Exile Chapter 1: Prologue: Fall 2005, a twilight fanfic

Note: this is Part Two of the "Left of Normal Series", a reimaging of the Twilight Saga. Be sure to read "Left of Normal" first before entering this wild ride of 'Exile'.

Songs mentioned:
La Donna è Mobile, Verdi

Va, Pensiero, Verdi

Chapter 1: Prologue: Fall 2005

JPOV

Sunday, September 4th, 2005

Forks, WA

It was the end of summer and Anya had been on my case for a while now, bugging me about an official "meet the parents" dinner at the house. She'd been to the house before—more than once, in fact—but not under the premise of being 'introduced as the girlfriend'. This, she argued, was a milestone. A rite of passage, even. Her words, not mine.

"Every tween girl's fantasy in my world," she'd said with a playful grin, "is to be Bella coming over to meet the Cullens. I'm not passing this up!" I couldn't help but laugh when she said it. Who was I to refuse the woman I love, especially when she framed it as a chance to live out some romantic fantasy? If she wanted the whole "formal introduction" experience, well, I'd give it to her.

Today was the day. The Sunday before school started back up, a couple of weeks after "that night," when I made love to Anya for the first time. How I was able to control myself, not let the bloodlust take over and enjoy being with Anya. My girlfriend. My lover. Mine.

We had done that multiple times since, and it never ceased to amaze me how much desire and love Anya had for me when we had sex. Every time before she'd fall asleep, she'd moan '"Ta-ba-nak exactly how I imagined it!" Never failing to catch me by surprise that she was fantasizing about me – the poor struggling vegetarian vampire, the background character in the love story that is Heathcliff and The Duck – Edward and Bella.

But now was not the time to get lost in those memories. I had to focus. Anya was getting ready to come over, going through her usual ritual of preparing herself for the big Cullen family dinner. Not that she had much to worry about—Carlisle and Esme were always welcoming. Kind. But I knew Anya, she would want to do this properly.

The whole family would be there, of course, which made sense. We did everything together. But Anya had one request, a small but significant one: she asked if Bella could sit this one out. Not that she had anything against Bella; she was friendly to her but not overly familiar. It's just that Anya didn't want to spend the evening pretending to be the "school librarian, orphan from Detroit" persona, or American Anya as she called her alternate in this reality. She wanted to be herself for once. To talk about her real family back in Montréal, to share stories of her brothers' ridiculous pranks, her parents' Sunday brunches, and her multitude of nieces and nephews that her older sisters had.

It was still strange sometimes, thinking of Anya as someone from a different reality. A parallel universe where our lives were just stories written in a book. The first time she dropped that truth bomb, the entire family had one sentiment: disbelief. But it was true, she had no deception or malice when she shared that with us. And now, it was just...part of her. It's what made her Anya.

I could hear the soft murmur of voices downstairs—Esme giving last-minute instructions on setting the table, Alice and Rosalie debating over the right flowers for the centerpiece, something about lilies versus roses. Emmett's booming laugh cut through the chatter, probably some joke about the upcoming dinner. I knew the whole family was curious about Anya, even if they pretended otherwise. She was the human who wasn't Bella, who knew more about us than we did ourselves, sometimes. And I admit it was a bit weird to be setting the table when only one person would be actually eating – Anya. I had tried to tell them that she would probably not see the need to go that far out. But at least this time, when the human girlfriend was over to be introduced, Anya would eat. She wouldn't be pulling a Bella and eat beforehand as she didn't 'want to impose'. That's not Anya, she had no fear with eating in front of vampires.

I took a deep calming breath, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans. I was nervous, which was ridiculous. I didn't get nervous. But Anya was different. She made me feel...human. And that was the point, wasn't it? To let her into this part of my existence, the part where my family sat down and pretended to eat dinner while discussing mundane topics like school and music and the weather.

Glancing at the clock, I realized it was time to go. I would have loved to have driven to her house like a proper boyfriend but unfortunately to the good people of Forks I was an 18-year-old dating Alice, and Anya was the high school librarian. She had made it very clear that the last thing she wanted, was to draw unwanted attention to herself. So, I raced through the trees to her house and knew she would be waiting for me in the passenger seat of her red BMW, and I would drive her. The real irony is that Anya doesn't actually know how to drive and yet her car is the one Rosalie drools over.

My mind was already on Anya, picturing her waiting in her car. No doubt dressed to the nines. She had promised to keep her outfit demure, partly to avoid setting Fucker – I mean, Edward – off about her ever-expanding henna tattoo. He'd noticed how it had started to wrap around her torso a few weeks ago when she'd been over for a movie night. She was quick to point out that she and I were adults, having what she liked to call "adult relations," but she knew that Eddie Boy and Bella were barely past hand-holding territory. Anya was all about living her own truth, but she also understood it wasn't wise to antagonize the broody Heathcliff of the family.

Eddie Boy would lose his shit if he knew Anya and I were having sex. No doubt wanting to lecture both of us about how unsafe it is. How it was dangerous for the fragile human to be alone with me, the struggling vampire. What he didn't know is that since that night in Phoenix, when I had saved Anya from James, I hadn't had a thought of bloodlust towards Anya. I didn't have much before either, given her emotional cocktail kept me pretty stable. But now, months later, a trace of her blood is still in my system and while it was the most delicious intoxicating blood I had ever tasted in my long existence, whatever remnants that are still within me keep the monster at bay. I would never nibble on Anya.

