Happy Saturday, people!

It's still Saturday in Italy, so HELLO from the Motherland, people!

The usual stuff:
1. THANK YOU ALL so much for all the reviews. I love, love hearing your thoughts, especially now that the story is winding down. This is the last regular chapter. You may or may not need tissues.
2. HUGE thank you to Team Momo, who work tirelessly to help me make this readable. My stories wouldn't exist without them and I'm so grateful they're in my corner. Alice's White Rabbit and Midnight Cougar are in the editing chairs. AGoodWitch, IAmBeagle, Driving Edward and RobsmyyummyCabanaBoy pre-read.
3. I still don't own - SM does. But I still own a collection of mugs.

Last week we left our EditorWard in the middle of concocting a mysterious "plan". Let's see what he's up to now.
Time-wise, the Election Day they mention is Election Day of the 2018 midterms.

Ready? Here we go!


BEHIND THE IVORIES – CHAPTER 36

The weekend after Election Day finds Mac, Jasper, and me covered in drywall dust and other varied kinds of construction waste.

"Ah, the sweet, sweet sounds of demo," Mac says with a groan. For emphasis, he tosses a chunk of broken tile on the floor.

"Thank you for helping us out, guys," Bella announces from the landing. She has a tray with drinks for us, and they're in covered sippy cups. The Frozen cups Bea gave her.

"You were lying when you said you didn't have fine stemware, Bella," Jasper comments, pointing at the glasses.

"I said I didn't have everyday stuff, and these are clearly for special occasions," she counters, with a hand to her hip.

"Thank you, love. We're parched."

"Open those windows. All that dust can't be healthy."

Mac groans but complies. "I guess we'll be dusty and well-preserved by the end of the day. Thaw us in the microwave if we freeze, piano girl."

She shakes her head with a smile while distributing the drinks. "How's it going?" She's directing the comment at Mac, but she's looking at me.

I grab the opportunity to steal a kiss since she's standing beside me. A dab of dust ends up on the tip of her nose.

Mac sets down the hammer and takes a big gulp of his lemonade. "You have good timing, by the way. We need to figure out a few things, and we'd like the missus's input."

Bella's withering look at the words "the missus" almost stops him in his tracks. "I don't see any missus here, but let's hear it."

He dusts his hands off and starts his explanation, pointing at the now demolished bathtub enclosure. "So, your spaceship of a shower will be here, but it would come out farther than the old tub. Let's say, about this much. Do you want his and hers sinks like at Ed's old loft?"

Bella and I both nod.

Mac continues. "Then, if you want enough space to move around, we need to push that wall back a couple feet."

Bella scratches her head. "Can you explain it in a way I can visualize?"

And this is why she's letting me handle the majority of the remodel. She can picture in her head how a recipe will turn out, she can hear a piece of music once and play it to perfection, but she has zero spatial awareness. I had to put tape on the floor in our bedroom to map out where my bigger bed from the loft would end, otherwise she said she couldn't figure out if she'd like it or it'd be too big for the room. So, her question to Mac doesn't surprise me.

But it stumps Mac, who blinks a couple of times, and tries to explain it, pointing to walls and joists, and to the remains of the old sink and vanity, which still stand half-destroyed.

"That's not going to work, Mac. Let me."

"Thank fuck. Have at it, Ed. Sorry, piano girl, but I'm a technical guy. A wall is a wall."

"If we want this bathroom to have a decent width and come in and out without bumping into each other in the morning, we need to move the wall farther away."

"But there's a closet on the other side," she objects. "Where would that go?"

"Exactly. How attached are you to that closet? Isn't it towels and stuff? Because what we eliminate there could be recouped somewhere else. And can you work with a narrower room on the other side?"

"It would be the small office." She calls it that way to avoid saying it'll be the future nursery in front of our friends.

I nod. "Do you need to go in the other room and look?"

"Please?" she asks.

"Don't be shy about asking things," Mac says. "We're doing your bidding here; you need to be happy with the work."

He's as meticulous and patient doing construction as he'd be doing a photo shoot. He was the same way in the field. He'd stick it out for hours, waiting for the perfect shot. For the one image that would burst through the page.

We all move next door, and Mac walks the room, showing Bella where the new walls would be. Because these old houses have such big rooms, reconfiguring a closet here and there isn't a great loss in terms of space. The disruption is also minimal because the room is currently unused.

