Hi all. Thanks for your patience and your interest. It's so kind! A long night ahead. I'd love to know what you think, thanks very much!

There's a reason why Liz didn't want me to see this room first. Had I seen it, I would be no comfort to anyone. I, as the dirty art Nerd, would be stood at the large Anglican looking table, the gothic windows high and the drapes and wax candles eerie, positively drooling in my lap. The oak table is fucking massive, one to seat all Lords and Ladies with a lace table cloth on top decorated with crosses. Eustace is seated up the top of the table, Elizabeth to his left close to the window followed by me and then Edward. Opposite Edward sits his father and opposite me is Carlisle. The empty space between the two Cullens is a deliberate one.

'So tell us, Kid. Getting enough sleep at the hospital?'

'Just.' Carlisle answer wryly, pleased by the distraction of conversation as though we're all one big family and the stranger on the end is a vulture. 'It's been rather hectic the last few days and it's about to get busier, so I hear.'

'You're young. You don't need sleep anyway.' He replies with a guffaw, sharing a pleased look at his Mrs who is still looking between the three of us like we're her idols. As if on cue, reading my thoughts most probably, she opens her mouth.

'It's so nice to finally have you all together in the same room. We've always wondered who on earth they were living with what with the both of them staying indoors all the time.'

'Mom,' Edward whines, frowning at his father who laughs jovially.

'You both could do with a little more sun.' she criticises pinching Edwards pale cheek from behind my shoulders. He fights it off and I snicker.

'We're home birds, that's for sure.' I confirm, grinning.

'That's only because there's no reason to go out.' Carlisle explains, facing Edward's father as he watches me. 'Especially not when you cook.'

'Oh stop bragging.' I laugh, he raises his hand in surrender, a smirk written on his face as he fights to appreciate those present.

'Have you always cooked?' Liz asks, and I'm suddenly getting the feeling we're more alike than what it looks like because she's just as thrilled by the more similarities she finds.

'I try to.'

'Unfortunately, we've been neglected as of recent.' Edward complains, nudging me.

I think that's a reference to the fact that before those three weeks ago I was struggling to do anything that involved making an effort with food. Including eat it. But before that, and even recently, cooking has been quite fun again. Edward Senior snorts, sounding very much like his son when he does so but Carlisle is strangely relaxed enough to come to my rescue.

'Edward's actually been too busy to feed lately. We hardly ever see him at home.' He looks to me to help reinforce the point, and because it's true, I join in with ease.

'Oh yeah! He's a very busy guy.'

'I am?' He asks, his voice tight and I think all three of us can share a throwback to the certain brunette that our Romantic isn't quite yet ready to discuss. He reads my expression and nods. His father smiles.

'Composing again, Son?' He guesses proudly.

'I have been actually. It's not ready yet though, so don't get your hopes up.'

Beside me his mother rolls his eyes. 'Will it ever be ready?'

The answer he manages to ignore a little longer, despite the parents prattling and soon enough the comforting sound of our laughter soothes to a contented hum. It's the contented hum which is disturbed. The warm sound of familiarity are cut through with the open blade of the stranger's tone when he leans forward, as if past Liz, to gather specifically my attention.

Carlisle stays very still.

'Tell me about yourself, Esme.' Eustace inquiries from his seat. He leans closer to his son though his son doesn't appreciate the movement according to the flicker on his features. It doesn't feel like a warm invitation, it's more like a command. What kinda aged name is Eustace anyway?

'What would you like to know?' I offer with a smile.

'You're a student, correct?'

'That I am.' I say, jovially. 'Specifically interior design but I have a fascination for-'

'Hm, obviously.' He interrupts, dismissing the excess chatter from my lips. My saint is listening thoughtfully, displeased and rather wary as he calculates the meaning between the words.

'Obviously, Sir?' I question, straightening my cutlery to avoid returning the challenging death stare.

'You lead with your hands.'

It's said with a hint of distaste. I look to my hands, the relatively smooth quality on the surface burdened with a rougher palm from years of creativity. My nails are short but rounded, thanks to Alice. I don't wear any rings and my thumb is still sore from the miniature cut today. My wrist is healing too, but that's not the point.

'Oh… Don't we all?'

'No. But enough of trivial fancies. Tell me something important.' Carlisle's jaw tightens, rock solid as he clenches his teeth together. His father continues; 'Where were you baptised?'

'Not relevant.' He mutters, shooting daggers into his father's skull. I feel myself shrinking, taking a careful sip of the water on the table.

'Urm. I'm not actually sure if I am.' A nervous chuckle escapes past my lips and dragging up my posture as if I'm meeting royalty, I try to soften my distrust into a friendly attempt. In all honesty, being sat next to Liz is a blessing, she makes this terribly easy. 'We think so, at least.'

'You 'think' so?' He quotes, using the finger to indicate the indents, chewing the foreign matters in his mouth like he's chewing on snot and blood

For the sake of my Saint and the Saint only, I swallow the instinct to frown and manipulate it into smile. The Masens seem just as interested in this answer and realistically, if he wasn't so jumpy, Carlisle would be too. For now, he's a little on edge.

'My parents could never remember.' I explain, tucking a curl behind my ear as I look around the table. 'My dad used to say he suffered with baby brain since I was born and I have five other siblings.'

'I know the feeling.' Senior laughs, appreciating the humour of my quick tale and winking to his wife. It's very sweet. You can almost feel the love in the room. Carlisle smiles warmly at me, his shoe accidently tapping mine under the table.

'That's so lovely! Are you all close? Do you see them a lot?'

It's easy to answer Liz because she finds everything wonderful. It's a shame her son doesn't share the optimism. It would certainly be a lot easier to live with him if he did.

'Well, my eldest brother Henry works at law firm in Illinois. Richard works intermittently overseas and Daniel is a teacher.' Or at least that's what he gets paid to do whether he does the job or not. 'The twins will be starting ninth grade in August back in Ohio.'

I don't really talk a lot about my family, not normally. The kids are evil and the others I hardly see let alone speak to due to commitments and other unresolved issues. But Carlisle seems interested in this point. He's always interested when I open my mouth. It's very flattering.

'A Law firm? What one?' Asks Senior excitedly. Edward rolls his eyes but he's smiling

'I think it's somewhere in Chicago. Something 'Justice'?' I guess, mistakenly. I'm being smirked at but it's not my fault when the company has changed its name like forty times.

'Jefferson's Justice and co?'

'That's it!'

