Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. Anybody who wants to be a thief and plagiarize this story, please go and play elsewhere. It's just bad manners.

Rated M. Younger readers shouldn't be here.

oOo

Author's Note 17th September, 2011:

Songster is my beta and gkkstitch and arfalcon are my pre-readers. They make my words prettier and ask all the right questions that make the story better. Thank you so very much.

SpringHale - come back soon. I miss you!

Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for all of your amazing reviews and kind DMs. I read every single one and they really do mean a lot to me. I'm sorry that I haven't been able to reply to more of you this time around. I'll always try to answer any questions you might have, but hopefully the speedier posting of this chapter will make up a little for that. Let me know what you think. Now, what does Bella do while Edward is away...

oOo

It is a sweet thing, friendship, a dear balm,
A happy and auspicious bird of calm

from: Passages of the Poem or Connected Therewith
by Percy Bysshe Shelley

WEDNESDAY

I sit at my desk and stare at my computer screen. I can't believe what I see.

The fucking bastard.

How is it that it's only 11:15am and I'm already so angry that I want to go and find the fucker and hit him?

Rosalie walks into our office after taking her tour for the day. She looks almost as grumpy as me, and when she slams the door it confirms it. It goes some way to comfort me.

Her demeanor changes when she looks over at me.

"What's up?" she says, "You look as if you want to hit someone."

Yep, Rosalie is on point as ever.

"I do," I reply as I continue to glare at the screen.

"Let me guess... Laurent?"

I have to admire Rosalie. She really does nail things.

"Got it in one."

"What's the idiot done this time?"

I can't reply. All I can do is press my lips together and try to contain the onslaught of expletives that threaten to spill from them.

She makes her way around to my side of the desk, switches off the monitor and taps my shoulder.

"Come on. You're coming with me for a coffee break. We can then figure out your next move."

oOo

"...and now he's asking to see some of my research... 'pool our resources' he says... as if he has any interest in what I do. I bet he just wants to make sure that the Foundation is not giving me more funding than he is getting. He makes me so angry..."

I run out of steam. I look across at Rosalie who is sipping her coffee and nodding in agreement with me. I don't deserve such a good friend.

"I've been ranting, haven't I?" I say a little meekly.

"Maybe just a little." She squeezes my hand. "You've only just hit the ten minute mark. You can carry on if you like." She smiles as she says this.

"I'm so sorry." I haven't paused for breath since we sat down.

She waves her hand in the air dismissively. "No worries. He's annoying and conniving. We need to work out what he's up to and how to contain it."

She is quite the strategist when she gets going.

"Do you think he just wants to get close to you because of A. C.?"

"A. C.?" What is she talking about?

"Arsehole Cullen of course."

"Ugh, yes." I've forgotten all about the nickname. It seems like we came up with it a long time ago. In reality it's been less than a week. And he wants me to call him Edward...

"...then you'll know what he wants for sure."

I stare at Rosalie. How does she even know about Edward, let alone want to figure out what he wants? Even I don't know that...

"What?" I say dumbly.

It's her turn to look at me strangely. "What?" She says back to me, confused. "I said, I think you should meet with Laurent and then you'll know what he wants for sure."

You and your one track mind...I will my inner voice to be quiet. I don't need this kind of distraction right now.

I try to suppress my confusion and cover my zoning out by saying, "I suppose I should, but I really don't want to put up with his shit."

"Be careful. You think you know what he wants, but it might well be something else altogether."

oOo

It's after lunch. I am standing outside Laurent's workrooms. The corridor is dark. It's always dark along this internal corridor. There are no windows to the outside world in this section of the Museum. I can't hear anyone in the workrooms. It's quiet except for the occasional echo that comes from visitors in the main body of the Museum.

The door is slightly ajar and I use the tip of my toe to nudge it open a little further. I secretly hope he isn't there so that I can go on my way. At least I'll be able to tell him in all honesty that I did try to find him.

I poke my head around the door into the room. It's empty, but the door at the end of it is open. This leads to a smaller workspace that Laurent likes to call 'his office'. Officially it's not. Being the pompous man that he is, he has adapted it to be his own personal fiefdom and uses this room as his office because it is bigger than the ones we're supposed to use. It's pathetic.

The light is on in this 'office' of his. I can just about see that Laurent is talking on his cell phone.