Now other things, like driving her wild in bed and making her pass out from the pure bliss of having an empath as a lover, well ok, maybe Eddie Boy would have reason to be worried. Anya might fall off the bed. But draining her? Snacking on her? Never.

Rounding the corner to Anya's street, I saw the garage door open, heard her car already running—no doubt Anya was waiting inside. I slipped into the driver's seat and leaned over to kiss her gently on the cheek. She shrieked slightly, "Jasper, you will be the death of me!"

I laughed, nuzzling her nose before leaning back to take her in. Her blonde hair was coiled in a complex mass of braids pinned at the base of her neck. She wore a simple Georgia O'Keeffe-inspired floral print dress that hugged her in all the right places but covered more than it revealed. A knitted cardigan to complete the look —a nod to modesty, no doubt. I could see the faint pattern of henna peeking from beneath her sleeves on her left wrist, where I had bitten her to save her back in Phoenix in the dance studio. She'd chosen ballet flats instead of her trademark three-inch heels. Damn, she was beautiful. "You are absolutely divine tonight, Anya."

"Why thank you, Tex. Ready?" she replied.

Before she finished the sentence, I was already pulling out of the driveway and whipping around the corner, making her laugh. I glanced at the backseat and saw a large bouquet of flowers.

"A hostess gift," she said with a grin. "I figured it's the least I could do, considering your 'mom' is cooking dinner for me."

I couldn't help but smile back. "You didn't have to, but they're beautiful. Just like you. You know, you didn't have to go all out like this. They're already going to love you."

She looked over at me, one eyebrow arched playfully. "Perhaps, but I still want to make a good first impression. I am, after all, robbing the cradle, aren't I?"

I reached over and took her hand, threading my fingers through hers. "Oh, darlin', I thought I was the cradle robber." I brought her hand to my lips and kissed it gently. "You know I love you, right?"

"I believe I said the words first," she said softly, squeezing my hand. "But yes, Tex, I know you love me." With that, she leaned back in her seat, a contented smile on her lips.

That was Anya—beautiful, confident, and from a different reality. She's from the future too. She was on a train from Toronto, Ontario to Montréal, Quebec in January 2009, reading "our book". To this day, I have no idea what it's called or who the author is—Anya stubbornly refers to it as 'the playbook' and 'the creator'—when somehow, she found herself in this very car, driving along Highway 101 in January 2005, outside Forks, Washington. She suspects there was a train accident, and she's really in a coma and that this, my world, is the Dreamworld. It sounds fantastical, I know, but there was no deception in her words. I had no reason to doubt her. She's 30 in her world but only 26 in mine. Since I was 20 when I was turned a hundred and forty years ago, it's a bit of a toss-up as to who's truly robbing the cradle in our relationship. But honestly? I don't give a shit. She's Anya, and I love her. Mine

We drove toward the house, the sun dipping lower on the horizon, casting long shadows across the road. Upon arrival, Esme greeted us at the door, and Anya handed over the bouquet of flowers.

I led her into the dining room, the scene almost a repeat of her first lunch in this house back in January, but now under very different circumstances. When Anya saw the table, she tried to stifle her laugh. There were place settings for everyone, but only her spot had food.

"Tex," she said softly, "you know this wasn't needed."

I murmured back, "I tried to warn them, but they wanted to roll out the red carpet, as it were."

"Well, then, who am I to refuse?" She stood patiently beside her chair, clearly waiting for me to pull it out so she could sit down.

I was a bit surprised, but given Anya's insistence on a formal dinner and teasing me about being a true Southern gentleman, who was I to refuse her? I pulled the chair out for her, and she smiled at me as she sat down, gracefully placing her napkin on her lap.

The rest of the family joined us at the table, each sitting as gracefully as the other. Once more, Anya ate with the vampires. I was pleased that Esme had listened when I suggested something simple—a smoked salmon salad served with a chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.

Carlisle took the lead in the conversation, his tone friendly but curious. "Anya, Jasper tells us your family is involved in literary and musical circles back in Montréal?"

Anya smiled and nodded. "Oh yes! My eldest sister, Sophie, is the dancer of the family, though she also has a lovely soprano voice. She performed with Cirque du Soleil for many years and now she's a choreographer with four children. Chloé is a musical prodigy. She's a classical concert pianist and used to perform regularly in New York and London. But these days, with three little ones to look after, she mostly stays within Canada, rotating between Montréal, Ottawa, and Toronto."

She paused to take a sip of her wine and have another bite of her salad. "Now, my younger brothers, the twins, Grégoire and Michel, have more modern pursuits. Grégoire is a music producer for some popular French-Canadian artists, and Michel, well, he's a DJ. He's quite in demand and spends his summers touring in Europe."

Emmett, intrigued, leaned forward. "Who does Grégoire produce for?"

Anya casually mentioned a few well-known names, as if she were simply commenting on the wine.

