Tale V : Foray | PART III

SOMEDAY, IN THE FUTURE

[PART III: Outside Looking In]

Fresh out of my relaxing shower I make my way into my bedroom, dropping my damp towel onto the wooden floor at the foot of the bed, and begin rummaging through my husband's drawers in search of my favorite nightshirt, which is actually his. It's white, old, soft from one too many washes and near-transparent because of it, too, and sporting a hole that, on me, showcases my navel invitingly.

"Aha!" I exclaim triumphantly as I finally find it. I knew I had washed it! I have been looking for the shirt nonstop for the past two nights to no success and a lot of bickering between my husband and me. And no wonder I only managed to find it today, since I found it on the drawer that's only supposed to hold his socks.

Really. I roll my eyes at the irony, but a smile still graces my lips. I should have just looked where the shirt isn't supposed to be in the first place, I think. That's what happens when I let him fold and put away his own laundry, I got no one to blame but myself.

Next, I search my drawers for some underwear and end up putting on a comfy black cotton number, which I put on immediately. After a short moment of debating whether or not to wear a bra, I opt not to and pull the night shirt over my head. Now I'm almost ready for the night ahead.

Humming to myself, I deftly pass a comb through my damp hair and stare at my reflection, beaming from ear to ear. I can't help it. The bliss I feel inside, buzzing through every pore of my five feet, eight-inch body, is a tangible thing. Almost palpable, it radiates from my body, aglow in the twin irises of my jovial eyes.

That's right, I remember, I'm the luckiest woman alive.

How did I get so lucky? I sigh contentedly.

Every day I get to wake up next to my husband or to the giggling of our children, I feel like I'm dreaming or living in an alternate reality that only allows for happy endings. It just seems so unreal that I keep myself in a state of constant denial. When everything I experience in a day to day basis seems and feels like make believe, can you blame me?

My life, for the past seven years, has been nothing but surreal. A real-life fairytale if you will. Who would have thought…? I muse as I pad down the hardwood hallway to check on the twins barefooted. Stopping just beside the nursery door, I hear my husband's distinct voice telling our son and daughter something that I can't quite make out. I try to listen in and make heads or tails out of his words, but can't quite make it out, since the very sound of him and his voice leads me to decadent distraction...

Okay, I'll admit, even after seven years of marriage and two kids, I still can't wrap my head around the visceral effect his low, husky voice has over my body. Regardless of the volume or tone of his voice or when, like now, he's simply whispering… it's like he can make the most innocent of conversations into something obscene and wondrously sensual.

Like now, somewhere in the back of my once innocent mind I know he's telling our children an innocuous bedtime story, since it's Saturday and his night to tuck them in. However, I can't really help it as my mind meanders, and I start remembering what that mouth and silver tongue of his is capable of doing during our most intimate moments, my body remembers, too…

Whimpering, I shake my head to rid myself of his heady temptation. Smirking, I come back to the here and now. Just in time, too. Otherwise, I might have done something embarrassing in front of our poor, innocent children and scarred them for life. Not that he would protest. No, he'd take it in stride, audience or no audience. It wouldn't even register to him, that we're doing something 'inappropriate' in front of our kids.

Chuckling darkly, I weigh my options and consider… Aghast, I mentally slap myself. Mind out of the gutter!

Again, I realize I still haven't found out what bedtime story he's been telling the kids since he took charge of the twins and I went to freshen up. All I know is that whatever it is he's been telling them makes our daughter coo with delight and our son make a disgusted sound. A sound he only makes when kissing girls that are not his sister or his mamma are involved. He's still going through the cooties stage, you know.

Taking a breath, I poke my head through the door, followed by my body, and my breath catches as my husband continues to talk to our children while smiling at me cockily, like he knows what I've been thinking before I revealed myself. Amazing thing is, he probably does. Yeah, I know, it sounds impossible, but I have my reasons behind this suspicion and past experiences that might just backup my theory. I smile at him coquettishly, feeling myself blush.

Soon after, however, my bashful smile is replaced by a smug one as I see within the tempest of his eyes that he is waging a war with himself as his gaze hungrily takes in what I'm wearing and not wearing. In that instant it is quite evident that he wants me as much as I want him. Something I know because he loves me wearing this sheer shirt of his as much as I love wearing it just to have him take it off my body, be it in a hurry or tortuously slowly. (After all, it is his fault the shirt now has a hole…) But in the end, being a father outweighs the outcome. Oblivious to my presence, our children have their backs to the door and are looking at their father with looks of expectancy, winning him over and tampering his desire for me temporarily. Having passed the test of self-control I just put him through, my husband stays put and focuses his attention on the twins once more.

Seated on a rocking chair between the twin's two full beds, he dives back into his story without further delay and I love him for it as the children remain enraptured in the tale they've been hearing. In fact, I'm the one who has to restrain herself as my want for him escalates and reaches its near climax as the blatant knowledge of how much our kids, our treasures, mean to him completely turns me on. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye and I hold his gaze, providing him with a sultry, beguiling look that has him faltering in his next words when I bite my lower lip.

