la belle dame sans merci | carlisle cullen

47

Carlisle never needed to learn to cook. During the roughly six percent of his life he'd spent alive, he'd been a child of the church, doted on by house maids and cooks. Back then a man's place wasn't in the kitchen. Unfortunately for him, the man's place was in the sewers.

Now, 342 years post mortem, he was giving cooking an honest try for the sake of his son's girlfriend. Now that Bella knew, Edward saw no reason to distance himself from her which absolutely had not gone over well. Namely with Rosalie and Jasper.

Rosalie's anger came from the place it always did— a good one. She was beyond anxious that this blatant disrespect for the Volturi's rules would get them all killed. Carlisle would be lying if he said he didn't share it but the rules were already broken. Perhaps a cultivation of trust would do them well at trial.

Jasper's anger was a little more personal and, as far as immediate threats went, justified. Going to school was a lot for their newest vegetarian, inviting a human into the home was like inviting a fish into shark infested waters. Of course, only one shark was really interested in the fish and the rest would be on the lookout for the fish's best interests but his convoluted metaphor stood.

Even still, Carlisle wanted to be supportive. The secret wasn't Bella's concern— it was theirs. So he'd commissioned a bit of unhappy help in his cooking escapade. Rosalie was fuming silently over a bowl of salad while Emmet diligently grated some cheese. Under different circumstances, this might have been a lovely thing for the family to do together. Instead, the room was silent with the exception of his knife dicing through some chicken and the television program that guided him.

He'd been desperately trying not to think about it, to stay focused enough on his task and his guide to keep the thought away. It was futile. She was like an underscore to his every thought, an echo in the back of his mind no matter how far back he was trying to push her. It soothed his nerves to imagine taking this on as a hobby, if for no other reason than to express his love for his living love.

It brought a swarm of questions to mind, no matter how mundane he could listen to her answers until she grew tired of offering them. What were her favourite foods? Her least favourite? Did she have allergies? Could she have allergies? Is texture a big factor for her? The list went on and on and on and on. His attempt to avoid thinking about them turned into a mental list.

His posture became much straighter when he heard the front door close. Trying to keep focus on his task instead of panicking, he scooped the diced chicken into a bowl at his side and went to work on the next piece.

"Here comes the human." Rosalie muttered in a mocking tone. Carlisle wiped his hands on the cloth, turning just as Edward and his companion appeared in the doorway. He didn't need Jasper's ability to feel the nervousness radiating off the girl. Though they'd met before, this felt like a more proper, true introduction.

"Bella, I'd like you to meet.. half my family." Edward gestured, looking a little frustrated that Alice and Jasper were no where in sight. "You've met Carlisle, my father for all intents and purposes."

"It's nice to see you again, Bella." Carlisle said with a gentle smile, coming around the island slowly. He half worried any sudden movements might give the poor girl a heart attack.

"You've given us an excuse to use the kitchen for the first time." He said with a gentle smile, "I hope you're hungry."

"Absolutely—"

"She already ate."

The couple said in tandem.

The silence is uneasy, deafening. He could hear the counter top straining under Rosalie's grip.