Hi! If you're still reading this, I can't thank you enough for being interested in this story! I'm sorry that this chapter is being posted a little late. My goal was to post them a little earlier on Sundays, but I got a bit held up. I know I said that they'd be leaving on their trip in this chapter, but we didn't quite get there yet. I should probably just stop trying to project what's going to happen next because every time I sit down to write on this story, it sort of takes on a mind of its own.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! No promises, but I'm going to try to get out another chapter this week since I might be gone a good portion of next weekend.

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of its characters and no copyright infringement is intended. I do, however, own the plot of this derivative work. This story is rated M and is not intended for readers under 18.

CHAPTER 3

One of the things I love the most about New York is that there are a ton of stores where the clothes are really cheap. I didn't think it would be like that when I moved from Seattle – I had the perception that if you wanted to be fashionable in New York, you had to spend a lot of money. Money wasn't something I had a lot of when I first came here and even now that the show had been picked up by the network, it's not like I was filthy rich. I'd splurged on one lingerie set (which was still awaiting its chance to be worn) and a pair of black peep-toe pumps that, even now, cost more money than I like to think about. Alice had convinced me that I'd get enough use out of them and I really did wear them quite a bit.

I lucked out on Canal Street after I convinced Alice to come down there with me. We'd checked out her shoes which really were pretty great (let's face it, Alice doesn't usually try on anything she isn't 99.9% sure will look great) and browsed a few of the shops up in her neck of the woods before we went back to her apartment to grab my Target bags and then took a cab downtown. I found a dress in one of my favorite shops that was snug fitting, ending just below my knees, with only one shoulder. It was made out of a silky, crimson fabric and the skirt gathered slightly at the waist.

When we get back to my apartment, Alice crashes on my bed while I pulled my afore mentioned expensive high heels from their slot in the hanging shoe organizer and set them on the floor below where I've hung up the dress.

"You're being awfully calm for someone who's going on a date with one of the 'sexiest men alive'." Alice says, making air quotes around that last part.

"I'm trying not to think about it," I tell her and it isn't a lie –it's something I could have done without knowing, at least before this first date. "I don't want to psych myself out. Besides, he was cute, but I know guys that are better looking. At least, in my opinion they are."

"Like who?"

"Well, if I'm being honest, Edward's better looking than this guy."

Alice scoffs. "Pfft. I don't know about that."

I shrug then go over to my jewelry box to choose some earrings. I have a pair with just a couple of long strands of black jewels that will go nicely with the rest of the outfit; it's just a matter of finding them in the chaos inside the box.

"Bella? Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, what is it?" I keep digging through the jewelry box, trying to find the second earring.

"Are you and Edward…involved?"

My eyebrows shoot up and I'm glad that I'm facing away from her to give me a second to compose myself. Edward and I haven't exactly disclosed the details of our little arrangement to the rest of the group and I'm not sure what to say now. I don't really want to lie to Alice, but it almost seems worse to tell her anything without knowing how Edward would feel about that first. So, I go with my gut instinct and dodge the truth.

"Are Edward and I involved? No. He's my best friend. We spend a lot of time together. I can see how people might get confused." I set a smile on my face and turn to look at Alice who isn't even looking toward me. Her lips are downturned in a slight frown and she seems to be kind of staring into space.

Alice's phone alerts her to a new text message and snaps her out of her trance. She glances at it for a second before she looks back to me and the frown that disappeared from her face has been replaced with a smile, but it seems forced. I have a feeling she knows I'm lying to her and it seems odd that she hasn't called me out.

"I should probably take off. Jasper's coming home for dinner and I don't even know what I'm going to make yet. Call me and tell me about the date?" She stands and gathers her shopping bags before she moves toward the front door.

"Sure. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Alright. Have a good time and be careful being out by yourself."

"Yes, mother," I tell her, rolling my eyes. I hug her goodbye and unlock the deadbolt and chain for her.

When I get back to my room, the first thing my eyes land on is the laundry hamper in the corner between the wall and my tall dresser. It's got a few things that I wore over the last few days in it – the stuff that I used after the big laundry marathon last week. But that's not all it has. Lying right on top, over a few pairs of lacy red underwear, is a grey t-shirt with a white screen print outline of the Space Needle on it, but the bottom of the drawing looks like tree roots. Edward flung it in a frenzy to remove clothing a few days ago and it got kicked under my bed. He couldn't find it when he went to get dressed again and ended up putting his hoodie back on with nothing underneath it. I missed it when I was bringing down the laundry and wouldn't have found it if I hadn't lifted the dust ruffle to pull out my second suitcase.

The shirt is one of Edward's favorites and everybody knows it. I guess I know what Alice was looking at when I thought she was spacing out. And, based on her question, I guess she's got a pretty good idea of why Edward's clothes are sitting in my hamper.