With just the mention of my brother's last name, I've won over Senior's love. Edward's father is excitedly telling me how he helped set up the firm and how clever most of the staff are, though this might just be a way to flatter me. Being my brother, Henry was always going to be a pain in the ass to me.

'Mr Masen is a barrister in Rockford.' Carlisle explains for me, I nod my head recognising the name.

'But originally from Chicago.' Liz tells me proudly and I love the fact that I'm mildly aware of this because of Carlisle. Still, I'm thrilled to listen.

We accidently fall into another nice little chat, brought on more by the five of us rather than Father Eustace's ever reading eyes. He calculates the scene holding everyone's eyes for as long as possible as if trying to reinforce the fact that his son can't ignore him all night. Which he's right about but Carlisle is just uneasy.

It irritates me that we're served by staff but looking at the size of the house, I don't know why I expected any different. Carlisle greets them politely, making quick conversation, hoping they are in good health as they place soup bowls in front of us.

An elderly lady shows Father Cullen an aged bottle of red wine which he gives a soft nod to as they fill every glass. Except Carlisle's. No one says anything. Trying to raise my eyebrow is as far as I get but he just shakes his head and hides in his food.

The soup is amazing. It's some vegetable thing which I'm convinced I'm going to hate luckily I don't. It's all really nice. I'm staring at the glass of wine on the table, sharing a look with Edward but he smiles and encourages me to ignore it by inching it just a centimetre closer to his plate. All the while, the head of the table chugs down a good three to four glasses and everything surrounding Carlisle's panic to do with alcohol falls into place.

The shudders of self-disgust pinch at my bare shoulders.

The second course is even better than the starter but my stomach beneath the tight fabric of this dress is getting tighter and I'm determined not to look pregnant or bloated and so only eat as much as I can. It's good, some expensive steak and potatoes. I've finished my plate and am patiently listening to Edward's explanation to his parents of yesterday's game play.

'So, who won?'

'Who'd you think, Dad?'

He gives a hearty laugh before clapping Carlisle on the shoulder.

'Hard luck, Kid. You know how fast our boy is.'

Carlisle shrugs, smiling and taking a forkful of his food, appreciating it just as much as me. He's almost like normal when his attention is taken. When we can ignore the extra person, he can cope.

'It wasn't just Edward. Es is quite the runner, too. Though I'm convinced they cheated.'

'Full names, Carlisle.' We leave the comment unnoticed.

I shake my head at him and pout.

'Nobody likes a sore loser, Cullen, err, I mean Carlisle.' You know hard it is to call him by his fucking faith name when he's flirting?! Goddamn he is so gorgeous, I couldn't adore him more.

'They asked Alice to shoot left instead of right.' He explains to Mr. Masen who grins in support for the brunettes.

'You still hit the ball though.' I remind him. He didn't just hit it, he hit it exceedingly well. His left hand is talented. So is his right…

'Only just. The shot completely threw me.'

'What threw you was your awful coordination. If you hadn't have grabbed my leg, you would've made the run just fine.'

He looks at me blankly, amazed I actually told the truth, no more amazed than I am, I'm sure. At least he seems entertained. His father's gruff catches him unaware and distractedly, he stabs something on his plate so it goes flying in my direction and nearly fucking blinds me.

'Bloody hell, Hon. What you trying to do? Decapitate me?!' I say quickly, surprised I managed to survive that attack with no damage, Liz is laughing gently, Carlisle guffawing in shock as the table tries to stay as still as possible.

Wait. Did I just swear?!

I cringe inwardly as we wait for a tentative few seconds to debate our response. Carlisle freezes, fighting the unexpected smile. Edward watches. Elizabeth waits a little more and both men frown… until there's a roar of belly laughter from Senior.

'Christ, I am so sorry!' I say quickly, pointing my apologies both to Carlisle, who has allowed himself to grin, and his tight faced father who is frowning. I just called him Hon as well… We're are so screwed. I've fucked it. He's going to kill me and I won't even blame him for it.

Hold on, isn't there some other stuff about taking the Lord's name in vain or whatever?! Is that why he looks like he's about to stab me?!

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Wait, no not God. Not Good either. Stop fucking thinking just say something! I can feel my cheeks ignite as he turns the penetrating stare of death into me, sending all his little God threats my way in the hope I might burst into flames. Unfortunately for us all, I live.

'Do you often swear so boldly, Miss Platt?'

Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck.

'Enough.' Carlisle says hotly, glaring to his left before offering an apologetic look my way. I feel guiltier about the fact that he's had to use the tone he's been avoiding all evening. I'm the worst, I swear. Kill me, kill me, just fucking kill me….

'My grandfather was a seamen.' I joke, shrugging a little. Edward stiffens next to me and I'm about to silence him with a nudge when I realise. Seamen. Semen.

'Ssailor!' I correct in a shout. 'He was a Sailor!'

Now the kid joins in with his father's laughter, both of them howling in delight while I think of all the quickest ways to kill myself.

The plates are taken away from us and although we mutter our awkward thanks, the stranger doesn't acknowledge his staff. The same elderly woman has come round with the wine bottle again and draining my water as quick as possible, I grab the wine glass and raise it to the bottle, thanking her for filling it. Edward looks sadly at me and I'm just about to take a sip when I'm being spoken to again.

'Any other bad habits you wish to disclose?' He questions, watching me shrivel up and die like a fucking maggot grape.

'I said Enough!' Carlisle growls, finally turning to his father and shaking his head in warning.

It takes me a while to notice his cheeks are pink but that's because I'm glaring at the table cloth. I thank the poor slave girl for the top up but place the glass in front of me. Without a second thought, Carlisle swaps his water with it.

Firstly I assume Edward has outed me, and prepare myself to jab him for it, but I'm immediately corrected at the similar look of confusion on Master Masen's face. That's just when he swaps the glasses. When he actually raises it to his mouth I almost fucking fall out my chair as does Edward. He's drinking?! He's drinking alcohol?! Oh my Fucking God, we've corrupted him.

Jasper was wrong, this isn't fun at all. I feel sick with worry.

'You know as my son you're forbidden to drink.' His father reprimands. My flinch occurs in time with Carlisle's.

'Don't serve it then.' he replies bitterly, sharing a look with Edward before ignoring my questioning gaze.

I attempt to align my foot to his and it almost works. The contorted features of uncontrollable anger dissipates when looks to me; softening, almost lifting the corner of his lips up to that smile. At his cough, Carlisle looks to his father who is glaring, snarling almost, in warning. The combination of the anger, the humiliation and the tense atmosphere pushes him over the edge and in one quick swoop he drains the glass, jumps up and throws his napkin to the table before storming out.

