December 2014
Twenty-five / Twenty-seven
Carlisle had delivered his son to Esme's doorstep in 2003. In the intervening twelve years, Edward had been grafted onto her life.
Isabella was thirteen, struggling with speech, and still in a pediatric wheelchair. Edward was a dreaded specter that made them all miserable. Isabella turned fourteen. On good days, Edward was her friend. Her only friend, when she looked back at Eric Yorkie's possessive, self-obsessed love. Edward took her to watch PG-13 movies, carved her Jack-o-Lanterns, and played her Beatles songs on the guitar. In ways in which Eric Yorkie never could, Edward introduced her to being a teenager.
It was so special because she had been so alone for so long.
Isabella turned fifteen, and Edward's shell cracked. In the confines of her house, Edward would smile at her – a little twist of the lips, his eyes soft to the point of looking pained, tender and playful. He learned that her lifelong ambition was to have a cat, that she escaped into novels. That she liked sour gummies over plain ones. In the confines of her house, he taught her to play Slapjack and played Coldplay on the piano for her.
Isabella turned sixteen, and eighteen-year-old Edward was gorgeous. His smiles made her melt. Secretly, she fell a little more in love every day. Edward would fuck anything that moved, but it filled her with hope that always came back. To take her ice-skating. To curl into her bed, smelling like firewood and hard liquor. To hear something good.
Edward left for college, revealing how important he had been all along. A protector. A friend. A confidant. Someone who knew her so intimately and so completely.
Isabella turned seventeen. Edward broke her heart at an eatery in Manhattan. "You're volunteering for the Telethon?" Jamie Hunter had asked. Edward had sneered in response, and it hurt so much she had felt the ache in her chest. They stopped speaking. She had missed him, and his absence became an ache in her chest. Her Edward – who was sweet, composed lullabies, and liked the sound of her voice when she read - was gone. Her Edward was replaced by a different person. By a man concerned with golf clubs, catamaran prices, and the distinction between family-owned and publicly traded companies.
Isabella turned eighteen. Her life kept going. She made friends, earned degrees, and even gave kisses. Edward came back to her life in flashes, in instants, in letters - telling her she was special, looking at her like she was the first ray of sunshine in spring. They were apart for years, but Edward haunted the back of her mind. She thought about him every day – the way she might have if she had been missing a part of her. The way she might have always noticed missing a limb, a finger, an eye. He was that important.
Edward had been the first person her age to see her – to really see her, as flawed, intelligent and funny. Edward had taken her hand and gently coaxed her out into the world. For all of her teenage years, Edward had been the one person to make an effort – for her to go ice-skating, dancing, swimming, and hiking in forests she had only admired from afar. It had felt like a privilege to know someone so cold could be so loving.
Isabella turned twenty-one, and Edward chose her. Edward loved her. Her doubt had vanished when those words came out of his mouth – elated and vulnerable, like he was holding out his heart in his palms. Isabella turned twenty-four, and Edward proposed at her childhood home.
It had felt so natural to accept, so comfortable. To have a word that could capture what they meant to each other. To acknowledge the intensity of their bond with that kind of commitment. They had been living together for nearly three years. It was the happiest she had ever been, the most content.
It had never crossed her mind that marriage would entail new obligations – which kept striking her like bullets and bleeding her dry. Inviting strangers to her wedding, because she was neither paying for nor planning the event. Spending weekends golfing, brunching, and sailing with people who were important connections to her in-laws. Going on mega-yachts with Edward's business partners, with underage girls. Floating in a cabin that smelled like a resort – saturated with the smell of freshly laundered sheets.
"I love you," Edward had whispered into freshly laundered pillows. "I'm not perfect," Edward continued quietly.
"I've never expected you to be perfect," Bella said, soft, wide-eyed, and feeling bubbling resentment.
Her mind rebelled against her words. He was perfect for her, when they were in their bubble – in a place only they knew. She sat up, having curled into a ball in bed, and pushed up with her arms to sit against the headboard.
Sighing, Edward turned on a bedside lamp. Even in his evident anger, he gently cupped her face to shield her eyes from an uncomfortable burst of light. They argued in bed, sitting against a padded headboard, as if watching television.
