You guys have blown me away with your amazing reaction to the first chapter.
Thank you all for adding this to your faves and alerts, and for taking the time to review.
Much love and big hugs to all of you *blows kisses*

I should have put this warning with the first chapter but I forgot, so here it is-
this story may tackle difficult themes, but I'll put warnings at the top of the chapters so
if you're worried, please drop me a message and I can hopefully assuage those fears for you

As I said before, this is totally a stream of consciousness project for me, so the chapters
may not all come as quickly or be as long as this one. They're also unbeta'd, so please
bear with me.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the recognisable characters; those are all Stephanie Meyer's.
No copyright infringement is intended.

~ oOo ~

Summary: Maybe we were fooling ourselves, thinking we'd make it. In some respects, we have. We've created a comfortable life for ourselves and our beautiful children. If nothing else, they'll be our legacy. Proof that although we weren't destined to be together forever, we were always meant to create something worthwhile. Our love story is the same as many others. It was never meant to last.

Dandelions

Where It All Began

June 2004

"Oh my God, Bella! Look!"

With a roll of my eyes, I slide out of the Bentley Mr. Stanley rented from his neighbor's son for the evening—which smells suspiciously like weed, by the way—and look at the monstrosity known as Forks High.

There are flapper girls and dapper boys everywhere, lanterns strung around the parking lot and a big sign pointing toward the gym. It's my personal hell that Jess is pointing to, though.

"C'mon, Bella. We've gotta get our picture taken."

Jess drags me over to the arch decorated with enormous feathers and twined with strings of fake gold pearls. The photographer—otherwise known as Mr. McCready, the janitor—tells us to smile as he snaps photos of us under the arch, then points to the big basket of props just out of shot.

"Jess, do we have to?" I...okay, yeah, sue me—I whine.

She turns to face me, hands finding her hips, and scowls. To be fair, she does look great; I'm not surprised she wants a bunch of photos in that get-up. Her naturally curly blonde hair took eons to tame but we managed it with an entire bottle of hairspray and two hours in front of the mirror. It's arranged behind her head in an elegant chignon, Mrs. Stanley's earrings hanging from her earlobes in the same shade of pearl as her sequined, tasseled flapper dress.

"Isabella Swan, will you quit being a killjoy and just enjoy this? It's the last fun we're gonna have together before we head off to college and have to make do with seeing you in the holidays."

Thoroughly guilt-tripped, I force a smile on my face and select a cardboard cut-out of a bottle of champagne and a sign that reads I Heart The Roaring Twenties. She grins, finding a monocle and a feather boa for herself; we pose for what feels like forever, but once I unclench and remind myself that Jess is right, we don't have long left before they all leave, I start to enjoy myself.

More of our classmates arrive, so we let them have a whirl in front of the camera and teeter around to the gym. There's a red carpet leading up to the shiny, gold foil fringe curtain which separates us and the second circle of hell.

Prom.

I swore off all high school dances after the debacle of two-thousand. Shaking my head at the memory, I loop my arm through Jess's and tug her inside before I can change my mind. It looks like the 1920s threw up all over the place. The volleyball nets and bins of worn basketballs are gone. There are feathers all over, everything is either gold or white, and the dance floor is already full of tuxedos and sequins as my classmates grind on each other and fail miserably at hiding the fact that the punch is almost definitely spiked.

"Isn't this amazing?" Jess squeals, pulling me into the melé by our joined hands.

Right. Amazing. Sooo not the word I'd choose, but here goes nothing.

~ i ~

Much to my disgust, I actually almost start toenjoy myself. The rest of our gang arrives shortly after us and we make good use of Angela's thigh flask so we don't have to risk drinking whatever delightful concoction the morons have put in the punch. Bree persuades us to dance for a bit—which is hella weird considering the theme of the night is the 1920s but the DJ is playing Usher and Britney Spears. I guess he didn't get the memo.

Anyways, the five of us—Bree, Angela, Jess, Eric, and I—escape the throng of sweaty students and sneak outside to hide under the bleachers, where we swig wine from the bottle in the cooler Bree hid in the bushes earlier. She fishes a familiar baggie from her bra, waving it in the air between us with a mischievous glint in her dark eyes.

