all of these people!
With all emotionality gone, I yanked my arm from his grasp. I surprised myself when I became free of his hold and only teetered slightly on my tall heels, steadying myself instantly to peer up at him. "Think of the kind of woman I would be if I allowed my clothes to speak before my own lips did?" I threw his own words back at him, hoping he would die choking on them. "You said I was a whore, so I figured it was about time I acted on one of those actions that made a woman just that sort of character." I spat the word "character" out like a bad taste; just what did a Cullenciano know about character? He had no moral hold over my anymore, I couldn't give a damn what he thought my clothes said or didn't say for that matter.
"You're drunk on your own poison." Edward said evenly, the third wheel completely forgotten at this point.
"And you get high on your own supply." I replied with malice dripping from every word. It was time to start refusing his words of my love of alcohol to pierce me so hard, he needed to have things thrown back at him for a change! I wasn't a complete society woman of an idiot; I knew that he dipped into the cocaine he sold and distributed on the streets of Illinois. It was the kind of drug that rich men flew high on, and whether or not God would ever allow it, we let these men destroy and kill themselves this way.
He pounced on me and grabbed me by my flowy brown hair, yanking it from behind as to not attract too much attention. "Shut this bullshit up, Isabella. You're going to say too much that your pretty mouth cant make up for." Edward whispered threateningly. "So close your fucking mouth already." Every word meant another tug at my hair, and I felt a few strands being ripped out. My eyes leaked painful tears as I felt both humiliated and used in front of some of these spectators- he was not going to disrespect and manhandle me in public like this! I was not a rag doll or a punching bag, I was a human being that deserved to be treated like the princess he said I would be in the beginning.
Just when he thought I had fully submitted to his touch, I snatched at an empty glass on the table; I could not look away from him, he didn't allow it. But I knew exactly how I was going to strike him, I could feel it. "Not this time." I murmured softly as I kept his eyes with mine- a wave of guarded curiosity passed his face as he mulled over my words. The crowd of sweaty dancers were going past us as the band was going to take their five minute break, so I used this to my advantage and swung the cup around to strike him right against his nose. He let out a painful howl and yanked his hands from out of my hair so fast that he left with a fistful of hair. I cried out in agony but knew this was my escape, so I took it. With my purse in hand I ran from the cocktail lounge and up the stairs to my room, never even sparing one glance back.
I knew exactly what I was going for.
Alice's Chanel handbag, which was tucked in-between my shoes boxes.
A/N:
Hmmmm, she wants the handbag?
Wonder what she needs it for.