"I like it. Let's go with your idea, Mac."

"You heard the lady, Ed. Back at it," Mac instructs.

When we return to the semi-demolished bathroom, Bella sticks around. She and Jasper are looking at paint samples for the entire floor. We're doing one room at a time, but Jasper, who's our resident painter, as he's left his furniture-hauling days behind, wants her to pick colors that will coordinate well.

While he paints sample squares on the wall, Bella chats with us. Luckily, Mac's done with the Sawzall, or she'd have to yell.

"So, I got an interesting phone call from Charlotte yesterday," she starts.

"Oh, is this gossip?" Of course, the question comes from the undisputed, covert king of gossip at the Tatler—Mac.

"Yep. Remember the pitiful scene we witnessed in New York? And the news that popped up after Election Day?"

"Well, Daddy Dearest lost his election, but that was no wonder," Mac replies.

"Warmer, but not quite there yet." She likes to torture him, I swear.

Meanwhile, I'm popping tiles off the wall. Thankfully, we're getting rid of them. There are only so many eggnog-yellow subway tiles a man can look at before he pukes, and I'm reaching that limit.

"Wait, isn't this about some investigation at MSNBC?" Jasper asks.

"Investigation? MSNBC? Isn't that where—"

I nod. "Yeah, that's where Kate works."

"Worked!" Bella corrects, her head peeking around the doorjamb.

"Worked? As in, past tense?" Mac asks, his eyes widening. The juicy bit of news must have escaped his radar.

"Oh, yeah," Jasper replies. He's standing in the doorway, balancing a quart of paint and his brush. "The wicked witch of the East Coast pooped out of the litter box big time and got caught."

Mac, who's cutting through caked-up old caulk around the bathtub so he can pry it out without destroying it, growls in frustration. "You all suck because you knew, and I'm only hearing of it now. This is fucking priceless."

Bella snickers. "We saw it on CNN like everybody else."

"And how come you're getting insider calls from your sister-in-law?" He's relentless, pointing a spatula of some sort in Bella's direction to convey his displeasure.

"Because she works at a PR firm with a famous crisis management practice. They got an intriguing request this week, which they had to decline."

I let out a snort. "I bet they're heartbroken. What did Char have to say?"

"I might as well come in. There's no use looking at the samples before they dry. I can make myself useful here," she says, walking into the bathroom.

"You sit there and gossip like a good girl," Mac orders her. "No protests. There's a shitload of sharp edges here, and if you cut your hands on any of this crap before your concert, Ross will have my ass."

"Okay, but I feel useless."

"You're not useless. You're providing entertainment for the crew," Mac rebuts. "J, pick up the debris over there, please. Clear a path for piano girl."

It's endearing how protective of her Mac has become. They still have their sibling bickering going on, but his affection and concern for her shine through in moments like these. Jasper does Mac's bidding without question; of course, he would when it comes to making things easy for Bella.

While Jasper acts as my gofer removing broken tiles from underfoot, Bella hops onto what's left of the old vanity and continues her tale.

"Char said the call came right after MSNBC announced they'd completed their investigation for misconduct and harassment."

"They fired Kate effective immediately, didn't they?" Jasper asks.

"Yep. But they didn't disclose any details about the allegations or about their internal investigation."

"They wouldn't, not unless someone leaked them," I offer. "But there's always someone who'll leak this shit."

"Especially if you're as well loved as Kate," Mac says. "I'm growing old, piano girl. Where's the dirt? Where's the tea? Spill it!"

That's when Jasper cuts in. "I may have some info on that. Word around the campfire is that a few employees filed harassment complaints against her, and the whole kerfuffle started from there."

Mac snorts. "Such a delightful person as Katherine, who would she harass?" He's being disdainfully sarcastic. He knows who the aggressor is here. "Of course, she had to show her diva tendencies. What else?"

Bella continues. "She tried to bury the complaints, apparently, by firing her own shots at HR, trying to get the recalcitrant employees transferred or dismissed, but one of them was the niece of some big honcho at 30 Rock."

"Ouch. She still doesn't know when not to pick a fight," Mac comments.

"It's arrogance, guys," Bella says. "She thinks rules don't apply to her. I've met her ilk before. They run roughshod on everything and everyone until they get caught."

"And this time, she did," Jasper concludes. "But what I'd love to know—and my sources knew zilch about it—is the misconduct complaint. Where the fuck did that come from?"