Emmett's eyebrows shot up in surprise, clearly impressed. "No way! Those are some of my favourite bands."

"Get out?" Anya laughed. "I've had the chance to see behind the scenes at the studio a few times when visiting with Grégoire."

Esme, always the gracious hostess, gently steered the conversation. "And what about literary connections, Anya? I think Jasper mentioned something about that too."

"That would be mes oncles, maman's brothers." She paused, to take another sip of her wine, her eyes sparkling before she continued, "Two are novelists, and one is a poet, though his day job is as a journalist. But his heart is definitely in poetry."

There was a brief moment of silence as we all absorbed that. I could tell by the looks on my family's faces that they were impressed, especially when Anya casually named some of their works. We were somewhat familiar with them—myself, perhaps, more than the others. Anya had copies of her uncles' books in her library at home and I had read them over the summer.

Edward's expression shifted from curiosity to genuine respect. "Those are your uncles?" he asked, sounding more than a little surprised.

Yeah, Eddie Boy, that's what she said, try and keep up.

Anya smiled warmly. "Yes, they are. Although, you're probably more familiar with the writers on my father's side—the Americans." She paused for a moment before mentioning their names. A ripple of surprise passed through the room. These were two of the most prolific authors in the American literary landscape of the early 20th century. Even I hadn't realized they were connected to Anya.

Esme's eyes widened slightly, her voice filled with awe. "Were you named after one of them?"

Anya nodded, a touch of pride softening her smile. "Yes, after my two times great-aunt Anya. It's a name I've always loved. Have you seen any of their film adaptations?"

Alice, who had been listening with quiet interest, suddenly sat up straighter, her eyes wide with surprise. "Those films? The Oscar-winning ones?"

Anya nodded again, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes, and then leaned in to continue in a conspiratorial whisper. "Yes, those ones. Although, between us, I actually prefer Great-Aunt Anya's children's stories. She's long-winded in her adult novels."

Alice wasn't the only one who was impressed with the American authors, Carlisle's face lit up with recognition. He tapped his fingers on the table, leaning forward slightly. "Anya, those authors, I believe I actually heard one of them read at a book signing event once. It was in New York, late 1920s if I remember correctly."

The room went quiet. We all turned our attention to Carlisle. It wasn't often he brought up his past interactions with humans, at least not in this way. He typically stuck to antidotes of patients. Did the author have a medical emergency? Is that why he remembers them?

"Really?" Esme asked, her curiosity piqued. "You've never told us that before. Do you still have the book?"

Carlisle nodded. "I believe so. It should be in my study, on one of the upper shelves. It's an early edition, signed by the author. I remember their voice was as compelling as their writing—filled with energy."

He stood up, excusing himself to go find the book. Edward glanced at me, a subtle smile tugging at his lips. Even he seemed a little surprised by Carlisle's revelation. Yeah, it's still jarring to see Eddie Boy smile. So different from his permanent scowl of brooding.

Anya's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with interest. "Really, I wonder which book it is?"

Less than a minute later, Carlisle returned, a leather-bound book in hand. The cover was aged, but the gold lettering still caught the light. He held it out to Anya, his expression thoughtful.

"This is one of my treasured items," he said simply. "A piece of history from a time when literature had a different kind of influence. I'm fairly certain it was your great-aunt who signed this."

He handed Anya the book, and she took it, her fingers brushing over the cover with a kind of reverence. "I can't believe it," she said softly. "I never expected to see one of her books here. Least of all, this one."

Carlisle settled back into his chair, his curiosity still lingering. "Do you know who she interviewed for this book?"

Anya gave him a sly smile, then took a sip of her wine. "Well, Great-Aunt Anya was a very bohemian character with a penchant for the bad boys. Does the protagonist remind you of anyone?"

Carlisle looked thoughtful, his fingers tapping the table lightly as if trying to pull the answer from the air. "No, you don't mean…?"

I glanced around the table, trying to gauge the reactions of my family. Edward was the only one who seemed to know where this was headed, his eyes narrowing with recognition. The rest of us were in the dark, but I could feel the mischief rolling off Anya in waves. Whoever it was, it was gonna be big. Carlisle was clearly on the right track.

"Really?" Carlisle asked, his voice filled with a mix of disbelief and fascination. "But how?"

Anya shrugged, her smile growing wider. "From the stories my grandfather, her young nephew, shared, they were lovers. She was with him for a while, took notes, absorbed everything. That's how she got the material for this book."

Emmett, who had been listening with increasing impatience, finally broke in. "Okay, who are we talking about?"

Anya and Carlisle exchanged a glance, then said together, "Al Capone."

The room went dead silent, all of us absorbing this. How does Anya manage to leave vampires speechless? I swear it's a talent. Then Emmett let out a low whistle. "No way. Your great-aunt was involved with Al Capone?"

Anya nodded, clearly enjoying the reactions. "They had a bit of a romance, yes. According to family lore, she was one of the few people who could get him to open up about his life."

"Well, that's one hell of a family secret," Emmett said, still looking stunned. "You know, I've always wondered how some writers get their material. This makes perfect sense now."

