Author's Note : Okay people, trigger warnings ahead for suicide stuff and sexual assault (not in this chapter specifically, but it's coming)

According to statistics, around 4000 people in the US drown each year. I know this because it was part of the suicide prevention plan at school. The teachers handed out pamphlets to everyone at the beginning of term and most of us shucked them in the garbage.

Instead I read it once, twice, three times. I don't know why.

After nightfall,the apartment was cloaked in blue shadows – the beautiful tapestries and painted ceiling rendered into something less innocent and regal.

My head submerged under water in the bath, my red hair swirled around my face like seaweed. It's a typical exercise for athletes to hold their breath under water for long periods of time. Back when I was still allowed on the swimming team, it was a regular part of every lesson. You can hold your breath for around 2 minutes, though the world record still holds at 20 minutes. But of course we competed, to see which one of us could do it for the longest.

I liked it better under water. It was a different world that I sometimes glimpsed, full of peace and quiet. A world which others took for granted, but one I could only see when I stayed at the bottom of the pool. When I looked up towards the surface, I would only see my own reflection – and I looked almost normal, like this, down here. Then a rugged hand, shattering the silver sheen – grabbing for me.

Rebecca stop it. That's enough!

Gasping, I reached the surface, pulling my head above the warm water in the tub. My hands were gripping its sides, water sloshing over the edge and onto the tile. Two minutes and fifty seconds.

A new personal record.

I tried to read the book that Aro had lent to me. But it was complicated, and I couldn't make heads or tails of it – the language wasn't the problem (it was in english, first edition) but I had too many questions, and the scientific jargon too complex.

Instead I placed it on the hall table in my apartment like an ornament, the eye of the purple inked sphinx glaring me down everytime I passed it. I didn't tell the other secretaries about it, since Marion had explicitly warned me not to touch any of the books.

The book was a secret that only me and Mr. Aro knew about. I didn't know how to feel about that – and frankly, I thought he had already forgotten all about it.

On Tuesday, I arrived at work to find all the employees (not just the secretaries) hurrying around, a catering truck was parked outside our office building and a woman was rolling in a long silver clothing rack, from which hung several dry-cleaning bags for expensive suits and capes. I almost bumped into Helen on my way in, who had her hands full of paperwork and a phone pressed to her ear. She blinked when she saw me, as if she hadn't expected to see me today at all.

"Hey Helen, what's going on?"I asked, gesturing to the commosion around us. She looked around as well, sighing, her voice a little weary and her eyes bloodshot. But otherwise, she looked as pressed and pristine as she normally did.

"Maybe you remember that emergency last weekend? Well, this friday we're going to host a company dinner party. It's a bit of a tight schedule, but it'll have to work." she said, shrugging a little. It felt unfair of me not to offer my assistance, so I did.

"Oh, is there something I can do?" I asked. Helen suddenly looked uncomfortable, as if I had asked something inapproriate.

"Erhm, well…." she murmured, but did not get to say anything else before Marion appeared beside her, a smarmy smile on her lips as she stared at me.

"As a matter of fact, there is. We need someone to stand by the entrance to the dining room, to make sure all the guests feel welcome when they enter. " she explained in a curt voice. I crossed my arms over my chest, staring back at her, trying to see if she was lying.

"I can do that. Will I require a special outfit?" I asked, and Helen seemed grateful to step in this time, before Marion had anything further to say. She had a clipboard in her hand, an ipad attached to it, from which she showed me a recent order from some high-end tailor in Florence.

"It's already been taken care of – a selection of suitable dresses will be delivered to your apartment tomorrow, and you can choose any of those to wear. "

But of course, Marion wasn't going to let anything stay cheerful. Her eyes left my face to stare unabashedly at my wild, red locks on top of my head.

"But your hair..." she muttered in consideration, and I frowned, unconciously taking a menacing step towards her, like an unspoken challenge.

"What about my hair?" I asked sharply. Thank god for Helen. Her arm came between us, pointing at something outside the building as she spoke louder than necessary.

"Marion, isn't that the carpenter that you've been after, the one who overprized his services?" she asked, and Marions beady eyes widened before she took off without another word out the door. We both watched her leave for a few minutes, before Helen sighed and turned to me with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry about that. You have lovely hair." she said, and I touched it self-conciously, laughing awkwardly.

"I don't think she likes me." I said, and Helen nodded casually.

"You very well may be right about that – but I like you. Don't worry about friday night, you'll do fine."

Before I left the main hall and went to my desk, I noticed another van outside unloading hospital equipment to the building opposite ours – the one that belonged to the leaders of the Volturi.

The day of the dinner party arrived quickly.