Edward ran a hand through his hair. His sudden jolt of realization warred with aggravation. "I know you don't agree with Felix politically," Edward began carefully.
Bella sucked in an aggravated breath. "It wasn't political," she snapped. "I think he's just completely immoral."
Edward looked tortured and torn. "You're mad because he disagrees with you politically –" he began carefully.
Bella's cheeks flushed with indignation, not because Edward was wrong, but because he was partially right. "It's not that," she hissed. "It's not a political thing."
"You were lecturing him on income inequality – "
"He's a millionaire and he thinks people chose to be poor."
"Felix grew up with less than we did," Edward retorted. "He's from Akron, Ohio and grew up with nothing, Bee. His Dad works for a random tech company –"
"Edward, I know this will shock you to the core, but Ohio isn't a wasteland," Bella sneered. "There's large companies in Ohio."
She could feel Edward's body tense with the indignation that arose from a fair accusation. "If the dude wants to keep his money, who are we to tell him he needs to pay a fucking higher tax rate?"
Bella scoffed. "I don't expect him to be a philanthropist, Edward. I just think it's shady as hell that he's evading a government for butchering a whole ecosystem."
Bella imagined a flash of guilt on Edward's eyes, in the tightening of the wrinkles around his eyes. She pounced on him worriedly. "Did you do a background check on these people? Are you sure they aren't evading taxes here?"
"Yes, my love. That's what a Board of Director does."
Bella folded her arms around her chest, and the two of them took breaths before moving into the next round of their argument.
"It's just business, darling. It's just business," Edward said, so consolingly that Bella found him condescending. "Felix isn't a saint. You cannot be a saint to succeed in business."
"If it's just business," Bella said, willing herself not to cry as her aggravation snapped through its containment. "What the fff-fuh - uck am I doing h—here?"
Her tremors seized her, and she sounded like she might have been stuttering. She shook like a timer going off. Even now, after nearly a dozen years of being together – as playmates, as friends, as lovers – Edward couldn't stay angry when she was trembling.
"Because," he said, and aggravation warred with his instinct to protect. "People socialize with their spouses, love."
Edward noticed the befuddlement and confusion on her face.
"It's important to be friends with Felix," Edward continued, in a fatherly tone that irked Bella. "With people like Felix, and with Governor Voltaire, and with all these people we are inviting to this wedding. Darling, people would kill to have our guest list."
Bella could feel an undercurrent of eagerness pulsating from his every word. She shook her head at him.
"I fff-feel like I dd-ddon't know you sometimes," she blurted out, explosively. "This wed-dd-ding crap started, and this th-ss-ocial obligation stuff just exploded, and I…I don't recogni-zzz-e you when we're at all your ss-sosh-social engagements." She sneered out the last phrase, filled with contempt.
She gestured with trembling arms at the handsomely furnished cabin around them, which smelt like fresh laundry and heavy air conditioning.
A flash of offended anger flashed across Edward's face, and his waring emotions flitted across it. "Nobody knows me better than you do," he said hotly, and his voice was like a hiss of steam.
She shook her head, fervent with doubt. "I – Edward, I – You ac-tuh so diff-rently when..."
"I can't be like I am with you with everybody else," he said angrily, even exasperatedly. "I don't even want to. It's not… smart. It's not safe."
"Because all th—thee-sss puh-eople are such pricks, Edward," she hissed angrily. "If you hung around pup-puh-le like Emmett –"
"Friendships like that aren't always useful," Edward retorted, and Bella felt cracks all over her heart.
The statement exploded out of her, in a whirl of angry disgust. "Why –" her neck contorted with a tremor – "are - you so like your grand-duh-mother?"
"Because she has a point, Bella! Because I'm a fucking realist. Because somebody has to take care of us in this marriage! We can't be like my parents, Bella. My Dad hemorraghes thousands every month because he likes to take out the principal capital."
Bella interrupted him roughly, shaking her head. "I d—duh-dah-on't care about that."
"The world isn't a fucking novel, Bella! Life isn't a fucking fairytale. It's not the fucking Kite Runner."
