A/N: This chapter was initially two separate chapters, split where the first chapter break (~I*A*F*P*I*T*M~) is, but ending it there didn't feel right. It felt like an imperfect cadence, whereas the place it finishes at now feels like a perfect cadence - a little music theory for you there ;). So, I merged the two to create this! I was worried it would be too long, but I feel better knowing this isn't the longest chapter I've uploaded for this story so far (I checked)! Anyway, read and (hopefully) enjoy!

I'll Always Find Peace In The Meadow

Chapter Twenty-nine: 'Tiny white lie' (Bella POV)

Tuesday 20 June 2017

Entry: 06/20/17
Happened: 06/19/17
Location: Left wrist and forearm
Injury: Bruising on forearm, close to wrist. Difficulty rotating wrist and flexing hand.
Asked Renee if I could have my curfew extended for a friend's birthday party, to which she pushed me to the floor. I stayed down while she let her anger out, but in her anger, she flipped the coffee table that was beside me. It landed on my arm, causing the damage.

I sigh heavily once I finish writing about my newest injury in my log book. Once the wretched thing is closed, I drop my pen, rolling my shoulders before dropping my head backwards. Staring up at my ceiling, I count to ten, reigning in the heavy sadness that's lingering. I always feel this way after having to recall the things my mother does to me. Always. It takes a while to get out of the depressed mood.

Yesterday, all day during school and then work after school and then on my cycle home, I'd been building up the courage to ask Renee if I could stay out passed my curfew for Edward's birthday party. He'd invited me exactly a week ago yesterday, but I've been too nervous to ask her.

When she got home, a little tipsy as is the norm now, I waited until she'd eaten her dinner (I made her favourite in an attempt to butter her up a bit) and then in the front room, once I'd passed her the bottle of wine she'd demanded, I'd inhaled deeply and taken the plunge.

FLASHBACK - Monday 12 June 2017 - [Yesterday]

"Could you extend my curfew for tomorrow, please?"

My nerves do nothing to help my innocent question sound any better than that. And the way her movements halt at my question doesn't help my nerves.

Her glass pauses by her mouth, the TV remote elevated in the air. Her head turns to me slowly, and the look in her eyes sends a chill down my spine.

Renee sets her glass down on the end table beside her, and the remote on the cushion on the other side of her. I notice her hands trembling and without even fully realising it, I already start stepping away from her. I'm ready to flee. My mother, being very intuitive even when under the influence of alcohol, notices my intentions and wraps her hand around my wrist, hauling me toward her. I stumble, but somehow remain upright. She doesn't like that.

I'm close to her now, so close that I can smell the wine on her breath. It's all I can do not to gip. She inhales deeply, though I know it isn't to reign in her anger as one might think. Her hand tightens infinitely more around my wrist. And then, with an inhumane shriek in the back of her throat, she uses as much strength as she has to yank me to the ground.

I land on the floor by the coffee table harshly, silently thanking my mother's past old self for deciding to get this floor carpeted. It makes my landing much softer, though it still hurt like a bitch. I lay there, sprawled out across the floor as she begins ranting and screaming, her body bent over me, spittle flying out of her mouth and landing on my skin.

"How dare you ask me for something so rewarding! You don't deserve rewards, you little shit! Who the fuck do you think you are, coming in here, after I've been at work all day and just want to relax, and asking me for a later curfew?! What have you done to earn that? Hmm? I'll tell you what you've done. Nothing!" Her first kick is aimed at my thigh. I cry out, pulling my legs up toward my torso. "Do you hear me? You don't deserve treats, Isabella. I'll tell you when your curfew can be changed." Another kick is sent to my lower back. "Not you. Me." And the next hits right between my shoulders.

That's the last one before I've managed to pull myself up to my hands and knees and start crawling away. I quickly move around the coffee table and collapse to the floor on the opposite side of it. I can't describe the mix of emotions I feel when I see she hasn't followed me round the table. She's remained standing on the other side, seething in her rising anger.

I should keep my mouth shut, I know I should keep my mouth shut, but the words are already leaving my mouth before I've considered them fully. "It's j-just for tomorrow night. I'm not expecting it to be extended every night."

