Edward stepped in first, eyes already scanning the room. Bella followed, visibly trying not to shrink under the weight of the gathered stares.
"Everyone," Edward said, calm but overly smooth, "this is Bella."
Esme, as always, moved first. "Welcome, Bella. We're happy you're here." Her tone glowed with practiced kindness.
Carlisle offered a nod, his voice gentle. "Please make yourself at home."
"Hi," Bella said softly. "Thank you for having me."
Aiden lifted a hand in greeting from the background. "Hey. Aiden."
Bella turned slightly, surprised. "Oh... I didn't know there'd be someone else here."
"I invited him," Rosalie said. Her tone was neutral, but Elise caught the flicker of possessiveness in it—and so did Aiden.
Rosalie took a graceful step forward, still cradling the salad bowl. "We made dinner," she added, her words formal, cold. "I thought you might want something familiar."
Edward glanced at Bella, then back to Rosalie. "She already ate."
A beat of silence.
Rosalie didn't move. But the bowl in her hands trembled just slightly. A subtle crick of glass under strain followed.
That was all it took.
Aiden stepped forward without hesitation, his hand sliding over hers just under the bowl. "Easy," he murmured, voice quiet enough for only her to hear. "You're gonna bruise the lettuce."
Her jaw clenched. For a moment, it looked like she might snap back—at him, at Edward, at the whole situation. But instead, she exhaled through her nose and loosened her grip. The bowl didn't crack further.
Elise was watching it all from her corner, saying nothing—but her gaze lingered on Aiden. Her lips quirked, thoughtful. She saw something there that the others hadn't yet said aloud.
Emmett, catching Elise's glance, nudged her slightly. She only raised an eyebrow.
"Guess we'll have leftovers," Aiden added, lifting the bowl from Rosalie's hands and setting it gently on the counter.
Rosalie didn't thank him.
But she didn't stop him either.
The evening pressed on with surface-level conversation—safe topics, quick nods, and the occasional strained laugh. But Aiden felt her gaze. Even when Rosalie wasn't looking at him, she was.
The second Bella and Edward excused themselves to the piano room, Rosalie finally moved.
"Aiden," she said, low and precise. "Can I talk to you for a second?"
He didn't answer. Just followed.
She led him down a narrow hallway—quiet, dimly lit—and opened a door. A pantry, maybe. Storage. It didn't matter. She stepped inside without hesitation, back against the door as it clicked shut behind them.
They were close. Closer than usual.
Finally, she spoke again, but softer. "You shouldn't get too involved with us."
"Too late," he said, a dry chuckle under his breath. "You already asked me here."
Rosalie didn't respond.
Not right away.
Instead, she let her eyes search his face for something—maybe weakness. Maybe safety.
"I didn't want you to get hurt."
The confession hung there like a spark between them.
His voice dropped. "You don't want me to get hurt… or you don't want to care if I do?"
That got her.
But before she could answer, a knock rapped on the other side of the door. Alice's voice—cheery, intrusive, and suspiciously well-timed—called out: "Rosalie? Aiden? Everything alright in there?"
Rosalie exhaled and straightened. "Coming."
She opened the door and stepped out like nothing had happened.
But Aiden stayed behind a second longer, heart still trying to decode what almost did.