SM owns Twilight. This story is mine. I lived it; I keep it.

Francis Bacon was most famous for painting Valasquez's Pope and a two slabs of beef together, in Figure with Meat. It's a powerful painting.

XXX

Renee and I arrived at the gallery early. A few people were drifting through, looking at paintings while holding cups of wine. Everyone was dressed pretty conservatively for L.A.: slacks, loafers, and crisp white shirts predominated, but there were a few expensively bohemian outfits, too. I was glad Mom had taken me shopping earlier in the day at Fred Segal. I would have felt underdressed had I worn my Wal-Mart sundress.

She had been on air from the moment I greeted her at the bi-level madhouse of LAX airport Friday evening. She couldn't have been more excited if it had been her own opening.

The good side was she was so excited and nervous there was nothing left for me to do. Except for smoking an entire pack of cloves in one day, nearly twice my usual, I felt I was handling my nervousness pretty well.

I scanned the gallery, my eyes sweeping along the right-hand wall where my paintings were lined up and dramatically lit. It was unreal to see the paintings I had slaved over presented like precious objects, seeming to glow. They looked fantastic. In every one Edward's beautiful face and body were on display.

My mother went straight to the first painting, Edward Two, from the postcard, and I watched as she tilted her head in the contemplative stance I recognized so well. She did that every time we went to a museum when something interested her.

"What do you think, Mom?" I asked. I dearly wanted her to approve of my work, but I was worried.

"Oh, Bella," she said, turning to me with bright eyes, "It's fantastic. It's so honest and real and full of emotion!" She gestured with her hand, tracing the curve of Edward's body in the air. "His expression: he seems to look right into me!" She studied it a moment longer and frowned. "But, Bella, you seem to be idealizing your model. He's just too pretty."

I turned away, looking around the gallery at the other paintings. "I wasn't idealizing, Mom," I muttered.

The other paintings, by two other artists, were also figurative and nearly all nudes. Then I realized they all used male subjects. There weren't many patrons yet, but I abruptly realized the few there were mostly men.

Alec swept up to greet me wearing a shiny suit and equally shiny smile. The gallery looked freakishly gorgeous. As he leaned in to grip my shoulders in a faux hug and kiss he announced much louder than was necessary for me standing right in front of him, "Bella, my dear! You look stunning! And you brought your sister!"

"This is my mother, Renee," I said. I was used to the mistake: Renee and I looked so much alike. Except for my brown hair and eyes we could almost pass for twins. Mom was only nineteen years old when I was born, and looked younger than she was, so it wasn't false flattery when someone took us for sisters.

"I don't believe it," Alec said with a teasing grin. "You can't be old enough to have a grown daughter."

"I was a child bride," Mom told him with a flirty wink.

Alec laughed, kissed Mom's cheek and held her hands while he told her how she should be so proud having such a talented daughter. Then he dashed off to greet a pair of young men.

"Now that's a salesman," Renee said in my ear as we watched Alec accost the new arrivals.

"Is that a good thing?"

"A very good thing, I'd say," Renee commented. "Look at all the red dots."

I looked at the numbers tacked to the wall by each painting, and noticed that a handful already sported a red dot, the gallery world sign of a sold piece. Even Edward Two, the one that wasn't for sale, had a little red sticker by its number. I figured that was Alec's way of deflecting questions about it.

Mom had already grabbed a price list from the front desk and was scanning it while I got us two glasses of wine from where Jane was pouring. I handed her a cup and sipped at my own, grateful she had suggested an early dinner. My stomach was fluttering like I might throw up.

Then Alec was dragging me away from my mother and introducing me to a man with silver hair in a salmon-colored polo shirt. I shook his hand nervously, hoping I wasn't sweating.

"Your paintings are so lovely, so … sensuous," the man said, his tongue rolling the words around in his mouth like he was tasting them.

"Thank you," I said, unsure what more I was supposed to say. Salmon-shirt and Alec had that look like I was expected to say something interesting. I felt like I'd just been pushed on stage with no idea of my lines.

"Yes, Bella's work is all about sensuality and making plain things magical. Isn't that right, Bella?" Alec prompted. Salmon-shirt looked at me inquiringly, obviously waiting for me to expand on this statement.

"Yeah, that's right," I said, and quickly took a sip of my wine.