Bella rubs her hands in glee before answering. "That's where Charlotte's call was pure gold. That complaint also originated from the harassment investigation, but it escalated into a separate clusterfuck."

"How so?" I ask. This is getting more sordid by the second.

"Char mentioned something about not vetted sources, no red … teaming? Did I say it right?"

I nod. "It's a process used to vet a story. One team presents it to the 'red' team, which has to poke holes through it and see if whoever's writing the piece has done their due diligence."

"They play devil's advocate?" Bella asks.

"Yes, that's one way of looking at it. We used to do it as a matter of course at CNN. With the foreign policy beat being what it is—"

"Meaning, there's a shitload of stuff that needs triple-checking," Mac translates for Bella.

"Exactly."

"Shit," Jasper exclaimed. "But that's Journalism 101. You can't run a story without vetting it. Please, tell me she didn't …"

Bella nods with a grimace. "Apparently, yes. Now, Charlotte said the story didn't run because they caught it in time. But it was big enough to trigger a more thorough investigation. Looks like the diva not only treated everyone like shit and had no professional ethics, but she also tried to skim off the top."

"With the twenty-tier approval structure they must have at a joint like 30 Rock to approve expense reports? Is she an idiot or what?" Mac erupts. He's moved on to removing the old toilet bowl from its spot on the floor, and he's hammering into it with increasing gusto.

Bella replies again. "She's a fucking arrogant narcissist, Mac. That's how she rolls. The rules don't apply to her. Everyone is at her service. If something goes wrong, she throws someone under the bus. Only this time, it didn't work."

Mac cackles and starts enumerating points on his dusty fingers. "So, to recap. The fiancée dumped her. She lost her job. Her career is in the toilet. Daddy lost his election. Spending time with the Caulfields must be a trip these days. Yuck."

"And she's still trying to claw back some credibility?" Jasper asks. "Normally, that's what you want when you call in crisis management."

She shrugs. "Well, Char's firm isn't biting. They're steering clear of this steaming pile of shit."

"Good on them. Clients like that easily become radioactive," I add.

"We've been talking about her for a good half hour, and you're being exceptionally Zen about it, Ed. How come?"

I knew Mac would come out and ask me at some point. He still worries I'll flip out about her. Nothing could be further from the truth.

My turn to shrug. "Guys, I love you all for caring, but … I don't give a shit. She's made her bed, and now she has to lie in it. Alone, it seems."

"Well, can't fault a man for checking. Back to work, people. Fuck, I'm getting hungry. What are you feeding us tonight?" he asks, patting his stomach.

"There's pizza dough rising downstairs," Bella replies. "Let's take a look at those samples, J."

When she and Jasper disappear to the landing, Mac and I go back to the grind.

&&&IVORIES&&&

A week later after work, I stop at Sharps & Flats to pick up Bella. She's been spending every free hour she has there, rehearsing the Unplugged show that will tape in five short days.

Jake has even adjusted the club's hours to give her more time to rehearse, which is why I still find her confabulating with Ross, Eric, Jake, and their stage manager, and it's well past six. When Jacob sees me, he signals to the rest of the group to continue without him and jumps off the stage to join me.

He greets me with his usual shoulder slap and fist bump combo. "Hey, man. How you doing? Did you get it done? You nervous?"

Jake knows about my plan because, in order for it all to work as I want, I had to involve him. After all, he owns the place.

"Hey. Thank you for helping, by the way."

"I couldn't not help you; come on. Can't wait to hear how Choc will react. But you skirted my questions." He addresses me with his usual pearly white smile and a slightly devious look in his dark brown eyes.

The man has been exuding elation since he moved in with Seth months ago. Love becomes him, as Marcus told me in New York in September.

"I didn't skirt them. I chose not to reply."

He snickers. "You reporters, always parsing words."

I shrug. "It's our stock in trade, what do you expect? But honestly, I'm good. Excited more than nervous. And yes, it's done."

He nods. "Good. Oh, a heads-up. She pestered me with questions today at lunch."

I ditched the gang today because I had another appointment, and it all ties into my plan. The secret plan Bella can't know about. "Ouch. Hope that wasn't too bad."

"Nah. Ross ran interference with some show-related question, then Mac asked a few things about the bathroom remodel, I started talking about something else, and it fell by the wayside. But just so you know."

"Thank you. Oh, wait. How do I—?"

