5. Isa

Tension seems to be at an all-time high at the table. The way Edward and his sister are wired is nothing short of a Greek tragedy waiting to happen. I've heard somewhere that twins are either friends or foes. There's no in-between in blood bonds like that. They either can't live without each other, or are sad they didn't eat each other in the womb. I'm guessing these siblings might have been happier without each other. Perhaps, instead of marrying one, Alice Cullen would profit from actually seeing a psychiatrist.

I smile sweetly, though, looking over their eyes instead of right into them, unbothered. All this talk about weddings and degrees makes the anxiety in my client bubble right to the surface. I can tell it makes Edward uncomfortable. And that's the last of his needs right now. To be caught like a thief in broad daylight, stealing apples to quench his children's hunger and thirst. He doesn't exactly deserve this kind of treatment. After everything I've researched, I think they might be jealous that their son is a self-made man who didn't need dad's money to make a name for himself.

My fingers find Edward's thigh, the starched, blinding-white tablecloth brushing the back of my hand roughly.

"Don't let her get to you," I start, whispering. "You're a powerful man, and she's a petty, jealous sister."

He chuckles, his touch warm as his fingers meet my own under the table. He's good at acting, at pretending to be this enigma of a man, confident and sociable. But I know this is just his outside persona. Edward Cullen doesn't do social scenes except for when it's absolutely necessary. He's a lone wolf in a world of peacocks. I almost chuckle out loud. It seems like we're all hiding within that world, impersonating what gets accepted the most.

"I must be powerful if I'm able to survive this shit," he says, low. His voice rumbles through me, the vibrations strumming my spine as if I am an Edgar Russ violin.

I smile. If I were a cat, my ears would perk up now as I hear the dress shoes of Edward's father echo closer. He's got a stern expression on his face, aging him.

"I've got to call it a night. Something's come up at the hospital that needs my attention."

Grabbing his suit jacket that's probably made of baby silkworms and dyed by hand by some monk up in the Himalayas, he shrugs it on, the lights reflecting off of his salt-and-pepper, slicked-back hair.

"I'll grab the check, darling," Esme says. "And then I'll meet you in the car."

"I'm not driving home, Es, didn't you hear I'm needed at work?" If my partner ever barks at me as Mr. Important does at his wife, I'm letting him get the check and I'm taking the car. The bastard could walk his ass home himself.

"Babe, maybe we could drop your mother off?" I'm entering dangerous territory here. But I kinda like flirting with the lines, right now. It's all Edward's fault, too. His reaction to everything I improvise is just too good not to take it a little further.

"It's really no trouble, Esme. What's a little detour in a car like Edward's, right?" I chuckle. I've always enjoyed luxury wheels, and a decked-out Rolls Royce? I'll never say no to that. The stars in their ceiling are just too dreamy to pass up.

"Are you sure, son?" Esme cocks her head, kind eyes searching his face for clues. I guess I should've asked Edward first. Now that I think of it, it seems a little out of character for him to make a detour while he's supposed to be back at the lab soon.

Edward looks down at me, his green eyes conjuring up little rays of electricity that go right through me, and linger, making me tingle all over.

"It's quite alright, Mother," he goes. "I took the rest of the day off, in fact."

Esme's eyes go wide. and then, she's looking at me again, a secretive smile gracing her lips.

"Well, well, well…" She doesn't elaborate further but stands and smoothes out her dress before shrugging on a thin, long cardigan that matches the colors of her dress perfectly.

Edward's mother pays for the awkward dinner in cash, leaving a fifty percent tip to the server. I'm impressed. Then again, the woman has a net worth far over seven digits. Tipping any lower might give her a bad reputation.

"What's the big surprise here," I wonder quietly, turning my back to the table slightly so they won't be able to pick up on our secret conversation. After all, sparks are what start fires, and I bet Alice Cullen-Whitlock doesn't need any more gasoline on the topic of her brother. "You taking a day off, or you driving Mommy home?"

I'm rewarded with a dry chuckle, the lights of the restaurant flickering heavily into Edward's eyes, making them look jewel-like, unreal.

"The former would make for the element of surprise." He confirms my suspicion. Edward Cullen is a man of facts, after all. And a notorious workaholic.

"I'll have the car pulled up out front," he announces, giving me an encouraging look. I know what he's asking of me. His eyes are asking me to do my job, to sweet-talk his mother. Because he seems to think something wasn't cutting it at dinner, I presume. After all, Mr. Cullen didn't even hesitate to pay my fee in full. No deposit, no questions. One payment, no questions asked.

"Mrs. Cu–Esme," I play the innocent, sweet girlfriend now. It's the card that might get me the best results against this matriarch. "I have to say, your enthusiasm was quite surprising." Yes, I'm acting like I know I'm not good enough to even attempt at stepping into a family as major as the Cullens'. Because rich people, whether they want to admit it or not, live for validation. After all, what's living as the one percent, if no one looks up to you?

"Darling, you're absolutely wonderful," she starts. Her eyes are kind and sincere. "I can't believe my boy has found a lady quite as balanced and poised as you."

"You really can't?" I question. She gives me a little, crooked smile that reminds me of her son. "I mean, Edward…" I sigh, shaking my head as if I don't know where to begin. She doesn't need to know that I've spent hours upon hours strategizing and plotting, assembling facts and fables about every single one of them. "He's honestly the most amazing man I've ever met. So well-spoken, smart, and strong…you really have raised him well." I, in fact, know that Esme has raised her children herself. She stood her ground against a very stubborn Mrs. Cullen, denying night nurse after night nurse and canceling nanny applicants left and right from the moment she announced the pregnancy to her mother-in-law. Esme dropped everything in order to be there for her daughter and son. How many millionaires can say the same? The woman actually tried.

"Thank you dear," she says, one manicured hand over her heart. The Cartier bangles on her wrist clang together melodiously. "But I'm most grateful that my boy has finally opened up. It's the first time in a long, long time that I've seen him like this."

"Out and about, you mean?" I jokingly tug at her heartstrings, knowing it'll work. Edward Cullen is renowned for missing out on charity galas and large-scale social functions because of his beloved science. His mother has been seen distressed more than once when one seat at the table isn't taken.

"Ah, yes…he works too much. But it seems like you are able to make him free up some time on his calendar."

"He is a busy man. But he's doing amazing, he's at the top of his field. I bet you're really proud of him."

She nods carefully, earrings swaying.

"I hope we'll be seeing more of you, Isabella."

I smile, not knowing how to respond to her affectionate gaze because lying isn't in my vocabulary.