"YOU DON'T DESERVE IT AT ALL!" she screams at me. The next things to happen are so unexpected, so sudden, that I have no time to react. I just watch on in stunned stillness. After she screams, she bends to grip the edge of the wooden coffee table between us. Reminding me so much of The Incredible Hulk and how his anger provides him with impossible strength, she somehow manages to pick her side of the coffee table up and off the floor and hurls it, completely flipping it over... in my direction.

The way I'm sprawled out, on my side with my left arm stretched out away from me to prop me up a bit, does nothing to help the following events. The table comes to a crash landing, crushing my left arm beneath it. I scream out in pain after a two second delay of shock. My voice is already hoarse with tears, which causes the scream to crack and break in the room around us.

"You've done nothing to earn a new curfew! NOTHING! What the fuck do you need a late curfew for?!" she asks while I lay on the floor in front of her, pinned underneath the coffee table and in an abundant amount of pain.

My reply is muffled by tears and sobs. "I only... w-wanted it f-for one... one night. F-for Edward's birthday p-party t-tomorrow."

She steps back, a look of confusion crossing her features. "You've been invited?" she asks breathlessly. I nod silently. "To a party?" I nod again. "Edward Cullen's party?" I close my eyes as I nod, preparing myself for another wave of angry attacks. But nothing comes, except silence. I open one eye to see her staring at me thoughtfully. I don't think she believes me... and her next question proves that. "Where's your invite? Why haven't you shown me it?"

"There wasn't one. H-he called me. Last week."

"Why are you lying to me?" she hisses, stepping closer. "You expect me to believe that a family like theirs invites people to an event by phone? Really? How stupid do you think I am, Isabella."

"I don't! I d-don't think you're stupid. I'm telling the truth. I swear."

"Oh, you swear, do you?" she snarls, bending toward me. I flinch and cower into the floor, the pulsing pain in my arm momentarily forgotten while I wait for the next blow. I'm confused, and shocked, however, when she grabs the table and shifts it off of my arm. I quickly pull the limb back in toward my body, silent tears leaking from my eyes at the pain that's racing through my hand and wrist, all the way up to my elbow. "Stand up," she orders.

I stand.

She steps up to me, hunching her shoulders so her face is level with mine. "Look me in the eyes and tell me again."

"Edward invited me. I sw-... promise. He called me last Monday after I left his house, and asked me if I'd like to go. I c-can call and check if you don't believe me."

"No no. That's not necessary. I believe you." She steps back and I breathe out the tiniest sigh of relief. She looks pensive, before a smile breaks out onto her face. "This is wonderful. You've been invited to a party. A Cullen party! Of course you can have your curfew extended. In fact, tomorrow, you have no curfew! Stay out as late as you'd like."

I stand, mouth partially open, while I try and determine whether she is being serious or not. Sometimes, sarcasm from Renee isn't exactly clear, and can often be misinterpreted for truth. I should know.

"Really?" I ask cautiously.

She nods. "Yes. Do you have something to wear? You'll have to wear your best dress. Wait, do you even have any dresses? Most of the time I think I've raised a son with some of the things you wear. Maybe you should borrow something of mine... It's too late to order anything new. It won't arrive in time. Oh, for goodness sake, Isabella. Why didn't you ask me sooner? This should have all been sorted a week ago, when Edward asked you."

My mouth is no longer partially open. It's now gaping open. When has Renee ever been this calm? She's acting so... normal.

"I-I already have a dress," I say, stopping her never-ending onslaught of words.

"You do?"

I nod. "I bought a new one last week."

"Oh, really? And how did you know I'd allow you to go? You hadn't asked me yet." She crosses her arms.

"I d-didn't. I was just being prepared. Taking precautions."

"Good. It looks like you can do something right. For once." She smiles again, lowering her arms. I feel like wiping the sweat off my brow in relief. Phew. That was a close one. For a moment there I thought I'd be gaining more than a damaged arm. "Well, I'll have to see this dress. To make sure it's suitable. We can't have you embarrassing us with your poor taste in clothing. You stay here, sort out this," she says, gesturing to the out of place coffee table, "and I'll go have a look. Which is it?"

"You'll know it when you see it."

