The day she turned 21 would forever be seared into her memory.

She had just started her junior year at the Wharton School at the University of Pennsylvania. After officially declaring her Bachelor of Science in Business Finance, she had spent her summer interning at JP Morgan Chase and was looking forward to a return to school schedules, out of suits and 60-hour work weeks in the corporate world.

"Come on Isabella!" her roommates had whined. "It's your 21st birthday, we should be going out!"

"You guys are still 20," she reminded looking at Sandy and Tiffany, whom she shared her apartment with. "And in case you forgot, your fakes were confiscated at 303's last week."

Tiffany pouted and replied, "The new ones are coming any day!"

Ignoring her, Sandy smirked. "Jake would be more than happy to take you out."

"He's over 21," Tiffany agreed slyly, moving on from her own dilemma. "He would love to buy you a drink."

Isabella had laughed, ignoring their matchmaking. "I've already got plans."

"Dinner with your grandparents does not constitute plans, Isabella!" Sandy argued. "It's like a pre-plan at best."

Isabella shook her head. "I'm sorry ladies, I've had this date on the books for about a decade now."

On her way out the door she heard Tiffany shout, "Fine, but when you get home, we're taking shots!"

The drive from Philadelphia to Allentown took about an hour. She listened to the newest Backstreet Boys song no less than four times before she turned off the radio and drove in silence. As she drove, she felt a weight ease off her shoulders knowing her destination. College was tough and the she was in classes with fiercely competitive students. As she got closer to her grandparent's house, the tension eased, if only for the night.

She hadn't seen them in a couple weeks. The last time she had been there, she had gardened with Grannie while Grandad fussed around with a few loose boards on their small garden fence. He grumbled under his breath about "Doggone bunnies getting into all of their plants," while Grannie had shared a private, amused smile with her. They had drank peach ice tea on the deck and chatted happily about her upcoming course schedule.

When she was getting ready to leave, her Grandad had pulled her aside and said "Now, I know you might have other plans for your birthday," he started gruffly, "And we would love to see you whenever we can. You and I can share that drink later too. It doesn't have to be on your birthday."

She opened her mouth but he continued seriously.

"I know it's on a Friday and I was once your age. I know your friends will likely have plans. Your Grannie and I will cook you dinner whenever you have time."

She had grinned up at him. "I will be here on my birthday, just like I've always said."

And he had pulled her in for one of his extra tight hugs and kissed the side of her head.

The thought made her smile as she got closer to her exit.

Of course she would be there.

They had made the plan all of those years ago.

As she took the familiar turns to the house that she had always loved a small smile grew on her face. She drove the car as if on autopilot, not thinking about where the stop signs were or where to turn; it was muscle memory after all of these years.

She pulled up in front of the light-yellow rambler and turned the car off. She headed up the curved driveway and knocked when she got to the front door. It was more of a hello knock as she usually let herself in. When she turned the door knob, however, it was locked. Her brow wrinkled. She waited a few moments, figuring one of her grandparents would unlock the door and let her in shortly.

When no one came to the door, she bent down and lifted the welcome mat to get the spare key under the right corner. She turned it in the knob and then let herself into the house, easing the door open.

It was quiet.

She looked around the familiar place and noticed the silence immediately.

They weren't home.

The smile that had been on her face began to fall.

"Grannie?" she called. "Grandad?"

No response.

Unease began to creep through her as she took a few more steps into the living room.

Grannie had just called her the night before.

"We will plan on dinner at 6:00, sweetheart. You do not need to bring a thing, we will cook for you! Grandad and I are making your favorite…that shrimp pasta you love."

Isabella looked at the wristwatch she wore. 5:52.

They were never late.

Not in all the years that she'd been alive had they been late to a prior engagement, especially one which they would consider as important as this.

With that feeling of unease growing uncomfortably in her chest, she further entered the house. She walked to the back door to make sure they weren't outside in their massive garden.

It was empty.

On the counter sat a box of uncooked pasta noodles, garlic cloves, and onions, all set out in preparation for the dish they had promised to cook. But the kitchen was empty. None of the appliances were errantly turned on and even the lights were off.

They must have just gone to the grocery store, she assured herself, they would be back soon.

Minutes ticked by.

Once 6:00pm had come and gone, she began to pace. She went to the living room and looked out the bay windows so that she would be able to see if their car pulled into the driveway.

As she waited, she noticed the bottle of whisky in its familiar place on the corner end table, for the first time with two glasses sitting next to it, rather than only one. She smiled and turned, opening to see them in the window and finding nothing.

Her gaze lingered on the bottle of Scotch.

It was the first time she would share a glass of his beloved Sleat with him.

It was the biggest mark of adulthood she had ever been able to conceive.

Once 6:15pm had passed, Isabella was getting nervous. So, nervous that she picked up their phone and dialed a familiar number - familiar but not regularly used. She twirled the spiral cord nervously as it rang.

"Charles Swan speaking."

"Hey Dad, I-"

"Isabella?" he asked, his voice tense. "Where are you?"

"I'm at Grannie and Grandad's. But they're not here. Do you-"

"Isabella."

Her heart stopped in her chest at the way he said her name.

"What?" she asked quietly.

"Isabella…your grandparents-"

"Dad, please-"

"They were on their way to the grocery store just a little bit ago and they got into a car accident. Both of them…both of them were killed from the impact."

Her knees gave out and she crumbled to the ground, all air caught in her chest, not going in or out, but simply suffocating her.

"Isabella?"

"Isabella, are you still there?"

"Isabella, are you okay?"