"Bree…" Eric huffs. "Can't you go one night without getting high?"

Bree snorts. "I can, but why would I?"

Why, indeed. This night is starting to look up.

"Here, B. You do it. We all know you're the best."

That probably shouldn't put a smirk of pride on my face—being the best at rolling joints definitely isn't going to get me far in life, but it might just get me through tonight—but it does. I'm grinning as I tell Jess to shine her cell phone torch on my hands as I roll two perfect joints, but my smile falls when voices approach.

We all fall silent and Jess shoves her cell between her tits to smother the light as Principal Peters and Mrs. Cope—the school counsellor—walk by, his arm around her shoulders as she giggles at whatever bullshit he's spinning.

"I knew it," Eric hisses gleefully. We all shake our heads at him, but it is kinda funny. We all know Mr. Peters and Mrs. Cope are boning, but they're so obvious about it, and Mr. Peters' wife is a calculus teacher here; she could walk around the corner any second and catch them all goo-goo eyed over each other. Cheaters are just...urgh. Assholes.

"What was that?"

"Shit," I whisper, watching Mrs. Cope stop and turn to scan the bleachers with her beady eyes. She narrows them as she gazes in our direction and I let out a breathy fuck.

Dad is going to kill me dead

"Hey, Mr. P! Mrs. C! You're missing the party!"

It's too dark out here and the music spilling out from inside is too loud to place the guy who saved our asses. I squint at his silhouette as he saunters over to Mr. Peters and Mrs. Cope, chit-chatting with them for a little bit before they all wander back into the gym.

We sigh as one and lean back against the pillars holding up the seats, nervous laughter bubbling over.

"Okay, I need that sweet Mary Jane now," Eric finally announces, taking one of the joints from my hand and lighting up with his personalized lighter. It's silver and sparkles when it catches the light thanks to the rhinestones glued all over. We take turns passing it around; when it's finally my turn, I savor the burn as I hold the smoke in my lungs just long enough to make my eyes prickle with the threat of watering. Releasing it in a long, slow exhale, I just about choke on my next breath when a loud bang rings out right behind me.

"Holy—what the fuck?"

A hand. It was someone slapping their hand on the metal bleachers. Two hulking silhouettes duck under the bars; when they stand up, I roll my eyes and take another deep pull from the joint before handing it to Jess.

"Of course. Crashing the prom, Emmett? Seriously? Aren't you a little old for that?"

Emmett flashes me a toothy grin, crouching a little so he doesn't hit his dumb head on the seats above. "I'm not crashing, little Bell. I'm a plus one."

Turning my eyes to the smirking douchenozzle beside him, I shake my head and cock my brow. "So this is your fault, Cullen?"

With a shrug, Edward stuffs his hands in his dress pant pockets. "Well, Swan, technically this is your fault. I didn't have a date, so…"

My stomach does a little flip as he cocks his head and that damn smile curls further. "You know, if somebody hadn't declined to come as my date tonight, I wouldn't have been able to bring him."

Jess, Bree, Eric, and Angela cackle their traitorous, irritating hearts out. Of course, he's right. We were assigned each other as biology lab partners way back at the start of senior year and he's been a thorn in my side ever since. He's gotten it in his stupid, pretty head that we should be together. He's wrong, obviously. There's no way I'd date such a prissy little rich boy. He's fun to rile up, sure. And we've aced every project this year—but all that proves is that we make good lab partners.

A couple of months ago now, I guess, we were arguing over who got to take home Mr. Molina's dumb golden onion, and Edward said I could take it if I agreed to be his date for prom. Obviously I swiped the onion and told him to take one of his groupies, but the boy just won't quit bitching about it.

I tune back into the conversation just as Eric hands the joint to Emmett. "Aw, Eric…they can get their own."

Bree waves me off, promising there's more where that came from. Apparently she has another baggie tucked in her bra, so we're good.