Carlisle looked back at the book, his expression a mix of awe and respect. "I'll have to read this again, now that I know the backstory. It gives the whole thing a different perspective."

Anya raised her glass, still smiling. "To Great-Aunt Anya, then. A woman ahead of her time."

We all raised our glasses—or in my family's case, empty wine glasses that had been set out for appearances. Her candid admission caused all of us to laugh. Even Edward's lips twitched into a smile. He was clearly impressed, though I could sense something else lingering beneath his admiration—a flicker of jealousy, almost. It puzzled me. Jealousy of what? Anya's famous family? The way she effortlessly charmed us all?

I glanced at Edward, catching the faint crease of his brow. Maybe it wasn't just the recognition of Anya's lineage or her easy grace that bothered him. The brooder always valued personal accomplishments over inherited prestige. Is he really jealous of the human winning over the family? Is he questioning his place in the family?

Carlisle, ever the diplomat, picked up on the shift in the room and smoothly redirected the conversation. "It must be wonderful to have such a rich literary tradition in your family. Have you been inspired to write yourself, Anya?"

Anya laughed, her eyes flicking over to me with a soft warmth. "Oh, my passion is history, military history." She placed her hand over mine and smiled. "I do hope that someday I'll be able to finish my PhD, but well…"

She left the remark hanging in the air. I felt a swell of emotion at her touch. But before anyone could pick up on the deeper meaning behind her words, Emmett jumped in, shifting the focus. "Forget about writing, Anya. What about your musical talents? We all know you can sing and dance." He waggled his eyebrows playfully, the big goof.

We'd seen Anya perform a few times, her impromptu duets in the school cafeteria with Mike Newton coming to mind. Especially the time she sang "Can't Take My Eyes off You." That's how she told me she loved me, belting it out in front of everyone, a secret message just for me. No one else knew that part, but they all remembered how she and Mike had saved the Spring Formal by taking to the stage and rocking the house.

Anya smiled between bites of her salad. "Oh no, I'm strictly a musical enthusiast. Sophie and Chloé are the real professionals." Her tone was light, but I caught the slight change in her expression, her emotional cocktail wavering slightly. It was subtle, but there. She was lying. Anya rarely lied, especially about something so trivial. My eyes flicked to Edward, and there it was again—envy, simmering just below the surface. Was Anya trying to spare his feelings? Interesting.

But Emmett wasn't letting it go. "Ah, come on, Anya, you've got talent. Why not do a duet with Edward?"

Anya faltered, hesitating just enough to notice, and Eddie Boy jumped in, his voice a shade cooler than before. "Oh, I'm sure Anya's repertoire doesn't extend beyond the '80s. Classical music is beneath her."

What the hell, Eddie? Why are you antagonizing Anya? She's been nothing but polite. Anya, seated directly across from him, met his gaze head-on, and I felt her annoyance spike, mingling with a mischievous edge. "Now, Edward, my sister is a classical concert pianist. Are you familiar with Verdi?"

Edward arched an eyebrow, trying to maintain his indifferent façade. "You wish to sing 'La Donna è Mobile'?"

Anya set down her fork, wiped her mouth with her napkin, and smiled sweetly. "No, actually. I was thinking more along the lines of Nabucco, Act 3, 'Va, Pensiero.'" She enunciated the Italian perfectly, a challenge in every syllable.

Well shit, Anya had just called Edward's bluff, I thought, and all of us were flicking our eyes between the two. Whose gonna fold first? The human? Or the Broody Vampire?

Edward's eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of respect behind his annoyance. "A bold choice," he conceded. "But a fitting one, I suppose. Shall we?"

Anya smiled and said, "In a moment. I require some assistance from a few of your siblings. Sophie was a dancer, you know."

What the hell was Anya getting at? I glanced over at Alice, who was already rising from the table, looking entirely too pleased with herself. "You heard Anya," she said, flashing a grin. "Jazz, Emmett, to the music room for rehearsal."

And just like that, I found myself following Alice and Anya to Edward's music room, with Emmett trailing behind us. What the fuck had we gotten ourselves into? Once inside, Anya and Alice moved off to the side, their heads bent together, discussing something quietly. Meanwhile, I was left standing with Emmett, who looked about as confused as I felt.

"Ahh, dude," Emmett muttered, keeping his voice low. "Are we supposed to sing, too? I don't even know who Verdi is, let alone how to sing in Italian."

I shrugged. The amused glances from Anya and Alice suggested that maybe singing wasn't required. Dancing, on the other hand… Alice turned back to us and began giving instructions, moving with that lightning speed that only another vampire could follow. I caught bits and pieces—something about timing, lifting, and where to stand. Emmett's frown deepened as he tried to keep up, but I could see he was game for anything.

Anya, meanwhile, had moved three chairs along the far wall, clearly intended for Carlisle, Esme, and Rosalie. Were we really about to put on a performance?

Anya came over to me, her expression serious but with a playful glint in her eye. "Did Alice tell you what I expect? Let's practice our moves," she said.

I nodded, falling into step with her as she walked me through what she wanted: when to lift her, when to spin her around, when to step back. Simple enough for someone with my reflexes, but still, it was strange. The way she was acting, like this was completely normal, made me almost forget how out of the ordinary it really was. At least for my family. And we're freaking vampires.

