When reading the last chapter, you may have come across $$$$. My apologies; it was supposed to say 715 euros, which is approximately $1000 US. Also, the furniture Emmett is seen making is inspired by real furniture. Links to pictures on my profile!

As always, thanks to sisipepperell for the thorough job. And Kenza, I used the Sorbonne!

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the authors. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

The Artist's Model

AU All Human. Edward Masen is a painter in Paris known for his sensual nude portraits when he stumbles across Bella Swan.

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Chapter 21: Idol

"This is the first and last time I am ever attending a movie premiere," I grumbled as someone jostled me from behind. I whipped my head around to fix him with an icy glare. The youth, a good half foot shorter than I'd anticipated, took one look at my face and stepped back twice very deliberately. I stared him down a while longer.

"Why? It's so much fun!" Bella clutched a magazine to her chest, her neck craning to see above the bustle of the crowd.

I grunted. "I don't understand why everyone likes this James Dene guy. I mean, what kind of name is that anyway? Is he trying to be funny?"

She was now on the tips of her toes, trying futilely to see past the man that was now blocking her way. Ironically, nothing was happening on the red carpet. "It's his real name."

"Then his parents had a lousy sense of humour. Why would anyone want to see some gay cowboy movie anyways?"

I heard the bigotry in my voice, hating myself for its whiny tone. It was irrational of me to be jealous of some movie star, but there it was, brewing inside and turning my insides hot and ugly.

Luckily for me, Bella did not hear my last comment. A sudden hush had spread through the crowd, all heads turned in one direction.

"Oh my," Bella said faintly, her dark eyes impossibly wide. "He's here."

A sleek black limo had pulled up to the sidewalk. There was a flurry of excited glances and meaningful nudges, but I could only feel the anxiety, on the brink of pain, exuding from Bella. One shiny shoe emerged, then another. As soon as the light caught his blond hair, everyone went wild as a tsunami of people rushed to attack the poor guy. Several burly security guards, some even bigger than Emmett, worked hard to calm the rabid fans but to no avail. Bella, I was proud to note, did not rush ahead as the crowd did. Instead, she was swept up with them, clearly unwilling and bewildered at the chaos.

I fought my way over to her, earning several nasty jabs in the ribs and even more nasty glares. I fished her out from where she was squashed amongst teenage girls, holding her close to me to protect her from the overexcitement.

James Dene made his way slowly down the red carpet, pausing to pose for the cameras that blinded with their flash. A pretty redhead dangled off his arm, clearly smitten with him.

Knowing Bella would want nothing more than to be closer to her idol, I shoved people aside until we were at the front. I sighed, knowing I was subjecting myself to my own torture, allowing myself to be ripped up by envy. I truly was a masochist.

The light bulbs were unbearably bright up close. I half-raised my arm to squint at James Dene who in an estimated five seconds would be mere inches away. Unlike some of the crazier fangirls, Bella's arms were not stretched out in hopes of grazing his expensive suit; her idolatry of him was purely professional, she claimed. She admired his great body of work, and acknowledged his superior skills as a screenwriter, producer and actor. That she didn't have any fantasies involving his hair fisted in her hand was the only reason I'd agreed to accompany her.

Another step placed him directly in front of Bella. I didn't know exactly what caught his attention first—if it was the way the wind blew at that moment, sweeping her hair and its luscious scent to him, or the beguiling smile she had fixed on her face, or that Bella looked more stunning than usual that day, with her lips the colour of apple blossoms and her cheeks flushed with the heat of too many bodies. But at Bella, he smirked, pushing his oversized sunglasses to the top of his head. His eyes, a cold and detached blue, skimmed down her body before meeting her eyes again. He dipped his chin once in offhand acknowledgement. Bella nodded in response.

My arm tightened around her, bringing her closer to me. I watched as his eyes traced the contour of my arm to my face, where I'm sure my face did not disguise the glowing hatred I had for him at that moment. James Dene's head bobbed again, his sunglasses sliding back down again. He kept on walking with his redhead friend, not sparing us one more glimpse. I did not relax until he was swallowed by the darkness of the movie theatre.

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She didn't look at me once throughout the movie, so intense was her concentration. I found it difficult to focus on the darkened theatre, my eyes always sliding over to the immobile Bella. The appreciative sighs and murmurs of the female audience during James Dene's many love scenes, with his female and male co-stars, soon got on my nerves. I rolled my eyes when the two men went skinny-dipping, one woman actually squealing in her perverted excitement.

I watched the movie in Bella's eyes as the colours flickered in her brown depths. She blinked infrequently and not one expression ever contorted her face. Occasionally, her fingers would twitch around mine, leaving me to wonder exactly what was passing through her mind. Bella's silence and inattentiveness, devoid of the warmth I was used to emanating from her, made me restless. After the hour mark, I constantly shifted in my seat, my legs crossing and uncrossing themselves. Once, I accidentally kicked the seat of the person in front of me, earning myself a hot glare. I mouthed an apology to him, but he turned around before waiting for it. I busied myself with checking my watch constantly.