"Get in here tomorrow?" he interjects. "Here." He presses a bunch of keys into my hand. "The keys are labelled. As I promised, it'll be empty. Tomorrow would be our mid-week closing day, anyway. You'll find no staff milling about. Ross planned things so there wouldn't be a dress rehearsal in the afternoon. That'll be in the morning, but Choc always sticks around afterward. She's too much of a bloody perfectionist to leave when the rest of the crew does. I'll text you when Ross and I leave. Don't forget to lock up behind you."

I nod, then swiftly hide the keys in the breast pocket of my coat. That way Bella won't find them if she sticks her hands into my coat pockets for warmth while we walk to the T.

"Jake, stop harassing my boyfriend!" Bella playfully yells from the stage.

Ross and Eric lift their heads toward me and wave.

I wave back.

"I'm not harassing him. I swear!" Jake retorts.

We both shake our heads, laughing at her antics. A minute later, the stage manager breaks off their huddle, and Eric disappears backstage. Ross and Bella saunter toward Jake and me.

"You look exhausted, Ladybug."

"I told her to take it easy these last few days, but did she listen to me?" Ross pipes up.

Bella sidles up to me, circles my waist with her arms, and raises her face toward me for a kiss. "Hello, baby," she whispers against my lips.

"Hello, there. What's this I hear about you not listening to Ross?"

"She's being mean to me," Bella protests with a pout.

I cradle her face in my hands, taking a good look at her. "She worries about you. This show is a big deal. Are you sure you're all right?"

She kisses my palm and nods before replying. "Yes. Nothing a gallon of tea and a good night's sleep won't set to rights."

"Then it's a good thing I put the kettle on a timer, and dinner's ready to go in the oven. Shall we?"

She nods. "Ross, do you need anything else from me?"

Ross waves us off. "Nope. I'll go through my punch list with the stage manager, but it's small potatoes. Take her home, Edward."

Twenty-four hours to go.

&&&IVORIES&&&

Because it's Thanksgiving week, there's a distinct air of lazy festiveness in the newsroom. In short, nobody wants to work, me included. Considering I'm the boss, today I'm taking advantage of the fact to cut out of work early. Before lunch kind of early.

For once eschewing the T, I had Tanya order me an Uber to take me back to Wisteria House where, in the throes of an undercurrent of anticipation, I go through my mental to-do list. First order of business, I pop the chocolate cake I pre-mixed last night into the oven. It will bake while I do the rest. Then, I climb upstairs and change out of my work clothes. I rummage through my closet and find the two things I need—the T-shirt Jake's designer friend had screen-printed for me, and a robin's-egg blue box out of my sock drawer. Cliché, I know. But Bella doesn't put away my laundry and has a keen aversion to my "boy socks," as she calls them. Perfect hiding place.

I'm moving around, fueled by excitement and nerves, and sure as hell, my arm suffers from a sudden bout of clumsiness and bumps into a tender spot beneath my left pec. Fuck.

It's been forty-eight hours, and there's no bandage on it anymore, but it's still going to be tender for a couple weeks. Hence the T-shirt. Soft fabrics will be gentler on my skin. I managed to keep my new ink off Bella's radar only because she's been so busy rehearsing, and I got it done in two appointments over my lunch break. Luckily, Jake covered for me the other day when I skipped lunch with the gang.

However, I decided not to rehearse for my upcoming performance. I'm winging it. After all, winging it with Bella has worked so far.

I jump in the shower in the bathroom downstairs. Calling this cubicle a shower is a euphemism, but since the main bath is still a pile of debris, beggars can't be choosers. We knew the remodel would take longer if we relied on Mac to do it on the weekends.

One year ago. One year ago, I didn't have to worry about bathroom remodels. I was locked into a stubborn pattern of loneliness. And that day, she touched the pack ice around my heart and sent the vibrations of her happy, colorful chaos through it.

And she woke me up.

&&&IVORIES&&&

An hour later, I'm freshly showered and dressed, the cake is baked and boxed, and I get the go-ahead text from Jake, who can't resist being a smartass.

Go get her, Tiger! ;-)

Time for me to head back to the scene of the crime.

&&&IVORIES&&&

When I get to the club, it's a familiar and yet jarring sight. I've been here dozens of times since it opened. It's become a home away from home for our entire group.