Elizabeth watches him go sadly, sharing a miserable look with her husband who stares glumly at his plate.

'Excuse me.' I start, pushing my chair out. She acts quickly to stop me by turning and narrowing her eyes.

'Go after him.' She demands. He rolls his eyes lazily towards us, all waiting for him to do something. It takes him ages to even sigh.

'If he's man enough to drink, he's man enough to grow up.'

'That's not-' I find myself saying, to my left Edward takes my hand, silencing my own mouthy temper with a gentle look. He's right. If I fuck it up any more, I've screwed things over big time.

'That is your Son, Eustace. Go after him before it's another two years and that's if you're lucky!' She hisses, her mouth and her jaw locking just like Edward's does when he's angry.

He's about to respond, to return an equally sour reply. However, he changes his mind, throwing the napkin down and glaring at me fiercely.

'He'll see sense eventually… He'll be done with such incorrigible vices soon enough.' To finish, he storms off as quick as lightning, slamming the door on the way out and leaving us all in a premature silence.

Regardless of the genuine pitiful insult, the glare of his eyes as he refers to me as incorrigible is enough to make me want to ball my eyes out. Even if he is an asshole… it could be the truth. If Carlisle really wanted forgiveness, religious forgiveness too...it's no secret that I'm standing in the way of that. Temporary is not a term I like for myself. Vice isn't either.

It suddenly occurs to me how grateful I should be in comparison. At least I had one parent to defend me while he still could. And failing him, I had my brothers… Carlisle didn't. It was just him.

Elizabeth isn't his mother.

The narrow hand squeezes around mine a little tighter and I suddenly realise I'm staring, my mouth falling open.

'Don't listen to-' Liz starts to say but I push out my chair, gently this time, and force a smile.

'I'm going to get some fresh air.'

'Es?' Edward asks, standing up behind me but I'm already pushing past.

The springtime sun should be growing darker now we're hitting dusk. Instead it's roasting on my skin and face through every tall window as I try to find my way outside. There's so many rooms, so densely packed and so full of clutter and decorations and beauty. My palms are starting to sweat, my head hurting as I breathe heavily.

Relief floods into my veins when my palms clap on the glass of the backdoors and pushing through them, I take several moments to breathe the sting of hay fever through my nose and pretend that I'm perfectly fine. It helps, kind of. My head is hurting, I'm feeling incredibly guilty and there's a feeling in my stomach which is more uncomfortable as time goes on.

With a stiff inhale, I pull my heels off and let the fresh grass soothe my toes as I head towards the little river. It feels better around here and not just because I'm in the shade but more because I'm cooler and can be hidden from sight without worry.

Maybe I've got a Vicodin in my bag. Probably not but any kind of tablet will do, even-... oh, wow. It's been so long since I've cleared out this bag. I've got a condom in here and a cigarette! I shouldn't, I really shouldn't but the thought of the way he glared at me, how embarrassed Carlisle was, how over-the-top I was… for fuck sake I called him Hon. I pet named him in front of them all.

It wasn't Carlisle wearing his heart on his sleeve. It's me.

My hands move automatically and telling myself, I'll only inhale once, I light up and take at least three. There's something better about smoking and blaming that for all my problems. At the very least I know none of them will get me smashed. I roll my foot along the floor, along the soft blades of grass with the setting sun catching what it can of my calves, letting my hair fall over my shoulders and a cloud of ghostly poison rise from my lips.

'Hi.'

'Fuck.' I leap a few feet, clutching a hand to my chest as I take a few minutes to realise its Carlisle. My eyes skim to my right hand where I'm holding another vice between two fingers, the smoke flowing up slightly. 'Carlisle, I… This isn't…'

Fuck.

He doesn't say much, just stays standing next to me, looking as perfect as ever in his suit. His blazer is still neat, his tie straight against his stomach and his gorgeous hair without one imperfection. He raises a stiff, unimpressed eyebrow at me, indicating my choice and reaches for the cigarette.

'I was going to put it out anyway…' I murmur, handing it to him as guilty as sin. He frowns, takes it from my grip and with two fingers and puts it to his lips. His inhale is rich with experience and he whistles the grey from his pout in a way to make it slip in the rhythm to the light breeze.

My jaw drops. It's perfect looking as if he's so used to the feeling of… oh. He pulls up his shoe, puts out the light on his back heel and breaks the stick in half to put in his pocket.

'You've done that before.' I realise, a little shocked. He nods, blowing out the last of the smoke and offering a bit of a smile before turning towards the river and focusing only on that.

'It's a pretty sight, isn't it?'

'Yeah.' I feel even guiltier at how in love I am with the open space and watch my feet, trying not to think about how sexy smoking actually is.

'Just think, two weeks earlier and I could've lived here instead…'

'What?' I say with a guffaw.

'I was in the process of buying the property. The rooms are too huge, the kitchen is far too dark for my liking but I fell in love with the garden.'

'It's expansive.' I agree. 'You could do so much. Flowers, walkways…a greenhouse? Maybe even a fountain?'

He smiles, tilting his head towards me as I encourage him on with a nod.

'Anyway, it came down to the last two weeks. Someone outbid me and I didn't see any reason to fight him.' He passes me, crouching down to the river and pulling out a dead weed or two to float along the water. 'That was two years ago.'

'And that's why you didn't speak?' I assume, gently coming towards him and crouching too. He looks at my dress, blue eyes swimming with words that he's patient to discuss until now. They're wide, urgent and a little wild looking though his voice would never convey such blasphemy.

'Like I said there were plenty of other reasons.' He takes my hand, opens it up flat with the palm up. 'Firstly, I didn't know if you would've followed.'

'I wouldn't have been able to afford it.' I admit.

'That's what I assumed you would say, and I knew you'd never allow for me to cover the bill indefinitely. I also didn't want to drag you into all this mess. Little did I know that here we would stand.'

'Or squat.' I correct playfully.

His smile eases up, playing on my fingers as he fixes himself, almost on one knee. The downside to this dress is that it would never let me get down that far meaning he has to look up at me, the ends of my hair drifting close to his face because that's what every fibre of my being wants. To be next to him.

'When I said a few days ago…' He begins delicately, his voice trembling in what I first assume is guilt but quickly becomes nerves.

'It's not your fault, Hon. Edward and you warned me. I wasn't thinking'

'No, no.' He interrupts, smiling. 'I was talking about sex before marriage as a kind of...momentary statement. That its beauty is in its temporality, kind-of-thing.'

