The Lemonade Stand has spent so many years bringing you the best the Twilight fandom has to offer, and we are very excited to have the chance to offer you even MORE. We've watched stories grow and develop from first post through COMPLETE, and now we're lucky enough to share previews of the stories that will soon be your new addiction.
Today we are excited to feature fanficsR4nerds, author of The Coffin Maker's Wife, The Admiral, Lockdown, Knocked Up, and With Grace. She's sharing a preview of her upcoming new fic Solace.
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Solace
by
fanficsR4nerds
Summary: After being forced into a marriage with a stranger at her family's behest, Bella tries to make a new life for herself. Though she is learning to find her voice, she must navigate the complex social politics that come with her new title, while trying to get to know the man she's now tied to. Surrounded by lies and secrets, Bella must work fast to figure out whom she can trust before it's too late.
~~0x0~~
“He will come back,” Rosalie says gently.
I glance at her. “But he will still be a stranger.”
Four years married to a man that I can barely remember. It had not even been until months after he departed that I had learned his name at all. He was a stranger who left me the first morning of our new life together.
Rosalie pats the back of my hand.
“The duke says he is a good man,” she says softly. “He has risen in the ranks too.”
I nod mutely. I know this only because whenever he has been offered a promotion, Rowanberry Manor is gifted another parcel of acreage by the duke. What was once a cottage, now stands as a manor fit for a lord.
“He will come home, and you will find that he is more wonderful than your heart could have dreamed.” Rosalie sighs. “And you will have one hundred beautiful little children.”
I bark out a laugh and she grins at me. Rosalie is such a romantic, despite her own life not turning out quite as dreamy as the one she is painting for me.
The duke loves her in his own way, I am sure, but his affections have waned considerably. He is not the sparkling jewel she once believed him to be, nor has my sister been the sweet compliant wife he expected either.
There is friction in their marriage, but thus far, it has stayed minimal and is cured by Rosalie’s excessive visits to Rowanberry.
We sit under the willow for a while longer before the air grows cool. The sun is still in the sky, but evening is on its way, and we decide to head back to the manor.
Charlotte, in her exhaustion, cannot walk, so I scoop her up, holding her tight to my chest as Rosalie strolls carefully beside me.
The sun is just beginning its descent when the manor falls into our view. There is a carriage outside and a host of horses that brings my feet to an abrupt halt.
Rosalie looks back at me in alarm, but my heart is racing in my chest, my grip tightening over Charlotte as I stare at the manor.
He is home.
A loud ringing starts up in my ears, and my palms grow sweaty.
I can hear servants calling out to each other as they scramble to welcome my husband home.
“Bella,” Rosalie starts. I ignore her. I can barely hear her at all with how loud my heart is thumping in my ears.
I force my feet to take a step forward, then another, my heart picking up into a gallop as I approach the house.
When I am ten paces from the front door, there is a shout as someone says my name, and then he is there, filling the doorway as his brilliant emerald eyes seek me out.
The air leaves my body.
He is larger than he was when he left, broader and more defined. Where his cheeks were once smooth, there is now a coppery beard, making him look so much older.
He is no longer the boy who left. He is a man, and he is gazing at me like I am a storm on the horizon.
“Bella,” he says, and I watch as his chest deflates slightly when he whispers my name. He rushes forward, his stride powerful and strong as he climbs down the manor steps. Before Rosalie can take her child, he is before me, pulling me into a crushing hug that takes my breath away.
It is the first time a man has ever hugged me in my life.
He smells of orange and woodsmoke and leather.
Before I can say anything, he shifts, his arms coming up to cup my face, and then his lips are on mine, firm and hungry, foreign and familiar. I gasp, and his tongue snakes into my mouth, stroking my own and provoking a nearly visceral response from me.
He pulls back, his hands still cupped around my cheeks, his bright gaze searching my face.
“Bella,” he says, his breathing slightly ragged.
I take my own shuddering breath. “Welcome home, Edward.”