That stung so badly that her nose burned, and her heart squeezed. Edward seemed to regret his words the moment they left his mouth. Bella knew she was beyond being able to articulate. Her hurt poured out of her eyes in tears. Trembling and contorting, she turned her back to him and curled into a ball.
"Sweetheart, I didn't mean… Bee, I – I.."
Novels tell truths, Bella would want to retort. Novels tell truths about how to stay soft in a world that's cruel.
Taking several calming breaths, Bella finally spoke. "G-oh tuh suh-lee-eepuh, Edward."
The Azure docked in Marina del Rey in California. Felix kissed her hand and clapped Edward on the shoulder. They embraced like men often did – with three sonorous claps on the shoulder that seemed perfectly timed. A black car affiliated with Corvus drove them from the Marina to LAX, and the air conditioning in the car felt wintery on her skin.
"Bella? Sweetheart?"
"Not here," Bella said sharply.
"I know you're angry," Edward said softly.
"Why, because we got on a boat with a bunch of men in their mid-thirties and teenage girls? No, I was thrilled." The sarcasm in her voice was acid.
Bella rested her hand against the window and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. She was so fucking cold.
"I shouldn't have said that," Edward insisted, and his voice was achingly gentle despite how desperately he was fidgeting. Like he could grab her forgiveness if he insisted enough. "About the world not being the fucking Kite Runner."
It stung the most because, even after all this time, the Kite Runner was her favorite novel. "Maybe you were right," she said softly, fighting to bottle her pain. "Maybe I do live with my head in the clouds." Tears welled in her eyes, and she felt childish, silly, even petulant.
"I know the Kite Runner isn't a fairytale. Hassan dies in that book. The Taliban invades," Edward said, inching closer, nuzzling her cheekbone with his nose. "Bee, I didn't mean to say – "
"But you did say it," Bella said sadly, shaking her head at him wordlessly.
December 2014
Twenty-five / Twenty-seven
Back north, the trees were barren, and the air was ice. Ice coated the windowpanes and lined the stone stoop. Defeatedly, besieged by cold and tension, Bella crawled into bed. Pancake crawled in after her and curled into her stomach.
They drove straight from Boston Logan to the Springfield duplex, so that Edward could resume his grueling internship schedule. Edward kissed her goodbye with a tender kiss to her temple, like he always had. Edward had to rush back to the hospital.
Edward had sacrificed time to rest – choosing instead to smoke cigars with Felix Musgrave, and the thought filled her with resentment.
Six months had passed since Edward had proposed. Edward had been assigned to complete his internship and residency at Bay Medical Center in Springfield. Bella had been commuting ever since. Sometimes she took a train. Other times, she took an eastbound Greyhound bus. Commuting had been exhausting and tense – even without the added pressure of wedding planning. Their time alone had become increasingly precious and scarce. Edward had to carve free time out of strange intervals, and Bella had to push herself awake at odd hours to spend some stolen moments.
Bella's resentment surged so hard that she grit her teeth in sleep.
In the confines of the Springfield duplex, Bella felt exhausted and chilled to the bone. Her lips were dry and cracked, beyond being soothed by balms. In the shower, she lost fistfuls of hair, which had grown to the texture of straw. Her waist had become so slender that Edward could almost envelop it with both large hands. Edward sucked in a breath when it finally happened – when the pads of his fingers could almost touch.
"Talk to me," Edward whispered against her forehead. Those eyes – and she forgot sometimes, how magnetic it was to gaze into that blazing bright green – were full of earnest concern. "Please talk to me. You haven't said a word since we returned from the yacht. And you're getting so thin."
With the pads of his fingers, he cupped her cheek, and it had been the tenderest gesture in over a month. "I – I don't know what to do."
"You don't have to do anything," Bella said, and she kissed his cheek to assuage his concern.
December 2014
Alec Voltaire and his fiancée had opted for a Christmas wedding.
"One last thing, Bella," Edward had said, and his voice took a pleading tone. "I'm best man at Alec Voltaire's wedding."
"You're best man?" Bella groaned, feeling too drained and cold for real shock. She wrapped a thick woolen sweater tightly around her frame and peered at him with her doe eyes. "You're that close to Alec Voltaire?"
Edward shrugged his shoulders with a mumbled grunt.