Despite having left Forks High two years ago now, the same year as my brother, Emmett gets along with anyone. He doesn't care that we're only seventeen—well, except Eric and Ang, who both turned eighteen last month—or that his little brother has brought him to prom as his 'date.' He goofs off with my friends and irritates the shit out of me by repeatedly calling me 'little Bell,' the nickname he bestowed upon me when his mom used to babysit me before I started kindergarten. He's an annoying pain in the ass, but I guess he's okay.

Edward, however...the boy drives me crazy.

"So, Swan. What would Chief say about his beloved only daughter ditching prom to get high under the bleachers, huh?"

I shrug, pretending I don't care. The truth is, if Dad finds out I didn't quit smoking after he caught me out on the roof a few weeks ago, I'll be grounded for the rest of my life and all my car privileges will be revoked. It's bad enough that I have to share the truck with my brother when he's back for the summer; losing it altogether would wreak havoc on my social life. Nowhere in Forks is close enough to walk to from our house out on the outskirts. Bree is in the same boat as me—she shares her car with her sister. Angela doesn't have her permit yet, Jess's car is in the shop after she crashed it texting while driving, and Eric's car is pink with only two seats. It's like squishing yourself into a sardine can.

We only have a couple more months together before they're all ditching me to go off to college—Jess and Ang to UDub, Eric to New York, and Bree to UCLA. They've all tried talking me into going with them, but I figure it's useless chucking Mom and Dad's money at school when I don't even know what I wanna do. They've already had to tighten the budget to put Alex through school, so...nah. I can take some classes at the community college until I figure out what Bella Swan is going to contribute to the world. Still, it sucks that I'll be here alone while my friends spread out all over the country.

I'm gonna miss those bitches something fierce, so I need these last couple of months to soak them all in. I can't lose the truck.

"You gonna tell him?" The squeak of nerves in my voice is barely noticeable...I think.

In the light of Jess's cell, Edward's green eyes seem to glow. "Nah."

Relief flows through my veins, the combination of the weed and Edward admitting he won't tell giving me a good, chill buzz. "Good—"

"But my silence will cost you," he quickly adds.

I narrow my eyes, suspicious. "What?"

The girls, Eric, and Emmett announce that they're heading inside just as Edward says, "You have to dance with me. Just one song." He holds up a single finger, smirk already in place because he knows. He knows I can't deny him and risk him snitching to my dad.

"You're a dick, you know that?"

He nods. "Yep. Now, c'mon, Daisy."

Hesitating before stepping out from under the bleachers, I peer back at him in the darkness. "Daisy?"

Edward offers me an eyeroll and a snort. "Daisy Buchanan...The Great Gatsby…you know, the whole theme for the night?"

"Ah," I mouth. Gotcha.

~ i ~

If I thought the inside of the gym was hell on Earth earlier, it has nothing on now.

In our absence, the lights have been dimmed and the rest of our class has arrived. The gym is packed with my classmates and I lose sight of my girls almost instantly; Eric and Emmett take off toward the drinks table and then they're gone, too, leaving me with…

"Shall we?" Edward holds out a hand, wiggling his fingers.

"You're enjoying this far too much," I grumble, letting him tug me toward the dance floor.

He doesn't even try to deny it. My eyes follow his hand as he brushes his mop of reddish brown hair off his forehead, a sly grin curling his lips. There's no denying that he's a good-looking guy, especially not tonight. He's gone all-out with his suit, avoiding the tuxedo most of the other guys are wearing. Instead, he's wearing cream dress pants and a matching waistcoat with a navy suit jacket, a black tie, and a pale blue shirt with a white collar—he looks like he's jumped straight out of the twenties. He pulls me into his arms on the edge of the makeshift dance floor and when I glance down, I can't help but smile. His shoes are brown and white, smart and shiny and not at all what I'd have expected from the cocky boy I share a lab table with in biology.

"You know, you almost looked like you were admiring the view then…" he whispers, his lips suddenly close enough to my ear that I can feel his breath fanning over my exposed neck. Tipping my head up, I'm almost close enough to brush our noses together. But I don't, obviously. That would be weird.

