Chapter 1

The Cullen home reminded me greatly of the house in Jane Eyre. I stood for a long time on the pristinely green, meticulously landscaped front lawn and gazed up at it, plainly awestruck. It was a sweeping multi-winged gray-brick estate of at least four stories. It had multiple garages, spires along the edges, and countless balconies. An illustrious wrap-around cobblestone driveway was paralleled by perfectly pruned bushes and decorative topiaries. Gardens hugged the building and fountains and birdbaths had been tucked in amongst the flowerbeds. It was the sheer definition of luxury. Even bathed in the shadows of the overcast clouds, it was breathtaking.

I looked back at my old red Chevy, and frowned as I pulled the sleeves of my sweater down further to cover my scarred wrists. By the time I'd made it up to the gorgeous mahogany front door (which in itself had to have cost a good chunk of change), I was ready to run. But I didn't get the chance.

The only way to describe Emmett Cullen was big. He wasn't overweight in any definition of the term but he was bulky. His incredibly muscled arms were bulging out of his dress shirt and I could tell, even clad in what appeared to be a pair of Armani dress pants, that he hadn't neglected leg day either. His head was shaved but he had a thick black beard, tanned skin and dark eyes. He was very handsome and though floating in his eyes was the glint of wisdom beyond his years, he appeared to me too young to have the teenaged daughter that my father had mentioned.

"You must be Miss Swan," he said, extending one of his large hands to wrap around mine in a firm handshake. "Come in."

He stepped aside and let me into the foyer and I forgot all about the exterior as I began to take in what lay inside the home. The interior design was art deco and every single piece of furniture or wall art seemed expertly chosen. I adjusted the strap of my leather computer bag on my shoulder and followed Mr. Cullen down several hallways and into a central living area. Above the floating chaise lounge, the round polished granite end tables and the enormous black area rug were vaulted ceilings painted with intricate golden patterns and a sparkling crystal chandelier. Standing directly beneath it I wondered what it would be like if it were to suddenly pull free from its mount and fall on top of me. I was hoping that it would do just that when I became aware of the sound of expensive heels crossing the marble floor and approaching us.

"Ah," Mr. Cullen said, "Rose." I heard a low growl in the back of his throat. "Your outfit is absolutely sinful." He accompanied his compliment with a low chuckle. "Sweetheart, this is Bella Swan. Bella Swan, this is-"

Up until that moment, I don't think I'd ever truly seen anything before. I knew this because when my gaze finally fell on her, I was content with never looking at anything else ever again. She was an absolute angel, and I saw her for what she was right away. She was blonde though not naturally, with a petite frame, perfect shoulders and delicious caramel skin cloaked in a tight red dress. I was immediately drawn to her body- her perfect breasts, her exquisite thighs.. But her face had me captivated beyond reason. Her nose was perfectly proportionate and round, her lips pouty and thick and her eyes.. Beneath dark lashes shone irises the color of a jar of warm honey sitting in a shaft of sunlight. When in return she saw me I watched her lips move soundlessly and I could tell that she was cursing beneath her breath.

She came to a stop before me, at her husband's side, and her arm snaked through his possessively. Though, the action didn't fool; she wasn't worried for him.

"Rosalia Cullen," Emmett finished, turning to look down at his gorgeous wife.

I was so taken by her that I almost felt as though I should avert my gaze. The words began to tumble out of my mouth before I'd even realized I was saying them- "He stepped down, trying not to look long at her," I recited without err, "as though she were the sun."

The tip of Ms. Cullen's tongue wetted her perfect lips and she carried on fluidly. "Yet he saw her," she purred, her words hinting at some type of Spanish accent, "as one sees the sun." A slight pause occurred as her eyes scanned the entirety of my form, pausing only momentarily over the parts of me that already ached for her touch. "Without looking.'

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