TLS Special SNEAK PEEK Feature

 

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.

This week we are excited to feature Hotteaforme, author of The Little Things, Taste of Ink, and White Noise. She's sharing an excerpt of her upcoming new fic This is Where it Ends. 

banner by Lizzie Paige

This is Where it Ends

by

Hotteaforme

Summary: A chance encounter between high-class escort, Isabella Swan, and political hot-shot Edward Cullen sends both their lives into a tailspin. Lies, manipulation, deceit, and all-consuming obsession follow... but where does it all end? 

xx~OO~xx

"Isabella? It's time." 

The slow drip of anxiety turns into a waterfall of light-headedness and Bambi-legged movements as I stand slowly from the chair.

 

Taking two or three deep breaths, I smooth down the fabric of the tailored black blazer I'm wearing, a light blue blouse underneath. It's smart. Demure. I shunned all attempts by the wardrobe department to dress me more provocatively—high cut skirts, low-cut dresses, anything that showed more than a hint of skin. I've been exposed enough, and this final move will strip me bare. 

Apprehensively I follow the blonde assistant from the room, Bree silently at my side, clutching a bag full of brushes and products for touch-ups. A maze of corridors pass in a blur—until we arrive at our destination. 

The room in the hotel we're filming in is a flurry of activity, the assistant ushering both Bree and I into the chaos, closing the door firmly behind her. Bree leaves me alone to take it all in. Tall windows along the right-hand side of the room make it feel light and airy and everything from the carpet to the chairs is decorated in a palette of soft greys and creams. It's a sharp contrast to all the bulky equipment that sits in it: multiple cameras, lighting, sound rigs. Front and center are two armchairs that have been carefully placed, a low coffee table in between them. With passing interest, I watch as they arrange lilies in a vase, positioned on a sideboard in view of the cameras. 

There's a surprising amount of people I need to meet; the director, the producer, show runners. I smile, shake hands dutifully, trying not to feel overwhelmed. But it is overwhelming. And that feeling only intensifies when I spot Victoria Sutherland in the far corner, her arms crossed and a sheet of paper hanging from her hand. 

Victoria holds court with a man, who I assume is her personal assistant, her signature red hair pulled back into a sleek bun, a forest-green all in one pant-suit emphasising her slender waist. I've seen her on TV, of course, but she's even thinner and more glamorous in the flesh. Her talk show, The Victoria Sutherland Show, is wildly successful, her interviews watched globally at times. She's firm, fair, and famous for her probing interviews of celebrities, politicians, and foreign royalty alike.

And now she's interviewing me. And I'm none of those. Not even close. I don't want to be either. 

Victoria's face lights up when she realizes I'm here, confident as she walks over, her hand extended outwards before she even reaches me.

"Isabella, it's a pleasure." 

I'm not so sure it is, but I shake her hand firmly, anyway. 

"Likewise. I'm a—a big fan of yours, so it's great to meet you, even if the circumstances aren't… well."

Her hand moves to my forearm, a touch of reassurance. 

"Not ideal for you. I understand. Hopefully, this will give you a chance to shine a light on things. Don't be afraid, I'm here to ask questions, of course, but I'm also here to hear you. Just believe in what you're saying—speak with conviction, and your audience will believe you too."

"It's the truth," I tell her resolutely. "Whether people want to believe that or not—I'm not interested." 

She appraises me with intense blue eyes and I wonder whether she has the measure of me already or whether the things I've done will shock her. Somehow I doubt it. If anything, Victoria Sutherland is the least unflappable of all. 

"Perfect," she says finally. "Well, let's run over some of the things we'll be covering, and then we can get started." 

She offers the white paper to me. Typed words jump out as I skim read, and the more I do, the dryer my mouth becomes. Seeing it written in black and white somehow makes the experience even more real; the truths I'll have to speak, the things I will have to admit out loud. 

"I'll throw some curveballs in there, of course. We want this to be fluid—a natural discussion," Victoria continues.

"I understand," I tell her. 

She takes the paper gently out of my hands and hands it off to her assistant. I can't help but follow its journey as it travels to the back of the room and onto the clipboard of a runner, as if my fate is written on there too. 

But I don't know it yet.

I don't know what will happen after this.

All I know is that I loved Edward Cullen once, but I'll never, ever let myself love him again. 

xx~OO~xx

Be sure to put Hotteaforme on alert. This is Where it Ends begins posting on August 4.