End of flashback

Thinking back, I probably should have begun with a different opener. Gone with a different approach. Maybe telling her from the get-go why I wanted my curfew extending would have been a better idea. Maybe then she wouldn't have flipped out... and flipped the table.

She left me, with a throbbing wrist and aching back, to rearrange the room back to its original state. She approved of the dress, saying it was perfect and nothing like me... which in her opinion makes it even more perfect.

I look down at my wrist, which I've wrapped in a bandage for today. This will now ruin my outfit for tonight, but I know my mother will have no complaints. She'd rather I wrap it up and hide the evidence than let the world see what she did to me. Even if she knows I'd come up with an excuse.

I pick up my log book, pen and the new Polaroid photos that I'm about to add to my collection. I took them yesterday evening, once I knew my mother was out for the night, snoring away in her room. I took one of the outside and inside of my wrist. There's luckily no evidence of her kicks on my thigh or lower back. I used the mirror in the bathroom to take a picture of the mark in between my shoulder blades, from her third and final kick. That one's surprisingly not so bad, I think as I look down at the photo. There's a dusting of redness, which I know will get darker over the next few days, but for tonight it should be fine. I'll just wear my hair down.

Before I can even think about getting ready, however, I first have a day of school to get through. It's the last week of my Sophomore year. I did my end of year tests over the last two weeks, and this week I'll be finding out how I did in maths, and finding out how much the tutoring has paid off. I know we haven't been doing it for long, but I'm already seeing much improvement in the subjects we've worked on. Hopefully, if we continue with the progress I think we're making, I won't need a tutor for much of my Junior year.

After getting ready - not showering, because I'll do that before the party - I head down stairs for a quick breakfast. My plan is to just get a piece of fruit and be on my way, but I'm drawn in the opposite direction of the fruit bowl, to the toaster, where a bright yellow sticky note is. I pull it off and read:

Isabella, behave tonight. Make sure you get in some good words to Mrs Cullen about me. Don't fuck this up for us.

I guess she doesn't plan on seeing me before the party. I scrunch up the note, chuck it in the bin, and grab an apple. I'm two feet from the door when a car horn beeps from outside. I quickly open the door, and my mouth drops open when I see who it is.

"Need a ride?" he calls from the side of the road, popping his head of bronze hair out of the car.

"Wha-? H...?" I search for words as I slowly walk down the porch steps after rushing to lock the door. As I get closer, and Edward steps out of the car, I finally find something to say. "W... when? I didn't think your final driving test was until next week, like mine?" That's what he'd told me anyway.

"Yeah, well, that may have been a tiny white lie," he says, holding his fore finger and thumb barely apart in front of his face. "I knew I'd be getting a car and wanted to surprise you. I had my test last week. Passed with flying colours, I did! My parents asked me to pick a car not too long ago, which is what they did before Alice's sixteenth birthday, too. What do you think?"

I step back to look at the grey sedan. That's all I know about it, that's it's a sedan... and it's grey. Edward stands beside me, waiting patiently for a reaction. Any kind of reaction. "It's... nice."

His face falls at my reaction. "Nice?"

I laugh at his perplexed expression. "Sorry, Edward. I just don't know cars. Books? Of course. Authors? Goes without saying. Movie directors? I'm alright. Heck, even sportsmen I know of to some extent. But motor vehicles...?" I let that hang in the air. "I'm clueless." I shrug.

"Wellll," he begins, sidling up to my side and looping his arm through mine, "let me clue you in. This is this year's BMW 530i. It's equipped with a turbocharged 2.0-liter four-cylinder engine that-"

"Woah, Edward. You've lost me already. I know all I have to. It's a BMW 35i-"

"530i, Bella," he corrects, looking down at me. Whatever expression I have on my face - one that shows my dismay at him once again correcting me, I'm sure - makes him laugh boisterously. "Fine, we'll stop talking cars. Do you wanna lift?"

What kind of question is that? "Oh, no. I'm okay, thank you," I answer, waving him off. He grabs my hand and starts dragging me round to the passenger side. "What are you doing? I said no," I protest with no real conviction, a smile on my face. "I'd much rather ride my bike to school than sit back and relax in your brand new, comfy BMW... 5...30i?"

"Get in the car, Bella," he says as he opens the door, also grinning.

"Well? Did I at least get it right?"

