Continued from the last chapter. I rather like this arc, so I'm going to stick with it for another chapter or so. And I finished "Breaking Dawn" without getting any more inspiration, except turning Charlie into a vampire, which I did already. Ah well, there are other sources.

Through some (possibly) illegal researching, Carlisle discovered that Charlie had a sister, Beatrice Swan. Whom he hadn't had the chance to see for ten years.

If Carlisle had had any sisters when he was human, he would want to know about them now, would want them to visit. So he had gone to the printers place that Alice had used for the wedding invitations and made one more, mailing it on his way home so that no one was the wiser.

xXxXx

"I don't think that's a good idea," his son told him as they were waiting with Charlie downstairs before the wedding.

"Why not?" He had thought it a perfectly splendid idea. Who, after all, did not want to be reunited with wayward family members?

"There's probably a reason they haven't seen each other in a decade."

"Well... " He hadn't considered that, and was a little annoyed now. "I'm sure they just need a little push in the right direction and they'll be best of friends once again."

Edward shook his head in exasperation; it was really awkward seeing his dad try to court his fiancee's dad. Or anybody, for that matter. It didn't matter how young he looked, it was his dad, and it would always be weird. Especially when he was thinking so loudly. Had Carlisle forgotten he could hear thoughts, or did he intend for his son to know about his sex life?

Before he could get too disturbed, a guest threw the doors open and marched across their foyer in a way that, if it were anyone else, would look authoritative and sexy. On this woman, with her wild brown curls and her shockingly red dress, it looked scary, like Juno has been unleashed after Jupiter had gone and pissed her off. Again.

"Charlie!" the woman boomed. "So nice to see you again! It's only been ten years! But at least you invited me here, that's something, hey?"

"Beatrice... " Whatever he was going to say next was lost in Beatrice Swan's bosom as she squashed her dear little brother against her. When she finally pulled away, Charlie looked a mixture of frightened, anxious, and enraged. And Carlisle was not helping deflect the rage with his guilty look, his eyes so wide it was painful to look at, his jaw slack in shock and remorse. It was like he had a target stapled to his face with the message: HERE I AM, THE SOURCE OF ALL YOUR PAIN.

And Charlie, having fast-working synapses in his brain, honed right in on Carlisle, and the look he aimed in the vampire's direction made him want to shrink to the size of a pea, crawl under the couch, and die.

Poor Charlie probably thought Carlisle was trying to get revenge for being ignored, and Carlisle longed to explain the situation, but then Beatrice--Beattie, she insisted--had corned him on the couch, a squishy arm lying like a dead animal across his shoulders, and kept up a constant stream of babble in his very sensitive ear. And Charlie continued to look murderous, even though his sister's attentions were no longer focussed on him. Carlisle didn't need to hear thoughts to know that, in Charlie's books, he was so dead.

xXxXx

It was a risky move, but Carlisle was willing to stick his neck out all the way at the mercy of Madame Guillotine to win Charlie back. So while everyone was distracted and now that Beatrice was so drunk she was prostrate somewhere and totally quiet, Carlisle shuffled over to Charlie nervously--something he hadn't done as long as he could remember--and held his hand out. Just like Grigg in the scene where he asks Jocelyn to dance in The Jane Austen Book Club. He hoped that, like Grigg, even though he had severely pissed off his loved one, they would wind up together, in the end.

Charlie looked very confused to be asked to dance, especially by Carlisle, and he had hesitated for so long (3.4 seconds) that he was considering yanking the man to his feet and making him dance, if only to give him a chance to explain. But just as he was tensing his muscles to make the move, Charlie took his hand, looking perturbed, and followed him to a corner where they wouldn't easily be seen. They had almost reached a clear area, Carlisle had almost gotten his arm around Charlie's waist, when the song stopped. No matter, they'd wait for the next one. But then Alice was standing up and announcing that, in the spirit of Bella's favourite author, Jane Austen, they would be doing a Regency dance. Apologies to the bride, who had not been warned but forced to take lessons nonetheless. Carlisle wondered what on Earth Alice had been thinking. Everyone knew how uncoordinated Bella was, and to try something as intricate as a country dance was pushing it a little.

But suddenly everyone was lined up, men on one side, women on the other, and Carlisle found himself face-to-face with Beatrice. When, he thought with panic, had she come out of her drunken stupor? Then, looking closer than he ever wanted to look at such a creature, he realised she hadn't. Glancing to his left, for he was standing right next to Charlie, he saw that his Charlie was paired with Sue Clearwater. Thrice-be-damned, blast-it-all-to-Hell dances. Still, he could try to talk to Charlie throughout this dance. He was disappointed that they wouldn't be touching, but you couldn't have everything.

The music started, and the party hopped and skipped and spun in circles, led by the Cullens who had had to take lessons in these sorts of things unless they had experience them first-hand. Carlisle remembered them, and he also remembered that some were very conducive to talking.

And some, like this particular one, were not. Every time he started a sentence, he would get a few words in and then abruptly be whisked away from his quarry and into the arms of Beatrice. She talked to him constantly, because tis was to sort of dance where you could comfortable talk to your partners. Damn, damn, damn.

Every touch of her grubby, worm fingers repulsed him so heavily he nearly gagged when they drew near, and for the closer moves, he found himself squished tight against her bosom like poor Charlie had been. If he survived this to go onto other plots of conquering Charlie's affections again, he would try twice as hard to please him so as to make up for his mistake this time.

After what felt like half an hour, Carlisle was close to proverbial tears and his hands were coated with sticky, rancid sweat that was not his. If he had been human, he would have been in retching into a potted plant just then.

But finally the heavens had mercy on him and the music stopped. He really, really didn't want to bring his revolting hands together to applaud the musicians, so he didn't.

For the first time in hundreds of years, Carlisle felt totally spent, and returned to his seat, feeling like every awful event of the evening had dropped a lead weight into his chest. Beatrice had seized some other unsuspecting wretch, much to his relief. But as he turned away from Charlie, he thought he saw a smirk turn up the corner of his mouth. Another lead weight was added.