A/N: Love and thanks to Ms Kathy for her beta services and help on getting this chapter right. The timeline jumps a wee bit in here, apologies for that.

##

November

"Bro, come on. We're gonna be late." A cushion sailed across the living room, catching Edward in the side of the head. He glared at Emmett, who was waiting impatiently in front of him. "Come on," his brother repeated.

Edward folded the corner down on the page, put the book on the coffee table and headed out with his brother. He drove to work, listening to Emmett talk about random crap all the way to the deli. Mostly Emmett talked about Rosalie. Emmett had it bad for Rose, despite the five-year age difference between them.

But I'm not one to talk about age differences, am I?

Edward blew out a long sigh; Emmett looked at him, but said nothing. There were a lot of topics that weren't wise to bring up with Edward these days. Like Bella. Like age differences. Like books.

For the past month, Edward had been reading all three of Bella's books. He had finished the first and was almost done with the second. It was a slow and painful process for someone with ADD and little interest in reading novels. Yet day after day, Edward read his allotted 30 pages, driven by a storm of emotions that he could barely name, let alone understand.

##

Previously

Edward had been sitting on the couch alone when Carlisle came home. Emmett and Alice were somewhere in the house, avoiding their older brother. His father took one look at Edward's face and came straight into the room, shrugging out of his raincoat and tossing his briefcase to the floor.

"What's wrong?" he asked. Edward struggled to form a thought, any thought, that made sense.

"Bella was just on Oprah," he finally managed. Carlisle gaped at him, astounded. For a moment, Edward couldn't help but enjoy the look of shock on his father's normally calm face.

"Okay," Carlisle finally said. "Oprah. What was she doing on Oprah?"

"She was talking about her new book," Edward mumbled. "She writes novels about Internet crimes and identity theft and shit like that. Under the name Isabella Swan. This new one she just wrote was on the bestseller list before it was even released. She's really popular."

"Isabella Swan," his father breathed. "My God. Poppy was right." Edward looked up at Carlisle, his face twisting with anger.

"Poppy knew? Poppy knew who she was … and she told you, not me?

"Whoa, slow down," said Carlisle, holding his palms up. "She told me a long time ago that she thought Bella was an author because of some of the paperwork she'd seen her handling in the diner. But honestly, Edward, she never mentioned the possibility that she might be Isabella Swan."

"You know her stuff?" Edward asked. His father got up and went into another room; he returned carrying two books.

"Yes. Your mother and I have read these two. The new one just came out, and Esme is only about halfway through it. You've probably seen her reading it; it's got a red cover?" Edward nodded. His father put the books down and sat beside him on the couch. "How do you feel about all this, son?" A long silence filled the room, so long that Carlisle started to think Edward wasn't going to answer.

"I feel like I never knew her at all," Edward finally said. His voice was distant. "Like everything she shared with me was a lie."

"Did you find out …"

"I can't, Dad. I can't talk about this anymore. Please."

##

At the restaurant, no one seemed to know what had happened. Jasper said that he himself probably wouldn't have noticed, except that Poppy had turned up the volume on the television, catching his attention.

"When I saw the preview, I didn't recognize her at all. She was just some older fox on TV, right? But I could see Poppy staring and then I heard the name 'Isabella' and then … well, you know." Jasper shrugged helplessly as the two of them finished their smokes. It was about a week after the show had aired. "Poppy told me to call you but not to say a word to anyone else." He looked at Edward with burning curiosity. "Dude, did you know about any of this?"

"Nothing," said Edward, shaking his head. "She told me she ran her own business. Did video voiceovers and shit like that." He tossed down his cigarette butt and ground it out viciously with his heel. "She probably just pretended to be friends with me – with all of us – so she could research her new book." He laughed, but it came out sounding wrong, twisted and bitter.

"I don't think she was using you, or any of us," Jasper said. "I really don't see it that way."

"Well, I do," Edward responded. "Why wouldn't she tell me that she was a writer? Would it have killed her to say 'Edward, I'm a writer.'? What's so fucking hard about that?"