Alec made a face at me out of Salmon-shirt's sight. I raised my eyebrows in question. Alec rolled his hand in a gesture that was clearly a signal: go on…

"Yes, it's about finding the sublime beauty of the human body." I babbled, drifting over to the nearest painting and gesturing to it as I spoke. I felt like a complete idiot, but Alec nodded approvingly as I spoke and Salmon-shirt seemed to like it, so I vomited up every scrap of art history and theory that I could link to my paintings, no matter how tenuous the relationship.

I told him all sorts of things, about Edward and about me and how the little things combined to produce something different, like the map bits symbolically showing the path of Edward's journey. I talked about post-modern ideas of fragmentation and appropriation. I talked about stuff I had no idea I knew and probably never thought had anything to do with my paintings. Salmon-shirt ate it up. It was a little freaky.

The next thing I knew, Alec was handing Salmon-shirt off to Jane to discuss payment for the painting we'd been discussing.

"Excellent, Bella," Alec said as he steered me to the next collector. The next hour or so passed in a blur of faces and names and convoluted art-speak. Alec would leave me for a moment or two with each collector, then sweep back in with a fresh cup of wine for me and close a sale. It was impressive.

I chatted up Alistair Reed, the art critic who had been promised to show. He smiled and patted me on the shoulder before he headed off to the back saying he'd need to get some images from Jane. I had mere moments to greet Alice, Jasper, Emmett, and Rosalie when they arrived, quickly introducing them to my mom, who was hovering nearby, never a distraction but always a calming presence. Then Alec was hauling me away again to introduce me to another collector, Marcus something-or-other, a serious looking man with long black hair who told me how he loved the passion in my paintings.

"So…" Alec said leadingly, "Bella always uses the same model, Edward, in all her paintings."

"Uh, just for this work, actually," I interrupted. "I have a new model now: Quil."

"Oh, that's too bad," Marcus said. "This Edward fellow is quite wonderful; it's obvious you have a real rapport with him."

"Yes, well, I thought I did. He's traveling now." I covered up my unease with another sip of wine. I was beginning to feel light-headed.

"Bella, why don't you tell Marcus about the imagery in the paintings, like the wings, the found objects, you know…"

I reeled off the patter I'd been honing all evening and Marcus listened with quiet interest. When I began to wind down, however, he broke in.

"You talk about finding the magic and passion in your model, but I would think that you should be finding the passion in yourself."

I gaped, startled by this forward statement. Marcus smiled kindly.

"You're a fantastic painter, but I think you aren't even aware of what you're making, what you're seeing. There's so much of you in these paintings, perhaps it's because of the feelings you have for your model. You're in love with him?"

I shuddered. There was something about this man that made me want to open up and tell him the truth. Maybe it was in combination with Edward's image everywhere I looked. "Yes. I love him."

"Hm. Yes, I can see love more easily than all that the bullshit about the sublime," he smiled as I stared, stunned at his blunt assessment of my pompous statement. "Don't be surprised, Bella. I may make my living off sex, but I know passion when I see it. Passion is what drives the industry."

"What industry is that?" I asked.

Marcus gave me a look that made me feel very young and naïve. "Adult films. I spend a lot of time finding men who have the right chemistry, and don't just look good and perform well." He turned back to the paintings. I abruptly felt exhausted.

"I really love the one on the postcard, Edward Two," he said, changing the subject, "but Alec told me he sold it earlier this evening, so I guess I have to choose something else, don't I?"

"He told you it was sold?" I asked. "It's not sold; it's not for sale."

"Oh? That's too bad. It's really … powerful."

"Uh-huh," I responded inarticulately, a strange suspicion seeping down through my gut. I nearly gagged on my wine as Jane touched my arm, surprising me.

"Bella, Alec has a question for you. Marcus, have you decided which painting you want?" she asked sweetly.

"Yes, I think I'll take these two," he told Jane, pointing out his choices. I thanked him profusely and excused myself to find Alec. Of course, he wanted me to meet someone else, but while the buyer gazed at one of my paintings with his finger to his lips, I whispered in Alec's ear.

"Did you sell the postcard painting?" I asked.

"Yes! Isn't it great? A new client…"

"What?" I hissed, cutting him off. "That's the one I told you wasn't for sale!"

Alec looked down at me, clearly confused. "But when you dropped it off, the note on it said it was for sale. It gave the price and everything. I thought you'd changed your mind."

