So August was interesting with Fanfiction. I was having a number of issues getting my cover art to stick, but soon found out I wasn't the only one having this issue. Thank you helpdesk forum! As soon as that was fixed then the story stats went down and as some of you might know the site was down for awhile. Anyways, looks like all is in order, knock on wood, I'm back, and I have two long ass chapters this time. Enjoy! Keep the reviews coming!

"This is amazing," Hannah gasped as she walked into the apartment behind me. "Are you sure you can afford this on your own?"

"Ya. My family's business recently got the help we were looking for, so don't worry about anything. Whatever we need is covered," I told her feeling too ashamed to admit that my rich old husband had paid for it.

"I envy you rich kids," Hannah said as she dropped her box to the floor and walked off to explore. "Holy shit! We each have our own bathroom. No more communal living? I'm so lucky you're my friend!"

"I'm sure I'll be paying for this someday," I said, my gaze drifting as I began to feel a little overwhelmed by my gift from Benjamin. "We all do in the end, right?"

"Better in the end when you're old than when you're young with the capability to really enjoy it," Hannah added before leaving to get more boxes from the moving truck.

"I guess," I mumbled as I walked around the spacious apartment.

I knew this kind of apartment wasn't an easy find in San Francisco and neither was it a cheap. I could only guess at what the rent must have been a month, but still I'm sure I was have guessed too low. You've outdone yourself, Benjamin Rogers, I thought to myself before stepping out the door to retrieve the rest of my things.

As we set up our new apartment, which must have been at least three times the size of our old dorm, we chose a corner to make our work space. We each had our own drafting boards and desk, but I took up most of the area with my sewing machines, long work table, and supplies that I had in storage up to this point. Hannah didn't seem to mind as she was content just having enough space to where our chair's weren't bumping into each other every other minute.

"I want you to know when I'm a famous architect someday I will remember this," Hannah said as she hung up one of her blueprints. "You will be at the top of the list of all my posh parties."

"And I'll design your posh party dress," I added as I organized my spools.

"Of course!" she agreed. "By then you'll be a famous designer yourself and probably married to some gorgeous man."

I snorted. "I don't think so."

"What? Don't tell me after you graduate you're going to maintain this strange celibate lifestyle of yours."

"I didn't say anything about that."

"Then it's the marriage thing you're iffy about? I can't blame you there," Hannah said while searching through her pencil box. "I don't think I'll ever marry."

I gave her a weak grin and went back to unpacking. I desperately wanted to tell her about Ben, the dreams, and my marriage, but I had a feeling that Hannah wouldn't understand. In fact, I could almost assume she would think I was crazy and I didn't want to risk our friendship, so I decided to continue keeping that part of my life a secret.

After unpacking the rest of my things, I waited until Hannah was in her room sleeping before sneaking out our apartment with my cell phone. It was late, but seeing that Ben had called ten times I was sure he wouldn't mind a late call and sure enough, after two rings, he answered.

"Hey, I was worried about you," he said. "Were you able to get everything in order?"

"Ya. Everything went smoothly," I assured him.

"I still wish you would have let me help you with the move."

"I know, but I'm not ready to explain our relationship to Hannah yet. I don't think she'd understand."

"I see," he said in a faint voice. He then cleared his throat and asked, "So do you like the apartment?"

"It's beautiful—original woodwork, open, lots of natural light, it's not over the top, but it's beyond anything I would have ever expected. This is too much, Ben. How much is the rent a month?"

"'Don't worry about the rent. I'm paying for it and I could never do too much for you."

"Ya, you could," I corrected him. "This is too much for a woman you haven't even slept with."

"I didn't realize that you still thought I was this creep out for one thing."

"I don't. It's just," I let out a long breath, "I'm feeling a little unworthy of it all."

"You are worthy of it all and more," he told me.

"Thank you and… thank you," I answered awkwardly. "I'm not sure what else to say."

"Nothing. You don't have to say anything, ma souris," he said soothingly.

"Ma souris?" I chuckled. "You did not just use French on me."

"I did. My mother was French, so I speak a little," he explained bashfully. "Are you against terms of endearment?"

"No. I just never had anyone call me any, not even my parents," I explained. "It's something I'll have to get used to, but it's nice… I think. What does it mean?"

"My mouse."

"Your mouse!"

"Because you're so small," he laughed. "I promise you, it is a term of endearment."

"In France," I added. "All right. I'll take it." With a yawn, I glanced at my phone screen checking the time. "It's pretty late and I'm worn out from moving. I should probably sleep."

"Yes. Me too. I've got a pile of work to do tomorrow."

