A/N Thank you guys so much for reviewing the last chapter! I was blown away by the response, although I know most of you just wanted the teaser… lol
There are pictures of the Cullen Mansion on my profile along with TPB's official banner and Bella's outfit for this chapter.
Enjoy!
Chapter 17
Edward POV
~ April 4th, 2012 ~
~~ 0 ~~
~~ 0 ~~
~~ 0 ~~
As Isabella and Angela stepped into the elevator, I closed the front door and headed into the kitchen for a glass of water. My throat suddenly felt parched for some reason while the t-shirt I had on felt like a heavy parka worn on a hot summer afternoon. Grabbing a tall glass from one of the cabinets, I poured tap water into it, adding a few ice cubes. I leaned against the counter and downed it all in one breath, reaching to the sink for another one.
As I took small sips from my second glass, I tried to wrap my mind around what Isabella had said before leaving. She wanted to meet my mother, and she seemed pretty damn sure about it. Just a few weeks before, she had confessed that she wasn't sure she was ever going to be ready to take that step. Now, all of a sudden her attitude had taken a one hundred eighty degree turn. I wasn't sure whether it was due to her running into Rosalie or to some unknown factor, but she had made it clear that she wanted to join the family dinner that upcoming Saturday.
And that was fine by me. I had assured her that we were going to do things at her pace, and I intended to keep my word. However, I hadn't expected her to change her mind so unexpectedly. I suspected that her hasty decision had been triggered by something that had happened during her encounter with Rosalie, but I had chosen not to insist on the subject, because it wasn't that important.
What had me worried was Isabella's vulnerability. Generally speaking, she was a strong woman; no one who knew her could deny that. But faced with my mother's acidic personality and biting remarks veiled by apparent politeness, I was afraid that she was going to loose the necessary strength to put up with her. Knowing my mother, she was going to detect Isabella's weak points and take advantage of that without any trace of remorse whatsoever. She was going to hit her with calculated comment after comment until she was down, and even then, she was going to continue by kicking her until she was unable to get up again.
My mother had always been fiercely protective of her family, which led to her sick need for control over everyone's lives. For over twenty years, I had tried to cope with the fact that she was never going to change, and I had in part succeeded. But for an outsider such as Isabella, the impact of her offensive behavior was going to prove devastating.
However, attempting to keep her away from my family was like trying to avoid the inevitable. No matter what we did, sooner or later it was going to happen whether we wanted or not. Our relationship was developing at galloping speed, and it was better to let things follow their natural course rather than cross them. My job was to let Isabella know what she was in for and back her up when she needed me. We had to face the common enemy together, not only to win the first crucial battle, but also to extend our relationship's endurance to future obstacles.
As for Emmett, I actually wasn't worried at all. His bark was worse than his bite. He may have inherited his irritability and quick-to-judge attitude from my mother, but reason was the best thing Dad had passed on to him. Once he realized that Isabella wasn't half as bad as he had initially thought, I was sure that he was going to back down.
I tossed the rest of my water into the sink and turned on my heels, heading back to the bedroom. I pulled my t-shirt over my head and let it fall to the floor then slid under the covers. As I lay there with my arms folded underneath the pillow, I tried to come up with a plan for that dreaded dinner.
An hour later, I was still awake and without a plan or even a hint of strategy. Expressing my frustration through a loud sigh, I closed my eyes and waited for sleep to come. Quoting a famous movie character, I told myself that I'll think about it tomorrow.
~~ 0 ~~
The next day during lunch break, I called my mother.
"Edward dear," she drawled, sounding genuinely happy. "What a pleasant surprise."
"Hey, Mom," I greeted unenthusiastically, pushing my half-eaten sandwich to the side.
"To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected call? I thought you forgot that you actually still have a mother."
I sighed heavily, not in the mood to be reprimanded. Between work and the stress of the upcoming family dinner, my tolerance was extremely low.
Deciding to ignore her scolding tone, I went on. "What would you say if I told you that I want to join the family dinner this Saturday?"
"I would say that I'm extremely pleased." I could hear the smile in her voice. "I haven't seen you since you got back from Europe."
Indeed. Although I had promised to visit her as soon as I returned to the US, I simply hadn't had the time. Or desire.
