A/N: Thank you for the lovely reviews and feedback on this story – I truly appreciate it. Someone asked about the meaning of the different roses – lavender roses symbolize enchantment, pink roses symbolize admiration, orange roses signal desire, and white roses are often associated with purity and new beginnings.

~*~

Part 4

~*~

There was a white rose lying by her plate the next morning, pristine and perfect, and she picked it up, sniffing its fragrance. She was less sure about the other colors, but she was certain that white roses stood for innocence.

She heard a muffled noise from the library as she approached, and hurried ahead, shocked speechless by what she found. An enormous tree stood in one corner of the library with Edward before it, hanging a final ornament from a lower bough. He turned, and though she couldn't see his face, she could tell by his stance and the curve of his shoulders that he was anxious for her response.

She clapped her hands in delight. "Edward, it's beautiful!" She made her way around the tree, taking in the antique ornaments and sparkling lights that adorned it.

After a full circuit, she stopped and stood before him. "It's the loveliest tree I've even seen. Do you always have one this big?"

He shook his head. "I . . . I haven't had need to celebrate in many years."

Her breath caught in her throat as she realized what that meant. He'd done all this for her. Because she'd mentioned that she liked having a tree, that it reminded her of her mother.

She reached out and touched his hand gently as he straightened an angel. "Edward, thank you."

It was the first time she'd touched him intentionally, and he inhaled sharply, remaining motionless until she moved away, suddenly embarrassed. Perhaps that had been wrong, perhaps she'd crossed some line. She turned and hurried over to the fireplace to warm her hands and hide her flaming cheeks.

She heard him behind her, but refused to turn around.

"Bella, I'm sorry, that was just unexpected. I'm glad you like the tree. I wanted to do something that would please you."

His words caught her off guard, and she was surprised at the flutter she felt at the thought that he'd gone to such lengths to amuse her.

"I thought perhaps, in honor of the new addition to the room, we could read this today." His hand appeared at her side holding a book. He was standing close behind her, the sharp spicy scent she'd noted the first day enveloping her. She took the volume from his hand.

"A Christmas Carol. Very appropriate. Would you mind if I get something to drink from the kitchen first?"

He shook his head and returned to fussing at the tree. She walked back to the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water and taking a slow sip, trying to determine what, if anything, his gesture meant. She puttered for a moment, picking up an apple from a basket of fruit, sliding open drawers in search of a knife.

And then she saw them. A set of keys, half-hidden under folded papers. She paused for a second, then slid them into her pocket before returning to the library.

~*~

At dinner that evening, she toyed with her white rose, trying to formulate how she could answer him tonight, hating to again respond in the negative after such a perfect day. She'd been surprised at how the hours had flown by, and though she knew he'd ask the same question, she no longer could bring herself to think of him as a monster. And yet, she wasn't sure that she could say yes.

She finished the last bite of her meal, and took a sip of the spiced cider. He'd somehow conjured it up after she'd shared how much she enjoyed it. Her brain was buzzing, knowing that her least favorite moment was approaching. She wondering if she could distract him with her own request. Would he would show her his face if she asked? Was she truly ready to see it?

He reached for the red rose, the stem caught between his gloved fingers and she knew he was about to ask.

"Edward?"

He paused and turned back in her direction.

"Yes?"

"I wanted to tell you – what you did for me today, I don't think anyone's ever done anything quite that grand for me before."

"They should. You deserve grand things, Bella."

She blushed, feeling the heat of his gaze even though she couldn't see it.

"I only wish that I had something to give back to you."

He was silent for a moment, than rose from his chair, the scrape of the wood harsh in her ears. He circled the table and leaned down behind her, his voice close in her ear as he dropped the rose into her lap and whispered, "You have, Bella. You have."

Then he was gone.

~*~

The bathroom mirror revealed flushed cheeks and bright eyes, a far cry from her first night here. She stared at the keys lying on the white marble. They opened the door. She'd tried them when she came up from dinner and found that one fitted her lock.

She hadn't seen him after his exit, but she'd heard the familiar click after she'd pushed back from the table and slowly climbed the stairs to her room. Only now she had a way out. If she wanted it.

But she didn't want it. Not now. In two days she was supposed to leave, and he'd honored his end of the bargain in every way. She wouldn't run away from him.

But could she run to him?

"I only wish that I had something to give back to you."

"You have, Bella. You have."

What had he meant? Surely not that she'd given him a few days of her time under duress? And why had he not asked her the question, that dreaded, dreaded question? Was he tired of her company now?

She splashed cold water on her face, blotted it dry, and grabbed the keys. The door slid open quietly, the hallway deserted. She breathed a small sigh, having half expected him to be lingering outside her room.

She tiptoed to the head of the stairs and stopped, listening to the music that floated up from below. It was beautiful, haunting and melancholy, but with a recurring refrain that seemed to lilt and offer moments of hope. She'd never heard anything like it, and she found herself drawn down the steps and closer to the library.

The door sat partially open. The fire had burned low and she slipped into the shadows, watching as she realized he'd shed his cloak and gloves, and sat unmasked before her for the first time. He was half-turned. In the dim light she could only catch glimpses of the side of his face, his body swaying as though he were entranced by the music. The russet tones in his hair glinted like copper in the firelight, and though she couldn't seem him fully, she could discern that he had the face of a man. His jaw line seemed familiar, a determined set to it as he tackled an intricate series of runs flawlessly.