"No! I didn't change my mind! How could you…?" I couldn't say any more. I was angry, but my eyes were prickling like I might cry. "It's supposed to go to someone. I promised it… You have to tell them it's not for sale. Sell them something else and give them a discount, but …"

"Alec, I think I'll buy this one, Edward Four," a fluffy-haired man said, interrupting our whispered conversation. Alec smiled broadly and stepped away from me, muttering that we'd talk about it later.

I drained my wine and went in search of more.

I couldn't believe Alec had sold the one painting I specifically told him not to. I was too tired to feel really enraged, but I could feel anger bubbling below the surface. I wanted to get out. I left my empty cup on Jane's desk and scanned the crowd for my mom. Instead, I found Jessica.

"Oh, goodness!" I sighed. "I can't believe you came!" She gave me a hug and pressed a kiss to my cheek.

"I couldn't miss it," she said.

When I opened my eyes I spotted Seth staring at me with his mouth hanging open.

"Seth!" I said, and reached out to drag him into the hug. He was wooden. I looked up at his face to find him glaring at Jessica.

"Um, hi, Jess. Excuse us a minute, would you?" Seth managed to say. Jessica gave Seth a wary look as he pulled me away.

"Did someone slip you a Roofie?" he asked, putting his hand to my forehead.

I slapped his hand away. "Nothing like that, I just… Jessica and I have buried our differences."

"Really? I thought the only way for the two of you to bury your differences would be in a deep grave. In a lead-lined casket. Maybe with a stake through its heart."

"I know, Seth, but Jessica and I have found some common ground." I shrugged. "We've buried the hatchet."

"And not in her head? Huh." Seth cocked his head and studied me. "You sure you're feeling all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Well, except for finding out there's been a fuck-up with the paintings." I glanced around and saw Alec talking to Jane. Though they were much too far away for me to hear, and Alec's posture suggested a casual conversation, Jane seemed tense. I hoped he was chewing her out. I turned back to Seth. "Otherwise, I'm good. Why?"

"Alright then, no worries," Seth said with a raised eyebrow. I could read the skepticism on his face as clearly. I knew him so well.

I was rescued from further comments by the arrival of Quil. He came up with a huge smile for me and a bouquet of flowers, all but dragging me away from Seth to pull me into a warm hug. I turned into him, enjoying the attention and distraction.

"Here, Bella," he said, putting the flowers into my arms, "these are for you." I lowered my face into the bundle of stalks and then looked up at him.

"Asparagus?" I asked, laughing. He rolled his eyes at me.

"Gladiolus," he said. I bit my lip, embarrassed.

"Oh. Thank you." I stretched up to kiss him. I was aiming for his cheek, but he turned his head and it wound up being a kiss full on the lips. It was a nice kiss, but … nothing more. There was no amount of hoping that would make it more. Quil's lips were soft, and undemanding, but there was no electricity, no charge that ran from my groin to my toes. It was just … nice.

And it was at the moment that I realized kissing Quil was as unexciting as kissing my pillow that I heard Emmett's voice booming loudly enough for him to be heard in Nevada, "Hey, there's Edward."

There are moments where you expect time to stop. For everything to be in slow-motion. But that's not what happened. My brain actually completely froze, though my body continued to function.

Unwillingly I turned my head and like a magnet to metal my eyes immediately found Edward. He was standing halfway to the front of the gallery, talking to Marcus. He looked thinner, and his hair was shaggy, flopping down over his eyes, but otherwise he looked the same. Long, lean body in his black Circus Liquor t-shirt, jeans, and boots. I couldn't be sure, but it seemed that I just missed him watching me.

I turned back to Quil, who still was bent down to me. Gently I moved back, clutching the flowers.

"I… uh," I stammered, but that was as far as I got before Alec was there, insisting he had someone I needed to talk to, and I was hauled away.

"Bella, you're such a natural at this. Everything is going great!" Alec murmured in my ear. I didn't feel like it was going so great. I felt like a rag doll being dragged around.

"Have you told the buyer about the mix-up?" I asked. "Given him his money back?"

"I can't do that, sweetie. Why don't you just give your friend another painting? Or paint another one for him? I'm sure he won't be fussed."

"I can't do that! How did this even happen?"

"Jane said the post-it must have fallen off, but a couple of the paintings had no sticker and she was working off the invoice. Double-check your invoice: they all have a price. Here we are. This is Geoffrey…" he said, his voice changing to become warmer as he maneuvered me to where another collector waited, studying paint Edward, asleep on my sofa wearing only a pair of jeans. I swallowed and steeled myself for another round of art bullshit roulette.

