AN: Thank you for everyone's awesome support. This was a tough chapter to write, even though I'll freely admit that Esme is probably one of my favorite characters in this. Sometimes it's hard to stay in her head for so long; it's just painful to listen to her and all the regrets she carries. Lyrics at the beginning are from "The Tower" by Vienna Teng, which is a song that I believe perfectly exemplifies Esme's internal conflict-please listen to it and the other songs I've updated on the playlist.

Thank you to JosieSwan, who is an amazing beta, and Izzzzyy, the bestest best cheerleader, who pre-reads for me and strokes my ego so good.

She carries the act so convincingly, the fact is sometimes she believes it:

That she can be happy with the way things are; happy with the things she's done

Esme

I couldn't help it; I exploded the moment Carlisle and I were in my office with the door closed. Not that I cared if anyone heard; it wasn't exactly a secret that I disliked Renee Swan intensely and the last half an hour had only convinced me further that she was absolutely the last person on earth that I wanted to associate closely with.

Unfortunately I didn't seem to have much choice in the matter because she was here for the long run—or at least until Carlisle and I could figure out a way to rescue Edward and Bella.

"I hate that she doesn't even care about her daughter," I ranted, as I paced in front of my desk. "What kind of mother doesn't care about her child?"

I was all too aware that at one point, Carlisle himself had believed this crime of me, but now he only gazed at me with sympathy and understanding. "I don't think she necessarily doesn't care," he tried to respond, but I cut him off before he could offer even a single excuse for her behavior.

"There's no excuse for caring more about your social climbing agenda than your own daughter," I hissed.

"She cares. She just hides it. Like someone else I know," Carlisle said, sending me a pointed look from his blue eyes. "You and Renee have more in common than you realize."

I stopped abruptly and turned to face him. "That is absolutely not true. I am nothing like her."

Carlisle simply shrugged. "Perhaps you are; perhaps you aren't. In any case, I don't think that just because she wants to get to know your friends she doesn't care about her daughter. If she didn't care, she wouldn't be here."

"That's patently false," I retorted.

"Regardless," Carlisle continued, still patient, always understanding, "she's not the devil you make her out to be."

I hated that Carlisle was defending her, but I hated my own reaction to Renee's apparent disinterest in her daughter's wellbeing even more. Though it might not have seemed like it, I would do anything for my son—and I had done everything for him. After Eoghan's death, I could have stayed in Ireland or traveled anywhere else in the world, but I had come back home, understanding that Edward would need the kind of protection that only my parents' resources could offer him. Instead of appreciating and understanding the difficulty of the position I'd assumed, Edward had grown up resenting me and hating the life I'd chosen for us.

But despite all the virulence and the anger he'd spewed my direction, I still loved him and would do anything to see him safely back home.

"Fine," I said, sitting in the chair behind the desk like a queen assuming her throne. "In the end, I suppose it doesn't even matter if she cares or not. Edward and Bella's safety is what matters."

"Are you ready to talk to Marcus?"

I didn't want to tell Carlisle, but while I was ready to try anything he had up his sleeve, I was undeniably hesitant about Marcus. The very nature of his job and the necessary action he might be forced to take unsettled me. I was also sick to my stomach at the idea of what he might find wherever Edward and Bella were.

"First, before we call him, I want to discuss Emmett."

"Rosalie talked to you," Carlisle said matter-of-factly, and I wondered if deep down, he blamed himself for the betrayal of Edward's bodyguard. He'd been the one to select and hire Emmett, and had done the background check himself. A bodyguard was a point that I wouldn't be swayed on, and while I hadn't been present in the interview, Carlisle had assured me that Edward would be safe with the man he'd selected. Now, those reassurances must haunt him at night, I thought, glancing over at Edward's manager.

"She didn't have to. I know why she's here. It's not for Edward and I can't say I blame her. He never treated her right, never once treated a woman right once he reached the age of 16, and it isn't for lack of trying on my part. But no, Rose didn't have to come to me. I like Emmett; I always have. You've told me yourself, dozens of times, how much Emmett has gone above and beyond the call of duty. He wouldn't do that unless he cares about Edward."

"You have a lot of blind faith." Carlisle's voice was wry now, and I knew then I'd been right; he did blame himself for trusting Emmett.

I shrugged. "I'm a fairly good judge of character, and I think based on John Tyler's research, it's safe to say he was caught in a bad situation with very few options open to him."