"Again, thank you… for taking care of my family's mess."

"I do it for you."

"I know, but still I appreciate it."

"Always. Goodnight, ma souris."

"Goodnight, Ben."

The next morning I woke naturally and with full sunlight streaming through my windows, which wasn't a good sign at all. It was the first day of the semester and I should have woken to the sound of an alarm. After realizing my mistake and staring at the clock in horror, I launched out of bed, dressed in the first outfit I could find, and rushed out the door. By the time I made it to campus I was already 15 minutes late for class and crossed my fingers, hoping I could slip into class unnoticed.

After entering the room undetected, I found a seat next to a familiar face. "What did I miss?" I whispered.

"Nothing much. Here, sweetie," Devin said handing me a pile of papers. "I noticed you were gone, so I grabbed you a copy."

"Thank you." Flipping past the syllabus I stared down at a page with a list of references and terms for Victorian period wear. "What is this for?"

"We're making costumes for some sort of victorian theatrical production," he said unimpressed. "So overdone, in my opinion."

But I couldn't be more excited. This was one of my favorite eras for clothing and the fact that it was a theatrical production took off some of the pressure because it meant fewer restrictions. My mind went wandering as the teacher was talking and I should have been listening, but I never did when inspiration took over. The world dimmed around me and all I could see was the making of my creation.

Over the next week, I obsessively planned out my design and gathered inspiration. Remembering the impressionist style painting of lavender and wheat in my bedroom at Ben's I began to collect ideas from other impressionist paintings. There was one still life painting in particular that drew me in. In it the woman was wearing a beautiful dress of plum, which was one of my favorite fabric colors, so after some further research I began sketching away.

Once my design was approved by my teacher I then picked out my fabrics. For weeks after I found myself fanatically focussed, cutting away at satin and tailoring my dress to perfection. Everything came together smoothly and I couldn't have been happier over the end result. But Admittedly, I was anxious to show Mrs. Hecker my masterpiece. At first glance, Mrs. Hecker looked laid back with her bohemian style, but she was a perfectionist and never held back her opinion.

On the day of our scheduled meeting, where I would show her my dress and receive my grade, I felt confident in my work. I had done exceptionally well with the ruffling of the skirt and structuring of the corset, probably better than I had ever done on any dress, but as I pulled the dress out of the garment bag Mrs. Hecker's eyes widened in dismay.

"What is it?" I questioned inspecting it for an untrimmed thread.

"You used the wrong stitch," she said sternly. "This isn't period correct for the sewing machines used at that time."

My face fell and I looked down at my dress on the verge of tears. "But I thought since we were doing costumes for a theater production…"

"Theater?" Mrs. Hecker interrupted. "I explained this the first day of class. My friend is a costume designer for a tv miniseries and I assured him that everything we made would be period correct."

"Oh God! You're kidding me," I gasped. Slowly I began to remember all of Mrs. Hecker's lectures on the importance of stitches and keeping things accurate. Believing we were making costumes for a theatrical production I had thought the lectures were odd, but my realization came together too late.

"But I worked so hard on it already," I said feeling my stomach turn. "Do you have to turn it over to him? Can't you just give me a grade for it?"

Mrs. Hecker shook her head. "Not a passing one. No studio would accept this."

"You don't understand. I've worked on this nonstop for three weeks!"

"So did your other classmates and they used the correct stitch and materials," she said eyeing the acrylic piping. "This is something you must get use to. In the real world, there are expectations, but..." she sighed holding up the dress, "I'll tell you what, I'll give you until next class time to fix it."

"That only gives me five days," I whispered as I dragged my hand down my face.

"That's my final offer."

I swallowed down my tears and nodded. "Okay… fine. I'll do it."

Sitting on a bench outside the campus I began to feel as though I would vomit. I knew it would take more time ripping out the seams then it would take to create a whole new dress, but I didn't have enough time to start over. I wasn't sure what I was going to do and for a moment I almost considered taking the fail.

Hearing my cell phone ring I swallowed back my tears and answered, "Hello?"

"Emilia?" It was Ben. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing you can fix. I'm just screwed."

"Tell me what happened," he said calmly. "I want to help."

"I messed up on this big project. I used the wrong stitch and my teacher is only giving me five days to fix it. By the time I pick all the stitches the fabric will be ruined, so I'm just going to have to make an all new one or at least attempt to," I blurted out but struggled to continue feeling my throat tightened. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Don't worry about it. I'm going to help you," Ben assured me. "One of my sister's old friends is a designer and I think she still lives somewhat close. The last I heard she was in Seattle. Just give me a few hours to call around, all right?"

