I'm doing my yearly reread of Pride and Prejudice! While reading, I remembered I had this unfinished P&P inspired story on fanfiction. So, I thought it would be fun to update while I read the book again. Updates should be pretty quick because I'll be reading a chapter or two of P&P and then writing my own Bella and Edward fanfic version and posting it. I don't think this story will be edited by anyone other than me, so … sorry if that's a pain. If it gets too bad, I can grab a second pair of eyes.

Since my writing has improved, (at least, I hope! In my original draft of this I wrote "ease dropping" **cringing so hard it hurts**), I rewrote the chapters I had already posted (there were only three chapters)! I changed some stuff, so you might want to reread (and it's probably way better so please reread).

Every chapter I'll have a P&P quote and a fun fact about Jane Austen. If you know any facts about her and want me to mention them, please feel free to PM me! I hope this story is fun for everyone. If you want, you should read P&P with me and we can discuss it through reviews on this story (or something like that)!

Now, for this chapter's Jane Austen fun fact!

Jane Austen Fun Fact: There are 14 kisses in Jane Austen's novels.

"There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me."

Chapter 1: A Pretentious Prick

Tobacco, vanilla, and faint grassy notes filled my nostrils, setting my heart at ease. The familiar mustiness surrounded me and suddenly, I knew I was home. Stacks upon stacks of vintage novels and old, finely bound volumes crowded me, so close, I felt like I was in their warm embrace. This work may have seemed monotonous to some, but I enjoyed its simplicity. Here, I was surrounded with what I loved most:

Books.

With glasses perched on my nose and my hair pulled up in a messy bun—which certainly didn't look as appealing on me as it did on all the women in the photographs I saved on Pinterest—I poured over the store's "new" editions. One hand scanned the pages while the other whipped off the dust as it fell onto my mustard colored dress. The Catcher in the Rye was a book I had been saving to read. With this second printing of a first edition in my hands, the book jumped to the top of my to be read list. I can't believe I'm an English Lit major and I haven't read this book, I mused as my fingers traced over the seal on the book's first page. Something which only slightly decreased its value.

The Library of Dr. Carlisle Cullen.

I wondered what type of man he was outside of being a doctor. Judging by the sizable donation he made to my shop the other day, he seemed like a man I could fall in love with. But of course, this was only fantasy. Dr. Cullen had been married for longer than I had been alive to a woman too perfect to be real. Forks was small and the pair of them were everywhere.

Having a bookstore in a small town was a blessing. Behind and counter, I could watch as customers fell in love with different books. I watched their tastes develop, progressing and regressing depending on the day. On the sales floor, I could interact with familiar faces, helping them find the perfect selection. In a way, I felt like I was running a travel agency. Through books they could transport themselves since no one ever seemed to leave this town.

You were born in Forks. Grew up in Forks. Started a family in Forks. Grew old in Forks. And died in Forks. People rarely deviated from this. So, when Dr. Carlisle's sons went off to "find themselves" someplace else, it was a shock to everyone. It was like no one could fathom the idea of a life outside of this tiny town in Washington.

I sure couldn't. I always felt too agoraphobic to travel or try anything new. I had always been an independent, self-sufficient … loner. Perhaps my sisters scared me away from all human contact … I smirked at the thought as I powered up my old, Dell computer and waited with my cup of sencha.

Dealing with the chaos of my family caused me to appreciate silence more than most people. This was my favorite time of day: early morning just before everyone went to work; streets are quiet, the world hasn't woken up yet, and the sun is just beginning to rise. I felt like I was coming alive during this time, rising with the day. Morning felt fresh and new. Before my family woke up and decided to bug me, I felt like my own person.

The computer finally loaded just as seven o'clock hit and my store was ready to open. Sure, no one really came in so early but I was always here. It was nice to have a few hours to myself before customers began to filter in. Angela, one of my stores four employees, wouldn't arrive for another three hours which was when foot traffic would finally pick up.

Flipping my sign to "open," I performed my usual morning routine, staring out of my store front window and watching the cars pass on their way to work. I always gave each driver I saw a story, making up their profession, their family, and their hobbies in the split second I saw them as they passed by. People watching was a hobby of mine; in a way, I always loved sizing people up. After a few minutes, I would get back to work, playing old records (since the store's radio broke last week) while researching the value of old books. Just as I'm researching the first, I heard the door chime, surprising me.

