The Philadelphia House Story

by AnEdwardToRemember

There's a lot going on at "Philadelphia House" this weekend, as the household prepares for the wedding of younger son Edward Cullen. His first wife and childhood playmate shows up, with a secret and some unexpected guests on her heels, AU/AH/M.

Written for An Edward To Remember - Classic Hollywood Romance One-Shot Contest

Based on The Philadelphia Story (1940)

Title: The Philadelphia House Story

characters: Edward & Bella

Songs:

"Makin' Whoopee" by Walter Donaldson and Gus Kahn
"All of Me" by Gerald Marks and Seymour Simons
"Sweet Sir Galahad" by Joan Baez
"Rosalie" by Cole Porter

Summary: Our story is set in Coastal Georgia in the present day. There's a lot going on at "Philadelphia House" this weekend, as the household prepares for the wedding of younger son Edward Cullen. His first wife and childhood playmate shows up, with a secret and some unexpected guests on her heels, AU/AH/M.

A/N: We have taken the liberty of rearranging the genders and ages of some characters, relocating the story and adjusting some elements to be faithful to both the original movie and to contemporary culture. Also, we created a role for Jasper, because he's just way too pretty to be left out. Dex, Tracy and Mike may be all spinnin' in their graves, but we hope Cary, Kate and Jimmy would have had as much fun with this as we did.

"Failures."

Edward Masen Cullen rolled his eyes and fought the reflexive urge to pinch at the bridge of his nose in frustration. The very last thing he needed today was his father questioning the state of his sinus surgeries. He reached into the trunk of the black SLK 55 AMG to pull out his father's most vital possession, his set of golf clubs.

"We're not failures, Dad," Edward sighed. His eyebrows shot up as he realized which set of clubs he held, the spares, not the Pings. "Where are your clubs?"

"Your..." Carlisle ground his teeth as he slammed the Mercedes' door none too gently. "Your mother. She ran over them. She ran over my Raptures." Carlisle looked like he'd lost his best friend, which was fairly accurate. The custom-fitted Ping Rapture Irons alone were easily worth $3500 for four golf clubs, and Edward was certain his father's hands were on them far more often than on his mother, Esme Brandon Cullen. He grasped his father's shoulders bracingly.

"You'll survive this, Dad. You two will talk, you'll take Mama out'n the Marble Maiden for a cocktail cruise, you'll be fine," he said reassuringly. His father shook his head and shouldered his second rate clubs.

"How did we become such failures as husbands? Your Grandaddy is spinning in his grave." The elder Cullen climbed the steps to Edward's home like a man defeated, his shoulders heavy with burden of being turned out by his wife of 32 years. Edward followed, his hands in the pockets of his linen shorts, and resisted pinching his nose again. "Sixty-two years your grandparents were married, Edward." Carlisle sighed again and walked into the expansive foyer of Edward's softly tinted stucco home. In plantation days, Edward's home been a coach house for the estate's carriages and farm implements and had been built to replicate the main family residence, Philadelphia House, but in miniature.

"Dad, they would have never lasted if it weren't for Mac and Stella," he said as he ducked under the low colonial door frame automatically.

"I have no idea what you mean, Edward."

"The night watchman, the cook..." Edward stared at his father, utterly annoyed. It was well-known Cullen family lore Mac spent more time in Nanny Cullen than in the gatehouse, and Grandaddy Cullen had an abnormally strong interest in whipping meringues for a man of his era and social stature.

Carlisle rubbed his temples as he sank into Edward's favorite leather club chair. "Scotch... two fingers, three cubes, son." The head of the family sighed heavily again, then turned to his son, "Glenmorangie, Edward, not that Johnny Walker swill." Edward gritted his teeth and reached into the Chippendale secretary for the good Scotch, finally giving in and pinching the bridge of his aquiline nose.

"How could she do this? And no, not just to me... to all of us. I mean what will people say? A younger man. "Why Edward, I've heard," Carlisle lowered his voice to a bare whisper. "I've heard he is of some Northwest Indian ethnicity!"

Edward pinched again, hard, and sighed. "Dad... it's not 1923. So what? And Mama swears Jacob Black is merely a financial advisor."

"Advising her how to spend my money."

"Hardly. We all know Mama has her own."

Carlisle sniffed derisively.

"Look, Dad... please let's try to get along this weekend, okay? MaryAlice is at the House, and I need to head up there and welcome her home. She's helping Teez go through the wedding gifts. It's so good to have Sister back for the wedding, Dad, and to see her bein' so kind to my girl."

"Kind, hmph. It would be kinder to..."

"Dad, no. Tanya is my future. She's everything I need, beautiful, sweet, easy-going, quick to please."

"Oh yeah, she's got that easy-quick way about her. Not like B- "

"Dad, again, no! Every man is allowed a Mulligan, but it's not proper to keep re-playing the hole."

"Fine, son. Now there is some air in my glass. Take care of that for me, boy."

==*==

"Brother!" MaryAlice Brandon Cullen called as she bounded down the mahogany staircase and peered into the north parlor of Philadelphia House. "Brother?" She crossed the wide foyer again, just clearing the Louis XV Bombe chest as she landed her grande jete in the doorway of the music room. "Sakes alive, where is that boy?" she muttered to herself, executing three perfect tour jetes as she moved towards the sun porch. "Broooootherrrrr?!" she called again up the back stair as she placed her hands on her boyish hips, accenting her call with a stomp of her tiny foot. Just as she began to ascend the stairs, another, far deeper and somewhat nasal, voice assaulted her ears.

"Puppy?"

MaryAlice covered her ears delicately, shuddering at the sound that called to mind a flock of migrating Canadian geese. Again, the voice called out, rattling Nanny Brandon's crystal chandelier. The fixture had survived that unpleasant Mr. Sherman, and a hundred-mile trek when her maternal grandparent's house was torn down, but those delicate, pendant drops might not last the weekend.

"Puuuuuhhhhp - eeee? Does crêpe have a 'y' in it?"

MaryAlice covered her mouth in horror at the gaffe. An extraordinarily tall woman with a long sweep of strawberry blonde hair sauntered down the rear stairs with a crêpe pan, a notebook and a peevish expression.

"What?" she sneered at MaryAlice.

"It's crêpe," MaryAlice answered with a perfect rolled Parisian 'r'. "C-R-êpe. Crêpe."

"Okay, okay... who cares anyway? It's just a pan. The way your mom said it sounded like it had a coupla y's in it."

"Tanya," MaryAlice began, considered the speaker and silenced herself with great effort. Fortunately, as they walked into the foyer, the two were joined by the brother and 'Puppy' in question.

"MaryAlice, my little one. You look so pretty. Where's my sugar?" The siblings embraced warmly, murmuring into each others' necks as they spun around the black and white marble floor. Then a voice rose in irritation. Edward abruptly dropped his sister in an alcove, by the portrait of Nanny Masen in full Daughters of the Confederacy regalia, and heeled.

"There's my good boy. Now give me your paw... now give me a kiss..."

MaryAlice winced as her brother was put through his paces with better confirmation than one of Great Aunt Margaret Ann's Golden Retrievers. A tall blond man came up behind her, placing both hands on her slim shoulders. "Is that her, sugarpie?" MaryAlice nodded with a pout.

"Why did she ever have to move here from North Carolina? She should have stayed in Cary. 'Containment Area for Relocating Yankees.' I'm sure she fitted there perfectly. So Jasper, you ready for your rôle?"

"Oh, hell yeah, little filly! Jasper Sibley Whitlock, demon lover of MaryAlice Branden Cullen," he dipped his knees and ground his hips into her tight dancer's glutes, "is off stage, and in his place is Monsieur Jasper, un maître de toutes les choses à la mode et élégantes.

"Well, that woman needs a fast lesson in Southern fashion and Cullen style, so get your game face on, Longhorn."

==*==

"Heidi, please send Miss Hale and Mr. McCarty in," Aro Volturi set his lunch of steak tartare aside, sipped his Pelligrino and dabbed at his thick lips with a napkin. As editor of the revived Spy magazine, he prized not only the more profitable celebrity scandal, but also the equally delicious exposé of the salacious deeds of the moneyed Old Guard. True, a wayward minor Princess of some long-forgotten principality or the bitter end of a Social Register marriage might not cause the same sensation it once did among the unwashed masses, but Aro had a soft spot for an old school style aristocracy take-down.

"Married in Haste, Divorced in a Rage - Georgia's Golden Couple." The celebrated jazz chanteuse, hailed as an artist by the general public, and the n'er-do-well composer and Olympic sailor, both born of the best Southern stock. His family at first disdainful, later grudgingly pleased at the worldwide fame garnered by the orphaned heiress's short foray into popular music. Elopement, divorce, whispers of alcohol-steeped battles. Her abrupt retirement and seclusion in Brazil for the past two and a half years only heightened the story's allure. No one had been able to confirm it, but there were fresh rumors of financial wranglings by the elder Cullens, the flashy ladies' man and financier Jacob Black receiving Esme Cullen for very private, late afternoon meetings at his New York offices. Aro could smell the death throes of another American dynasty, and Spy would cover the entire event.

"Ah, Rosalie, Emmett, good to see you. Please sit down."

"Cut the crap, Aro. You have an assignment, I have an empty wallet, McCarty has an empty stomach. Give us what we need so I can make enough money to feed him."

"Shit, Rosie, I can afford to buy you lunch. Stop with the kept man routine. If you want to keep me as a pet, you have to let me curl up with you at night; those are the rules. Otherwise, it's business colleagues and nothing more."

Aro sighed, bored once again with his best team's incessant verbal foreplay. Sometimes their sexual tension served his needs, but he frankly had tired of two years of Hale and McCarty's cat and mouse path to the sheets.