"You'll see me Saturday," I assured, reaching for my still steaming coffee and taking a sip.
"But?" she asked suspiciously, sensing there was something more.
"I'm bringing Isabella with me," I said firmly, letting her know there would be no arguing about it.
"I see," she replied after a brief pause. "Has she finally decided to stop hiding behind your back?"
Closing my eyes for a second, I willed myself not to snap at her rudely.
"Mother," I started in an almost pleading tone, "you have to promise me that you'll at least give her a chance to prove that she's worthy of your precious son. Money isn't everything. She's a woman with character. She beautiful, intelligent, a great cook and has a big heart. Those qualities are much more important than wealth and social status."
My plea was met with deafening silence.
"We'll see," she said eventually.
I wasn't one hundred per cent pleased with her vague answer, but I let it go. "Fine. What hour should we be there?"
"Let's say eight. I'll let everyone know that we're going to have a special guest that evening."
"Alright." I nodded to myself, feeling like a small weight had been lifted off my chest. She had taken the news with more diplomacy than I had expected. I only hoped that she was going to be at least as discreet when the right time came. "Thanks."
"I'll see you soon," she said sweetly, and with that the line went dead.
~~ 0 ~~
The following days passed at the speed of light. The dreaded and at the same time anticipated Saturday arrived, bringing with it a deep, gut wrenching nervousness that I hadn't experienced since the day I got married, many years back. The only difference was that while the wedding-related emotions had been constructive, these ones had the potential of being destructive.
I parked the car in front of Isabella's apartment building and pulled out my phone, searching through my contact list for her number.
"Yeah?" she picked up on the second ring.
"Are you ready?"
"Uh… not quite," she hesitated. "Angela isn't done fixing my hair yet. Where are you?"
"I'm parked in front of your building."
There was shuffling in the background, a muttered curse probably coming from Angela, and then Isabella added, "We still have another half an hour until we have to be there. Why don't you come up?"
"Alright," I agreed. "I'll be there in a minute."
I got out of the car and made my way inside, heading for the elevator. When I reached the fifth floor, I let myself into the apartment. There was soft music coming from Isabella's bedroom, and I removed my dress shoes and tweed jacket, walking down the narrow hallway until I was standing in front of the open door.
"Good evening," I greeted, smiling at the sight of Isabella.
She was wearing an all too familiar wool-crepe shift dress in a brick red color. It had an asymmetric draped neckline, long sleeves, a pleat in the front, a gray grosgrain belt at the waist and a gray satin-trimmed exposed zip fastening through the back. Her feet were concealed by a pair of gray suede shoes with a patent-leather toe that must have been over five inches tall.
The day before, seeing how stressed she was over her outfit for today's dinner, I had offered to take her shopping. She had refused initially, but after raiding both her closet and Angela's, she had decided to accept. After hours of dragging me through a thousand boutiques and shops, she had finally settled on the Victoria Beckham dress she now had on. Even though she loved it, she had been worried about the color, thinking my mother might find it inappropriate. Bewildered by the negative effects her fear of my mother was having on her rationale, I had tried my best to assure her that the dress wasn't only extremely decent but also very tastefully chosen. It fitted her curves perfectly without being too tight or revealing.
She was sitting on the bed while Angela was standing in front of her, putting the final touches to a French twist. Getting closer to take a seat in Isabella's desk chair, I noticed that she was wearing black eyeliner and a nice shade of lipstick that matched her dress. She looked absolutely stunning, and I felt my heart swell with pride and adoration. She was the most beautiful woman in the world.
"Hey," they both murmured in unison, and Isabella returned a shy smile of her own.
"You look lovely," I complimented, my eyes taking her in hungrily.
She blushed. "Thanks. You do, too."
Her hands' movement caught my attention, and glancing down, I saw that she was wringing them in her lap frantically.
"I swear to God I'm as nervous as she is," Angela confessed somberly, a frown making its way to her forehead. After a moment, her eyes rose up to meet mine. "And if you feed her to the wolves, I'm going to personally kick your ass."
"What the hell, Angela?" Isabella tried to sound indignant, but her voice came out as meek and feeble.
"I'll take care of her," I assured Angela firmly, a bit offended that she thought I was going to leave Isabella to fend for herself around strangers.