Yep. She definitely knew I was lying.

#WL#

I decide to take a cab to Lincoln Center rather than riding the subway. I've worn heels enough in the past few years that I'm not a total klutz in them but it is still winter, there are still some icy spots on the sidewalk and if you consider the platform, these shoes have four inch heels and I'm not particularly interested in walking too terribly far in them.

I walk past the fountain in the plaza in front of the performance centers and in the front doors of the Koch Theater. It occurs to me that I should be thankful Alice made me go to the ballet with her and that she recognized Demetri's name or else I wouldn't have known which performance hall to meet him at because he's not waiting for me out here.

The lobby is deserted, but I'm not surprised since there isn't a performance going on tonight. I spot an elderly man sitting at the coat check desk and make my way over to him. He's wearing a blazer and a name tag that says "Frank". He's reading a book and starts a little when I finally reach the desk – I hope he's not expected to be any sort of security if it takes him that long to notice that someone's come in.

"Hello, ma'am," he greets me with a wide grin. "Can I help you?"

"I'm here to meet Demetri Chekhov."

"Alright," he says, picking up the receiver of a black phone on his desk and beginning to dial with shaking, arthritic fingers, "let me just call back stage and let them know."

The old man announces my presence to whomever he reaches on the other side of the line as I take a seat on a bench just next to his desk. He sounds very cheery as he speaks and I smile to myself listening to him. I can't imagine ever being that happy to be at work on a Sunday night, especially at this age, but it's nice that he is. I don't feel like I run into a lot of cheerful people in this city, so it's kind of refreshing.

"Thank you," I tell him when I hear him hang up the phone.

"You're welcome. You going out for a fancy dinner?"

"Well, I don't know," I tell him honestly. I have no idea where Demetri will want to go. I just assumed it wouldn't be a random burger joint, but now that I'm being asked, I hope I'm not severely overdressed. "My date hasn't said where we're going."

"Oh! It's a surprise then?" He looks genuinely interested.

"Well, I suppose it is for me, although I don't think it was really meant like that."

Just then, a door a bit further down the hall swings open and Demetri emerges along with three women who I'm sure are ballerinas. They're each slender with hair pulled back tightly from their faces, each holding some type of workout bag over their shoulder. None of them are particularly tall and with the three of them surrounding Demetri, it gives the illusion that he's taller than he actually is.

"Thanks for your help, Frank," I say, smiling at the old man. "Have a good night."

"You too, ma'am," he says and picks his book up again.

I stand and smooth down the back of my dress then re-adjust my purse strap on my shoulder. The women part ways with Demetri, each giving him a peck on each cheek before turning to leave and Demetri stays where he is as I walk toward him. At first I think he's dressed in almost the same outfit as he was earlier today when I met him at Target, but when I get closer, I see that his black jeans have been traded for black dress slacks and the white t-shirt has been replaced by a white button-up shirt. I can see how women find him attractive – he's certainly not ugly. Just maybe a little more 'metrosexual' than I'm used to. I don't really know any other way to say it.

"Hi," I greet him and he finally comes toward me and gives me the same peck on each cheek that the women just did.

"Bella. I'm glad you're here on time," he says and it seems like kind of a weird thing to say. "I'm absolutely famished." He holds his arm out and I take it, relishing in this bit of chivalry that I'm not used to before I address his first comment.

"Did I seem like someone who wouldn't be on time?" I ask, chuckling a bit to conceal the fact that I'm not sure if I should be offended. I'm having to hustle a bit to keep up with his quick steps but it's not too bad – I have to walk quickly to keep up with Edward but that's only because he's so much taller than I am.

"Possibly. I find that many women like to keep men waiting to try to build up anticipation. I just find it irritating." His tone is so serious that I decide it's probably not a good way to start off the date if I point out that I was actually waiting for him for about ten minutes past our agreed upon time.

"So, where are we going?"

"To Lincoln. Do you know it?"

"Yes," I tell him as we walk up to the entrance of the restaurant. It's at Lincoln Center, just over by the reflecting pool. I've not been, but I know it's relatively expensive so I'm glad I dressed up a bit. "Well, I know of it but I've never gone there."

He holds the door open for me and the hostess lights up when she sees him.

"Mr. Chekhov, how are you tonight?"

"Fine." His reply is short and he nods at her. It's not the warmest greeting ever, but the hostess doesn't seem to notice and is bubbly as ever.

"I've got your table ready. Right this way." She turns on her heel and heads through the crowd of tables.

