Chapter 4—Lobster Bisque

A flower cannot blossom without sunshine, and man cannot live without love.

Max Muller

Edward's POV

I paced my study for a good five minutes before picking up the phone and dialing Malcolm's private number. What I had to tell him wasn't going to be easy, and I was positive that he wouldn't readily believe that I had unknowingly found his granddaughter.

"Hello, Edward, lad. How are you?" Malcolm answered in a heavy Gaelic lilt.

"Burdened," I answered. "You?"

"Can't be better. What do I owe this call to?"

Sitting down on the couch, I exhaled and wished there was a better way to inform him. "I have a bit of news for you, and I don't know how it will be received."

"Lad, out with it."

He sounded impatient, and that wasn't like the Malcolm I knew and respected. Usually, he was easygoing and would chitchat for a long time with me before we got down to business. Not that I wanted to talk about trivial things at the moment.

Running my hand down my face, I simply said, "I've found your granddaughter."

"You … what?" A clatter resounded on the other end of the line. I heard a muttered curse and then heavy breathing.

I sighed and said, "Isabella. I've found her. She's alive."

The other end of the line was silent, and I waited about five minutes before saying anything, giving him a chance to process what I told him.

"Malcolm, are you still there?"

"Aye, I am," he answered in a low, pain-filled voice.

His words sounded more than pained. It seemed that he might be crying, but I couldn't be sure.

After a moment, he asked, "What proof can the pretender offer?"

"I asked her some questions, and she suggested I share them and her answers with you." I proceeded to tell him what I had learned from Bella.

"That doesn't prove anything, Edward." He sounded put off that I had even called him. "All those answers can easily be found out, if the right people are asked. I need something more as evidence."

"Like?"

"If the girl in your care is my granddaughter, she'll know what evidence to provide you."

"And if she doesn't?"

"Send her away."

"Oooookay … I'll call you back in fifteen minutes."

"Make it a video conference," Malcolm instructed before hanging up without another word.

That went as expected, I thought, dropping my cell on an end table. Malcolm wasn't willing to believe, and he had every right to be suspicious. Even with his non-acceptance, I felt that Bella was telling me the truth. I wished he'd told me what proof he wanted, though.

~ L.C. ~

Bella gave me a crystal pendant and a description of how to get into a room as proof that that she was Malcolm's granddaughter. My head dropped to my desk as I waited for Malcolm to answer the video conference request.

"Edward, you need a shave," Malcolm said with a chuckle.

My head snapped up, taking in the older gentleman on the screen. Malcolm's brown eyes—very much like Bella's—looked weary, but they were alight with the smile that always graced his face. He ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair. "What proof does the lass offer?"

"She offers two things. How to get into a room and this," I said, holding up the pendant, hoping he could see it.

"Dear God, you can …" Malcolm trailed off. "Bring her to the embassy, Edward. I need to see her. My God! I didn't think she'd ever be found."

"Are you saying this necklace is proof that the young woman in my care is your granddaughter?"

"Aye, lad. I'm saying exactly that."

"All right, as soon as my father is done examining her, we'll come to the embassy."

"Who is your father? And why is he examining Isabella?"

"Carlisle. He's a doctor."

"Is she sick?" Malcolm leaned forward and peered at me through the computer.

"An injured wrist," I said. "She also fainted last night and mentioned something to Carlisle about it when I went in to ask for more proof. Hold on—my father just walked in."

"How much longer are you going to be?" Dad asked.

"A few minutes. Why?"

"Finish the call, and then I'd like to talk to you." He started to walk out of the study, but turned back. "Oh, Bella's going to need something to wear."

I nodded. I figured she would.

"Malcolm," I said, turning my attention back to the monitor and camera. "When would you like us to meet you?"

"I'll be here until Sunday evening, but as soon as possible."

"Okay. See you soon." I ended the call. Standing, I stretched before walking out of the study and back into my bedroom.

Five minutes later, I entered music room—well, more like the entrance hall, it just housed my piano.

"What's on your mind?" I asked Dad.

"Bella needs to go to the hospital for a blood draw."

"I figured as much. But that's not all you want to discuss." I leaned against my piano, crossing my arms and legs.

"You have feelings for Bella," my adoptive father stated plainly.

"I care about her welfare," I said slowly, enunciating each word. What is he getting at?

Dad shook his head. "I believe it's more than that, son. The way you acted when you came back in tells me you have strong feelings developing."

I said nothing.

"And then there's the way she reacted when you took her necklace."

What? I thought back to the brief interaction Bella and I had after I took the necklace from her. She hadn't reacted any differently. "How did she react?"

"Surprised, but it was fleeting." He sighed. "I'm proud of you for helping her. Just be careful. I don't want to see you get hurt, especially if Jacob Black wants her back. He'll stop at nothing to get what he wants, just like he didn't stop three years ago. Your mother and I lost good friends when he ordered them murdered—though there was nothing to tie him to the hit—and their daughter went missing the same day."

Holy hell! Did Carlisle know Charlie and Renee before they died? "You recognized her, didn't you?"

"What do you mean?" Dad asked, with one eyebrow raised.

"Bella is from Forks."

"She's from Forks!" Esme exclaimed, making her presence known.

I nodded. Let them put two and two together.

"The poor girl," Esme said as Carlisle wrapped an arm around her. "Kidnapped. I can't imagine what she went through. How her parents must be feeling …"

"Her parents were murdered," I informed my parents.

Esme eyes went wide. "Do you know her parents' names?"

"Renee and Charlie Swan," I answered.