His fingers suddenly crashed to a halt and she jerked back, frightened that he'd spotted her. She eased back through the door, listening as he began to play again, slower this time, a key here and there, almost as though he were thinking aloud with notes. She tiptoed to the foot of the stairs, then raced back to her room and shut the door, relocking it.

She hastily shed her clothes and grabbed the first thing she could find, one of the nightdresses he'd left for her, yanking it over her head as she dove into the bed and curled beneath the covers, the keys clutched tightly in her hand.

"Bella?" His voice was soft, but she could hear the whisper from the hallway. "Bella, are you alright?"

She debated answering, then heard the soft click of the lock as he slid the door open. She closed her eyes, feigning sleep and hoping her breathing didn't give her away as she heard him step into the room.

She listened to the footsteps that walked to the bed, where he sighed, then walked away. She'd thought he'd left for a moment, and ventured a small peek that revealed him standing before her window, his back to her, head bowed low.

When he spoke, it was in a whisper. "Forgive me. I should never have brought you here. To ask someone so innocent to find room in her heart for a monster such as I was more foolish than any of my prior sins. And yet you have, my Bella, with your kindness towards me. These few days have been the brightest in my existence. Thank you for your gift, for no one has ever done anything so grand for me."

He was gone then, the door closing behind him as the lock turned. Bella listened to her heart race as his footsteps died away.

~*~

She slept little that night, her thoughts jumbled and scattered into pieces. By the time the sun broke over the horizon, she was up, pacing the room as she tried to pull herself together. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Tomorrow ended the bargain and she would be free to go home.

Tonight he'd ask her his question for the final time. And for the first time, she wasn't sure how she would answer.

She dressed hastily, tucking the keys into her pocket before descending the stairs. A deep red rose, one of the Black Beauty's he loved so, lay beside her plate.

Love. Sacrifice. Which was it supposed to mean?

She ate hastily, startled when she looked up to find him standing in the doorway, cloaked and inscrutable. Her thoughts from the night before bubbled up again. Would he take it off if she asked? Would he tell her why he called himself a monster?

Did she truly want to know?

It came down to trust. Did he trust her enough to show his true self? Did she trust herself enough to see below the surface?

"Would you mind if we work in the greenhouse this morning?"

She couldn't find her voice, just nodded in response.

~*~

She understood why he loved the roses. Working among them, their fragrant blooms dancing about, was calming. He'd given her a small bush, shown her how to prune it properly by cutting away the dead growth to make room for the living.

She lost herself in the project, stealing glances at him from time to time as he methodically tended to a row of blush roses. A poem she recalled from one of her survey courses popped into her head as she watched him move, so dark and yet so gentle among the bright flowers, and she murmured the lines.

"Shyly did its leaves unclose

Hid in their mossy robe,

But sweet was the slight and spicy smell

It breathed from its heart invisible."

He turned in her direction, and continued on for her,

"The rose is blasted, withered, blighted,

Its root has felt a worm,

And like a heart beloved and slighted,

Failed, faded, shrunk its form."

She looked down at the flower she'd just sliced away, blinking back tears. She'd forgotten those next lines, but she understood the message. His words last night and the rose this morning meant sacrifice. He was preparing to send her away just as she was opening to the possibility that she might return.

She could feel it the rest of the day as well. He had her select the book for their afternoon read, and although she delivered Mr. Rochester's impassioned and twisted speech of friends facing separation and the snapping of cords of communion with as much feeling as she could muster, he seemed impervious to what she'd hoped to communicate.

By the time they reached the evening hour, and she rose to prepare for dinner, she resolved herself that she had to confront him. Although the meal was as well prepared as all those the nights before, she managed to only push the portions round her plate, waiting for the inevitable. Finally she laid down her silverware, tired of the pretense.

"Ask me," she demanded.

"Ask you what?" he replied smoothly.

"Ask me what you have each night."

He turned his head away. "I no longer wish to know the answer."

"Then may I ask you a question instead?"

He tensed, but inclined his head. "If you wish."

"What kind of monster are you?"

"One that's no good for someone like you, Bella." He rose before she could protest and was gone.

She stormed to the library, the greenhouse, all the places she could think he might be, but found no trace of him. Frustrated, she climbed the stairs, tossing the clothes she brought with her into her suitcase, folding the garments he'd given her into a neat pile stacked on the desk. She'd take nothing with her she hadn't brought.

She plucked the crumpled night dress she'd worn the night before and tossed it atop the pile on the dresser, instead sliding into her familiar flannels and a heavy sweatshirt. She sank into the chair beside the window and staring out into the moonlight. A familiar figure moved out of the trees and she watched as he crossed the stream, disappearing from sight behind the stone wall.

He'd come home.

She opened the door to her room and hurried down the steps, following the sounds of his music as it drew her to the library like a siren's call. She stepped through the door, bolder now, and moved towards him, only pausing when he looked up, fully revealed to her. She gasped as she was caught in his golden eyes.

He was her prince.

"Bella." He rose from his seat, startled, grabbing for his cloak. She stepped closer, touching his arm.

"No, don't please. Please don't hide away again. You're him. You're the one I've been dreaming of." She reached her hand up, touching his cheek that was cool beneath her fingers. "You're real."

"Bella, no." He tried to move away, his golden eyes pleading with her. "I should never have brought you here. It was a mistake."

"It wasn't," she replied. "My mother told me about you, told me one day I'd find you."

"Bella, your mother – she didn't know what I was."

"Then what are you?" she demanded.

"He's a vampire, little girl."