"Alright, Rosalie. Here's what you need. It's on this disc, all the information our research team has collected. Edward Masen Cullen is marrying a girl from Xenia, Ohio, named Tanya Something-or-other. She's a leading light in local symphony fund-raising circles, he's a patron of the arts. You and Emmett are going to the wedding."

"I'm good, Aro, but I'm not a magician. These old school Southern families know everyone in their country clubs, not to mention their lineages back to the Civil War. How do you suggest we accomplish this little party trick?"

Stretching his manicured hand toward his desk phone, the editor spoke smoothly, "Heidi, I'm ready for my next appointment to join us."

He raised his head to find McCarty staring at him in discomfort.

"Yes, McCarty?"

He swallowed thickly, unable to disguise the mixture of fear and disgust. "You, ah... you have a spot of, um... blood. There, on your chin."

"Ah, thank you, McCarty. I had photographer tartare for lunch. See to it you and Hale get me what I want, hmm?" At the opening of his office door, Aro rose, "Bella Swan, my dear, so lovely to see you. I know we are going to enjoy this project so much. This is Rosalie Hale and Emmett McCarty, they will be accompanying you to Philadelphia House and the Cullen wedding, as friends of Seth Cullen."

"Seth, Mr. Volturi? Seth Cullen is in Madagascar. He can't even come home for the wedding, and he's certainly not making weekend house party plans for friends." Emmett's eyes widened while Rosalie's narrowed at the pretty, soft-voiced young woman in the doorway.

"Leave that to my back-ground staff. Seth Cullen is on-board for this; just as you will be, Bella, once we continue this in private. Rose, Emmett, go pack for a destination wedding. The grand Old South awaits! Buy whatever you need to fill out your wardrobe. I want receipts."

==*==

Upon arrival at Philadelphia House, Bella left Seth's 'friends' in the south parlor and went off to seek out the Cullen women, especially Esme Cullen, soon to find she would be entertaining another set of house guests. Bella had been suspiciously tight-lipped about Carlisle Cullen, the patriarch of the clan. That gentleman was rumored to have been cast out of his own family's estate by his wife, when her favor fell upon a high profile young financial analyst. Rose settled herself against the chintz sofa cushions, tucking up her long legs. Emmett cleared his throat at the maneuver and moved to distract himself with an inspection of the parlor's silver framed photos and bric-a-brac.

"Seems a bit stuffy for the south parlor," Emmett said, affecting a Locust Valley Lockjaw. "What might we find in the north parlor?"

"Most likely Great-great-great Grandpa's Confederate uniform under glass and a set of well-dusted dueling pistols," Rose laughed as she slid open the pocket doors and made her way into that chintz- and Chippendale-laden room for a quick peek.

"So, Rose... what did Aro have for us in that file from research?"

She re-entered, sat again, and sniffed dismissively.

"Bride, new money, Ohio-born, made her social connections in college based on her looks. Typical rapacious social climber. A series of increasingly important... encounters..." Rose cocked her eyebrow and smirked cynically. "Finally has firm hold on her own brass ring." Emmett inhaled deeply and turned back to the mantle, forcing himself to count backwards from one hundred. That eyebrow move, coupled with Rose's mile-long legs wound in such a coquettish way was so utterly mesmerizing, he might have to take an afternoon shower. God knows it was hot enough here to justify it. "The groom, handsome, generally elegant and well-read, a musician with just enough virile sportiness to wave off any suspicion of being a man's man. I've seen his type before. The golden son, the American Crown Prince." Her eyes hardened appreciably, and she tossed her blond locks over her shoulder.

"So what's this Isabella Swan's story? How does she fit in?" Emmett asked, hoping to steer Rose from that broken look she very occasionally let cross her regal face.

"Hm? Oh, Bella Swan? First wife to Edward Cullen. Only child of Charles and Renee Swan of the Savannah Swans. Parents lost in a deep sea fishing accident when she was seventeen. She inherited the Swan Sugar fortune, attended Brandeis and went the Tracy Chapman route. Folky, women's studies, played guitar at coffee houses and women's consciousness events. Very Lilith Fair. Discovered by an A and R man looking for the next Edie Brickell but went chanteuse instead. Recorded two well-received albums of old standards with a few original pieces, and then disappeared to Brazil, not too coincidentally at the same time her marriage to one Edward Masen Cullen ran aground."

"Oh really?" Emmett turned to Rose with a knowing grin; his girl was too clever to miss the real story behind the story.

"Yes, really," Rose replied in her huskiest, most innuendo-filled voice. Once again, Emmett turned to the mantle and focused his mind on a stylistic comparison of Edward Weston and Ansel Adams. Two years of absolute, unrepentant, sweet agony. What the hell would Emmett McCarty have to endure to finally claim Rose as his?

==*==

"Bella? Oh my stars, darlin', whatever are you doin' here?" Esme Cullen rose from the antique wicker settee and embraced the younger woman fiercely. "Wherever have you been and just why haven't you called me?"

"I'm sorry, Esme. Things were hard for a while, and then once I got well, I felt so awful about the whole mess. I was afraid you'd all hate me."

"Hate you?! My fourth baby?! I think not! You come on out here on the sun porch and tell me why you're here."

"Esme..." Bella sighed heavily as she sat and sank her dark head into the crook of her former mother-in-law's neck. "You've got trouble, honey."

"Trouble?"

"What's going on between you and Jacob Black?"

Esme shifted to a more formal posture, lifting her chin slightly. "Why, nothing, darlin'. He's just made some investments for me."

"Investments? What happened to Carter McClure? His family has handled everything for y'all, as well as every other family in Savannah, since... forever."

'Well, I - I just wanted to try something more aggressive." Esme shook her head and stood quickly, causing Bella to tumble over on the settee. "Isabella Marie, just what are you implying?"

"It's not me, Esme. Ever hear of Spy magazine? Aro Volturi."

"Oh dear Lord. Vulture is more like it."

"Esme, when I was still... when I finally went to rehab, I owed some favors. Big favors. Aro wanted to print the entire story about Edward and me then, the whole unholy mess."

"So why didn't you let him, Isabella?" Standing at the doorway and wearing an all-too familiar scowl was Edward Masen Cullen. "I would have thought you'd enjoy seeing me publicly humiliated at $4.95 a copy."

"Hello, my darling. You're looking fine," Bella returned placidly. "Esme, isn't Edward looking fine? My, no pre-wedding jitters on Edward Cullen's boyish mug."

"Thank you." Edward's arms folded as he took up position against the doorjamb. "Now, to the matter at hand, as your volley isn't as good as it once was. Just why would you stop an article on what half of the Eastern seaboard knew to be true."

"Oh come now, Red. Only half the Eastern seaboard? You've summered in East Hampton enough for your name and reputation to ooze up at least to Kennebunkport."

"Answer the question, Isabella."

"Oh Lord, here it comes." Bella sighed and stood for battle. "The iron fist in the green-eyed velvet glove. You're slipping, Galahad; I used to be afraid of that look. The withering glare of the verray, parfait, gentil knyght. Well, sweet, if you must know, I had no stomach to let our debacle of a marriage be printed for all the world to snicker at."

"Weak excuse, but that was then. Why do you care now."

"Now, Edward? Aro Volturi is planning to turn the spotlight on the entire Cullen family, past and present. That's all well and good. However, he's also going to focus on the family fortune, and... investments. I'm sorry, Esme, but it looks like Jacob Black might not be the upstanding young man he held himself out to be. With the credit crunch and SEC scrutiny, things could get dicey for the family businesses. Unless we all cooperate."

"Oh, Edward, Bella..."

"Mama, don't cry, please, you know what that does to your eyelift."

"Listen, Esme. All Volturi wants is a few photos of Edward's wedding. He's sent along a reporter and a photographer, supposedly friends of poor Seth. They're downstairs in the south parlor; presentable enough, they can pass for the weekend. Edward and his bride will be perfectly well-treated in the article... "

"Oh, that is not happenin'. A few photographs, but no article."

"Edward, yes, article with a personal interview - unless you want to bring down the entire Cullen fortune and name by refusing."

"Thank you, Isabella. It appears our relationship, like herpes, is the gift that keeps on giving. I'm going to change and then go back downstairs to see what fresh hell you have wrought. MaryAlice, you can stop eavesdroppin', I knew you were there all along. We need to give those tacky people something to write about."

"Oh, Bella..." Esme sniffed, pulling a lace handkerchief from her pocket.

"Esme, come on. Where's our Steel Magnolia spirit? Let's go show those Yankee reporters what a Daughter of the South can smile through and look good doing it."

"How's my hair?"

"Gilded caramel."

"My eyes?"

"Bright as emeralds."

"Alright," Esme stiffened her spine, as so many Southern ladies had done before and prepared to meet the damn Yankees in her parlor. Unfortunately, she would not be carrying firearms.

==*==

"Bienvenue, mes amis! Welcome to Philadelphia House." The south parlor door opened, a whirlwind tumbled in. "My name is MaryAlice Brandon Cullen, but my family calls me MaryAlice. Do you speak French? I do! I just returned from my Junior Year abroad. J'ai passé l'année à Paris! This is mon petit ami, Jasper. He has accompanied me home, and guess what? He is helping Maman organize Edward's wedding! She's been so busy, she's about ready to fall over in a fit. And the bride, Tanya? Bless her heart, she can't even organize her lingerie drawer."

"Now Sister, what do you mean tellin' our family secrets to company?" Into the room strode Edward Masen Cullen, deluxe edition, on a fragrant cloud of Armani's 'Attitude' and flashing teeth. Spit-shined, sharp-creased, the break in his trousers a tailor's wet dream, he looked good enough to eat, all barley sugar, gold and green. Rosalie felt an inner growl. This was a prince she wanted on a centerfold, not on a scaffold.