My brain faintly registered James Dene's heartbroken sobbing before the screen blackened. The credits began rolling, the house lights emitting their dim glow. At once, the buzzing began, of voices praising James Dene's sensitivity as an actor, but more importantly, his good looks. I heard several crude comments that made me wish for brain shampoo. Clearly, their minds spent more time in the gutter than Emmett's did.

I got to my feet, anxiously stretching my arms and legs to let out the cramps. Bella's hand tugged me back down. I feel clumsily into my seat.

"Stay," she said, still not tearing her eyes from the screen. I raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "I want to see if he'll come out afterwards." I noticed the magazine, clutched to her chest with her free hand.

I sighed deeply. On the one hand, she finally talked to me. It was to tell me she wanted to meet her idol, but it was something. I was hopeless when it came to Bella, and I was determined to do anything she wanted. And so I stayed.

I stood up to let the occasional person out, shrugging my shoulders in apology when Bella did not stand to let them by. Mostly, I stared at the white words scrolling up the black screen, unable to discover what held Bella fixated to her seat.

When finally the screen spewed no more names, the last remaining people let out a whoop and applauded heartily. Bella, I'd noticed regretfully, had dropped my hand in order to clap for the movie.

As one by one the people filed out, I saw Bella's face contract in worry and frustration. An usher came in shortly after to sweep up the popcorn scattered on the sticky floor. We were the last ones.

"Bella," I nudged her, "I don't think he's coming back."

Silently but smoothly, she rose to her feet, brushing by the usher. She shot Bella an exasperated look for tripping over the popcorn pile. I flipped her a few coins for her troubles, jogging to catch up to Bella.

Despite the empty theatre, the streets were swarming. I caught up to Bella easily, lacing my fingers through hers. We walked quietly to my car. I stopped to open the door for her, noticing the stars reflected in her eyes as she glanced up into the night sky, flush with a tint of royal blue. Gently, I helped her in.

"It's a beautiful night," I commented lightly as I slid into the driver's seat. I throttled the ignition, accelerating smoothing to meet the traffic flowing away from the theatre.

"Yes," she replied vaguely. "You can see the stars. A rarity."

"Which one's your favourite?"

"Star?" Bella asked. I nodded. She stared out the window. "Deneb. One of the most luminous stars to ever exist and around 1500 light years away." From what I could see of her half-illuminated face, she was smiling bitterly. "Unfortunately, being a white supergiant, it will have a short but brilliant life." A pause followed her ominous statement.

"What did you think of the movie?" I asked, fishing desperately for the connection we seemed to have lost for the past few hours.

She turned her obsidian eyes to me. They were solemn, powerful in their heavy knowledge. "Hypnotic. James has stage presence."

There was something too offhand, too casual about the way she referred to him. I dug deeper. "Do you know him?" I gripped the steering wheel tighter.

Bella tilted her face to the window, out to the sky. "Not anymore. Maybe I did once, or maybe I never knew."

And I thought I was cryptic.

"He went to Sorbonne," Bella continued, her voice wistful. "We were in a lot of classes together. He was always a very talented guy. Still is. One day, sometime in second year, he just disappeared from the campus, never to be heard of again. Two months later he was on every movie poster in town." She smiled, but there was nothing genuine about it. "I remember all the plays he used to star in at school. I went to every one."

I was so deeply engrossed in Bella's tale, I almost forgot to turn. My tires squealed as I cut across several lanes. Even the angry honking could not deter Bella from her rant.

"We had an understanding, James and I. He used to write me little poems, very witty." She laughed to herself. An unsettled feeling crept into my stomach as I realized she wasn't talking to me. She was lost in her own thoughts, far away from here. "We had a lot in common. He was well versed in Shakespeare and Austen; all the classics. He could recite every single one of Robert Frost's poems. And he had a flair for the dramatic." A sigh escaped her lips, low and contemplative. "When he left, I was devastated. I couldn't imagine him going without saying goodbye. And now it seems, though a few years have passed, he's forgotten me." I sensed that this was the part that depressed her the most.

Briefly, I took my eyes off the road to seek out her hand. When I touched her open palm with my fingers, she flinched slightly. I startled her back into the present. Sadly, she smiled, enclosing her hand in mine.

"It sucks to be forgotten. I've given up on dreams of being a famous actress or painter; all I want is to be is remembered, even if it's only by a few select people."

I caught her eye. Maintaining the connection between us, I brought her hand to my lips, brushing her knuckles tenderly. She gave me a watery smile of thanks, wiping off the tears that had brimmed over with the back of her free hand.

"You're not forgettable. Think of all the people who will always remember you: Alice, Jasper, Emmett, even Rosalie. And I will never forget you," I vowed to her.

A light drizzle settled over Paris like a fine dust. The windshield wipers beat to the rhythm of my heart, the sounds of our tires soothing in its familiarity. The slickness forced my attention away from her and onto the increasingly slippery roads. But the weight of her hand in mine comforted me, and I let myself hope that it was of some solace to Bella as well.

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I know some of you won't be too happy about what happens this chapter, but just to let you know, things will get sweeter before souring. Thoughts? Questions? Just...review!