PART II:
Bella is twenty, and sometimes she still looks seventeen, but tonight, she presents herself not as some girl from an obscure background, but as a sophisticate. As she enters the gallery, a small group of people move forward to greet her, and Aro whispers the name of each V.I.P. into her ear as she automatically smiles warmly, kisses their cheeks, and shakes their hands. It has become a routine.
One man, the curator for some big museum, tries to tease her. "Isabella is such a formal name for a young lady. Perhaps we should call you Bella instead?"
Bella is careful to insist, "No, Isabella is really what I prefer."
Yes, tonight she will be Isabella, who behaves as if she were actually old enough to have a legal cocktail. Isabella has poise and good posture. Isabella has wit and charm. Most of all, Isabella has the allure that is expected of the wife of a prominent man and none of the clumsiness that had cursed her teenage years.
She's actually having a good time until one of the high society wives ask her, "So tell us dear, how did you and Aro meet? I'll bet that it's an absolutely scandalous story."
Bella's smile feels overstretched. "Oh yes, in fact, he seduced me while I was still just an insignificant student in art school."
She snags a whiskey sour from a passing waiter and winks at Aro over the rim of the glass. "I would've rejected you darling to focus on my studies, but you were just so vigorous." Her voice ends silkily on the hiss of the 's'. She turns back to the woman. "What about you, Irene? Where did you meet your man?"
Irene blushes as her own question backfires, and members of their exclusive circle giggle callously at her discomfort. It's common knowledge that Irene's pedigree wasn't of blue blood either. The real sinker was not that she married up, but that she was her husband's former maid, and no one in society let her forget it.
On the outside, Bella is smirking in triumph. On the inside, guilt stings her, and she's never felt so bitchy in her entire life. Quietly excusing herself, she leaves in search of better company and is immediately accosted by Heidi. At first glance, Heidi appears as if she had just crawled out of bed and thrown a boyfriend's shirt on, but with the belt cinched around the waist, it was a flattering look, showcasing her amazingly long legs.
"You're unhappy," Heidi notices right away. "That means you haven't had enough alcohol."
Initially, Bella recalls, she had felt wary of the female vampire, who constantly partied throughout the night and came back with smeared lipstick in the morning.
"It's in her nature to act that way," Aro explained after Heidi stumbled back into their penthouse one night, smelling of cigarettes and human sweat. "She's not one of the Volturi guard really. Previously, she was Caius's lover."
They had been sitting in the library; Aro was reading one of his history texts, and Bella was browsing the shelves, but upon hearing his statement, she faced him with a puzzled look.
"You mean when she was human?"
He nodded. "Caius met her in France during the 18th century. She was a remarkably famous and sought after courtesan. All of the red-blooded males in the royal court were enchanted by her."
The story piqued Bella's curiosity. "So how was it that Caius became interested in a human?"
"Caius is unlike other vampires," Aro said. "Mostly, we find one mate and live with that one for eternity. Caius, however, prefers to juggle a continual series of mistresses. Like a child who sees what all of the other children are playing with, Caius saw how Heidi was desired by so many and decided that he would win her. He wooed her for a month and a day, and by the end, she was deeply in love with him."
"But it didn't last?"
"Of course not. Within a fortnight of realizing that he had won the prize, he became infatuated with a little shepherdess that he saw on the street. Nevertheless, he kept Heidi and even turned her into one of us. Although he had disposed of the other women, Caius resolved that Heidi and her devotion to him were useful."
Somehow, after that night, the two women had become friends. It was appropriate, Bella had decided, since they were not so different after all.
"So Bells," Heidi says with her usual wicked smile. "What mischief shall you and I stir up tonight?"
Bella doesn't protest as Heidi drags her out of the gallery. At a nearby club, they head to the bar for a round of drinks and then to the dancing floor where straying hands abound. Surprising herself, Bella does nothing even when one man slides up behind her, and she continues it further by pressing into his pelvis. His right hand wanders from her waist to her thigh. She closes her eyes, sighs. She's been doing this a lot recently, and every time she does, she understands Heidi's ceaseless partying.
When they finally leave the place, Bella is thoroughly drunk, giggling as Heidi puts a cocktail umbrella into her hair.
"I can't believe you got me to miss my own exhibition!" Bella says, but her accusation possesses no anger. After all, she knows that it was more her conscious decision than Heidi's persuasion.
"Would you rather be stuck with all those snobs?" Heidi retorts. "They'll still be there anyway, probably talking about stocks and politics."
The two women are halfway across the street to the gallery when a car speeds out of nowhere, and all Bella can do is stare, paralyzed, into the headlights as the vehicle accelerates. A pair of strong, almost steel-like arms encloses around her and pulls her away just as the car flies past. For a moment, Bella remains frozen, her heartbeat pounding; she feels like a trapped bird because her savior is still holding onto her with a vice-like grip.
"Bella?"
She knows that voice. Oh god, she knows that voice.
Slowly, Bella turns around and meets the oh so familiar golden eyes of a past long abandoned.