Hey, people! Here's the collabo I'm doing with my best friend Reader4Lyfe. We've been working on this for a while and we're a few chappies ahead. We're not sure how often this will be updated but really it depends on the feedback we get from you readers out there! So enjoy and there's more info at the bottom.
Mountains and mountains of love to R4L's beta, BellaTonks, for betaing this for us. She's awemazastic if I do say so myself. Check out her stories too.
Disclaimer: "I own, R4L and LSR don't. They do, however, own Snow, the plot, and their ridiculously wonderful personalities." S.M.
Chapter One
BPOV
I walked slowly up my driveway and into my house, awkwardly shifting my sleeping two-year-old son in my arms so that his head wouldn't hit the doorframe as I moved past the door. Once in the living room, I flipped on a lamp that was next to the couch and gently laid the lightly snoring baby boy on the couch.
I was too tired to walk all the way upstairs to put him to bed. Damien's breathing h itched as I laid him down but he didn't wake and I was glad. I was running late from work so I'd just picked him up from the babysitter's.
It was eleven o'clock at night and Melanie, the babysitter, wasn't too happy that I was late, but she was glad that he was sleeping. It was less work for her and she was glad that he wasn't bouncing off the walls as usual. My boss kept me late in a meeting, talking about a merger with a company overseas, that was supposed to bring the A&M company big money.
I was sitting in that meeting for a full four hours before they finally came up with a plan to sway the company in the direction that we wanted them to go.
A&M (Avery and Mason) was a company that made advertisements for about anything you could think of. I had the wonderful job of watching demos other, smaller companies made that they wanted viewed worldwide in fifty different languages or more. It was kind of like when people watch the Super Bowl. The more viewers we got, the more money we made.
We merged with the smaller advertising companies around the U.S., like Mercer Advertisement, Claude and Company, TJ's Ads, just to name a few. They were, of course, the most popular ones but A&M was the number one company. I had one of the highest ranked jobs on the highest floor in the A&M building, yes, I said building.
I made more money in six months tha n a heart surgeon made in three years. I was a twenty-five year old single mother who had stressing work hours, but more money than I could've ever asked for.
Damien made a gurgling noise and turned his little head to the side, almost stuffing his face in the couch cushions. I rubbed his back lightly, as he was sleeping on his stomach. He always cried when he slept on his back and even after two years I still couldn't figure out why. He moved his left arm, bringing his hand to his face to stuff his tiny little thumb in his mouth. I smiled at the adorable sight.
He was—is—my angel. He kept me grounded after—
I stopped myself from thinking the thought. It would destroy the peace that had settled in the room.
I sighed and stood up to lock the front door after a quick glance at Damien to make sure he didn't wake up from the movement I made. I went to the kitchen, grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and downed it in two gulps. I was really tired but I knew I couldn't sleep yet. I grabbed an apple from the compartment at the bottom of the still open fridge. I bit into it, closing the door with my foot and walked back into the living room.
Damien was still in the same position I'd left him in, not that I was expecting something else, but a mother can worry can't she? I scratched his brown hair that was so much like mine. I finished off the apple and quickly threw it into the trashcan in the kitchen then went back to my sleeping son.
I scooped him up carefully so as to not wake him. His head lulled to the side a little off my shoulder before I pushed it back into my neck. His thumb stayed in his mouth as I made my way up stairs. I walked to his bedroom, grabbed a set of pajamas from a drawer and went to my room, walking past a guestroom and extra bathroom.
I laid Damien on my bed, his back on the bed and hastily but gently changed his clothes before he could start squirming from sleeping on his back. I moved him up toward my pillows and covered him with the midnight blue fluffy comforter up to his shoulders.
I scratched his head again and kissed his forehead. I hurriedly showered and changed in my pajamas then slipped in bed beside my baby boy. I lightly rested my right hand on his back—because some part of me just had to be touching him—and promptly fell asleep.
It seemed like minutes later that I woke up to a slight tugging on my hair and a soft giggling in my ear. I groaned and rubbed my eyes. The sunlight seeping through my light blue curtains momentarily blinded me so I couldn't open my eyes for a few second. I unconsciously moved the hand that I remembered placing on Damien's back around in search of his warm, tiny body.