Up close, he smells like clean boy with a hint of rebel, the faint scent of weed clinging to him from outside. His hair is a little shiny, so I guess he had gel in it at some point, but it's in its usual clusterfuck style now.

With a shrug, I stifle my smile. "I guess you scrub up okay."

Edward purses his lips, shaking his head. "One day you'll admit you like me, little Bell—" He chuckles when I yank my hand from his to slap his chest lightly. I love-hate the nickname, but it's just Emmett's name for me. It's too freaky when anyone else uses it.

"Like I was saying before you so rudely interrupted…" I duck my head for a moment, watching our feet move together, as he takes my hand and puts it back on his shoulder. It doesn't feel as strange as I expected; dancing with Edward is actually sort of fun. "One day you'll admit you like me and we'll get married, leave this podunk little town, and have a bunch of kids that are gorgeous like me and brainy like you."

I blink hard a few times, wondering…"What the hell is wrong with you? You had to bribe me to dance with you, but now we're getting married and having babies?"

"I'm confident in my powers of persuasion."

In the interest of keeping the random thoughts in my head from spilling out, I chew my lip and let him lead me around for a bit before a sudden realization hits me.

"Wait...I get brainy and you're the gorgeous one? I don't think so, buster. You may have the sex hair thing going on, but I'm hot."

The heels I borrowed from Alex's girlfriend, Vanessa, are way taller than what I'd usually go for; they're at least five inches. Before we left, Jess told me they made my legs look 'miles long,' which I'm guessing is a good thing. Edward seems to like the effect, anyway. I caught him checking me out on the way back up to the gym. My hair is always straight, but we manhandled it into a bun and stuck a sparkly headband around my head. I think the part I like the most about my look tonight is the dress, surprisingly—I'm usually more of a jeans and hoodie girl. It's royal blue with black sequins and embroidery. It's really kinda short, but the soft black fringe that continues from the mid-thigh hem to just above my knees makes it almost modest. That said...it's clingy, sleeveless, and dips low enough between my tits that Dad just about had a heart attack when he saw me so...maybe 'modest' is a stretch.

I expect an argument or a laugh from Edward; I don't expect the serious, smouldery look that steals the smirk from his face and makes me squirm as he stares down at me.

Why did I never realize how tall he is before now? He's more than a head taller than my five-four.

"Yeah, you are, Swan."

The weed and the fancy wine Bree brought must be messing with my head. I swear Edward just stroked my back, and that look in his eyes…

It's like he wants...me?

"Wait, what?"

The music changes to some random, upbeat dance song and kills any remnants of the weird energy between us. I figure he'll ditch me and go dance with any of the many girls staring at him, but he keeps my hand wrapped in his and pulls me over to the punch fountain.

"Uh, no, thanks," I mumble when he nods at it. Leaning in close so the teachers nearby won't hear, I tell him, "It's spiked."

"Ah. Follow me, then." He makes as if to head toward the exit, but we don't get very far.

"Yo, little bro and little Bell—wait, that sounds cool!" Emmett's booming voice carries over the thumping beat of the music. He laughs at his own joke, then waves us over.

Edward shakes his head and sighs; one of those long-suffering, deep sighs that says he might be regretting bringing his big brother along, after all. "Come on, we'd better go. He'll never shut up, otherwise."

I can feel eyes on me, on us, as we wind through the crowd. I mean, it is kinda weird for me to be hand-in-hand with Edward. Everyone knows we fight and drive each other crazy.

So why does it feel so nice having his fingers between mine?

Emmett and Eric are sitting halfway up the stands, so we make our way up and join them, accepting plastic cups of what Emmett assures me is straight pop. When Angela heads over a few minutes later with her trusty thigh flask—she's the only one with a dress that won't make it obvious—we sneakily spike our own drinks and ignore both the stares we're getting and the morons grinding all over each other on the dance floor.

It doesn't escape my notice that Edward never lets go of my hand.

~ i ~

It also doesn't take long before Ang's flask is empty and the munchies set in.