No.

~O~

Owe.

As she fluttered in and out of consciousness, switching between dreams, a light, tugging pain prevented her from staying asleep.

How had her neck gotten twisted?

Grudgingly, her eye lids blinked open as she stretched.

As her eyes started to straighten out, she realized where she was and why her neck had been in an awkward position. Presently, she was curled up on a couch, cuddled into Edward's warm, muscular side, leaving her neck in an awkward position.

Edward was awake.

As she sat up and straightened out, she realized her head was still heavy from all of the whisky they had consumed.

"How long was I asleep?" she wondered.

At that Edward grinned. "Oh maybe a wee 30 minutes or so?"

Isabella grinned sheepishly, running her fingers through the remnants of her curled hair, fluffing it as she rested her elbow on the back of the couch to face him. "That explains it."

Edward smiled as he looked at her. There was a warmth, almost a fondness in his stare.

It made her smile back.

"Yesterday," she said quietly, dipping her gaze. "You asked me if I'd ever been in love."

When he didn't respond immediately, she looked back up to see his smile had faded but he was still staring at her.

"Aye."

It was the tenderness she had seen in his gaze that made her ask.

"Why?"

She bit her lip but didn't lower her stare.

"Well, I suppose I wanted to know if we were on level playing fields as ye would say."

Oh.

For a moment she froze, unsure what to say.

"Are we?" she asked quietly.

His lips quirked upwards at that, almost rueful as he replied, "I doubt that."

"There's been no one?" she wondered curiously, keeping surprise out of her voice.

There was so much she did not know about Edward Anthony Godfrey Cullen MacDonald. But he was a handsome young man, one who cared about his family, worked hard, and remembered that her suitcase was in the car.

At the question, it was Edward who gazed away from her. He picked up his forgotten glass of whisky and had one of the last few sips out of it.

"No," he finally answered as his eyes followed his movement to set down the glass. "No one."

Isabella chalked the unwelcome feeling of relief that floated through her mind to too much high-quality Scotch.

"Well," she chuckled softly, "I don't suppose this is how you expected to spend your wedding night."

He cracked a grin. "Well, I dinae suppose it's that far off between the whisky and a bonnie bride."

Isabella smiled shyly.

"The rest of a wedding night is overrated anyway," she joked.

Edward chuckled as he looked back over at his whisky glass, but the sound seemed forced.

"Aye, I'll take yer word for it."

Isabella's mouth opened in surprise. It was a quick reaction and she closed it before he could glance back in her direction.

She swallowed in her dry throat before speaking.

"Really?" she asked.

Edward picked back up the glass of whisky at the question and downed the rest of the contents without hesitation, having realized what he had allowed to slip out of his mouth.

"Aye," he replied, setting the glass back down on the table and not looking at her. He scratched at the back of his neck, his neck that was suddenly tinged pink.

Isabella was speechless.

How the hell had she ended up in Scotland in a pretend marriage to a virgin Highlander?

At her silence, he added, his tone more defensive, "Never found the right lass."

Before she could reply, he continued, still not meeting her eyes.

"I always reckoned that we'd figure it out together, ye ken?"

Isabella swallowed and nodded, but he didn't see the motion.

Not knowing what to say, she scooted closer and then reached over and rested her hand on his broad back.

"I'm sorry," she finally murmured.

Edward lifted his head and he looked at her with both eyebrows raised.

"For whit?"

"I feel like I've taken something from you," she said softly. "Today, yesterday I guess…with your family and your friends, drinking and dancing and celebrating you and the man they see in you…I was never meant to be a part of that. I was not meant to wear your mother's dress or share a whisky with you…I, I-" she broke off, visibly frustrated that the words she was trying to say were not coming to her.

"Ah, mo leannan," he soothed. "Ye have no taken a thing from me. Truly."

Isabella's head felt heavy and when she was intoxicated, she had picked up a bad habit in college of resting it on whoever had an open shoulder. She felt her head fall against her husband's shoulder with a groan, indicating that she had not found his assurance convincing.

Edward chuckled at that, resting his head against hers. "Ye are helping me more than I could ever ask of someone. Ye have no taken a thing…only given."

Isabella closed her eyes at his sweet words.

They stayed like that for a while, both of them only hardly daring to breath.

"I should show you to yer room before ye fall asleep again," he murmured, not lifting his head from hers.

At the suggestion, Isabella could not help the yawn that forced its way out of her mouth.

Edward chuckled at hearing it, lifting his head this time.

"Come on then, hen."

He stood up and then offered her a hand. She took it and smiled. His hands were large and warm and comforting. Slowly, he led her from the living room past the kitchen and down the hall where she had changed out of her wedding dress prior to falling asleep briefly on the couch. She was thankful for the slow pace as standing up had left her just a little dizzy from drink and the sudden change in elevation.

"Here ye are," Edward announced unnecessarily when they reached the room her stuff was in. Isabella noticed that he didn't immediately drop her hand but rather held onto it for a lingering moment before releasing her.

She nodded, also unnecessarily, before going to stand in the threshold of the room.

"Right," he said, reaching a hand to the back of his neck and rubbing as he spoke. "So, if ye need me, I'm just right down the hall."

Isabella stared at him for a moment, considering.

The night of her wedding had not been what it was supposed to be.

It had been disappointing and horribly lonely.

She'd be damned if she wished that on anyone else.

"Would you like to come in?"

I just have to say that I so adore all of you. Reading your reviews and seeing you all experience this tale for the first time makes me look at it a little bit differently, a little bit more lovingly.

See you all soon.