Prologue

My plasma TV was one of the things that I would save if there were a fire. That, and my twelve shades of lipstick, my five laptops, my walk-in wardrobe, my make-up kit, my five Gucci handbags (I heart Gucci), my jewellery - especially the pink ones, and oh yes, my life. I told my housekeeper that, and she replied that if that were the case, if there were an actual fire, she wouldn't expect me to make it out alive.

Like, whatever. You know the saying 'hell hath no fury like a woman scorned'? It's one of my favourites. It shows all those chavunistically-sexist males that we woman are worth reckoning with. Never underestimate a woman. When we're truly passionate about something, we'll find a way to wrap our gorgeous nail-polished, manicured fingers round it. And I'm passionate about my twelves shades of- You get the idea. I will totally make it out of the fire. Alive. And with my vunderful plasma TV.

But now, eyeing the screwed up TV resolution with a screwed up nose, maybe I wouldn't bring that damn thing along. On second thought, it was fucking heavy, and even if I managed to drag it out of my sizzingly mansion, I couldn't take the power plug, switch, and all that electricity shit with me. Useless. Completely, utterly useless. And even as I rant mindlessly in my head, the TV's going haywire, and completely destroying a perfectly scary horror movie, Insidious.

All the more the reason to abandon it in a burning building.

"I totally can't see the bloody ghost now!" I shrieked with dismay. Tossing the remote control to the ground - whatever, the TV was already as spoilt as it could get, I glared daggers at my friend Kayla.

"What?" She said, unaffected. "There's a reason why it's a ghost. You can't see it."

"What I can see is that Patrick Wilson has three fucking heads now!"

"Three heads of gorgeousness. Awesome!" Kayla exclaimed delightedly.

I rolled my eyes. One, Patrick Wilson didn't make 'Gorgeous' in my book. I had high standards. Two, Kayla totally wasn't grasping the gravity of the situation. It didn't care whether Patrick had five heads of gorgeousness, or even ten on the screen, but what I did care, was that my plasma TV - which had been the oldest member of this household of very new things, since I liked to have my personal stuff new - was dying on me.

Times like this made me wonder why I hung out with someone who had a literal bird brain, like Kayla. Oh yes, I remember now. Because she's popular, I'm popular, and I'm making use of her to gain more popularity. Hanging out with stupid people was just a minor drawback. I could deal.

Still steaming at my loss, I took to my feet and flew down the corridor in a mad rage. When I reached the twenty feet tall staircase, I yelled down, "Nana!"

"What?" A tired, old voice asked from below.

"Carry my plasma TV to the salvation army or whatever. It's spoilt! I need a new one."

"If it's spoilt, Bella, you can't give it to other people." Nana, my housekeeper explained reasonably. "How would you like if I bought you a new, spoilt TV?"

I released a hurrump of displeasure. "I'll be mad, then totally fire you," I said bluntly, but we both knew it was an empty threat. Nana had been working with the Swans since forever. She had been the only babysitter that hadn't taken to the opposite direction after three weeks of restraining me from doing insane things, like spraying toothpaste in my The Man's expensive Tuxs (but The Man-bitch deserved that), and so, The Man didn't really have much of an option but to keep her.

Nana sighed. "Ah, Bella, when will you ever grow up?" I knew it wasn't meant for my ears, but that didn't stop me from scowling.

"I am like, totally grown up!" I exclaimed angrily. How could she accuse me of- The Blasphemy! "I'm even old enough to have a boyfriend! Chase Helton's my boyfriend! And every guy in school wants to be-"

"Ah, ah, ah." Nana stopped me. "I wasn't referring to that. But now," she quickly said when my mouth began to form an 'O' indignantly. "It's late, and you and that little friend of yours had better get ready for bed."

I didn't like her ordering me around like she was me, and I was her. I totally didn't want to be her. So old, so fat, so ugly! Yuks, the horror!

"I'm grown up enough to decide my own bed time!"

Nana sighed again. "Bella," She said quietly. And the change in her voice shocked me so much that I actually listened. "Come here," she murmured, almost sorrowfully. "I have something to tell you."

Perplexed, I skipped down the steps. "What?" I demanded nastily. "This better be long and important, because I walked down twenty fucking steps to hear this."

"I don't know if it's important. It is for you to decide."

"Oooh, The Mystery." I yawned in her face, looking nonchalant. "Whud. Spill the beans."

Nana took my hands, and that one motherly figure that had left footsteps in my life smiled sadly at me. Something in my stomach knotted. I looked down at our entwined hands, and then back up to her, my throat suddenly parched (even though I had downed eight glasses of coke today). "What?" My voice was a whisper. "What is it?" Did someone die, or something?

She stared at me tenderly for a long moment, before whispering - in the same volume as I -, "I'm leaving."

Something snapped within me, and for the first time in a long while, the resident Ice Queen of Anderson College shed a single tear. The last time I had, had been during my Mother's funeral.