"Yes, that's right... So do you think this will work? … Yes..." He starts chuckling at whatever the other person has said. "I thought you might like it... Good..." It's amazing how smarmy he can be even on the phone. "I'll see what I can get you... Right... Goodbye."

He puts the phone down and claps his hands together. He is obviously pleased with the outcome of the conversation. Maybe this will put him in a better mood when I speak to him.

I knock on the outside door and walk into the main workspace. He looks up and seems surprised to see me.

"Ah, Bella my dear. How nice to see you." His smile has a reptilian quality to it.

Urgh, he makes my skin crawl.

"Laurent. You mentioned pooling resources?" I don't even try to make small-talk. I want to get out of here as quickly as possible.

"Ah, yes. I was wondering if I might look over your research." He smiles showing yellowing teeth and continues to talk about my work, "...it seemed to me that if I come across anything similar to the drawings and dot patterns that interest you so much in the ceramics I am cataloging, there could be some potential cross-over."

Okay, so I wasn't expecting this. I had no idea that he knew the details of my work, let alone that he might try and extend an olive-branch of sorts. To say I'm taken aback would be an understatement.

That said, I still don't trust the bastard.

"How kind of you, Laurent," I say with as much warmth as I can muster. "That's unlikely though, don't you think?" I try to smile back, but it's not genuine. I doubt he notices it as he plows on.

"Oh, I don't know, my dear, you can never tell where a breakthrough might come. And if we found something that extraordinary, imagine what the Foundation would think."

Ah. I knew that it would come back to the Foundation in the end, and the way he stresses it leaves little to the imagination as to whom he might be referring. Laurent is so transparent, it's a joke. Does he really think I'm that naive?

There's no way I'm going to give him all of my research to look over. But I can't totally refuse him. I can just imagine how he'd use that against me in the future with Riley. Or even my new immediate boss.

I opt for vague positivity. It'll keep him at bay enough for me to think of my next move. Rosalie will be pleased with my focused thinking.

"Good idea, Laurent." Yes, ingratiating him will buy me time. "Let me dig out some materials for you to look over. Meantime, why don't I send you an outline and that will give you the broad brushstrokes of my work."

He looks rather surprised that I'm offering him anything at all. He recovers quickly.

"Oh, I think I'm up-to-date on your overall thesis. Maybe you can give me a more in depth view of where you currently are on it."

There it is. He wants to know exactly where I'm at on my research. Why? What could he possibly want with it? I need to stall in the nicest possible way so that this doesn't explode into something bigger, that I'm not prepared for.

"Sure. It'll take me a bit of time as it's all in note-form at the moment. I need to write it up. Let me give you that overview for now and we'll take it from there."

He struggles for a reply for a second – I think he'd still like to push me for more information, but I've effectively blocked him for now.

"Good. Thank you, Bella."

I leave thinking that I almost preferred his condescending 'Miss Swan's'. This faux first-name niceness is far too unsettling. I know I can't let my guard down with him.

oOo

To: DrISwan(at)TheBritMuseum(dot)org
From: EACullen(at)CullenFoundation(dot)com
Date: Wednesday, 15th January 2011, 06:04
Subject: Contract

Dear Dr. Swan,

I wanted you to have my contact details. If you have any questions regarding your new contract, then please don't hesitate to email me. I'd be happy to answer any questions you have.

I look forward to seeing you again in the not too distant future.

Yours faithfully,

E. A. Cullen
The Cullen Foundation

I can honestly say that I have no idea what to make of this email. A large part of me (and that includes my snarky voice) is upset at the formal and impersonal tone of it. Okay, so I realize that he can't be more expansive in a work email, but I expect a little bit of warmth. This feels like the cold shoulder, especially following what happened last night. It wasn't as if it had been a normal working dinner. Far from it.

I felt so shy after my brazen performance I didn't know what to do or where to look. I opted for the easy way out of making any kind of decision and kept my eyes closed. When I opened them, he was at my side on his knees and looked at me with a sense of wonder. He didn't say anything; he simply took hold of my hand and kissed the back of it. When I met his eyes, my heart still beating too quickly, he squeezed my hand gently and said a soft, "thank you". It made me feel like a million dollars, as if I had bestowed upon him the greatest gift imaginable. As I woman, I had never felt so powerful.