But when I didn't feel it immediately, I bolted up righ t, ready to ransack the house for my baby. But then I heard a giggle on the other side of me and felt another tug on my hair. I turned my head and there he was.
All smiles.
My sunshine.
My baby.
Damien was sitting upright, on his little bottom, grinning like a Cheshire cat showing his two little teeth at the top and the four on the bottom. He had a tiny fistful of my hair in his hand and he tugged on it lightly, as if he knew that if he pulled any harder it would hurt me.
"Momma," he said.
This time I grinned like a Cheshire cat. Damien's other empty hand waved in the air like he was saying hi.
"Hey, baby boy, did you sleep well?" I cooed at him.
Damien's little head shook and the brown curls of hair shook too. He let go of my hair and clapped his little hands together.
"That's my boy." I praised him.
I pulled my legs from under the covers, still trying to figure how he got on the other side of me, and slid my feet into my slippers. I scooped Damien up in my arms as he squirmed and then giggled loudly.
"Hungry?" I asked.
"I hunggy," he said. I grinned again.
I walked down the hallway, past the bathroom and into his room. I set Damien down on the floor and he walked, sluggishly, to his little chest by his bed. He grabbed a white, fluffy bunny rabbit from the top of it and then turned to me. He held the bunny up as if it was a trophy and smiled a toothy grin, and then started on his trek back to me.
He fell once or twice; my guess was that the bunny was messing with his balance, because it continued on. He never cried while learning to walk, not even when he'd fall. He was determined. His light brown brows would pull together in concentration and he wouldn't pout no matter how many times he fell trying to walk across the room.
I was eternally grateful I had my house baby-proofed; lush cloud-like carpet, socket covers, soft furniture, minimal things he'd be able to reach spread around the house. I had a few pictures here and there but they were too high up for him to reach.
Damien loved toys, I mean what baby doesn't? He had a play room where he could run around or practice walking in, a chest full of even more toys—mainly animals—than he had in his room.
Damien's loud giggle erupted in my ears and I found him yanking on my Joe Boxer sleeping pants. He held his white bunny up to me and said loudly "Shnow!"
I picked him up again.
"Snow's coming to breakfast, too?" I asked.
He nodded and tucked Snow under his arm tightly. I moved the gate to block the stairs so he w ouldn't go traipsing up them when I wasn't looking.
The living room was bright from the sunlight streaming in. The tan carpet contrasted nicely with the dark blue furniture and walls. The flat screen T.V. rested on a maple wood entertainment center. I could open and close the sliding doors that covered the T.V. Damien's wild collection of kiddy movies and games he liked to play surrounded the T.V. on shelves and in cabinets. Movies I'd gotten for myself were mixed in somewhere.
I turned the corner around the stairs and walked to the kitchen.
"What would we like to eat today?" I sang to Damien. He giggled again and bounced in my arms.
"Pa' cates!" He said loudly.
"Alright, pancakes it is." I said.
Damien squealed and I set him in a chair that was high enough for him to get in and out without hurting himself.
I was glad that it was Saturday. On the rarity that I wasn't too tired I'd ask him what he wanted for breakfast and he'd always say pancakes. I guess he got that from me because I absolutely love pancakes. We eat them with butter and syrup, though I make sure not to put too much of either on his when he wants them.
I flipped on the radio and a song I knew, What I've Done by Linkin Park, was playing. I danced to it and sang the words as I grabbed a bowl from the cupboard above the counter and eggs, milk, and pancake mix from the fridge.
I danced around the kitchen, singing and mixing the ingredients in the bowl. Damien squealed and laughed and tried sing the words with me. While the pancakes were cooking, I made Damien's bottle of milk and myself a cup of orange juice. I wasn't too big on coffee.
I made eggs and bacon also when the pancakes were done. I buttered our pancakes, scooped a bit of eggs onto Damien's plate after cutting up his two pancakes into chewable pieces. Taylor Swift's Love Story was playing on the radio. I hummed along with it while I ate and watched Damien eat. Occasionally he grabbed at his bottle to drink some milk. One time when he reached for it and knocked it over, he squirmed and his cute little face scrunched up as he cried. I reached out and grabbed the bottle before all the milk spilled on the counter.
