AN/: Hey! So, new story here!

Summary: Bella Swan and her son are just trying to make it living in the projects of Manhattan. Bella, works for a maid service at an expensive hotel. Rich, successful, Edward Masen, has one last concert to final his tour. He's here in Manhattan, or is he closer that she thinks maybe the hotel perhaps?-Based off of Maid in Manhattan.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bella or Edward for that matter-tear. None of the Twilight characters really. But, I do own Aaron! woot woot! and some other characters later on.

Maid In Manhattan

"Dreams pass into reality of action. From the actions stems the dream again; and it's interdependence produces the highest form of living."

-Anais Nin

Prologue

Should I go right?

Or left?

That way?

Or this way?

Can I take the road to a promising future or go straight for the dead end?

Is there even a road for a promising future? They tell your to "never settle for anything less" but, what is less nowadays? Seriously, maybe the Mercedes Benz SLR McLaren, that my sister constantly shoves in my face every chance she gets. Or hmmm….

How about all of those piano concerts my son wants to go to but, it is clearly impossible for his "just hanging in there class" of a mother. So, "never settle for less?" is that what this is all about?

Well,

How about this, less is all I can afford.

Shocking! Nah, it's not.

Irritating! Yeah, it is.

Lord knows it's not all I want to settle for –scoff- of course not! Who does…

But, hey which way am I suppose to go?

Left or right?

Up or down?

Do I take neither?

Both?

Can I even handle anything more than less?

Does less have Bella's name written all over it!?

Hmmm.

I don't know.

However, Mr. Lewis Carrol, I will have to disagree with you; how can any road get me there if I'm not sure which one exactly?

* * *

Chapter One

"Aaron! your going to have to hurry up babe!"

He ran in slightly flushed, winter hat in hand, sweater-less!

"Mom," he breathed as if he was out of breath."I can't find my sweater." He pouted, unleashing those blue doe eyes that I grew so fondly of. A constant reminder of his low-life father.

I walked in our small one bedroom and den apartment, decorated with old furniture, and a dusty 20 inch T.V sitting lonely in the corner of our "living room" -note sarcasm- over to my little boy who holds my heart dearly. Running my hands through his blond locks I patted him on the butt and told him to grab a pop-tart.

I found his sweater under the pile of mess he calls clothes on the floor. Seriously, the kid needs to clean his room once in a while, that's what happens with 8 year old boys who believe their "mommy's" pick up after them. Sitting on our small dining table I noticed Aaron looking intently at the newspaper infront of him; eyebrow's drawn together in deep concentration with a saddened expression. I looked over his shoulder to see what was causing my baby so much hurt. I felt water blur my gave over the title of the paper "Edward Masen Makes Appearance in Manhattan for his Final Tour Of The Season"

Edward Masen.

Edward Masen

Edward freakin' Masen

Sigh. Edward Masen, in other words, my son's favorite musician; he has many, but it just so happens that Mr. Masen has more than just a #1 fan, more like admirer. Sigh. Aaron has been playing piano for two years now at his school. Basically, his first words were "I wanna be just like Edward Masen."

Darn you, Edward Mas-

"Mommy, don't beat your self up about this; I know, I understand mom." He coaxed me, but I could still hear and feel the tint of hurt in his voice and eyes.

I suck as a mother. Gah!

I nodded but couldn't help the teal from falling; my baby wrapped his arm's around my waist. He was pretty tall for a third-grader, up to my chest. Or I was just short.

Yeah, I'm just short.

He kept whispering that it was "ok" and "he understood". Aaron was no stranger to my sudden outburst of tears; he usually is the one who relieves me from them. I knew better though; he's just being mommy's strong young man, it's a false exterior. The kid hurts just as much as I do, I hear those whimpers in the middle of the night the day of a concert that "mom" wasn't able to afford.

Believe me, it breaks my heart to no end.

But, I will fix that, for my baby.

------

"Bella baby!"

"Demitri." I nodded with a grin. I had just walked Aaron to his school, which is a couple of blocks down. Letting him know that his grandma, Renee, will be picking him up.