Was he saying that?

'I remember.' I say, obviously. I go to close my hand but he keeps it open for the moment, watching my face with a smart smile.

'I'm a lot more religious than you think I am, Esme…'

'Oh really?' I challenge, raising an eyebrow. He nods thoughtfully.

'Even when I came to Chicago and picked up a few bad habits… I prayed every night. I still do. Try my best to go to Church when possible which, admittedly, is hardly ever and I firmly believe in certain concepts. Forgiveness is one... so is heaven?' He takes a deep, heavily broken breath... 'Marriage is another…'

'What are you saying?' I whisper, playfully confused, leaning close to his shoulder. He buries one hand a little more into his inside pocket, producing the same black satin jewellery box from my earrings. My heart leaps to my throat.

'We've really changed in these three weeks, huh?'

'I guess…' I whisper, slowly. My whole hands starts to shake. My body quivering as I fear those dangerous words from his mouth. I fear them... and crave them.

'There's a commitment in marriage. But there's a commitment in sex, too. A kind of openness when you declare to share yourself with someone.'

'Carlisle…'

'My love…'

I feel my face flush, my hands sweat even more when I try to grip onto his hand for support but he opens it up again and leans to kiss my palm. My only instinct is to cry. Every instinct is telling me to sob because I don't want this to be happening but at the same time there's nothing I need to hear more.

It's frightening how desperately I want those words.

'Did I mention how beautiful you are?'

My hand flinches, heart too, and nearly closes when I remember to keep it open as he asked. I'm shuddering, even with the sun in my hair and skin.

'For being so patient…' He commends, with a grin. He thumbs the box, pinching it before placing it on my open hand. 'I believe in commitments, Esme.'

Sounds and words are stuck in my throat.

'And my commitment to you is to be honest, more honest than I have been, completely open to you… and to do my best to ensure not only your safety but your infectious, untroubled, blissful happiness, too. For as long as you'll have me…'

'Carlisle.' I beg, crumbling inward as more emotions rise to the top of my face.

'I lied. Admittedly, it wasn't intentional but I still did it. I said I wouldn't ask anything of you. To some extent I thought I could get away with it. Like when you set yourself a goal and once you've announced it you can't go back on it?'

'I understand.' I try to say but it's difficult to hear myself over the rush of blood in my ears. My legs, and my head for that matter, feel incredibly faint.

'Open it.'

To confirm himself, I have to read his expression. His eyes are so smooth, so loving and… terrified.

I try not to but he's looking at me so warmly and for as much as I shouldn't want it, especially after three weeks… There's something about him that I trust. I trust that he's being honest, that even if he's not, harm is not a thing that could be easily delievered by someone like him. I trust that he will always do his best to keep me safe. I know he would make me happy. I know he is my happiness...

What if I said yes?

Is that so bad after three weeks?

If that's what I want, how can I ever say no? How can I face every moment of my life knowing that there is no one who will make me a better person than him. There is no one that I'd want more to… love.

Loving him would be so easy. Like taking a breath. Like blinking. It'd be unconcious, spontaneous. Effortless.

My hands steady when I open the lid, the shine glittering into my eyesight as a desperate choke leaves my throat.

It's a key.

Oh my God, I actually thought he was going to propose? I legitimately thought Carlisle Cullen was going to propose to me?! After three weeks?! And all that drama in there?! I thought he was going to ask for marriage.

… I nearly said yes. I nearly promised my whole life to him. In a heartbeat?

I could've done it. I could have married him.

'Say something.' He urges with a tense laugh.

'It's a key.' I say.

He nods, grinning. It takes for that to remind me it's the second time he's housed a key in a jewllery box. I obviously didn't think he was proposing to me when he housed my car keys a few years ago. Why on Earth did I think he was now?

'Move in with me, Esme?'

What?!

'But I already live with you?' I say, my laugh coming out in a half snort. How much wine did he actually drink back there? He's smiling, maybe a little flushed.

'There's a house in Washington. It's huge, beautiful... in the sweetest town…'

'Carlisle…' So I can consider marrying the guy but moving is way off the mark? That's a nice bout of hysteria. The sudden mention of hysteria acts quickly and before I can second guess my instincts, I realise I'm freaking out. All the while he's looking less playful. 'What about your job? You're training to become a surgeon.'

'I can transfer.' He explains with a grin. 'Once my exams are done then I can work locally. The hospital are desperate for staff and I feel like I could really make a difference-'

'Hon. Please.' I beg, covering my mouth with a hand. 'What about Edward? What about Jasper?'

I don't know why Jasper has sprung to mind but it frightens me how quickly he can answer it.

'Jasper's a philosophy major with an extensive background in history- he'd find plenty of jobs.'

'You're not making any sense.' I say sternly. 'What about me, Carlisle?'

'It's perfect, Esme. Right on the town's outskirts with so much history and opportunity and-'

'You're moving and you didn't even think to tell me?' I say suddenly, worried for the risen octaves of my voice. He's not listening.

'This new house… it's better. Its beautiful, open to use and it's all paid for.'

'You think that makes me feel better?' I hiss, standing up to step away from him. He looks hurt but not surprised. It's almost like he knew about this. Like he was waiting for his father to fuck up so he could just use it as his excuse. 'I don't want your generosity.'

'Tell me what you want?' He asks, gripping my hand.

'Are you kidding me? I've only just received a scholarship. I finally have a reason to live in this shitty city. What about Alice and Emmett? Did you think of them?'

'Emmett dropped out.' He explains knowingly. My stomach falls to my feet. The panic in my gut is rising and all of a sudden I get the feeling he's serious. This isn't light hearted at all. He's genuine. 'He's been failing his classes since December and Alice hates it here.'

'That's bullshit.'

'She's been wanting to travel for months. She was away for the whole summer.'

'Go on then, accuse me of being a shit-friend. I never noticed these things, huh? Well, I know Edward's not going to go anywhere since Bella-'

'My love…'

'Don't.' I warn with a growl, my hand cutting through the air. 'Don't go there when after four years, four years, and these three weeks you are going to leave me…'

'I would never leave you, Esme.' He promises, standing up. 'And as for Bella... her grandparents are really sick. She wants to support Charlie. Edward wants to transfer, too.'

'So everyone is just up and going?!'

'No.' He insists softly, wiping his face. 'Just transferring... He was thinking on it before Bella. He hates his lessons, Es. He's been wanting to compose since he could hear and there's this programme made for him-' He sees this flurry of explanation isn't helping and has to reign himself in. 'As for the others...Emmett and Rose want to move in together while Rose does an internship...'

