Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns all.

Rated M for several reasons.

Chapter 22 Ticket

BPOV

Thinking is very much overrated. And it gives you a bit of a headache. Or maybe that's just being shut up in my apartment thanks to Trevisano and his stalkery radicchio ways.

By Sunday night I was literally climbing the suede accent walls and so I caved and texted Demetri to see if he was available to take me into work on Monday.

He was and I apologised profusely but he brushed me off and said that his nephews were more interested in video games than him these days, not to mention he was about ready for a break from his sister.

I spoke to Rose, reassuring her that I was fine.

And I spoke to Esme, who didn't press for details but just wanted to let me know she loved me, which made me cry.

Again.

When I was done I grabbed a beer and went to my study to what I always do.

Work.

...

I fancy I could hear the collective howls of anguish when I stepped off the elevator on Monday morning and I felt a little bad, but I wasn't intending to bother anybody, just toil away in my office and maybe catch-up on the sleep I've missed the last couple of nights.

I'd imagined one of the comfortable couches for that but when Demetri came in at eleven thirty to see if I wanted to continue our new lunch habit he found me face down on the laptop. He didn't laugh, but his lips twitched and when I looked in the mirror as I freshened up, sure enough I had keyboard indentations in my cheek.

Oh well.

We went for hotdogs and found some steps to sit on while we ate.

"How as Thanksgiving?" I asked him when we'd done eating and switched to people watching.

"Good. It's a good holiday. My sister cooks the dinner just like Mom used to."

I nod, smiling ruefully, I cook just like Renee used to, badly.

"I thought you were going to Kentucky with your boyfriend." He says after a long pause.

"He's not my . . . ." I stop with a sigh. "It's complicated."

"It always is." He drawls, still scanning the crowds flowing past us.

"Have you ever been in love?" I ask him impetuously and he turns to me with one eyebrow raised, clearly conveying the 'you did not just ask me that' that's running through his head.

"Sorry." I mutter, looking away to hide my embarrassment.

His answer catches me by surprise.

"Once or twice."

Now it's my turn to raise an eyebrow and he snorts in amusement.

"I met a local girl while I was stationed overseas. Her parents didn't approve. My friends didn't approve. She said she didn't care but I spent so long over thinking the rights and wrongs of it that I got posted back home before I got my head out of my ass."

He chuckles darkly.

"Of course that's when I finally realised I was in love with her."

"What happened?"

"We kept in touch. I went back for her when I could, the army doesn't give compassionate leave for being a fuckwit. And we tried, but . . . . I don't think she felt she could trust me, or my feelings, so in the end she decided to be safe not sorry, and I came back without her."

"That's . . . ." I flounder.

"That's what happens." He drawls.

"Twice?" I ask after a long silence and he grunts before answering.

"This one's a work in progress."

"Um?" I ask hesitantly and he laughs.

"Now you turn into a normal woman, wanting all the ins and outs of someone else's love life."

"Sorry." I offer again. "Ignore me."

"We're working on it. It's complicated." He sighs, straightening out his long legs. "She's a lot younger than me."

"Oh, ah, um. Rose wouldn't be surprised, she thinks you're hot."

"No shit." He snorts with amusement before looking contemplative. "Her parents don't approve, so no change there, but she isn't sure either."

"Do you love her?"

"Jesus H Christ Bella." He groans. "Yes I love her."

"Does she know?"

"She knows. But she's not sure she loves me. Or if she loves me enough."

I bark out a laugh and he frowns at me.

"No, sorry, laughing with you not at you." I explain quickly. "I can completely empathise after the weekend I've just had."

He studies me intently for a moment and then nods slowly.

"Why do you, um, aren't you taking a really big risk?"

"Like being offered a free ticket on the Titanic's maiden voyage?" He asks.

"Yes." I nod. "Exactly like that."

"Life's nothing without a little risk Bella." He shrugs. "And she's worth it. I can't change the way I feel about her, I can only hope that given time she'll realise she feels the same way about me."

"And if she doesn't?"

He's silent for a while, contemplating the crowds and his coffee.

"Come on." He says, gliding to his feet and offering me his hand. "You've been recognised, time to get you back to your ivory tower."

...

My ivory tower is quiet, those people that are in are mostly still at lunch and with Lauren off there isn't the usual traffic outside my office.

Good, I can get a head start on all the crap that comes with the financial year end . . . .

I beaver away for a solid four hours, until my eyes are scratchy and tired and the pads of my fingers are actually stinging from all the typing and I'm about to pack up for the day when an incoming email catches my eye.

Laurent Henri-Delattre.

Subject: Communication

My Dear Bella

I was so sorry to learn that you were unable to travel to Kentucky to meet Midnight Sun and I do hope that everything is well with you?

I am of course still very keen for you to meet the colt, I feel you and he are a perfect match for each other.

Perhaps you will be able to visit with us before Christmas?

If you can I shall very much look forward to it.

Kindest Regards

Laurent

I re-read it a couple of times and then close the email, picking up my cell to call Demetri so he can take me home.

...

I'm running low on supplies that aren't beer which seems like an excellent excuse to order take out.

While I wait for my pizza to arrive I get my study set up for a night with my nose to the grindstone, flicking my eyes down the page full of unread emails that have collected since I left the office. Mostly from people who are actually on vacation but have received an email from me today and jumped on it.

That sucks. I'm not that fucking scary, surely?

And what's wrong with these people, they all have families, lives. Haven't they got better things to do?

Do I have to get the IT Department to shut their fucking email down when they're on vacation? They're all encouraged to make sure their Departments run without them, it's one of our management fundamentals, if you're the only one that can take care of it then you're a problem, a risk to Cask.

