A/N:

I know somebody will ask, so I'll just tell you: the kiddos in the prologue are a whopping 6 years old. Hence the goofy speech. ;)

Now, let's continue.

Chapter 1

-Present day, 2017-

I hate surprises.

When I was 10, my dad surprised me with a kitten for my birthday. I'd spent the previous six months begging for one, and after some prodding from my mom, he finally caved. I remember lifting the lid off the box and seeing her sitting there, a bundle of big, blue eyes and cinnamon colored fur. I carried her around all night, let her sleep in my room … and woke up the next day with a painful rash that covered most of my body.

That was how I learned I was allergic to cats.

In eighth grade, Rosalie Hale surprised me with a pair of purple suede flats that we'd found at the mall. She'd gotten herself a pair too, and just like any 14-year-old would, I put mine on right away, because matching your bestie like you were twinsies was of the utmost importance. My new soles thrilled me so much that I didn't notice the thin layer of ice coating the parking lot when we left for the day. The minute I set foot on the asphalt I went ass over tea kettle.

That was how I learned just how painful a broken arm is.

When I was 17, James Denali surprised me with a kiddie pool full of goldfish and a card that read, "I want to be the fish in your sea. Prom?" He was the sun that my world revolved around, the one guy I'd wanted since junior high. I said yes, spent hours getting ready with Rose and Alice … and then got stood up when he decided he'd rather go with Jessica Stanley.

That was how I learned what the sting of betrayal felt like.

Surprises have never gone over well in my life. Which is why I'm dreading whatever it is that Edward has in store for me tonight.

"You need to relax." Alice's voice blasts out of the phone, echoing because I have her on speaker. I know she can't see me, but I throw my arms up in the air anyway.

"I wish it were that easy," I groan.

"What did the card say again?"

I sink down onto one of the stools that line our breakfast bar and grab the greeting card off the marble. "Good morning, beautiful." Like clockwork, the corners of my mouth turn up and my stomach starts to somersault. "Happy Anniversary, love. I have a big weekend in store for us, so make sure you're ready. A package will arrive today at one, with detailed instructions inside. A car will come at three-thirty to get you. Don't ask Alice or Rose what's going on, because I made sure that neither of them know. Relax, enjoy your morning, and I can't wait to see you tonight. Love, Edward."

"Let me guess," my best friend says with a giggle, "you've been up since the crack of dawn, obsessing over this?"

"You know me too well." I drop the card back on the counter and run a hand through my tousled-from-sleep hair. A glance at the clock tells me it's a little after eight, which means I still have almost five hours to sit and wonder what the man I love more than life itself has in store for me.

"Well, get dressed then, because I'm taking you out."

"Taking me out where? I have to be here when this package arrives."

"That gives us just enough time to get our nails done and grab a bite to eat." If we were all born with one magic talent, Alice's would be the art of persuasion. She has a way of making everything sound tempting. Even a trip to Target for toilet paper and tampons is hard to resist when she's the one proposing it.

"Don't you think I should— "

"I think you should throw on some clothes, put your hair up, and be ready to go in fifteen minutes." Another thing about Alice: there's no arguing with her once she's set her mind to something.

"I'll see you when you get here." I end the call and pick up Edward's card once more, my gaze traveling over his neat script. In the three years we've been together, he's never done anything this elaborate. Flowers, surprise dinners, random acts of kindness … those things fall within the parameters of Edward's romantic style. This is totally foreign, which makes it even more anxiety provoking.

Fifteen minutes later the doorbell rings and Alice lets herself inside. "Good morning, anniversary girl!" Alice reminds me of a fairy as she all but skips into my house. She's 5'2" on a good day, with raven hair that she keeps cut in a trendy bob, and eyes the same shade as my favorite pair of faded blue jeans. If it's trendy, it's in her closet, as evidenced by the Michael Kors bag that hangs from her arm and the Jimmy Choo wedges on her feet.