She didn't seem that convinced, but went back to her task of fixing Isabella's hair, remaining silent until we were ready to leave.
"I'm sorry for what Angela said earlier," Isabella apologized when we stepped into the elevator.
I sighed, irritated. "Stop apologizing for her. You always do that."
She stared at me in confusion. In her new heels, we were almost at eye level. "Are you mad at me or something?"
I could detect a hint of hurt in her voice, and I turned to face her. "No. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just tense."
"You know, you're supposed to be the one comforting me, not the other way around," she said bitterly, and for the first time that evening, I felt like a jackass.
"You're right," I said, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her slim body to my chest. "Forgive me, but my mother tends to bring the worst out of me. Everything is going to be okay."
"You don't sound so certain," she noticed, placing her hands on my biceps.
"Well, she is unpredictable, so I can't know for sure, but there is a fifty per cent chance that she'll be nice."
She shook her head, lowering her gaze to our flushed chests. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"I don't know what else to say," I admitted, lifting her chin and kissing her lips softly. "I don't want to lie to you, nor do I want to sugar coat it."
She nodded resignedly, kissing me back. "I can't wait for this dinner to be over. I've been stressing over it since I woke up this morning."
"You'll do great. Besides, I am positive my father is going to love you."
She let out a deep breath. "Let's hope so."
~~ 0 ~~
It was a chilly spring evening in Chicago. As I helped Isabella out of the car, I glanced up towards the starry black sky and inhaled the cold air greedily.
This was it. We were here, and there was no turning back. We had to step into the silent, brightly illuminated mansion from across the large driveway and confront those who were without a doubt waiting for us.
Emmett's Mercedes was already there, parked next to Dad's Bentley, but there was no sign of my younger brother's car or his girlfriend's. Isabella seemed to have noticed this as well, because her eyes swept her surroundings with an air of panic. She knew from one of our previous conversations that Jasper owned a sports car, so one of the two luxury cars could only have been Emmett's. As realization hit her, I saw her swallow thickly, and I squeezed her fingers in what I hoped to be a comforting manner.
She sighed, letting her eyes close for a split second before taking a tentative step ahead. I followed, and we were soon making our way up the front steps. As we reached the front door, I rang the doorbell, and before I had time to retreat my arm completely, the tall silhouette of Miriam greeted us.
"Sir." She smiled welcomingly, making room for us to pass by her. "Miss."
"Hello, Miriam," I said somberly, helping Isabella remove her trench coat. "Are Jasper and Alice here yet? I didn't see any of their cars outside."
"Yes, they are," she replied, and I looked up at her in surprise. "Actually, everyone is here. They are waiting for you."
Seeing the confused look Isabella was giving me, she added conspiratorially, "I think they took a cab. Ms. Brandon casually commented something about drinking themselves into a stupor."
"Thank you, Miriam," I said, handing her both our coats.
Realizing she might have just committed an indiscretion, she took them with a firm nod, her expression hardening as she departed with hurried steps. Even the maids were terrorized by Esme Cullen.
I turned towards Isabella. "Ready?"
She was now staring at the imposing pristine foyer with her mouth agape. Having lived there half of my life, I was used to the opulence, but to a first time visitor, especially a modest one, the entire experience might have been a bit overwhelming. My mother had expensive taste, a fact that was confirmed by every inch of the enormous place she called home.
"No," she muttered, a frown overtaking her features. "Let's go back to your place. We'll cuddle in bed and read or something."
"We can do that later. Keep your chin up and don't let them intimidate you," I encouraged, brushing my lips against hers. "I love you."
She sighed resignedly. "I love you, too."
Taking her hand in mine, I lead her towards the living area. Mom and Rosalie, who up until that moment had been conversing animatedly, stopped abruptly as their eyes landed on us. Every single head turned in our direction, the room growing so silent I could hear my own breathing.
Everything after that seemed to happen in slow motion. With the perspicacity of a man preparing for a tormenting battle with his kin, I observed each expression aimed at the woman clutching my fingers with incredible force. If I hadn't been so focused on deciphering the meaning of those expressions, I would have probably screamed in pain.