"I don't know the answer to that," Jasper said. "Only Bella knows the answer, and she's not here."

"Her name's not Bella," Edward said roughly. "It's Isabella Swan."

"That's not her name. That's her pen name, the name she writes under," Jasper said gently. "Why can't you believe that the person who came to the diner – the person you know, the person you've spent the last year being friends with – is the real Bella?" Something his friend said triggered a memory in Edward's mind, and his brow twitched in thought. "What?" Jasper asked.

"I … nothing. Nothing. I don't want to talk about it. I need to go back to work."

For the rest of the evening, Edward took orders, freshened drinks and looked his customers in the face. He tried very hard not to think. And he tried especially hard not to hope.

"Just remember me. Remember who I am."

##

November

Edward may have been able to put off his parents, his siblings and even Jasper, but there was one person who would not be denied.

"Edward, I'll see you in my office at the end of your shift," said Poppy. It had been a quiet evening, close to Thanksgiving, and most people weren't eating out much. When Edward came into her office, he saw the red book on her desk and stopped dead in the doorway.

"Sit down," Poppy said, gesturing at the chair.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I'm not asking you to talk about it," said Poppy sharply. "I'm telling you to sit down." Edward slouched into the chair, looking rebellious. "You've been doing quite well as of late. If you're interested, I'll teach you a few duties around open/close that you haven't already learned. Then I'd like to give you your own set of keys."

Edward's mouth dropped open a bit. Only two other people at the restaurant had keys, and neither of them was a server.

"Cool," he said, smiling. "I'd like to do that."

"Good," said Poppy, pleased. "Now," she said, tapping the book. Edward's smile vanished. "I know, you don't want to talk. So you'll listen instead.

"I've heard from Bella. She sent me a couple copies of her book, one of which is for you." Edward figured that his feelings on the topic must have showed because Poppy's eyes narrowed. "Don't even think about refusing it." She pushed it across the desk to him, and he stared mutinously at the red cover.

"She could have just brought them by when she was in town filming fucking Oprah," he muttered.

"I suppose she could have," agreed Poppy, "but she said in the note that came with the books that she would be in and out in of Chicago in less than 36 hours, a good chunk of which would be spent in studio. Any free time she had was spent exclusively with Frankie. It was the weekend after Frankie and Marcus were in; they didn't tell Frankie that her mother was coming in until the night before." Poppy looked at him sternly. "Thought I'd tell you just in case you thought Frankie was lying to you as well."

"I know Frankie isn't a liar," objected Edward, stung. "It's more than I can say for her," he said, stabbing his finger at the book. "Why didn't she tell me, Poppy? Why did she hide it from me? I thought we were friends!"

"That's something you're going to need to ask Bella," his boss said. "Edward, I understand that you're upset and angry, and not without reason. But I also know what it's like to be in Bella's shoes."

"What, you're a best-selling author too, and we just never knew?" he sneered. He knew he was being rude, but he couldn't find it within himself to care.

"No. But I know what it's like to be a woman alone, with big responsibilities and her best years behind her. You're so lonely that all you want to do is die, yet you're too badly hurt to let anybody close to you. It's scarier still when there's a little one in your arms, dependent on you for their every need."

"But Bella's not like that. She's rich and famous! She has everything."

"Maybe from where you sit, she does. But sometimes, appearances can be deceiving." Edward looked back at Poppy, unconvinced. His boss sighed.

"Take the book, Edward. Read it, throw it in the garbage, sell it on eBay for all I care. But you'll do one thing for me."

"What's that?" he asked sulkily.

"Spend a little time learning what life is like for Isabella Swan."

Edward grimaced and picked up the book. He started moving toward the door, then stopped.

"Poppy," he asked, unable to stop the question from leaping out of his mouth. "Is there like … a waiter … in this book? Or some kind of young, delinquent kid? A character like that?"

Poppy looked at him kindly. "You mean – did she use you for research? For this book?" He nodded, feeling like a complete fool. "Kid, I read this book from cover to cover and – as much as I hate to break it to you – you're not in here." Edward could feel relief and confusion battling it out inside him. "Edward, she's your friend. What will it take for you to believe that again?"