'Well what about us?' I croak. The grass under my feet is the only safety I have. For now I feel sick and I wish I had another cigarette. Maybe seventeen more.

'That's why I'm asking…' He turns back to look at the house briefly before shaking his head to dismiss the distraction.

'How long have you been wanting this?' I ask, my hands gripping the box with uncertainty.

'A while.'

'Honesty, Carlisle.' I remind him tartly. 'Start by honouring your word.'

He flinches, rightly so and puts his hand to the back of his neck. 'A year or so…but I finalised the paperwork a week ago.'

Completely involuntarily, I gasp, my hand going to my diaphragm while I hold the box slightly away from me.

'A week? You didn't think to tell me this before I had my hands around your cock?!'

'Esme, please.'

'How about the months before that? Forget this month, forget all that's been said, all that we've given each other. What about before?'

'At what point was I meant to tell you?' He groans, clutching his pink neck. 'We work in opposite schedules. You were never home.'

'So you just thought you'd kick me out?!'

'I was never going to kick you out. Ever. Even if I moved out solo, that house would still be yours. Jesus, Esme. I don't think you realise how much it hurt living with you until three weeks ago.'

'Living with me?! This isn't even about your father? It's about me?!'

He moves towards me, arms up in surrender but I tear my hands out of his reach, still gripping onto that box.

'Of course it's about him. I don't want to spend another moment here and I sure as hell don't want him anywhere near you.' He speaks quickly, enough that I know he's been thinking this for a while. A whole long while. I'm going to be sick. 'It's about protecting you.'

'You said living with me hurts.' I repeat, jabbing a finger towards him.

'I said it hurt. Past tense.' He explains, failing to sound anything but explicitly weak. He's tempted to touch his hair, to wrench his hand through his locks to prove his frustrations but he doesn't.

'What have I ever done to hurt you?' I rage, the box almost bleeding into my hand as I fight to grip onto it. I can't let go. It's the only thing that I'm incapable of damaging. Even the grass beneath me is failing to support me. He stays standing, attempting to come towards me, his movements gentle but the betrayal stings and the closer he gets, the worse it feels.

'For starters you said you felt sorry for me- that hurt.'

'What did you expect me to say?! I kissed you and you freaked.'

'And haven't we already established why I freaked?'

'Then why is it an issue?!' I demand, closing my mouth the moment I'm done speaking because I don't want him to dare think the breaths from my mouth are anything to do with the fact that he's winning. It wouldn't matter if I was balling my eyes out. He isn't winning.

But I am close to balling my eyes out.

'I never said it was. I was just stating it hurt.'

'If that's what you're thinking how about the time you turned me down? All the times you turned me down? Every single time you've turned me down, you don't think that hurts?'

'Well isn't it better than the one time, I didn't?'

'That's not fair.' I say quietly, feeling my heart pound and my posture threaten to crumble. 'I thought you wanted me.'

'Of course I wanted you. I always want you and will forever want you and not briefly because of some damn hormones-'

'How can you stand there and say that after accusing me of hurting you?!'

'I never meant to infer it was intentional.' He unlocks his jaw, swallows thickly and tries again to come towards me. I'm still cold to him and with an understanding nod, he doesn't just stay still, he backs away a little.

'Is this why you're mad at me?!' He has to be mad if he wants to leave...

'I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at every bastard who has taken your attention away for a moment. I'm mad that it's taken me four fucking years to have this conversation and I'm mad that I let us grow used to a life here. I'm mad that you're hurt by arseholes and continuing to be hurt by people of my own bloodline and I'm mad that I didn't ask you sooner.'

'That's anger, that's not being hurt.' I correct sourly. His reply is broken.

'I'm hurt you couldn't see it, Esme.'

He sighs, stroking his tie down his stomach to straighten it out even though I've seen right angles more curvy than that material. My right hand is still pressed against my diaphragm, the left still gripping onto my gift in case he dares to snatch it away from me.

The soil and dirt now cling to sweaty palms like metal to magnets but I appreciate the fact he's not concerned by my fondness of nature. He doesn't even tell me off about the grass on my toes. He stands to me like an equal.

'Why are you asking me now?'

Despite our stances his eyes go unthinkingly to my hip, caught on the thought of my bruised ass with a pure inability to hide such concerns. My head is spinning.

'Because if I'd have asked you a month ago, you would've said no.'

'That's not true.' I say, shaking my head so a curl sways by my cheek. 'A month ago I wouldn't have second guessed it. You asked me to sign up for the scholarship. Do you remember that? You blackmailed me into seeing Doctor Browning and have made extra effort to ensure I see and hang out with the girls. You've made me start a life here, it's not fair for you to expect me to give all that up…'

'I would never expect you to…' He says, lips tightening even though he tries to offer a smile.

'So you're just going to go, is that it? Up and out because you can't bear to stay…' I'm nearing the danger zone again and I know this because I have to put my hand to my mouth again to stop a cry escaping. My eyes are watering but I'm doing my best to blink the moisture away. Even as we stand, I don't want to seem unattractively ugly for him.

He shakes his head, sadly.

'What if we hadn't had these three weeks?' I ask, voiceless. 'You just would've left without saying a word?'

'I can't answer that…' He whispers. Mistakenly I assume this is out of fear of offending me. Not because he literally cannot pain himself to think of the suggestion.

'You can't answer that?!' I repeat, again verging near hysterical. 'I thought at the very least you were my friend, Carlisle! You couldn't even tell me you were going?'

'I would've told you…'

'You would've had plenty of time! How about every weekend when I would jump bed with you? What about baseball every two weeks? What about dinner or breakfast or lunch? What about when I pay you rent? How about in the middle of an argument with Edward?'

'Hon, please.'

'Would you have text it?'

'Of course not!' He swears, sounding once again quite stern as he struggles with the way he wants to be. He wants to be angry and hurt and frustrated and pleased and concerned but he's a mixture of all of them. 'I honestly wouldn't have thought you cared.'

'Excuse me?'

'Es, if I'd known we had any chance of being where we are now, I wouldn't have done half the things I have. I never expected for you to like me and despite the obvious, I never expected to fall- to fall…'

'Fall?' I push, still somewhat angry but he stutters and lets the words die.

'It's your choice, completely.' He swears, softening his expression even more.

'None of it is my choice. You're moving, do you think I would've chosen that?!'

'If you don't want me to go, I won't go.'