After a few comments about the languorous nature of the model in repose, and agreeing with Geoffrey's assessment of the painting as "erotic," I left him with Alec and went in search of Edward.

I knew I had to find him, though I had no idea what I would say once I did.

I couldn't find him. I had to make small talk with a few more people as I circled the now crowded gallery, and finally found Emmett and asked if he'd seen him. He scanned the crowd, his height helping to see over heads, and then shook his head.

"The last I saw he was talking to Jessica, but he's not with her now," he said. "Check outside."

I managed to work my way to out the door and found a cluster of people outside. Edward was standing a little apart, smoking a cigarette and looking at a small white business card in his hand.

Now that I'd found him I stopped, just watching him. I had the strangest notion that if I approached him he would disappear like smoke.

But then he looked up, those intense eyes burning into me. A slow smile curled his lips. I felt an unwilling smile stretch my mouth into a grimace.

"Bella," he said softly.

"You came," I breathed. "How did you even know…?"

"You gave me the name of the gallery when you called," he said. "And I bribed the rest of the information out of Emmett."

"If the bribe was restocking his liquor cabinet after your bender, I'm sure he was happy."

Edward gave me a sharp look. "He told you about that?"

"Yeah, Emmett told me all about you showing up with a shiner and going on a three-day do-it-yourself alcohol binge. I even saw the evidence in his trash. Are you going to tell me who punched you?"

"I fell?" he said, unconvincingly. I quirked an eyebrow and he smiled.

"I, ah, got into a disagreement in a drinking establishment," he admitted.

"A bar fight? What did you do? Hit on a biker's bitch?"

"Mmm. Something like that." He rubbed his ear self-consciously with the hand holding the business card. He looked… embarrassed.

"What do you have there?" I asked. He looked down at the card and his forehead creased. He slipped it in his pocket.

"Some guy in there gave it to me and told me to give him a call if I needed work. He said I was obviously talented and had amazing attributes." Edward sounded unimpressed.

I stifled a giggle, remembering who I saw Edward talking to earlier. "Marcus? Old dude with long black hair? I get the impression he's in the film industry."

"That's what he said. I don't know what he's thinking. I can't act. In the fifth grade pageant I was cast as a rock."

I smiled bitterly at the thought of Edward as a rock. His heart was stone, it wouldn't be a stretch for the rest of him.

"Just a guess, but I don't think his films involve a whole lot of acting."

Edward gazed at me, obviously thinking about my words, before he shook his head and chuckled. "I don't think I can do that with a girl I don't even know."

"That's okay, because I'm pretty sure he doesn't have any women in his films." I laughed as Edward's eyebrows crawled up toward his hairline. I could picture him doing a lot of things, but gay porno…

"Oh! I definitely can't act that well. Guess it's a good thing I already have a job," he commented, then turned away and took a long drag.

"Yeah?" I said. "Doing what?"

"I got some work doing odd jobs on a ranch. Vaccinating cattle, repairing a tractor, painting a barn, that sort of thing."

I looked inside at Alec schmoozing the patrons and remembered I had some bad news to impart.

"I have something to tell you… … I'm really sorry, but the painting I promised you …"

"What about it?" he asked calmly. The playful camaraderie of a moment earlier had evaporated, and I felt a chill coming off of him like a tangible thing.

"It got sold," I said, wincing.

He nodded and looked down. "That's okay. I told you to sell it."

"But I owe it to you," I said.

"You don't owe me anything, Bella." His deep voice was calm and distant.

I took a step closer to him, but he still didn't look at me.

"Do you not want it?" I asked, my voice feeling small. Edward looked up sharply.

"Of course I want it."

"I'll try to get Alec to sell the buyer something else, or give the money back. I'll get it to you."

"No, Bella. You deserve the money. It's a great painting, but you don't have to give up a sale for me."

"I'll paint you another. Then we'll be even."

He huffed, seeming annoyed. "Don't do that. You don't owe me, after…everything. What am I going to do with a painting, anyway? Strap it on the back of the bike?"

"I – I don't know."

"Besides, I don't really want a painting of your new model," he said, and I thought I detected anger in his tone.

"My new model?" I asked, thinking first of the donkey-headed painting. I couldn't give him that one, obviously.

He hooked a thumb in the direction of the gallery. "Porn dude told me you have a new model. Is it that kid we shot pool with? Seth's friend?"

Oh. "Quil? Yeah, he's sat for me a couple of times now."