He chuckles, nodding his head. "In," he orders, pointing into the car.

"Alright, alright. Damn, you're a bossy sixteen year old." I start to climb into the car, but stop with one leg in, one leg out. He lifts a brow, his hand on the door while he waits with a barely submerged smirk. "Happy birthday, Edward," I say. My smirk has been replaced with a soft smile, and I quickly climb back out of the car to kiss his cheek before I get back in.

Wow! I wasn't wrong; it is comfy! I could get used to this.

~I*A*F*P*I*T*M~

"How's your wrist?" Edward asks me on our drive back to my house after school. I look down at my bandaged joint and shrug.

"It's okay. I'll take some more pain meds soon."

"Does that mean you won't be drinking any booze at my party? Seeing as you're taking medication?"

My head whips to the side to face him. His eyes barely jump to me. You can tell he's a newbie driver; he is taking every known precaution... and also driving under the speed limit, which is already low due to most streets in Forks being residential areas. "There's going to be alcohol? Won't most people attending be underage?"

He shrugs. "Yeah, but it's a party. There's got to be some alcohol. Don't worry. It's limited to anyone underage, and my parents have informed everyone on the invites that alcohol will be available, if parents wish to allow their teens to have some."

I think about that for a few seconds... and then I think about my mother. "Okay. But you were right. I won't be having anything to drink."

"Okay." A peaceful silence fills the car for the remaining time it takes to reach my house, which isn't long at all.

"So, what kind of party will it be? Do you know?"

"What do you mean?" Edward asks as he parks the car in my drive. Renee won't be home for a while yet, and based on the note she left me this morning, we will be gone before she gets back.

"Will it be like a house party? You know, bass heavy music, people crammed into rooms dancing? Or will it be more of a dinner party?"

"I don't know all the details. My parents aren't even happy that I know at all. But from what I've overheard and from the little they've told me, it'll be held in our back yard. There's going to be a served dinner. Three courses, I think. I don't think there's a theme." He thinks some more. "That's pretty much all I know. My mother used the word sophisticated," Edward says with an eye roll.

He accidently found out about his birthday party. His parents know that he knows, but they've still been pretty secretive about it all, which is why he's getting ready here instead of at his house. So he doesn't see any of the preparations.

"Okay," I reply before climbing out of his car. I go to unlock the front door while he gets his belongings out of the trunk.

He meets me in the kitchen, garment bag and small duffel bag in hand. "How long do you need to get ready?" I ask him, pouring us both a glass of water.

"Um... thirty minutes?" he guesses. I look at the time on my phone.

"We have three hours before we need to be leaving. What do you wanna do for the next couple hours?"

~I*A*F*P*I*T*M~

After drying myself off, wrapping my hair in a towel and slipping on my robe, I carefully wrap my purple and swollen wrist in a new bandage. The material has been itching my skin all day, but there's been little I could do about it. I'd rather go without wearing a bandage until the last possible moment, but with Edward here, I need to keep it covered. Even though he knows about the injury, I'd rather he not see just how bad the injury is.

On our way to school this morning, Edward had noticed the bandage and demanded to know what was wrong, even when I repeatedly told him it was nothing to worry about. In all honesty, I was quickly going over my story one more time in my head. After the fourth deflected version of the question "Bella, what's happened to your arm?", I finally told him my fabricated version of events: that, after work yesterday, I was leaving through the back door to go to my bike and the door closed on my arm. It's a feasible explanation; the back door at the book shop is extremely heavy. And it swings shut with much force. Edward knows this, luckily, which helped him believe my story.

Though my attempts to get out of explaining at all were major failures, I did manage to successfully dodge his demands to see underneath the bandage. I didn't realise until today just how irritatingly stubborn Edward can be. I've seen glimpses of it before, when he began trying to start up conversations with me after he first joined Forks High. He was persistent then, but today? He was on a whole other level! He reminded me of one of those dogs from the videos where they try to walk through a door while holding a long stick in their mouths. No matter how many times they fail to fit through the doorway, they keep trying. He is one persistent pain in the ass when he wants to be!

