Note: Since Nessie lives with a vampire family, it is very believable that she hasn't heard of or tasted a lot of human foodstuffs. Granted, she spends a lot of time with the wolf pack, but it has been implied in BD that she prefers to hunt; in any case I doubt any of the wolves would freely discuss booze under little Nessie's nose.

Also, so forgive me for all the French- being the one foreign language that I know, I used it indiscriminately... They're not very important phrases, I think you may be able to follow the story without having to know what they mean. In any case, a glossary is at the bottom of the chapter.

And a polite reminder: Please do review!

Esme

"So, you understand? I want the glassware airlifted to Buenos Aires in three days."-I say firmly.

"Three days, madame?"-the man sounds almost visibly upset.

"Oui, trois jours," I switch to French immediately, realising that the man will be more approachable in his native language when he is so upset.

The man sounds almost relieved at the change in language, but his worry engulfs it soon. "Mais, s'il vous plaît, madame, figurez-vous…" He proceeds to try and convince me that transporting the mass of crystal ware on such short notice to such a far-off location is quite improbable.

"C'est incroyable!"-he insists several times.

I wait patiently until he finishes, and then turning to the window behind me and clutching the phone in my hand even more tightly, I say briskly, "Toutes les choses commandées dans trois jours ou rien."

The man sounds like he is on the verge of tears as he tries to reason with me again. I listen objectively, refusing to get softened by his various silly reasons. Something or the other has been happening like this since the past week. The construction of the house in the forests of the Amazon- our newest home- seems to be cursed with drawbacks. First it was the tiles, then the masons on the site became inordinately greedy, slowing down the construction work considerably- now this French Crystal supplier is fumbling excuses upon excuses for a job he should have started a week ago. My patience is stretched to its limit, and so I say coldly, "Non, monsieur, ce n'est possible du tout."

The man blusters into speech again, and I'm not so sure he hasn't started crying yet. The door of my study opens softly, and Carlisle steps into the room. I immediately flash a smile at him, much of my bad humour disappearing at his mere sight. He smiles, too, and flits to my side, and deposits a soft kiss on the top of my head as the Frenchman rambles on in the phone.

"How goes it?"-he murmurs softly, snaking his arms around my waist and holding me.

"See for yourself, " I whisper, gesturing at the phone in my hand with a grimace.

Carlisle listens intently to the man's entreaties for a few moments, and then whispers in my ear, "Cut him some slack, dearest. The poor man sounds so distressed."

"That's because I threatened to sue him- or he wouldn't even be talking to me right now," I murmur darkly. "He was content enough to let me vent my spleen at a subordinate until now."

Carlisle chuckles and presses his lips fervently on my shoulder. "My father should have met you," he says lightly. "He'd have been impressed by your mettle."

I mock-frown. "If only I was born two hundred years sooner."

Carlisle agrees solemnly. "If only."

We pause silently for a moment, both thinking of the same thing, I'm sure, neither of us listening to the Frenchman. Carlisle rarely talks about his human life- mostly for lack of clear remembrances, but also sometimes from a reluctance to remember colder, darker, more ignorant days. It is at times like this that the true antiquity of Carlisle's existence is apparent to me. It doesn't make me awkward or anything, the massive age gap, but it certainly awes me, and makes me respect and revere my husband the way no man can.

"Madame? Vous-êtes là?"-the Frenchman's tinny voice breaks through my thoughts sharply.

I replace the cell-phone at my ear with a flash while Carlisle stirs as though awakening from a trance. "Oui, monsieur. Dites-moi."- I say.

At the same time, Carlisle straightens up and stretches out his hand, gesturing towards the phone.

"I'll talk to him," he breathes silently and quickly enough for only me to hear.

I frown and hesitate. Sure, I adore my husband for all his compassion, but I'm not very much inclined towards this Frenchman at the moment.

"Sweetheart. I'll handle it, trust me," Carlisle smiles assuringly.

"Fine," I mumble, and then say in a louder and much more slower tone to the Frenchman, "Excusez-moi, monsieur, mon mari veut parler avec vous."

Ignoring his fervent "Bien sûr, madame!", I hiss to Carlisle- "But you are not bribing him!"

"Of course not," Carlisle whispers solemnly, and I hand the phone to him. "Not too exorbitantly," he adds as a wicked afterthought. For a moment I teeter between anger and amusement, but, as always, the latter wins the day. I can never be mad at Carlisle, never ever. So I just shake my head with a grim chuckle and stand on tiptoe to kiss his forehead. "You mean old trickster," I murmur into his ear before standing on flat feet again. Carlisle smiles and crushes me to his side for a moment, and then lets me go, talking to the Frenchman soothingly in a tone he usually uses on nervous patients.

I watch him proudly as he paces up and down and talks eloquently, politely, but sensibly, and wonder for perhaps the millionth time how he came to be mine. Then, another distraction occurs in the form of a pretty little elfin child with bronze curls, who opens the door of my study silently, and tiptoes over to me, the smile on her face making my smile widen automatically.

"Grandma!"-she squeals and tumbles gracefully into my outstretched arms, as soon as I drop onto my knees to welcome her.