As a group—Em, Edward, Eric, Ang, Jess, Bree, and I—we make the unanimous decision to ditch the crowning of the prom king and queen and head out for snacks and a more chill hangout spot. Ang and Edward are the designated drivers for the evening, so we pile into their cars and agree to meet up at the diner. It's the single place in Forks likely to be open, so we can grab some drinks that haven't been spiked and food that hasn't been fingered by tipsy seniors.

This is Forks, so it doesn't take that long to get to the diner. Ang, Jess, Bree, and I giggle our way through town after watching Eric hang his ass out of the back window of Edward's Volvo, mooning Mr. Peters and Mrs. Cope all the way out of the parking lot.

"Oh my God, he's such a freak!" Jess squeals, whipping her cell out to snap a photo. Why anyone would want a picture of Eric's lilywhite butt, I have no idea.

I spend half the ride to the diner worrying Dad or one of his officers is going to pull us over, and the other half wondering why I suddenly can't stop thinking about Edward or why I'm sad he's not still holding my hand. When we chose cars, I hopped straight in Ang's. My brain is all muddled. I don't trust myself around this new Edward I've seen tonight.

As Forks Highs beloved, newly graduated quarterback, Edward has a group of followers that trail after him like his shit don't stink. It's sickening, really. If Forks were its own world, Edward would be one of the royal family—he's that popular around here. And I'm not dumb; we fuelled the rumor mill tonight by dancing and hanging in the same crowd when we usually bicker non-stop. I already can't wait to hear what the gossipy bitches I caught staring say about us. I'm the bitchy, weed-smoking, unsociable Chief's daughter, and Edward's the star heading off to college in the fall with a full football scholarship. He's going places.

I got tonight's dress on sale in a Seattle thrift store, while I bet Edward's suit was tailor made just for prom; it's too fitted to be off the rack. He wears Armani sweaters to school and drives a flashy car, I wear holey jeans and drive a '56 Chevy. We're about as different as could be, but tonight...we've been, I don't know, clicking, in a way we haven't before.

It's exciting and uncomfortable and I have no idea what's going to happen tonight.

The guys make it to the diner before us; they've already claimed the big booth in the corner by the time Bree has reapplied her make-up in the side mirror. I follow the girls inside, wiggling my toes in my worn Chucks. They don't match the rest of my outfit even a little bit, but they're comfy as hell and I think I did well to stick it out with the deathtrap Jimmy Choos for as long as I did. I'm glad Mom suggested bringing the Chucks, for sure.

Arriving at the booth, the first thing I register is that Edward has his arm slung across the back of the seat...saving the last spot for me?

The second thing is his smirk and the raised-eyebrow glance he shoots my feet. "Uh, very twenties, Swan."

"Bite me, Cullen. I risked a broken ankle for long enough. Now scoot."

He chuckles and shuffles up just enough that I can squeeze in beside him, then we frustrate the crap out of the waiter spending far longer than necessary perusing the menu.

"I always have the same," I finally admit, tucking the laminated sheet back in the holder. Grinning at the waiter, a Forks High '01 graduate, I rattle off my order. "Garden burger with cheese fries, heavy on the cheese, and a caramel Oreo milkshake, please."

He nods, writing it all down on his little notepad, so I pull out my cell and forward the few photos I took tonight to Ang. She wants them all for her end-of-high school album, so she can deal with the editing and everything. Photography's not really my thing; my expertise is limited to getting everyone's faces in the shot, and that's about it.

Warm fingertips brush my bare shoulder. I peer sideways at Edward, a ripple of unfamiliar warmth spreading through my stomach. I didn't notice before but his jacket, tie, and waistcoat are gone, leaving him in just the baby blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His toned forearms are what Bree would call 'forearm porn material,' and he's revealed the leather cuff on his right wrist bearing the Cullen crest.

I once asked him during biology what the symbols meant and then laughed him outta town when he told me his family had their own crest. I guess, in a way, it's kinda cool—not that I'll ever tell him that. The lion and clovers are pretty, at least, and the dark leather stands out against his pale skin.

"You know, even for someone who lives in the rainiest place on Earth, you're awfully pale," I tell him. "Are you sure you aren't a vampire or something?"

