Chapter 1

Full Summary: After being adopted by Esme and Carlisle, the orphaned Bella discovers many new concepts through their influence, like generosity and kindness, but never fully grasped the whole 'love' thing. Now, as an award-winning photographer forces himself into her life, she truly learns what it is to love, and most importantly, that she is who she is, and to change for no one.

Hope you guys like! Please review! Also, just to be clear, the entire thing is BPOV.

Song of the Chapter: When You Were Young – The Killers

Disclaimer: I wish, so, so much. *Sigh*

He'd said that he'd been looking for a subject forever now.

He'd said that I was the one, and told me I was perfect in every way.

And I, the hopeless romantic, had believed him.

Day 1:

The day ticked past slowly, as I tied to put off the daunting event looming in just a few short hours: another 'high social gathering' Esme had put me up to.

Ever since the 'accident', I had been under her care and sponsorship, so I had to agree to accompany her to these things when Carlisle couldn't. Which was more often than not. But, I don't have a choice. I'm obligated.

I looked gloomily around the office, wondering if I could find something that wouldn't let me off until half past two in the morning, when my mobile vibrated in front of me, the name Esme flashing on the screen.

'Esme.'

'Are you almost home? We've got three hours till we leave, Isabella.' She said it in a nice way, but I knew she was stressing. Probably dreading having to attempt at taming my unruly, wild hair.

'Yeah,' I sighed. 'Just packing up for the day.' I slammed shut my large, bursting folder, full of my research.

'Good, good. How long will you be?'

'Twenty, kay?'

'Sure. Great. See you soon, Isabella.'

The line went dead, and I snapped my phone shut. I stood, shoving the crowded folder into my bag, along with my purse, phone and keys. I shut down the computer, then knelt down to the floor to gather up the scraps of paper I'd dropped during the day, and chucked them in the small wastepaper basket next to my desk.

As I moved back into a standing position, by knee gave way yet again, and I stumbled, gripping my desk to avoid landing face-first on the carpet.

I straightened up, tugging my clothes back into place, and promptly walked out of the noisy, overcrowded office building, trying to ignore the voice, eating up my insides, telling me I was a horrible person, and that I was selfish, disregarding the reason my knee had faltered, not wanting to remember that fateful night.

~X~

It was a dark, stormy night, and I feared for my parents, stuck out in the cold. I also wondered if Elizabeth was inside at her friends': it would be so terribly like her to be out playing under the thundery, wet, angry sky.

But I knew I would be safe at Grandma's, watching old favourites like Mary Poppins and Babe that I had almost grown out of.

I looked out the big bay window of Gran's lounge, watching the sky cackle into brightness with every bolt of lightening, and saw the beautiful petals of the blossom tree get pummeled into the muddy, soaking ground, the brown seeping into the white like blood would from a wound.

And Gran chose that moment, that very thought, to disclose to me the most life-changing information that could ever rock an eight-year-old's life: her family - her loving, tender mother; her gentle, caring father; her irrational, annoying younger sister - were gone. Just like that. One false move, one sideways glance was apparently a just reason for death.

My Gran was distraught, and so she immediately shoved me into her old brown Kingswood, gunning the engine with my door still hanging open; speeding down the road while I was trying to buckle myself in.

When we arrived at the crash site, it was pure chaos. There were police officers, firemen and women, and paramedics. Even the SES was there, waiting to clear several blown over trees. Gran poured through the crowd, not caring whether I followed or not, to her daughter, her baby girl, who was slumped in the passenger seat, covered in blood. My mother. And Dad was there, in the driver's seat, his body limp and lifeless over the steering wheel. And my sister, fragile and incredibly breakable, completely and utterly gone. Gran had already run through the barriers, cradling her daughter in her arms while she screamed at the paramedics to get away from them.

I ran, too, through the police tape, to my father. I saw he was breathing slightly. As I called out to him, he moved his face slightly to the side, allowing me to see his mouth. I stared at him, the barrier of the mangled and twisted car door between us, in horror, and as I leant through the window, not caring about the jagged bits of metal making gashes in my stomach, he opened his mouth. He tried, again and again it seemed like, though it must have only been two or three times, to tell me something. And each time, nothing more than a whispered chocking sound came out. Lastly, as he opened his mouth for the final time, a small gurgling sound erupted, followed by blood pouring out of his mouth and his eyes rolling back to whites.

I broke down: turned pale, unhealthily bony and unresponsive. I only noticed the large things, like how kind people with blankets and reassuring voices dragged me away from the warped car, and to a building where people tried to get me to speak. How I was taken into a large courtroom, and adults discussed my future, and Gran telling me she wasn't able to take me in.

And, of course, my first day with the Cullens.

They had taken me, the orphaned, penniless girl like one of their own. They'd given me everything: a home, an education, parents, an older brother, a family, and a heart. They poured themselves out to me, and I did what I could to repay them, knowing I never could. And I hated myself for that reason. And then, there was the issue of money…

~X~

As soon, as I walked in, I was whisked upstairs by Esme, told to put on a strapless black bra, and to get the shoebox and white garment bag from the study. I groaned as soon as I realized she had spent more money on a ridiculous, expensive gown for me that I'd only wear once. 'Esme, really, can't I wear the same as last time?'