Edward examined his dwindling cigarette intently and I could see the muscles of his jaw flex.

"Nice flowers," he said. I looked down at the long stalks in my arms and felt that simmering tired.

"Quil's just a friend," I said. Edward's face was a harsh mask.

"Yeah, I was a friend, too."

Was.

I thought my heart had already been so mangled that I was beyond feeling but I was wrong. Anger bubbled up my throat. It was both the use of the past-tense to describe our friendship and the blatant insinuation that I was fucking Quil that put me in a state somewhere between a screaming rage and hysterical tears.

"How fucking dare you!" I seethed, my voice barely above a whisper. Edward's eyes met mine. I was shaking. "What I do is none of your fucking business, you asshole. I'm not some whore who sleeps with all her models! I gave you my fucking heart and you threw it back in my face like it was nothing."

"Bella," Edward said, "I didn't mean it like that."

"Bullshit. You meant it. Know what? You're right. I don't owe you a fucking thing."

I spun to go back into the gallery, but Edward caught my arm. I tried to throw his hand off, but he wouldn't let go. He moved close to me, his lips brushing against my ear as he spoke.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I'm so sorry." I trembled at his soft words and his hand hard around my arm. I was intensely conscious of his body touching mine. "I'm sorry I'm a selfish bastard and I'm sorry I couldn't be a better man. I don't think you're a whore and I'm not trying to tell you how to live your life. That's not what I want."

I closed my eyes and attempted to tame my emotions. I wanted him. I wanted his love. Nothing was going to change that. But my heart wasn't a yo-yo for him to dangle on a string.

"What do you want, Edward? I gave you everything I have to give," I sighed.

He released me silently. Although he retreated, I was frozen in place. I turned to stare as he raked his fingers through his shaggy hair, sweeping it out of his eyes. I was torn between wanting to reach out and touch him, kiss him, strip him naked right on the street, and the itching desire to break his beautiful nose for him. I was sorry he hadn't gotten it broken in his bar fight.

"I just want…" he said slowly and then stopped, staring through the glass window into the gallery. The desire to break his nose intensified.

"Right." I stalked back into the gallery, and was accosted by Alec the minute I stepped in the door

"Bella!" Alec sang as he steered me to meet yet another buyer. "Don't go ducking out on me to play kissy-face. I need you in here!"

"Got it," I said, and pasted a fake smile on my face.

XXX

The next morning Mom and I put our suitcases in the open bed of my Chevy, got on the Santa Monica Freeway, and headed east.

"I'm so glad to have you this week, Bella," she said as we passed downtown. "It's been too long since I had you all to myself."

"You make it sound like I never visit," I groused.

"When in the last four years have you come to Phoenix for longer than a weekend?" she asked, and I could hear the hurt in her voice.

"Um…" I said and she nodded.

"Exactly. I understand why you stayed away at first, but your friends miss you. June's mother asked me about you last month." I didn't say anything. Mom understood everything and nothing.

We were approaching Redlands when Mom switched from KNX's repeating news and traffic to an oldies station. She sang along with the song on the radio.

"… And the eagle flies with the dove… And if you can't be with the one you love, honey… love the one you're with."

"Ugh! Mom, why do you listen to this old stuff?"

"Be nice, Bella. This is the music of a generation."

I snorted. "Not your generation, mom. You were a baby when this stuff was around."

"Smart-ass," she said, and pulled her iPod out of her purse, plugging it into my stereo. The Smiths filled the cab. Mom might listen to hippie music now and again, but she was a child of the eighties.

"Your show was great, Bella. I'm so proud of you. When we left last night there were only five paintings left unsold." I mm-hmmed in agreement. "And your friends were so nice. Emmett's a riot, and I really enjoyed chatting with your boyfriend, too. He's quite charming."

"Quil is pretty smooth, but he's not my boyfriend," I said.

"No, I knew that. I was referring to Edward." Oblivious to my sudden tension she rummaged around in her purse and pulled out a folded postcard from the show. "He asked me to give you this, and said he was sorry he couldn't stick around longer."

She stuck the postcard in the cup holder. I could see a web address scrawled on it and below that a short sentence.

I want a self-portrait.

XXX

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Thank you to my wonder betas, MrsDazzled and Irritable Grizzzly, for everything. Thank you to PrincessBella24 for prereading. Thank you to all my fandom friends for listening to me ramble and giving me wonderful feedback. Thank you to all my readers, I am grateful to you all.

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