"That's no excuse." I almost couldn't believe what I was hearing. I'd been so certain that convincing Carlisle that Emmett wasn't to be harmed or blamed was going to be fairly easy, but apparently that wasn't the case.

"I've made my decision," I told him firmly, "Emmett is not to blame here. I won't let him take the fall for this."

"You're blinded by some stupid, romantic story that Rose told you about how much she loves Emmett," Carlisle accused, and I was shocked to hear such a bitter, angry edge to his voice.

"I'm not, and she didn't tell me any story. I make my own decisions."

Carlisle tensed, as if he knew that I would fight him on this as long as it took and he was preparing himself for the inevitable argument, but then, he suddenly relaxed. "Okay," he told me.

"That's it? Just. . .'okay'?"

Carlisle shrugged. "It's your decision, Esme. He's your son." He's not mine—I could nearly hear the unspoken words of Carlisle's.

He is yours, I wanted to argue with him, he's as much—if not more—your son than mine. He's spent ten years rejecting me, and ten years embracing everything you stood for, everything you are.

But I stayed silent, the old resentment bubbling up inside of me, because I was jealous of how much more Edward had let Carlisle into his life. How much more Edward listened to the other man. Of how much Edward let Carlisle care about him.

"Well that's settled," he said. "Should we call Marcus?"

"Yes. There's no time to lose," I said briskly, swallowing all the fear and the anger and the bitterness. Those emotions contributed nothing to saving my son, and right now, that was all I cared about.

I waited as Carlisle reached over the desk and hit the speakerphone button on the phone, dialing the number quickly. Marcus picked up after one ring.

"Marcus here." His voice was hard and edgy and intense—dark, like he had seen dark places and had done dark deeds. The uneasiness in my stomach grew.

"Marcus, hello. This is Carlisle Masen, and I'm here with Esme Platt."

"Marcus, I'm really looking forward to hearing your plans to save my son and his companion," I said politely.

"Yes," he barked. "I do have plans."

I glanced up uneasily at Carlisle, and his blue eyes were reassuring. Calming. I took a deep breath and gathered my courage and all the self-possession I had. "Could I ask what those plans are?" I inquired firmly, meeting his steel with some of my own. If he honestly thought that I couldn't go toe to toe with him, after some of the people I'd met in my many years of society parties and functions, then he was delusional.

"So far, I know Emmett took them across the Canadian border. I have agents looking for any locations they might have stopped, along both the more-traveled highways and some of the out of the way routes. I'll let you know when we find anything."

"As for Emmett," I began.

"What about Emmett?" he interrupted. "He's the kidnapper, isn't he?"

"Emmett is under my protection," I said slowly, clearly. "He is not to be harmed whatsoever."

"Carlisle, are you aware of this?" Marcus said impatiently, as if he didn't waste a second more of his time talking to me. As if Carlisle was really in charge. Carlisle, I had to admit, had his uses, but the idea that he was in charge of my son's rescue was a joke.

"Excuse me," I said coldly. "I was discussing Emmett with you. Now, I know he is technically the man who took Edward, but there's been a misunderstanding . . ."

"Lady," Marcus interrupted again, clearly barely restraining his anger, "I'm not sure who you are, but you're grating on my last nerve. I'm sure you're worried about your son and all, but your interference isn't going to help rescue him."

"My interference?" I couldn't help but raise my voice and drop it down a few hundred degrees. The man needed to know who he was messing with right now. I glanced up to see that even Carlisle was a bit taken aback by Marcus' irreverent attitude. "Do you even know who I am?"

"Yeah, you're Esme Platt. So what?"

"Google me," I ground out, "and you'll understand. I'm not being egotistical when I say that I'm not just a lady who lunches. I could end you if I chose to, understand? So when I say Emmett McCarty is under my protection, that's not just me blowing air into your empty brain."

"Under your protection, huh? Seems your power didn't do a whole hell of a lot to keep your son safe," he jeered, and I expected everything inside me to go deathly cold—approximately the temperature of a deep freeze—but instead, I felt hot, molten lava bubbling up inside me, melting my self-control and my composure.

He was right, I realized, as the temper boiled away inside me. I had come home, had frozen myself up inside to be the kind of woman who could control the world and therefore protect her son, but instead, I had only sacrificed myself and pushed Edward away. Nothing I had done, I thought bleakly, had turned out like I had thought it would.