Again, it's a selfless offer but that only hurts more. 'I can't ask you to stay either, it's cruel…'

'I wouldn't think of anything else if you wish to stay. I wouldn't choose to go anywhere without you.'

'But you did.' I retort, quietly. 'You bought a second house.'

I grip the box, pulling it to me and touching the edge before opening it again. The shine of the silver key catches my eye and before I can stop myself I pull it out of the box and feel in edges. But something catches my eye. An inscription which I catch quite read. Angling the key in the sun, the shine flows over the letters like calligraphy.

A worthy cause.

The box tumbles to the floor as I stay holding the key until I feel brave enough to look at Carlisle. I don't think I've ever noticed how permanently drained he always seemed until now and that's only because the look has vanished. He's at peace with himself to some extent. He's relieved.

A worthy cause. Una degna causa...

'I don't deserve it, I know I don't but… please… Forgive me?' He asks brokenly, tainting his look of misery with his blue waves of crushing faith.

Something else takes over, maybe the fear, of not waking up every morning with him, not teasing or complaining when I need it the most. Of losing him.

I throw my arms around his neck, crushing myself to him as tightly as possible and relishing the security of his gentle arm around my waist. I kiss him sweetly on his cheek, my breath catching when he manoeuvres to touch my lips to his.

He lowers me down to my feet again, stroking the curls of my hair as they slip to where my rose sleeves are hanging.

'You don't have to answer me now, Esme. I want you to see the place first...'

I'm not sure exactly what that means but his patience is certainly needed. I don't know if he is really thinking of moving or where or when… to be honest, any kind of change to how we are now is making my head spin. So I ignore it for a little longer.

'Can I hold on to it?' I ask, playing with how it catches the sun with my focus on those perfect words.

'It's yours…'

There's something even more heart-breaking about knowing it belongs to me. It means he's quite literally welcoming me into his future, he's asking for commitment. But the thought of giving up our current home hurts my heart. That and it's a big move. Three weeks to four years. Asking me to move in with him… with him… Already, too.

'What did he say?'

'My father?' He guesses, frowning. I nod, still holding onto the key without knowing exactly where to put it. He shrugs, smiling slightly. 'Nothing, I didn't see him.'

'I'm sorry for making a fool out of myself.'

'You didn't in the slightest.'

'I called you Hon.' I remind him with a groan, covering my face slightly. He lightens up enough to chuckle. 'In front of all of them…'

'I was flattered.' He promises, winking.

'The amount of trouble you're going to be in… I'm so sorry.'

'Please don't be… though I am sorry I stole your drink.'

I'd nearly forgot about that until now and thinking back to him draining the glass suddenly makes a whole lot of sense to the cigarette. Speaking of smoking, I grab his tie and pull his chest to my nose so I hear his confusion. He smells fine, like warmth and cleanliness that's ever so refreshing

'We were smoking.' I explain for purpse of his confusion.

'Oh… right… I'd appreciate that if you'd not mention that to Edward…'

'Feeling guilty, my love? ' I tease, grinning a little.

'No but… well I actually did give up…' He says, cheeks close to a blush.

'So did I.'

'Exactly. Perhaps we should avoid those bad habits? At least the ones proven to reduce life-span.'

His hand moves to hold my own, brushing the soil away with his fingers before he remembers I'm bare foot. In which case, he crouches to the floor, takes my right shoe and secures it onto my foot.

'Look at that. A perfect fit.' He says, grinning.

'Wow. Out of all the women in the land, who would've expected me?' I continue to play, holding onto his shoulder as he fixes my other shoe for me. The tips of his fingers slide up my ankle for just a second, making me shudder.

'It was obvious, really. I should never have doubted it.' He replies watching the shy turn of my head, letting the waves of my thick hair curve and bounce as I lean with a hand on my hip. 'You're beautiful.'

'You really are holding out for that Charming role, aren't you?' I say, clicking the heels together and holding his hand tightly in mine.

'I think if I drink anymore I really will be laying it on thick. Thicker than it is now. One glass in and I can barely stop looking at you to walk…'

Despite the threat of the key, I laugh, squeezing his hand in mine and winking so that his grin turns shy.

'Esme... I am so sorry I kept this from you…'

'I understand.' I answer, honestly. '… But… not tonight?' It's a matter we can put in a box and ignore for now… for a while maybe.

'I'm not going anywhere.' He pulls my hand to his lips and kisses the knuckles. 'Not without you at the very least…. If you'd like, of course.'

'That glass has really hit you hard, huh?' I play, leaning into his side and holding onto his hand tightly. He surprises me in falsely stumbling, wrapping an arm around me and hauling me gently to him.

'I'm so intoxicated that… oh. Oh no. Your lips... my kryptonite?' He kisses me perfectly, his laughter sweet on my tongue when he kisses me again.

'We're going to get caught.'

'Sorry…' he chuckles, blushing slightly but with another laugh, I drag him into the formality of the house and straighten myself out, too.

'I should make my apologies to The Masen's….'

'I'm sure they understand,' I comfort. He gives me an embarrassed look again and returns to the route of the corridors with me at his side.

Obviously, apologies aren't needed. Mr and Mrs Masen give him words of empathy and support. Edward claps him on the shoulder and I don't leave his side. That's when the guests start coming in. Father Eustace still hasn't returned from his attic. So we play host for a very long time but there's so many people and so much smiling and so many dresses and greetings and jewellery and lights and flowers and cars and-

'Cullen!' Announces an aged and friendly voice. I expected it anyway so I don't really why I'm so pleased to see Doctor Maddison. Maybe because I want him to persuade Carlisle that here is better than it looks. Maybe... I'm trying to persuade myself…

'It's great to see you, Sir.' He greets warmly, fidgeting with the lapels on his blazer as he stands to reintroduce me. 'You remember-'

'Of course, of course. How are you doing, Miss Platt?'

'Holding up.' I say with a grin.

'I've heard there's free champagne and I've already drunk far too much. In fact, you'll have to have a drink with me.'

'I, err,-. I'm not really…'

'You need to take a night off.' He says, shaking his head. 'You work too hard. Anyway, I'll see you in there.'

I turn to Carlisle, my face splitting into another grin. 'He's right, you know.'

'I do hope you're not trying to get me intoxicated.'

'What could possibly be the benefits of that?' I ask, feigning offence. A warm smile lightens up his cheeks and once again, stealing a catch of my waist, he averts his eyes to the next onslaught of guests we have to greet.

'You're fidgeting.' He says playfully, smile never moving as he continues to greet strangers on the doorstep and lead them to the dining room for the time being.