And yet I remember the first day I crossed this threshold with Ross standing guard at the door for which I now possess a set of keys. There is no ongoing construction, no battered planks of plywood on the floor, no stacks of old chairs and tables, no dust, no exposed cables, no boarded up windows.

Following Jake's instructions, I select the right key and turn it in the lock, pushing open the door. It creaks on the hinges, and the sound echoes in the deserted lobby. After all my times here in the evenings bathed in the sultry shadows of the club, it's eerie to look at the place in the cold light of day.

But there's a spotlight shining on the piano because the stage is enveloped in a cocoon of darkness. She sits there, lost in the tale her fingers are weaving on those keyboards. She's in her own world—behind the ivories.

Unaccustomed to maneuvering the heavy, unwieldy door, I let it slide closed behind me, but between its cranky hinges and weight, the damn thing slams.

The dull thud startles Bella. "Who's there? The club is closed." She doesn't even sound frightened. Annoyed at the interruption, more like.

"I know, Ladybug."

She leans away from the keyboard, squinting through the blinding spotlight to search for me. "Edward? What are you doing here?"

I step closer to the stage until, finally, the cold, white beam of the stage light drowns me, too. But at least, I'm much closer to Bella, and she can see me.

"What an unexpected surprise," she says before I can answer. She hops off the piano bench, moving toward me.

"I brought you something to keep up with our traditions."

She points to the box in my hands. "What did you do?" Her smile—so glorious I could kiss her for days.

But I have things to say first. "For good luck tomorrow." I hand her the box, which she takes after sitting on the edge of the stage.

"This smells suspiciously like … Oh, my God. Chocolate cake!"

She's too focused on the cake to see there's a jewelry box in my hand. But she realizes something's changed when she raises her head and sees my expectant expression.

"Edward?"

"One year ago today, I met you. Here." I point to the left. That's where a rickety table once stood; the one where we sat for our botched interview. "I never imagined all the ways you'd change my life in the short, exhilarating span of a year. I never imagined how much your generous and compassionate nature would warm my heart until loving you became second nature to me. I never imagined you'd love me back, despite my earlier fuck-ups."

She listens, transfixed, except for her hand that lands on my cheek. I'm working hard not to give in to her touch right now because I can't lose myself in her yet. There are more things to say, but she has wandering eyes, and she's keen on interrupting me.

"What's that on your T-shirt? Is that new?"

My momentum evaporates in a nervous laugh. "Yes. Want to take a peek?"

She parts the sides of my coat and lets her hands follow the lines of the whimsical design. "A blue ladybug on a typewriter. Is that me?" she asks.

Her awe-filled smile unravels me. Until her hand grazes the tender spot on my chest, and I hiss in protest.

"I'm sorry, baby. Did I hurt you?"

"No, love. You didn't. But it's a little sore there right now."

"How so?"

Dammit. I'm despairing the questioning will cease long enough for me to pop the question. "Bella, please. I'll tell you, just … give me a minute?"

That's when she notices the box in my hands, and her lips form a perfectly round vowel. "Oh!"

"We're building a life together. We're building a home for our future. We've known for a while where we're headed. Toward days where yours and mine won't be the only voices animating the amazing house where our life unfolds. Toward days where there will be chocolate smudges on your piano and on my desk. Where some roaming little hands will find the white board in the library and draw unicorns on it. But before that, I'd love to make another change in our life." I pluck the ring from its padded box and present it to her.

"I promise to love you forever. Every single day of forever. Will you marry me, Ladybug? And make a buzz with me for life?"

"Oh my God. This is …" She jumps into my arms, smiling and crying, kissing all over my face.

"Was that an answer?" I'm chuckling because the situation has a certain absurd edge to it. This tends to be the case whenever Bella and I are involved.

"Yes! Of course, yes!"

"Yes, it's an answer, or yes, you'll marry me?" I'm being cheeky, but I'm too happy to care.

"Yes, I'll marry you, you sexy, amazing, sarcastic, gorgeous, courageous, loving man."

"Fucking finally." I groan before kissing her.

For a while, her lips, her sounds, her hands are the only things I feel. She said yes. She'll marry me. Bella will be my wife.

When we take a breather, she wants to see her ring. "It's a ladybug. I love it. How did you find it?"

"A lucky break, but it's one of a kind, like you. This ring normally comes with a green gemstone. With some coaxing, they put a lab-grown sapphire on this one instead. It was the closest to cobalt blue I could find. A precious ladybug for my Ladybug."