My father, who stood in his usual spot by the fireplace smoking a cigar, was looking at Isabella with curiosity mixed with something akin to contentment. His blond hair, which he had so graciously passed on to Jasper, was slacked back, a few rebelled gray strands standing out in the strong light coming from the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. He was dressed casually in cream, almost white khaki pants, paired with a brown leather belt, a white button down shirt and a bamboo green sweater, which denoted his laid-back attitude towards tonight's dinner.
Inches away from him, Emmett was sitting in a plush armchair, enjoying a glass of whiskey. He was wearing his glasses like he always did when dealing with business, which I suppose was the way he viewed the entire event. He had to figure out if Isabella was a good investment for the entire family, or not. Simple as that.
His left hand rose up to run through his dark brown locks, a habit we both shared. While Jasper and I had gotten our mild facial features and lean body shape from my father, he had inherited our grandfather's from my mother's side. Much like Emmet, Lucan Evenson Sr. had been a large man with a prominent square jaw, an unpredictable character and an obsessive hunger for success.
If Isabella considered me a workaholic it was because she hadn't met Emmett yet.
For obvious reasons, he had been Lucan's favorite grandchild who had loved him even more than his own son. Ciprian, Mom's younger brother, had the misfortune of dying at the age thirty-two in a plane crash.
I had always suspected that my mother's preference for my older brother was due to his striking resemblance to her father whom she had adored.
Emmett studied Isabella, his criticizing scrutiny never leaving her face. Knowing him, he was more than likely trying to figure out whether his preconceptions about her were justifiable or not. Opposite of him, on a large ottoman, his daughter was sitting cross-legged, her chin resting in her palm. As expected, she was excited to see Isabella, a wide smile wiping the scowl she had been sporting only seconds prior.
Alice and Jasper were seated on the nearby couch while Mom and Rosalie were occupying the one closest to the French doors leading to the back patio. Alice looked like she had started drinking early, the glass of wine she was holding and her rosy cheeks betraying a substantial amount of alcohol ingested. Her hand rested on Jasper's knee, who's agonizingly bored expression alerted me we were in for a long night.
Rosalie was gawking at Isabella, her mouth set into a thin line. She didn't show any signs of recognition, which was strange. If there was a characteristic which could have been attributed to her, it was definitely straightforwardness. She didn't hide behind her finger, which was why I had a hard time figuring out what she was playing at. Maybe she was attempting to hide the fact that she and Isabella had met before. Who knew?
Finally, I braced myself and looked at my mother, expecting to see disapproval written all over her face. However, to my utter bewilderment, there was nothing. Not even a trace of emotion. No disapproval, no anger, no irritation, no frustration, no curiosity, no resignation; nothing. Her face was completely blank, causing an icy shiver to run down my spine. Either she was plotting something, or she was about to have a heart-attack. Since her health was pretty much comparable to steel, I leaned towards the first option.
"Good evening," I spoke first.
"Good evening," Isabella repeated, doing her best to sound confidant.
A collective murmur was their reply. Instead, Jessica jumped to her feet, hurrying over to us.
"Bella!" she exclaimed, enveloping her into a hug.
My mother's fugitive grimace caught my attention, causing me to shake my head at her in disapprobation. And just like that, she was back.
"Hi, Jess," Isabella said in a gentle voice, returning the hug warmly.
"You look so pretty," Jessica noticed, touching one of the long sleeves to feel the fabric of the dress.
"Thank you." Isabella blushed. "Same goes for you."
I cleared my throat. "Everyone, this is Isabella Swan, my girlfriend. Isabella, let me introduce you to my father, Carlisle," I said motioning to him. "My mother, Esme." I did the same gesture with my hand for each of them. "My brother Emmett and his wife Rosalie. And you know the rest."
Isabella nodded consciously, taking them in. "It's a pleasure to meet you all."
Dad smiled, exhaling a thick cloud of strongly scented smoke. "Isabella, welcome to our home. We are glad to have you here."
"Thank you, sir," she responded, offering him a smile of her own.
Mom rose to her feet then, making sure to smooth down the creases in her A-line skirt. "Since everyone is here, we can step into the dining room," she said flatly, starting to walk in that direction without another word.
They all got up, following after her silently. I grabbed Isabella's hand again, just as Alice approached us. Leaning towards Isabella, she whispered loudly enough for me to hear, "Good luck. You're going to need it."
