A/N Stephenie Meyer owns all. I just own some rather fabulous new ankle boots and a packet of chili tortillas.

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CHAPTER EIGHT

Previously (EPOV)

"Tell me about Demetri."

The question escaped me, rocketing from my throat before my mental filter had time to haul it back and beat it into submission.

She looked shocked. Shit. Why did I have to ask that? Not only was it none of my goddamn business, but I always did my job better without the emotional connection, when I could just view the clients as packages to be delivered safe from transit. That was all she was - a package. A cute, deliciously fragrant package, but a package nonetheless.

I expected her to scowl and shut down. But she surprised me yet again, giving me a guarded look that belied the openness of her words.

"Okay. What do you want to know?"

~ * ~

BPOV

How to explain?

It seemed wholly inadequate to say that the distance and the language barrier left me lonely and scared, thousands of miles away from home and all things familiar. That the thrill of travel and adventure had been lost in the reality of overseas travel, leaving me needy and craving human contact.

Looking back, I guess I just wanted to be someone else, someone bold - someone beyond Chief Swan's daughter who never partied or drank, who always got straight As and did the right thing. I wanted to be someone who wasn't wrapped in obvious inexperience and innocence, horribly shy and graceless. I wanted to be forward and proud, to launch myself into excitement and a life less ordinary.

I lost myself in memories, and spoke hesitantly. I never met his eyes.

"It was just before my senior year that I got the invitation, I think maybe April or May?" I smiled wryly, making it a question, remembering my shock when the guidance counsellor called me to her office and told me the news. "It was just so unexpected - it was such a prestigious scholarship, only a handful of students around the world were lucky enough to get it. I was surprised because I'd never applied, never even heard of it; I was told I'd been 'selected'."

I paused then, the last word tasting bitter on my tongue. Particularly in light of later events. Glancing at Edward I recognised his confused expression and realised more explanation was needed.

"The Volterra Scholarship," I said softly. "I'd never even heard of it. The guidance counsellor told me it was an invitations-only honour and not to be lightly turned down. A year's tuition and board fully paid for by the Academy, a chance to experience a completely different culture and life. I was terrified - I didn't even speak a word of Italian! - but I was desperate to accept it. Charlie, my dad, was scared for me to go too far away but he hid it well, knowing somehow that I needed a life beyond rainy old Forks."

I smiled sadly and looked down at my hands, wishing how I'd just stayed in the lived-in house with my dad in rainy old Forks and gone to community college like I'd planned.

Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

"I flew out in the summer before my senior year, planning to spend a couple of months in Rome, then Florence, before moving to Volterra in September. I was so excited - I think I'd romanticised the experience too much, thinking that the second I'd arrive in Europe I'd somehow 'find' myself and become a whole new person. A person I'd always wanted to be, but had been too scared to reach for."

I looked back down to my hands once more, ashamed; my motives seemed so pathetic in light of what eventually happened. I chanced a brief side-glance at Edward, expecting to see contempt and boredom, but was surprised to see compassion and a strange intensity.

He murmured gently, his green eyes dark and deep, "Go on."

I drew courage from his quiet interest and acceptance. "I was in Rome for nearly a full week before I first met Demetri. I'd done all the usual tourist spots - spent hours admiring the Colosseum, the Pantheon, the Bridge of Angels, the Arch of Constantine. I must have filled the memory chip on my camera a dozen times and emailed them all to my family and friends, enjoying their reactions more than the experiences themselves." I smiled bitterly. "They were always so impressed by my stories - of what I'd seen - that I hated to disappoint them by moaning that the reality was different, such an anticlimax, just so...lonely.

"I tried to make the best of it, tried to...connect, I guess? But crossing continental lines had done nothing to change my shyness and I never knew what to say to strangers. I was surrounded by many couples, a lot of families. The only ones that made an effort with me were guys who seemed to be only after one thing."

I grimaced at the memory, still conflicted by how easily I'd been drawn in time and time again. Thinking that they offered friendship when their intentions were poles apart. I was distantly aware of Edward's hands tightening on the steering wheel, his knuckles white.

