I don't own these characters. They are the sole property of Stephenie Meyer. I only borrow them. No humans are permanently harmed through my actions, though I do confess to harassing, annoying, torturing, and exasperating them – just because it's fun. I make no money from my little stories, sad day. I only play in the sandbox, I didn't build it.

II

Bella's POV

I closed the account books with a sigh of relief. I have managed to keep destitution at bay for another few months. Ten years ago, if anyone had told my sixteen-year old self that I would one day be a widow with two boys and responsible for keeping not only us, but several servants, in food and lodging I would have run screaming into the night as if the hounds of hell were chasing me.

Sixteen year old Isabella Swan had been an innocent in so many ways. And then William Black had approached my father with an offer of marriage for me. Though they presented themselves as being descended from a noble Spanish family, there were whispers that their dark skin and flashing black eyes were the result of an Indian heritage. This made Jacob Black slightly less attractive on the marriage market, despite his obvious good looks and apparent wealth. My mother and father were still thrilled with the offer. They had been quite sure that their distressing financial situation would come to light before they had gotten me safely married off. They did not question too much, which was probably their first mistake if they were truly seeking to enrich the family coffers by offering me to a man with money.

Less than two weeks later, I found myself exchanging lifelong vows with a young man I'd only talked to four times, and all of those occasions had been within the week before my marriage.

No one ever asked me if I particularly wanted to marry Jacob Black. To be honest, it had never occurred to me to make any objections. He was just a few years older than I was, and my friends all told me how lucky I was. He was handsome, if somewhat frightening in his stature and the heavy muscles that banded his huge arms. He was not unkind; he just simply didn't seem very interested in me.

I was a means to an end, I suppose. Except my parents tricked him; not that his father was any better. Each of our families expected an increase in their financial circumstances, and both had been bitterly disappointed. My father's creditors had been no less angered at the Blacks' lack of resources than my father himself. Of course, the Blacks had not been pleased when I brought them nothing but my own person and the small dowry that, they had been quite sure, was just the tip of the iceberg.

So we lived with his father and I listened to Mr. Black complain every day how much I was costing them. My arrival necessitated the hiring of a lady's maid, as appearances must be kept up, as I was told time and time again. And of course there was the simple matter of feeding and clothing me. I knew quite well that I did not eat nearly as much as my giant of a husband, but I still felt apologetic. I would have been glad to make do with a few simple frocks, but the need to be attired appropriately to "our station" was drilled into me, not only by Mr. Black but by my disappointed mother.

I was dressed in mouthwatering creations that showcased the very attributes that had brought me to Mr. Black's attention and yet which seemed to attract Jacob only sporadically. Still, my life was no worse than so many other women. I was determined to make do, to survive, even to find some small kernel of happiness in the existence that was mine.

And then came the boys. My angels, though I should hardly call them angels now, I did think they were angelic when they were babies. Black-eyed imps is what they were now, but I would not change them for the world, industrious in their mischief as they are.

Strangely, Jacob, who was an indifferent husband at best, was a loving father. He doted on our boys, and if I had any regret it was that Jacob had not lived to see them become men. Jacob fell from his horse and broke his neck just one week after the boys turned six. For two years, I had tried to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table.

It had been a guilty relief when William Black died just a few months after Jacob. One less mouth to feed, true, but even more importantly I did not have to face his dark accusing eyes every day at the table, knowing that he wished it was me who had died and not his son.

Finally, after the boys had gotten into trouble just one time too many, I realized that I would have to hire someone to get them in hand. We lived too far away from town to send them to school, and I had neither the resources nor the inclination to send them away to school. So a tutor it was.

My search began, but financial difficulties hindered it. Then, like a gift from heaven (or perhaps from the devil himself), Mr. Edward Masen had walked into my life (and my dreams) and accepted the position. His voice was sin and honey, his eyes a jade fire that made me tingle in places I could never mention. His long fingers made me imagine unspeakable things.

I could hear the boys giggling in the kitchen with Mr. Masen and I closed my eyes and imagined, just for a moment, that I could walk into that room and put my hand on Mr. Masen's shoulder, place a tender kiss of wifely appreciation on his unruly hair, and that he would turn and look up at me with adoration.

It would never, ever happen.

Edward's POV

The cookies disappeared with the expected enthusiasm. Alex had already consumed three by the time Aaron had carefully situated himself at the table and poured a glass of milk, still warm and fresh from the cow. While Alex began slowing down, Aaron ate steadily. The boys were a joy to watch and I studied them carefully.

The boys were twins, identical in appearance though their temperaments were vastly different. Aaron was the firstborn, by seventeen-and-a-half minutes, as he had informed me solemnly during our first meeting. He lorded those minutes over Alex with ruthless glee and more than once I had found the boys scuffling on the floor, small fists flying while Aaron taunted his "younger" brother. I was always reminded of Emmett and Jasper, who would battle over the scant year in their ages with the enthusiasm and ferocity of the Crusaders and Infidels. I was older than either of them, and usually tried to appear scornful of their antics. Of course, Father had much higher expectations of me, so I was careful to avoid being punished. One did not ever want to disappoint my father. I had learned that lesson the hard way.

Now I watched as both boys eyed the last cookie on the plate. I could see a fight brewing and rather than break up another fisticuff, I snatched the last cookie for myself and smirked at them. Alex, predictably, giggled. Aaron would have liked to roll his eyes at me, but had been taught better manners than that. Still, I could see the temptation in those dark eyes. I winked at him and he allowed himself a slight smile.

From Aaron that was something.

"All right then boys," I said, brushing off my hands. "Help Mrs. Kendall clear the mess and then we will meet in the classroom." I leaned in close. "It's time for arithmetic, you know."

Aaron looked pleased at the idea, arithmetic was his favorite subject. Alex groaned and his face fell. He preferred art and music, but would tolerate languages and writing. He was emotion and feeling, while young Aaron was logic and reason. I wanted to hug Alex close and tell him that I hated arithmetic too, but that was not my place.

They were not my sons; this was a fact of which I reminded myself several times a day. Just as I had no claim on Mrs. Black. Alex heaved a sigh of resignation and carried his plate to the sink; Aaron followed him with a gloating smile. Anything which displeased Alex usually pleased Aaron; such was the way of brothers as I knew quite well myself.

Within a few minutes we were settled into the classroom and the boys were carefully writing down the problems I had displayed on the blackboard. Aaron's writing was neat and tidy and orderly, Alex's numbers would be less so, for he tended to hurry through assignments he did not care for. I repressed a sigh, knowing that I would have to scold him for his impatience.

And he would nod solemnly, his big, black eyes meeting mine in rueful apology. It might have been very heartrending if I didn't know we would have the exact same discussion tomorrow. Alex had very good intentions, but his own nature tended to get in the way of them. Strangely, I found his antics endearing rather than annoying.

While the boys worked, I allowed my mind to drift in dangerous directions. Mrs. Black untying her bonnet, a common enough sight. But then in my daydreams, she smiled shyly at me and reached up to pull the pins from her long, chestnut hair. I could see the sun glinting off the alluring hints of red in that dark waterfall. I would bury my hands in it, winding the silk of it around my fingers and pulling her in closer…closer…and then my mouth would cover hers and I would tell her secret that I had been holding in my heart since the moment I saw her.

"You are mine, Bella, only mine…"

It would never, ever happen.

Author's Note: I use the word "Indian" in this post because that would have been the term used at that time. Native American would have not have been coined yet.