I missed whatever my parents' reactions were when a cry sounded. Bella had walked in while we were talking.

Wow! She was beautiful in the dress I gave her, but that paled in comparison to the tears that were, once again, coursing down her face. I rushed to her, pulling her into my arms.

"Forgive us, Bella," I whispered.

Will I forever be apologizing to her?

"It's o-okay," she whispered back. "There's no way you could've known when I'd come out."

Except for her little stutter, I marveled at Bella's calm and her logic. "Still, one of us should have been watching for you. You don't need reminding of what you've been through right now."

Bella pulled away slightly, looking up at me. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears. Maybe some good news would cheer her up.

"Before you and my mom go shopping, your grandfather wants to see you," I whispered into her ear. I wasn't sure if Carlisle and Esme knew the connection between the Swans and the McCulloughs.

"Really?" she asked, stepping away from me. The tears were still present, but a huge smile had appeared.

Bella's POV

Grandfather wants to see me. Did that mean he believed Edward?

I asked, and when Edward nodded, my heart flooded with happiness. I thought I would never see any of my family again. It was a good thing I hadn't believed Jacob when he told me Grandfather had been killed, too. I'm glad I held onto that belief and the hope that I would be found, rescued from my nightmare.

I did the only thing I could do to thank Edward and threw my arms around him, hugging him. I caught him off guard, but after a moment, he wrapped his arms around me, hugging me to him.

"Hospital, lunch, and then to see your grandfather," Edward whispered.

~ L.C. ~

Normally I was afraid of needles, but the nurse made me feel at ease. I was surprised when she said we were all done—I hadn't felt a thing. She even escorted me back out to where Edward and Esme were waiting for me, which was a bit of a surprise.

Edward stood when he saw me, but I didn't see Esme. "All done?" he asked.

I nodded, rubbing the blue tape holding a cotton ball to the underside of my elbow. It itched, but I'd been instructed to keep it on for at least a half hour. "Where's your mom?" I asked, looking around for Esme.

"A client called right after you were taken back. She had to go take care of a problem," he said with a shake of his head. "She's going to try to meet us at the mall around two."

"Oh! What does she do?" I asked as Edward put a hand on the small of my back. My face heated as we walked toward the exit.

"She's an interior decorator, and from what I gathered, the client didn't like the color palette."

I shook my head. "I wish I knew about that type of stuff. I do know what I like, so I can understand how someone wouldn't like something someone designed."

"And what is it that you like? Décor wise?" he asked, stepping away from me to open the door.

I thought for a moment. The bedroom I'd woken up in came to mind. I was going to take a shot in the dark. "Your bedroom," I said.

"Esme decorated it," he said. His head whipped around to face me and his eyebrows were raised in surprise. "Did you say my bedroom?"

I nodded, looking over my shoulder at him. He had stopped and had a baffled look on his face.

"It was your bedroom I woke up in, right?" I asked.

"Y-yes," he answered with a shake of his head, as if he was clearing it. "So, lunch?"

"I'd rather go straight to wherever my grandfather is staying."

"You need to eat something." His voice was tender. What he said came out more as a request than a demand.

"Drive thru," I suggested.

"That's hardly a healthy meal," he said, opening the car door for me.

"It's not like I'll be able to eat much anyway. I'm a bit nervous about seeing my grandfather again." I got in and he closed the door, saying nothing. The funny thing was that I knew I had to get something in my stomach to stop the butterflies.

"So, what are you in the mood for?" he asked, slipping into the driver's seat.

"Something light … soup?"

"Hmm," he said, thumping his lips with a finger. "I know just the place."

In no time at all, we were sitting at a table in the Seattle City Center, eating soup from Soup's On.

The chicken noodle soup I ordered was delicious, and not overbearing—just what I needed. I even stole a couple of bites of Edward's lobster bisque, and I had to stifle a giggle when he looked sadly into his bowl and found it empty.

"Go order more," I suggested.

"Why? So you can steal more bites?" he countered with a huge smile planted on his face.

I couldn't stop giggling as I nodded my head. I didn't think he'd seen.

"Well, then, I'll be right back." He pecked my cheek, getting up from the table.

I cupped my cheek, watching him go back up to the register. All right, I thought. There is definitely something about him. I don't know what it is, but he makes me feel … alive. I'm so confused.

I was holding my head when a bowl was placed in front of me.

"Are you feeling faint?" Edward asked, turning my chair to face him.

"No, a little tired." It was a lie, but I couldn't tell him the truth, not when I didn't even know what was happening between us.

~ L.C. ~

The moment Grandfather saw me, he gathered me up in his arms with a tearful cry.

"Isabella," he said in a heavily accented voice that was thicker than normal. "I thought I would never see you again."

I hugged him closer to me. "I thought the same," I whispered, my throat thick with emotion.

"I owe you a debt of gratitude, Edward. Thank you."

Edward? Oh, he did say he knew Grandfather.

"Grandfather, we need to talk. The necklace …" I said in perfect Gaelic.

He looked down at me and then over at Edward. "Can you stay?"

"I've cleared my schedule for the day—well, the rest of the week."

Grandfather motioned to the sitting area. "Give me a little time alone with my granddaughter. Then, I would like to speak with you."

"By all means," Edward answered, taking a seat and picking up a newspaper.

A/N:

Some definitions:

Gaelic is an adjective that means "pertaining to the Gaels", including language and culture. As a noun, it may refer to the group of languages spoken by the Gaels, or to any one of the languages individually.

Scottish Gaelic is a Celtic language native to Scotland.

Source of definitions: Wikipedia