The staff were generous enough to help clean it and it's looking very posh but I want to see where the band is in one of the back rooms. I also think I need another glass of that wine that was stolen from me. Even if it's just a prop.

'I'm not fidgeting- you're fidgeting.'

'I'm nervous.' He whispers quietly, his blue eyes doing more of a leaping dance than his smirk is.

'And I'm in high heels.'

More shaking of hands, more directing them …more smiling. Hell, my cheeks hurt.

'You don't have to stay with me.' He knows me far too well that every time I hear a chord play, my head turns and I'm desperate to get an idea of what's on the set list tonight.

'I know.' I sing, trying to make myself even more appealing by tilting my body towards his. He rolls his eyes.

'Go on, go and wander about somewhere.'

'I don't need your dismissal.' But by God I want it, I'm so bored with the amount of people skipping past and fanning over my Charming. My saint. My Carlisle. I can't stand it. Even when I know he's being polite. There's so many people falling in love with him and I hate it.

'I know,' he says, smiling wider. 'But you're bored. Its fine, I'll see you before the speech.' I look back towards the music again and turn back, hesitating. But he's gesturing me for take my leave. 'Honestly, my Love.'

'Alright, alright, I'm leaving.'

While there's a lack of people coming through the doors, he leans towards me and lays a cute, chaste kiss on my mouth. I try to linger but he pulls away too quick, not willing to smudge the lipstick. He's not looking shy as I expected him to be, but I'm looking a little bewildered.

'We're in public?' I remind him, frowning in concern. It only instigates a proud smile on his face.

'I know.'

Oh. Moral support and that. Maybe I should've just kissed him on the cheek… Though the fact he couldn't help himself... how open he is willing to be... My cheeks inflame in a very natural, yet nevertheless pleased, blush.

'I-I'd better... I'd better...' I start to stammer as a few people catch our very close proximity... I jab a thumb behind me and shove my eyes to my heels but with a very encouraging smirk, he tilts my face up to look at him with a finger under my chin. Blue eyes burning.

I'm blushing harder and that's only down to the confident, unafraid smile that I'm trying to lean into. I can taste the mint across my face when he speaks.

'Third door on the right.'

On following his directions, not only do I find myself in a huge hall with bright lights, ceiling to floor narrow Windows and the stage I painted earlier, I also find the band and even better. A bar. So I make a whiskey that I fail to drink and make the loud walk to the stage, leaning against it with a hip and make idle chatter

'Get playing.' Eustace calls simply and shuts the door again barely giving me a seconds grace even though I clearly stand out from their white outfits in my sharp red.

Nothing like his son.

I wait around, I have a little sway before, like a flock of man eating insects, people start to flood in through the doors, looking in awe at the details on the ceiling, making greetings to each other, pointing out the band. So I take a seat at the bar, where the waiter has finally taken his space, and pretend to drink my whiskey even though I haven't touched it since I made it.

I'm thinking about Carlisle's offer again. Even if he took it back, I knew he had every reason to move, especially since meeting his father. Similarly, I know I have little to keep me here apart from comfort. My classes could be moved online, Washington hasgood prospects for Architecture graduates. But moving in with him. I want it, I can't say why I want it more than anything. I want to be living with him.

Three weeks isn't enough time to decide to move in with someone.

But three years is.

When have we ever fallen out over something concerning morality or way of living? It's mainly just been through acts of protection or care... and maybe the occasional lie. We've both spent time complaining about the property, too; the walls, the lack of space, the construction, the design.

It's home, though and the memories we've had there... I never assumed I was going to live anywhere except with him. I had no reason to move.

Perhaps his is good enough?

Edward takes the seat next to me, smiles but says nothing. His parents are at a table in front sitting with Eustace. It looks like Edward Senior is reprimanding him, but he's not listening. It's that infuriating, I don't even realise I'm glaring until Edward points it out.

'Did he tell you what they argued about?' he murmurs to me.

I'm keeping an eye out for our Saint but he's still greeting people. The room is packed, every round table surrounding the dance floor is full of people and suits and glasses and dresses, and giggling. He looks marvellous.

'They didn't. He didn't see him.'

I'm watching Edward watch Carlisle thoughtfully. I don't know what he's thinking but he looks puzzled with his frown itching low on his forehead. With a sigh, I open my bag and show him the key. Just like Carlisle, several tonnes of weight shift through him, his shoulders lower and his smile is neither uncomfortable nor frustrated. It's the most relaxed I've seen him in months.

Like when he plays.

'He finally told you.'

I nod, my blush taking over the make-up when I close the bag again.

'What do I do?' I whisper, eyeing the gorgeously friendly grin of my sweetheart as he makes an effort to be interested in everybody and I mean, everybody. He's swamped with attention.

'Do you love him?'

'Edward!' I gasp, my mouth falling open as I look at him in horror. 'How can you ask that? It's only been-'

'It's only been four years.' He says, taking my prop from me and sipping it. He makes a face, shudders and sips it again with a more neutral expression.

'You can't ask that!'

'I just did.' He says with a proud shrug.

'But- but…'

'Are you alright? You've gone pale?' He suddenly looks concerned, and pulling himself upright he grabs a menu from the bar and waves it in my face.

'That's not something you just know…' I choke.

'Chill out.' He complains with a condescending snort. 'I only asked if you loved him, not if you were in love with him?'

'Dude!' He orders me a glass of ice cold water, hands it to me and bites back a laugh when I press it to my forehead. 'Is he looking?'

'Yes.' He says sarcastically, green eyes rolling. 'I can't see from this angle but probably.'

'What do I do?'

'What do you want to do?'

'Will you stop it?!' I whine, draining the cooling water. 'Just advise me on what to do. I can't lose him, Edward.'

'Then there's the answer...' He mutters. Though he quickly questions it too and raises an eyebrow before he makes the mistake of continuing that sentence. 'You won't lose him, Esme.'

'Can you promise me that?!' I ask, disbelievingly. He unloosens my grip from his arm and laughs.

'I can guarantee it.' He's still looking at the table near the stage, keeping an eye out, like me, for the real host of this evening. 'You remember what I said, though. If it's too soon for you…'

'Is it too soon?' Because now he's said four years I'm suddenly comforted in the realities of moving. It's almost expected to move… Isn't it?

'Don't let him fuck it up?' He repeats, obviously.

'He's not… I am…'

'You're harder on yourself than you realise. He's human. He makes mistakes, too. So what if this is one of them?'