"I've only seen him twice in my life," Bella muttered darkly. "Emmett, I would understand, but Alec?"
"Bella, drop the Emmett shit, love. Please."
Though every cell in her body recoiled at the idea, she dragged herself – exhausted, irritated, depleted – to one last event for the year. Alec Voltaire would get married in Manhattan, and Esme welcomed them both to her Manhattan "nest egg."
Bella arrived earlier, a couple of days before Christmas.
Esme was glowing, greeting her with the two gowns acquired by her personal shopper. A stylist stood next to the gowns, explaining how they would need to be tailored. The stylist asked a question about Isabella's wedding gown. "She hasn't wanted to pick a wedding dress or set a date," Esme complained to the stylist, setting her hands on ever-bonier Isabella's shoulders.
Her mother's hands felt claw-like, and vice-like. Isabella felt like she was listening to them from underneath swirling water. There was a chill in the room, and it made her shiver. She tightened her sweater around her frame.
The first gown was a breathtaking deep blue. Its fitted bodice hugged her figure, accentuating her waist with delicate floral lace appliqués that seemed to bloom across the fabric. The sweetheart neckline added a romantic touch, framing her collarbones gracefully. The full skirt cascaded around her, billowing in waves that caught the light, revealing layers of silk organza and tulle. The floral details continued down the skirt, a scattering of handcrafted blooms that added an ethereal quality, like a garden in full bloom.
The second gown was a striking deep green that exuded elegance and sophistication. The bodice was similarly structured but featured a more angular neckline, giving it a modern twist. Intricate beading adorned the waist, catching the light like dew on morning petals. The full skirt, made from luxurious satin, flowed with a graceful heaviness. The gown was adorned with bold, oversized floral motifs in contrasting shades, a daring statement that commanded attention yet retained an air of sophistication.
"It's a no-brainer," Esme commented happily, rubbing Bella's taut shoulders. "We'll take both."
"Yes, Mom," she said softly, distractedly. The trees outside, in the park, looked like they blooming into cottony clusters of white.
This isn't the life I wanted.
The thought emerged with crystalline clarity, through the brain fog and debilitating anxiety. It warmed her as much as it terrified her. This isn't the life I wanted.
Around her, Esme and the stylist discussed how to arrange the gown on her disabled body. Gowns aren't designed for women that might slouch or for women that might sit – for women in wheelchairs. A tailor pricked her lightly with a needle, and she barely winced. In the mirror, she looked regal because she looked thin – all sharp, slender angles.
Her beauty struck her. She had never noticed it before.
It was nearing midnight when Edward made it to Esme's Manhattan apartment - having taken a red-eye flight.
Though it was nearly dawn, Bella sat on the bed, back against the against her headboard, knees tucked to her chest. A lamp lit the room faintly. There was a book on her dresser, and a thin silvery bookmark indicated it had been read. Bella could hardly remember the plot.
Edward crossed the threshold, and his hair was disheveled. He took four steps into the bedroom. He was wearing a scrub shirt over a pair of jeans. "What are you doing up?"
Bella's answering smile was faint. "Couldn't sleep."
Hesitantly, Edward walked up to her. Gently, he kissed her forehead. Even then, when everything felt so brittle, she could feel how much he loved her. An impulse seized her when his lips touched her skin, and she lifted her gaze to kiss him on the lips.
Shocked, Edward reciprocated and let out a breath of relief, and he nuzzled her nose.
"Are you happy?" she blurted.
"You make me happy," he said solemnly, and he kissed her wrist.
"Most of the time," Edward added, and he gave her a faint imitation of his lopsided grins.
Bella hugged her knees. "I meant, is this the life you wanted?"
Edward sighed, and he sat next to her. He tugged at his hair with one hand and rubbed at his face violently with his other hand. "I knew this was coming," he whispered. "I know you haven't been happy for a long time now."
"I haven't been happy for a couple of months," Bella corrected, keeping her voice warm and even apologetic. "And it's not you. It's this. I can't – I can't cope with the pressure."
In a second burst of courage, she said something that set her free. "This isn't the life I wanted."
A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye and cascaded down the curve of her cheek.
