On Saturday morning, still tired and a bit weak after the charity ball and the sleepless night we spent talking with Vladimir, talking about hard, painful things for the most part, but also beautiful and unexpected ones, we sat down to have a breakfast at the lake pavilion.
So, my stay was nearly over. Tomorrow, I'd fly home. I was officially Lyme-free, able to walk and stabilised; at least stabilised enough for the upcoming transplantation.
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday morning. Visits in Hell. That's what Vladimir had warned me attempting to get rid of Lyme would be like in this short span of days. The price for speeding up healing. Jarisch-Herxheimer on steroids and then some. I thought it would kill me, but there I was, drinking tea, trying to make sense of this strange man sitting opposite me, of the even stranger family I was about to enter – or not-, and of myself.
"Have you heard from Edward yet?"
I shook my head. "Not a word. Would you mind, then... taking me with you to Seattle?"
"Of course not. Have you arranged for your friend to come pick you up?"
"Yeah, Angie will be there."
"She is a good friend."
"Yep. We don't know each other long, but, she's wonderful."
But at that moment, the phone beeped.
I'm by the gate now. Ready to go to the UK? E.
I read it and went silent for a while, dropping my hands with the phone on my lap. "Looks like... looks like I won't have to bother you. He's coming."
"Are you sure, Miss Swan, that you would not prefer to fly with me?"
Yes. A hundred percent yes, because with him at least I was sure I'd get home on time and in one piece. But I had a relationship to patch up, if it was worth patching up – and that was another thing I had to figure out.
"It will be fine. I need to talk to him anyway."
And then we didn't say anything anymore; and then we just drank our tea and studied each other.
"Thank you, for everything," I told him eventually.
"It was my pleasure."
Edward pulled in and it was time to go.
Time to leave fairytale castles behind and face the reality.
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"So, how was staying over at uncle Vladimir's?" Edward asked casually when we exited Manchester. Given it was the first thing he said since he hired the convertible at the airport, somehow I wasn't buying it that it was just an innocent pleasantry.
"Nice. I should be Lyme-free now, so... it was good."
"Good," he nodded and drifted off into silence again.
I gazed up at the seagulls circling above the river Tame.
Good. No, that word didn't encompass it and wasn't accurate, at all. Getting rid of Lyme was one of the worst experiences in my life and I'm not sure I'd have the strength to do it again in this way. But at least it was done. At least it won't mess up the new heart I'll get.
In all honesty Vladimir had told me it would be horrible. He helped me sleep through it, but somehow that didn't take all of the pain away. I emerged from it into a strange, hazy half-consciousness, such which you have after injections that are meant to knock you out but don't quite work – sick to the core, drenched in sweat, struggling for each breath and burning in Hell, every inch of me aching. But as time passed, the nearer it got to the evening, the better I felt, until with a distant church clock's announcing 8 pm I was able to sit up on the bed, slide my legs off it and try out making a step, then one more. It exhausted me so I had to lie right back down and the world spun around with me – but I felt something in me was different already. And with each several hours of visit in Hell, I was better, until finally he told me it's done and Lyme won't bother me anymore.
What did bother me, however, was Edward's absence and his silence, day by day, combined with the pressure from his family that subtly, but palpably started to demonstrate itself in my life. And the secrets, of which I was getting the first unpleasant taste.
"So, how is your mum?" I asked Edward when the silence dragged on for too long.
"Fine."
"Good." I didn't know what else to say. He didn't look like he wants to talk about it. But there I was dead wrong.
"You mean it's good because she's not hurting, or because her being sick doesn't thankfully inconvenience you anymore?" Edward asked silkily. "And I can be here, taking care about my poor sweet Bella? My helpless angel?"
"If you want to be murdered before you reach twenty, this is the best way to go about it."
He grew somewhat contrite. "Sorry," he rubbed his face. "I'm so tired, I keep barking at everyone. I really thought neither of us will make it this time. That she'll succeed and I'll kill myself, too."
I stroked his shoulder and muttered: "Remind me I owe you a hug when we stop."
He laughed a little and kissed my hand, seeming to finally relax a little.
Did I say that because I felt with him, or because I was afraid?
Bitter pills. Vladimir had said there would be many.
One came that very same Tuesday evening when I finally was coherent enough to realize Edward was nowhere to be seen, when I have made those first two steps on my own and laid down. It didn't occur to me he had jumped on the plane to Seattle while I was sleeping, we had agreed he'd go on Wednesday around the noon. Little did I know that was exactly what he had done.