"This is me. The person you know here, right now, is me. … Just remember me. "

"I don't know," Edward replied. "I don't even know how I feel about her. Whether we're just friends or if I've started to feel …"

He stopped himself from saying anything further about how he felt. And then he turned, and left the room.

##

When he got home that night, Edward reluctantly pulled out his laptop. Isabella Swan. He hated the name. It seemed that everyone was talking about her. He saw that red book everywhere he went, mocking him.

He opened up Google and typed in Isabella Swan. He had searched Bella DiPalma before, of course … a handful of results, none of them relevant.

Isabella Swan brought back over two million hits.

Of course, she had her own website, showcasing her books. There was a single, slick PR photo, her hair professionally colored and styled, make-up perfect, expensive clothes. It didn't look anything like the Bella he knew – the one wearing jeans and that cheap winter jacket of hers, no make-up and hair untouched.

Isabella Swan had her own Facebook page, with more than a quarter of a million fans. Same frozen PR shot. Edward scrolled through pages of comments. Most were from adoring fans … but some were not. Some people were critical of her work. Others used her fan page to promote their own books or get-rich-quick schemes. There were even pleas for money and proposals of marriage.

Over the next hour, Edward found a site dedicated to telling the world how much Isabella Swan's books sucked and another one that featured a petition to have her latest book made into a movie. He even found a site full of something called fan fiction.

The more he read, the more Edward wondered what it was like to be the focus of so many people's attention. Isabella Swan wasn't a celebrity; the paparazzi didn't camp outside her home. But some of her fans were really demanding, and a few were frightening in their persistence.

What was that like for a woman as private as Bella?

He put the computer aside thoughtfully, and picked up the book he had placed on the bedside table. The spine crackled as he opened it, and it smelled new. He turned to the dedication page.

For my beloved daughter.

Edward smiled when he read that. He turned the next page. At the top, there was something written in ink, in Bella's trademark handwriting:

To my dear friend Edward. All my love, Bella

A simple message. Simple like Bella. Just Bella.

Edward went back to his computer and looked at Bella's Facebook page, the one he was connected to, the one she called "Just Bella". There was nothing to indicate that she was linked to Isabella Swan. She wasn't a fan, and there was no mention of her anywhere. Just pictures of Frankie, notes from friends, updates from those silly Facebook games she played.

Just Bella.

God, how he missed her.

Edward got up wearily from his desk and walked downstairs to the den where his parents' books were. He looked through the shelves until he found Bella's two earlier novels, and took them back up to his room.

Who are you kidding? You'll never get through those. The last one is nearly 500 pages long!

But it was too late. He had, against his own will, already started to hope.

##

Which left just one thing that Edward didn't want to talk about.

During the Oprah interview, Oprah and Bella (it sounded utterly surreal to think of them together like that) had discussed many things, including Bella's career transition from an online banking security expert (which she had apparently been before she became a writer) to novelist.

"It must have been tough to make that move, leaving a secure career like banking to take one of the least secure jobs in the world as a novelist," said Oprah.

"It was incredibly hard," said Bella. "I second-guessed myself constantly. My daughter was only a few months old, and there I was at 34, deciding to leave my job to chase a dream. I'm glad I did it, but sometimes I look back and wonder where the courage came from."

She had given birth to Frankie when she was 34. Fast forward nearly seven years.

Bella was 41 years old.

At the time, his reaction had simply been that it didn't matter anymore. The shock of Bella's deceit in not sharing more of herself with him had overshadowed the news that she was old enough to be his mother.

But as his anger and hurt at the betrayal started to recede back to manageable levels, the 18-year age gap began to devil him more. Eighteen years. That made anything other than friendship impossible.

Didn't it?

##

A/N: I'm on the road again this week but hope to have the final chapter up in a reasonable amount of time. With readers divided into two camps (yes, they're in love and no, they're definitely not in love), the ending is bound to let some of you down. But I've known since the start how this story will end. As always, your review and comments are appreciated.