His face was adorable.
I cleaned up a bit after and ate what was left on Damien's plate, it wasn't much but I didn't want it to go to waste. I put the dishes in the dishwasher and started it. Damien grabbed Snow and hopped off the chair. He walked into the living room and pointed to the T.V.
I grabbed the remote from the top shelf and flipped it on. The clock next to the T.V. said eleven a.m. We made good time. I was glad he'd slept through the night. He was usually rest less if I wasn't there to put him to bed.
We watched Blue's Clues for an hour before Damien started walking around again. I followed him to his play room and he played in there for a bit while I read a book or played with him whenever he invited me.
"Momma," His little voice called. I looked up only to be met with the exact same brown eyes that I had.
"Yes, baby boy?" I smiled at him.
His legs were mushed together as if he was holding his bladder. It took everything I had not to laugh at the face he was making.
"I go p-potty." I nodded and he half walked, half ran to the stairs. He paused at the first step because I still hadn't removed the gate from the stairs yet. He was bouncing in place and I knew he had to go badly.
I quickly moved it to the side and helped him up the stairs to the bathroom. His little blue potty was right next the 'big towet' as he called it. I knew he was referring to the toilet, but he was so small that it looked like a giant to him. It made me laugh.
I watched as he took care of his business. It was hard teaching him his first year because he was so used to diapers, as any child would be. But like the determination he held for walking he was determined to get potty training down packed too.
And boy did he get it down pack. He hardly ever missed the potty even when he was either tired or worn out from a long day.
"Momma, I did it!!" He squealed.
I leaned up off the door frame and walked toward him.
"Yes you did! That's my boy." He smiled his toothy grin and clapped his little hands.
"Let's clean those."
I picked him up under the underarms and held his hands over the white sink. He pushed a tidbit of soap from the little bottle into his hand, rubbed them together and pushed his hands under the warm water.
"Park! Park!" He squealed when we were leaving the bathroom.
"If you want to go you have to have a bath, first."
Damien looked thoughtful for a moment then nodded his head frantically.
Damien held onto the first two fingers of my right hand as we walked to his room. I grabbed a pair of shorts and a short sleeved shirt from a drawer along with some underwear and an undershirt.
I picked up his Johnson & Johnson lotion and a towel on the way out. I ran some water in the tub and squeezed in some of his favorite bubbles. When the water was nice and warm, I stripped him of his clothes and placed him in the tub. I grabbed his 'tubby toys' as he called them from a box in the towel cabinet, as well as a wash cloth.
I scrubbed him clean, washed his brown curly hair and splashed a bit of water him. He squealed and splashed me harder than I splashed him, wetting my shirt and the ends of my hair. One of his toys landed on the other side of the bathroom, how that happened I do not know.
Damien loved his baths. He had about as much fun as he did in his play room only he had to get me all wet in the process. But nevertheless, I loved him.
I dried him off, spread the lotion on him and dressed him. He waited patiently with Snow in his arms in the middle of my bed while I dressed. I threw on some nice fitting jeans and a form-fitting blue and white striped shirt. I held part of my hair back from my face with a black clip.
We walked back to his room and packed a little bag with a few clothes, wipes, toys, lotion, and sun screen as it was quite hot outside. We went downstairs and put a few bottles of milk, juice and water and some snacks in the bag.
I made sure I had my wallet, keys, phone and sunglasses before we headed out.
The hot Miami air was a slight shock to me since I was so used the central-air in the house. Damien held my two fingers with one hand and Snow in the other as we walked down the driveway to the sidewalk.
I made sure to put sunscreen on both of us so we wouldn't burn. We walked to the park that wasn't too far from the house. Damien made funny noises along the way. People greeted us while we walked and women gushed over him. Men gave me looks but I ignored them.
Damien and I came to this park all most every weekend since a month after he was born. He loved it and so did I. I laid a blanket out on the grass and we played with his toys for a while before my cell rang. Damien was snacking on some juice and crackers, almost completely oblivious.
I checked the caller I.D.
The boss. Davidson. What was he doing calling me on the weekend?
"Davidson," I answered.
"Ms. Swan, glad you could take my call." He said his tone as businesslike as ever.
