Disclaimer: I do not own the characters and concepts of the Twilight series. They are the sole creation and property of Stephenie Meyer.

Nine

Eden: from Hebrew גַּן עֵדֶן, scholars debate the origin of the word.Some believe it comes from a Sumerian word 'edin' meaning 'plain.' Others say it is from the Persian word 'heden,' meaning 'garden.' In Genesis, the garden is planted 'eastward, in Eden;' accordingly Eden properly denotes the larger territory which contains the garden, rather than being the name of the garden itself. The word has gained a wider use and can now apply to any place perceived as a paradise; and even more widely a state of innocence, bliss, or ultimate happiness.

Jasper swiftly drove this thought from my head by exclaiming excitedly a few seconds later. "I just got a voice mail from Ludwig Güttler!" He'd been on the other line with a professor of medieval studies in Berlin, trying to track down any information about rare book sales.

At my perplexed expression and Rozalina's narrowed gaze, he explained, "He was the head of the society raising money for the reconstruction of the Frauenkirche. He's agreed to help."

"Ah," I answered, still not quite sure why he was so excited.

"He's well connected with the few remaining survivors from the air raid."

My eyes went wide. "Oh, Jasper! That's fantastic!"

"Super," Rozalina agreed, the faintest hint of excitement flickering in her ice blue eyes.

"So what do you say we blow this joint for now?" Jasper suggested, throwing up his hands. "I know I've had enough of going cross-eyed looking at this stuff." I glanced at the screen of the computer where I'd been camped for the past two days, trying to deny my reluctance to continue looking at such images. "Let's take the afternoon off. Stretch our legs. Get some sun." His curly head turned to me, then Rozalina. "What do you say?"

"Okay," my tone was grudging but I couldn't think of a good argument for disagreeing.

"I'll call Ludwig back at the hotel. We can regroup after we've had a decent break and go from there," Jasper added reassuringly, hearing my reluctance. We all stood, gathering our coats and notebooks, and left the fluorescent lights of the library behind.

He wasn't wrong about the sunshine. While we'd been inside, the bright, cloudless day had left the pavement of the parking lot warm. People walking down the street were in short sleeves, a few in sandals. I discarded my own coat once we got back to the hotel, nodding when Jasper suggested we meet back in the lobby at three. Rozalina was already on her cell phone, her voice a whisper as she spoke in what sounded like English to the person on the line. I frowned with suspicion but she was already ducking into the elevator without a backward glance. Sighing and promising myself that I would bring up my worries to Jasper, I headed back outside. Sunshine was rare enough in Seattle that, even though I was thousands of miles away, the knee-jerk reaction of enjoying it while it lasted superseded everything else.

I walked with no particular goal in mind, only trying to avoid the crowds of tourists that flocked towards the Frauenkirche. This led me east, where I soon discovered an immense park that appeared to cover city blocks. Paved paths led in every which direction, blooming trees clearly delighting in the spring weather. I saw signs for the zoo but the idea of simply sitting on a bench and watching people go by was much more appealing.

Given it was just past noon, most of the benches were occupied with Dresdeners on their lunch break, arms exposed to the sun, busily chatting on cell phones or reading books. I finally found one that was empty near a high hedge, half of it cast in shade. My skin had always been stubbornly fair, only growing slightly pink during my childhood in Phoenix…but that didn't stop me from sitting on the portion of bench bathed in sun. After a moment, I closed my eyes. I thought I was mostly over my jet lag but the idea of a nap was suddenly appealing.

In the darkness behind my lids the sound of birds singing, the faint hum of distant traffic, and the barely audible murmur of German was intensified. I sensed someone sit next to me, the whisper of fabric against the bench back, the slight shift of weight settling, but I didn't open my eyes. Something brushed against my skin where the curve of my throat sloped into shoulder, exposed by the loose neckline of the my cotton shirt. My eyes drifted open involuntarily, thinking an insect or leaf must have drifted into me. I sharply flinched as I saw Edward Masen sitting in the shadows at my side.

"Holy fuck!"

"Such a dirty mouth for a curator." I knew I wasn't mistaken this time about the provocative note in his voice, my face flaming as I saw his arm was draped along the back of the bench, his hand inches from my shoulder.

"Do you always just appear out of thin air?" I gasped, trying to shift away. I could feel the blood pulsing in my cheeks and resisted the urge to lift my hands to cool them. His nearness was flustering, distracting, but I didn't want him to know that.

