Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns all.
Rated M for several reasons.
Chapter 2 Livin' La Vida Loca
BPOV
"I am not wearing that!" I object.
"Why not?" My personal stylist and public relations man, Aro, asks with long suffering patience.
"Too much cleavage."
"You have outstanding cleavage."
"And it will be 'outstanding' in that dress. No."
"We have an image to maintain." He drawls.
I've certainly been described as beautiful a few times. Also hot, sexy and a bit of a strumpet.
"Will you at least try it on?" He asks sweetly, wafting the dark blue fabric at me like a punkawallah.
"No."
Silence.
"I'm going to pull on that lip and wrap it over your forehead." I snarl at him.
"Please?" He asks, fluttering his eyelashes at me and sticking the offending lip out a bit further. "You know I'm always right."
I snatch it from him and retreat to my bathroom.
Where unsurprisingly it turns out that he always is.
...
"Ms Swan!"
"Miss Swan!"
"Bella!"
"Isabella!"
"This way please!"
"Who are you wearing?"
"Where's Jake tonight? Is it true he's moving to London without you?"
The questions and the flashing bulbs are endless. This red carpet is quite short but it feels like miles . . . .
Smile. Twirl. Platitude. Air kiss. Smile. Spout an inanity. Air kiss. Air kiss. Platitude. Smile. Discreetly remove unwanted roaming hands of film star. Smile. Inanity. Twirl.
And all this for the premier of a movie I won't even remember in the morning.
Demetri has me home by midnight and the press pictures are already in my inbox courtesy of Aro. I never look at them unless I have to.
And I have other distractions tonight . . . .
...
He strips me out of my clothes without preamble.
I like that.
The sense of passion, urgency . . . .
His lips and palms are warm against my skin as he explores it. They make me quiver with anticipation and when I can't stand it anymore he groans as I remove his clothes and guide him to where I want him to be . . . .
...
He's long gone when I wake.
The way it should be.
Six am. Time for my workout.
Do I mind Jake's job taking him away from home for so long, so often?
No.
It gives me time to do what I want and who I want . . . .
...
Saturday.
What do I do on Saturdays?
I visit my Dad.
I love my Dad.
I'm not sure what he feels about me, he may have watched one too many TV shows that have featured me, but if he has he never says anything.
Demetri doesn't drive me, I have a licence like a normal person, and I do this myself.
...
On Sundays I usually visit my Mom.
She doesn't give a shit but it's important to me that I do.
...
Monday.
Packing for a trip to Europe.
Or rather Lauren and Aro are.
I'm dealing with my emails, there are usually a few . . . .
...
As I've become accustomed to I'm floated onto the plane on a wave of obsequiousness.
It pisses me off if I'm honest, since I've never done anything remotely important.
But it also worries me sometimes too.
I like it.
And I'm starting to expect it and want to rip someone a new one when I don't get it.
...
Jake's meeting me in London.
He hasn't said anything about the BBC but I'm suspicious nevertheless . . . .
They do say I'm smart, and I'm certainly not as stupid as some of the people I run into on a daily basis.
...
I'd had three meetings, and after finally being left alone, a soak in the tub, when Jake pushes his way into our hotel suite.
He smiles when he sees me, I adore that smile. It breaks a serious and handsome face into a thing of breathtaking beauty.
And he crosses the room in a few loping strides, throwing himself down on me where I'm sprawled on the couch as he tugs my towelling robe open . . . .
...
Celebrities in sunglasses really piss me off, especially when they're inside an airport terminal. But I know how to play the game and sunglasses and speculation are better than anyone getting a shot of my red puffy eyes.
Jake has taken a job with the BBC and I'm going to miss him since he doesn't believe a long distance relationship will work.
...
There is only the flight home to dwell on it though, things to do, people to see . . . .
...
"So, the wedding is in six months. You'll come?"
"Of course I will, it's like a moment in history, Suaveward finally being claimed."
"Something like that." Rose purrs down the line. "She's probably shit scared he'll wriggle off the hook if she waits any longer. Or he's knocked her up. She wants to know if you'll be a bridesmaid?"
"Um, no."
"I knew you'd say that. Wise choice. I've already been measured for my cliché."
"What color?"
"Not one that suits a blonde." She drawls. "Bridezilla is one shrewd operator."
"I'll be there with bells on, in my own preferred colors."
"Denim and Converse will not be admitted to the ceremony, but they will be acceptable at the Hen and Stag Nights." Rose allows.
"We're doing both?"
"Hell yes we are! We went to college together, that supersedes any traditional shit."
"Are you allowed to call their nuptials shit?"
"Since I'm Chief Bridesmaid? Yes."
"Okay then. Let me know if you need me to do anything."
"I will . . . ."
...
Hiring. Firing. Meetings. Appearing on TV. Being interviewed for Cosmo. And photographed much more than normal, if that's possible, since Jake's defection to London.
Aro says the gossip columns are busy speculating about what I did wrong this time. The answer, of course, is everything.
...
"Twins."
"Holy shit!"
"That's what I said." Char allows as she tucks into her Chinese. "Pete was a tad ruder. Anyway we've told the 'olds' which means Jazz probably knows."
"Which means everyone knows." I observe.
"No secrets at the Cullens or Whitlocks." She laughs.
I fall silent, stabbing my chopsticks into my dinner.