I threw her a warning glare, but she just waved me off, patting Isabella's forearm encouragingly. Although I knew Alice's intentions were good, she was only scaring her with that type of comment.
As we entered the dining room and my gaze fell on the formal place setting, I immediately understood where my mother planned on taking the whole event. Aside from the flower arrangements and arm candelabras adorning the white tablecloth, I also noticed the escargot tongs and forks along with hand-lettered place cards. A full twelve course dinner awaited us, including caviar, escargot, seafood cocktail, soup, fish, lobster, entrée, palate cleanser, main course, salad, dessert and coffee or tea.
"What is this?" I asked incredulously, throwing my mother a sharp look. "Are we having the president over for dinner, and I didn't know about it?"
The right corner of her mouth lifted up into a self-content smirk. "Don't be silly. I simply wanted to have a more varied menu for this special occasion." Then she turned to Isabella, making sure to accentuate her words. "You do like escargot, Isabella, I hope?"
Isabella seemed at a loss of how to respond. "Um… I've never actually had it," she admitted shyly, proceeding to bite on her lower lip.
"Hmmm," Mother hummed, looking back at me with an arched eyebrow as if to say, "first step towards making my point completed". She sat down at one end of the table, grabbed a small crystal bell placed beside her plates and rang it.
Each one of us occupied their assigned places, and I couldn't help but notice that she had sat Isabella directly to her left, as far away from Dad and Jessica as possible.
Smart.
Or should I rather say, devious?
I had to hand it to her; she was nothing but resourceful.
Seconds later, Miriam showed up wearing an apron over her uniform. "Yes, ma'am?"
"You can start serving dinner."
"Certainly." She nodded, turning around and exiting the room as quickly as she had entered. She came back a minute later accompanied by Anna, the other maid, both carrying large silver trays with the hors d'oeuvres. From what I was able to see, they were serving three types of caviar, the tin cans resting in silver cups filled with shaved ice. Along with it came the usual crackers set on a plateau next to each can.
"You don't have to eat it if you don't like it," I whispered in Isabella's ear, placing my hand on her knee under the table. "Same goes for the snails."
"I know," she murmured, reaching for the mother-of-pearl spoon. As she brought the cracker to her lips, I saw Mom watching her intently.
"How's the caviar, Isabella?"
"It's delicious," Isabella answered after swallowing everything in her mouth, sketching a forced smile. I knew she wasn't a big fan of fish, and its eggs were obviously not going to change her taste in food. I only hoped that she wasn't going to eat more than she could take out of politeness.
"I'm sure it is," my mother stated, her tone almost deriding. "But, do tell us about yourself. Where are you from?"
After taking a second bite, Isabella put down the fragile spoon, wiping her mouth delicately with her napkin. "Well, I'm originally from Forks, Washington. My…"
"Forks, you say?" Mother interrupted rudely, sipping on her dry white wine. "I never heard of it."
"It's a really small town."
"What made you come to Chicago?"
"My aunt lives here. My parents died a few years ago, and since I don't have any other relatives, she took me under her wing, so to speak."
"So, you're an orphan," she stated just as rudely, and I had a hard time believing she could be so insensitive.
"Yes," Isabella affirmed quietly, reaching for her own glass of wine.
"I see. I hear you're studying to be a journalist."
At this, Isabella's face lit up. She loved talking about school and her future career. "Yes, I've wanted to be a journalist since I can remember."
"It's a good profession." Dad nodded approvingly.
Mom huffed, her lips puckering. "What's so good about it? Most journalists are disgusting leeches who write gossip columns."
"That's a wrong conception, and you know it, Esme," Dad said gently, but there was an edge to his voice. "Being a lawyer isn't exactly the most honorable of professions either, and you still married me."
"That's different," she replied curtly, averting her eyes from his to Isabella's and continuing her interrogation. "Where do you go to school?"
"I'm attending Columbia College."
"Why not the University of Chicago? If you're as intelligent as Edward says, you should have gotten in effortlessly."
"Her choice of college is none of your business, Mother," I snapped irritated, already getting fed up with her behavior.
She shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm just curious as to why she chose such a mediocre one."
"I chose Columbia College because my mother attended it before me," Isabella answered, staring down at her plate. I could tell she was getting uncomfortable.
