oOo
Valentine's Day came with more snow and a great deal of nervousness on Edward's part. The opening of his exhibition was scheduled for the sixteenth, and there was still one blank spot at the gallery because he couldn't decide which painting to hang. He had shown his agent the three possible works, and Michael – as well as everyone else he'd asked – had voted for the one called "The Meadow." It was the picture of Bella sleeping in the grass, a vision of beauty, innocence, and serenity – and sexiness.
He had asked Bella on her feelings about having her picture in a gallery, certain that she'd tell him to forget about it. He was aware of her issues with her body.
Surprisingly, she hadn't.
It was actually Edward who had doubts about sharing it, sharing his idea of her.
He couldn't even explain it. He loved her, he was proud of her and of the fact that she was his… girlfriend. The term sounded childish considering the depth of his emotions for her. He knew quite well what he wanted her to be, but he was old and sensible enough to know his dreams were just that for the time being.
Right now, he was at his studio with all the lights on after a long call with Mike. After all, it was Mike who had this instinct what the public would like, what they would buy. Mike played quite a part in Edward's success, and he had often listened to his agent's advice and it had often been the right decision.
It was just before seven p.m., the sky outside already black and moonless.
Edward was nursing his second glass of whisky, pondering his choice. A car was going to arrive tomorrow morning and take the painting he had picked, so there was no way to procrastinate any longer.
Either the art-loving public would see his Bella in the meadow, or they would be presented with his "Winter in Wales." The first one would undoubtedly garner attention and high bids, as well as a few headlines. The second would give his followers a classic Cullen: wistful but lovely, elusive, sentimental.
"Damn it," he muttered.
He turned away from the two easels. For the moment, he couldn't compare the pictures another moment.
He sat down in the old armchair – a gift from Irina – and put his head in his hands.
Why was this decision so hard to make?
He poured himself another drink, not that inebriation would make it any easier.
Or maybe it would.
He had all night to himself, Bella having agreed to work at a Valentine's Day cocktail party Jasper and Alice were catering. He had tried to convince her to say no, but Bella had argued that she needed the money since things had been extremely quiet on the catering front all January.
Edward wanted to tell her that she didn't need to do it, that he could give her the money for her rent, that she should move in with him, that he was more than able, and willing, to provide for her.
But of course he didn't, because he knew that she would not only never accept, but have his balls for the mere suggestion that she couldn't provide for herself. That was fiercely important to her, and he accepted and respected it. He still would have loved to make things easier for her.
Just so they could celebrate Valentine's Day together.
Instead, Edward gulped down the Glenlivet and resumed staring at the two paintings.
oOo
Oh, Edward…