I exit the bathroom, entering my room to see Edward looking at the few pictures I have sat on my dresser. My eyes quickly skip to the pin board above my desk, where my chore chart has been for years. Before I left the house this morning, at the last minute I thought to hide it away in my nightstand drawer. I'm lucky he didn't notice it the first time he was here. I'm sure my stubborn friend would have had some questions, had he saw it. I return my attention to him just as he turns to me, a smile on his face. "How old were you in this one?" he asks, turning back to the photos. I take a deep breath and walk toward him. The photo he's pointing at is of me and my dad on a beach in the neighbouring Quilette town called LaPush. I smile at the photo, despite the melancholy that washes over me.

"Three, I think," I answer in a hushed voice, staring at the photo. It's of me, sat on a throne made of sand. My dad and a friend of his that lived in LaPush had made it for me. I don't remember the day, obviously, being only barely three years old. But I've heard the stories. My dad is knelt beside me in the photo, smiling widely as he held a bucket full of sand in the air above my head. Little did I know during the moment this photo was taken, but he was just about to give me "a crown fit for a sand princess". I was all smiles, oblivious to his plan. The very second after this photo was taken, I was showered in sand. According to my dad, in all his wonderfully vivid storytelling, I jumped up from my throne shrieking while, on one knee and in a fit of laughter, he bowed and said "you're welcome, your majesty".

"You were adorable. Look, you had more freckles then," Edward says with a chuckle, leaning closer to the picture. His words remind me of what he said the last time he was here, about my freckles being included in my beautifulness. I hate my tendency to blush in that moment, when it heats my cheeks at the memory. His words that day were so unexpected... and they affected me more than I'd like to admit. So did the way he glanced down at my lips after saying them. Needing to change the suddenly charged atmosphere - at least it suddenly seems that way to me - I clear my throat, pulling my robe shut tighter when he turns at the sound and looks down at me.

"The shower is free now. We have forty-five minutes." Edward nods, going to collect his things from their place on my bed. "Do you need anything? A towel?"

He shakes his head, and after assuring me that he'll knock to make sure I'm decent when he's ready to come back in, he leaves my bedroom to go and begin getting ready.

Wanting to be certain I'm decent by the time Edward returns, I firstly moisturise my body. After getting all that I need together, I put my underwear and dress on, and then slip my robe back on.

I release my hair from the towel and blow-dry it. Using the large mirror I've borrowed from Renee's bedroom, which I sit on my desk, leant up against the wall, I start doing my hair. I planned all that I wanted to do earlier, knowing that Edward would be here and not wanting to fit the stereotype of "girls take forever to get ready" by spending hours trying to make decisions. It doesn't take me long to lightly curl my hair using straighteners, before I pin it up into a half-up half-down style.

I'm just sliding the last pin into place when Edward knocks on my door. After I call for him to enter, he walks in, totally unfazed by the fact that he only has a towel wrapped around his waist. I, on the other hand, blush the darkest shade of red to have ever filled my cheeks. I am utterly flustered, not knowing what to do. Should I just not say anything and continue getting ready, or should I ask him what the hell he's doing and why he didn't get dressed in the bathroom?

While my mind tries to decide, my eyes can't seem to move away from his bare chest, and then, when he turns, they can't part from the way the muscles in the top of his back move as he dries his hair with another towel.

I've never thought about what Edward may look like with no shirt on. I'd just assumed all boys our age were still growing into themselves, not really gaining any muscle mass like a fully grown man. Edward, although not bulky, absolutely has some muscle definition. I recall him telling me about playing basketball in his old school, so maybe that's why.

"Sorry," he says quickly, turning back to me. I glance up at his face, which appears confused as he looks around my room. The sheepish look that breifly interrupts his confused expression helps me decide not to say anything on the matter of him entering my room barely decent. His face lights up and he walks toward my closet. "Forgot this," he says as he takes his garment bag off of the hook I'd placed it on earlier. How had I not realised he'd left that in here? He sends me an apologetic smile before hurriedly leaving my room, closing the door loudly in his haste. I jump at the noise, quickly swivelling back round to face my reflection. My cheeks are blazing. My God... what is wrong with me?