Demetri motions for me to go ahead and I follow her to a table in the middle of the dining room, right next to the floor to ceiling wall of windows that surround the restaurant. The decoration is simple, with clean, modern lines and an open kitchen where I can see the sous chefs rapidly working on plating food. It's pretty, but the draw is clearly the wide open view over the reflecting pool and the rest of the center.

We take out seats and the hostess hands us each menus and what I'm assuming is a wine list to Demetri.

"Do you come here a lot?" I ask him, even though the fact that the hostess knew him should be my answer. He doesn't seem to be a very talkative guy, so I figure I may as well start a little conversation.

"Off and on," he says, glancing down at the menu. He doesn't continue, but I let it slide. He might be one of those people who're a little grumpy when they're hungry. I examine the menu to see what I want. It's Italian and that's one of my favorites so there are a few things that sound pretty good to me.

When the waiter comes over, he greets us both and asks if we'd like an appetizer or a drink.

"We'll have the crudo di tonno to start and a bottle of the Renato Corino," Demetri tells the waiter, putting down his menu with an air of finality.

Okay - it's fine if he wants to be a little quiet or even take the lead, but I don't need him to order for me, particularly without asking me.

"Actually, I'd like the insalata di funghi," I tell the waiter, handing him my menu then looking right at Demetri. "I don't like fish."

Demetri is staring at me with a strange sort of confused look on his face and I'm not sure if he's angry with me or not. Then, just like he did in the travel-size section at Target, he barks out a laugh.

"You speak Italian?" he asks, taking a sip from his water.

"I took it in college. I know enough to know that 'tonno' is tuna."

"Well, I like a girl who knows enough to know what she wants."

We order what we'd like for the main course and the waiter goes off to get our wine. I don't drink wine much and don't really prefer it, but the type Demetri ordered is good and he tells me a bit about where it's made and how it's his favorite type. I'm on my second glass before I even finish my salad.

Our entrees come and the lamb ravioli I've ordered is so amazing that the lags in conversation here and there don't feel so awkward since I'm busy stuffing my face with my dinner - in as ladylike a manner as possible, that is.

"So, Bella," Demetri asks while he cuts his steak into bite-sized pieces, "what is it that you do that makes you such an expert on travel shampoo bottles?"

"I host a show on the Travel Network called 'The (Not-So) Lost Girl'. Have you heard of it?"

He shakes his head. "I don't watch television. Why is that the title? Do they lose you and then find you again?" he smiles, teasing me.

"Well, no." I blush a little. "It's a play on the title of the D.H. Lawrence book. The show is mostly about traveling to places and doing things a little outside of the usual tourist stuff. Actually, I'm starting another project in a couple of days. We had an episode where we did a road trip down Route 66 and it was really popular so the network picked us to do the same thing, just in other countries."

"And where will you be going on this road trip?"

"Ireland, India and New Zealand," I list off.

"They seem a little disconnected. What's the reasoning for those countries?" he asks and I laugh.

"That's exactly what Edward said! I guess those countries are the most popular with the viewers."

"Edward?"

"Oh. Edward is my best friend. He's also the cameraman on the show. He does really beautiful work; you should really watch the show sometime."

"Your best friend is a man?" he cocks his eyebrow at me.

"Yes." I'm not surprised he's questioning this – I find that more people than you'd think find a man and a woman being best friends to be abnormal, particularly when they find out that both are straight.

"Does he…prefer the company of men?"

And there it is. "No. I've known him since high school," I say, as though that were an explanation. I don't really have an explanation, Edward and I just work. I decide to change the subject. "So, you're a dancer?"

"I am," he nods. "Although, I am not dancing now. I'm the principle choreographer on the production I am currently working on and will be doing the same in London in a few weeks."

He goes on to tell me about how he began in ballet (both of his parents were dancers in St. Petersburg), his upbringing and training in Paris and his subsequent move to New York to join the New York City Ballet. It was like the flood gates had been opened and he just went on and on. Dance – ballet – was clearly his passion and I had no doubt that this wasn't something he'd been forced into by his parents, but did because he loved it.

When we were finished, Demetri paid for dinner and teased me about my offer to pay for myself.

"What kind of man would I be if I asked you out and didn't pay?" he asked as we walked into the frigid January night.

"I don't know. I'm just used to taking care of myself and it always makes me a little uncomfortable when people pay for me." I explain while we walk toward 65th street. I'm feeling a little unstable on my heels – I definitely drank a little too much wine.

"Well, I hope you can get past that because when we go out next time, it will happen again," he says and holds his arm out to signal a taxi. "Where do you live?" Demetri asks, and I wonder if he's trying to continue the date to the next level, so to speak.

"Downtown."

He nods and hands the driver a wad of cash.

"I enjoyed your company very much, Bella," he says, taking my gloved hand in his own. "Can I see you again before you leave?"