"One morning I went to the Trevi Fountain. It was such a popular spot that it was usually crawling with tourists and far from serene, but I headed out just before dawn and for once it was blissfully quiet." I closed my eyes, summoning the memory. "When I sat on the edge and dipped my hands in the liquid the sun had only just begun to rise, making the wet marble of the sculptures sparkle. So beautiful, it was like a reminder of why I decided to travel in the first place. It was also the first time I'd been able to hear the ripple of the water over the cries and warbles of the visitors.

"I sat there for nearly an hour, just enjoying the peace. I started to feel tired from the early morning and rose, planning to grab an espresso, and that was when I fell." I rolled my eyes; Bella Swan, so goddamn predictable. "The ground was wet with the spray from the fountain and I slipped easily, expecting my face to meet the concrete."

I went quiet then, and I could see Edward shifting in my peripheries, but he stayed silent. I was grateful.

"I fell, and he caught me. He murmured something to me in Italian with a knowing smile, and I just blushed and stammered out the only line of the language I'd learnt so far: sono Americano, non parlo Italiano. Spiacente."

I am American, I speak no Italian. Sorry.

I continued, staring out of the window and unwilling to meet Edward's scrutiny. "Demetri just smiled at me and switched to English with effortless charm, putting me back on my feet and then he asked me out to morning coffee."

I closed my eyes, remembering him.

So tall and confident, ink black eyes flashing in the morning sunlight and olive skin gleaming in the spray from the fountain. He was so self-assured, each movement intentional and deliberate - so at odds with my hesitant shuffle through life. His jaw was sharply-cut and determined, his arms strong with defined tendons and muscles flexing as they lifted me back to my feet.

For the first time since leaving home I felt protected, safe, cared for. Thrilled.

The way Demetri looked at me...no one had ever stared at me like that before, like something wanted. Something desired.

His voice was accented like deep, dark chocolate. "An espresso for the beautiful lady? Please, mia bella signora, I must insist. Please, I beg of you, take a walk with me down past the square?" His tone was wry and teasing, his eyes fierce and hungry.

It had made me feel powerful, daring. Bold.

I nodded shyly, taking his offered hand as I tried to suppress the blush but felt its heat along my cheeks. From his grin he saw it too. He lifted my hand to his mouth, grazing the knuckle with soft lips and the shocking wetness of his tongue as it darted slyly onto my skin. He smiled at me, predatory and hungry.

In that instant, I wanted to be devoured. I was ready to be someone else, someone beyond the little Bella of Forks and Phoenix.

"Forgive me, mia bella. I am Demetri. May I have the pleasure of knowing such a beautiful young lady's name?"

I blushed even more but somehow met his eyes, the heat of his mouth casting shuddering memories over the skin of my hand. "Isabella," I murmured. "Isabella Swan."

"I knew he was older," I whispered, hunching my shoulders and feeling defensive now. "But I thought he was twenty-three, maybe twenty-five."

I had no idea he was actually well more than a decade beyond my estimation.

Edward spoke hesitantly, his voice strangely hoarse as if he wasn't sure that he wanted the answer. "Did you know he was...?"

"The principal of my school?" I finished dryly. In the months since I fled Italy, this reaction was far from uncommon. "No. I had no idea - it wasn't until nearly three months later when I saw him in his office at Volterra Academy that I knew the truth. He was always purposely vague about his job, and I, like the naive stupid seventeen-year-old I was, I never questioned it."

I shook my head in self-disgust, but continued.

"We spent the whole day together, just talking and meandering through Rome, and for once it was like all the dreams of travelling abroad had come true. We talked about books and philosophy, films and modern culture. At the time I felt so special, so lucky - it was the first time I'd been able to discuss my interests freely without being met with odd side-glances or blank stares. He was so knowledgeable and respectful of my opinions; it was like he'd read everything I'd read and was genuinely fascinated to hear what I thought of it."

I paused there, desperately fighting the tears welling in my eyes. Of course Demetri had been well-versed in my literary and cultural choices; that much had been evident from his...research. Urgh. But I pushed the thoughts aside, not wishing to skip ahead in the tale.

