A/N: Before we start I have to say a huge thank you to the amazing JMeyer and her Project Team Beta, who held my hand through the scary process of preparing this, my very first fanfic chapter, for submission. Thanks, guys, for your detailed feedback, patient willingness to answer all my inane questions, and especially the wonderful encouragement you gave this new, and very nervous, author. You are all kinds of awesome!

So you've probably guessed from the summary that this is a New Moon AU fic, and assumes that the Cullens never returned to Forks.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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Marianne Dashwood was born to an extraordinary fate. She was born to discover the falsehood of her own opinions, and to counteract, by her conduct, her most favourite maxims. She was born to overcome an affection formed so late in life as at seventeen, and with no sentiment superior to strong esteem and lively friendship, voluntarily give her hand to another…

The sound of excited voices caused me look up from my book, albeit reluctantly. I shook my head, struggling to drag my thoughts away from 18th century England and back to present-day Port Angeles. I never ceased to marvel at the ability of a good book to transport me to another time and place. Jane Austen's world was sometimes more real to me than my own.

"Maybe I really was born in the wrong century," I thought to myself, not for the first time. I sighed and laid my battered copy of Sense and Sensibility open face down on the arm of the recliner. Even surrounded by new books, I still liked my old ones: they were comfortable and familiar, like an old shoe. In addition, I took a certain amount of pride in their obviously worn condition. It showed that they had been read and re-read, carried around in coat pockets, backpacks and handbags, always ready to whisk me away to another world at the first opportunity. Books were meant to be enjoyed, not treated like objects of art.

The jingling sound of the door bell signaled the arrival of a customer, effectively jolting me out of my reverie. I stood up just in time to see Claire burst into the store, towing Quil behind her.

"Come on, Quil!" she urged. "Surely it must be here by now. It's been almost a week!"

I stifled a giggle as Quil rolled his eyes at me over her head. "Hey Bella," he said. "Busy day?"

I didn't have a chance to answer before Claire dropped Quil's hand and flew around the counter to throw her arms around my waist.

"Auntie Bella," she squealed. "Is it here? Did it come?"

I grinned as I gave her a quick hug, then stepped back and tried to compose my features into a look of disapproval.

"Really, Claire. You shouldn't throw yourself at people like that! You're getting to be such a big girl now, you might knock someone over!"

There was some truth to my words. At eight years old, Claire had recently experienced a growth spurt. Her head nearly came up to my chin now. Nevertheless, I knew she wasn't fooled by my mock disapproval. She pouted, unimpressed by my equivocation.

"Auntie Bella!" she pleaded.

I let the smile inside me break across my face and nodded. Claire gave another squeal and began to bounce up and down with impatience. Reaching under the counter, I handed her a brown paper bag with her name on it. Eagerness made her fingers clumsy, and she tore the paper in her attempt to get at its contents. Discarding the torn bag without a second thought, she clutched the book to her chest and danced over to Quil.

"Skating Shoes," she breathed.

Quil made appropriately impressed noises, clearly enjoying her excitement. He might not share her passion for all things ice-skating, but anything that made her this happy was alright by him.

Claire looked up at me. "Will you read it to me, Auntie Bella?"

Quil frowned. "I don't think we should bother Auntie Bella any more, Claire-bear. She's working. Maybe I…"

"That's okay," I interjected. "It's been a slow day anyway. I'd love to read with Claire. However," I said looking at her, "I think a big girl like you should be reading to me, not the other way around."

I sat down again in my reading chair – the huge recliner that had been a present from Renee and Phil when I opened the bookstore. There was plenty of space for Claire to curl up next to me. She turned to the first page and began to read.

"Even when the last of the medicine bottles were cleared away and she was supposed to have had con… con…"

"Convalescence," I supplied. "It means getting better after you've been sick."

"Convalescence…" I could see her mentally filing away the word for future reference "…Harriet did not get well…"

Claire continued to read, meeting all the characters I remembered so well from my childhood love affair with Noel Streatfeild's books. I had read them all, although Ballet Shoes had been my favourite. It had inspired me to beg Renee for ballet lessons, and although my innate clumsiness had quickly dashed my secret dream of becoming a ballerina, I had compensated by living vicariously through the characters in my books. In some ways, I think the girlishness of my chosen reading material had comforted Renee when it became clear that I was not interested in clothes or makeup or even boys, at least not until I moved to Forks. She, on the other hand, had been interested enough for both of us – flitting from one relationship to the next before she finally found Phil and settled down, at least in the romance department.

A sudden movement in my peripheral vision caused me to look up as Quil lowered himself silently and sinuously to sit cross-legged on the floor. For such a large man he moved with surprising grace. At least, it would have been surprising if I hadn't been aware that he was a werewolf, and physical dexterity was the least of his surprising talents. The ability to transform at will into a huge brown wolf, to communicate telepathically with other members of the pack, to heal almost instantaneously from wounds that would cripple the average human - even these abilities no longer elicited any feeling of surprise from me. They were part of my everyday experience. I was a "wolf girl", just as much as Emily, Kim, or even Claire.