He had then been attentive, so unlike the other times we had been together. He asked me if I needed something to drink, if I was alright, did I want to change, have a shower, stay for a while longer, go home? After having never been given choices, I was inundated. Maybe it was because I was in his home, or maybe because we had reached an unspoken understanding that I had some say and choice in what happened between us, I don't know, but this felt new, different and as a result all the more exciting.

I opted for a glass of water and a moment in the bathroom, where I changed back into the clothes I had come in and left the dress draped carefully over the back of the antique chair that stood in the corner. I came out to find him waiting for me. He held out his hand and I didn't hesitate to put my hand in his. He smiled the most brilliant smile that made him look ten years younger.

We hadn't spoken much. He took me to another room, his office, all wooden panels, much like the front hallway and tall bookcases. There he handed me an envelope.

"Your contract," he'd said, "You don't have to read it now. Take it home and make sure it's all to your satisfaction. I leave tomorrow for Italy, but will be back within two weeks."

Taylor was waiting by the front door and once again, Mr. Cullen... Edward, kissed my hand and said, "Until the next time we meet, please take care."

How was it that someone who could treat me in this most gentleman-like fashion could then write such an impersonal email? I just can't understand it. I mean, I know that it's on our work system, but surely a bit of humanity, or even a casual reference to our dinner wouldn't be inappropriate. He could at least have hinted at something more that no one else would pick up on; he's clearly a smart guy.

Maybe he got what he wanted... And you know the saying, out of sight, out of mind...

I want my inner voice to shut up. And I want more than ever to ask Rose and Angela about it. But can I really tell them about what's happened? I'll have to tell them everything, and while earlier this morning I felt more confident about where I stood in terms of Mr. Cullen... Edward... after last night, in the cold, hard light of this email I'm now not sure. Then again, maybe they'll have a different perspective on it and be able to explain to me if I am being a fool, or alternatively why he is seems to switch between hot and cold more often than a faulty tap.

I decide to wait and see how I feel about it on Friday when I see them both together for our usual drinks. He's away for now, so there is little I can do about anything, anyway.

As I start packing up for the day, I can feel the need to cry become all the more stronger.

You knew this would probably happen.

My inner voice is not doing much to allay my fears. Fooling around with the boss rarely comes to any good.

THURSDAY

Mike holds out the paperwork he has kindly filled out for me.

"Here you go, all done. Are you sure you don't need any help? I've got a break coming up so I can come and keep you company."

Mike really is quite amazing. The man doesn't know when to quit.

"No, really, it's fine. I'll need to concentrate so it's probably best if I get to it." I feel much calmer this morning. Much more myself.

"No problem. Another time."

See? Amazing. He really doesn't get it.

oOo

The door to Storage Six swings open easily and when I turn on the lights, most of them flicker on. I remember there was some glass or something on the floor the last time was I was in here so I walk in tentatively. Nothing, no crunch under my feet. Mike must have gotten maintenance to come and do some much needed work. I'm impressed. Mike's not usually the most observant or considerate of people unless it directly affects him in a positive way.

In this clearer light it will be easier to find the box that I'm after. I quickly find box 7890 and put it to one side to take out with me when I leave. I falter slightly as I immediately recall the last time I was here. Instinctively my muscles tense and I feel a jolt of excitement as I recall what happened. It's silly, but I can't help looking around me to see that I am really alone this time. Then I feel angry at myself. I don't want to think about the email that he sent me. Was this all just a game to him and now that he's had his fun it's going to be business as usual? I feel humiliated at the thought.

I shake my head and try to refocus. I know I can lose myself in my work. And now that I know my job is secure – I anticipate my sarcastic inner voice reminding me exactly who I now work for and tell her to shut up – I can continue. I'm at an interesting point after all.

Box 7891 must be somewhere here, close-by. I move several other boxes in this area but come up empty. It's such a mess in here. You'd imagine that the Museum would keep things in better order considering how important its work is, but all the storage rooms are like this, crammed and disorganised. This is no exception.

I'm not having much luck. I glance around. Maybe it was misplaced when all the boxes were moved up here. I move farther into the long, narrow room and it gets progressively more dusty as I go.

8012... 8398... it's unlikely that the box I'm after will have found it's way all the way down here. Despite this, I continue towards the end of the room. I smile at my own futile actions. Clearly I'm an optimist and think that my box will suddenly appear before me.