"It's okay though," Nana said lightheartedly. Or tried to. "I'll make sure to install the TV before I go."

The new plasma could totally replace Nana. I wouldn't be thinking one bit about her once I managed to finish watching that amazing show, Insidious, on a new TV with proper resolution, I convinced myself.

Or tried to.

"I'm totally NOT going!" I screamed into the the speakers of my mobile phone. The Man was deaf. I had already told - or screamed - a hundred times for the past five minutes my answer to going overseas, to a fucking boarding school. The answer was N. fucking. O, NO, but he didn't seem to be grasping that monosyllabic word at all.

"Isabella, you do not have a choice." The Man replied casually, like he totally wasn't causing my entire world to crumble. "The housekeeper is gone, and no one else wants to take care of you - that is your own undoing, may I remind you - so it is pertinent that you go."

Pertinent. Ha. Ha. Like bombastic words would make me more inclined to go.

"Why don't you come back?" I hissed viciously. "Why don't you come back for once, and actually live in the bloody place that you bought for the purpose of living!"

"Bella, my business sends me all over the world. That is not an option."

"That hasn't been an option since Mom died, right?" I cried venomously. Not an option? What shit. An excuse more like. "If Mother were here, you would totally-"

"Isabella." The Man's voice was firm and sharp. Very, very sharp, like a blade.

"-and I can take care of myself," I finished, breathing heavily.

"No. I will not allow that. Please stop with your ridiculous ideas."

"When I was four you didn't seem to think them ridiculous!" I screamed again. I flipped the middle finger to my bolster, pretending it was The Man, and continued my rant, "But now, everything I fucking do, seems to be ridiculous in your evil, beady-"

The line went dead. The rhythmic beeps whispered in my ear of my epic defeat.

"-eyes," I finished with a sigh. "...And don't get eaten by a Kangeroo. The poor Kangeroo might choke on your old, grumpy bones." Ha. Or rather, do get eaten by a Kangeroo. A Kangeroo sacrificing itself for that cause was something I was willing to spare in riding the world of evil. I giggled a bit at the thought, imagining me describing to the reporters how 'A Kangeroo ate my internationally-famous Dad' during his 'business' trip to Australia.

Or more accurately, his 'hiding from family' trip to Australia.

The gleefully moment was fleeting though. My mobile phone rang again. My eyes drooping with dread, I snatched my Iphone up. It was Nana. Oh, joy. After betraying me after all those ten years in which I'd actually come to think of her as a good person, she calls? I wondered what that witch wanted now.

I tapped the blinking green answer button.

"What?" I asked coldly. "What would you want now, now that you've been fired? Could it be your pay? If I recalled correctly, we paid you already, and well too."

There was a heartbreaking silence at the other end of the line.

"Bella," Nana whispered sadly. Oh, the drama. I'm in tears. Huh. Right.

"It's Miss Swan to people I totally abhor," I snapped back. Beneath me, a little pool of clear liquid had accumulated on my sheets. Probably pee. Or drool. Or. Or. Or-

"Well then, Miss Swan," Nana said. Her voice was breaking. I almost felt guilty for causing this. Almost. "I'm returning to France." I didn't make a sound at that. "My Mother is very old, and she needs someone to take care of her." The last part, though unsaid, was obvious. Will you understand, Bella love?

"So what's stopping you?" I asked sarcastically. No, I totally didn't understand. So what if her Mother was sick? Her top priority was me! ME! Her Mother could go screw herself. Besides, didn't she have any other kids? Why did only Nana have to take care of her? Wouldn't it be much easier to hire a helper or something, or just ship her off to the old folks home (like how The Man was shipping me off to a boarding school)?

"Bella, I'm going to miss you." I'm not going to miss you, though. "So I bought an extra plane ticket. For you to visit me, come the end of this year-"

I hung up. I didn't know why I did that, but I was as rash as The Man. He hung up on me, so I hung up on Nana. Like Father, like daughter.

I winced at the internal recognition of him as my Father. As far as I was concerned, he was nowhere close to a parental figure to me. Last I checked, love had to be in the equation. And between me and The Man, there sure as hell wasn't love. Maybe hate, and disgust, and anger, and love didn't fit with all those vile words. The only person that nearly fit the word, 'a parental figure', w-was, w-was-

My lower lip trembled, and something wet touched my thighs. I glanced downwards. It was a single drop of tear. My tear.

I was crying. Great Gods, and hard too. To form an ocean of tears - literally one - on my bed, I must have been crying throughout the entire phone conversation with Nana unknowingly. Why? Not because I missed her of course, but because there wouldn't be anyone at my disposal to file my nails-

Stop, Bells. Who are you fucking kidding?

Myself.

Precisely. I would miss Nana. I already was. And it hurt. Hurt like I was having a hemorrhage, not in my brain, but right at the centre of my stone-cold heart.