"And what did your mother do?"
Isabella sighed, understanding where all this was going. Taking another sip of wine, she murmured, "She was a stay at home mom."
"There you have it." Mother gestured towards her triumphantly. "A mediocre education leads to a mediocre life."
"That's enough," I hissed, feeling my blood boiling in my veins. "Just because you went to Harvard doesn't mean everyone has to. And if I remember correctly, you didn't start working until I was fifteen. "
She narrowed her eyes at me. "Yes, because I focused all of my energy on raising three ungrateful children. Then I started my own charitable organization."
Dad cleared his throat, but Mom ignored him, choosing to continue bombing Isabella with questions. "How do you support yourself? I assume you have a job."
"I work part time at my aunt's bookstore."
"You sell books," she stated, getting more worked up with each answer she received.
"Yes," Isabella confirmed warily.
"Is something wrong with selling books, Esme?" Dad asked.
"You tell me. Is it?"
"Of course it's not. She should be proud of the fact that she manages to survive on her own. What do you think Edward or any other of your sons would have done if they didn't have our financial support during their college years? They would have been obligated to work as well."
"That's what Dad always points out to me," Alice piped in, attracting everyone's attention and the unwanted glare of my mother.
Dad turned to her. "Wouldn't you say that he's right?"
"Oh, he definitely is. I admire Bella for being so strong and independent."
That seemed to shut my mother up. But before I could let out a sigh of relief, Rosalie picked up the slack.
"Interesting dress you have on, Bella," she said, accentuating her name. "Is it by any chance Victoria Beckham?"
"Yes, it is."
She smirked, sensing the opportunity of a new attack. "And you were able to afford it from your modest part-time salary? It costs over three thousand dollars."
"I purchased it for her," I replied sharply, not getting what the hell was wrong with her. Rosalie was a good person, and it surprised me to see the same ugly behavior my mother was displaying reflected on her.
"Along with the Yves Saint Laurent shoes I presume."
"You presume right. Aren't I allowed to spoil my lover?"
Mom interfered immediately. "Since she's so financially independent, I thought she was above spending your money on expensive clothes."
"It's my money as you like to emphasize, and she can dispose of it anytime she wants."
"Aren't you generous?" she said, sarcasm dripping from every word like venom.
"I am generous towards those who deserve it," I shot back, throwing my napkin on my plate roughly. Any trace of appetite vanished completely, both my stomach and heart revolting against the malicious woman sitting a few feet away.
She gave Isabella the once over, not bothering to hide her disgust. "I'm sure she gained her right to your abundant generosity."
Miriam made yet another appearance then, stopping me from giving her a piece of my mind. "May I serve the escargot?"
Mother waved her off dismissively. "You may."
Full of rage, I clenched my hands into fists on each side of my plate, willing myself to calm down. Isabella noticed and placed her warm hand on top of mine, causing me to link our fingers together.
"It's interesting how we've already spent twenty minutes at this table and no one has approached the subject of their age difference yet," Emmett spoke for the first time, his stare fixed on our joined hands. "Tell me, Isabella aka Bella; don't you think you're a bit young for him? He wants a family of his own. Are you ready to give him that?"
"I know Edward wants children; we already discussed that. Maybe someday-"
"Maybe someday?" he cut her off. "As in you're not sure you want the same thing? And I couldn't blame you since you're still too young and focused on your future career to be having such plans. But think about it this way: are you being fair to him?"
Isabella's expression darkened. "I'm not forcing him to be with me," she retorted, her voice giving out a slight tremble.
"Is this your attempt at defending yourself?" he said, declining the escargot Anna was about to set in front of him. "Because it's not working."
"Emmett, my romantic life it's none of your damn business," I spat, enraged. "I never interfered between you and Rosalie, did I?"
"I just think this relationship is a waste of time and sentiments. It's not going to last. You're too different and you obviously don't want the same things."
"You don't know anything about her, so you'd better keep your mouth shut. Our relationship is going great, and who knows, maybe soon we'll be moving in together."
Mom's fork hitting the table was enough to let me know that I had spoken without thinking about the consequences.
~~ 0 ~~
I sat at the dining table surrounded by my family and took a deep breath, closing my eyes for a split second. The atmosphere was so tense, and the room was so eerily quiet, you could literally hear the proverbial pin drop.
