Twenty-One- True Meaning of Romance

Bella

Edward guided us toward a cozy looking little café with outdoor seating. I don't know why, but it just seemed when in Paris, I should eat outside beneath the umbrella.

Rose shrieked when she saw the menu—all in French.

I laughed.

"How am I gonna know what to order? She asked. "I was hoping for bubble and squeak or toad in the hole."

I stared at her. "What?"

She tilted up her nose. "See? I told you it wasn't easy to understand British."

"You eat those things?" I asked.

She nodded. "Every chance I get. So what should we eat here?"

I glanced over at Edward. He blushed. "I can translate only about half the menu," he offered.

"That should be good enough," Emmett said. "I fancy some sort of sandwich."

Edward began to translate, and by the time the waiter came over, we'd decided on four croque-monsieur— these really yummy ham and cheese sandwiches I couldn't get enough of.

"We are really daredevils," I murmured when the waitress walked away.

"Hey, we crossed the Pacific," Rose reminded me. "That was pretty daring."

"Yes," I had to admit. "It was."

The waiter brought over our drinks. Rose stared at the glasses and pitcher.

"What is all of this?" she asked.

"The closest thing I've come to lemonade," I explained. "They give you fresh lemon juice, and you mix it with water and sugar syrup."

Rose nodded. "Interesting."

We all mixed up s round, and Rose nodded again.

"Not bad." She leaned forward. "You know, when I filled out my application for this program, I expected there to be some cultural differences, but I didn't realize how subtle some of them would be or how many."

I smiled warmly. "Me either."

"What have you found to be the hardest thing to do over here, Edward?" she prodded.

He glanced at me. the right side of his mouth tipped up, and for some reason, my heart played a tap dance along my ribs. His green eyes twinkled. "Take off my shirt in class."

"What?" Rose asked.

"Our sketching class," I explained. "The guys had to remove their shirts so we could sketch . . . the body."

"Whoa. And I thought getting up in front of the class and revealing my goals for the year was hard," Rose told us.

"Did you have to remove your shirt?" Emmett asked me, wagging his eyebrows. Rose elbowed him in the stomach and told him to hush.

I felt my face turn hot as I nodded.

"But she got to wear a bathing suit underneath," Edward muttered.

"No fair!" Emmett exclaimed.

"That's what I said," Edward chimed in.

Thankfully, our sandwiches arrived and everyone was too busy stuffing their faces to talk much. My gaze continued to drift between Edward and the carnation. And the intense way that he studied the people at the table.

And I knew, I knew in my heart, that he was going to sketch this moment.

When we finished eating, we headed to the Eiffel Tower. As we got close, Edward asked Emmett to run ahead of him.

"It is getting late," Emmett said as he glanced at the time on his phone. "I suppose we should go check on the line to the lift."

"The lift?" Edward asked.

"The elevator," Rose said. "We'll wait for you over there." She pointed to a spot under the tower.

"Gotcha," Edward said. He leaned toward me and whispered, "We'll take our time so you can visit with Rosalie."

Then he and Emmett went in search of the elevator, and I had what I'd waited for so long—some time alone with Rose t would span more than a couple of minutes. And Edward had somehow known that's what I wanted, and he'd made an excuse to get himself and Emmett out of the way.

"I don't remember Edward being so nice," Rose told me. I heard a bafflement in her voice.

I twirled my solitary carnation. "I've got a problem, Rose."

Her brow creased. "What?"

"I think I love him," I blurted out.

"And that's a problem because…?" she inquired.

"He doesn't want a relationship. He wants a French girl. Someone who speaks only a little English. Someone with willing lips." I spat out the last part. It still irked me that he was looking for that.

"Did he tell you that?" she asked as a bunch of French schoolchildren paraded by.

"Yes," I admitted sulkily. "When I told him that I wanted a French guy."

"You told him that?"

I nodded. "Like I told you on Skype, he set me up with his host brother. I think he may have even paid for some of the date. And he is definitely the one who sent the flowers."

"You're kidding?"

I shook my head. It was crazy. I didn't know to be happy or sad. Here was this guy doing all these things for me, and he wasn't my boyfriend. But suddenly, I wanted him to be. Even if he wasn't French.

"Bella, he obviously likes you," Rose said quietly.

I snapped my gaze to hers. "As a friend."

"I think more than that," she told me.

I heard familiar English-speaking voices. First Edward's, then Emmett's. So much for taking their time. I really needed Rose's advice on what to do.

But there wasn't time to ask her any more questions. The guys came over, and Emmett looked really bummed.

"It's a two-hour wait to get to the top," he announced. "I'm terribly sorry, Rose, but we're going to have to head back home before that."

She shrugged. "That's okay. Maybe we can come back."

"I wish you would," I told her. I felt tears start to sting my eyes. It was always so hard to say goodbye to my friends.

She gave me a hug, and I hugged her back—tightly.

"Romance is in the air," she whispered.

For her, maybe. Not for me. All my dreams for this year were crumbling.

We broke apart, and she cradled her bouquet of flowers and slipped her hand in Emmett's.

"Cheerio," she called out with a British accent.

I turned to Edward. "Thanks for coming."

"It was fun." He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "So, why is it that the British seem to always have to say something about cereal when they leave?"

I smiled. "Cheerio, means goodbye. You dimwit!"

"I know that. Just wanted to see you smile." He admitted. "So, did you want to go to the top?"

I grimaced. "It's a two-hour wait."

"Yeah, but we aren't going anywhere. Unless you've got a hot date," he remarked.

I laughed. "No. how about you?"

He gave me that sexy lopsided grin. "Nope." Then he took my hand. "Let's be tourist a little longer."

~/ /YB\ \~

We waited in line for a little over two hours, and we talked the entire time; about everything; home, Forks, school, Paris, and dreams.