"Just tryin' to make their acquaintance, Edward. This precious... um... lady, is... I'm sorry, your name, honey?"

"Rosalie Hale, and this is my colle-... my friend, Emmett McCarty. We are old pals of your brother Seth. He insisted we stop by his family home when traveling through."

"Ros-a-lie... what a lovely, unusual name."

"My mother has, er... had a fondness for Depression Era musicals, her favorite was Rosalie, with N-nelson Eddy." She was furious with herself for stumbling over her words. "I'm Rose to my friends."

"Of which you have a great many, I'm sure." Edward took her hand in both of his and brought it to his lips, keeping his eyes on hers. "Cole Porter, George Gershwin, Busby Berkeley, their work brought a great deal of comfort to the masses. No wonder your mother found them so soothin'. So you and your Emmett," the name fell from his lips like a slur, "were just passing through a part of Georgia so out of the way, we just got our own zip code four years ago? Well, we are delighted to have you, or we would be if there weren't a bit of an event this weekend. You see, I'm getting married tomorrow." He had yet to let go of Rose's hand.

"Oh Brother, what does that matter to our new friends. Let's have some fun. Did you know, Rose, I'm studying music and dance at Bennington? Would you like to see my latest performance art project? Edward, go to the piano and accompany me, please. Jasper, roll out the cocktail cart from the pantry, s'il vous plait."

Rose and Emmett stood as if hypnotized and followed the small, charismatic creature into the music room. Drinks in hand, they were treated to MaryAlice singing of "Makin' Whoopee." Edward played with enthusiasm as his baby sister writhed down the gleaming parlor grand and cat-walked toward them, sliding her tight body along Emmett's arm, dropping her derrière past Rose's face. After executing Fosse-worthy flick kicks, she licked her brother's neck while she trailed one hand up his leg from knee to crotch, stopping right before the sheriff should have knocked on the door. By the time MaryAlice was through, Rose had enough material for another article, "Incest and the Heiress: Is Lesbianism Passé?"

Jasper applauded, "Brava, ma chère! Who knew what a wicked little bit o' fluff you were!"

"Merci, monsieur. I'm honored you liked it. Now our poor friends must be exhausted. Let me show you upstairs to the guest wing. Caius will have had your bags taken to your rooms. Just bring your other things. Come on, I'll give you a tour on the way. The original house was built by my family in 1780. Cullens have lived here ever since, in one form or other. Daddy, of course, traveled a great deal, but Mama always called Philadelphia House perfect heaven and never wanted to go with him much. Except to Europe in the summer, we all went then. Now your family name is Hale, Rose? Are you kin to the Pooler Hales? No, oh thank goodness. And Emmett, your people are of Irish extraction? I'm so glad. We had a night watchman named "Mac", well, our dear Nanny had him. Such unpleasantness, alors, how the working class attaches so easily. They are all dead now. Did Seth mention our Great-Grandaddy shot our gardener once?"

Edward could hear his sister's piccolo trills ascend the staircase, their alleged guests and her curious accomplice in tow. Picking out notes, he began to play.

"You remember, Galahad? We danced to that song the night we eloped." Edward jumped, "All of Me" disintegrating into discordance as Bella appeared at his side.

"I'm surprised you remember. I thought you promised to purge all those memories when you left me."

"I went to rehab; I didn't have a lobotomy, Red."

"Sure forgot something, morals, manners, what have you, to bring those journalists into my family's home. Are you back for long or do you have a plane to catch, a few more souls to suck into your black pit?"

"I'm here indefinitely. I've opened the guest house at Swan Home. Jenks is going to put the property on the market; I finally got the trust officers to agree. Christie's Great Estates will be out to photograph the main house and grounds in a few weeks. After it's sold, then I'm off; no soul left for me in Georgia."

Standing up, facing her, Edward inventoried the woman before him, looking for his playmate, his first love. He found her in Bella's dark eyes and hair; her facial features were still the same. To his surprise, missing was her edge, the daredevil wild-child, first off the board, up a tree or out on the dance floor. There was a quieter air about her. He liked it.

In unspoken call and response, Bella followed his gaze as he looked her over. He did indeed look fine, no blurry lines about him. Was this a true quality of his, or was it her own eyes, no longer dimmed by years of self-medication? She had hoped to find him again, meet him as a sober adult, but not on the occasion of his marriage to another. All she could do this weekend was snark in response to his snarl, and try to protect the Cullens from the mess she had made.

Without another word, she turned and left the music room.

==*==

"Thank you for including us in all this so graciously, Mrs. Cullen. Emmett and I had no idea Seth would insist we visit his childhood home when there was a wedding planned." Rosalie Hale may have been born and bred in South Bend, Indiana, but she was well-educated and knew her way around Miss Manners. Politeness softened up the female subjects, disarmed them in case the interview got nasty. The male interviewees were usually mesmerized by her tits and height. She had no problem bringing what the good genes fairy gave her to the table. Emmett worked the same way, vamping women with his dimples and blue eyes, men with his size and aura of bonhomie. The two of them were unbeatable on the high-end gossip trail. No one guessed until too late the steel trap minds they both concealed.

"Now don't you think another thing of it. What kind of a hostess would I be if I couldn't receive my son's friends with open arms in his absence. You're just two more bright faces around my table, honey."

"This is a wonderful place, the setting is perfect. It must be so pleasant when all your family is here. You have just the three children, right?"

"Yes, we've been blessed three times. Dear Seth Anthony, you already know." Esme eyed Rose beadily, as though she could see the press credentials in her pocket. "And then you see Edward Masen and little MaryAlice Brandon out on the patio. Our three angels. Of course, Isabella Swan has practically been my baby girl since well before the day her poor mama and daddy died."

"Why do the wealthy always saddle their children with dead people's last names?"

"Helps them remember who gets which china and silver pattern. Goodness, you are inquisitive for such a pretty little thing."

Rose strolled to the window, keying the information into her Smartphone surreptitiously. Out beyond the driveway, she saw an elderly man in an open silk dressing-gown urinating against a tree, and blanched in horror. "Mrs. Cullen, who is that horrible old man?"

"Oh, bless your heart, Miss Hale, he's just waterin' my perennial border," Esme gaily waved him into the foyer. "This is my husband's uncle, Mr. Marcus Masen."

"Miss Esme, drinks and hors d'oeurves are served on the patio."

"Wonderful, Caius. Uncle Marcus, darlin' -"

"My daddy shot a fella once," Marcus said, beaming affectionately at Esme. "I do believe it was the gardener. Something about pansies after Valentine's Day. Shame to lose him, only man we had who really kept the roses to Mama's standards." Esme smiled back serenely in the face of insanity, a society woman's most important skill.

"Now Miss Hale, or may I call you Rosalie?"

"It's Rose, Mrs. Cullen."

"It's Esme, Rose! Now, as I was sayin', I'd like you and your friend, Emmett isn't it - come here, young man and join us - to meet my children."

"Actually we met a little bit ago. MaryAlice and Edward entertained us at the piano with a song, before MaryAlice kindly showed us to our rooms. They are very... uniquely talented. But we haven't met the others, or Mr. Cullen."

"Over with MaryAlice is her college friend, Jasper. Haven't learned his last name, so remiss. She's gotten quite casual since she went North to school. I wanted her to go to Sweet Briar, but she insisted. It was Bennington or nothing. Her father let her have her own way, he always does. At least Seth and Edward went to Hampden-Sydney like good Southern boys."

"Standin' next to Edward is Tanya, bless her heart. The bride. You must meet her right away. Jasper seems to have made quite an impression on her. Look at the two of them carry on! Let me introduce you to her when they finish chatting. And over there, of course, is our Bella."

"This is your son's second marriage, am I right? Has that been hard for you and Mr. Cullen, Esme? Is he here, I'd love to meet him, too." Rosalie's cobalt blue eyes radiated sincerity, while her hand slid into her pocket to finger her keypad.

"Oh honey, Edward's daddy and I always thought he and Bella would be together for eternity, but three years ago... Well, no good comes from looking back. I'm so glad she's surprised us this weekend. They all grew up together, you know." Esme poured it on thick to Rose and Emmett as they walked from the sun porch to the patio, eliding over her husband's absence and paddling mightily to keep the ship of social graces afloat. "My Edward Masen and little Bella Marie were childhood sweethearts. Oh, those Philadelphia summers! Always in and out of each others' windows, swimmin' in the creek, ridin' their bikes, sharin' Popsicles."

"Umm, Popsicles. My favorite snack. Got me ready for my chilly marriage bed," Bella smiled at Esme.

"Got you ready for a steady diet of frozen margaritas, you mean."

"Edward, that's no way to speak to a lady. You're not too big to spank, and neither are you, Bella Marie."

"Sorry, Esme. I've just been wandering too far down memory lane today, I guess I left my manners along the way."

"My apologies, Isabella. Now if you'll excuse us, Tanya would like some peace and quiet on this busy weekend. We are going to take a quick swim before dinner."

"At least going down on the margarita machine guaranteed me a mouthful," Bella hissed at her ex-husband's retreating back. She knew she hit her mark by the set of Edward's shoulders and the reddening tips of his ears.

==*==

He was way beyond his comfort zone. Duluth, Minnesota, had its share of dodgy characters, even in the quiet neighborhood in which he'd been raised. An academic career in fine arts photography and a professional career in journalism left him little in the way of naiveté. However, this slinky Frenchman was scary: Pepé LePew scary, and Emmett McCarty was the poor little mewling house-cat, lost on the streets and destined for Pepé's funky-smelling embrace.