I peered up over the sixteen volume set in front of me to find a man stalking toward the counter. With a strong, yet slim build, angular features, and striking emerald eyes, he disarmed me. My eyelids fluttered and my face grew hot and suddenly, I felt like a heroine from one of the romance paperbacks sitting on my bedside table. So attracted by his attractive features, it took me a moment to note his annoyed expression.

"Hell, welcome to—"

"I don't have time for this"—right hand comes up, waving me off—"I'm just picking up a gift for my mother. I spoke to someone yesterday."

My cheeks burned and I tilt my head down, forcing my hair forward as to hide behind my hair and glasses. Suddenly, I'm upset with myself. I'm not one to hide from men. What am I doing? Straightening my back again and pushing my chest forward slightly, I raised my eyes to meet his gaze. Ha! Who's intimidating now, asshole?

"What's the name?"

His eyes roamed over me before he smirked. Then, I felt like a kitten trying to play lion.

"Edward Cullen," he replied as if talking to me was the most taxing thing he had done in his entire life.

Bending over, I peered at the array of holds to my right. Running my fingers over the novel's spines, I searched for his holding. I cringed as I came up short, not finding his name in the stack. I took a moment to mentally prepare myself for how I was going to tell this irritated asshole that I didn't have his book. Maybe I misjudged him?

"I'm so sorry, sir. I don't see a hold under that name."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

Nope! I guess I didn't misjudge him.

"Sir, if you give me the title, I can try to help you find it."

"You can try to help me find it? Aren't you the one who works here? Why would I be doing the digging?" With a sarcastic laugh, he continued. "No. You know what, I don't need you to figure anything out. I'd just like to speak to whoever's in charge here. They can help me find it."

Check mate, asshole.

"I'm in charge. I'm the owner."

His eyes swept over me before he smirked again.

Why am I so amusing to him? I should be the one laughing here. God.

"You're doing a great job, aren't you?" He paused for a moment, running a hand through his hair, tousling it slightly. "Look, I'm not in the mood for all of this, I—"

"Then, let me help you," I insisted, interrupting.

Sure, I didn't want to help him but I also didn't want to be berated in my own store.

"I have somewhere to be," he said, turning on his heel. "Do you always lose people's things?" he called over his shoulder as he began to walk away.

Irked, I picked up my expired holds box, flipping through until I found his last name. I smirked, unable to help myself as I picked out his card and held it in my hand.

"You were supposed to pick it up yesterday."

"Yesterday?" he said, turning around.

"Your hold expired yesterday. But … I'm sure it's around here somewhere. Just give me a moment to look—"

"I have a job to get to," he replied with a wave of his hand. "I can't just sit around and stare at books all day like you do. I have—"

"I do important things."

"—an actual job. You know, a job with actual adults that didn't just give up on their lives."

"I didn't give up on—"

"You know? A job like that."

"—anything."

"How about this, you find the book—since, it doesn't appear like you have anything better to do—and I'll go to work and drop by when I'm finished. How does that sound?"

"What's the—"

"Figure it out. My father put it on hold, not me. I don't know what it is."

"Don't you feel like you're being a bit"—the front door opened and closed, leaving me alone—"ridiculous?"

With a sigh, I phoned his father, wondering how on Earth he had managed to have a son so horrible.

*************************************First Impressions**********************************

My loafers cut into my feet, creating blisters as I rose on my toes to place books on their spots on the shelves. Stifling my downcast spirit, I focused on the smooth classical sounds coming from my turntable. The shop was slow today which I was thankful for. After this morning, I just wanted to sink into a dark corner and immerse myself in piles of books.

"I'm going to go grab coffee from next door. You sure you don't want anything?"

I turned, smiling at Angela as she peered over my cart of books to see me. Her smile was bright today. Of course, all she had been doing was smile after she got her braces taken off. I'm sure, as a twenty-four-year-old woman, having them was difficult. Her light umber skin made her chocolate brown eyes feel like something I could drown in. I grinned at her, knowing there must be a special reason for her to take her glasses off today.

"Hot date tonight?"

She flushed, eyes shooting to her feet.

"I don't know … We met online. It's still pretty new."