I looked down at the little girl in my arms, then across at Quil again. His eyes were fixed on Claire, his expression familiar but difficult to describe. There was definitely contentment – as if he could happily sit there all day just watching her. However, the emotion was shot through with an indefinable sense of vigilance. I wasn't sure if it was in his posture or his expression, but I could tell that a part of him was constantly alert, as if on the lookout for anything that might threaten the child. There was also a hint of… I guess it could only be described as possessiveness. He was utterly confident that she belonged to him, although I knew that if a time came when she did not want him around he would respect her choice. She would never make that choice, though, because the final emotion emanating from him was pure, unadulterated love, and I knew from experience how irresistible that sort of devotion could be. There was no hint of desire in Quil's eyes, that would come later. But it was clear that there was nobody more important to him in the world than the precious little girl snuggled up against my side. She was his imprint, just as Emily was for Sam, and Kim for Jared - and I for Jacob.

I smiled a little at the thought of my husband. At first none of us had realized he had imprinted on me. For the rest of the pack the process had occurred as soon as they came in contact with their imprint after their first transformation to wolf-form. However, for some reason in Jacob's case the imprinting did not manifest until years later. Sam had a theory about that. He believed that, since the wolf instinct is to put the needs of the imprint above all else, the imprinting could be delayed if it would be unwelcome or would cause pain. Of course, when Jacob first discovered he was a werewolf, I was so emotionally traumatized that I could not have coped with the unspoken demands of being someone's imprint. My smile faded as I thought about that horrific time. Thankfully, I had cultivated a self-defense mechanism which prevented me from reliving the pain of those dark years, but I knew the emotional scars still remained. They were the dark threads running through the tapestry of my life, yet I could not bring myself to resent them. They added depth and definition to the picture, throwing the bright colours into sharp relief.

And the last few years had definitely been a bright period in my life. Jacob was good at repairing things, and he had helped me to slowly and painfully put the pieces of my broken heart back together. He truly was my personal sun, and I eventually followed the light and found happiness in his arms. I would never forget the first time I kissed him. It was a rare sunny day, about three years after the Cullens left Forks, and we were rock-scrambling on La Push beach. It was a hazardous exercise for someone as uncoordinated as me, and the results were predictable. I slipped and fell, sliding into a ravine between two huge boulders. I was not hurt, barring a few scrapes, but was unable to find a way out. Jacob climbed down to help me, and when he put his arms under mine to lift me out, the nearness of his hot, half-naked body suddenly stimulated urges I no longer thought myself capable of feeling. I breathed his name and he froze mid-lift, my face for once level with his. Acting on impulse, I braced my feet against the rock and threw myself against him, my lips finding his. He did not respond for a second, probably paralyzed with shock at my forwardness, then he gave a little moan and pressed his body towards mine, pinning me to the rock and deepening the kiss. I could still remember the taste of salt on his lips, whether from sweat or sea-spray I was not sure, the roughness of the stubble on his top lip, and the way the warmth of the sun-drenched rock paled in comparison to the feverish heat of his skin. It had been a defining moment for us. I had expected my mind to protest, to scream that he was the wrong man, that the action was in some way a betrayal. In reality, the only thought in my mind, when indeed I could think at all, was the blinding realization that my love for Jacob was no longer encompassed by the bounds of mere friendship. For Jacob, it was the moment in which his imprinting kicked in, and his teenage crush escalated instantaneously to an all-consuming love and devotion.

After that there was no keeping us apart, and Charlie had been ecstatic when we announced our engagement six months later. He was less pleased about my decision not to go to college, but to use my college fund and a bank loan to open a bookstore in Port Angeles. However, he finally acknowledged that it seemed a good fit. Jacob needed to be near the pack, I had always loved books, and Port Angeles needed a bookstore that catered for more than just the New Age crowd. We had a little cottage on the reservation just down the road from Billy. It was far enough away that we had some privacy, but close enough that we could still provide the help and support he needed. It was a simple life but a happy one. The pack and their respective mates formed a large and fiercely loyal family. It might not have been the family I once dreamed of having, but there was no denying I loved them all dearly. Responding to the thought I dropped a quick kiss on Claire's head, causing her to pause and look up at me questioningly. I smiled at her.

"Keep going," I encouraged. "Harriet hasn't even made it to the skating rink yet."

She eagerly returned to her reading, but I noticed that my mention of the skating rink caused Quil's eyebrows to draw together. It wasn't quite a frown, rather an expression of concentration, as if he was trying to solve a difficult puzzle. I made a mental note to ask Jacob about it, then promptly forgot as the time on the large wall clock caught my eye.

"Whoa! I hadn't realized it was so late." Quil was on his feet before I had even finished the sentence.

"Yeah, we should be going. Gotta get this little one home for dinner. Come on Claire-bear. Time to go."

Without giving her time to object, he scooped her up in his arms and headed for the door.

"See ya, Bella."

"Bye Quil. Bye Claire. Enjoy the story."

Quil acknowledged my farewell with a cheerful nod, but Claire had her nose in her book again and gave no sign of having heard me. I smiled, knowing she was already in another world – a world in which children little older than herself twirled and glided on flashing blades across a field of clean, white ice.

I locked the door behind them, flipping the sign so the "CLOSED" side was facing outwards. Quickly counting the contents of the till, I threw the money in the safe in the back room, retrieved my helmet and leather jacket and rushed out the back door, checking my watch as I went. As much as I loved to ride, I wished that it didn't take an hour and a half to get back to the reservation. The bike under me roared to life, tuned to perfection by my skillful husband and just as eager as I was to be on the road. I opened the throttle and eased the clutch out a little, feeling the bike fighting the brake like a racehorse champing at the bit. I laughed as I released the clutch completely and the bike sprang forwards in a cloud of dust and gravel. I was going home.

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A/N: This is my first story, so I'd love to know what you think! But even if you don't review, thanks so much for reading! :-)