Emmett tucked the cucumber sandwich in his mouth and swallowed quickly, every molecule of his hulking frame screaming retreat as the wedding planner approached stealthily, all the way into the music room.

"Zo... teeel me, Monsieur... vould vous prefer ze feeesh or ze pawk for luncheon? Ze bride, she does not deecide yet, ze groom, he cares nossing. We must have ze final cahwnt. So, for you it will be...?"

"Feesh?"

"Mais non... feesh I find ees dry, ees tasteless. Ze pawk... pardonnez-moi... ze pawk he ees zo..." Monsieur Jasper placed a delicate finger on Emmett's chin, lowering his eyelashes. "Ah, yeees... he is zo luscious, très firm, vraiment. Pardon, Monsieur Eeemeeet, vous avez un crooom."

"Croom?'

"A crumb." Jasper flicked away a tiny breadcrumb from Emmett's bottom lip. Eyes widened into saucers, he feinted for escape, colliding instead with the luminous black Steinway. Jasper followed in leonine pursuit, his lips pursed seductively.

"Zo, Eeemmeeett... ze pawk?"

"Wh-what the hell are you talkin' about, dude?" Emmett shimmied along the piano's curving case, his trembling hand reaching for the keyboard.

"Ooh... I merely speek of votre -" Jasper leaned in, placing his hand softly against the lapel of the photographer's blazer. "Preferences."

Horrified, Emmett pushed Jasper aside, landing back squarely between middle C and F sharp on the piano.

"Jasper!" MaryAlice hissed as she shoo'd him out to the patio. "You were making no sense! We're having shrimp salad at the reception. My mother confirmed the menu months ago!"

"Just havin' a little tease with the regular folk, sugarpie. I haven't had so much fun since the cow ate my little brother!"

"You focus on intimidating Tanya! You need to scare the stupid out of that bitch or, even better, scare her away permanently!"

==*==

Wandering away from the guests, Bella found Edward and Tanya sitting by the pool, not yet dressed for swimming. She ignored their glowers and stretched out on a Brown Jordan lounge chair right next to Edward as though reclaiming her rightful place. Rose and Emmett, knowing where the good times were going to roll, followed at a distance.

"You really are looking well, Red. Such a fine, tawny glow about you. Although, I wish you hadn't cut your hair, prettiest thing about you." She turned to Tanya, seated under an umbrella at the glass-topped table. "Do you have him highlighting it? And moisturizing, too? Edward hardly looks old enough to shave, much less be on his second bride."

Tanya launched into an elaborate lecture on the importance of sunscreen and regular exfoliation and of wax versus gel for proper hold. Ignoring her, Bella looked Edward over with a judicious air.

"He needs trouble to... mature him, Tanya. Be sure to give him plenty. You'll know you've hit the right spot when he pinches his nose... just... like... that."

"Oh, I think all I'm good for is making my Puppy happy," simpered Tanya at Edward's averted jawline. "He's always so perfect, like that statue or something... y'know... the big one in Italy? He just needs the proper maintenance."

Edward cleared his throat, willing Tanya to cease her prattle.

"Such a shame, one more member of the angel choir singing the praises of Edward Masen Cullen and his alabaster ass." Bella crossed her legs and sighed as she looked over the expanse of gardens. "Really, Edward, you should have stuck with me a bit longer. Artists like us need to experience life outside the safe arms of predictability to... hone their sensitivity."

"Emmett, quick, the camera," urged Rose.

"Oh Isabella, I thought I was in for life, but the nice judge let me out early - a hardship case."

"Ah, there's my saintly Galahad. Bitter, party of one!"

Edward and Bella sneered at each other as Tanya, bored, inspected the ends of her hair.

"You haven't switched from liquor to dope, have you, Isabella?"

"No, just found my serenity. Let's not bicker, Galahad. I have a wedding gift here for you. Best wishes to you and your future wife."

She put the oddly shaped little bundle on the glass-topped end table on the other side of her lounger and lifted her sunglasses to look directly into Edward's eyes.

"They grew up together," Rose nodded to Emmett as he snapped a close-up of Edward and Bella, stretched out on the matched pair of lounge chairs, their clear-drawn profiles presenting picture of leisure and luxury, good nutrition and higher education, making sure to cut Tanya out of the frame.

"How perfectly perfect." Em muttered and focused another shot.

==*==

"Oh, Puppy, I've never been so happy to be finally alone."

"That's sweet Teez, I'm glad. Are you ready for a swim? I really need to do a few dozen laps."

"Oh no, I just had my hair relaxed - shush, don't tell anyone - and I can't swim for seventy-two hours after processing. You go ahead, and I'll sit here in the shade and watch you."

Stepping into the cabana to change, Edward heard paper rustle, a clink of metal on glass and a sharp snort.

"Ridiculous! Puppy, come look at what Bella thinks is a proper present."

Now ready to swim, Edward longed to lose himself under water. It was silent there, and cool. These days that was his favorite state of being. But the woman he had committed himself to needed his attention, and being attentive was a gentleman's duty.

"Where is the gift, Tanya?" She had nothing in her hands, and there was nothing to be seen on the shaded table.

"Right over there, where she left it. It's a toy car!"

"Tanya! It's not just a car; it's a model of a 1938 Volvo PV 52! Only about a thousand were ever made. It was my childhood dream car; I know... odd child. But I always wanted one, especially after I toured the Volvo factory when Dad took us to Stockholm on a business trip. Isabella went too; her parents were always travelin' without her. We had a wonderful summer! It was my fourteenth birthday that day. Isabella bought me a book about the history of Volvo and gave me my first kiss... We traveled through Scandinavia on our honeymoon, went back to the factory for another tour. That time, instead of a kiss... Well, no point in replaying the hole. Game's over."

While Edward continued to laugh and reminisce, driving the car aimlessly over his knee and the table top, Tanya tapped and scrolled through her Blackberry, never making a sound. She couldn't bother to follow a conversation about something she had never personally experienced. Edward's memory passed her by in a rush of white noise.

"Get your swim in, Puppy. You need the exercise." She strolled up to the house, her head tilted toward her phone screen, no eye for the golden hour of late afternoon light around her. Looking from Tanya to the model car and back, Edward's heart quite simply ached. Fiercely he beat back the pain and threw his long body into a dive. Lap after lap, his memories tumbled, and his frustration grew.

==*==

As Carlisle walked from Edward's to the main house, he paused to look around in the pink-gold light of a gathering low country evening. Philadelphia House was his home, his sense of continuity, a place where he knew, even as a young boy, he would grow to maturity, raise his own family and even one day die. Esme was part of that arc of time since they were small children, just like Edward and Bella. He had watched her blossom from a gangly girl in pigtails and her St. Cecilia's uniform to a spun sugar confection after her own junior year in Paris. There was never anyone else, never a question of who would be by his side for his time on Earth.

By damn, there was still no question for him. He meant to do something about it.

He knew her rituals as well as his own. Just before an event she would come out to the patio, martini in hand, and allow herself a few moments of quiet before the storm.

He stalked her from behind, her taut frame lit perfectly in the slanting light and her thick caramel hair lifting slightly in the warm river breeze. This was his wife but more importantly - his woman.

==*==

Dressed again in his afternoon's trousers and loafers, feeling only somewhat better after his swim, Edward stalked across the west lawn muttering to himself and intermittently pinching the bridge of his nose. He could use a drink. In fact, he could use several drinks. Maybe just one of Uncle Marcus' Xanax as well, God and General Lee forbid. Bella's arrival was one thing, that could be tolerated, but those reporters just seemed too intent on pushing at the fresh bruises on his ego. His mother's financial indiscretion and father's constant state of morose semi-drunkenness were far beyond Edward's standards of adult behavior. Decorum in the face of non-family members was the only thing, in his opinion, that separated them from those occupying the rows of double wide trailers down in Pooler.

He stopped, considering this thought, and pinched once again. Snob. What was he turning into? His Nanny Brandon would have switched him from here to the Savannah River if she'd heard such nonsense. This was clearly all Bella's fault. Although, truth be told, Bella moved easily and sincerely amongst the classes as any other well-brought up Southern girl would. Even in her excesses, Bella never hurt anyone intentionally. Only one other influence... no. Not Tanya. Tanya might be a Yankee, a bit on the self-centered side, and might not know the difference between a lobster bib and Michelangelo's David, but she had a good heart. He would keep telling himself that. The Symphony Guild relied heavily on her, she was on her way to being a woman of importance...

But no lady, no love, he admitted dejectedly.

He swatted at an errant mosquito as he arrived at the flagstone patio, silently blessing whoever thought to leave a pitcher of Arnold Palmers in a linen napkin-wrapped crystal pitcher. The accompanying silver tray held several crystal tumblers. Edward selected one, pouring out a healthy glass, hoping sincerely someone had the good sense to be liberal when adding the vodka to the lemonade and sweet tea concoction. Just then the clatter of a chair startled him out of his own thoughts, and he turned quickly towards the racket. There before him were his parents occupying a chaise lounge. The same chaise lounge. He first took in the icy blue eyes of his father, glaring at him, and then, refocusing, he took in the entire scene. His mother, the very paragon of decorum, was flushed and astride his father, her pale yellow evening gown hitched high on her tennis player's thighs. The tumbler slipped from Edward's fingers, and he stood, agape. They were... doing 'it'. Here on the patio.

"Oh, dammit, Edward, those are Baccarat," Esme gasped. "Don't you have the sense God gave a goose?"

"Wh-why, Mother... I -" he struggled to compose himself, certain this was one of those moments that drove many a man to a therapist's office. "I'm certain Neiman Marcus didn't intend for that lovely gown to show so much leg."