Satisfied, Anya turned to Emmett and me, positioning us where she wanted us in the room. Then she looked at Alice and asked, "Do you think Edward would object if I'm on the piano? It's where I typically am."

Alice laughed, shaking her head. "Do you really care what Edward thinks?" She winked.

Anya grinned. "Good point." She gave a little nod, like she was deciding something, then walked over to the door. Opening it, she called out to the rest of the family, inviting them into the room.

I still had no idea what was happening or how we'd gotten roped into this. A duet with Edward had somehow become a whole production. Anya directed Carlisle, Esme, and Rosalie to the chairs she'd set up, while Edward made his way to the piano, shuffling through his sheet music. As he did, I heard Anya mutter under her breath, "Pretentious snob."

I blinked. What the hell, Anya? What was that about?

She joined Edward at the piano, leaning close to speak softly to him. "Play the opening section three times, then continue as normal," she instructed. Edward nodded, clearly caught up in the momentum of whatever this was turning into. Which I still couldn't quite believe was happening.

Anya turned to the family, a gleam in her eye. "When Chloé was starting her career, this particular song was giving her trouble. She asked Sophie and me for help, to breathe some life into it. I'm... shall we say, the Jasper equivalent in my family." She smiled at me briefly before continuing. "Of course, we agreed. We wanted Chloé to succeed. But then our brothers wanted to join in, and what started as a simple trio became a full Simms family production. So, with Alice, Jasper, Emmett and Edward's help, I give you our own version of Verdi's Nabucco: 'Va, Pensiero.'"

Before anyone could react, Anya moved to the piano. Instead of sitting at the bench, she hoisted herself on top, draping herself across it, legs stretched out behind her, head resting on her arms. She looked utterly at ease, like she belonged there, like this was just another day in her life.

Damn she was beautiful on that piano.

Edward's expression darkened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. He sat frozen, hands hovering over the keys as he stared at her. I could feel his irritation, like a ripple in the air—Edward, affronted that someone would dare lounge on his precious piano like it was a piece of common furniture. His fingers twitched, and his jaw clenched.

Oh, just go with it, bro, I thought at him, sending a wave of calm his way. It's all in good fun.

Edward shot me a look, a mix of frustration and reluctant acceptance, before finally placing his hands on the keys. He still seemed hesitant; his usual grace replaced with a stiffness that wasn't like him. When he still didn't begin, Anya raised her head and gave him a challenging look. "Your move, Maestro."

That seemed to snap him out of his daze. He positioned his hands over the keys and began to play. The opening notes of Va, Pensiero filled the room, soft and haunting. Anya lifted herself gracefully off the piano, her movements fluid and precise. I'd seen her sing and dance before, but this... this was different.

She was ethereal, every motion charged with emotion. Her voice flowed out, rich and clear, filling the room with the beauty of the Italian aria. The notes rose and fell, full of longing, and when she sang, it was like she became the song. The room felt alive with the energy she created.

As Anya moved, Alice mirrored her perfectly, the two of them weaving around each other with the grace of dancers who had rehearsed for years. Emmett and I followed the cues we'd been given, lifting Anya effortlessly, spinning her around as if she weighed nothing. We were just the background to the real show—Anya. Her voice was angelic, each word in perfect Italian, resonating with passion and sorrow.

And then she turned toward me, still singing, her eyes locking with mine. I was supposed to catch her as she leaped from the piano, to lift her high above my head. I felt the air catch in my throat, not because of the movements—I could do those with my eyes closed—but because of her. In that moment, she was more than just my Anya. She was a force of nature, and I was utterly, completely captivated. When she finally rolled herself off the piano and came toward me, I was breathless, a sensation that rarely touched me.

I caught her as planned, lifting her into the air as if she were weightless, her voice still soaring. Her fingers brushed against my neck, a whisper of a touch, but enough to send a thrill through me. I had to focus on the steps, on the timing, but my thoughts were filled with her voice, her presence, the intensity in her eyes.

As we danced, I could feel Edward's emotions pressing against my own, a mix of jealousy and desire swirling around him. He kept playing, his fingers moving over the keys with practiced ease, but his eyes flicked between the sheet music and Anya. I could sense the conflict within him—the admiration for her talent and envy I wasn't sure what the hell that was about.

The music swelled, and Anya moved back toward the piano, her voice reaching its peak. Alice spun beside her, matching her movements perfectly. Emmett and I stepped back, giving them space, watching as they brought the performance to its climax. Edward's playing intensified, his emotions a storm of conflicting feelings.

Finally, the music faded, Anya's voice softening to a whisper before it, too, trailed off. She stood by the piano, breathing lightly, her face flushed with the joy of performance. There was a moment of silence, the kind that hangs in the air when something extraordinary has just happened.

Then Carlisle began to clap, slowly at first, then with growing enthusiasm. Esme joined in, her eyes shining with pride. Rosalie nodded her approval, a small smile tugging at her lips. Even Edward, despite the jealousy still simmering under the surface, couldn't hide the admiration in his gaze.