"It's so pretty," she whispers. "I love the T-shirt, too. Where did you get that?"

"That designer friend of Jake's?" I hedge.

"You had accomplices, Mr. Editor. How did you get in here?"

I dangle the bunch of keys in her face. "Jake."

She shakes her head, smiling. "Can you believe the nerve of that guy? He's been covering up for you, has he?"

We laugh together at her faux outrage. Busted. She was going to figure it out sooner or later. Now that I have my answer, I can endure the interrogation.

"Yes. I had an important appointment yesterday."

She narrows her eyes at me, tapping a nervous rhythm on my forearm with her fingers. "Does it have to do with the reason why you didn't come to lunch?"

"Yes. Next question?"

She's enjoying this as much as I am. "And with the reason why there's a tender spot on your chest? Which, for the record, I didn't put there?"

"Oh, I know you didn't. Because I did. Wanna see?"

She rolls her eyes. "Duh. When have I ever said no to naked Edward?"

This woman. My fiancée.

"Well, who am I to deny you?" I shrug off my coat, but then she stops me.

"Let me do this part." With excruciating slowness, and both her hands at my sides, she pushes up my shirt, revealing my bare chest inch by inch. Until she reveals my tattoo.

"Oh, Edward." She plants a whisper of a kiss to the new ink, still covered in a light layer of ointment. "It's a cobalt blue ladybug. On your heart. You put me on your heart," she says, her voice breaking.

I cradle her face in my hands. "Where you belong. Forever."

"I love you. Forever."

&&&IVORIES&&&

"Now it makes sense," she murmurs, burrowing into my side.

We're lying in bed, naked and sated, after celebrating our engagement for the last three hours. We remained at the club only long enough to stash the chocolate cake in the mini fridge she keeps in her dressing room. Then, Bella dragged me to the closest taxi stand and demanded to take her home. My fiancée has priorities, and I do not intend to interfere with them. Especially when it involves me, her, and skin-to-skin celebrations.

"What, love?"

"All your questions when I ranted about Ross and Mac getting hitched in Vegas on a whim. You were afraid I'd say no to you?"

I plant a kiss to the crown of her head and run my fingers up and down her side while I try to answer her.

"Not that you'd say no, but that you'd have reservations about getting married so soon. We haven't been together long, after all."

She huffs, a cute frown on her face. "Pshaw. You know what I think about the idea of relationship timelines. Artificial constructs, all of them."

"Well, allow a man some nerves, will you? It's still a big step."

"I know. But we're ready for it. We're happy. I can't wait to add to our happy. Please tell me you don't want to wait," she adds, her expression turning dreamy and hopeful.

"I'm so ready that we could go to the courthouse tomorrow."

"I didn't only mean that," she counters. "But point taken. No fanfare. No big to-do. It's not us. What I did mean, though …"

"Yes, love?"

"Babies, Edward. I don't want to wait."

I'd hoped we wouldn't wait, but I didn't want to pressure her either. "Are you sure? You've quite the full plate for the next year, between teaching, post-production on the live album, promoting its release, your PhD … Do you want to add to it?"

"I'm in if you are. Let's see where fate leads us."

I roll over onto her, stretching her underneath me to pin her hands above her head, caged in mine. "Let's wing it, Ladybug. I'm in."

"Last thing. How do we announce this?"

"Shout it from every rooftop in Boston." That's how elated I am with it.

She places a kiss to my chest on the ladybug tattoo. "I'll do one better."

&&&IVORIES&&&

The next day, we arrive at Sharps & Flats for the live show taping. We're both sporting knowing, goofy smiles, but we haven't told anyone yet.

When I gave Bella carte blanche to announce our engagement, she didn't tell me what she'd do. But with the show recording today, it's not a stretch to think she might drop the bomb live from Boston. After all, our friends and family will be here. Heck, her father is flying in from California. Garrett, Charlotte, and Bea will also attend.

Case in point, the little ball of energy runs smack dab into my pant legs right after Bella disappears backstage. "Ewar!"

"Hey, princess. Are you ready for the show?"

I pick her up in my arms, and she gives me an energetic nod that sends her pigtails flying in my face.

Garrett and Charlotte arrive in her wake. A gentleman in his early fifties accompanies them; his eyes sport the same chocolate and whisky swirls as Bella's. He stands to the side, his gaze wandering around the room.