I barely heard and couldn't comprehend Carlisle's words as he took over the conversation and I stared numbly out the window.

The last twenty plus years—all those years of swallowing every feeling, every ounce of emotion, of locking the real Esme away behind a wall of ice, had been for nothing. I had failed at the one thing that I had set out to do.

As Carlisle finished up the phone call, I sat back and contemplated the hideous ruins of my life as Esme Platt and wondered, after the catastrophe, what was even left.

Finally, Carlisle clicked the phone off and sat back in his chair, looking at me quizzically. After a moment of silence, he spoke up. "I'm honestly surprised you didn't go for his jugular there."

"Instead I just sat there," I finished for him. "But he was right. Nothing I've done in the last twenty years ended up keeping Edward safe. Being Esme Platt has been a useless exercise."

"Now, that's not exactly true. Yes, it didn't prevent him from being taken—though I'd say that the fault for that rests squarely on his own shoulders—but being Esme Platt is going to go a hell of a long way towards getting him back."

I looked at him in utter surprise. I had never considered that possibility before, or thought of what my position meant we could do to get him back home safe. Just like my mother and her mother before her, I'd simply taken being a Platt for granted. But to just about any other mother, Edward would be doomed.

"You're right," I whispered, and for the second time in two days, really saw Carlisle, as he sat there, understanding and sympathy brimming in those gorgeous blue eyes.

He glanced down at his watch. "I have some calls to make, I'll see you at dinner?"

I nodded mechanically, my head swirling in thoughts of Edward and my mother and even more forbidden ones of Eoghan as he'd grinned at me that morning in Dublin, and Carlisle in his beautiful suit, with his kind eyes and even kinder smile. "I'll see you tonight."

He stood, and almost turned to go, but then hesitated and turned back to me, self-reproach on his face. "You were right about Emmett. I don't know what I was thinking," he said self-consciously.

"You were thinking that he took something that was valuable and important to you. You'd have to be a monster to not want to see him punished. But Edward and Bella aren't the only victims here."

"And thank you for making me see that," he said to me, stopping in front of my chair. "I'll see you at dinner." And casually, as if he wasn't throwing another bomb into the midst of my rubble, he leaned down and brushed his lips across my cheek. We'd air kissed before, at parties, when I was expected to be Esme Platt, Ice Queen and Hostess, but this was different—intimate and deliberate. He pulled back and his blue eyes seemed to swallow the rest of the world.

"Tonight, yes," I mumbled. "Dinner."

I spent the afternoon wandering around outside, soaking up the sunshine, wondering if Edward was locked inside and couldn't do the same. As I skirted around the rose garden by the pool, I heard Rosalie and Alice's laughter, and I realized it had been too long since there'd been young voices echoing in my house.

I returned to my master suite as dusk was falling, and glancing at the closet, I contemplated what I should do. The hours had helped rebuild some of my internal rubble, but I still felt adrift, as if the purpose which I'd dedicated my life to, had suddenly evaporated and I didn't know what to replace it with.

The obvious solution was to find who I had been before I'd transformed myself into Esme Platt. Who had been the girl who'd taken Eoghan's hand in the Dublin sun? Did she even still exist, somewhere deep down inside of me?

I walked towards the closet, and hesitatingly fingered the dark, neutral dresses that I typically wore for occasions such as this. They were more armor than clothes—designed to hide and to protect and to keep me frozen.

Glancing towards the full length mirror in the expansive closet, at my still slender figure and youthful skin, I realized the nails weren't in my coffin yet. Yes, I had wasted twenty years, but the nails weren't in my coffin just yet. There wasn't a reason to act like they were.

Carlisle had blown my carefully constructed world to bits this morning by appearing in his immaculately-tailored Gucci suit, and part of me, so long buried I almost didn't hear it, told me that I wanted him to notice me the same way I'd noticed him. Suddenly, I wanted him to see the realme, whoever that was.

The green eyes in the mirror regarded me evenly, calmly, and taking a deep breath, I decided that I'd been frozen for long enough. Maybe, before it was too late, it was time for me to figure out if I could thaw.

