A Ilha do Amor on AO3
A Ilha do Amor on TWCS
“You know, the article gets written when your fingers are
moving over the keyboard,” quipped Marcus.
I jumped, looking up at him. I shook my head, furrowing my
brow. “What?”
“You were spacing out, Bella,” he said, sitting down in my
cubicle. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Just stressing out of the closing at the end of the
week,” I said, giving him a sheepish grin. “And Edward’s impending departure.”
“When does Romeo go back to that tropical island?” Marcus
asked.
“He leaves the Monday after Easter. I’ve roughly got a month
with him before he’s going to go,” I frowned. Shaking my head, I turned to my
friend and editor-in-chief of the paper. “I’m guessing that this is more than
just a wakeup call for me, hmmm? What’s up, buttercup?”
“You are correct, Miss Swan. Come with me. We’re going to
lunch,” he said, handing me my purse and jacket.
“What would your wife say?” I teased, walking to the
elevator. Marcus snorted. We got onto the elevator, riding down to the main
level. We chatted about some of the stories that were assigned for tomorrow’s
edition of the paper and the new online, interactive edition of the paper that
went live last week. Edward helped with that launch, smoothing out some edges
with the tech department. Marcus drove us to a nearby café and we sat down,
ordering some drinks. I was perusing the menu, trying to figure out Marcus’s
M.O. for our little lunch date. “Dude, seriously, what’s up?”
“Let’s order our lunch first and then I’ll tell you, Miss
Impatient,” Marcus snickered. I rolled my eyes, focusing on the menu to pick a
meal. The waitress came and we ordered. Once she left, I stared at Marcus,
encouraging him to spill the beans. “Okay, Bella. Do you remember the story you
wrote on domestic abuse?”
“The one I got yelled at and almost suspended for?” I
deadpanned.
“Uh, yeah,” Marcus chuckled. “Well, I had Miranda read it. She
was impressed and she submitted it for the Seattle Newsroom Awards, as a
nominee.”
“Weren’t the nominations due in January?” I asked.
“They were and she submitted it just under the wire,” Marcus
explained. “Typically, there are five stories that are accepted as nominees.
I’m pleased to say that your story on domestic abuse is one of them.”
“What?” I squeaked.
“You are nominated for feature of the year for your piece on
domestic abuse, Bella. Congratulations,” Marcus smiled, sipping his coffee.
“Oh, here’s your invitation to the award ceremony.” He handed me an envelope
with my name written on it with a frilly, elegant script. “It’s at the W Hotel
in Seattle. I’m invited, along with Miranda and another nominee, Brayden, for
his piece on high school students and their use of steroids.”
I opened the invitation, looking for the date. I tried to
smile, but failed. It was a month after Edward left for Brazil, in the middle
of May. “This is great, Marcus. Thank you,” I said, tucking the invite into my
purse.
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