I fan my face with my right hand, trying to cool it down before I begin the task of applying makeup. In my attempt to be extra prepared and save time, I even watched a makeup tutorial on YouTube (something I never do). I keep it simple, starting with applying my usual cover up under my eyes and over my freckles. I pause after that, ponder my reflection for a second, before grabbing a wipe and removing all that hides my freckles. Edward says they're beautiful, so why hide them? I used to love them too, because they were something that I shared with my dad. But once he passed, Renee confessed to me how much she hated them. She said that they were ugly and sickening to look at. I've been concealing them ever since. Tonight is the first time since then that I'll leave the house with them on show. It's Edward's birthday, and he likes them, so why not?

I do apply a light bit of blusher to my cheeks, and then some mascara and a bit of mild gold eyeshadow. I put some light pink lip gloss on before sitting back to assess my work. Not too bad.

I glance at the time on my phone. We should be leaving soon - preferably within the next five minutes. I pack up my make up and unplug my phone from the charger before tidying up a bit.

I'm sat on the edge of my bed, bent down, tying the laces of my all white Converse high tops, when I hear a knock. "Yeah," I shout, concentrating extra hard on my laces thanks to my bummed wrist.

"You almost ready?" he asks as I sit up. He carries his clothes bag, his holdor and a plastic bag as he walks toward me. I look him up and down, taking in his navy dress shirt and black suit pants.

I nod and stand. "Wow, your parents seriously weren't kidding when they said sophisticated," I say, now looking at his polished black shoes. He looks down at himself with a miserable expression on his face.

"Yeah, I know. It sucks. I had specific orders to dress smartly. I'm surprised my mom didn't make me wear a tie and suit jacket, too."

"It doesn't suck. You look great."

"Thanks."

I untie my robe and shrug it off, turning to drape it over my bed. When I turn back to face Edward again, I instantly feel nervous. He stares at my dress, then my shoes, then my dress, then my face, and back again, repeating the cycle. "What? Is something wrong? Should I change?"

"N-no," Edward stutters, reaching up to weave his fingers into his hair. He pulls at the bronze strands, messing up his apparent attempt at taming the wild locks. "You look... amazing, Bella. Perfect."

"Oh." I sound as shocked as I feel. "Thank you," I say quietly, willing the heat away from my face. This is a harder feat to accomplish as Edward is still staring, his focus more on the dress than anything else. "Why are you looking at me like that?" I ask, nervously smoothing my hands down my dress.

"I've just never seen you wear something so... bright?"

I giggle, looking down at my dress. He's right. I haven't worn something this bright in years. It's difference to my usual clothing is why my mother needed no explanation when she came looking for it. As soon as she saw it hanging in my wardrobe, she instantly knew this was what I'd bought for the party.

I went to 'Tanner's Charity Shop' one day last week after work to find something specifically for tonight. I was nervous, not sure what to wear. I knew that most of Forks High will be in attendance - well, the ones deemed worthy by the Cullen family. For some reason, as soon as I saw this dress, thoughts of shutting up the haters of my usual dress sense flooded my mind and I knew I had to have it. I felt like a normal teenage girl in that moment. They, and by that I mean the ones that fancy themselves as normal teenagers (as well as the fashion police), would all agree when I say that it is a beautiful dress.

It has a fully floral lace pattern that covers the entire dress, from the top of the straps to the hem of the full skirt. It's knee-length and has a belt wrapped around the high-waist with a bow tied slightly off center. It's fortunately not too low at the back, with a zip that runs to just above the bruise that's in between my shoulder blades. It's also yellow.

Completely yellow.

I love it even more because I feel a little like Belle from my favourite fairytale. It helps that we have similar names. And both love books.

"Yes, it's bright. It's my first time invited to a party in years, so I thought why not make the most of this occasion and have another first by wearing a brightly coloured dress? Ooh! And check this out..." I pick up my phone and make a big point of sliding it into the hidden pocket at the seam of the dress. "See? It's sophisticated - well, as sophisticated as you're going to get for nine bucks - and bright and it's multi-useful," I say, grinning up at him.

"Very cool," Edward says, grinning back at me. "Also, the Converse with the dress is a nice touch."

"Why thank you," I say, before I glance down at my shoes and shrug. "Gotta piss off the devil-duo somehow." At that, Edward laughs.

"Right. Come on, birthday boy. We've got a party to get to."

"Wait, before we go, do you wanna take a picture with me?" Nerves are in his voice as he asks me this.