Anya beamed, her eyes flicking to me, searching for my reaction. I couldn't help but smile back, my own pride and admiration flooding through me. I had known she was talented, but this... this was something else. She had managed to surprise even me.

Alice gave a playful bow, grinning as she straightened up. "Well, that was fun," she said, her tone light and teasing. "We should do that more often."

Emmett let out a booming laugh, clapping me on the back. "Not bad, huh? So, tell me, Anya, did Chloé nail the performance? And why were you draped over the piano?"

Anya laughed, still catching her breath, a light flush colouring her cheeks. "Oh, Chloé brought the house down, no question. As for me on the piano, that was Sophie's idea. She thought it would help Chloé focus, to help her overcome the distractions of the audience, lights, or technicians. Plus, Michel was jealous he couldn't be up there, but his voice was still cracking at the time, so hitting the high notes was tricky for him. Sophie had him dancing instead."

Carlisle, leaning back in his chair, looked genuinely interested. "How old were you when you gave this performance?"

Anya tilted her head, thinking for a moment. "Let's see… the twins were young teens then, so I must have been about twenty, give or take. There's a bit of an age gap between us."

Emmett raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "And you still remember that routine all these years later?"

Anya smiled, a playful glint in her eye. "Well, you don't truly forget leaping off a piano, now do you?"

During this entire exchange, I noticed Edward's gaze never left Anya's body. His eyes followed her every movement, his emotions rippling with a mix of desire and something that almost bled into longing. Fucker tried to mask it with a cool, detached expression but since I rarely felt longing from him it was very hard to miss. Add in the fact his fingers had tightened slightly on the piano keys, the subtle shift in his posture as if he were trying to…

Well, that's disgusting. Eddie Boy is sporting wood over Anya. Time to get her out of here.

I squeezed Anya's hand gently, catching her attention. She turned to me, her smile softening as she caught the look in my eyes. "Maybe we should head out," I suggested, keeping my voice low.

Anya nodded, understanding immediately. She turned to the room, her expression bright and warm. "Thank you all for indulging me," she said, her voice light. "It's been a pleasure sharing a bit of my family's history. But I think it's time for Tex and me to call it a night."

Carlisle stood, always the gracious host. "Thank you, Anya. That was truly remarkable. You've brought a wonderful energy to our home tonight."

"You're welcome here anytime, Anya," Esme nodded in agreement; her eyes soft with affection "you know that."

Anya smiled, giving them a small nod. "Thank you, Esme, Carlisle. I appreciate it."

We made our way to the door, with Emmett giving me a knowing look, his grin wide. "You two sure know how to put on a show," he said, winking at Anya.

"Only the best for you, Big Guy," Anya replied with a laugh.

Stepping outside, the cool night air washed over us, a welcome relief from the charged atmosphere inside. I kept my arm around Anya, guiding her toward the car, my senses still attuned to Edward's presence, making sure he stayed inside. Though with the wood he was sporting he probably didn't want to move, no doubt embarrassed Emmett might see it and say something to provoke him. Thank you, Emmett, for being a horn dog.

Once Anya was settled into the passenger seat and I had slid into the driver's side, I turned to say something, to reassure her or maybe just to hear her voice. "Anya?"

"Yeah, Tex?" she asked quietly.

"Eddie Boy was emoting feelings he shouldn't."

Anya looked at me for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she leaned back in her seat, closed her eyes. I felt it then—an overwhelming wave of boredom, so intense it felt like an assault. It washed over me, dulling my thoughts, making everything seem unimportant. I recognized what she was doing immediately. This wasn't real boredom; it was a shield. She'd done this before, back when we met the nomads in the spring, when she realized that my creator's plot was veering wildly off course.

Fucker should not be having the hots for my girlfriend.

I drove in silence, my mind raced, trying to piece together what could have caused this shift. Anya always said that this was a love story between Edward and Bella, one for tweens. I doubt Eddie Boy having the hots for someone other than Bella was according to script. Yet, Edward has been around Anya for months now and never shown a hint of desire towards her. Why now? What happened? What had caused Eddie Boy to see Anya as more than just Anya, as desirable? I mean I absolutely find her desirable but I'm not the hero of the book, Edward is.

I reached out, resting my hand over hers, feeling the slightest tremor beneath my fingers. "Anya," I said softly, careful not to push too hard.

She shook her head, her eyes wide and filled with a silent plea. She mouthed the word, "home."

She didn't want to risk saying anything until she was safely away from the Cullens, away from Edward. I nodded, understanding, and pressed my foot to the gas, driving faster. I reached her home in record time, parking the car in the garage. Without wasting a second, I whisked her out of the vehicle and into the house, moving at vampire speed through the backdoor.

Once inside, Anya headed straight for the kitchen, her movements quick and purposeful. She poured herself a large measure of wine, the clear liquid sloshing in the glass—she never drank red. Whether it was because she didn't like it or because it was too similar to what I drank—blood—I never knew and I never asked. She downed it in one gulp, her throat working as she swallowed. The glass clinked sharply against the counter when she set it down, then she turned, rushing into my arms, hugging me fiercely.

Her breath was warm against my ear as she whispered, "Please tell me that I misheard you when you said Heathcliff was emoting inappropriate feelings – attraction – towards me. Please tell me it's just the wine talking."

