Unbeta’d, subject to change, usual disclaimers. This update will probably go up a little on the later side.

“That’s not what I meant, but whatever.” She picks up her wine glass and empties its contents in a single gulp. “Next headline.”

“‘Esme Starving Herself to Fit into Wedding Gown. Sources close to the Royal Family claim—”
I stop reading when I hear Carlisle’s voice off in the distance.

“Give it a few months. The threats will die down, and then you can go back. You’re acting as if spending time at home is end of the world.”

“It might as well be.”

And that would be Edward.

Seriously? Esme promised me he wouldn’t be here. I’m not ready to see him. Hell, I’m not even wearing mascara.

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