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" His green eyes were laughing, his demeanor as unaffected as ever. My eyes narrowed with anger. There was no way he could have simply happened upon this bench—not in this enormous park.

"Does your mother know you spy on people?" I spat out, my lips tight with fury.

Something flickered in his gaze, his expression smoothing as he considered me. His head tilted ever so slightly; even in the shade, I could see the red in his messy hair. "My parents are dead."

My anger left me instantly, the blood draining from my face. "I'm so sorry," I breathed. I couldn't help the surge of sympathy I felt for him.

"They died many years ago." Masen's gaze turned from my face for the first time since I'd opened my eyes, staring out over the green of the park. "A plane crash. Flying to Spain for a benefit. Had I not been ill at the time, I would have been on the flight as well." Though his words were matter-of-fact, a hint of sadness tinged his voice. I resisted the urge to reach out, to touch the exposed skin of his forearm, to comfort.

The cuffs of his starched button-up were rolled to the elbow exactly as they'd been the night he surprised me in the club. The shirt was open at the throat; I noticed as if from a distance that his hair was longer than I would have thought, just brushing the collar. His long legs were encased in trousers that I knew must have a matching suit jacket, the creases like a knife.

"Were you a child?" I tore my eyes from his legs, fighting to think straight.

Masen turned his gaze back to me, his expression without emotion. "No, in college. Like I said," his lips tilted uneasily, without humor. "It was many years ago."

"You can't be older than thirty-five," I said without thinking, echoing the assumption I'd had when I first spied him at the auction six months ago.

The grin that crossed his lips now was genuine, one eyebrow lifting. "Very close. I'm thirty-three." He paused then leaned forward, his hand brushing my shoulder with the movement. "And I know you're twenty-eight."

It took a moment for the annoyance to set in, his proximity so utterly distracting that I realized I'd stopped breathing.

"You have been spying on me!" I could feel the blood in my cheeks again but it was anger making them flame, my heart pounding at his audacity.

"I do my research," he replied, completely unfazed by my outrage.

"So do I," I hissed, thinking of the breakthrough Jasper had made only earlier that day.

Masen suddenly shifted gears, leaning back, his expression conciliatory. "Come," his green eyes were strangely earnest. "Let me take you to lunch."

"Are you trying to be funny?" I knew he couldn't mean it…not without an ulterior motive.

His gaze remained steady, insistent and open. "Can't we be two people simply having a meal? Books," he paused, his tone deadly serious. "Are strictly off-limits."

I couldn't help frowning as I stared at him, trying to figure out the game. For once, though, his expression was completely without humor…and if there were any moment for him to laugh at me, now would be it.

"Okay." The word was a whisper, barely audible, but I might have shouted it for the transformation on his face. He smiled so broadly that I could see one of his eyeteeth was more prominent than the other; it was surprisingly, endearingly human.

Bright green eyes met mine as he rose to his feet and held out his hand. "Shall we?" I didn't need his help to stand—briefly thinking that it was a relief I wasn't drunk this time around—but I took his hand, releasing it as soon as I was on my feet.

Masen remained close as we strolled east, deeper into the park. I was painfully conscious of his nearness, mere inches away, nervously crossing my arms over my chest. "You live in Seattle but you're not from there," he stated, gazing down at his feet as we walked.

"No," I answered, grateful for the distraction of conversation. "I was born in Forks, on the peninsula."

"I know where it is," he answered lightly. "Whittier-Veill has investments in the area."

"Is that where you work?" I couldn't help my own curiosity, peering sideways at him.

"Yes," he answered. "The headquarters are in Chicago, where I'm from."

"The midwest," I replied stupidly, then felt the heat bloom in my cheeks at such an inane response. "I've never been," I added, attempting to sound like I knew how to make conversation. This was why I never went to exhibits or other social events.

"You don't travel," he responded. It was strange how his statements were not questions, yet were clearly an attempt to confirm the veracity of the subject.

"No," I answered, trying not to wonder how he'd come by this information. "I partly grew up in Phoenix, where my mother lived."

"But she doesn't live there now?"

"No, she's in Jacksonville," I couldn't help smiling, thinking of how she still railed against the rainy northwest. Summers and holidays in Forks had made me immune to the weather; Seattle seemed downright arid compared to the peninsula. "She prefers the warmth."

"What is your mother like?" I wondered if he was asking because he sensed my affection for her.

"She looks a lot like me, but prettier," I answered. He raised his brows but I stubbornly continued. "I have too much of my father in me. She's more outgoing than I am, and braver."