Marriage and children, they're the way of things for most folk . . . .
...
"If we close the plant nearly a thousand people will be out of work."
"We're not running a charity." Char reminds the plant manager.
"No." I agree. "But we can act like one sometimes. Six months Clive, show me what you can do."
"Yes! Yes Ms Swan!"
"Are you insane?" Char demands as we swoop out through the foyer.
"No. I'm rich."
"I love you."
"No you don't. You love Pete."
"I'd have your babies if I could."
"No you wouldn't. They'd be clumsy, you hate clumsy."
"Okay, maybe not, and the brunette would clash with the blonde."
"Brunettes rule."
"Yeah." She chuckles. "But the blondes are having the fun."
...
"He's not too good today." Dad's nurse, Monica, informs me.
Great.
"Mom? Is that you?"
"No Dad, it's me, Bella."
"Bella?"
Yeah, not good today . . . .
...
"How is she?" I ask, studying my Mother.
"The same. You know she will be."
...
Monday. Meetings, meetings, meetings. Even dinner at the current 'it' restaurant is a meeting and I don't get in till nearly midnight.
...
Tuesday. More meetings. I'm too busy to get home for the removers to collect Jake's stuff so Char and Lauren do it for me. When I finally get there the 'to die for' apartment looks like it actually has died. I don't seem to have much stuff of my own here, nothing really other than clothes and toiletries.
At least I can 'rough up' the pile on the suede accent wall in our bedroom now, something Jake always used to bitch about, the contrast on the dark blue is striking.
So what if my master piece is a massive dick?
It's my wall.
...
Wednesday, drinks party at some new nightclub. The same old faces but the mojitos were awesome . . . .
I lost Demetri somewhere in the crush or at least I thought I had, but when I was just about to make the stupid decision to let an 'acquaintance' drive me home he materialised from nowhere and bundled me away. I don't officially have a bodyguard but I sometimes wonder if someone on the board has decided I need one without telling me. Anyway, closet bodyguard or not, Demetri's a good guy
...
Safely home I ease off my heels with a groan of relief and pour myself a glass of wine.
No Jake no beer. I should probably organise my ass to buy some.
I peer deeper into the refrigerator.
And possibly some food.
Then, for lack of anything else to do, I wander around the apartment, even taking a moment to peruse the city lights.
I need to move.
This place sucks.
...
"You want to move out of the city?" Lauren asks, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow at me on Thursday morning.
"Yes. Out."
"O-kay. Where?"
"I don't know, just out."
"Does Charlotte know about this?"
"Not yet."
"Can I brief her?"
"If you must. Just call my realtor and get her to come and see me."
"Of course Bella."
...
I wade through the requests on my desk, organising them into the normal three piles.
No. No. God no. Maybe. Okay. Pfft, over my dead body. Okay. No. No. What, after what you wrote about me last year, no. No . . . .
"Bella?" Lauren's voice wafts over the intercom. "You're 9 o'clock is here."
"Okay Lauren, send him in."
Here we go, another day another dollar . . . .
...
God I'm exhausted.
I blunder through the apartment, not bothering with the lights, and throw myself on the bed, fully clothed.
Fuck it.
...
I wake up on Friday morning in a less than happy mood, you would too if you'd slept in an uncomfortable two thousand dollar suit and your control-top pantyhose.
Thank god I don't need to go into the office today, I think.
Jake and I used to have 'us' days when we blocked out our diaries and resolved to do whatever the fuck we wanted.
Today is probably the last one and I don't know if I should carry them on or not. I used to like waking up without a plan, it was refreshing, but I'm not sure I can fill a day on my own without someone else to help me decide what to do. And I have to work like a dog to clear my diary anyway. Might be easier to just let it go.
Oh well, I should make the most of it for now, I can at least soak in the tub instead of taking a quick shower, and maybe do some grocery shopping . . . .
...
Saturday night I had Lauren make my excuses for missing the latest opening at the opera. Jake loved to go and mingle but I always found it excruciating. Money can buy you appreciation of many new experiences but wailing in Italian is not something I've ever warmed too.
And I don't have a date. I could get one of course but having actually done the grocery shopping yesterday I rather fancied a night in cooking my own dinner and quaffing beer.
It hasn't started out well. I can't actually remember the last time I watched TV, Jake always had twenty four news or sports on, and I don't recognise any of the shows. The movies aren't much more promising until I stumble on a romantic comedy I last watched in college with Rose.
That'll do nicely.
Setting it to record I move to my 'state of the art culinary space', otherwise known as the kitchen, and proceed to 'pierce and ping' my Mexican TV dinner with the mastery born of many years experience.
Then I take it and a beer to the study where my laptop is already on, I'll just catch up on my emails and proof read the draft report for the investors, then I'll watch the movie.
Several hours and many beers later I sprawl out on the couch to do just that but I'm not even sure if I stayed awake through the opening credits . . . .
...
This weekend also contains 'Skip Mom' Sunday. Not something I'm proud of but I learned a while ago that a break every once in a while upsets neither of us.
Unable to think of a single thing to do with my time I drive myself into the office, scaring the shit out of the security guard who was obviously planning a quiet day napping and watching sports.
I'm attending a charity auction tonight but I'm pretty sure there's something in the closet here I can wear so I needn't go home first . . . .