"Of course, but you know I'm off on weekends and right now I don't really appreciate you interrupting the time I'm spending with my son." I was a bit peeved that he called on the weekend and he knew I was a force to be reckoned with when people called me when they weren't supposed to. Boss or not, no one messed with me. And I was still slightly ticked that he kept me late last night.
"Um, uh, I do apologize about that, but something has come up." He said nervously. I may have been under his supervision but he wasn't the one that wrote my checks.
"Do tell."
"The merger we discussed last night…well…um…you see…"
"Spit it out, Davidson." I said irritably. Damien was still staring off into space, his bottle lodged in his mouth. He looked to be dozing off a bit.
"The A&M wants to send you to Paris." He said in a rush.
My eyes went wide.
"What?!"
EPOV
The cobblestone street, the calm, gentle waters, and the silence of the night were soothing. I stood on my balcony gazing up at the sky. It was ten at night and the sky was already black with a few bright specks of light here and there.
Somewhere in the distance I could hear cars driving by and the Sienne River flowing quietly, passing the stone walls. The wind blew my messy as ever hair to one side. I breathed in the cool air. It cleared my head and let my mind drift.
It was night's like these that sometimes kept me sane. They helped me think. They told me that I didn't have to suffer. I opened my eyes to see the Eiffel Tower way off in the distance, lit by thousands of lights. I could see the Notre Dame lit too, but with not as many lights.
The buildings that surrounded my apartment were slightly shorter so I could look over them. I could see everything that was lit and even some things that weren't lit. It was beautiful, really. Paris at night was often better than Paris in the day time.
Its beauty was one of the reasons why I moved here. I loved the history of it, the beauty of it, the places it had, and the people.
I had my own Piano Shop. I built it from scratch, bought everything in it with my own hard earned money. I sold pianos, taught lessons to people. I even had my own albums that I'd make a handful of money from. I was my own producer and recording artist. I wrote my music and played it. My music was a part of me. It was a part of why I moved to Paris five years ago. My father died in a car accident right before I graduated from college and my mother, well; let's just say she closed herself off from everything and everyone in the world, including me.
Of course she came to my graduation but after that I never saw her again. When I went back to the house afterwards she wasn't there and I picked up and left. I sent her letters and pictures sometimes, but I've never gotten a reply back. It worried me. And believe me, I've tried to find her in the past, but she made it as if she didn't want to be found so I stopped.
I sent her one last letter with my address and phone number and my only hope is that someday she'll call or show up on my doorstep. It seems farfetched, but I still hope every day.
Since the pain of losing virtually both my parents, I buried myself in my music. I worked for two years saving up enough money to buy the land to build on and then two m ore years building the shop. People loved the music I made. I bought the pianos from around the world sellers; fixed them up if they were broken, and sold them.
I started giving lessons to people who really wanted to learn and made side money off the CD's I made. I didn't really need it, but people enjoyed it and that was enough for me. I had a good life, despite the fact that I am practically an orphan even though I'm a grown man.
My parents were my everything. Sometimes I'd find myself thinking about them to the point I wasn't aware of my surroundings. I'd tune everything out and the only thing left would be their faces. Their laugh, their voices, their eyes, their love…
It was hard going on without them. It was hard knowing I'd never get to hear my father tell me how proud he was that I'd made it this far in such a short time. It was hard not hearing my mother fuss and fuss about how messy and unruly my hair was and that I get it from my father.
It was hard…
But I got through it, somehow I got through it, but I didn't think I'd be able to last much longer. I did everything I could to get them off my mind so I could live, but it was hard…
I sometimes worked on pianos until my fingers bled or played them until my fingers bled and my wrists hurt from holding them in the same position fo r hours on end or my spine felt like it was going to break because I'd never relax my rigid pose above the piano.
I hardly slept and the sleep I did get was often plagued by my mother's destroyed face when she found out her husband was dead. I was plagued by the last time I talked to my father. Plagued by his smile, the way he looked at my mother, the way he told me he loved me when I was a little boy…
"Edward?" I heard my father calling me.
"In here, Dad."
Edward Sr. walked into the kitchen with my mother, Elizabeth, in tow. Her face lit up when she saw me.