My older brother's head was lowered, his eyes trained on the pristine white tablecloth, and his large hands folded neatly in front of him. Next to him, his wife's perfectly plucked right eyebrow was arched in a defiant manner, her scarlet, lipstick-coated, plump lips set into a straight line as her freezing, ice blue glare pinned me to my chair.
I let my gaze travel towards my younger brother, seeking for support. To my relief, I was not met with disapproval. On the contrary. Even though his face showed no sign of emotion, the mischievous, impish twinkle in his eyes let me know he was taking the news much better than the rest of the family. He was actually happy for me. His girlfriend was smiling hugely for some reason, and I found myself responding with a shy smile of my own.
That's until I met my mother's fierce, dark stare. There was so much hostility and anger directed at the woman sitting next to me that I actually felt my heart starting to beat faster in my chest.
I reached under the table and took her delicate hand in mine, linking our fingers together once again. Her entire body was trembling, and I knew her well enough to realize she was on the verge of crying. I wanted to rush to my feet, scoop her up into my arms protectively and leave this goddamn house. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her. I wanted to assure her that nothing and no one was going to stand in the way of our happiness. I wanted to promise her a better, brighter future.
I did none of that. I just sat there and allowed these people who rightfully called themselves blood of my blood to ridicule her. And it made me realize... I was acting even worse and more disgraceful than all of them combined.
How did I get here?
How didweget here?
These were the two questions relentlessly plaguing my mind.
Finally, I let myself look at my father; the man who had always been there for me since the very day I was born.
A single, short nod of his head spoke more than a thousand words.
He was still there for me.
"Now, now, Edward," Mom sounded panicked. "You don't have to make such rushed decisions without thinking them through first."
"Don't worry, mother," I said confidently. "I've been thinking it through quite a lot lately."
And indeed, it had been an idea for a while. The only reason I hadn't confessed my thoughts to Isabella was because I was unsure of how she was going to take it.
"I love Isabella. Don't you want me to be happy?"
"Of course I do," she said, her face pale as she toyed with her wedding band. "But I don't think you know what's good for you. She's got you blinded-"
"Esme, that's enough, already," my father interrupted, his voice glacial. "Can't we enjoy dinner in this family without unnecessary drama? Edward is a grown man and he knows better than any of us what's good for him. Leave him alone. And try to be nice to this poor girl. What is your goal exactly? Traumatizing her for life and making sure she never sets foot in this house again? Do that and you'll not only push her away but also your son."
Mom glared at him like she was ready to commit murder, her manicured nails digging hard into the skin of her palm. Now she was truly furious.
~~ 0 ~~
Two hours later, we were more than ready to leave. The rest of the dinner had been tense, and I wanted to go home and be as far away from these people as possible. Although, after my father's little speech no one but Jessica had dared addressing Isabella anymore, she had to endure Mother's dirty looks for the remainder of the evening. Now, everyone had moved into the living room again to chat, but I couldn't stand being there anymore. If it weren't for Jessica, I probably would have left as soon as first course was over; I was so overwrought.
Nature was calling, so I left Isabella in Alice's reliable company before hurrying down the foyer towards the downstairs bathroom. I took care of my needs as fast as I could, knowing she was too distressed to be there another minute. When I came back, Alice was perched up on Jasper's lap and she looked to be whispering something in his ear. Isabella, on the other hand, was nowhere in sight.
"Where's Isabella?" I demanded, my gaze darting around nervously. Dad and Emmett were deep in conversation, oblivious to everything around them, while Rosalie and Jessica were savoring chocolates from a pink box.
"Mom wanted to talk to her privately," Jasper answered apprehensively.
"Where did they go?"
"They went to Dad's study."
Spinning on my heels, I headed in that direction with large deliberate steps. As I got closer to the open door, I could hear fragments of their discussion.
"… so against me," Isabella was saying, her tone pleading. "I didn't do anything wrong."
"Your presence in my son's life is enough to make me abhor you," Mother replied harshly, and without even realizing I was doing it, I stopped to listen.
"You don't even know me."
My mother let out a low laugh. "What makes you think I want to know you? Can't you see that you're no good for him? He needs a powerful woman at his side, not a girl who's struggling with monthly bills."