I get to the back of the room. The light is dimmer here, three of the bulbs overhead aren't working, which means all of the boxes are shrouded in darkness. I peer at them but can't make out the numbers very well. I sigh and turn around, giving up on finding my box when I notice a couple of numbers on the side of box ..91. I can't see the rest of them, but could this be it?

I have to stretch over another two boxes in order to get to this one that is sitting by itself on the floor. It's an awkward angle from here, but it's the easiest way to get to it. My fingers are just out of reach of the box handles. I push myself a little further, now on tip toes, and manage to grab hold of it.

"Yes," I say triumphantly before letting out a yelp. Pain courses down my right arm as it scrapes along a sharp object poking out of the cardboard box lying next to the one I'm after. Stubborn as ever, I don't let go as I heave my box to sit on top of the pile by my side. There's no way I'm letting go of this sucker, especially now that I've sustained an injury because of it. I think of my father and hear him chuckling at me, saying, "Hard headed as ever."

I look at my arm and can already see drops of blood on the floor. Twisting it around, I see I've badly grazed the outer part of my arm and that it's bleeding quite a lot. I take a tissue that I find in my pocket and wipe my arm, getting as much blood as I can. Pressing it to my arm I hope that this will give me time to get to the nearest restroom where I can clean it more.

oOo

The spoils of my adventure in Storage Six sit on my desk. 7890 is also with me and sits on the floor by my feet. Riley has just left, as has Mike, who, at the sight of blood, passed out and had to be propped up in Rosalie's seat for ten minutes. She was not thrilled at this turn of events.

Apparently the English, while terrifically reserved in every other situation, suddenly come to life at the slightest sign of an accident. I don't think I've solicited such concern from work colleagues before. Even Lauren made an appearance. She only leaves her office at the end of every day. Today, she's not only come to see me and my injury, but she's also been crammed in a tiny space with Riley. This is big news as she can't stand the sight of him since their affair.

Now, finally, the office is quiet. Rosalie has gone to take her tour; I am bandaged up and box 7891 waits to be opened.

I slide my fingers along the sealed top. Compared to all the other boxes in that section of Storage Six, this box is surprisingly dust free. Ah, well, all the better for me, I think as I reach for the scissors. I'm just about to open up the box when my phone rings.

"Bella, it's Jake."

He and I spoke last night and caught up on our news. He is very excited at being over in Paris as he is studying a newly discovered section of the Paris catacombs. Jake specializes in 'The Reality of Mythologies'. It's also the working title of his latest book. I tease him about being obsessed with fairy tales. A lot. He likes to think of himself as Indiana Jones.

"Can't get enough of me?"

"When could I ever? Why do you think I followed you to college?"

"That was only because you realized all the tail you could chase." I run the sharp blade of the scissors down along the seal and fold the cardboard flaps down.

"You wound me with your cynicism."

"Am I wrong?"

"Not entirely."

"Ah, I knew it." I peer into the box and pull out the first bundle of papers and photos. "You can't keep secrets from me."

"I never could."

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call? Don't tell me that you can't get enough of my dulcet tones."

"No, this is vaguely work-related, so, you know, you don't need to feel guilty or anything." Jake is another one who knows and respects how much I love my work.

"Oh, well, in that case I'm delighted you called." I can't help but tease him.

"I knew you would be... Anyway, I just wanted to check in with you about those dot patterns you were talking about yesterday. Do you have an example of one that you could send me?"

"Sure. Why?"

"I'll show you mine when you've shown me yours." Yes, Jake gives as good as he gets.

FRIDAY

For the third time in three days, I stare incredulously at my computer screen. I know I've thought this before, but really, I can't believe what I see.

I pick up my phone and call the international number I have for Jake.

He picks up with the gruff hello of someone who has his mind on something else.

I don't bother with pleasantries. "There's got to be a mistake."

"That's what I thought, but Bella, these are genuine nineteenth century markings. We got the carbon dating results today."

"They can't be genuine."

"You need to come and see for yourself."

Two pictures on my screen sit side by side. One is the photograph I was looking for in box 7891. It was taken at the caves at Chauvet-Pont-d'Arc, in southern France. The other is a photograph Jake took at the Paris catacombs yesterday. Both seem to show exactly the same image.

The reason I can't believe my eyes is that the caves at Chauvet were only discovered in 1994. So how the hell does a prehistoric image have an identical copy, both in size and pattern, that appears to have been recreated nearly 35,000 years later in the catacombs of Paris?

oOo

I clutch the glass of red wine that Angela hands me and almost down it in one gulp. I look up to find both Rosalie and Angela looking at me.