In response, there was a pause so long she wondered if she had been heard. Edward was perfectly still, like a marble statue. His lips were taut and his face was inscrutable.
"This?" he said slowly, and the ice in his tone scared her. "What do you mean this?"
His iciness was not polished – but raw and defensive. The shards of it pierced her.
"Does it make you happy? The chicken dinner fundraisers, the auction galas, and the golf, and the brunch, and having cigars with Felix Musgrave?"
Edward was quiet and stiff, and for the first time in their life together, Bella ould not read his expression.
"Sometimes we have to do things that make us unhappy to reach our goals," Edward said, and he seemed to be quoting from memory. "That's what adults do."
Bella felt a rush of desperation. He wasn't giving her an out, and Bella's entire body flooded and recoiled with dread. She couldn't imagine stomaching another month of regattas, galas, and brunches, let alone an entire lifetime. Her dread battered her body more than the palsy.
"Edward, I can't. I really feel like I can't, I'm so sick of – I can't – "
Edward gentled. He couldn't stay angry if she was hurting. "I know. I know, sweetheart," he said tenderly. His voice was low. "I hate to expose you when you're this fragile, but…"
Something like a scoff and a sob flew out of Bella's throat. Tears stung her eyes, and it hurt. "You think I'm too weak for this shit?" she croaked.
"I didn't say weak," Edward corrected sharply. "I get tired of it, too, but – darling, we can't say no."
"Why not?" Her doe eyes were huge, and her words were a squeaky, tinny plea. She hated feeling childish. "Why not?"
"Things will calm down," Edward promised, avoiding her question. "After our wedding, it'll just be an occasional thing. The pace will let up, and we'll just have to show up to events now and then."
"Edward, it makes me so miserable," Bella croaked.
"Darling, it's ... It's all part of a plan. I can't grow the fortune without the investments with Musgrave. I can't be appointed to a hospital board without having dinner with important people occasionally. I can't amount to anything important if I don't pursue important connections. It's part of being adults, love. We can't be kids forever. It's not a crime to wantmore out of life."
Bella looked at him uncertainly, full of doubt and dread.
"All it takes...I'm just asking you to put on nice clothes and smile people for two hours. It's not that hard, darling."
At that moment, she knew in her gut that she was living a fantasy. To acknowledge it hurt like grief – pangs of sadness that seized her painfully. It wasn't her mother pushing for a wedding that cost upwards of a hundred thousand dollars. It wasn't her mother driving the guest list of 250 people. It wasn't her mother forcing her to social events every weekend.
It was her husband-to-be.
"I… I'm just not suited to that. I can't cope. I really can't. I don't know why. I'm too – "
She wiped the tears off her cheek with her sleeves, feeling like a volcano exploding.
"I just… I thought things would stay the same. That we would make a home for ourselves, in a place just like where we grew up. Like our bubble, but forever." A sob caught in her chest and made her curl onto herself. "Maybe that was naive, and childish and …I don't want to hold you back."
Another tear slipped from her eye. "I love you," she said. "I do love you so much, and – I don't want to force you into the kind of life I want. Not if it would make you miserable, Edward."
Edward looked at her with increasingly panicked realization. He began to shake his head slowly, with growing desperation.
"We were so young when we fell in love – you know, and… Maybe no matter how much you love someone, your life goals need to be more compatible to make a marriage work."
Edward shook his head. His expression was twisted with pain and hot alarm. His words stumbled out with blind panic. "What are you saying? I want you. I love you. I love you more than everything else in the world put together."
She cupped his cheek. "I know you love me," she said, earnestly, even full of conviction. It was a thought that had been crystalizing in her mind for a long time. Her voice became higher and higher in pitch, and snot rushed disgustingly out of her nose.
"That's not the problem, sweetheart," Bella said. "That can't fix the problem. We want different things."
She felt tremors grow with agitation, and she lost control of her muscles. Her words came out like she was convulsing.
Edward buried his face in his hands. When he lifted his face, Bella saw his eyes were red with tears. "I want you," he swore heatedly. "I want what you said. Exactly that. You and I, with a baby girl. That's what I want. I always wanted us to have a baby girl."
Bella smiled despite her tears.