Laying back down, I pulled the duvet to my chin, shivering from sudden onslaught of cold, and waited a moment, thinking nothing of it for a while, and sort of glad he wasn't yet there, because I wasn't sure in what mood he would return after our argument and that I'm prepared to see him and deal with him. He was bored so he went to the library, I told myself, for a walk, or he went to grab some snack. But as time passed, I got concerned.
Sitting up, I called out: "Edward?"
No answer.
"Edward, are you here?"
Still nothing.
Somehow, with the state he had been in in the morning after his mum's suicide attempt and his admission of having been abused, it made me alarmed. I tried to phone him, over and over again, but he wasn't picking it up.
At last I noticed a note, a ring box and a credit card.
Sorry, I had to go. She's calling for me. Be back soon, I promise. I'll call you when I get home. Stay safe.
E.
PS: I meant it. Open that box and try the ring on if it fits now. I wanted to ask you properly and give it to you on my knee at Giverny, but you know it, the best laid plans... I love you. Even if I behave like an idiot sometimes.
PPS: Oh, I almost forgot – Rose and Alice want to get to know you and invite you to go to the Met Gala with us this year. Left you my card – go buy a dress if you feel well enough, something cool, designer and expensive, otherwise I won't hear the end of it from the girls. Make me proud and look like a Princess. Love you.
I noticed the fire was burning bright and inviting in the fireplace and there was an opened book on the occasional table by the armchair where Vladimir had been sitting, almost read; it looked like he left only a short moment ago and would soon come back. Did he know Edward had been here and didn't wake me up, or had Edward sneaked in meanwhile?
I crumpled the note in my hand, carefully went over to the fireplace and threw it there. Then I put the ring box and the card into the drawer of the nighstand, slamming the drawer in with a small thud. Shutting my eyes, I grabbed the nightstand with both hands for support.
Dirty. I felt so dirty. Somehow my skin crawled, I didn't know entirely why, and I felt dirty.
Like a toy that amuses him, until it does not, a toy that's not shiny enough on its own to impress his sisters.
Silent steps that went to a standstill near me.
"Miss Swan, are you quite alright?" the deep, soothing voice of Vladimir asked.
I forced myself to look back up at him and smile. "Yes. Yes, I'm alright, thank you."
He nodded slowly with a polite, serious expression. I could see he didn't believe me, but he didn't push it.
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The Prince. Edward told me to simply call him a Mr., or Dr., if I want to be polite. But when it came to it and I was about to call him Dr. Chernigovsky, I glanced at his stern, aristocratic face and couldn't bring myself to do it; and a sixth sense in me told me not to. And I recalled something from long, long time ago, so long it felt it must have been a dream; once upon a time, when I was about three and visiting great-grandpa in England, he brought me to an incredibly old lady, about whom he told me she was a Princess. She was living alone in her flat, surrounded by golden icons. The light of candles dancing against the gold; the smell of rose oil. She had soft hands, like silk; great-grandpa had instructed me before we entered to take it when she offers it to me and kiss it. She stroked my hair when I told her I don't know what to call her, smiled and told me: 'Ma chèrie, whenever you are not sure, use the title.'
Someone from the past; she died not long after. Of grief and homesickness, great-grandpa told me. Before she did, she sent a small icon to great-grandpa and to me, a book of Russian fairy tales she had written, smelling of rose oil.
Now, with the benefit of spending with him couple of days and of hindsight, he, too, seemed to be from the past somehow. The same past to which the old, dead Princess belonged, to rooms filled with golden icons and frail lace under silver-framed photographs of people who were gone. To grief and homesickness.
"Prince Chernigovsky..."
He glanced back at me. "Yes, Miss Swan?"
And at once I could see I scored a brownie point, passed a test. I sent quiet thanks to both of the dead. The last thing I needed was to offend a guy who's got my life in his hands.
Edward, if this was a prank, you're in so much trouble, I thought then.
Now, glancing at him, I wondered if that was the case.
"Edward – why did you tell me he doesn't care how he's called? To call him Doctor at most and I'll be fine?"
He chuckled and demanded with an eager glint in his eyes: "So, did you call him that? Did he pull a face? Gosh, I wish I could have seen it!"
So it was a prank. "No, he didn't pull a face," I told him as calmly as I could. "He didn't pull it when I called him that after he introduced himself and I guess he wouldn't have done it this time, either. But why the heck did you set me up like this?"
