Hello everybody! New chapter is here. Hope you'll like it.

Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. All mistakes are mine.


Chapter 1

I was standing in the corner, trying to be invisible to people, even though after my birth, I was anything but. Still, I pretended to be good at it. Pretended to make an invisible bubble that would repel others from coming towards my way.

It was nice to know it helped. Sometimes.

Unfortunately, it wasn't really working tonight.

So I found a small spot that I knew would help in these moments.

I hated balls or anything involving them. I liked quiet, inconspicuous spaces. Books. Intelligent conversations.

Instead I was forced to play an entirely different person.

One who always smiled, danced, liked being in the centre of attention. Listened to men, and nodding at their advices like they were God send.

Nobody ever asked me what I want...what I think...how I feel.

Books were my salvation. My best friends. My everything.

Sounds sad, I know. But true. Mostly.

I did have friends, but choose not to conversate too much. The one advice that really served me well in life is: "Be careful who you speak your secrets to."

I learned that the hard way.

I chose my friends well. My enemies even more.

Another great advice? Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

That one was continuously yet stubbornly spoken to me since I was 3.

One person that I truly wanted to talk to wasn't here, and no matter how much I needed her, I knew she never could be here. She wasn't allowed. Lower class rank people never could.

A sudden tingle spread all over my body. It made me shiver in the most pleasurable of ways.

Looking up, I realized why.

Somebody was watching me. But not just anybody.

A man.

Well...no, he was not an adult yet, and neither was I. In 18 months I would be 18, and ready to take over the crown.

His penetrative but quizzable stare made me uncomfortable. I quickly put my head down, trying to hide behind the book in my hands.

It didn't help. I still felt his eyes on me. His piercing onyx eyes.

Lifting my head quickly too see if I'm still being observed, I find that no one's there.

It made me overwhelmed with sadness, and dissappointment. Frowning, I try to understand why.

Taking a deep breath, I release it slowly. It helps. A little.

Getting back to my book, I hear a voice, soft as a whisper, smooth as a silk and warm as honey.

"Looking for someone?"

I don't look up. I'm too afraid to do so.

"No."

I feel his smile under my skin. It tingles and warms me up in ways I never expected.

"You're a terrible liar. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"No." Yes.

"You should keep practicing, just in case."

Now that sounded a bit rude. I close the book with a thud, ready to look up. How dare he call me a liar? Me? A future queen?

"How dare you..."

Just then a man quickly, hurridly approaches.

"Princess Isabella, allow me to intoduce my very chatty cousin, Edward Cullen."

He bows his head elegantly, a hat in his left hand.

"I hope you can forgive his manners. I'm Jasper Whitlock."

I nod just as I was taught. Respectfully yet elegantly. Like a royal should.

"Nice to meet you, Jasper. No apologies needed. You came just in time." I smile.

A warm laugh entices my body, making it giddy and light. My anxiety dissapears, for a moment.

It's Edward's laugh. Of course. The way he looks at me right now, with mirth and elatedness, maybe a bit smugness but mostly, infatuation. Like I'm a puzzle that he's more than ready to solve. Challenge he's ready to achieve in the best way. Over and over again.

There is a look that passes between them. A moment later Jasper clears his throat. Even fidgets with his hat before gets interrupted.

"Princess, I was thinking, if it's not a bother..."

"Jasper Masen Whitlock...is that you or do my eyes decieve me?"

"No, they do not maa'm." He smiles. It looks polite and relieved at the same time.

"It really is you. Look at you. You're all grown up. Come, I need you to greet someone. They'll love you."

She pulls him into her path, involving him into her circle of high society, leaving me alone with Edward.

"So, Isabella...do you dance?"

"It's princess Isabella, to you. I have a title."

My voice sounds snobby and repulsive, reminding me momentarily of my mother, but I don't care.

He smiles, giving a bit of his smirk back at me. It's almost annoying. Almost.

"I know. I like Isabella better. Do you mind?"

"Yes, actually."

"I don't think you do." There's that smirk again.

"You don't know me Mr..."

"Edward," he interrupts.

"Well, Mr. Edward..."

A grin.

"Just Edward. Please."

"Very well 'just Edward'. You may think you read me like a book, but you don't know anything about me."

"Will you let me then?" he asks suddenly.

"Let you what?"

"Get to know you."

"Why would I?"

"Because I want you to."

This shocks me. But I don't let him see.

"Why?"

"You intrigue me...princess." He says my title not out of disrespect but in such a peculiar way it makes me smile. Almost.

Intrigue. Thats what he is.

Mystery.

Freedom.

"I don't dance."

"What?" he asks, confused.

"You asked me to dance earlier. But I don't dance. Not really. Two left feet."

Quickly, I lift my dress, showing him my ankles.

He throws his head, letting out a boisterous laugh.

It makes him look so carefree and young. Attractive.

My whole body tingles.

"Good. Because I don't care for it much either...princess. I prefer walking."

"Well, look at that. Something we actually agree on."

We smile at each other, and this time, instead of the smirk, he shows me his devastatingly gentle one.

And his eyes...even though they are as dark as charchoal, I see the light shining out of them. In this moment...I feel like I've known him my whole life, like we have finally met after so long.

A long lost friend. Kindred spirits.

"Shall we then?" He asks, offering his hand.

"We shall."


I wake up suddenly, with tears in my eyes.

Another dream. Great.

Getting up, I walk inside the kitchen to get a glass of water.

Ever since the break up, a year ago, I've been having some very vivid dreams.

I know, in my head that they are not real. I know that. And that's what I keep reminding myself every night.

But my heart? This empty vessel that beats sadly, second after second, cries and weeps for him. This imaginary man, boy...whatever the case...he is a figment of my imagination, yet...ever so quietly, my heart whispers...it's not my imagination. It's real. It happened.

He's real.

And he's somewhere...waiting for me.

I wipe the last tears from my cheeks, and go back to my room.

I spend the next few hours staring at the tv commercials. When my alarm yells for my attention, my moves are automatic.

I take a deep breath. Another one, and get ready for work.


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