"This is just – a rough patch. We're going through a rough patch. We can work through it," Edward insisted hotly, and his voice was garbled with desperation.
"I d—duhh—" She took several steadying breaths. Her speech had come out with such articulation because she had been grappling with her pain. For much longer than she had cared to admit to herself. "I do – on't – wan-tuh make you – uh-nuh haa—puh-ee."
"You could never," Edward said. "Just – just give me a chance. Things will get better, angel. I swear."
Nodding, doe eyes wet with tears, Bella finally collapsed onto his arms and cried.
"Give me a chance to change," Edward said quietly. His voice was burning. "Just give me a chance."
December 2014
Twenty-Five/Twenty-Seven
Their brief respite was not to last.
"What was all that nonsense earlier this morning?" her mother demanded sharply, as she zipped up Isabella's gown.
Esme's silk pajamas matched the color of her turban. "I heard bits and pieces," she said displeasedly.
Bella applied ice to her eye sockets to bring the swelling down. "We needed to talk."
Her mother tsked her disapproval. "You need to soldier on," Esme sniped. "You need to soldier on. You're a grown woman marrying a very important man, into a very important family."
Bella's hair was pulled into an elegant updo. A pop of bright red lipstick concealed how chalky her lips were. She wore the emerald-colored gown, and the silk felt decadent on her bare skin. Underneath the skirt, she wore a thinner set of leg braces. They did not envelop her entire leg, like the braces of childhood.
"You look so fucking beautiful," Edward said, and he kissed her knuckles gently. "I know this is hard. It'll just be one last thing, and then, it'll be just us."
Their car approached Holy Trinity Lutheran Church, and its spires piercing the skyline of Manhattan. The façade was a blend of Gothic and Romanesque architecture, with intricate stone carvings framing the arched windows. Ivy clung to the brick, softening the harsh lines.
He moved closer and pressed his lips to her temple. "Just one last thing, love. One last thing."
Her heart started thumping so hard she could hear it inside the shell of her ear. Adrenaline swirled in her blood, and it told her in morse code to run. Edward's hand felt foreign on her lower back, and she felt like running away. Her whole body recoiled at the steps. To an outsider, they were the same as ever. He was gentle and patient as he helped her up the steps.
The entrance, flanked by ornate wooden doors, opened into a wide vestibule where guests mingled, exchanging pleasantries and hawkishly scrutinizing one another. Isabella knew them all now, by face if not necessarily by name. Dorothy Bosch. Hugh Rotschild. Callum Prescott. Joanna Walton. Callum Prescott and Edmund Barker kissed her on the cheek in greeting.
Something inside Isabella had changed, too.
She scrutinized the girls around her with the mercilessness that had once crucified her. She knew that Meghan's nose had been too large a mere three months earlier and that the rhinoplasty had been poorly done. She knew that Julia Hertog had attempted to conceal an eruption of herpes around her lip with concealer. Isabella hated herself for it, for the way these things made her gloat.
Alec's great aunt Dorothy – who happened to have been friends with Grace Masen at Wellesley in the fifties – complimented her thoroughly on her engagement ring and her figure.
"Thank you," she said demurely. She offered one of her loveliest, genuine smiles while feeling perfectly disingenuous.
Edward noticed the second she wobbled on the crutches. "Let's go find our seats, Bee."
Isabella took a deep breath, her forearm crutches steadying her as she maneuvered through the. Inside, the church was breathtaking. Gray light streamed through stained glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the polished wooden floors. The air was fragrant with fresh lilies and roses, clashing against the musky scent of an old church. The pews, crafted from dark oak, gleamed in the sunlight.
Isabella navigated the aisle with practiced grace. Click, click, drag, thump. Her crutches clicked cacophonously against the floor as she approached the front. Settling into a pew, Isabella positioned herself carefully. She placed both crutches on the left corner of the pew, as far away from the center aisle as possible. She could hear the faint strains of the organ in the background, a melody that stirred a mix of emotions within her.
"I have to go join the wedding party," Edward said regretfully, and he let go of her hand with great reluctance. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Good luck," Bella said softly, and she hugged her arms. She wore a cape around her gown, and she wrapped it tightly around her body.
Edward disappeared behind the floral arches at the altar.