"Edward, dear!" She rushed up and hugged me. I hadn't seen her in six months. College really kept me busy and I had a job on top of that, working as a part-time piano player at a local bar. I was paid a lot there and it helped me with school and a few future plans I had.
"Hey, Mom," she hugged me and leaned back to kiss my forehead.
"How're you, son?" Edward Sr. asked.
"I'm getting there. Graduation isn't for a few weeks and I finally managed to get myself out of there to come see you guys."
"That's great! Have you been here long? I'll fix you dinner." Elizabeth hurried around the kitchen pulled various items to start dinner.
"Mom, you don't have to—" I started.
"Oh, hush! I want to fix you dinner and you are going to eat it." She told me sternly.
I nodded and mumbled a 'yes, ma'am'. Dad grinned and shook his head. Mom always got like that when I came home.
While Mom cooked, Dad and I walked about the house. We told jokes, we laughed, and we talked. After a minute he grabbed me up in a bone-crushing hug, telling me he loved me and that he was glad I was graduating. He said whatever I'd need for the plans I was making he'd be there every step of the way. He'd help me with anything I'd need.
"Love you, too, dad." I mumbled into his shoulder.
He pulled me back into the kitchen where the smell of cheese and oregano was coming from. He and Mom talked and told me how they couldn't wait until my graduation. They said they were going to be the loudest one's cheering and that made my cheeks burn just thinking about it.
"Oh shoot!" Mom said suddenly.
"What, Lizzy, something wrong?" Dad was by her side in a flash as he was sitting next to me, giving my mother room to cook.
"I need more cheese and oil and milk, otherwise this will all go to waste." She pouted and dad shook his head, smiling. He kissed her forehead then her lips.
"I'll go get some more, no worries, okay?" She nodded.
"No Dad. I'll go get it. You guys just got in."
"It's fine, Edward. You just came back to us. You aren't going anywhere tonight."
I shrugged and nodded.
He kissed mom once more, told her he loved her and vice versa, squeezed my shoulder and headed out the door…
He never walked back in. Mother never finished dinner. My plans got delayed.
I felt tears run down my face. My chest constricted. It hurt. It hurt so much…
I slumped against the banister on the balcony and then slid down the floor. The tears flowed relentlessly. The sobs tore from my chest with abandonment. It was wrong for a grown man to cry like such a baby, but I didn't give a fuck. I lost the only two things that mattered more to me than pianos and music.
I didn't care who heard me. I didn't care that I was outside, considering throwing myself off the balcony. I didn't care that it had started to rain. The tears mixed in with the rain. It masked the sounds of my sobbing somewhat. It soaked through my shirt and my flannel bottoms.
I don't know how long I was out there. I don't remember going back inside. I don't remember getting under the covers and stuffing my face in the plush pillows.
My alarm clock rang in my ears.
07:00!!
I groaned and then coughed from the scratchiness in my throat. I dragged myself out of bed, showered and dressed in jeans and black button up. I only had to teach today. I walked out of my apartment, took the stairs down and out of the lobby doors.
"Matin, Monsieur Masen." Mrs. Long said to me.
I smiled at the elderly woman. She worked at the service desk and had to be the nicest old lady I've ever met. Her long gray hair stopped at her waist and the wrinkles on her were so friendly that you couldn't help but befriend the old woman. She and her husband also owned the building; the Long Building, ironically.
"Matin à vous aussi, Mrs. Long."
I was fluent in French and Italian as it was necessary to live here. Occasionally there might be an Italian in town and sometimes someone spoke English, but it was rare. I walked the few blocks to the shop. Masen's Musique, the sign read in black elegant script.
I pulled the keys from my pocket, nodded and said greetings to my neighboring shopkeepers. There was a jewelry store on my right and a pastry shop on my left. The pastry shop was very convenient when I was hungry or when my students needed a break.
The pianos I had on display were worth thousands, if not tens of thousands of dollars. I reduced the price because one; I had to fix them as they weren't brand new, and two; I had bought them off of someone else. It wouldn't be fair to hike up the price when they're not really worth that much.
It's like price gouging.
Anyways, I had three students today.