"Don't sass your mama, son. You're not too big to take a switch to," Carlisle growled. In one graceful movement, his mother stood, her flowing dress and petite frame giving his father a bit of privacy to right his tuxedo and smooth back his ash blond hair.

"So I keep being reminded," Edward muttered, looking ruefully at the mess he'd made.

"Edward Masen, you have just about trod on my very last nerve today."

"Well, Mama... I -"

"Now you listen, and you listen good. I've had just about enough of your stony-hearted judgment. You've traipsed around here all day on your high horse makin' comments and tryin' to give your poor daddy cheap Scotch. Ever since you and Bella Marie parted, you've behaved like you're above it all, more and more like some damn immortal deity. We put up with your wild ways when you were younger, and Daddy and I will support this marriage for the same reason, because we love you. However, I'm telling you now that girl isn't quality, and she's turning you into a hard-hearted snob."

"Mama, I fail to see how Tanya and I have anything to do with... well, with a number of things, including most recently discovering my parents doing -"

"You mind your tongue, boy," Carlisle warned darkly as he stood and wrapped an arm around his wife's waist.

"But Daddy," Edward said, hating the adolescent sneer his voice slid into. "You were having sex... on the patio... in full view of -"

"Most people over age five have the good sense to look before they walk around a private home, Edward," Esme admonished. "It's late, you need to dress for this fiasco of a rehearsal dinner. Tanya's parents have arrived from over to Savannah, and lordamighty if that mother of hers doesn't have on more sequins than a Solid Gold dancer. You run on, now, and we'll do our best to be gracious." Esme turned to her husband, drawing a perfectly manicured hand along his cheek. "I'll see you later, tiger."

Carlisle fixed his wife with a rakish grin, snapping his teeth and growling down at her. As she passed, he emphasized his meaning with a well-aimed smack on her rump.

"Listen to your mama, boy. Go on, get dressed. We have people from Ohio to entertain. I'm goin' to have to listen to Yankees extol Ohio State's offense all night, and I hold you responsible."

Edward watched in stunned silence as his parents disappeared into the house to contend with the contingency from the Buckeye State.

"Oh, and Edward Masen, clean up that mess before your Uncle Marcus hurts himself on broken glass," came Esme's parting volley from the foyer.

Edward sighed at this final indignity, pinched his nose, and sulked off to the kitchen to find a broom. He hoped his mother wasn't planning on riding that as well before the evening was over.

==*==

Bella was thrilled to be home, she felt the healing of Philadelphia House and its environs in her bones. Three years without breathing deeply in California and Sao Paulo was too long. Here in her guest house, where so many secret childhood adventures had been plotted and planned, she felt safe again, able to fill her lungs with sweet Georgia air.

The Knights of the Round Table was their favorite game; Seth was their designated dragon. MaryAlice always wanted to be the horse, having a well-bred girl's fascination with the enormous equine. Her small size made it difficult for her to move up from Pony Club. So she satisfied her longing for a horse by being a horse.

Edward was Sir Galahad, Bella was his lady fair. She was rescued from danger on a regular basis all over their families' land. There were dozens of photos of their quests and fortune-seeking in her childhood bedroom. Costumes and props were easy to come by with two attics, numerous out-buildings, and a historical precedent, after the horrors of The Reconstruction, for not throwing away anything that might one day prove useful. Those pictures she did not want to see. Not those nor the ones of the four of them swimming or boating or sleeping. There was a series of pictures from babyhood through their grade school years, of the three Cullen children and her, curled up asleep like a litter of kittens.

Time passed, the kittens grew. Seth went to boarding school, MaryAlice started dancing. It was just Sir Galahad and his Lady. Sleeping in the hammock or on the deck of the sailboat became sneaking into the bedroom. Sneaking became cuddling, cuddling became loving. There were no pictures of that part of the relationship. Nothing to honor it, nothing to demean it. Most importantly, nothing for Spy magazine, supermarket tabloids or internet gossip blogs to publish. She had spared her parents' memory and the Cullens that shame at least.

Pulling her cell phone out and scrolling quickly, Bella called her sponsor. This was going to be a long conversation. She was having trouble coming to terms with the idea Edward was her last love, and lost forever. Edward had been the first in her bed, of course, but far from the only. Her years at Brandeis and performing had hardly been a time of celibacy. She remained to the core a good Southern girl; it didn't matter which sex she slept with, so long as she didn't smoke in the street.

As for Edward, when he arrived at Hampden-Sydney, a bag for his wild oats was practically part of the freshmen orientation kit. Then there was their too short time together after graduation, ramping each other up to heights of sex and sin. Unfortunately, the ability to say "stop" was not in her constitution. The result, one failed marriage, one broken heart - although she had until recently hoped it was two - and one stalled career.

Fifty minutes later, Bella stood up to stretch, and her rarely used land-line rang. A stream of high-pitched, highly articulate verbiage flowed into her left eardrum.

"MaryAlice, you're so ridiculous." Bella laughed, "I've retired from singing. Plus I don't crash parties anymore, particularly those in honor of my ex-husband and his almost-wife. My mama will rise up and haunt me if I behave so disgracefully at Philadelphia House."

"Bella, please get up here; dinner is over, and everyone will be thrilled if you come. It will mean so much to Mama and Daddy. Besides, if Brother has to listen to those dance mix CDs of Tanya's for another minute, he is goin' to explode. That might be fun to watch, but it would make such a mess on the Ficks Reed porch furniture. You know that's gonna be mine someday."

"Fine, MaryAlice, I'll do it to save your furniture. But only because it is vintage! I'll be up as soon as I change."

Delighted, MaryAlice bounced back out to the patio, facing the lawn where an open-sided tent had been set up for after-dinner dancing. Tugging on the DJ's sleeve, she hissed, "Turn that ridiculous noise off when I give you the signal."

Her next stop was at her parents' secluded table. "Now stop spoonin', Mama. Bella is coming, and I've convinced her to sing! I mean it, Daddy! Do I have to demand you two sit eighteen inches apart like I was taught in deportment class?"

At the French doors, open to the patio, Bella stood with her guitar case. Studiously avoiding eye contact with all the guests, especially the guests of honor, she sought MaryAlice directly. "OK, little sister, you've got your way as usual. Let's do this before the running and the screaming starts."

Waving her hand to the DJ, "Just stop that racket this minute!" MaryAlice turned to the guests. "Hellooo... hello everybody!" In the manner of all Southerners near an open bar, everyone continued to laugh and drink. "OK... QUIET DOWN! Why thank you! I have a wonderful treat for you all. My darlin' sister-in-law... my true sister really... Isabella Swan Cullen, is going to perform for us." She beamed at Bella and held out her hands. The two girls kissed. "Both cheeks, Bella, like I learned in France!"

Bella began, "I haven't performed in public for the past three years, as you all know, or even done a lot of talking to my homefolks. But I've been doing a great deal of thinking and listening." She looked around the room, noting pleasure and surprise in most faces, and gazed for a long moment at Edward and Tanya.

In a pocket of silence, she heard him, "It's a family thing, Teez. Be sweet."

"I'd like to say I wrote this song, but I'm woman enough now to acknowledge my need for help from others and to take things one day at a time. This is to honor my Philadelphia House memories... and, of course, the bride and groom."

Eyes shut, she stroked the smooth body of her guitar, so like the color of her ex-husband's hair in the glow of a thousand tea candles and twinkle lights on the tables and trees, and breathed deeply.

"Four minutes, I can endure four minutes," Edward swallowed hard, and raised his hand as he recognized the opening lyrics. He bypassed the bridge of his nose and instead placed his hand to his brow as camouflage, the threat of tears burning both his eyes and throat. He called on eight generations in the family plot to help keep them back.

Sweet Sir Galahad
came in through the window
in the night when
the moon was in the yard.
He took her hand in his
and shook the long hair
from his neck and he told her
she'd been working much too hard....

"Oh, Carlisle, I'm just sick. How can he marry Tanya? No family or breeding, you know I could have overlooked that. But his Yankee gal has no charm, no sparkle. And Bella's such a love... from their babyhood... my stubborn boy. At least Tanya looks like a lady."

"She does have looks, and she's not entirely without appeal, accordin' to my friends on the Symphony Guild, peach. Fine at fund-raisin' too, and that's important these days. Sucks the chrome plumb off a trailer hitch, quite the crowd pleaser. She may never be a member of the Junior League, but Edward'll have something to look forward to at night. Of course, she never has been Edward's style of woman. I tried to tell him, but he won't hear a thing against her. As you say, he's stubborn."

"Not balm to a worried mother's sore heart, darlin'. Best shut up while you're ahead." Sighing, Esme leaned over to kiss his cheek.

...She moved her head
a little down on the bed
until it rested softly on his knee.
And there she dropped her smile
and there she sighed awhile,
and told him all the sadness
of those years that numbered three...

"I've never understood how a self-respecting divorcee, especially since she can't hold her man, would want to keep her married name! Who does that Bella Swan think she is, Puppy? She's no Cullen; she's not family."

"Hush up right now, Tanya. I mean it!"

"Puppy! How dare you use that tone?!"

...The lines of a smile erased
the tear tracks upon her face,
a smile could linger, even stay...

"Jasper, look at their poor faces. This is killing them; my family will never survive that marriage."

"Ma chère, Bella is stronger than you think. I've known her a while; we met at... a revival camp, you might say. I've seen her at her worst. Her heart may never mend, but her spirit will always soar. Your brother, on the other hand, I wouldn't trade places with him. I don't like what I feel around Edward. Very sad."

"There's got to be something we can do to stop the wedding. Maybe if I get Swine Flu?"