Isabella sniffed, and my skin broke into a million goose bumps at the sound. "How can you be so unjust and callous?"
"I think the word you're looking for is pragmatic, my dear. I want the best for my son, and you're obviously not it," was the unsympathetic reply she got. "I'm only going to say this to you once. Take it like a warning if you will. Stay away from him, or I'll make you regret it."
My feet started moving again, this time on their accord as I rushed inside. "Isabella, we have to go," I said, holding my hand outstretched.
She stood there for a moment as if immobilized. Then she ducked by me, her head lowered and her hand pressed to her chest.
My mother was staring past my shoulder impassively.
"Threaten her again, and I'll make you regret it," I gritted through clenched teeth, pointing my forefinger towards her face menacingly.
"Edward, wait!" she called after me as I hurried to catch up to Isabella.
The front door was widely opened, and I jogged outside, spotting her leaning on her side against my car. She was crying with her arms wrapped around her protectively, and I cursed loudly, making my way to her. I tried to hug her, but she took a step back, shaking her head.
I tried not to feel offended and hurt by her withdrawal, knowing she had a good reason for acting like that. However, that didn't stop the rhythmic spasms of my heart, which seemed bent of tearing its way out through my chest.
Resignedly, I unlocked the car, holding the door open for her to get in. The ride to my condo was quiet, a few sobs coming from her resonating in my ears from time to time with the explosive impact of a heavy rock hitting water.
As soon as I parked the BMW in its spot and killed the engine, she bolted out and headed for the main lobby without waiting for me. I picked up the abandoned clutch from the passenger seat and followed after her, not having the strength to reply to Peter's joyful greeting.
I was miserable. I was angry at the world, at god, and mostly at myself.
Once upstairs, she tossed her pumps to the side carelessly. She walked over to the living room and sat on the edge of the couch with her arms dangling at her sides limply. I had no clue what to do or what to say, so I stood in front of the windows with my arms crossed over my chest. Below me the city was buzzing with life, but on the inside I felt dead. And it was all because of the woman who had given birth to me. She was selfish, manipulating, spiteful and unworthy of the love and respect I still had for her.
Sometime later, I turned to face Isabella only to find her in the exact same position as before.
"You need to give her more time," I started hesitantly, tugging at my hair so hard that I was afraid I was going to rip it out.
"She's never going to accept me!" she suddenly yelled, jumping to her feet and starting to pace the room frantically. "She's the most horrible person I've ever encountered. I have never felt more humiliated in my life," her voice cracked as she said the last words, and my heart couldn't take it.
"Isabella, please," I begged, hurrying to her side. I tried to wrap my arms around her, but she pushed me away violently.
"Don't touch me!" she cried out, running towards the bathroom and slamming the door behind her.
I stood there dumbfounded, blankly watching the spot she had just vacated. When I could finally move again and rapped my knuckles against the polished wood, there was no answer. I tried twisting the knob only to find it locked.
"Isabella, baby, please open the door," I implored, resting my forehead against the door. "Please."
"I need some time alone," came her hoarse, distant reply.
Letting out a staggered breath, I slowly slid down until I was sitting with my elbows resting on my knees. I closed my eyes and ran my palms over my face, into my hair and settling at the back of my neck.
She was refusing to talk to me.
This was certainly a first.
From a happy couple, this day had rendered us to almost strangers. A wave of despair washed over me, because I loved her and the distance she put between us was killing me.
Yes, I loved her. I loved her so much, it was scary how quickly and how intensely I had gotten attached to her.
I wanted the warmth of my body to be the one comforting her, not the cold tile floor or the even worse, the toilet seat. I wanted to tell her how much she meant to me and how I would have given anything to wipe that night's memory from her mind forever. She was too good of a person to deserve all the bullshit she had been subjected to, and I swore to myself never to allow Mother any type of interaction with her again. Her only goal was to break us apart, and I couldn't let that happen.
I checked my watch from five to five minutes, and by the time an hour had passed, I felt the urge to rip my hair out in frustration.
It seemed like my mother had gotten what she wanted after all.
A/N Thanks for reading and make sure to check out the group on Facebook where I always post the teasers for this story.
~ Andreea ~