'No,' she said, in a trilling, chirpy voice, that I was just able to see through. 'I've already sold it to Marcus's girl, that Jane. Said she needed it for a wedding…' She trailed, turning a corner, then stuck out her head and gave me a meaningful look until I proceeded up the stairs.

As I unzipped the bag, I found a garment equally as gorgeous as the last couple: it was strapless, royal blue, had a silk rose pinned to the side of the waist, and tasteful frills cascading down from it. I t was gorgeous, and I hugged it to my chest and twirled like a princess, completely spoiled and loving it.

After a few minutes, I put down the dress on the polished mahogany desk, and grabbed the shoebox from its perch on the chair. Inside, I found a gorgeous pair of heels I'd probably kill myself in. They were very thin and delicate, and, matched the dress in both colour and exquisiteness. The slender straps were graced with translucent sequins, giving them a subtle shine.

I ran down the hall into my room, grabbing out a strapless and shoving it on, then stripped off my jeans, wrapped myself in my dressing gown, and retrieved the dress, bringing it to Esme's bathroom, where she was already completely dolled up and ready, waiting for me.

'It's so-so-so gorgeous, Es. I love it. You're a genius. It's amazing,' I gushed.

'I thought you'd like it,' she said, satisfied. 'Sit down, and look up.' And I did, as she applied mascara and eyeliner, then dark eye shadow and a deep-coloured lipstick. She put some blush on, then stepped back, nodded, and went behind me to fix my hair. I smelled the curling tongs, and then the hairspray, and soon enough, I was ready.

Esme and I both got into our gowns, and five minutes later, were on our way, in a cab, to the gala she somehow talked me into attending. Don't get me wrong – I love dressing up, it's just the atmosphere that really annoys me at these things. The prejudiced air of everyone makes me feel as if I don't belong, and that I should be at home, in that deteriorating flat, in a hoodie and trackies, reading some gossip magazine and chewing gum loudly, and making remorseful comments at Elizabeth over her very first boyfriend with the cowlick.

But, no. I was here, trying not to embarrass myself with my unconfident manner or clumsy equilibrium. I tried desperately not to draw attention to myself. As per usual however, this usually just makes me a ton more conspicuous.

As we walked in to a large ballroom that looked as if it belonged in a Hilton, I saw a tastefully festive array of flowers and banners, congratulating a man I didn't know the name of for this award winning series of photographs. I sighed, wondering just how much money had been put into this, just so the man would feel special.

I chatted with a few people, the ones who, too, seemed a little out of place here. There was a young girl, whose cousin was the guy everyone was here to praise. She had raven hair and a sharp mind, who was constantly commenting to me about people's gowns and hair arrangements, often making me laugh. We stuck next to each other for the best part of an hour, not really, talking, but observing, occasionally whispering something to the other.

I scarcely saw Esme throughout the night; sometimes she would pop over to tell me who she's just met, or that the sushi was excellent. So, the girl – Alice – and I stood next to each other against a wall, watching the many people dance and converse as if they didn't have a care in the world.

Eventually, two men climbed onto the large stage at the front of the hall, where the band had been playing, They looked quite alike, one quite younger than the other, and I realized they must be father and son. To confirm this train of though, Alice, still next to me, whispered, 'That's him. Edward, the photographer, and my uncle, Anthony.' She stopped a waiter as he passed, taking a flute of champagne off his tray, and I wondered if she were even old enough to drink.

'Are you sure you're abl-' I began, but couldn't finish.

'Yeah. I'm eighteen, just really short,' she told me, amused, knowing what I was going to ask.

'Right,' murmured back, smiling, as the older man on the stage began speaking.

'Well, we all know why we're here,' he told us matter-of-factly. No, we didn't. At least not me. 'My amazing son, Edward, here, has done us all proud. He's gone and won the national gallery's most prestigious young photographer prize. And I thought I'd done well, with the deal last time, but he's constantly outshining me.' A murmur of quiet laughter shuffled through the large room, as people obviously remembered the deal he had made that I obviously didn't remember.

'So, I'll let my son say a few words, then. Edward, my boy.' He motioned towards the microphone, and Edward stepped in front of it, cleared his throat, and began.

'So, I guess this is an honor,' he said nervously. 'I didn't expect it. I'm so very excited and proud. I can't believe it.' That seemed to be the extent of his speech, as he stepped back from the microphone, off the stage, and shook a few peoples' hands, before the party returned to its normal state.

'Insightful,' I muttered.

'Edward's… like that. A man of few words,' Alice informed me.

'Hhhmmmm,' I hummed, as I looked at the handsome boy not much older than I, and wondered why on earth there had to be such things as social barriers; why someone like him could never be with someone like me, simply because it just doesn't happen like that. I continued to stare at him, musing over life's unfair boundaries, when he caught my eye, curiosity clouding his vision. I looked down, embarrassed, but when I looked up, he was still staring, and then, just like that, he was making his way through the crowd, as if I stood out like a red rose in a group of weeds.

I looked at his messy, unkempt hair, his slightly askew tie, and his shining green eyes, and wondered what it was that made his feet take the path that would lead him nowhere but inevitably me.

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