Chapter Text
Three Years Earlier...
Alice had that glint in her eye. The kind that meant only one thing: she was scheming.
Bella recognized it instantly. She’d learned the hard way that this particular glint was usually followed by phrases like “trust me” and “it’ll be fun”—typically right before something exploded (figuratively, or once, literally—RIP, college microwave).
“I’m not saying you’ll get married,” Alice insisted, gripping Bella’s arm like an emotional hostage. “Just that you two should meet. Seriously.”
“Alice, you said that about the girl who thought climate change was a Starbucks marketing ploy.”
“This one’s different. Smart. Gorgeous. Cultured. A little intense, but it’s European charm.”
“Is she European?”
“No. But she looks it.”
Bella rolled her eyes.
Across town, Rosalie Hale adjusted her pearl earrings in the foyer mirror. Jasper watched her like a man pushing a lion into a cage.
“You know I despise blind dates.”
“I do. But you promised to try being more open. Bella’s… spirited.”
“Is that code for ‘never stops talking and overuses words like vibe’?”
“…possibly.”
The restaurant Alice had chosen straddled the line between sophisticated and hipster, with dangling Edison bulbs, a chalkboard menu, and waiters who described each dish like they were reciting Greek mythology.
Bella arrived first. In sneakers. A band tee. And a leather jacket that screamed, “I’m not trying, and that’s the point.”
Rosalie arrived three minutes later. In a midi dress, understated heels, and a gaze that scanned the room like she’d already given the lighting a 6/10.
They stared at each other.
The silence lasted 2.4 seconds—an Olympic record for instant antipathy.
“You’re Rosalie?” Bella asked, aiming for casual but landing closer to “identifying a threat.”
“And you’re Bella,” Rosalie replied with a smile that could’ve meant “you’re late” or “you’re a problem.”
“I thought you’d be more… formal. Alice called you ‘sophisticated with a ballerina’s soul.’”
“And I thought you’d be less… literal. Alice said you were ‘creative and spontaneous.’ I didn’t translate that as ‘band shirts and headphones around your neck.’”
Bella smirked. “We’re off to a great start, huh?”
“Thrilling.”
The waiter arrived. Rosalie ordered something with a French name. Bella ordered a burger.
“You realize this is a farm-to-table restaurant, right?”
“Yep. And I’m doing my part as a rebellious consumer. Gen Z stuff.”
“You’re almost thirty.”
“Details.”
Half an hour later, the wine hadn’t helped. Neither had the artisanal bread. And certainly not the conversation.
“I don’t understand how anyone lives without planning,” Rosalie said after Bella admitted she’d decided to become a journalist in a bar at 2 AM.
“And I don’t get how anyone survives trapped in an emotional spreadsheet. Do you print out schedules for your feelings too?”
“Maybe I prefer control over being a walking tornado that only learns after destroying everything in its path.”
“You say that like being honest is a bad thing.”
“No. Being irresponsible and hiding behind ‘freedom’ is.”
The waiter chose that moment to return. “Celebrating something special tonight?” he asked brightly.
“The death of romance,” said Bella.
“The failure of modern compatibility,” added Rosalie.
The waiter blinked. Backed away. And left the dessert without another word.
When they left, they didn’t look at each other.
They went opposite directions.
Alice and Jasper lurked on the corner, pretending they hadn’t been spying from their car.
“Well?” Alice whispered eagerly as Bella climbed in.
Bella tossed her bag into the backseat. “That woman is Excel incarnate with a side of unresolved rage.”
“She thought you were… pretty.”
“And infuriating. It was mutual.”
Rosalie got home and texted Alice:
“If you ever ambush me with another underdressed emotional hurricane, I’m blocking you for a month. She’s insufferable.”
On the other end, Alice and Jasper clinked their glasses, laughing.
“They hate each other,” Alice said, triumphant.
“Obviously,” Jasper replied. “And that’s always a good sign.”