There were only a handful of guests sitting in the pews. At the very front sat one woman, in a bubblegum pink gown. The fabric of her gown stretched to capacity to contain the soft, round mounds around her back. From her perch dozens of feet away, Isabella could only see the way her bottom spilled over the pew.
The woman turned her head, and Bella spasmed as if having a seizure.
Her features were so familiar – almond-shaped blue eyes, a pert nose, thick bee-stung lips. The blonde woman looked at Bella curiously, then almost regretfully. She stood and waddled towards Bella's pew Her pregnant belly that strained sweetly underneath her dress. She stood awkwardly near a floral arrangement in the center aisle and held out a hand.
"I don't know if you remember me," she said, in a thickly accented voice. "God knows I've changed, but I'm – "
Bella took it, compelled by instinct. "Jane," Bella said. "Jane Voltaire."
"Jane Walton, now," Jane chuckled. She held up a wedding ring. It was the same color as the cross that hung from her neck, nestled between her breasts. "May I sit?"
Robotically, Bella shifted her weight in the pew. A shiny, waxed plank of wood was left open for Jane to sit on. "I've wanted to apologize to you all this time," she said, and her once-hidden southern accent grew even thicker. "I was a real bitch way back when and you didn't deserve it."
Bella's mouth fell open. A sense of peace engulfed her and made her feel gracious. "Jane, that's very kind of you. Thank you. I really appreciate it. I – It was a tough situation and – you handled it. It can't have been easy – you know, dating someone that…" She shrugged hopelessly. "I guess I – I even feel like – I should apologize, too."
Seeing it from Jane's perspective afresh, Bella was stung with shame.
"You didn't cheat, or lead anybody on," Jane said sagely. "I was just a bitch to you for no good reason. It sure as shit wasn't easy, but… You didn't deserve it. You were always very sweet."
Bella snorted and smiled back. Surprising even herself, she squeezed Jane's hand.
"Congratulations on your baby," she said, after a beat, nodding towards Jane's belly. "How far along are you?"
Jane beamed. "Seven months. My husband Robbie and I – Robbie's right there, see? Robbie and I had to drive up from Atlanta. We have another boy. Jackson."
She fished her phone out of a white leather clutch purse. Happily, she showcased a handful of pictures of this two-year-old boy: with a mop of luxurious, messy golden hair and a wide grin. Bella smiled. "Jane, he's beautiful."
When the quartet began to play softly, Jane waddled back to her seat, and Bella waited. Bella's pew gradually filled with fellow wedding guests, and Edward and Alec emerged onto the altar.
The white floral arrangements framing the space felt almost ethereal.
Bella's gaze drifted toward Alec. He stood at the front, a slight sheen of sweat on his brow. Bella noted the way his smile seemed too wide, his eyes betraying a hint of something restless. It was the way he flicked his gaze around the room, almost too alert, as if he were searching for something just beyond reach. Her heart sank with suspicion. Isabella hated that she knew how to spot a cocaine high now.
Alec's bride-to-be, Meghan, flit down the aisle in her breathtaking gown, radiant. To the outsider, she seemed oblivious to the undercurrents of disapproval swirling around Alec.
Edward stood by Alec's side as the best man. To anybody who didn't know him, Edward looked brilliantly happy – in that coldly detached way of his. She could see, however, that his eyes kept drifting to her. His anxiety was piercingly crystalline in those eyes of his. The intensity of his gaze made hairs in her body stand on end.
Meghan and Alec kissed, and Edward lurched forward the minute it was socially acceptable to do so. He enveloped her with one arm, as if trying to shield her from a ravenous pack of wolves. "Were you speaking to Jane Voltaire?" Edward asked her, and he couldn't hide the urgency in his voice.
"She's Jane Walton now," Bella corrected calmly. "It was very sweet. She apologized for that summer, like… three years ago, I suppose. She has a baby now. It's all water under the bridge."
Cipriani 25 Broadway had been transformed into a wedding banquet hall – and Isabella saw it with her mother's critical eye. As guests stepped through the imposing double doors, they found themselves in a grand foyer, its polished marble floors reflecting the intricate plasterwork of the high ceilings. The rich, historical details of the venue enveloped them in a sense of occasion.