...Sweet Sir Galahad went down
with his gay bride of flowers,
the prince of the hours
of her lifetime.

And here's to the dawn
of their days,
of their days.

After Bella was silent, Tanya said loudly over the applause, "Oh, awww-some! Is that by Faith Hill? I love real country music."

Jasper, no longer swishing and smirking, emerged from behind MaryAlice, pushed through the delighted guests and went up to Bella. He extended his hand and drew her close. "Hi, I'm Jasper; this is the 544th day of my sobriety. Remember, easy does it, sugarpie. You should be so proud of yourself."

She broke down, "Hi, Jasper," and buried her face in his neck. "A day... at a time." Bella sighed and completely relaxed against his strong shoulder. After a shuddering embrace, Jasper took Bella by the hand over to MaryAlice, and the three of them went across the patio together.

"What's all that about?" wondered Rose, noting Edward's flushed face and tight jaw, as it contrasted directly with Tanya's wide grin.

"Hell if I know, but at least he's not hugging me," enthused Emmett. "C'mon, Rosie, the DJ's getting started again. Let's dance, it's a slow one."

==*==

Emmett was melting like a Sno-cone on blacktop under the mid-day Georgia sun. He'd been just as close to this magnificent woman in the back of speeding foreign taxis, behind tall and thorny security landscaping, at the forefront of the crowd covering a premiere, but never had he just been able to press her voluptuous body against his. His eyes closed as he allowed himself to breathe in her scent, 'Chanel No. 5', and just enjoy her against him.

"Rosalie, my darling... Rosalie, my dream... Since one night when stars danced above..." he sang softly into the thick waving blond hair.

"What?" Rose pulled away from his shoulder and fixed her eyes on him. "Emmett, are you drunk?"

"I've had naught but a wee sip of champagne, Rosalie... Roooosalieeee... have mercy..."

"Dear God, you are drunk."

"No, not drunk," Emmett said and spun Rose gracefully away from him, then back to the expanse of his chest. "Rosalie, don't decline... Won't you make my life thrilling... And tell me you're willing..." he crooned with a shy smile, his eyes soft and seeking against her disbelieving stare.

"How do you know that old song?" she muttered, a bit uneasy at this side of her sidekick.

"Research," he replied as he lowered her into a full dip and placed his lips against her elegant neck. Effortlessly, he drew her into his arms again, and they twirled together in the billowing waves of her ice blue, chiffon summer dress. "Betcha didn't think I could dance, did you, Rosie?"

"Uh..." she stammered. What was it about this place, first Edward, now Emmett, plus a stammer?

"I'm oh oh so much in love... So Rosalie have mercy..." he sang again, so softly no one else could possibly overhear.

"Emmett?" She swallowed heavily and shook her head as if she were disoriented. His face was coming closer to hers and those blue eyes - why had she never noticed just how much like aquamarines his eyes were - held her gaze completely. Emmett's lips touched hers gently, like she was made of porcelain. He pulled away just enough to take in the sight of her, utterly disarmed, before his lips descended again with what Rose would remember as the most passionate, breath-claiming, mind-boggling kiss she'd ever been party to. Emmett's hands, the most perfect combination of masculine power and gentle reverence, slid into her hair, combing the golden waves between his long fingers as he finished, pausing to barely nuzzle against her nose as he drew away.

"Make my life thrilling...and tell me you're willing to be mine, Rosalie, mine," he whispered, finishing with a gentle kiss on her forehead.

For exactly seventeen seconds, Rosalie Hale was completely under the spell of Emmett McCarty. Her breath came in deep rasps, straining the silk of her dress, and her world shifted.

Suddenly, what was surely the most obnoxious laugh human or goose had ever produced shook Rose back to reality.

"Oh, there you two are!" droned the future Mrs. Cullen. Rose blinked heavily, turning to the owner of the less than dulcet-toned voice. Tanya, admittedly beautifully turned out in an elegantly fitted aqua duchesse satin gown that perfectly accented her pale ginger hair and ivory skin, had one arm looped through her fiancé's. The other hand dangled a pair of what probably were the largest silver evening sandals Rose had ever witnessed outside of a drag queen's dressing room. Rose, no tiny flower herself, marveled at the sheer enormity of the admittedly beautiful strappy sandals, covered her mouth delicately and smiled.

"Goodness, Tanya, what beautiful shoes!"

"Oh," Tanya looked down adoringly at the bejeweled silver leather and leaned toward Rose unsteadily. "They're Manolos. Size thirteen. Custom job. It's amazing what money can get you." Her unsuccessful attempt at whispering caused at least four neighboring couples to pause and stare in amazement before smoothly moving away on the dance floor. Rose was quite certain she saw Edward grimace for a nanosecond. Behind her, Emmett was chuckling merrily.

"Whaddya say, Tanya, looks like you and I have more in common than I thought. Thirteens?"

Tanya turned, icy-eyed, to Emmett. "Why, do you have a late-night date with my new wedding coordinator? Want to borrow them?"

Emmett laughed heartily. "Don't think so, Teeeee-zzzzz. I'm going with a closed toe, I just couldn't make it to the spa for a pedi." He placed a hand on Rose's shoulder wordlessly and walked away, leaving Rose and even Edward stifling laughter at his quick retort.

"What a frickin' asshat," Tanya sneered loudly, giving their dancing neighbors more events to discuss over their morning coffee. Rose, back at work and as alert as one of Carlisle's foxhounds, spied Bella and motioned her over. Edward turned and looked wistfully at his first love.

"God, Isabella, you sounded... wonderful, didn't she, Teez?" Tanya shrugged and refused to look at Edward.

"Thanks, Red. It felt amazing to perform again."

Their lambent gaze lit the dim tent, bright green crackling into deep brown. A flash of fuchsia streaked by them, stopped and spun toward their circle.

"Oh, Bella, that was so beautiful. Please tell me you're gonna call your agent and start workin' again." MaryAlice skittered to a halt and grabbed Bella around the waist, twirling her to crash into Jasper. Edward's face hardened as he looked from Jasper to Bella's glass of orange juice and club soda. He grew still and stiff, and the moment was lost.

"Ah, Isabella... You've changed your beverage choice. No more vodka and vodka?"

"I thought I might give the pale pastels a try. So much more soothing than a glassful of clear, cold nothing," Bella responded equably from the circle of Jasper's arms.

"Tiens, sugarpie, let's you and me and MaryAlice do some special partyin'." With a salute to stone-faced Edward and a blown-kiss to seething Tanya, Jasper led the girls off the floor. The three of them broke into whooping laughter and ran in the direction of the Swan estate.

"I knew she couldn't stay clean, not without me."

"What's it to you, anyway, Eddie?"

"Tanya, please," Edward said under his breath as he nodded toward Rosalie and attempted to turn Tanya toward the less populated open lawn.

"No," Tanya hissed, yanking her arm from Edward's grasp. "I wanna know, Eddie. Why do you even give a sack of shit what Miss Trustafarian does or doesn't do? Let her bathe in Belvedere for all we care. Right?"

"Lower your voice," Edward gritted, nodding another wordless farewell to the highly bemused Rose. "And... Teez, darlin'. You know I abhor the name Eddie."

"There was only one whore here tonight. And she just left with a faggy Frenchman and your little sister. Menage o' troy for dessert?"

Edward's eyebrows furrowed over his suddenly dark jade eyes, and he whispered caustically, "Look Tanya, I know you're not happy, but some things we must tolerate as gracefully as we can. This would be one of those things. It isn't like you to act this way. Isabella is my family."

Tanya swayed to face Edward, inches from his face, and thrust her hands on her hips. "Well, her last name iddn't Cullen, and I don't see a ring on HER frickin' finger, so I think her family membership card has expired. Maybe I have trouble acting sweet and refined with my fiancé busting through his pants at the sight of his ex-wife." Tanya gestured below Edward's belt with a small, vulgar thrust of her hips.

"She grew up with us," Edward whispered again as he attempted to take Tanya's elbow and sketch a polite good night for the third time to the still-observant Rose. "Her parents have..." he lowered his voice further, "passed. We are her family, regardless. Now, please... let's go look at that pretty tent you requested for the reception, okay? It's farther down the lawn, near the water."

Edward steered Tanya quite forcefully from the dance floor, leaving Rose to move to a quiet corner, extract her Smartphone from her bag and begin to type.

"Ten rounds, no decision." Rose smiled to herself. It was time to move this to another venue, after she treated herself to a well-deserved beverage or three. Holding back at the bar while working was often necessary, but it was her turn for a little indulgence.

==*==

Bella opened her door to a sweaty, vaguely intoxicated Rosalie Hale, still in her cocktail dress, but a pair of running shoes on her feet and a flashlight in her hand. She'd obviously walked over from the party.

"Isabeka Mella Swan Cullen, I would like to talk to you."

"Bella."

"Oh thank you, do you speak It-it-Italian?"

"No, my name is Bella."

"That's what I said, Isabella Smella Swan Cullen! No... wait... let me catch my breath."

"Time waits for no woman, Rosalie."

"Or man. Man... Oh! IsabellaBella bell Swansen, I want to talk to you about Puppy. A man. I want to talk to a man about a puppy. No... wait..."

"Alrighty then, let's go into the talking room."

"Southern Girl, I have here in my little bag, a big bottle of champagne. Swiped it under the long nose of that scary Caius dude. Want some?"

"No thanks, not my tipple, but here's a glass. You wanted to talk?"

"Yeah, about that pretty Puppy. What kinda stupid name is that for a man, an..anyways?"

"Can't tell you. Not my man, not my name for him."

"You have a stupid name for him, Galahad. Not that Edward's not a stupid name, too. Stupid parents giving their kids stupid movie names, stupid dead people names, stupid... Emmett... is wonderful."