"Uuh, sure," I answer, not really understanding his hesitance. He puts down his things and fishes his phone out of his pocket. I remember at the last second to take off the chain that holds my secret key, but I leave my locket on. The key was thankfully hidden beneath the bust of my dress; all Edward could see was the chain, which he's laid eyes on dozens of times before. The only other piece of jewellery I have on for tonight is a pair of sunflower earrings I've owned for a while. They're my only pair of yellow earrings. I keep the chain and key tucked securely in my palm while Edward stands beside me, holding me to his side with an arm wrapped around my waist as we smile into his phone's selfie camera.

Once it's taken I quickly turn to place the chained key into the nightstand draw beside me, trying very hard to do so inconspicuously, so Edward doesn't see what I'm trying to hide. When I turn back to him, however, I see that he hasn't noticed anything that I've just been doing. He's too busy on what I'm pretty sure is Facebook, creating a post with the picture he just took of us. "Uuum, what are you doing?" I ask, leaning forward to see his phone screen better. It's a good photo, though I don't know how I feel about it being posted online.

"Posting my first image as a sixteen year old," he says with a grin, before his face falls and his nerves from only moments ago return. "Is that okay with you? Sorry, I should've asked first." I remain silent for a second, staring at his phone while I quickly think it over. Should I say yes? What harm could it do? I sigh. It's not his fault I hate social media.

"Okay. If you want to." He smiles and thanks me briefly before quickly finishing off the post.

"Do you have Facebook? I've tried searching for you on there but can't find you."

"That's because I don't have an account," I say, looking down at my shoes.

"Why?"

"Why do I need it? Social media is something for people to stay connected to friends and family. I only have one family member, my mother, and it's not like I've ever had any friends to add, so I've just never bothered having it."

"Well, now you have a friend: me! And it's also a place for making friends. I'll help you set up an account someday soon. But right now, we've got to go." He doesn't give me a chance to respond, to protest or agree. He turns to pick up his stuff before heading out of my room, giving me no other option but to simply follow.

~I*A*F*P*I*T*M~

My heart is beating erratically in my chest as we turn into the beginning of the long road that leads to the Cullen's home. There's a barrier in place just ahead of the turning, to help people who have no clue about this road. The Cullens are lucky their driveway is more like a parking lot because there are many vehicles making their way down the road or already parked. People pay us no mind at all as we drive straight pass them. A path has been left for Edward, who drives his car right into the garage. The sound of the garage door closing behind us makes me turn in my seat. "What the-" I stop mid-question when I turn back to Edward to see he's pressing a button on a small remote. "Why are you closing the garage door?"

He puts the remote in a little hidden compartment above the rear view mirror before undoing his seat belt. I follow suit, still awaiting an answer. I'm disappointed as Edward, still silent, climbs out of the car. "Edward!" He closes the door. I go to open mine and follow him but he glares at me through the window, reminding me of what he'd told me this morning, about not getting out before he's opened my door. He was raised with manners, he said. I wait for him to come to my side and open my door. I climb out, clutching my thin loose knit cardigan I've brought with me and Edward's present that I'd grabbed out of my closet on our way out of my room.

"Will you please answer me? Why aren't we joining the rest of the guests out front?"

He sighs. "My mom wants me to make a big entrance. They're keeping up the pretense that it's still a surprise to me for our guests. They're all planning to yell 'surprise'. I don't want to walk in alone and I knew you'd protest to entering the party with me, so I wanted to make sure we were securely closed in before I told you."

"What?" I stop allowing him to lead me toward a door on the far side of the room, halting my steps. "Edward, I'm not going to do that."

"Why? Look, Bella, you know that I hate people staring at me. I'm going to be the center of attention most of the night anyway, but this will be the worst of it. I'll hate it. You always seem so oblivious to the attention at school, and I know it won't be so bad with you there. Please?"

Well, shit. How am I meant to say no to that?

"Fine," I grumble, pouting. "But you owe me." No he doesn't. Not really.

It is his birthday after all.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this 'pre-party' chapter, as I've decided to unofficially call it! I covered quite a bit in this chapter, so let me know how you felt about some, or all, of it? Your thoughts? Any predictions? Next chapter will be up Friday! See you then!