Towering chandeliers, adorned with crystals that sparkled like stars, hung majestically above long tables draped in luxurious white lines. The centerpieces featured soft pink peonies and ivory roses interspersed with lush greenery – and Isabella remembered her long talks with her florists. Delicate, flickering candles cast a warm glow, enhancing the romantic ambiance. Each detail, from the meticulously arranged place settings to the elegant place cards, spoke of careful planning.
A magnificent wedding cake stood proudly in one corner of the room, a multi-tiered confection artfully decorated with intricate sugar flowers and gold leaf accents. Nearby, a station offered an array of delectable hors d'oeuvres. Guests who mingled beneath the elegant archways. Outside, the backdrop of Manhattan's skyline framed the scene, a reminder of the city's pulse even as the hall itself felt like a world apart.
Edward would not let go of her hand. He kept his fingers gently wrapped around her wrist or on her thigh, scanning the room with unease. Like everything else about him in public, his emotions would be imperceptible to anybody. It was in the way he was unfocused, inattentive, trying not to fidget but failing.
"Relax," Bella said calmly, willing to give this another shot. She kissed his cheekbone and pressed her forehead against it.
"You and I, with a baby girl," she murmured, low and slow. The thought made her so incandescently happy – the idea of the two of them with a baby girl. It made everything else seem insignificant. "Just us three."
Edward kissed her forehead fervently, like he was making a promise.
The couple at their round table was a dozen years older and had twins starting elementary school. The man introduced himself as "Freddy Muller's brother," and Edward's lips twisted into a cold smile. Like Edward, Jack Muller had earned both degrees in the Ivy League. He worked as a consultant for McKinsey. His wife was a banker.
A third couple – also in the wedding party – sat down. John Hodge and Annalise Vanderbildt. John was an accountant for Ernst and Young; he was complaining about travelling to Angola to support the regime in increasing telecom acquisitions.
Jack Muller snorted. "Angola sounds more fucking interesting than a fucking flyover state, my man.
"Spent six weeks in Oklahoma," Jack Muller continued, downing a shot of tequila. "Hired by a factory to consult on how to raise profit. Told them to cut costs – they laid off a fuck ton of workers and postponed air conditioning remodeling. Whatever the fuck you did in Angola or Mozambique had to have been more interesting."
Bella grimaced at Jack Muller, fighting the instinct to tell him he was fucking disgusting.
Instead, she pried her hand away from Edward's, only to cut through her stake. Edward wasn't paying attention. His gaze kept drifting off, circling around the venue. Mindlessly, he stroked Bella's hand.
"Darling," Bella said faintly, and Edward moved to stroke her shoulder. "I'm going to use the restroom."
"Bella, I –"
Edward stood after her, and cast an anxious glance around the room. He looked panicked. "Don't take too long," he said anxiously.
The restrooms at the Cipriani had an antechamber with tufted ottomans for seating. Bella sat in front of a gilded vanity to wipe off a sheen of sweat off her forehead and reapply red lipstick.
A hand wrapped around Bella's shoulder. It was fine-boned, papery and as white as an eggshell. Bella leaped in her seat, spasming with shock. Her Moro reflex acting up. A bit of urine trickled in her panties, dripping into her gown.
"Mrs. Cullen."
"Isabella," Victoria Cullen said. "I've been waiting to speak to you for a very long time."
Awkwardly, Bella nodded. She didn't want to let Victoria Cullen stomp all over her, so she resorted to a mixture of steady resolve and ingrained meekness. "That would be delightful," Bella said sardonically but demurely. "I'm sure we can find time to have tea one of these days."
Victoria grit her teeth. Bella purposefully schooled her expression, if only to concealed how much Victoria Cullen's disapproval still gutted her.
"I can't believe you had the gall to speak to Jane. You horrible girl. I always thought you were a goody-two shoes with two brain cells, but you're more devious than I ever imagined."
"Mrs. Cullen, I – what?"
"Don't play dumb," Victoria snapped. "You forced Edward to push for that abortion."
A/N: Delay in posting has been caused by graduate school application season. I'll get back to posting every two months once all my graduate school applications are in.