"Oh, c'mon. It's plain silly in this day and age and titles were abolished in Russia, hello. It's time he wakes up and sees there's no place for this nonsense in the twenty-first century."
Said the son of a Lord's daughter and a former Eton boy, before they kicked him out, just like they did from the music school. It occurred to me when Vladimir mentioned this detail that bitterness might be another reason behind this. And now it kinda felt like I was right.
"The UK is a monarchy still, in case you didn't notice, and we still got titles here, hello. And as far as I know, it's the twenty-first century here, too. And one thing that wasn't abolished is courtesy, though people try their best."
He rolled his eyes. "Whatever." After a while, he added: "And you know... I was kinda annoyed. There I was dreaming up our bright romantic future together and you asked me what to call him. That kind of bothered me, Bella." He shook his head. "I mean, Jesus. I just proposed to you and that's what you ask me about?"
I looked away and closed my eyes. The proposal scene was one of the things I really, really wanted to forget. "You mean how you yelled at me like crazy that I'm pathetic and a burden, that you could have dozens of girls better, prettier and healthier than me at the snap of your fingers, then pulled out a cigarette to smoke into my face and out of the blue you showed me a ring, told me it's a bauble that's nothing special, despite your mum gave it to you for your future bride, and told me how you guess it's a proposal? And then how you vanished and didn't pick my calls, refused to talk to me when your sister finally picked it up and didn't reply any of my texts till this morning?"
He pulled in his horns and gave me a sheepish look. "Point taken."
With his mood, the thought of facing Siobhan and Maggie was under the circumstances almost soothing, though I did not know them that well; they used to be my mum's friends from the days she was into witchcraft and so she rented out the house to them, relieved she does not have to take care about it. And while I had respect and admiration for Siobhan's fierceness, it sometimes made me uncomfortable, together with the occasional subtle attempts to draw me into their sphere. I wanted to have nothing with that. She thought I should cultivate my abilities, while all I wanted was for the spirits to leave me alone.
But oh well, at least he started to talk, I guess. Given we were getting nearer, it was high time to prepare him for my two tenant ladies.
"Siobhan and Maggie – just a heads up, they are into living history. They like to wear 18th and 17th century stuff a lot, so just, don't laugh, okay?"
He drew a halo above his head.
On the radio, there sang Noel McLoughlin The Wild Mountain Thyme; I relaxed into my seat and propped my head up on my hand, watching the scenery as we drove over the insanely green rolling hills and above rugged gorges. It fit this landscape nicely. But in the middle of it, Edward groaned and switched it to a sports channel to listen to football.
I gave him a quizzical glance and he shrugged, grimacing. "I don't like this kind of music much."
"I do," I murmured.
"Hmph."
The sports channel stayed on.
Odd. Was it just me, or did he really switch to another channel whenever I seemed to enjoy whatever was on, even if it was classical music? He's been doing this for the better part of the journey, as if annoyed by the very notion of me enjoying something when he's in a foul mood.
"How did you like dancing with Vladimir?" he asked suddenly, muscles tense, all nervous and irritated, avoiding my eyes.
I raised my eyebrows in slight surprise. "He told you about it?"
"No," he snorted a little and the brakes screeched as he slowed down in front of a turn. His knuckles whitened. "Rose told me. Some chick she knows was there and saw you two."
Oh, there it begins again. My potential future sister-in-law doesn't waste any moment. I shrugged. "Yeah. I liked the dancing, he's a great dancer."
"What else is he great at?" he muttered – or rather, it was on the verge of a growl - and he clutched the steering wheel even tighter.
I frowned, trying to piece together what was wrong. "Wait a moment – you mind? He's your uncle, for crying out loud."
"My point precisely."
I groaned and rolled my eyes, rubbing my forehead. "Oh, c'mon, please."
"Who bought you that dress and those jewels?"
I stiffened and counted to ten. Guy, don't give me another reason to throttle you, please.
"I checked my card. You didn't buy anything with it. So where did you get the money to buy a 50 000 Euro dress, not mentioning the shoes, the bag and the jewels – might I ask?"
I didn't reply, because the number floored me. I knew the dress was expensive, but I had no idea just how.
"And what did you give him in return for it all – might I ask too?"
"Just my thanks."
"Oh, I bet those thanks were warm indeed," he sneered and I clutched my backpack, resisting the urge to smack him with it hard. "I knew he's got a penchant for stealing fiancées, Garrett could tell you a lot about that, but that's a new low. I thought you of all girls wouldn't be that cheap... but I was wrong, right?"
"Stop the car."
"What?"