I met Alice in junior high. She moved to Minnesota immediately following her twelfth birthday, and we soon found ourselves tossed together in the seventh-grade class at Hopkins West. Alice had all the makings of a popular kid—wealthy parents, a ginormous house on Lake Minnetonka, and a closet full of the coolest clothes kids our age wore. I was fully prepared for her to fall into place with Jessica, Lauren, Peter, and the rest of the people who lived to make the lives of girls like me and Rose a living hell, but she never did. Instead, Alice sat down at our lunch table, introduced herself, and invited us to come boating on her parent's pontoon that weekend. The rest is history.

After college, Alice and I ended up back in Minnesota, while Rose high tailed it to London. My job in advertising kept me plenty busy but after the first few years, I began to lose interest in the field I thought would always be my passion. With the encouragement of my mom and best friends, I took a leap and opened my bakery, Swan's Sweets. I'd been slinging cupcakes, donuts, and specialty pastries for the past four years.

Alice hands me a Starbucks cup, which I gladly accept, and slides her sunglasses up onto the top of her head. "We have mani pedi appointments in twenty minutes. But, before we leave, I'm setting one rule."

I arch my eyebrows. "What rule?"

"No talk of men. You can continue your obsessing when we get back here at one." Hands on her hips, she taps her foot expectantly.

I can't help but chuckle. "Deal."

.

.

.

The morning flies by and, just as promised, I don't mention Edward again. We pull into my driveway at the same time the FedEx man pulls up to the curb.

Alice gets out of the car and cranes her neck so she can see over the roof. Her face scrunches in a frown. "That's not a very big package."

"Ms. Swan?" The driver approaches me and I sign for the parcel. Alice follows me inside, insistent on sticking around and helping me get ready for whatever it is Edward has in store.

I open the box carefully, finding another greeting card nestled on top of tissue paper. My best friend immediately grabs the card from my hands and tears it open. "Be careful with that, Ali! I want to save it!"

She sticks her tongue out and rolls her eyes. "Bella," she reads, "A new dress is probably the last thing you need, but like Alice says, 'a little sparkle never hurt anyone, especially on her anniversary.' Pack a bag for the weekend and put this on before you go. The car will be there at three-thirty, to bring you to me. I know you're in suspense, and I know it's probably driving you crazy, but I promise you, it'll be worth it."

"Pack a bag for the weekend?"

"This is SO exciting! AND Edward quoted me. How cool is that?" Alice drops the card and claps her hands together. "Open the rest of this! I want to see what the dress looks like!"

"Let me go put it on," I say, grabbing the box and dashing for the bedroom. I emerge minutes later, blushing.

"You look amazing, Bella!" Alice walks around me, taking in every angle. I pad across the floor to the bathroom, where I look at myself in the full-length mirror. The dress is simple, maroon in color and loose fitting, with spaghetti straps and a neckline that plunges just far enough to still leave room to the imagination. The end falls to the middle of my thigh.

"I love it." I do a little curtsey and twirl in front of the mirror. Alice laughs and grabs my hand.

"We have to accessorize! And get you all dolled up. And pack that weekend bag, which I'm sure you'll need my help with because, let's face it, you don't exactly have the greatest instinct when it comes to things like this."

"Instinct? Since when do I need instinct to spend time with my boyfriend?"

"You spend time with him every day, Bella. This is your anniversary weekend, and that means sex, sex, and more sex."

Rose was always the Samantha Jones of our social circle. In recent months though, Alice had assumed that role.

I was a healthy combination of Carrie and Charlotte; more sugar than spice, and my girlfriends loved to give me shit about it.

"Whatever you say, Ali." I give in because it's the best option. I know my best friend well enough to know that she'll carry on until I relent.

Alice spends the next two hours poking, prodding, and primping me. I'm dolled up, packed way too heavily, and in my red dress when she finishes.

"There you go, girl. You're ready for one hell of an anniversary weekend!"

Anniversary weekend, I repeat in my head.

Anniversary weekend that starts off with a red dress.

Anniversary weekend that includes a suitcase.

Anniversary weekend that ends with god knows what.

Did I mention I hate surprises?