"OK, Rose, let's dial it back here. Did you have something to tell me about Edward?"

"Why don't you fight for him? Shouldn't women fight for what they want? We're taught that in all those women's studies classes. So tell me, Miss Southern Bella, why don't you fight for Edward?"

"You could ask him the same question about me. I don't know you well enough to go any farther with this conversation, honey. Let's talk about something else. Not men."

"OK, Bella Swella Bo-Mella, show me around this place."

"Not much to see, a bedroom, a kitchen and then this is everything else."

"Lots of books. I like that. Wait... What's this? Is it my book?"

"Yep."

"Isabella Swan Cullen, you have unexpected depth."

"Uh, thanks, I think?"

"But have you read it?'

"When I was trying to stop drinking, I read anything."

"And did you stop drinking?"

"Oh yeah. Your book didn't do it though."

"How well do you know Aro Volturi?"

"Not well enough, or I'd be able to get him off the family's back."

"Hmmmpf, me neither. Sucks to be us. So are you going to fight for your Edward? Or let a generic-brand, over-grown Nicole Kidman wannabe take him?"

"I told you already, Rose. He's not my Edward anymore."

"Fuck it all, Isabella Swan Cullen, either I'm gonna bitch slap you, or you are gonna bitch slap me."

"Wanna flip a coin?"

"Whatever. Heads you win, tails I lose, but someone has got to stop that wedding."

==*==

The party guests were gone when Emmett and Uncle Marcus carried their nightcaps onto the patio. For the first time in a dozen years, Emmett had found someone who understood both the finer points of photojournalism's influence on art photographers from Weegee to Garry Winnogrand and the Sioux wisdom contained in "Black Elk Speaks". Contentedly sprawled in a lounge chair, Emmett relaxed in the midnight air and reached for his drink, bringing back something oddly lacy attached to the stem of his champagne glass.

"Marcus, I am convinced there are people having sex all over this estate," Em slurred, unraveling the panties from his glass and placing them on the wrought iron table between them.

"Oh, that's so nice of you to offer, young man; I'm not a confirmed bachelor, just crazy as a shithouse rat." Marcus rose, staggered slightly, then smiled placidly at Emmett. He turned and disappeared into the darkness, his silk dressing gown trailing behind him like an ermine robe.

"If one more dude calls me a pansy today, I'm gonna lose my fucking mind," Emmett grumbled, draining his champagne glass. "Where the hell is Rose anyway?" He stood carefully and started out in search of his bed. Tomorrow he and Rose were going to have the talk.

==*==

"Tell me about how you know Bella, won't you, Jasper?"

"Actually, sugarpie, I can't, not without her being here with us. And in my world, there's only room for two in a bed. Bella and I share a word - anonymous - and if I devalue it, I really have to look at how I'm workin' my program. You know I have a past, you know Bella has a past. Why don't we focus on our present? A little bit of you and a great big ol'bit of me."

"Oh my. That sounds like an invitation I can't resist, Longhorn."

"You just come on over here, darlin'." Jasper's hands closed around MaryAlice's tiny waist and deposited her neatly facing him in his lap. "You goin' to let me have a bite out of that Georgia peach?" he whispered against her throat. A gasp and a quick thrust of her lithe hips was the only answer he needed. A former Texas Junior Calf Roping Champion, he had excellent strength and control in his broad hands. Jasper easily lifted the petite girl with one hand and made quick work of her silk pajama pants and panties.

"Tell me, MaryAlice, just how limber do you have to be to dance ballet?" His saddleman's hands busied themselves kneading her muscular little ass as he undid the buttons of her pajama top with his teeth and tongue.

"Flexibility is important," MaryAlice answered breathily, her hands plucking at the buttons of his starched tuxedo shirt. "However, flexibility is useless without strength."

Her thighs closed around his waist, drawing the sweltering apex of her thighs against his now-bare stomach. He inhaled quickly, and his fingers searched further, finding the glistening source of the heat pressed against his belly. With his thumbs, he stroked the length of those wet folds, teasing, just brushing the edge of her clitoris again and again. Gasping, MaryAlice looped one arm around his neck and leaned back, pressing into him further as she searched the expanse of his thighs, rigid from a lifetime astride horses, for his erect cock.

"Oh Longhorn, I have a secret of my own to share. Before I studied dance, I rode my own pony most every day. Such a breadth of knowledge my lessons provided! I'm going to lift up and then settle my seat. If I grip with my knees and post," she breathed huskily. "I can ride for hours."

==*==

Rose and Edward giggled and shushed each other as they wove their way back across the grass.

"I thought you said late night swims were refreshing! I'm worn out, Edward. Almost sober, but so damn tired."

"What is it with Yankee gals, an' their short tank. Isabella and I always swam after parties. Anyway, tell me more 'bout your book."

"Two years of effort, 6000 copies. Emmett sold even fewer units at his photography exhibition."

"People buy books, don't they, an' fine photographs?"

"Shit no, not as long as there's an in-nner-...ernet. That's why I work for Spy. Emmett an' me, we've delusions of grandeur; my writing, his photography. But today's secret word is delusion, Peewee Herman. People in South Bend bought most o' my books, home town girl makes oh so good."

"South Bend...hmm, it sounds like dancin'. Let's dance, darlin'... You really are very pretty... while we dance, I'm going to kiss you again."

"Edward, you're drunk, and I'm not Tanya."

"No, no, no, not Tanya, never Tanya, nevermore... Bella. Please, can you be Bella?"

"Not a chance, Sir Ed-ed-...lahad."

"Hmph." Edward raised the bottle to his lips and took another healthy swig of Perrier-Jouet. He caught up Rose in his arms, dipping her dangerously before bringing her upright. She blinked dizzily, then rested her elbow on his shoulder and looked closely at him as they danced to their own music. He cocked his eyebrow in response to her smile. "Whaaaaat?" he asked with a crooked grin.

"God, you're gorgeous."

"Not so bad y'self."

"'S'a blessing an' a curse, innit?"

"Never taken much time to ponder it. T'would be a bit... effeminate to consider, I think."

"You have got to be kidding! You're telling me, Edward Smasen Cullden, you don't think you're hot?"

"Let's not get into the damn Roman statue thing again."

"Statue? Oh nononononono... no." Rose waved her hand lazily, a bit too close to Edward's face for comfort. "You're like... the sun... down here, the way it lays low over the marshes in the evening, golden and heavy in the air. I've never been anywhere you can feel the air on your skin like here. And you... it's like you're ablaze with it, Edward, deep down, banked with ancient pyres and ceremonial fires. All russet sunsets and damp Spanish Moss. You are this place."

"Gee, Rosie, you do go on. You mean you don't think I'm cold and remote?" They stopped dancing, and Rose drew closer to him.

"There's not a damn thing cold about you, Edmard Vasen Lonehand." She pressed against him completely.

"You're a goddess," Edward murmured and locked his mouth to Rose's, clutching her to him. Almost as suddenly as they collided, Rose pulled away, staggering backward.

"Oh, like fun!" She sat down hard, reached blindly for the champagne bottle and looked up at him, astonished. "You just kissed the wrong princess, Edward Sullen Cullen."

Edward couldn't help but laugh and dropped to the grass beside her. "And I think you just kissed the wrong prince, Rosalie Give 'em Hell Hale."

They laughed harder, leaning against each other companionably.

"What're we gonna do?"

"Let's just get drunker, Hale. It'll all work out somewhere over the rainbow."

==*==

Rosalie opened one eye tentatively and groaned. Instinctively, she reached in her pocket for her Smartphone to check the time and came back empty-handed.

"Shit," she hissed, swatting the pile of terrycloth beside her. "Oh... shitshitshit!"

"What did I do to deserve that?" Edward mumbled groggily.

"Edward, get up, what time is it?"

"Wha-?" Edward sat up, then hissed and covered his eyes at the rays of the rising sun. "Oh damn, I'm getting married today."

"Not if we don't get you back to your grand manor in a hurry. Now be a Southern gentleman and walk me to my room?" Rose belted her toweling robe tight, picked up her dress and shoes and followed Edward onto the patio. "Ow, is there broken glass?"

"Oh Lord darlin', don't move, let me carr' you."

"Very gallant, but not a good idea, I'm almost as tall as you."

"No, no, I can manage." Despite his valiant efforts, the second bottle was still making itself heard in Edward's equilibrium. Down he and Rose went in a tumble of bare limbs, untied terrycloth and laughter.

"Dammit to hell, Edward. Let me alone, I can find my bedroom. We have people to see, futures to plan. Now please be quiet before we wake up the whole house." As she spoke, they heard an upper window slide open and, panicked as sneak thieves, ran around the side for the kitchen door.

Out the open window hung two heads, one dark and sleepy, the other blond and contemplative. At the French doors watched a fuming bride-to-be; across the lawn, a girl with an ever-broken heart turned to go back to her guest house sanctuary.

==*==

Emmett staggered to the French doors, scowling at a heavy cloud of recently-present perfume. The catering staff had already been at work, setting up rows of gray slip-covered folding chairs in front of a red and white rose bedecked arbor. He slid his camera from under his suit jacket, raised it to his eye, then took it away, sighing.

"Screw it," he grumbled and went back inside the house in search of sustenance. Edward entered from the porte cochere side of the house, his face contorting at the full sun.

"Nothing like the bright light of day to bring it all home, huh, Red?" Bella said as she stepped up to the patio.

"Isabella, why, what a lovely... oh, never mind." He draped his morning coat and one of the toweling robes over the back of a chair and collapsed wearily into the same chaise lounge he'd discovered his parents on the night before. High heels echoed through the foyer, out to the patio, announcing the presence of the bride. Edward's eyes closed against the incoming assault.