"You don't have to do this, Ben."

"I want to."

"I'm lucky to have you in my life."

"If you only knew how lucky I am to have you."

"Thanks again, Ben."

After that, I began dragging myself back to my car and once I was back at my apartment I crashed on the couch, happy that Hannah wasn't around to witness my miserable state. After about an hour of staring at my ceiling, I heard my phone ring and saw that it was Ben again.

"Hi."

"How are you?" he questioned.

"I don't feel like I'm going to be sick anymore, so I guess that's good."

"I'm glad. So, Sabrina no longer lives in Seattle, but you'll be happy to know she's actually in L.A. and said she'd be happy to help."

"You're kidding me!"

"She said she's free tomorrow around noon. Would that work for you?"

"Yes!"

"I'll text you her address then and… this is odd to ask you, but could you do me a favor?" he questioned in a tone laced with apprehension.

"I think I owe you one. What is it?"

"If you can avoid speaking about me I'd appreciate it. I'm a different person then I use to be and I… I don't want you getting the wrong idea about me," he seemed to word carefully.

I fell silent at the request and was about to ask him to explain why, but I already knew the answer would be something along the lines of his usual vague response.

"Fine," I finally answered.

"Thank you," he breathed. "Call me if you run into any issues. I worry about you Emilia and... I miss you."

"I miss you too," I admitted in a small voice.

He fell silent and I wasn't sure he was still there until he added, "Keep me in the loop, all right?"

"I will. Bye, Ben."

I walked down the street towards a sleek contemporary style business complex. After entering, I found a flight of stairs and began my search. I walked around the building completely lost until I came to a door with the silver numbers 103 to the side. I looked down at my phone to double check the address and taking a deep breath knocked. A short woman with a warm complexion, black curls twisted into a knot, and long dark eyes hidden behind a pair of blue rimmed glasses opened the door.

"Hi. I was looking for Sabrina."

"You're Emilia, right?" she said with a broadening smile.

"Yes," I replied a little baffled. "You're not Sabrina, are you?" I had expected someone older after Ben told me she was a friend of his sister's.

"I am."

I blinked. "Sorry, it's just that... I thought you'd be older."

"Oh really? Do I look that young?" she asked complimented.

"Well, Ben said you were his sister's friend. I guess his sister was a lot younger than him?"

She stared at me confused before answer, "No. Celine is older than him."

"Oh," I responded and decided maybe Sabrina used older models for her collections.

"Well, come in," she chuckled opening the door for me. "He told me you were having a design class emergency."

"More of a design class crisis," I said following her into a white and gray studio with streamline furnishing, impeccable lighting, and the only wall decor a large canvas painting of a girl walking through the rainy city streets with a indigo umbrella. There was something about the painting that seemed familiar.

"Benjamin's mother painted that for me before she died," Sabrina told me after taking notice that I was eyeing it.

I turned to her astonished. "You knew Ben's mother?"

"I knew the whole family. I use to spend my summers with them," she explained.

I opened my mouth to ask her more, but quickly closed it, remembering my promise to Ben.

"So, let's have a look," Sabrina said leaning forward on a long white table.

I proceeded to pull out my beautiful plum and black Victorian dress and explained my situation. I found myself crying as I came to the part where the teacher told me that I used the wrong stitch and that she wouldn't accept it. Sabrina patted my back in an attempt to sooth me and gave me her opinion.

"Let me tell you this, your teacher is full of shit. I actually worked on movie sets. This would be acceptable. No one is that picky, but I suppose if that's what she's asking for then we must do our best," she said running her hands over the bustle and up the back of the dress bodice. "Even though the zipper is hidden it will have to go and I'll show you a way of ripping the stitches without ripping the fabric. I have some lovely Victorian style buttons we can use in its place." Turning it over she inspected the front of the skirt with a concentrated brow. "I am worried about ripping out the more visible stitches. I don't want to ruin your fine work, but what we could do is cut out the piping and hide the exposed hem with some sort of trimming… perhaps black lace?"

"Do you think that will work? I mean… what if she flips it inside out and sees the previous stitches?"

Sabrina rolled her eyes. "That would be ridiculous. If she's judging it off period correct appearance for a movie then the underside shouldn't matter. If she gives you any problems you let me know. I'll call her and set her straight."

"I guess anything is worth trying at this point," I sighed. "But how are we going to sew the new trimming on here with the machine?"

"We're not." Sabrina's mouth formed into a long smirk. "If she wants authentic we're going old school. I hope you have steady fingers because we're going to be sewing all this on by hand. It could take all weekend. You up to it?"