"It strikes me as quite brave that you're here," he insisted.

I swallowed, unable to answer. I knew he'd meant what he said about books being off-limits and there was no way I could explain my presence in Europe without mentioning my complete fixation with the taboo topic.

Fortunately, we'd arrived at a small, low building in the heart of the park. A sandwich board next to the entrance was covered in flowing script: Volkspark Großer Garten Café. Masen held the door, allowing me to enter first. Inside, small tables with delicate wrought iron chairs were scattered over wide white tiles. Behind the counter, a pink cheeked woman greeted us brightly. "Guten tag!"

Edward Masen greeted her in German, his hand in the small of my back as he guided me towards a table in the corner. I felt myself flush at his touch but fought to keep calm, gazing down at my hands as I took my seat. Maybe I could keep from speaking inanities or blurting out inappropriate things if I didn't look at him.

"What is your father like?" I bit my lip, wondering if he was curious because his own parents were gone.

"Quiet, dependable, loyal." The adjectives came easily, Charlie's tanned face flashing in my mind.

"You're more like him."

"To a fault," I muttered.

"You don't want to be like him?" Masen sounded confused, his voice frustrated. I lifted my gaze, taking a deep breath as I considered his expression. His green eyes were unwavering, waiting for me to speak.

"My roommate would tell you it's not a good thing."

"And why is that?"

I lifted my eyes to the ceiling, not certain why I was admitting this to him. "Because I never go out. Because on a Friday night, I'm usually home browsing-" I stopped when I realized I was about to mention incunabula, biting my lip again. Masen's eyes dropped to my mouth before lifting to the waitress who had appeared with two menus.

He said something to her in German without bothering to open the menu, setting it on the table as if it were a unnecessary. She stepped away, though I hadn't yet spoken to place my own order. When I turned in my seat to get her attention I heard his voice, softly laughing. "I ordered water and coffee for both of us. I hope you don't mind."

I turned back to him, fighting feelings of annoyance. Why was he so high-handed? "It's fine," I lied, knowing my tone was mutinous.

The grin on his mouth only deepened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. My annoyance faded at his smile…before I was filled with a new surge of frustration that his good looks were so distracting.

"Your roommate is social."

Back to the statements-as-questions. "Alice is a whirlwind," I shook my head but I was smiling. "She's a graphic designer so she knows all of these tech people as well as creative types."

"Seattle is the place for that," Edward acknowledged as the waitress returned with our drinks.

I sipped the coffee appreciatively before continuing. "She's from Biloxi so she has that whole southern charm thing going." I dipped the small ginger cookie that had accompanied the coffee in the dark liquid. "We're very different."

"You sound as if that suits you."

I bit into the cookie, nodding thoughtfully. "It does. But then, it's impossible not to love Alice."

"Do you think she feels the same way about you?"

My eyes flew up, surprised by the question. Masen's expression was benign, regarding me calmly. "I-I don't know," I finally stuttered.

"How did you meet?" His gaze dropped, looking down as he stirred his coffee.

This question I could answer. I took a deep breath, wishing he didn't affect me so. "Craigslist."

It was Edward's turn to look at me with surprise, his mouth slightly agape before he snapped, "That's not a safe medium for finding a roommate."

My annoyance resurged. "Thanks for the observation." A line was forming between his brows but I continued before he could lecture me further. "Should I have asked Lauren, my freshman year roommate in the dorms who pretended I didn't exist—to the point that one of her fraternity boyfriends vomited in my bed?"

Masen's lips twisted but I went on, my temper fully flamed. "Oh, right! I could have asked Jessica, my roommate sophomore year who ran up six hundred dollars worth of calls to the psychic hotline and left me with the bill."

His eyes were sparkling. "And junior and senior year?" he asked.

I lifted my chin. "I lived alone." I rushed to explain before he could say something bossy again. "But it's expensive. Not all of us are CEOs." I sipped my coffee, trying to hide my still-flushed cheeks. I should have expected him to react to my rant with calm amusement but it was still disarming.

"CFO," he said shortly.

"What?"

"CFO. Chief Financial Officer."

"Same difference."

He laughed out loud at that, a deep, velvety sound that I couldn't help smiling in response to. "It's a lot less responsibility," he said when his laughter subsided, a smile still curving his lips.

"You expect me to believe that?" I scoffed, peering at him curiously. "I thought you would be at least ten years older." His eyes widened at this comment and I let my gaze fall to my lap, realizing I'd just admitted to having speculated about him prior to meeting him. We'd be treading in taboo territory, though, if we discussed why.