I pushed all my dark dresses to the side, searching for the one I'd purchased in a fit of folly a month before on a trip to New York. My personal shopper had looked at me incredulously as I'd plucked it from the rack, but once I'd tried it on, even her jaded expression had told me what I needed to know. The dress itself was a youthful light lilac, with draping and a narrow belt that hugged my curves in all the right places. It wasn't a sedate dress or a dress that you wore if you wanted to be ignored. I'd never pictured actually wearing it, of course, but now I donned it almost recklessly, determined not to chicken out and slink back to the safe and the familiar.

I'd been hiding for so long, and as I finished dressing, leaving my hair in long, loose curls around my shoulders, I couldn't believe how good it felt to discover what was underneath.

If the mirror hadn't shown me the drastic change in my appearance, I could see it on Rose and Alice's faces as we met in the living room for a pre-dinner drink. "That dress is gorgeous," Rose said enviously. "I love the color. It reminds me of the lilacs that grow around my parents house on Martha's Vineyard."

"I couldn't have designed anything that would suit you better," Alice gushed. "You look beautiful."

I couldn't lie to myself; their praise was very sweet vindication. Maybe I wasn't as far gone as I'd thought I was.

"Oh Esme, you look positively stunning. So young and chic," Renee trilled as she swept into the room as if she were walking the runways in Paris or Milan. And of course, since it was Renee, she made even the sweetest compliment seem bitter and false.

She leaned in, a cloud of Chanel No. 5 and blond hair, and brushed an air kiss over each cheek. Her eyes, a brilliant sapphire blue, undiminished by age and unaugmented by her husband, shone in triumph as she stepped back to let me admire her own undoubtedly superior ensemble.

But as usual, Renee had based her entire strategy on a single erroneous assumption: that the blue eyes that I'd been dressing for were hers.

"Oh Carlisle, you're here," Rose said, and I glanced up, surprised that we'd all been so absorbed in our own splendor that we hadn't noticed that Carlisle had arrived. But he was still standing by the doorway, and I felt his eyes burn hotly into me as they swept over the lines of the body that the dress I wore did nothing to hide.

He straightened, and slid his hands in the pockets of his gray slacks as he ambled over to where we stood. "Renee, Alice. Rosalie," he greeted each of them in turn, and then he turned to me. "Esme," he breathed in, slightly unsteadily, and I felt like the commanding general at the end of World War III. I couldn't say for sure if he'd noticed me before tonight, but I knew that he couldn't help himself now.

I knew I'd struck a direct hit at Renee, when she exclaimed again, even louder this time. "Carlisle, you must sit beside me at dinner. I don't get to New York as often as I should, and you need to fill me in all the exciting music news tonight."

Carlisle might be in a conversation with Renee, but as I fetched glasses and poured drinks, he turned his head towards me, his gaze brushing me for a mere split second, but it left me feeling scorched and marked.

"I'm sorry," I heard him say to her, "but I'm afraid I can't interfere with our hostess' seating arrangements. It wouldn't be. . .polite."

For an aging ex-rockstar, I thought he had surprisingly good manners. Some mother, somewhere, must have taught him well, I thought as I handed the girls their glasses.

"Do you think she could be any more obvious?" I heard Rose murmur to Alice as I turned to speak to Bridget, who'd no doubt come to tell me that dinner was served. I just hoped that she'd been referring to Renee and not to me. I'd made my decision to conquer Carlisle, but that didn't mean it had to be a public war. I wasn't sure yet what I wanted from yet, but I knew that whatever I ended up taking or giving, it was going to be a completely private matter, kept secret between the two of us. I wouldn't be hanging off of him, as Renee was doing.

I had to give him marks, though, for keeping his temper, when she stole nearly every second of his attention during the mercifully short dinner.

She continually brought up New York, as if it were the site of the Holy Grail, even though we all knew perfectly well that Carlisle and Athair were based out of Boston. Of course, Renee wasn't precisely notorious for her reasoning skills.

"So tell me," she'd said conspiratorially over the main course, which I didn't know you could do at the decibel level of a wounded elephant, "do you know Jay-Z? Alicia Keys? Beyonce, perhaps? I heard that Kanye West even goes to the White Party in the Hamptons every summer."

Carlisle had poise, and not once did he rolls his eyes or smirk at Renee's transparent social-climbing stupidity. "Jay-Z and I don't exactly run in the same circles, no."

"But you're both musicians," she said, clearly confused, a pucker appearing between her flawlessly plucked eyebrows.