"Um…yeah," I tell him, "sure." I'm a little stunned that we're ending this now. I'm not necessarily disappointed though. I am pretty tired, and the fact that he's not trying to get into my pants or my bed right away is kind of refreshing. Not that I'd remember what it's like to have someone try, considering my last real date was over a year ago.

"Great. Give me your phone number, I'll call you tomorrow."

I give him my phone number and he types it into his phone then kisses me on the cheek, this time with more intent than the two-cheek greeting from earlier. I duck into the cab and he closes the door behind me, nods and turns to walk in the other direction.

I relax into the seat and think back on the date while I watch the buildings go by. I'm not quite sure what to think of Demetri. He seems a little aloof, but that might just be a cultural thing. He's certainly formal and I'm alright with that. It's just different from what I'm used to.

My purse vibrates in the pocket where I've got my phone and I pull it out to be greeted by a picture of Edward, covered from head to toe in flour after having been the victim of a surprise 'antiquing' attack by Jasper and Emmett. I smile and slide my finger across the screen to answer.

"Hey," I say quietly into the phone, feeling the effects of the half bottle of wine I drank at dinner tonight coupled with the warm air in the heated cab.

"Hey, Blackbird. I'm back. The flight came in a little earlier than I expected." Edward's velvet voice answers. "I'm sorry I missed dinner. What are you doing?"

"Nothing. I'm in a cab on my way home."

"Do you want to watch TV or something?"

My eyes feel heavy and my head is a little foggy, but I miss him.

"Yeah. I'll be over in a few minutes."

I hang up and lean forward to talk to the driver.

"Slight change of plans," I tell him and give him Edward's address.

When we pull up to Edward's apartment, I slam the cab door and I see Edward look out from his third floor window. He grins at me and waves and then disappears to buzz me in.

I swing open the lobby door when I hear the buzzing noise and take the elevator to the third floor. I don't trust myself to walk up that many flights in these high heels right now. Edward is waiting at his door when the elevator doors slide open and I just go right to him and into his open arms for a hug.

"You know, you don't have to get all dressed up to impress me," he teases, releasing me from his grasp.

"I was on a date." I tell him, stepping out of my high heels and setting them next to Edward's pile of sneakers.

"A date?" he asks, taking a step back from me.

"Why're you surprised?" I ask, holding my hand out to steady myself against the wall. "Boys like me you know."

"I know that boys like you, Bella. Believe me, I know." Edward runs his hand through his hair, all the way from the front to back. "So, do you like this guy you saw tonight?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Are you going to see him again?"

"Yeah, he asked me to go out with him again before we leave. He's a ballet dancer and Alice says he's one of the sexiest men alive. Well, the magazine says that. Alice just told me it said that."

Edward mutters something I can't understand, but when I ask, he just says, "You look like you need to lie down."

I nod and take his outstretched hand. I sit on Edward's bed while he pulls a t-shirt out of his dresser and comes back over to pull me back up to standing. His hands reach around my back and he unzips my dress so the silky crimson fabric pools at my feet. I sit back down and look up at him. He smiles down at me, but it's not one of Edward's happy smiles. For some reason, this one is a little sad.

I lift my arms and he pulls his t-shirt over my head. I'm enveloped in his smell as the fabric passes down over my face and I crawl under the covers where he holds the comforter back for me.

Edward pulls the shirt he's wearing over his head and discards it in the pile in the corner then unbuttons his jeans, steps out of them, and lays down on top of the covers in just his boxers and socks. He grabs the TV changer and is flicking through the channels.

I turn on my side and look at his profile in the glow from the television. The stubble along his jaw is heavy enough now that it could probably be called a beard and it softens the sharp lines of his face. His eyelashes cast a shadow against his straight, aquiline nose every time he blinks. Even with the slight scowl he has on his face right now, he really is beautiful, even if he probably wouldn't like to hear me say that.

I reach out and put my hand on his bicep, fighting to keep my eyes open for a few seconds longer.

"Edward?"

He turns to look at me, waiting for me to speak, his chest moving slowly up and down with his breath.

"I'm glad you're back. I missed you."

His face softens just a bit and he gives me another sad smile. "I missed you too, Blackbird. I always miss you when I'm gone. You know that."

He turns back to the TV and I close my eyes and let myself drift off, feeling the warmth of his skin under my hand and breathing in his smell on the pillow under my head.

I'm sorry there was no lemon and that there is some angst here. Truly. I love a good lemon as much as the next person, but the goal of this story wasn't to be PWP, so there's got to be some story building somewhere. I promise, as this story goes on, there will be no lack of lemons.

Please review and let me know what you thought – I love hearing from you so much, I can't even tell you!