Hearing Edward suggest Carlisle's affections as a mistake stings my pride in a very thorough and consuming manner… A pain I doubt I've ever felt before.

'Why aren't you sitting with your parents?' I distract, fiddling with the ice in my glass, aligning it with the honey gloop of his.

'Because I'm sitting with you.'

Looking at his expression, you can see he's glaring at exactly who I was glaring at but every so often, a knowing smirk appears on his face and he shakes his head so condescendingly that I'm tempted to hit him and demand for the answer he is so clearly thinking of. After a good thirty minutes of greetings, with me and Edward clawing our fucking eyes out waiting for something to happen, a nervous a flighty smile is spread across my Saint's face and breathing in, he looks towards the microphone, shifting past the buzz of people and fiddling with his tie.

Carlisle takes the steps to the stage, gives a brief greeting to the band who stop playing and stands nervously in front of the microphone.

Like a newbie, he taps it a few times, makes a silly joke which the hall laugh at and all smiles and pink cheeks, he welcomes everyone to the evening, invites them to take a drink and a dance and offers the best hospitality there is to offer.

He's a cutie. He mentions it all, the current Neo-Natal units running in Alaska, examples from family A and family B, specific donors both money and organs and he keeps a room of about two-hundred plus people totally engrossed in everything he says.

The speech is a success and not just because he's sweet enough that it has my heart racing, because I'm incredibly proud.

'If I could just hold your attention for a moment longer.' He calls, packing up the cards in his hands, shuffling them and putting them aside. 'I think like many here, I have a purpose to lend my gratitude to all who have helped set up this fundraiser and furthermore the unit itself. In just eighteen months we have managed to do the impossible and have spared the heartache of many families. But we've had some losses, too and none of them get easier to face.'

He takes a deep breath, smiles tensely and closes his hand around the microphone, looking behind him for just a moment at the two families from his speech.

'I'd like to thank Eustace who has been generous enough to open his home for this great cause. The community especially have been a great service to not only our patients at All Saints but the staff as well. Your generosity, charity and kindness resonates deeply in the hearts of us all. Yet, for working to their best standard in times of stress and trauma, for supporting and helping through those losses, I'd like to take a moment to thank every single surgeon, doctor, nurse, porter, receptionist, cleaner and staff member in all the health clinics over the state.'

His has to pause because there's a raucous explosion of applause while he stands looking beautiful shy with his cheeks enflamed.

'To further that, for his continuous support, I want to extend my gratitude to my mentor, Frank Maddison, without whom we would all be worst off.'

I catch Doctor Maddison's eye as Carlisle refers to him and he blushes like I never imagined he could. I wave, grinning proudly and clapping in time with the hall.

'And lastly… but certainly not least… I want to thank my family. Who have supported me, inspired me and fought with me. There are no words to express my gratitude…' He looks to the Masen's, smiles warmly and lifts those blue eyes to where Edward and I are sitting. My heart jumps. 'So I'll settle by reminding you that I love you…' I slap Edward's wrist, grasping onto it and nearly falling off my stool when he winks at the two of us. '... More than anything... God bless...'

Photographers are everywhere, capturing his moment perfectly. There's cheers, there's applause, there's excitement and finally he descends the steps leaving the band to play with reddened cheeks and a shy smile to match.

'Soppy git.' Edward mutters chuckling but when he sees my face he groans. 'You're not actually crying, are you?'

'Of course not.' I hiss, pulling him to his feet.

Both Edward and I jump up and walk quickly to where he's climbing off stage but tonight he's in high demand. Meaning he gets swallowed by a whale of people, journalists, reporters, community members, family, friends, doctors….

'Let's hope the fame doesn't go to his head.' Edward mutters and we both share a bit of a chuckle.

We sit with his parents for a while, Elizabeth talking to me about the obvious. I'm only half listening, watching in the crowd in the hopes he'll come swimming back soon because I'm not in the mood to fraternise with strangers in which point, my attendance at a party is useless.

As sweet as she is, she does go on and it soon becomes clear she's as eager to be a mother to him as she is to Edward. It's difficult. She doesn't want to overstep the mark and Carlisle has grown to become a very independent person or at least, independent from those older than him. He couldn't ever see her as anyone other than his best friend's mother, perhaps an Aunt at most….

Which is a shame because she really is selling him off, going on about his attributes, how great he is in this. Weird.

'Mother.' Edward says frowning, he gives a knowing look to which she laughs at.

'He thinks I'm going on!' She giggles, squeezing my hand.

Oh. Maybe he is the jealous type then. Ha. So she stops, she has a drink with her husband and both of them tell their son to have a dance.

'Esme?'

'Hell yes!' I'm bored, dancing sounds especially good when the music is this upbeat.

So that's what we do to pass the time, we dance for a long time, occasionally pausing for a drink or to tie my long hair into a soft bun, waves falling around it. It's instantly soothing. Edward can be full of himself but he's brilliant at dancing and he certainly knows how to take my mind off things.

We dance to everything, we do everything from the side step to a ballroom dance, the Charlestown, the jive. Fucking name it and that's what we do, laughing as we muck around for ages, our limbs aching until we really make a fools out of ourselves.

It's some upbeat cheery tune and because Edward and I come from (mostly) loving but old fashioned families, it's a dance that we can throw ourselves into. To the point that not only is he spinning, lifting, twirling me and dropping me, we're doing so incredibly fast, surrounded by people also joining in. Until eventually the crowd has become a circle and we're in the middle of it having a giggle.

My feet are killing me, the heels are gorgeous but murderers and with every kick or tap or lift or push, I'm melting the little bit more until finally the song ends and we're charmed with an embarrassingly loud applause.

'I need a drink.' I gasp to Edward who's fanning himself just as much as I am.

Elizabeth almost wets herself with excitement as she drags the both of us to her table, pushing her camera into my face.

'Everyone was taking photos, did you see how-'

Both of us are busy chugging down glasses of water.

'You were fantastic!' Carlisle says, suddenly appearing behind and leaning behind on both of our chairs. Edward gives him a thumbs up from behind his glass but I have to turn. He goes to playfully wrap Edward in a hug but Edward keeps jumping out of the way until he wraps his arms around his chest.

'Good to know you haven't lost your step.'

I'm expecting the same enthusiasm … But he doesn't hug me. He just gives me a proud smile and offers his hand.

Why did Edward get a chest touch and I didn't?!

'I want you to meet someone.' He says quickly, pulling me from my seat, my hand in his and dragging me across the hall. I barely have time to throw my glass down, he's so excited.