Carlisle, sitting at the foot of the table, looked up at me in desperation. I just smiled over my wine glass and let him field this one on his own. Besides, if I started in on Renee, everyone's mild amusement would turn to something else entirely.

"Jay-Z and Kanye and Beyonce and I aren't exactly in the same genre of music," Carlisle tried to explain. Renee followed his mouth moving raptly, as if it carried the secret of the universe, I thought with annoyance. Did she have to be so embarrassingly obvious? As if a man of discerning taste and class would ever stoop to that level. After all, she had married a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon. Talk about obvious.

Renee waved a hand airily, as if this had already occurred to her—which I was fairly sure it hadn't—and it was of absolutely zero importance. "But surely, you musicians all travel in the same circles, go to the same parties?"

I tried to imagine my son and Carlisle at a party for Kanye West or Beyonce and failed. And despite my frigid reputation, I had a extremely vivid imagination.

Rose apparently decided that we'd all let Carlisle hang out to dry long enough, because she chose that moment to enter into the conversation. "I've been to a few of Edward's parties," she said wryly, "and it's not really Jay-Z's scene."

"Oh, but I wasn't referring to Edward's parties, though no doubt he's had some very well-attended events. I was talking about Carlisle's parties." Renee gave Rose a sly look, but Rosalie, clearly deciding she was done playing nice, simply rolled her eyes.

I saw Carlisle's jaw tighten with annoyance and I couldn't help but smile into my wine glass. He caught my eye and I knew he was beseeching me to rescue him, but I decided that I wasn't quite ready yet. Before I did, I wanted to see how deep a hole Renee was going to dig for herself.

"Carlisle, I didn't realize you were still so active in the social scene," Alice observed and I thought I heard Rose choke on a piece of her chicken.

"I'm not," he replied grimly, sawing away at his own chicken as if it were made of stone and wasn't fork-tender. "I haven't been for some time. I manage Edward now. My own career has, not so regrettably, come to an end."

"Oh, that is so unfortunate," Renee trilled apologetically, her hands fluttering like tiny, dying birds. "I didn't realize."

Taking a long drink of chardonnay, I mentally observed that the things Renee Swan "didn't realize" would probably fill up a matched set of Encyclopedia Britannicas.

"It's truly saddening that our own young people can't comprehend true talent," Renee continued, throwing a glare in Rose and Alice's direction. "But then, I suppose popular music is for the young."

"And not for the middle-aged," I chimed in.

Carlisle sent me a smoldering look and I couldn't help but smolder back, a smile curling the edges of my mouth. It was far, far too easy to bait Renee—and Carlisle too, for that matter. Except that I didn't feel as if I was baiting Carlisle; instead it felt more as if I were flirting with him. I took another sip of wine, and simmered under his gaze. I'd forgotten how good it felt to have a man look at you like a flesh and blood woman, not like a frozen, heartless bitch.

Bridget cleared the plates after the main course, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes at how Renee had barely touched her food. "That was a wonderful meal," Alice said pointedly. She had apparently also noticed how little Renee had eaten.

"It really was," Rose added, and Carlisle simply lifted his wineglass and smiled at me from his end of the table.

Renee didn't even make a pretense of touching her fruit sorbet, but I tackled mine enthusiastically, aware that I was definitely feeling the second glass of wine I'd had with dinner. I usually only stuck to one glass, because the Ice Queen couldn't ever be tipsy, but Esme could, and I'd decided to indulge. Besides, the extra wine was giving me enough courage to meet those increasingly bold stares of Carlisle's.

"What are you two up to tonight?" I asked Rose and Alice as we stood up from the table. As soon as I was on my feet, I realized that I was a tad south of tipsy, but I thought insolently, chastising the old, Ice Queen still trying to tell me what to do, I was glad that was the case.

The girls exchanged quick glances. "I thought we'd go into town, to RoöBar," Rosalie said casually. "If you wouldn't mind."

"Oh, no. Feel free to go. You girls have been cooped up here for long enough. I'll let Arthur know to have the car ready."

"Thank you, Esme," Rose said, leaning in to give me a quick hug. "We appreciate it." And while she still had her arms wrapped around me, she murmured into my ear, "You need to do something about the Carlisle situation. Should I ask Renee to join us?"