"Ya. Let's do this."

After two days of sewing, the tips of my fingers felt raw and my vision blurry from concentrating on tiny seams, but it was worth it. Sabrina taught me more in that time than I had ever learned from any class and by the time we were done I had made a new friend.

"Do you think we got it all?" I asked as I looked over the plum dress with the same scrutiny I believed Mrs. Hecker would have.

"I know we did," Sabrina assured me as she tucked the dress into a garment bag. After zipping it up, she handed to me. "Call me if she gives you any shit, okay?"

"Okay," I agreed.

"I'm so glad we got to meet Emilia and even happier that Ben finally settled down with such a wonderful girl," she said hugging me. "You take care of him. He hasn't been the same since everyone disappeared."

Despite my promise, I could no longer keep my mouth shut. "What do you mean?"

She tilted her head at me. "You mean you don't know?"

"I don't know much about him at all," I admitted.

"Hmm… perhaps I should let him be the one to tell you about that," she said tapping her temple in thought. "However, it may be too painful for him to talk about."

"Maybe you should tell me then," I urged.

"I'll tell you this much," she started. "It must have been nearly 10 years ago that his father remarried this horrible woman. After that, there was a string of issues with his business caused by her. I remember Celine went in trying to remove Vivianna from the business and from her father's life."

"Vivianna?" I questioned having never heard Ben mention this names before.

Sabrina's brow lifted. "Huh, you really don't know anything about him. Vivianna was his stepmother."

"To be honest I never met any of his family. What happened?"

"They all went missing," Sabrina said in a hushed voice as though someone was listening. "After that Ben had to step away from school and take over the business."

My brow furrowed as I tried to understand all she had told me. Nothing added up. Sabrina said Celine was older than Ben, but talked about her like they were the same age, which couldn't have been more than 35. Also, she said around ten years earlier Ben's father had remarried, then went missing, and that Ben had to drop out of school. The timeline didn't match someone Ben's age and I began to fear that I wasn't with who I thought I was with. I wanted to ask Sabrina more, but I could tell she was anxious about what she had already told me, so I said my goodbyes and headed back to San Francisco.

That night I tried to focus on my school work, but I couldn't seem to shake the idea that I was with someone who may have stolen another person's identity. The only other realistic theory I could think of was that I wasn't with the Ben from Sabrina's story, but that I was with the father who went missing.

At one point, I was so disturbed by the possibility that I contemplated contacting the police, but in the end remembered Ben's promise that he would never deceive me. In my heart I felt there was more to this than what it appeared to be. I knew so little of Ben, but what I did know was that he was honest.

The next morning my uncle, whom I hadn't heard from since the dinner that started it all, called to congratulate me on my marriage. As if my worries had been whispered in his ear by the wind he seemed determined to put them to rest with his effusive description of what Ben had accomplished for the company.

"I know you're talking with him a lot, straightening things out, and I hate to ask this, but do you think he's hiding something, Mickey?" I asked while shading in a design I had for another class. "Like does he seem like someone that's leading a double life?"

"Not at all. You should see what he's done for us Emmy. He's recovered twice the amount I thought he would and he really put Kris in his place," Mickey laughed. "It was the best thing I've ever seen. You're parents have let your brother get away with crap too long and I never could say anything because I'm family, but that didn't stop Benjamin."

"Ben was there?" I questioned dropping my pencil.

"Ya, for like two weeks digging through old accounts and contacting clients non-stop. He spent days just scanning files and sending them off to some guy named Ted at his Seattle office, who seems to be a miracle worker as well. Anyways, we no longer have to file bankruptcy! He saved our asses."

"He's good at that," I muttered.

"Look, I know he's a lot older than you, but Benjamin's a good guy. I know you're not talking to your parents right now because they didn't approve of you getting married, but I more than approve."

"Thanks, Uncle Mickey."

"Well, I should let you go. I've got a few things here I need to start working on but call anytime," he said, "And know that you and Benjamin are always welcome to my house."

"I appreciate that. Bye, Mickey."

After the call, I stared out the window trying to make up my mind about how I felt. In one hand I knew I had every right not to trust Ben due to all the secrecy. On the other hand I think I was drawn to that. He was a puzzle and I had the pieces. I just wasn't sure what picture they were forming.

But what it came down to is what I already knew and what my uncle Mickey had to remind me of; Ben was a good and honest person. So, I put aside the theory that Ben wasn't who he presented himself to be and instead I considered another theory. One I had little evidence of, but felt strong intuition about. Still, I wasn't going to rely on intuition alone. I needed to know more about the man I married.