Wolverine

Chapter-8

Bella's POV

Edward opened the glass door and ushered me in. I looked around the front entrance, awestruck. I'd never seen anything so… "Bitchin'!" I laughed. There were plants and entire walls were made of glass to allow the sun in. Edward helped me pull off my coat, once again reminding me that we were the same age.

Well, Edward was eighty-five days older than I was, but that's only a 7344000-second difference.

"It's so bright in here," I exclaimed, spinning around for a full view.

"What did you expect?" Edward asked playfully. "Coffins and dungeons and moats."

"No…not the moats."

He smiled at me. "Not the moats," he repeated. We began to head up the stairs when he stopped in front of me and turned around. "This is the one place we don't have to hide." He looked up and grimaced. "I told them not to do this."

I cocked my head to the side and realized that I could hear the sound of a cooking show. I brought a hand up to my mouth to stifle a laugh.

"Is she even Italian?" I heard Rosalie ask someone.

"Her name is Bella," a male voice replied.

"I'm sure she'll love it no matter what," Carlisle replied.

I heard them all inhale. "Get a whiff of that," Rosalie said. I could feel myself start to blush.

"Man, she does smell weird."

Edward looked to the right as we reached the top of the stairs. "Shut up, Emmett, she can hear you, you know," he said, playfully.

I heard Emmett whisper, "Seriously?"

"Yeah," I said.

There was a short pause. "Cool," Emmett said. I heard a bang and could only assume that somebody had hit him. Edward chuckled. We stepped into one of the nicest kitchens I'd ever seen. The walls that weren't glass were a bright white that brightened the room up even more.

"Bella," a woman with caramel-coloured hair rushed up to greet me. "We're making Italiano for you."

"I can see that." I brought a hand up to my face and tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear.

Edward chose that moment to be the gracious host. "Bella, this is Esme, my mother for all intents and purposes."

"How do you do?" I asked, giving her a little curtsy. She reminded me of the rich women whose husbands owned automobiles back when I was a little girl. The decorum my mother had tried to instil in me came back full force.

"Very good, thank you," she replied, looking meaningfully at Edward.

"You've given us a chance to use the kitchen for the first time," Carlisle told me enthusiastically.

"I hope you're hungry," Esme said.

I wasn't really, but it would be rude to say so. "Yeah, absolutely."

"She already ate," Edward told them.

Rosalie, who had been silent since I entered the room, suddenly made her presence known by crushing a glass bowl between her hands. She stepped away from the mess. "Perfect." Emmett walked over to her.