And we held hands.

Finally our turn came to climb into the double-Decker yellow elevator and ride to the top of the tower.

My hand tightened around Edward's as we began the ascent. Riding up the tower was not a good idea if you are afraid of heights. The third level, which houses the viewing gallery, was 899 feet above the ground.

That's a lot of feet, I thought as everything below us kept getting smaller, and smaller, and smaller.

When we reached the top, my heart was pounding a mile a minute. I glanced over at Edward. He seemed okay with the height. "We are really high up," I said inanely.

"Be glad it's not a hot day," he suggested. "On hot days the tower is six inched higher due to the metal expanding."

"This is quite high enough, thank you," I said as we stepped out onto the platform.

And my breath nearly left my lungs. The sun was setting, painting a golden glow over Paris. We walked to the railings and simply stood. My back to his chest, his arms around me.

In silence, with no need to say anything.

We watched the sun disappear beyond the horizon and knew it would be another eight hours before our families watched it disappear. In a tapestry of colors the sky faded into black, and one by one, the stars came out.

I sighed deeply. "That is so beautiful."

"Just like you," he said quietly.

I turned to face him, and he kept his arms around me. I studied his face in the shadows of the night.

"You're going to sketch a picture of me and Rose at the café, aren't you?" I asked.

"Probably."

I took a deep breath. "Edward, why didn't you turn in your sketch of the tower that you did that day on the hilltop?"

"Because I didn't draw the tower. I drew you."

"I can't believe you did that when you had all of Paris—"

"Bella, I want dibs on you when we get home," he blurted out.

Stunned, I stared at him. "What? Dibs?"

How unromantic is that?

"Like calling me for the window seat on the airplane?"

He shook his head briskly. "No, nothing like that. It didn't come out right. I just mean that after this year is up, and we get back to Forks, I want to date you."

"You want to date me?" I repeated.

"Yes. You're driving me fucking crazy. I think about you all the time. You're not what I want. Or at least, not what I thought I wanted." He plowed hand roughly through his hair, tugging at it a lightly.

"Look, I'm not French, and I'm not a romantic guy. But I thought maybe once this year is over, since whatever guy you hook up with won't be in Forks, that maybe you'd consider dating me."

I was completely floored, and I didn't know what to say to his crazy proposition. "You're going to wait a year to date me," I said tentatively.

"Yeah, I understand your dream Bella. Paris. Romance. There's probably no other time in your life when you can have all that you'll have this year. That's why I set you up with Michael, tried to make sure he did everything romantic. I want you to have the romance you're looking for," he explained.

He released his hold on me and stepped back.

"I'd just like to know that you'd consider going out with me when we get home," he said softly.

I nodded, still unable to believe what he'd said.

"A whole year," I reiterated.

"I'm not saying it'll be easy for me, watching some French guy romance you." I watched him swallow. "But I want you to have your dream."

I felt tears burn the back of my eyes. "Are you still going to look for you French dream girl?"

He shook his head. "I was miserable with Lauren. I wanted a temporary relationship with a French girl, someone who would make me forget about my parents' divorce, and forget about Tanya. The only time it doesn't hurt is when I'm with you."

I couldn't believe this. I sounded like an echo as I asked again, "And you're going to wait a year to be with me?"

He nodded solemnly. "I understand your dream, Bella. I want you to have it. I'd just like a little spark of hope that once you've realized you're dream . . . you might make some time for me."

My chest ached with all he was willing to give up for me. "I can't do that, Edward."

He gave me a sad smile. "That's okay. I understand. A year is a long time."

"Exactly. And I don't want to wait that long to be with you," I said quietly.

His eyes widened. "What?"

I took a step closer to him. "You're the most romantic guy I know."

"Hardly," he mumbled.

I looked at the carnation. He grimaced. "I should have bought you more."

I shook my head. "No, you shouldn't have. Don't you see? That's the point. I thought I knew what romance was, but I was wrong. It's not flowers, or poetry, or chocolate. It's someone you can talk with and feel comfortable around. With Michael you tried to give me what I wanted. And now you're trying to step back so I can have my dream. When all I really want . . . is you."

"You want me?" he rasped. "Now?"

I smiled tenderly. "Now. Tomorrow. That day after that."

He slipped his arms around me and drew me close to him. "Bella, I don't want you to give up your dream."

"Edward, don't you get it? You're my dream."

The corner of his mouth lifted. "I am?"

Smiling warmly, I nodded. "Yeah, you are."

He lowered his head and pressed his lips to mine, so warm and sweet. I slid my arms around his neck, and he deepened the kiss in that slow, lazy way of his. No hurry, no rush, just heat, passion . . . and romance.

Because here I was at the top of the Eiffel Tower, a star-filled night above me the dazzling lights of the city below us, and the willing lips of the guy I loved playing over mine.

It was strange how the realization that I loved Edward just wove itself into my mind, and so easily, as if something in my heart had always known.

Edward rained kisses along my cheek until he reached my ear.

He whispered huskily, "Je t'aime."

I love you.

My heart melted.

"I love you too," I said softly.

He returned his lips to mine, and I thought this moment was the most romantic moment I'd ever experienced.

And the best part was . . . Edward would be there when my year in Paris came to an end.

End Chapter Notes:
Finally their together! And that concludes the story! I can't believe my first FanFic is done!

Now as promised, here's the summary for my next story; Summer Love:

Edward and Bella have been best friends since they were young, they always spent their summers at their family's beach house. But this summer is different. Edward has changed, physically, and Bella has changed physically too. Both Edward and Bella are determined to have a summer Romance, only Edward's idea is to hook-up with as many girls as possible. But something has changed between the two; can the summer romance of Bella's dreams be right under her nose? And does Edward have feelings for Bella that go beyond friendship?