Bea notices him and calls out to him with a big, toothy smile. "Papa Charlie!"

"Sir? Are you Bella's father?"

He nods, taking a step closer to me. "You must be Edward. I recognize you from the pictures." He waves at me, but doesn't offer to shake my hand, which reminds me of Bella's explanations about his quirks. To avoid embarrassing him, I follow his lead and wave. After all, my arms are still full of Bea. She won't go to her mother or father, despite their entreaties.

"It's good to meet you, sir."

"Charlie, please. Where's my Choc?"

I chuckle at the nickname—he calls her Choc, too. "She's backstage. Last minute things to sort out with Ross."

"Good, good."

Jake flies by and stops to say hello. He winks at me, and I give a nod on the sly. More people filter in—fans who won tickets through the contest, Angela and Ben, the rest of the newsroom, my parents, Mac, Seth, Jasper, Alice, Tanya. Our entire gang is here.

The stage manager comes out of the woodwork and whistles everyone into stunned silence. He explains the rules for the taping. No cellphones, no whispering, no sudden movements, no yelling, no photos, no videos. No approaching the stage—there's a two-foot area cordoned off in front of it. All the tables arranged beyond that barrier. We'll have twenty minutes to use the restrooms before taking our seats for the show to start.

We settle in. Jake saved us tables in the front row, except for an area set aside for the Duckling Army. They're all decked out in their cobalt blue scarves.

Almost an hour later, the stage manager yells out his warning, the lights flicker, and everything goes dark.

"Esteemed guests, live from Sharps & Flats in Boston, I give you Isabella Swan!"

&&&IVORIES&&&

I get lost in the music, as I always do when I'm listening to Bella play.

She's been playing her best-known pieces. "Essence of You," "Fly Away," "One Night in Paris," "New Renaissance," "Waterworld," "Whisper," "Panic," "Go With the Flow," and "Sea Glass," to name but a few.

There's a brief pause after it. Jake and Eric appear on the stage. Jake is wielding an acoustic guitar. Eric—or rather, DJ EY2 as he's known to the masses—sits at a keyboard opposite Bella's piano.

"We've approached tonight with you as an evening with friends. So, here we go," Bella says. "This is us, jamming. Enjoy."

Some of the songs are covers, ones she's played before at Sharps & Flats. Roxy Music's "More Than This" resurfaces, and so does Nora Jones's "Come Away With Me," only this time Eric sings it.

Bella and Eric play a few of his songs in the mellower arrangements for piano she's showcased before on this very stage.

Then, after another moving, instrumental rendition of R.E.M.'s "Nightswimming," Bella rises from the piano bench and comes to the front of the stage.

"The next song is the last one for tonight," she announces.

A current of grumbling flows through the audience.

"I know, I know. I'd go on forever. But I'd like to end this on a high note. Yesterday, someone asked me a question, and I answered. It's a question of hope, love, and future. My Edward—where are you? Ah, there you are—asked me to marry him."

The crowd erupts in cheers. The Duckling Army is throwing their scarves onto the stage.

I'm losing count of the shoulder slaps I'm getting—Mac, my father, Garrett, Jasper. Charlie turns toward me with a nod and a knowing smile. Bea points to Bella's shiny ring. My mom is crying. Tanya and Alice give me double thumbs-up. They're all here.

But I'm stunned. I only have eyes for her.

She laughs at the crowd's enthusiasm and blows me a kiss from the stage. "So, I take it this is welcome news. Thank you. We're very happy. Edward, baby, this one is for you."

When she sits at the piano, she weaves a melody I know by heart. Jake joins her, strumming his guitar and lending his soulful voice to one of my favorite songs.

A song that, since yesterday, has a whole new meaning.

Try and sometimes you'll succeed
To make this man of me
All of my stolen missing parts
I've no need for anymore
I believe
And I believe 'cause I can see
Our future days
Days of you and me

Our future days. We have a lifetime of those.

And those stolen missing parts aren't stolen or broken.

She put this man back together with her love.


I know, I know ... He did good.

The song at the end is Pearl Jam's "Future Days." I don't have a specific graphic for his new tattoo. Use your imagination ;-)
What I do have is a pic of the engagement ring. It will be in my FB Group, LaMomo's Lair. Just type the name into the search bar.

I'm uploading this after attending my cousin's wedding today - with our hearts full of happiness and our tummies full of yummy food. It seemed like a great day for an update like this.