The panic in her voice was palpable, her fear raw and open. It tore at me to see her like this. But there were no secrets between us, not when it came to the things that mattered most. I led her over to the couch, guiding her to sit down. I sat beside her taking both of her hands in mine.

"No, you're not wrong," I said gently, keeping my voice steady even as my own emotions churned beneath the surface. "Eddie Boy was pushing out some serious hots-for-the-librarian vibes."

Anya's face crumpled, a mix of shock, disbelief, and something like betrayal flashing across her features. "But why? I don't understand. I've only ever been myself around him, around all of you. I never tried to—" She broke off, her voice catching.

"I know," I said, squeezing her hands, trying to reassure her. "You haven't done anything wrong. This isn't about you trying to seduce him or anything like that. It's Edward. You took him by surprise when you were on his piano and then with the dancing and singing."

Anya shook her head, her voice trembling. "I didn't mean to. I just... I wanted to have some fun, to show you all a little bit of my world."

"And you did," I said softly. "But Edward... he's not used to surprises. Not like this. You're different, Anya. You're... captivating."

She rolled her eyes, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "Ugh, and he's just a stunted 17-year-old boy with hormones. This is wildly off course. Edward should only be fighting his hormones with Bella."

"Wait, what?" I asked, taken aback. "Does Eddie want to go further with Bella?"

Anya gave me a pointed look, her eyebrows raised. "He's a damn teenager, Tex, regardless of the other aspects of him. Vegetarian or not, he's a teenager first. One with repressed morals. Ugh."

I blinked, processing what she was saying. Edward, who always put on that stoic, chivalrous front, was still driven by the same urges as any teenage boy. It wasn't something I'd ever really thought about—he was always so controlled, so sure of himself. But now, with Anya pointing it out, it made sense. And I did sense some lust from him at the Spring Formal back in May. His attraction tonight to Anya wasn't just about her talent or her charm. It was raw, instinctual. And as much as he tried to fight it, there it was.

"Okay, so Edward's got hormones. But he's still Edward. He wouldn't act on it, not with Bella in the picture. He's too... moral," I said, choosing my words carefully.

Anya mused over those words, a wry smile forming. "True, he is—much to Bella's annoyance. Right, I'll keep my distance and hope Bella charms him with her feminine wiles and he forgets about his brother's girlfriend." She turned to me and hugged me tightly. "Thanks for talking this through with me, Tex."

I hugged her back, feeling the tension leave her shoulders. "Of course, Anya. Now, can you answer something for me?"

She pulled back and looked up at me, her eyes curious. "I'm an open book, Tex. Ask away." She rose from the couch, kicked off her ballet flats, and headed into the kitchen. I followed her as she started to make herself some tea. I wanted to ask why she'd lied at dinner about her musical ability. After seeing her perform tonight and how her eyes lingered on the piano, it didn't add up. I stood in the doorway, watching her move around the kitchen, then wandered back into the living room. I flipped through her record collection, looking for something to play. My fingers eventually settled on a Ray Charles album.

Anya was leaning against the kitchen doorway, watching me, her mug in hand. "Tex?"

I walked over to her, pulling her into my arms, putting her mug on the side table. We started to sway to the music, moving our way around the living room. I realized that with Anya, honesty was always the best policy. "Anya, why did you lie about being able to play an instrument?"

She pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting mine. "You caught that, huh?"

"Well, since it's not something you do often, yeah. So why?"

I spun her out, then drew her back to me, holding her close. She was quiet for a moment, her gaze dropping to her mug on the side table. The music played softly in the background, filling the silence between us. Finally, she spoke. "Do you know much about Edward's ability to play?"

I frowned, considering her question. "I know he's good. Really good. He's been playing for over a century, after all. But I don't see what that has to do with you."

She swayed again, her voice thoughtful. "No, I mean his ability before, when he was, ahhh, not a teenager?"

Typical Anya, always sidestepping the word vampire, always dancing around the truth. I thought back, trying to recall what I knew. "Well, I believe he trained and was studious, practicing for hours a day. Again, what does that have to do with you?"

She hummed softly as I spun her again, and I felt her amusement bubbling under the surface. "Anya, what are you not telling me?"

She looked up at me, her eyes sparkling. "Chloé is the professional, a musical prodigy, but not the only one in the family. I started when I was five and can play anything by ear after hearing it once."

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting you're better than Edward?"

Anya smirked, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I'm not suggesting anything. I know I am. He made at least three mistakes tonight."

I stopped, holding her at arm's length, searching her face. "Three mistakes?" I repeated. Edward never made mistakes, especially not when it came to playing the piano.

She nodded, her expression turning serious. "He got distracted. Maybe it was because of me, maybe because of something else, but I could hear it. A missed note here, a hesitation there. He's good, Tex. His technique is flawless, but he lacks, dare I say, passion? He reminds me of Chloé at the start of her career—technically brilliant, but something's missing. He's... well, he's lifeless."

I blinked, trying to wrap my head around her words. My brother, who had played the piano for over a century, less talented than a concert pianist only fifteen years into her career? It didn't seem possible. Edward's playing had always been one of the things that defined him, that set him apart. To hear Anya say he was anything less than perfect was... validating. Fucker wasn't perfect!