"Is this the first time you've met in person?"

"Yep." She broke out into a grin.

"And … you're meeting in public?"

"Of course." She rolled her eyes before her smile widened. "You know, you're only a year older than me, Bella. You don't have to look out for me like I'm some teenager."

"I know, I know. I guess I'm just overprotective."

God, I sound like my mother.

"Don't worry. I guess it's a good thing. So … coffee?"

"How 'bout … two shots of espresso with a splash of caramel and non-fat milk?"

"You got it, boss." She turned on her heel before pausing and asking, "You good here by yourself."

"Of course. We're totally dead anyway. You could take your time if you wanted to."

She was out the door before I could say anything else. Climbing off the step stool, I wandered back over to the large donation from Dr. Carlisle Cullen a man, who I found out this morning, was too patient for his own good. How could a man like that be related to the man who came in here earlier? Everything about them was different. For all I knew, Edward Cullen could be an adopted son. An adopted son of which he had zero influence over … I smirked at the thought.

Feeling nosy, I pulled my old Dell computer from its sleep and pulled up a search engine. Typing in "Edward Cullen," I sat back and waited for the results, sighing as the computer thought about it. Finally, a few images popped up along with several articles. Apparently, he was into computer software and while he made money at that, it seemed like he had also inherited a great deal from his grandfather when he had passed away. Judging by the articles, his life seemed rather boring. Looking for something more stimulating, I clicked on the images tab and waited for his face to appear.

When it did, I was shocked. Did the man ever smile? Was his face just glued into a frown? Even at parties, he seemed bored, out of place. In a strange way, he reminded me of myself. Surrounded by people, he seemed like he wanted to slip away and find some privacy.

I cringed at the idea. I doubted there was a single thing Edward and I related on. Geez, am I on a first name basis with him? Perhaps he was so bored because he felt so far above everyone else. Perhaps, like this morning, he was too far ahead to understand. Nothing seemed to satisfy him. Already, I hated that. How could a man go through the world while being displeased with everyone and everything in it?

"What are you thinking so hard about?"

I snapped out of my trance, sitting up straighter as my sister entered the shop. Rosalie was my opposite in every way. I was short and curvy and she was tall and curvy but, our curves were literally nothing alike. All of her fat seemed to go to the places every woman wanted: butt and breasts. While mine accumulated in awkward places, mainly settling in on my thighs and stomach. My breasts were nothing to write home about and my butt was basically flat. Rosalie on the other hand … Well, it seemed God had blessed her with all the good jeans. Even our coloring wasn't remotely similar. I was ivory skinned with dark umber hair and Rosalie was golden tan (thanks to hours in the sun while I was locked away in doors) and platinum blonde (which was strangely natural).

Despite our differences, I had never harbored jealously toward her. Which I was sure was a relief in our household. Everyone nagged at her all the time. She and I had always been in our own little world. We felt far removed from everyone else. Perhaps it was because we were a few years older than our sisters. Our perhaps it was because we weren't absolutely, annoyingly mad.

"Rosalie!" I smiled, standing to greet her. "I didn't know you'd drop by."

"I text you constantly. You never answer your phone."

"I'm working."

"Well, I'm working, too." With a smile, she lifted up her right hand and presented me with a box I recognized instantly. She had gone to my favorite bakery in town. "I just got done with an interview. So, I thought I'd drop in and check on my little sis."

I frowned. From the tense look on her face, I knew there was something she was leaving out. Our mother … she must have put her up to something. While Rosalie was strong, our mother's temperament was even stronger. Mom was one woman you didn't want to interfere with. With Dad by my side, I always felt comfortable pressing her buttons, though. But one day, I'm sure I will push her too far.

Taking the cupcake and opening up the box to peer at the flavor—I grinned; it was cherry vanilla, my favorite—I asked her, "So, what does Mom need this time?"

Rosalie's eyebrows rose, but she didn't deny it.

"How could you tell?"

"Well, for one, you brought me a cupcake and two, you're a horrid liar."

She grimaced. "Dr. and Mrs. Cullen are throwing this party. We're all invited. Mom wanted me to drop by and tell you that she'll expect to see you there."

"She couldn't have called me herself?"

"She knows … Well, Bella you don't exactly listen to her, do you?" She smirked.