"Are you okay?" Edward asked. He reached out a hand hesitantly, as if he wanted to place it upon my knee, but drew it back at the last moment. I just nodded silently to him, taking a few more moments to collect myself.

"I was in Rome until the beginning of August and Demetri sought me out almost every day. He took me to breakfast, lunch and dinner, trying to pay for everything despite my protestations. He took me dancing, teaching me how to move to the music and for once I didn't feel like the clumsy fool who trampled my date's feet at Homecoming." I felt a traitor tear slip down my cheek. "It was new and...exciting."

My words dried up once again. I wasn't sure how to continue - not only was it difficult to explain myself, but it was painful to revisit the treachery Demetri had inflicted on my heart.

Just then my stomach rumbled loudly and obnoxiously, the thud of my headache greeted by the more familiar light-headedness of going too long without food.

Edward half-smiled at the sound and arched a brow at me. He drove one-handed, carelessly it seemed, but the muscular car flew forward with perfect precision. "We need to stop for food," he stated, not a question.

No more words were exchanged for the next few minutes as we listened to the steady beat of the radio, playing Foo Fighters' Everlong. Eventually lights signalled a gas and snack stop ahead and my stomach rumbled once more at the reminder. Smiling slightly at the sound Edward effortlessly pulled the car into park and stopped just outside the illumination of the street lamp.

"What do you want?"

I just shrugged. "I'm easy, a sandwich and chips. Maybe a Hershey bar? Whatever they have." He nodded, and started to disembark when I called out frantically, "But nothing with nuts!" Edward looked a little surprised at the outburst, and I explained, "I'm allergic."

Edward nodded and reached into the backseat, retrieving my Taser and placing it in my lap. "If anyone approaches the car, ignore them. No eye contact. If they get too friendly or try to open the door then hit the horn." He lifted my hand and guided it to the spot on the steering wheel, my hand prickling with pins and needles at the contact. "If they get too close, stick them with the Taser." He smirked then, and said, "In the chest or balls, not the belt. Okay?"

I rolled my eyes and nodded, half-chagrined at the reminder of my ineffective use of the weapon and also a little flustered by the contact of his skin.

He climbed out of the car, locking it behind him and headed towards the lit store, glancing back only once. I could see his hands flex repeatedly with tension and I wondered whether the story I told was the source.

~ * ~

EPOV

Fuck.

Shit.

Goddamn it!

I rippled with barely contained rage as I headed into the convenience store, grabbing a basket and furiously filling it haphazardly with Cheetos, packaged sandwiches and long-life snacks. I remembered her request, her little melodic voice so soft and hesitant, and plucked double handfuls of Hershey bars and tossed them in too.

That fucking asshole. I always knew Demetri was a player, Christ he'd slithered his way into society in a number of cities and bedrooms based purely on his charm and smile. He was a snake and beyond reprehensible. But to seduce an innocent seventeen-year-old - his own student! - isolated and thousands of miles from home, lonely and lost... That was truly a new low, even for Aro's spawn.

As she'd whispered each word of her story to me it took all I had to remain calm and driving, to not pull over and yank her into my arms and let loose the rage I felt. She'd looked so guilty, so hesitant, clearly so worried I'd judge her and her choices.

I scoffed at myself, ridiculing my self-righteousness. Of course she doubted me - I'd pre-judged her from before me met, dubbed her a princess and treated her with nothing but scorn despite her courage and determination. Why would she expect anything less from me?

I was thankful for the layout of the store. The left-side was virtually all-glass, giving me a clear view of Bella as she sat in the passenger seat of our car. Her head was still tilted down, her gaze fastened on her hands in her lap as it had been almost the whole way throughout her story.

I wanted to know more, to know the rest, but I didn't want to push her.

I paid for our purchases and hurried back to the car, paranoid about leaving her for too long. I spilled the sandwiches and Hershey bars into her lap, feeling a brief roar of pride at her adorable smile, and then started the engine and pulled back onto the freeway.

I decided then I would not push her anymore. If she wanted to tell me more - tell me how the story ended - I would listen. But I would not ask, I would not push.

It was her story to tell and I would wait forever until she was ready to tell it.

~ * ~

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