I had been allowed to leave work early that day to prepare for the event – so I went home and took a long shower, washed my hair and put on one of the dresses that had been ordered for me. There were three of them – all in a different shade of blue. Two of them were much shorter, cut over the knee. I didn't have a problem with showing skin, but I had rarely seen any of my collegaus wearing anything so revealing.

Instead I opted for the third dress – a cobalt blue gown made of silk, skirt almost long enough to touch my ankles – it was sleeveless and boatnecked – emphazising the white column of skin from my collarbone to my long, thin neck. The shade went well with my auburn hair, which I decided to put up in a low-hanging ponytail. Finally, I put some mascara on my lashes and filled in my brows, then put on some lipgloss.

At the last minute I decided against wearing high heels, since I would look like a fool trying to walk with them on the cobblestoned streets. After checking my reflection one last time in the bathroom mirror, I switched off all the lights and left the apartment.

I arrived at the party ten minutes later, a few guests already loitering outside the main entrance. There was no sign out front that the party was here, but I knew by now that Volturi liked to do things discreetly. What was less discreet was all the black cadillacs and expensive sports cars suddenly filling up the small parking area next to the piazza – if not for those cars, the piazza was just as quiet as usual around this time of night.

I had been informed that the dinner would be held in a room opposite from where the leaders worked, which was two floors down by elevator. When I got there, Marion was already greeting a couple of guests that had arrived, standing by the open doors. She was wearing a deep red bodycon dress of thick satin, and high heeled shoes in the same shade. I approached her cautiously, but when she saw me, she smiled brightly.

"Ah, here she is – Rebecca Somersten, our intern from overseas."

I turned to the three guests she had been talking to, two men and a woman. Even though they looked like something I had been expecting – wealthy, businesslike and also dressed in fine clothes – one of the men was significantly less pale than the other, like he has actually spent some time in the sun. He was the only one to shake my hand aimably, sending me a cheerful smile and a wink.

"Well done young lady, there isn't many young people who dare to cross an ocean for an internship these days." I was somewhat surprised to hear that he was an american, like me.

"Thank you sir."

"Mr Thornton here is one of our many lawyers. " Marion explained to me, still smiling but not looking at me anymore. The other two guests observed our interaction quietly, each of them holding a glass of burgundy wine that looked untouched. They kept staring at me in particular. Then one of them, the woman, put her arm around Mr Thornton's, and he looked down and smiled at her briefly before nodding at us.

"I'll be seeing you later Ms Somersten, have a good night."he said, before following his female companion inside the dining room – long tables lined every side of the four walls, covered in white linen cloths, crystal glasses and polished silverware placed meticulously on them. But there was something missing.

"Where is the food?" I asked Marion. She answered me as she stepped into the elevator, a blank look on her face.

"The caterers will bring it in from the kitchen, later."

Shortly after, the rest of the many guests started to arrive. My job was to stand by the doors, smile and occasionally bow slightly when they entered. And help them to find the right room, on occasion. I had no idea that it was going to be so many people arriving – from what the others had told me, it was going to be a small affair. But then, it was more logical if I thought back on how stressed all of them had been during the week in preparation for this.

I was glad for my choice of dress, since many of those arriving were also dressed in fine evening gowns or dresses meant for a ball – and the men were equally dressed, some even coming in tuxedos. A few musicians had arrived, and had begun playing music in the dining room – which echoed between the stone walls. It was the sort of music I had rarely heard, and it took me a long while to recognize that someone was playing on a harpsichord.

I did not see any of the leaders of Volturi enter the room, but soon enough I heard one of their voices speaking above the din of people talking, who fell silent. I had not heard him speak often, but I believed it was Caius.

"I would like to bid you welcome, and hope that you will find the evening to be a fruitful one..."

As he was speaking, my head turned to try and look inside, I did not notice that another guest had arrived. Someone put their hand on my shoulder, and I instantly turned around.

I came face to face with a man dressed in a dark navy three piece suit, whose eyes were just that strong shade of brown bordering on red that I had seen in so many people here in Volterra. But instead of passing me by, he simply stood there and smiled expectantly at me, eyes roving over parts of my body. There was something in his eyes that told me to be careful.

"The dinner is in there sir." I said in italian, gesturing to the open doors. But still, he stood there and looked at me. I was starting to feel vaguely uncomfortable.

"Is there something I can do for you?" I asked, thinking that maybe he needed to know where the bathroom was. He continued to smile and stare at me, then out of nowhere, brought up his hand to touch my cheek. It was so unexpected that I didn't have time to step back.

"Such a beautiful, beautiful girl..." he murmured in a deep voice, hand still on my cheek. I blinked several times, shocked. Then as soon as it had happened, he moved his hand away and entered the dining room without looking back.