"I'm not big on parties, Rose. You know me. I want to leave the second I walk in. And I'm always clinging to you. I'm sure that gets annoying."

"It doesn't. I like talking to you better than anyone else, anyway."

"So, are you really down to go to this? Mom spends most of the time trying to hook you up with every available man."

"Yeah but this time, she said she'd give me free reign."

"Free reign?" I repeated with a chuckle.

Knowing my mother, there was no way that was happening. Rosalie was twenty-seven, turning twenty-eight. By my standards, she had all the time in the world. I was only a few years younger and had literally no idea what I wanted when it came to men. So, I didn't understand the pressure mom put on her.

"You know … it doesn't matter what she wants, Bella. It's what I want. I don't want to be in a loveless marriage. That might be fine for her, but for me—"

"I get it," I interrupted. She had told me this so many times before. "You always stay true to yourself, Rose. I don't doubt that."

She smiled at this. "I have to go. Promise you'll go with me. What can it hurt?"

"Everything," I murmured, smiling gently.

"Miss. Overdramatic."

I rolled my eyes.

"Think of all the things I've done for you," she said in a sing-song voice.

"I'll come. When?"

"Tomorrow night."

"I'll be there … for you."

*********************************First Impressions********************************************

With a copy of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall in hand, I waited for him, skimming the pages, smiling at familiar passages. This edition was published by The Folio Society and had colorful lithographs throughout. I wondered if this was something Edward would read. He didn't strike me as someone who would appreciate Anne Bronte. Honestly, I didn't know what he struck me as at all.

He was so … cold. How could anyone connect with him? Sometimes, when I held a particular book in my hands, I pictured the sort of person who would read it. I would fantasize about coming across someone reading one of my favorites and having the courage to walk up to them, sit down and discuss it. Discussing literature with a beautiful man … God, what a dream. Perhaps I'd watched You've Got Mail too many times.

The front door chimed, pulling me from my Tom Hanks filled fantasies. Peering up, I saw him. He appeared just as annoyed as he had this morning. His eyes meet mine. Nope … He looks far more annoyed. How great for me.

Who could be so annoyed about picking up a Bronte novel?

"You found it?"

I closed the book and leaned forward, resting my arms on the desk in front of me. Appear confident. Don't let some man break you. Pushing my chest forward and straightening my spine, I smiled at him which caused him to raise his brow.

Did no one ever smile at him? I mean, I guess I'd understand why. Only a mother could love that face … And plenty of clueless women, perhaps … Am I being bitchy?

"I found it. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall published by Folio Society."

He stopped before my desk, peering down at the book.

"That's what all the fuss was about?" He huffed, pulling for his wallet.

"What? This isn't for you?"

He choked on a laugh. "Me? No. I can't remember the last time I had a moment to sit down and read a book. It's a gift for my mom. She had this edition but it was lost in a fire …" he trailed off before shaking his head. "Why am I even telling you this? How much?"

"Twenty forty," I said as I punched the numbers into my register.

He pulled out his card and I swiped it without looking at him.

"I'm sorry about—"

"Don't be. It doesn't matter to you, does it?"

"Do you want a bag?"

"What do you think?"

"I … don't … know …" I said sarcastically.

"It's raining."

"Is it?" I asked, peering over his shoulder. "I've been stuck inside all—"

"I'll just take a bag," he cut me off.

I smiled, filled with ire. "Your day not go well?" I couldn't help but ask as I slid his book into a bag.

"Why?"

"I don't know. You seem tense."

"Compared to what? You don't know me."

"I just thought—"

"You don't really get paid to think, though, do you?"

"What's your—"

"Do I need to sign anything?"

"Just this rec—"

"Perfect," he said, grabbing a pen from the coffee mug near my computer.

He signed the paper quickly, scribbling his name before grabbing his bag.

"Thanks for coming …" I said, feeling slightly deflated as he turned on his heel and walked away from me. I guess to him, I wasn't a person.

***********************************First Impressions*******************************************

Tonight, curled up on my favorite love seat, I chose an old paperback of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. I snagged a copy from work, saving it from the recycling bin. With music playing from my phone, I tried to fall into a different world, allowing the stresses from my day to melt away. I pushed Edward Cullen far from my mind, immersing myself with Helen Graham and her dark secrets.