"Oh, Nessie, honey, I've missed you so," I croon gently, happily into her ear, twisting a ringlet of her copper hair in my hand. She immediately relays me an image from her mind- an image of her equally handsome father.

Thank you, son.- I think gratefully. Edward knew just how to lift my mood.

"Je t'en prie, maman," he murmurs in his musical voice from the living room couch. I laugh, realising that the entire house must have heard me browbeat the French crystal supplier, and they must have resorted to sending Renesmee to cheer me up, knowing no one could resist her.

Meanwhile, Nessie has started to play with my hair. I pull back from the embrace gently to watch her, keeping care to not to yank the hair away from her hands. She has a serious involved expression on her face- one that reminds me almost immediately of her father. She is holding a lock of my hair in her hand, and as I watch, she twists it this way and that to see it gleam in the different lights in the room: once towards the window, once to the luminous big screen of my computer, next towards the bright lamp on my desk. I watch her curiously, wondering what it is about my hair that captures her attention so, when she speaks.

"You have interesting hair, Grandma Esme," she says matter-of-factly. I sense Carlisle stop pacing, and I know he is listening to us.

"Really?"-I am startled. "How so?"

She places one warm hand gently on my cheek and shows me an image of myself- well, my face, framed by my hair. "It's the colour," she explains patiently. "It's not brown-" she shows me an image of Bella, her hair wafting in an unseen breeze- "or golden-" now an image of Rosalie, her hair falling over her shoulder gently as she supposedly crouches to my eye level and beams; immediately followed by Jasper, his hair waving freely as he runs; and then immediately Carlisle, whose hair gleams and sparkles blindingly in the sunshine. The visions stop abruptly as she leans back to gaze at my hair critically, her tiny hand still on my cheek. "It's both. Or maybe in between. It's not any colour I know. It's… different in different lights." She shows me her hand, twisting the lock of hair in it again this way and that.

Suddenly Carlisle is next to us. He leans down and whispers into his granddaughter's ear. "It's chestnut." At the same time I feel his hand smooth the hair on the top of my head and I smile.

"I've always thought it's caramel," Bella says softly from her seat in Edward's lap downstairs.

"Mahogany," Edward says.

"Brass or maybe pewter?"-Emmett puts in inconsiderately.

"Walnut brown," Rosalie says decisively.

"Sienna," Jasper says quietly from his corner by the chessboard.

"Butterscotch!"-Alice squeals.

"In that case, even brandy," Emmett adds.

"Or Scotch."-Jasper adds.

"What's Scotch?"- Nessie asks innocently.

"Emmett!"-Edward hisses.

"Hey- Jasper said Scotch!"

"What's Scotch?"- Nessie repeats, now inordinately curious.

"Jasper!"

"He started it!"

"Alice said butterscotch!"- Emmett says quickly.

"What's butterscotch?"- Nessie now demands.

"The colour of my hair!"-I say loudly and firmly, putting an end to the discussion.

I hear laughter from down below, but my eldest son's ringing notes are almost visibly absent. I can nearly hear the fume pouring out of his ears. I chuckle at the thought. The next moment, my study door swings open to reveal Edward at the threshold.

"Daddy!"- Nessie squeals and leaps into his arms- it's as though they haven't seen each other for days, instead of mere minutes. I smile warmly as I stand up. "Daddy, Grandma Esme has butterscotch hair!"-she informs him unnecessarily.

There is a minute pause, then the three of us- Edward, Carlisle, and myself- burst into laughter. The others downstairs are still laughing.

"I have to say I'm not surprised," Carlisle chuckles and kisses the top of my head again. I clasp his hand which is already round my waist, and turn to him. "Are you done?"-I ask, surprised. I hear Edward withdraw discreetly and close the door behind him. Always the considerate gentleman.

Carlisle smiles. "Your glassware will be at the new Cullen residence in five days."

"Five days? Five days!"- I gasp. "Oh, Carlisle!"

He laughs at the expression on my face, and after a moment of absolute indignation, I give in and join in with him, resting my head on his chest.

"You're an old softie, you know that?"- I murmur gently as he rocks me contentedly.

"Aye," Carlisle says softly in a sudden slip to his old English accent. "But you know what the two of us make together?"-he asks, looking down at me with twinkling eyes.

"What?"-I ask, lifting my head so that my chin still rests on his chest.

His entire frame suddenly shudders with mirth. "A butterscotch softie!"

Glossary (a rough translation)

Oui, trois jours - Yes, three days

Mais, s'il vous plaît, madame, figurez-vous... - But, please, madam, imagine...

C'est incroyable - It's incredible

Toutes les choses commandées dans trois jours ou rien - All the items ordered in three days or nothing

Non, monsieur, ce n'est possible du tout - No, sir, it is not at all possible

Madame? Vous-êtes là? - Madam? Are you there?

Excusez-moi, monsieur, mon mari veut parler avec vous - Excuse me, sir, my husband would like to speak with you

Bien sûr, madame - Of course, madam

Je t'en prie, maman - You're welcome, mom