Mr Spencer (Mr. 2)

He looks up from his book. “What do you mean you have to have it on?”

“I hate silent houses, haven’t you noticed? I have the TV on all the time.”

He frowns. “But you don’t even watch it.”

I know.” I turn the page of my book. “I need the noise.” I can feel his eyes on me, so I glance up. “What?”

“Why do you need noise in the background?”

I shrug. “It keeps me company.”

“Why would you need company from the television?”

“Well, I don’t now that I have you.”

“When did you need company from a television in the past?”

I roll my eyes. “Fine, if it’s that big of a deal.” I hold up the remote and switch it off. I go back to reading.

“Charlotte.”

I glance up at the tone of his voice. One thing I’ve learned about Spencer is that he only calls me Charlotte when something is on his mind. The rest of the time I’m his angel. “What?” I ask.

“Will you answer my question, please?”

“What was the question?” I sigh.

“When did you need company from the television?”

“Ever since my mother died.” He stares at me, and I can practically hear his brain ticking over from here. I drop my attention back to reading some more.

“Have you heard from Edward this week?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No.”

He glares down at his book.

“Why?” I ask.

He turns the page so hard he nearly rips it. “No reason.”

“Tell me.”

“I’m just wondering why your brother flew across the world to accost me about spending time with you, and yet he didn’t even fucking bother to see you for himself.”

I shrug sadly. I’ve been thinking about this all day, too. Disappointed is an understatement. “He’s very busy.” I sigh.

“So busy that he has all the time in the world to scare everyone away from you, but none to actually spend time with you himself.” He turns the page angrily again. “Makes me fucking sick,” he mutters under his breath.

“Spence.” I sigh. “Just drop it. It’s not like that with Edward and me. William is the one I’m close to. Edward loves me in his own way, he’s just misunderstood.”

“Or perhaps just a selfish prick.” His eyes hold mine for a moment and then, as if feeling guilty, he asks, “When do I get to meet this beloved William whom you talk so fondly of?”

“Soon,” I beam, and then I quickly go back to reading my book. But, once again, I can feel his eyes on me. I glance up. “What is it now?”

“When is your period due?”

I smirk. “Why?”