Emma at noon, she was bouncy little girl that loved the piano. She was only ten and she could play like a pro. Then, David at three, he was an impatient little boy of only eight. I'd been teaching him for three months and he still couldn't get the simple things right but he was nothing if not determined. And last but not least, Wesley at six, he was a bit older than the other two, twelve. He was stubborn and didn't want to take lessons at first, said that his mother was making him do it. After about a month of listening to me play it piqued his interest and he choose to learn how to play instead of watching me for two hours.
It didn't matter much to me because I was getting paid a hundred and fifty euro an hour. Of course I loved to teach, don't get me wrong, but I needed the money to keep this business going.
Seeing as it was a Saturday more people had things to do which was why I only had three students. I sold more than taught. People bought my lessons that I have published in books, on tape, CD, whatever sated their need. They bought parts for pianos and some people even came in and asked if I did house calls.
I did do house calls but only on days when business was relatively slow, I had free time, or someone cancelled their lesson.
I walked next door to the pastry shop before Emma was supposed to come in and ordered a coffee and croissant. It was quite nice out so I sat outside the little shop, at one the tables with the umbrellas to block the sun. I left the side door open to the stairs that led up the classroom where I taught.
A while later, after I paid for my light brunch I saw Emma skipping down the little cobblestone path toward my shop. She had on a white sundress with little roses scattered across it and her dirty blond hair was pulled into two ponytails that bounced on her little shoulders.
I saw her mother and father behind her holding hands and smiling.
My chest hurt at the sight.
"Edward!" Emma spotted me. I smiled as she looked so adorable. I stood and she ran and hugged me around the waist.
"How are you, Emma?" I asked rubbing her back lightly.
"I'm good. Mom let me practice that piece you told me to work on last week. I think I got it, now. It was hard but I think I got it!" She seemed so excited.
"That's good. We'll see if you did if you go upstairs, okay?"
She nodded and went to the side door and on up the steps. Her parents caught up, now.
"Après-midi, Edward." Her father, Richard, said. I shook his hand as per usual.
"Après-midi, Edward." Her mother, Dianna, said. She did the traditional kiss-each-cheek greeting.
"How's she doing?" Richard asked.
"Really well, actually. She said you let her practice the piece I gave her last week."
"Oui, oui, we did. She sounded good." Dianna said.
"We'll see today." They handed me cash to pay for the next two hours and went on about their way.
Emma was already practicing the piece I gave her and she was doing extraordinary. We practiced some more and then started a new piece, one that I let her pick out. It was fairly difficult and I told her so, but she wanted to do it anyway, so I let her. After about an hour we went to the pastry shop and ate bit of food and started practicing again.
Sometimes someone would come to the shop and ask for my services. I'd have Emma continue practicing while I went to take care of business and thus went my day.
I spoke to David's parents and Wesley's. They were all doing well and I found out that David was moving to North America to live with his aunt because his parent's had to go to England to take care of his sick grandfather on his father's side. They didn't want to expose David to death and sickness at such a young age.
So after today I had an extra free period of time in between Emma and Wesley.
I closed shop at about eleven as it was Saturday and people were out later. I walked home like I usually did, but lingered a bit by the Sienne River. It flowed as a river should. It never stopped, without a care in the world.
Sometimes I envied that river because boats interrupted the flow of it every day, but it kept going. It didn't care that they sailed in the opposite direction of the flow. It didn't care that it was being obstructed.
It continued on. Never stopping, never slowing.
I wished I could do that. I wished I could go a day without worrying about where my mother is or if I'm going to hear from her or see her ever again. I wish I could get over my father's death, as it had been five years.
I walked into my apartment after giving Mrs. Long a chocolate pastry and coffee I'd bought before the pastry shop closed. I threw my keys on the stand beside the door, but then walked back out because I'd forgotten to get the mail.
I opened the metal box, pulled out the few envelopes and daily news paper and walked back through my door. I flipped through the mail.
Bill. Bill. Junk. Bill. Junk.
Then I froze.
The handwriting. The name. The return address.
It couldn't be. After five years.
It couldn't be.
Translations
Matin-Morning
Matin a vous aussi-Morning to you too
Apres-midi-Afternoon
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~R4L and LSR~