"What?"

"Oh nothing," says Rosalie dryly, "I just hadn't realized until a moment ago that you might be a border-line alcoholic."

I laugh, and although both of them smile, I can see a trace of concern in their faces.

"So, what's up? How's your week been?" Angela's question is said too casually. I haven't really spoken to her since last weekend. Rosalie has stopped rummaging through her bag and is still as she too waits for my answer.

"Oh, you know, fine..." I reply. I am being mean, but I can't help playing with them a little. I have made my mind up. I am going to tell them about Mr. Cu... Edward. I need their advice. I also need their opinion on my contract and what I should do about Jake's call yesterday.

Rosalie's stony look says it all. I know her well enough to know that she is about to launch in a full scale assault. I laugh and hold my hands up. "Okay, okay, I'm teasing you... " and with that I start to recount what has happened since last weekend. I try not to go into too many sordid details, but even the abbreviated highlights wouldn't look out of place in one of Rosalie's fan fiction stories.

oOo

"...and he was such a gentleman last night and said he'd see me in two weeks. Then I get this email yesterday from him." I slide a printout of said email to them both. "I know it's to my work account but it's so cold, I don't know what to think..."

The looks on their faces would be comical if this wasn't my life we were talking about. It's a mix between shock, incomprehension and admiration. I have told them, albeit in vague terms, about my encounters with Edward.

Edward... well done. It's getting easier to say isn't it?

I block out the inner snark, only to hear Rosalie be a terrifyingly similar substitute for it.

"You let your boss get you off on the Tube?"

"Errr," I reply before she continues.

"And then you let him get you off again in the Museum?" This is like being reprimanded by my parents, "Where you work? Where I work?" she continues.

Her face is an interesting combination of admiration and horror. She ends her recap of my story with the statement, "No wonder you didn't want to go to dinner with him on Tuesday."

Hearing it said like this, it all seems very sordid. I hate being reminded of it.

"Why didn't you tell us all of this?" She asks. She looks hurt. It makes the feelings of guilt I've had over the last week resurface. By not talking to them, I've been feeling as if I've been lying to my friends. I've been studiously ignored Ang's calls, texting her to say that I'd see her tonight, and with Rose, well, with her I've been plain evasive.

"I'm sorry." I say quietly. I'm embarrassed as I wonder about what my best friends must think of me after what I've just told them. In this moment I realize that I have made a mistake in not telling them before now. They know me the best, have never judged me and have always been there for me. I haven't been fair to them.

Rosalie isn't one to let something this important go. "That's not an answer."

"I know... I just..." Admitting mistakes is never easy I know, but this is excruciating. By admitting how I feel about what's happened makes it more real. It doesn't come easily and I can still feel the relucance to expose myself. "...I didn't want you to think badly of me." This isn't a lie but when I look at Rose I know she's still waiting.

I look down at the tabletop as I ask, "Do you think I'm being stupid?"

I'm not sure I want to know the answer. The answer might not be the one I secretly want to hear.

I peek up at their faces. I'm not sure what Rosalie sees in mine, but her face softens.

"It's just not like you sweetheart. It's all pretty... extreme..."

"I know. I just... I don't know." I shake my head.

"How do you feel about him? Honestly." Angela as ever gets to the heart of the matter.

"It scares me so much. But I have to tell you, I've never felt anything like I have when I'm with him. He makes me feel different... alive."

She looks worried at my answer. They both do. Hell, I am as well. I take a deep breath.

"Look, I'm going to the bar to get another bottle. Here's my contract. When I get back we can talk about it all. I know it's a lot to take in, but I really need your advice."

And with that I put my contract on the table and make my way to the bar. Being a Friday night, the bar is heaving and it's at least four people deep to the bar. That's okay with me, I don't mind the wait. It gives me a reprieve of sorts and will give Ang and Rose time to dissect things.

Twenty minutes later, I'm back in my seat and extremely nervous.

They have their game faces on. This could go either way.

"What do you want us to say Bella?" I realize that Angela has opted for bad cop. This is unusual. Of the two of them, I would have thought that she would be the one to push for me to go with my heart. Then again, she is the lawyer. Maybe the contract he's given me isn't as straightforward as I thought it was when I read through it.