Renee. Sigh. Another subject, another day.

Now, I'm here at work, taking two buses to get to downtown Manhattan.

Life just doesn't get any better does it? -deep deep sarcasm-

He started whining as I was taking my time hanging my jacket on the hook; I couldn't help but burst out in laughter at his childish ways, the man was atleast 50! for God's sake!

I walked up to the counter and smirked at him which clocking in for my morning shift, while weekends I have afternoons. TGIF.

"Bella." He scolded, wagging his index finger at me.

I grinned, placed my palms flat on the counter top while leaning in to kiss his cheek and whisper."You dirty old man." In a playful tone.

He just smiled widely like he had just won the lottery while I rolled my eyes.

"How's little man doing?"

"Good, good; he has a piano concert next month, so he's nothing but focused right now." I said secretly appraising my son for such an accomplishment.

Demitri just nodded and smiled; he really is as close of a grandpa Aaron would ever get, seeing as my Dad died two years after I was born, according to my mother. Demitri absolutely adores Aaron, and I always feel that pang in my chest when Aaron refers to him as "grandpa."

"See ya Mitri!" He laughed at my nickname as I walked down the basement of "High-top Hotel" Yes, expensive hotel to stay at. No, does NOT mean us employees, are payed as much.

Just as I was putting my apron around my waist very familiar hands stopped mine to tie it together.

"Hey Bells!" I chuckled at my overly perky co-worker/bestfriend (or as close as I'll get to one) Ramona, who is undeniably, extremely beautiful. You wouldn't believe her occupation held being a maid. With her carmel-dark skin, that puts my pale skin to shame. Her hazel eyes are what wins me everytime holding so much life in them while mine are a dull brown.

Lack of life, joy, and happiness.

Gee, I wonder why.

Ramona's dark brown now jaw length hair contrasts with her skin tone as I looked at her through the mirror. Gasp!

"Mona!" She grinned knowingly."I love it! Very beautiful!." Especially compared to me, I mused in my head. Knowing she would have my head if I said something like that. Ha! it's only true I look at my brown, once flowing locks that is now shoulder length, thrown up in a bun. To prevent my hair getting in the way of my job, I chopped off my mid back length hair two months ago. I traveled up the mirror, once again comparing my brown to her hazel.

As if she was sitting in my mind Mona narrowed her eyes, and pursed her lips, daring me to compare to her out loud; she was constantly telling me "Bella, Shut your trap girl! Your Stunning" "Stop being stupid Bells! Look in the mirror" or when she feels bold her words go something along the lines of "Say something else, and this hand will come in contact with your face" I always cower down at that point, to which she would wear a triumphant grin.

I sighed and forced a smile on my cherry lips, another insecurity. She didn't look convinced, but dropped the subject, to which I was thankful. Swatted my rear, and told me to get ready for room 212. I just smiled naturally this time; she really is more of a sister that my actual blood, Bailey.

We do so many things together, that your would consider two long time sisters doing; shop, her son and my son are basically cousins, except they don't see too much of eachother other, seeing as we live across town in the projects of Manhattan.

I started this "heck hole" of a job two years ago, just to quit from another maid service job. Don't get me wrong I never planned on being a maid all my life, but it seems to be all I can get at this point. Actually, I had my life all planned out, going to college becoming a journalist...

Unil,

Mike.

Long story short, we were two friends, drunk one night and well...

Tada!

Insert-Aaron-Insert.

Yeah, I know big mistake! But, I wouldn't take back the outcome for nothing in this world. No matter how much of a jerk Mike was to leave me and raise a child alone.

I started to walk in the bathroom after making the bed, and stripping the old sheets off the bed to dump them in the hamper to wash.

Normal routine.

As soon as I opened the door, someone cursed loudly under their breath, while hurrying to zip their pants. I jumped in the air with wide eyes and turned around immediately running out the door mumbling apologies, before catching a glimpse of bronze tousled hair.

Continue?