Flashing his pearly whites, Edward cocks one eyebrow and leans in close enough to make my breath hitch. "Don't worry, Swan. I don't bite…"

I forget all about my friends and his brother and let my eyes slide shut as he leans in even more, his teeth brushing my exposed neck when he chuckles softly and adds, "much."

Oh, fuck.

~ i ~

"Cullen, shit…"

I tip my head back, swallowing hard as his lips trail over my neck and his teeth nip the soft skin over my jugular.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

One dance. That was all I had to do to stop myself getting in shit with my dad.

And yet...here I am three hours later in the back of Edward's mom-car, his mouth on my neck and his hand sneaking up my dress.

"Mm, you taste like strawberries."

His voice rumbles through me, his breath cool on my skin from the coke he's been drinking at the diner. Being the designated driver sucks—I'm glad the girls, Eric, and I drew straws.

"It's my...oh, God...my perfume."

My head is fluffy and I feel almost weightless.

Turns out Bree's second baggie of weed was a lot stronger than the first. She stole it from her brother, she admitted when Jessthe most seasoned smoker of us allcoughed and asked where she got it.

The windows are all steamed up, so I can't see outside, but I know we're somewhere between the diner and home because we were on our way back there when he pulled over and asked if he could try something.

If I'd known that the 'something' was kissing me, would I have insisted he carry on driving?

My limbs are heavy and deliciously relaxed thanks to the joint we smoked in the parking lot next to the park after eating our weight in diner food, but everywhere Edward touches feels electrified. We're all groping hands, panted breaths, and drugging kisses as we shuffle down in the backseat so he's resting over me on all fours, his chest pressed against mine and his hands in my hair as he holds my mouth to his and tastes the remnants of caramel Oreo milkshake on my tongue.

He tastes sweet and feels like heaven against me, but I want…

"What do you want, Bella?"

Oh, god…

He never calls me 'Bella'—it's always 'Swan.'

My name has never sounded better than it does in his rumbling voice against my lips.

Weightless but heavy with need, I fumble with the buttons of his shirt and insist he takes it off. The heat of his body disappears as he sits back on his haunches, having to duck a little because he's too tall, and he grins darkly at me the whole time he unfastens buttons.

My eyes aren't sure where to go, but they follow his fingers and the skin they reveal. I've seen him shirtless before, but not up close. He's toned and lean; fit from playing football since our freshman year.

Without my permission, my hands reach up to stroke the soft skin stretched over hard muscle. A shiver ripples through me. With an eye roll, I answer the question I can see hovering on his lips before he can ask it.

"Yes, I like what I see."

He barks a laugh and tosses his shirt in the front seat, lowering himself back on top of me with that goddamn smirk. One of his hands holds him up while he walks the other from my thigh, over my hip, my stomach, my chest..to my jaw, where he cradles my face and runs the pad of his thumb over my lip. It's embarrassing how shaky I am when I suck in a breath. What is this boy doing to me? I mean, shit—I don't even like him!

"I'm not gonna sleep with you!" I blurt out. A rush of embarrassment heats my cheeks. It only worsens when Edward loses his broodysmoulder and bursts out laughing, dropping his head to rest it on my chest. I stifle a groan and the urge to slap myself.

'I'm not gonna sleep with you'? What is wrong with you, Bella?

"Oh, Swan." He raises his head, peering into my eyes with his pretty green gaze—whoa; pretty?—and twists his lips into a sort of half-smile. "One day, we're gonna look back on this night and tell everyone this is where it all began, you know that?"

I furrow my brows and figure defense is the best offence. Winding my fingers into his hair, I tug a little until his lips are close enough to catch and brush off his serious promise.

What does he know? He's disappearing to wherever-the-fuck in the fall to play football, and I'll be here, probably taking a few classes at the community college because I have no idea what I want to do with my life.

We're just kids. We don't even like each other. This—tonight—is just your typical cliché prom night and by tomorrow, this weird, sweet and funny Edward will be out of my head and we can go on with our lives only seeing each other when he visits his folks for the holidays.