In the end, though, my courage failed, and I shook my head quickly. Having the girls take Renee out with them would mean there were no longer any excuses for inaction with Carlisle, and I wasn't ready to go there yet. "It's fine," I reassured Rose as I released her. "You two go and have fun."

Alice and Rose disappeared into the limo in a cloud of giggling laughter, flying hair and high heels. I realized as I watched them from a window that overlooked the front drive that I envied them their wild nights and their freedom. I had had my share of course—but it had only been a few months of blissful love followed by two years of fear and pain and never knowing if Eoghan would come home. In the end, I hadn't really enjoyed my teen years the way I'd expected to.

And of course, my deepest fear had become reality, and one night, Eoghan hadn't come home, but now twenty years later, I wasn't certain anymore that he had been the love of my life. Maybe, I thought as I turned away from the window, some people just didn't get that one great love.

I walked through my quiet house, wondering briefly where Carlisle and Renee were and hoping they weren't together, but of course, I was wrong. I found them on the back veranda, Renee holding a martini glass, and standing way too close to Carlisle.

"Renee. Carlisle," I greeted them, moving towards the wet bar to pour myself another glass of wine. Renee, I realized, was leaving me absolutely no choice. I was going to have to move in if only so I could preserve what I considered mine.

Carlisle had shed the suit jacket in deference to the early summer heat, even though the sun was already setting down over the water. He'd rolled up his shirt sleeves over surprisingly muscled forearms, and I let another long drink of wine slip down my throat as I approached the pair.

"Carlisle was just explaining to me how such an attractive looking man could still be a bachelor," Renee said with a sly smile in my direction, as if she could read my mind and knew that I was secretly attracted to him.

"He's a musician," I told her stiffly. "It's not really all that surprising. Would you mind giving us a minute? I have something I need to discuss with Carlisle."

Renee just looked at me, and then drifted a foot or two away, making a show of staring off in the direction of the swimming pool. I cleared my throat. "In private," I snapped at the clueless woman.

"I suppose I can accommodate you, even though Carlisle and I were having a lovely talk." Renee shot me one last resentful look as she disappeared inside the house.

"What was that about? Did you hear any news from Marcus?" Carlisle looked at me curiously, swirling his scotch on the rocks with one hand and leaning up against the veranda porch rail. With his white shirt open at the collar, the sunset setting his golden hair ablaze and his blue eyes burning into me, he had never looked more appealing. In fact, I couldn't remember when a man period had ever looked more appealing, even Eoghan.

Deliberately, without letting myself second guess or even think, I set my wine glass down on a nearby table, and walked towards him, the heels of my sandals clicking confidently and deliberately on the wood floor with a lot more certainty than I felt. I stopped in front of him, so close that it felt like the entire world had shrunk to just the intense blue of his eyes. I knew from the solemn, measuring gaze he gave me that he was perfectly aware of what I was about to do.

For a single heartbeat of time, I wondered if I could actually do it, but I realized I had to. Not just because it had been so long since I'd kissed a man I really wanted to kiss, but because I had to prove to myself that the old Esme, the Esme who had taken so many risks, who had evaded her handlers in London and had taken Eoghan's hand and walked into the sun-dappled streets of Dublin with nothing but a smile and a single suitcase, still existed somewhere inside of me. So I placed my hands on either side of him, the roughness of the wood abrading my palms, closed my eyes, and pressed my lips to his.

It was a strange kiss; a kiss of opposites and a kiss that I had never imagined or expected would ever happen, but in the end, was so inevitable that as soon as our lips met, I wondered why I had never let myself consider the possibility before.

But before the kiss could go any farther than just a simple brushing of my lips against his, Carlisle pulled away. "Wait," he said, reaching up to brush a strand of air behind my hear, his fingertips brushing my cheek. "Esme, what are you doing?"

I felt the dark, ugly twist of embarrassment and humiliating surface deep in my stomach. Hadn't he wanted this? He'd been looking at me like he'd been desperate to do just what I'd done. I'd practically waited for him to be certain before I'd kissed him. Maybe, I thought with growing despair, he wanted that bitch Renee instead.

"I was kissing you." I was shocked my voice sounded so even and calm. I felt like screaming at him for letting me down when I needed the reassurance the most.

He laughed then, and I felt my stomach twist even further. "I know that. What I mean is that you've never even noticed I was alive before Edward was taken."

