Pinned but Fluttering

Chapter 30

Chapter 30

The Usual Disclaimer: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer; I'm merely torturing them (and enjoying it far more than I should....)

A/N: For those of you who read the rough draft/teaser of the opening paragraphs, I've made a few changes (as writers almost always do, especially writers who also make a living as editors....)

"Edward? Please!" came Carlisle's clear voice, clipped with stress.

With a glare over his shoulder at his father, Edward finally halted his manic pacing, electing to lean against the wall nearest the grand staircase. He rested the back of his head against the wall, closing his eyes and sighing dramatically. His face was drawn, as if he were being pulled to pieces on some medieval torture device.

For the life of me, I could not figure Edward out...but I found myself relaxing slightly as his frantic movements stilled at long last. But his agonized expression kept me from relaxing more than a little, dread balling in the pit of my stomach....

The lovely Rosalie sneered (How in the world can she look that insanely beautiful while curling her lip like that?), rolling her eyes in perturbation at Edward's melancholy histrionics, apparently quite at the end of her limited patience when it comes to Edward...and/or me.

The mood of the room was wound so tightly that it almost felt like it became another person present with us in the modern white-on-white living room. Nervously my eyes flew from one Cullen to the next, noting the too–serious expression in every single pair of golden eyes. For various reasons, every Cullen seemed to be nearly as highly-strung as Edward...and that was really saying something. Even Esme and Carlisle looked abnormally anxious, exchanging frequent glances of reassurance with one another.

After sending each of his family members a silent warning to let him speak--something I caught onto but probably wasn't supposed to--Carlisle leaned forward, his jaw tight with concern as he spoke quietly. "I'm nearly certain that you have some questions for us, Isabella. Am I correct in my assumption?"

Gee, thanks for putting the ball completely in my court, Carlisle, I thought wryly. But my throat suddenly seemed desert–dry with the severity of my nerves. Clearing my throat once, then twice, it still remained too parched for speaking, and I began coughing uncontrollably, my throat absolutely desiccated. Panicked, I looked to Esme, my hand raised to my neck in a silent plea for help, preferably a drink.

Nodding quickly in understanding, Esme disappeared for a moment, then re-entered the room almost immediately with a tray bearing a full crystal pitcher and a tall tea glass which she set on the coffee table before me. Carlisle reached for the pitcher and poured the liquid, which I assumed was lemonade, into the glass, silently passing it to me. Grasping the tall glass in both hands, I gulped down several swallows of the sweetly-tart lemonade...while wondering how Esme had made lemonade so quickly; she must have had it ready to go on the counter. But why only one glass then? Surely another member of the Cullens would like a drink as well?

Pushing aside my new questions, I considered how it was so like Esme to consider my comfort above all else and make me one of my favorite drinks, even during this extremely tense time. I nearly choked in my eagerness to drink, and, as I spluttered, my eyes flew to Emmett who was attempting to stifle a laugh behind his huge hand.... Despite my wild desire to laugh, I managed to muffle my smile as I realized that humor was probably inappropriate in this tense setting.

At my awkward spluttering, Edward had moved from his position along the wall, his golden eyes boring into mine as he took several steps toward me, apparently wanting to help me somehow.