"Where is he?" she bellowed.

"You must be looking forward to that eye-opener, Gal. Shall I bring it out to you?"

"YOU!" Tanya screamed as she stepped outside, her hands contorted into fists. "You fucking - "

"Teez, darlin', please... Great Aunt Margaret Ann is still at breakfast," Edward moaned, trying valiantly to stand. Tanya pushed him backwards hard, causing Bella to wince at the sight.

"Emmett?" Rose called hoarsely as she came through the French doors. "Oh, Bella... have you seen Em- " She was cut off by the smark crack of Bella's hand across her face and landed with a painful squeak on the flagstones. Quickly, Bella placed herself between the erupting Tanya and Rose.

"Believe me, Rosie, better me than Mount Vesuvius over there," she whispered.

"I saw you two drunk and half-naked just three hours ago. I demand the full story, right now, Edward!" She picked up the robe, shaking it at Edward threateningly, and Rose's Smartphone slid from the pocket, smashing as it hit. "Oh, look... what's this?"

"Well... I..." he stammered, while searching his memory for the details of indecent behavior on the very eve of his wedding.

"He's got no story to tell," Rose interjected, dabbing her inflamed cheek.

"I don't? Well, why the hell not, am I that undesirable, that forbidding?"

"On the contrary, Edward, you are very desirable. But you were also very drunk, and there are rules about that, even these days. What happened between us consisted of two kisses and one moonlit swim, the memory of which I will cherish forever."

"Two kisses?!" Emmett exclaimed, re-entering carrying a large tumbler full of something resembling marsh water. Rose's eyes widened, and she scrambled to stand. Bella stepped to assist her and gave her a dainty push towards the photographer.

"Em..." her hand fell on his arm, completely at his mercy. "Blame it on Perrier-Jouet and moonlight. I kissed the wrong prince." They looked at each other for a weighty moment, her eyes pleading. Suddenly, Emmett broke into a wide grin and wrapped his arm around Rose.

"C'mon, princess. Uncle Marcus has his chemistry set out in the butler's pantry doing all sorts of amazing things with pickled okra and tomato juice."

Her head fell heavily against his shoulder as they walked inside. "I love you, Emmett."

"Oh, I know, Rosie." His laugh echoed through the first floor.

Bella smiled after them and sighed to herself wistfully as she started towards her own home.

"And I bet you set this whole thing up," Tanya screeched at her. Bella turned, smiling and walked back to the much larger woman.

"Why no, darlin', you showed your own ass."

==*==

"Isabella, wait... please."

"Yes, Red?" Bella said quietly, her back still to him.

"C'mere," he said, his voice suddenly husky, stepping towards her, hands in pockets.

"Whh - hyyyy?" Bella singsonged as she turned and sauntered towards him.

"Got somethin' for you."

Their dance began, the connection between them moving slow and graceful like the Spanish moss in the oaks. He pulled the model Volvo from his pocket and sat it aside. They stopped, just touching, and Edward leaned down to his soul mate as she rose on her toes to meet his lips. One bare touch was all it took. He swung her into his arms and kissed her again, this time with three years of longing and loneliness; the unsettling feeling of having half of his heart so far away from him evaporating as they tasted each other assuredly with mouth, tongue and teeth.

"Oh, my lady fair." he whispered and kissed her once again, letting himself be with her at that moment, his Isabella whole and back in his arms.

"Oh, my valiant Galahad." She tugged at the buttons of his shirt, pulling it open and inhaling the scent of his skin. He found the hem of her linen slip dress and pulled it over her head easily, grinning widely as he looked down to find her braless.

"Still no bra, Isabella?"

"Can't stand the damn things," she said, burying her lips in the delicious skin at the dip of his neck into his shoulder. He carried her to the half-hidden chaise lounge, sitting down carefully with her astride him. He could barely concentrate on rediscovering his wife's body for the reawakening of his own dormant true desire. Bella's hands were everywhere, setting him to light again, stirring the hearth fires.

"Can't wait anymore, Red..." she sighed against his jaw. "Been too long," she said, this time a moan, as she pulled him free of his gray-striped trousers and seated herself over him. In one easy, familiar thrust of her hips, he was inside. He was home, and it felt like she took bellows to the embers in his heart, fanning their love and lust with one simple movement back into the same bright flame. "Next time, slow, Red... need you so bad." Even the hard pace she set as she slid against him over and over, had a soft familiarity about it, their sweat and arousal mingling into their own scent, his hands falling just so at the rise of her hips, knowing how to guide and shift her body against his.

"Bella, my Bella, my own Isabella," he sang softly, their own little song, a simple melody made up as children, but still their music as their bodies rejoined and rejoiced in each other.

"My darling, my sweet, Edward, oh Edward..." she replied, her verse coming between little gasps and moans. "Grab my hands, Red, it's almost time," Bella murmured against his lips. Edward reached for her hands, and they both stretched their arms overhead, hands clutched together. There was no distance between them now, shoulders and hips and bellies fit together just so, guiding the other's sinuous movements. His thighs shifted her forward, bringing more pressure against her aching clitoris, making her cry a strangled, teary sob against his cheek. "God, Edward..."

"Love," he groaned and quickly covered her mouth with his own, and they came together, their bodies moving as one under their raised arms. Edward kissed her over and over, not giving a damn his own tears of relief and release were falling just as heavily as Bella's. She tightened against his still-pulsing cock, and he threw back his head, groaning again, this time letting his voice carry out over the lawn down to the river. They continued to move against each other, sweat slick foreheads pressed together.

"Is... do you..." he licked his lips, trying to catch his breath. "The shrimp salad's made. Do you want to?"

"Let's not, sweet, and act like we did," Bella replied, her eyes twinkling as she kissed him. "My valiant knight, I am yours, come what may, forever and ever," she whispered into his hair as he tasted her elegant neck again and again.

"You remember?!" He pulled back to look at her, smiling at the words they would speak as part of their games in the guest cottage at Swan Home. She held his face gently in her hands and nodded, blinking at new tears.

"For you are my ladylove, and I will be your champion come what may," Edward repeated the response he had said so many times as a boy, when his Isabella would send him off with his trusty steed, Mariallon, to slay the horrible Sethanthus, Firedragon of the North.

"You're still my Galahad."

"You're always my Lady, my love."

Their most sacred and familiar vows, along with the music of their gentle laughter, carried up to the open window just over the patio.

==*==

MaryAlice dabbed at her own tears and stood up, discreetly closing her window. She signed her name with a flourish to the note, placed it against her pillow and turned to her waiting Texan. He held, remarkably, one suitcase. After all, Dallas was the home of Neiman's! Surely she could pick up a few extra things there if she needed them.

"I got a whole lotta folks waitin' to meet you, filly."

"Allons-y, mon coeur." She slid her hand into his, and they stepped out into the sunlit landing.

==*==

Later, after Tanya's stunned family had tearfully departed, one son-in-law and $75,000 lighter, Tanya's official half of the nuptials paid in full, the Cullens gathered on the patio with Bella and their new friends, the McCartys-to-be. Or Hale-McCartys, depending upon who was telling the story. There was shrimp salad and champagne for everyone, although several of the assembly politely refused the wine, favoring large tumblers of water. MaryAlice's note had been discovered and was the new topic of discussion, Edward and Bella's reconciliation already being old news. Contrary to myth, things did tend to move quickly in the South. Their friends and neighbors milled about the grounds, happy to enjoy the day's festivities in light of the erstwhile groom's clear bravery, telling themselves someone had the good sense to use UGA colors as the theme, never acknowledging the Ohio State groom's cake someone had impaled with a rather large chef's knife, hoping that pretty girl would sing again.

Edward's brows furrowed as he set down his sister's letter.

"Let me get this straight, he's Texan, he may be French, and he's sober 24/7? That combination does not occur in nature. Mama, how can you approve of such a man for Sister? He's hardly human!"

"Hush, Edward! He's a Whitlock. And he's takin' her home to meet his grandmother."

Emmett stood, stroking Rose's shoulder. "Let's take a walk down to the river, darlin' "

"Darlin'?" Rose considered her Minnesotan McCarty's new Southern accent. "I kinda like that."

His dressing gown flapping open in the afternoon breeze, Uncle Marcus lifted his glass, "To happy families, happy couples, and Mr. Sonny, the best gardener we ever had at Philadephia House. I'm just happy I could help smooth out all this nonsense. That Aro... why, one time, I recall, it was 1957..."

Uncle Marcus' speech to Bella and Edward trailed off, and Carlisle and Esme turned to each other, sighing contentedly.

"Aro and Marcus were SAEs at Georgia together, darlin', didn't you know?"

"Why hell, Carlisle, I wasn't sure y'all let Marcus out amongst the populace. But thank God those two old fools couldn't bear to see our Edward marry that girl from... Ohio. Why, who knows where the Masen silver would have ended up? My Lord, it could have been out in Toledo or somethin' just too awful to think of."

"Believe it or not, Marcus is brilliant, a Rhodes scholar in the 60's, but he participated in some psychology experiments and hasn't been the same since."

"Dear Lord, after all these years you tell me this? I thought he was just eccentric... you mean he's a burnout? Carlisle, what will we say to the children?"

"Just not one little thing, honey. They never listen to us anyway. Let's visit with Bella and Edward before they head off to live in sin. I have shrimp salad to eat, champagne to drink and my wife to love up on. Today's a celebration! It's not everyday a son is jilted by the woman of his mother's nightmares, and a daughter runs away with the man of her mother's dreams. Now, let's dance, darlin', and I may just dip my fingers in your jar of peaches."