I was prepared for this approach from Rosalie, but coming from Angela, it's thrown me more than I expected. I stumble over my words as I say, "I don't know. I know that the likelihood of the situation working out with him is slim, but I just figure that it's the first time that I've been remotely attracted to someone for a long time... and I didn't think the contract was that bad. I mean, I know I report to him, but he doesn't dictate the direction I want to pursue in my research, nor what I can publish, as long as he gets a one month grace period to read any articles first. That seems okay to me as long as it secures my funding for as long as I want the job..." I'm babbling but can't seem to stop. I'm vaguely aware I might be making a bit of a fool of myself.

Angela has the kindness to intervene. "Bella. Stop and breathe." I do as she suggests.

"I've had a quick look through the contract, and I have to say that it is very favorably weighted toward you. If it's a game he is playing, then it doesn't seem to be professionally motivated. Well, other than the fact that if the affair got out, it could make it hard for you to find such a solid platform to work from. On the other hand, you've been in a much worse position." She looks at me meaningfully, and then to Rosalie. "Per the contract, Bella gets to keep all copyright over her work." She shrugs apologetically at having to dredge up the past. "That didn't happen the last time."

Rosalie agrees. "Your work would be safe. It's more the unconventional nature of your, er, relationship... You're right. I'd be confused. And the email he sent after last night doesn't exactly bode well." She looks at me and adds, "Sorry B, I don't want to sound callous. I just want you to be careful."

"I know... I just... I wish I could understand where he's coming from..."

"I hate to break it to you ladies, but most men are peculiarities. It's probably best we don't try and over-analyze." Ang sighs before she continues, "Just be careful. I don't want to see you get hurt either, but I guess we should give A. C. the benefit of doubt."

I glare at her when I hear the nickname.

"Hey, it stands until he truly proves himself otherwise. He's not doing a great job so far."

I have to concede to this.

"What are you going to do about Paris?"

"Well, I know that it says in my contract that I have to inform him of any new discoveries, but I figure that I haven't actually discovered anything for certain yet. I think I'll go over tomorrow for a weekend break to visit my friend, and if I happen to visit his work and see for myself, I can inform the Foundation then." Rose is nodding; Angela is frowning. "Don't you think that'll work?" I ask her.

"You can certainly make the case although it's a gray area. There's an email trail of course, so bear that in mind..."

I love Angela and her covert mind.

"Okay. I'll be careful, and if anything comes from the visit I'll leave word for them immediately."

oOo

I'm home and have finished packing a small suitcase for my trip to Paris. I have already booked my Eurostar ticket. I haven't checked my personal email since Monday so decide to log on quickly before I go to bed.

To: BellaSwan101(at)gmail(dot)com
From: EACullen(at)CullenFoundation(dot)com
Date: Wednesday, 15th January 2011, 06:05
Subject: Last night

My dear Isabella,

I hope this finds you well. How are you feeling? How is your throat? Have you been taking the syrup?

I very much enjoyed our evening together and I am already looking forward to seeing you again. I wonder if I might be so bold as to invite you to dinner next Saturday? My work here is progressing well, so I should be back in a week rather than two.

Yours affectionately,

Edward

I could kick myself. This email was sent the same date as the one he sent to my work address. I just haven't checked this account for a while. I hadn't thought to check it as so few people use it these days. I wonder how he got this address? I try to remember if I used this account when I applied for the job. I don't think I did, I'm sure I used my Harvard account. So how did he get it? Have I misjudged him?

Well, this latest turn certainly gives me food for thought as I get ready for bed. If I was confused before, it's nothing to what I am now.

As I get into bed, I try to put him out of my mind, but I know I'm in for a sleepless night.

oOo
End Notes:

The caves at Chauvet-Pont-d'Arc have been mentioned before in Chapter Seven, but if you want to be reminded of them take a look at www(dot)culture(dot)gouv(dot)fr/culture/arcnat/chauvet/en/index(dot)htm

oOo
The sommelier at Un Souvenir Léger in Chapter Ten was borrowed from Sleepyvalentina's Fall to Ruin One Day. Well done Breaking Aurora, who was the first to spot it. If you don't know it, this is a fantastic story in which Bella and Edward re-connect after ten years and a less than happy separation... Go now and read and say hello from me.

oOo
Come and find me on Twitter as ElleNathan