Leadership by example The Old Man used to say.

And guess who works all the time?

I grab the last slice of pizza and fold it so it's easier to cram in my mouth, no one's here to judge me, and my eyes drift to the photograph on the wall opposite my desk. I've barely really looked at it since Rose and I hung it when Jake and I moved in. The picture is of the four of us, Rose, Em, Edward and me, taken on some random and long forgotten night out. You can tell we've been drinking, we're flushed and laughing, our arms wound round each other. I can't even remember who took it but I had it framed because it was one of those pictures that actually made it look like Edward . . . .

Jake hated it, which is why it ended up in my study.

Ah fuck . . . .

I text Demetri.

'Not going into the office tomorrow but I do need groceries if that's okay?'

'What time?'

'11?'

'Fine, I'll come to the door.'

'Okay, thanks.'

My cell chimes again.

Aro.

'I know you're back. The party season cometh . .'

'Wednesday'

'Office?'

'Okay'

'You will look fabulous!'

'Thanks A'

'Its what I do.'

Another chime.

Alice.

'Christmas gift for olds. Have secured the must have photographer. NYC. Family group. Can I count on you?'

'Do I have to dress up?'

'No. Natural is the way to go at the moment. If you don't look like bag lady will make you x'

'Refreshing change x'

'Hold that thought, I see next year being very different. Will text you deets. Love you. Ali x'

'Love you too x'

I wait, pathetically, for an age. But no one else texts me. So I put myself to bed.

...

I swear to god someone's been messing with this treadmill, three miles has never felt so far.

Relieved and rubbery of leg I finally stumble off it and into the shower.

And when I'm done its eight am and I'm wide awake.

Okay, what now?

I wander into the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards, and inspecting the refrigerator twice.

Nothing. Nada. Zip. Not even a stray coffee bean to lick.

In the living room I am reminded that it's like nobody lives here. Even if I make a mess my housekeeper tidies it away and I'm not really a messy person. Even my closet could be from a show home, neat racks and shelves of co-ordinated suits, blouses, dresses, jeans and t-shirts. Rows of shoes, boots and ludicrously expensive sneakers.

The child in me wants to mess it up on purpose.

The grown up just growls at a couple of shoe boxes and tips over a pile of workout clothes.

Eventually Demetri arrives to rescue me.

...

Hours later I settle down with a TV dinner and the long list of engagements Lauren had previously sent me for December.

Jesus.

Work all day. Work all night.

Costume balls. Plain old black tie balls. Cutting edge contemporary get-togethers. Parties. Dinners. Launches. Red carpets.

I feel tired just looking at it and I'm seriously tempted to only go to the ones that impact on Cask and nothing else, even though that's still at least two a week between now and Christmas. But I have at least one other person to consider before I ask Lauren to take shears to the schedule.

I text Rose.

'Wanna do any of the NY party scene?'

'What's good this year? I still need to finish my seasonal shopping and I need a kick ass dress for New Year.'

'I'll email you the list, see what you fancy, ask Ali too if she's free.'

'She'll explode.'

'Plenty of time to clean her up for the Cullen New Year x'

'I take it you're not staying home for that?'

'I never do'

'Not that I'm trying to entice you away from the lavish parties you normally go to but will you think about it this year?'

'Sure.'

'Cool. Love you x'

'Love you too x'

My laptop dings and I glance at the screen automatically.

Edward A Cullen.

My heart stops beating for a moment and then struggles back to life as I click to open the message.

Subject: Photograph

Hi Bella

Alice says you're on for the Christmas gift this year.

Ma and Pa will love it.

I'm looking forward to seeing you and I hope we get a chance to spend some time together.

Edward

Oh god . . . .

...

Aro, bless his black heart, waits till all of ten am before he descends on me with four racks of dresses and both his assistants.

I am in hell . . . .

Assistants and dress racks have departed when he flops down on one of the couches and I turn back to my work.

"So, dates for all these events?" He asks.

"There won't be any."

"Not even the fine specimen of Veterinarian?"

"Not even him."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

"Oh well." He sighs. "At least I'll be spared having to co-ordinate accessories this year. Heterosexual men really do struggle with my vision, even darling Jacob."

"Humph."

"You know he's home till after New Years?"

"No. I didn't know that and I'm not going to ask how you do."

"My sources are my secrets."

"Humph."

"You're bound to run into him."

I scowl at him over the lid of my laptop and he laughs.

...

I potter around the apartment making myself busy doing nothing, my mind worrying at the problem of how to respond to Edward's email. I know this is ridiculous but for some reason what I write back has taken on some sort of mind freezing, breath stealing, importance.

His own words were safe enough, his hoping we could spend time together ambiguous and probably triggered by the fact that Alice's gift idea was going to throw us together when I'd specifically asked him for space and time. In my head I'd seen Christmas as the time by which we'd need to have spoken to each other, now I was looking at a little over a week.

I don't like feeling so conflicted about him and for the millionth time I wish that either he or Em had kept their mouths shut and let sleeping dogs lie. It's good to talk and I realise now that we've started it would pretty much be the end of everything if we don't keep doing it, but, shit it'shard. And now that there's a little distance from the emotional weekend in question I feel all kinds of monumental stupid, for what I said, how I reacted, not to mention our past . . . .

But this isn't about our past. I was always at peace with how I thought it was and I can mentally slap the back of my head for how obtuse I was.

This is about our future and though I'm not sure I'm ready to take a risk on the ticket at least I've balls enough to be honest.

Subject: Re: Photograph

Hi Edward

It's one of Alice's better ideas I think, though I hope the poor photographer knows what he or she is in for.

I am nervous about seeing you to be honest but perhaps we'll be able to spend some time together.

Bella