"That's not true," I defended, though he wouldn't have known otherwise. I'd done everything I could to convince him that I disliked him and everything he stood for.

"I think it is. It's not true, or you've been hiding things from me. For a very long time."

I wanted to tell him that it was the latter; that I'd been attracted to him for longer than I could remember, and that I'd stopped myself from even thinking about it because I didn't think there was any point. Esme Platt could never be with Carlisle Masen. I still wasn't sure that she could, but I was done fighting what felt right and natural and wonderful. But the words stuck in my throat and I could only gape at him as he ran a hand through his hair and his expression took on a tinge of frustration.

"Am I crazy?" he continued. "Or did I miss something, Esme?"

"You missed something. I wanted you to miss something," I finally managed to push past my unresponsive and suddenly thick tongue. Why could he just kiss me and skip this conversation? I wanted to tell him how much I was attracted to him with my lips and my tongue, not with words.

He stared at me again, those serious blue eyes the most effective lie detector I'd ever experienced. I couldn't help it; I squirmed under his gaze and contemplated how I could get him to kiss me again. Or, I thought with sudden brilliance, I could just kiss him again.

So I did. Except this time, I pressed my lips to his with insistence and passion and desire, with all the words that I'd longed to say to him but hadn't since we'd first met, ten long years ago. I poured all the buried emotion, all the frozen moments of time into the kiss, and I felt him catch his breath—and then, finally, the moment that he gave up receiving any explanation and began to kiss me back.

The moment I'd taken Eoghan's hand that bright morning Dublin had defined me and my life for so long that I didn't know how to react when my entire universe shifted beneath my feet, and a different crossroads blossomed before me.

Carlisle's arms wrapped around me, his fingers brushing against the silky fabric of my dress, and his tongue caressed mine. I slipped my fingers through the short strands of hair at the base of his neck, and realized dimly, through the haze of passion and emotion that I'd blocked out for the last twenty years, that I didn't want to stop, and I certainly didn't want him to ever stop.

So, of course, stupidly, it was my turn to pull away. The air was thick with the unspoken words as I self-consciously brushed my mussed hair back from my face and experimentally licked my swollen lips. I wanted to say something, anything, but I didn't know what to say any more now than I had five minutes before. Even Carlisle seemed struck speechless now.

Finally, he spoke. "Why did you do that again?"

I shrugged, thinking the answer was obvious enough. "I wanted to," I told him. "I've wanted to for awhile now."

"This isn't some sick game that you're playing at because you don't like Renee," he stated rather than questioned.

"No. But if she was watching, I wouldn't be adverse to her seeing it."

He smiled at that. "I don't doubt it."

Experimentally, I laid my hands on his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through the crisp cotton of his shirt. "I know I haven't always been very. . .nice. But, there were circumstances out of my control. I. . .I was trying to be someone I wasn't."

"I know. I've told you before, I see right through you. I've always seen through you. Which is why I know that you didn't kiss me just because you wanted to." His tone was slightly reproachful and hurt, and I didn't understand. Didn't men like being kissed? Why did it even matter why I'd done it? Why did he care so much? But I never got the chance to ask, because he gently moved me to the side, his hands gentle on me, and I could tell he was leaving me.

"I'm just not sure this is a good idea, Esme. Everything is so complicated already."

I bit down on my lip so hard that I was surprised to taste blood as I licked my lips. "It doesn't have to be complicated. We like each other."

"No, I like you. I'm not sure what the hell you think of me. Especially after that. But it doesn't matter. I just don't want you to kiss me to prove something to yourself or to Renee. Kiss me because you want to."

And with that, he was gone, the veranda door shutting behind him. I glanced down at the glass of scotch he'd abandoned on the low wide railing, and picked it up, experimentally swirling it before taking a long, deep swallow, and then another. It helped kill the sickening humiliation, but it only seemed to highlight the burning, white hot shafts of something that kept firing across my nerves. My skin felt too tight, too thin, for what was contained underneath. I realized that I hadn't felt this way since Eoghan's death, and I realized it was because I wanted him. The kisses, apparently, had released a lot more than just Carlisle's questions.

One last quick note: it was my birthday last week and Josie wrote me the sweetest birthday, ExB fluff in the world. It's called Take Me to Fenway, and I was so touched. It's a MUST-read for anyone who likes baseball or fluff or cuteness or really just Edward/Bella :)