"The gas station, stop there. I need the loo to vomit."
"And why did you wear his dressing robe this morning?" he barked at me, hitting the gas instead. "You smell of him all over like a cheap whore-"
"Stop! Now!"
He hit the brakes and I threw the car door open, slamming it behind me. I turned around to face him and leant down against the car. "He took me out dancing and bought me that dress so that I could go to that stupid Met Gala your sisters came up with without dying of shame I don't fit in. So that I could face your family with some dignity and not have to think all the time about how I have no money, don't know anyone there and everybody is probably staring at me and laughing at me - and laughing at you, too, that you picked me up somewhere in the gutter. And for your information, the jewellery was all his and he just lent it to me so I wouldn't look like a pauper among all those oil tycoons and bank magnates." I let the words sink in for a while – he seemed to be shocked. "And as for that dressing robe, if you didn't notice, it was chilly as heck this morning and so he lent it to me like a gentleman – and that smell is from that robe. And now, if you excuse me, I've got some vomiting to do."
I swung on my heel and marched towards the station.
The loo was thankfully empty and so I had the bathroom part all to myself. I splashed my face with water, rubbing it with my hands for a while.
So, he's jealous of his own uncle whom he had explicitly asked to help me in any way he can, uncle he told me I should always trust. Wonderful.
Terror. That's what I had felt going to that ball. Pure terror. I don't like social situations to begin with; I'm as shy as any typical bookworm introvert. And this was on a whole another level. And I was terrified. Painfully, painfully aware I don't belong.
That's what you get when you're an ordinary mortal and you get proposed to by the likes of Edward Cullen.
Proposed. The proposal.
I clenched my eyes shut. Words. So many, so ugly, designed to hurt where one is the most vulnerable, cutting into the worst fears, the greatest insecurities. And after this, after what he had yelled at me, and after his previous admission that I could get killed if I knew more of his family, he expected me to marry him.
It just didn't feel real then. It couldn't be. It had to be some absurd dream.
While he was going through the motions of a proposal, I was still struggling to process what he had just screamed at me, to process, too, the revelation about his mother and even more so, I guess, the fact he kept it from me, that he lied that first time when I asked him about Bree's blackmail. If I didn't have Angela, I probably wouldn't have ever known. He would have kept it to himself. And that was a warning sign.
The lashing out, too, felt like a red flag.
Mental illness is one thing. PTSD is one thing. But lying to me about something this big was another. What else might he be lying about? I told him I would trust him – but after him telling me I'm a burden and to marry him almost in the same breath I wasn't sure entirely I did. It just was too crazy even for me, all of it.
I was frightened then; throughout that exchange with Edward, ever since he told me it just might be so nasty and big I could wind up dead if I knew, I'd been frightened to the core, until Vladimir later set the record straight a bit and calmed me down, even if marginally, because having at least a rough idea of the truth, no matter how horrible, is still less scary than being in total dark.
But now I was frightened again.
And he calls me a whore. Wonderful. Aggression, jealousy, verbal abuse. He was ticking the items on the list of potential abuser qualities one after the other.
Splashing my face with icy water again, I clutched the sides of the basin and leaning forward on my hands, looked at myself in the mirror.
Leave, Bella.
Leave while you still can.
But then the vial of medicine Vladimir gave me told me it's not that simple.
Leave and you won't get the heart they promised.
Leave and die.
If I'm not with Edward, if I'm not part of this family, none of the three will lift a finger to help me.
I shuddered, cold sweat trickling down my spine.
A shy knock on the door told me it's time to pull myself together.
"Bella?"
"Coming!" I grabbed a towel and patted my face dry, moving towards the door. I hesitated as I touched the knob, clutching it till my knuckles went white, and I leant my forehead against the door, struggling to calm down my breathing.
"Bella?"
"Just a sec!"
I fingered the vial in my pocket, shutting my eyes.
"Only one drop per day," Vladimir warned me as he gave the vial to me. It was of cut crystal, small, full of blood red liquid – and it was the thin red line on which my heart was hanging. The thing that had saved me then when I thought it's the end. Weird-tasting, fiery, burning my throat. "You may take one more in case of an emergency. So two per day at most, do you understand? More and you run the risk of addiction and other undesirable side effects, potentially irreversible."
Does your pulse skyrocketing because you are afraid of your fiancé and his family count as an emergency?
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AN: Sorry for the long silence, guys. RL issues + I was working on several chapters simultaneously. Love to all who reviewed, followed and favorited! Have a wonderful autumn.