"Because of my…" Masen paused, his voice sly as he bent the rules. "Collecting habit."

I bit my lip, raising my eyes. "And its…" I hesitated as well. "Cost."

A wry smile tilted his lips. "You think I should buy fast cars or yachts instead."

I frowned. For the first time, his statement-as-question was completely wrong and I felt somewhat insulted by the fact. "No, not at all. I can't imagine a more worthwhile purchase." Masen's eyes narrowed, scrutinizing me. "Most other collectors in your position-" He cocked a brow and I elaborated, leaning forward. "Able to buy anything they wish regardless of the price. Such collectors are generally old enough to be my grandfather."

He laughed again. "Don't you think it's a good thing that's not the case?"

I bit my lip in confusion. "That you aren't an octogenarian?"

The waitress had reappeared with two dishes of flaky pastries drowning in cream. Masen waited until she had stepped away before replying. "It would be quite inappropriate if I was."

That didn't clarify anything. I peered at him in confusion until he looked away. "I always say too much when I'm talking to you," he murmured, almost as if to himself.

"Don't worry. I don't understand," I replied wryly. Ignoring him and his cryptic statements, I decided to bite into the pastry. I hadn't realized how hungry I was.

"Yum," I murmured without thinking, then blushed at my childish enjoyment of such a simple thing. I didn't dare look up.

For once, Masen didn't laugh, his voice quiet on the other side of the table. "I'm glad you like it. I hoped you would."

I couldn't look away from my dish, determined to quietly finish without making a further fool of myself. Without conversation to distract me, I quickly began to question exactly what I was doing having lunch with Edward Masen of all people. But he had stuck to his promise not to speak of books. He hadn't once asked me about the state of our research…in fact, he hadn't brought up the Golden Legend at all, not even on the night he walked me back from the club when I was drunk and vulnerable. What were his motives? Why else would he bother to talk to me if not to get information about our leads?

I reached for my wallet though a few bites were left in my dish. I wanted to pay and get as far away from this place as possible. Edward Masen was clearly far too tempting a presence to trust my decision-making abilities.

"What are you doing?" My gaze unwillingly darted up at the affront in his voice. His expression was annoyed, lips pressed tightly together, a line forming between his dark brows.

"What does it look like?" I was proud of how calm I sounded.

Masen made a noise that I suspected was a curse, roughly pulling a wad of Euros from his pocket. I flushed, realizing I only had crowns and dollars and couldn't have paid anyways.

Luckily, he didn't notice my pink cheeks—or pretended not to—tossing a bill onto the table and rising to his feet. He gestured for me to lead the way out of the café, his expression baleful. I felt self-conscious walking in front of him and hurried to the door. The sunshine made me pause, temporarily blinded as my pupils adjusted to the brightness outside.

"Oof!" I was thrown off balance as he knocked into me from behind. I instinctively threw my hands forward, certain in that instant that I was going to face plant on the concrete pathway.

Instead, firms hands grasped my waist, effortlessly catching me as if I weighed nothing at all, jerking me upright. I could feel the warmth of him directly behind me, his voice rough against my ear. "Sorry."

"No, it was my fault," I replied, wishing I wasn't breathless. I stepped out of his grasp, turning to face him. "I shouldn't have stopped so suddenly." I nervously tucked my hair behind my ear.

His expression was still dark but…different somehow. "I should have watched where I was going."

I couldn't help a small smile at the fact that we were apologizing to each other. We were supposed to be adversaries!

Before I could speak, a sudden beeping erupted. I realized my own startled expression was reflected in his face, as if we'd both been lost in our own world. Masen reached into his pocket with a jerky motion that seemed out of character for him, pulling his phone free.

His expression instantly went blank, his gaze flicking away as he answered it. "Yes?" I sucked in a deep breath as reality returned. "Where?" I was such an idiot. "Good." How could I forget why we were both here? "Yes, please see to it." The only reason Edward Masen had time to eat silly German desserts with me was because he had experts and researchers doing the work I was here to do. "Thanks, Emmet."

He didn't look at me as he slid the phone back into his pocket.

"What was I thinking?" I didn't realize at first that I'd spoken out loud, the words a murmur.

Masen quirked a brow, his lips tilting with vague amusement. That only stoked my anger. "This is all just a game to you, isn't it?" I glared, feeling helpless as I stared into his handsome face, desperately wishing he would tell me otherwise.

His gaze was cool as he regarded me. "All's fair in love and war."