"You're serious," I said, more a statement than a question.

"Dead serious," she replied, not a hint of doubt in her voice. "He plays like someone who's been trained to play perfectly, not like someone who feels the music. Chloé, when she started, she was all technique, no heart. She was amazing, but there was no soul in it. It's the difference between playing the notes and playing the song. Edward's got all the notes, but he's missing the song."

I thought about that, about how Eddie Boy played. He was always so precise, so controlled. It was his way—order and perfection. But Anya was right.

"He plays like he exists," I said quietly, more to myself than to her. "Controlled. Cautious."

Anya nodded. "Exactly. He doesn't let go. He's always holding back. I think it's because he's afraid of what happens if he doesn't. If he really feels it, he might lose control. And Edward's all about control."

I looked at her, amazed at how easily she understood Edward. But another question nagged at me. She'd said Chloé wasn't the only prodigy, that she was, too. But Anya never played. "Anya, are you... better than your sister?"

Anya laughed, a light, musical sound. "That's debatable. I have natural talent; Chloé's is natural but cultivated. She's had mentors, training, the whole deal."

"Then why did you go into academics?"

She kissed me lightly before answering, "Well, history—military history—is my true passion. But the answer is more simplistic than that. Migraines. Chronic migraines. They started when I was about twelve, and I'd be laid up for days. Between that and the drugs they had me on, I spent most of my teens high as a kite. I didn't have the discipline to follow through on my musical talent. Academia is considerably more forgiving."

I had trouble picturing Anya high, but I could see how that might make a career in music difficult. "Do you still play?"

Anya shrugged. "Well, I don't have a piano here, but yes, I had one at my apartment in Montréal—a nicer one than Eddie Boy's."

I sensed Anya's amusement, like she was holding back something else. I leaned in and kissed her, a slow, lingering kiss. "Anya, what else are you not telling me?" I finally asked her when I broke away from the kiss.

She smiled, her eyes dancing. "I don't require sheet music, and I mastered all of Verdi's works by the time I was ten. Oh, and I'm self-taught."

I stared at her, trying to process what she'd just said. Five years. She mastered an entire composer's work in five years. Shit. She was better than Edward. Now I understood why she hadn't mentioned it at dinner. Edward would have stomped off to brood in his room if he found out a lowly human was better than him.

"Damn, Anya," I said, shaking my head in disbelief. "You're... incredible."

She smiled, a touch of pride in her eyes. "I don't play for recognition, Tex. I play because I love it. And besides, I wouldn't want to bruise Edward's ego. Let him have his stage. I'm happy with mine."

I pulled her close, feeling the warmth of her body against mine. She was right. There was no need to make waves, no need to show off. Anya's confidence came from within, not from what others thought. That was just one of the many things I loved about her.

"You really are something else," I murmured, kissing her again. "My musical prodigy, my history buff. How did I get so lucky?"

Anya grinned, wrapping her arms around my neck. "I think we're both pretty lucky, Tex. Now, are we going to keep talking, or are you going to take me to bed?"

I didn't need to be asked twice. I flipped her over onto my back, a move I knew delighted her and raced upstairs to her bedroom where I tumbled us onto her bed, kissing her deeply, my hands busily unraveling her twisted coil of braids pinned at the nape of her neck as she busied her hands with my clothes.

It was a triple header that night and not once did Anya fall off the bed.

A/N #1: In 1901, When Verdi died, during his funeral procession in the streets of Milan, Italy the crowds spontaneously began to sing Va, Pensiero. He had composed this song after his wife and children had died of illness. He pulled lines from Psalm 137, in particular Oh my country, so beautiful and lost. It's alternatively known as The Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves. While La Donna è Mobile is probably the song most people associate with Verdi, Va, Pensiero may arguable be more famous within Italy itself as it was often used as a political anthem for unification and to free the country from foreign control during the mid 19th century.

A/N#2: When I drafted this chapter, I liked the idea of Anya having a musical talent that was better than Edward's. She had told Jasper in the Spring on a few occasions that her family moved in literary and musical circles. Then I fell down the rabbit hole of reddit and learned about 'Mary Sue's'. And okay, it's feasible some readers may think Anya is a Mary Sue; but I do know several individuals (including family members) who do have the musical talent Anya has – self-taught, able to play a song perfectly after hearing it only once. That being said, Anya shared with Jasper (Chapter 25 of Left of Normal) that her family (who are big into the arts) teased her for being about all things military/history that she doesn't need to share her musical talent. Her true passion is military history, she's a bit of the black sheep of the family. Yes, she can sing and dance, but give Anya a cache of letters from WWII and she'll forget all about music and dive right into that! Plus, I just like the idea of Anya needling Edward – annoying stunted idiot man-child.

A/N#3: I did Google to see if Al Capone was a philander and indeed he was. He had several well known mistresses when he was a Chicago Crime Boss from 1925-1931. This would fit the timeline of Great Aunt Anya getting cozy with the gangster and still writing her book for Carlisle to have heard her give a reading at the end of the 1920s as I believe he was in the New York region around that time.