Reading the question in his eye, I humor him and put my palm up, wiggling my fingers to signal that he has another five minutes with the little ones before bedtime. With difficulty, I pass by the nursery door en route to the kitchen, still unnoticed by the children and feel his eyes checking me out, specially my ass. I wiggle it, chuckling as I go.

He's momentarily distracted and loses his train of thought.

"Daddy!" I hear our son and daughter protest in unison, their voices carrying down the hall and confirming my suspicions.

"Why did you stop talking?" our daughter further demands.

"Sorry," he clears his throat, saying, "Where was I?"

I chuckle, shaking my head as I round the corner, and their chatter falls out of earshot.

Making haste, I smile at all the family pictures and magnets adorning the door to the fridge and open its door, pulling the milk and homemade whipped cream out. Shutting the door with my foot, I place everything on the counter near the microwave and rummage around the cabinets for four mugs and a tray. Next, I look through the kitchen pantry and get out the cocoa and mini marshmallows, and going into my condiment's cabinet, I pull aside the cinnamon and almond extract. Everything one needs to make killer hot chocolate.

Pouring the milk into the mugs, I realize that I'm not up for warming each mug individually. Shrugging, I put the four mugs into the microwave and hope that four and a half minutes is enough to get all that milk warmed up. I wait and once the beeping starts, I take out the mugs, set them on the tray and get to work.

Glancing at the kitchen wall clock, I note it is eight forty-five. Meaning, the twins have fifteen minutes to drink their hot chocolate and brush their teeth before turning in, in order to be fast asleep by nine thirty, their bedtime. Nothing better to help them knockout like hot chocolate before bed. Pouring a drop of almond extract, followed by two generous spoonsful of cocoa, mix it together, swirl a giving amount of whipped cream on top, and sprinkle the cinnamon over to give it the final touch. It's a masterpiece.

Admiring my handiwork, I smile and gather the tray, heading back to the nursery. We've been trying to separate the twins lately, but it's been practically impossible, since they've been sharing everything since birth. Therefore, we reached an agreement with them. If they manage to sleep in their separate rooms during the week, they can share the guest room (the nursery really) during the weekend, which has two separate twin beds. So far, it's been working for us.

"Knock, knock," I say, smiling and entering the nursery, while avoiding my husband's searing gaze. "Time for hot chocolate." And not a distraction.

"Mommy!" my children squeal delightedly as they turn to face me, jumping excitedly on their beds. My husband and I chuckle at their antics. "Chocolate, hot chocolate!" they chant, fists pumping the air at intervals.

"Carlisle, Esme," I say in a light warning and put the tray of mugs on the night table between them. "What has Mommy said about jumping on the bed?"

"Only on weekends!" Carlisle responds cheekily and jumps with more vigor. It takes all of me not to laugh as I notice their father trying to hide his chuckles behind his palm. Still, I manage to give them the look, the one that says, 'Mommy is not in the mood for jokes right now.'

"That we don't jump on our beds," Esme mutters. With a pout, they cave and settle down. My husband mouths a silent 'Wow' of admiration that makes me blush and winks, smirking because he knows he still has that something that makes me breathless.

"Very good, Esme," I say, going over to her and presenting her with a green mug of hot chocolate.

"Hey!" Carlisle pouts in protest, instantly feeling neglected.

"Since you're such a good girl you get your hot chocolate first," I point out. Carlisle sulks.

"Yay, my favorite!" exclaims Esme, glancing triumphantly at her brother. He glares. She sticks her tongue out at him and Carlisle looks away, embarrassed. He's inherited my blushing habits, apparently. Remembering her manners, Esme adds, "Thank you, Mommy."

"You're welcome sweetheart…" I kiss the crown of her head. She blushes. Her father, still seated on the rocking chair and totally checking me out as I bend, and undressing me with his eyes, chuckles. Now, I blush and swat at him as I grab Carlisle's mug next.

"Here you are little man," I chuckle, handing him his hot chocolate in a red mug and ruffle his hair.

"Thank you, Mommy," he says sheepishly, peering at me from under his lashes.

"Any time, sweetheart," I tell him, and he surprises me by initiating a kiss of his own accord, pecking me on the cheek with a coy giggle.

��Just make sure that the next time you want to try and be funny, it won't be in a manner that is disrespectful of your momma. Remember to think over your words before you say them, okay, Carlisle?" my husband chastises gently as I hand him his hot chocolate on a chocolate and powder blue mug. I love how he backs me up. "Same goes for you, too, Esme, understood?"

"Yes Daddy," Carlisle answers demurely and Esme echoes.

"Very good. Now, apologize to your momma."

I turn to look at my son as his father watches him fidget. He looks at me, lip pouting, and eyes tearing up. It breaks my heart to see him like this, but he needs to learn so I harden my heart just enough to not give in to his look. I wait.

"Sorry Mommy," whispers Carlisle, looking at me with an aggrieved expression and whipping at the tears falling down his rosy cheeks. He then looks over for approval at his sister, Esme, who I note is nodding encouragingly to him and she smiles.

"I know you are baby," I say. He looks back at me to find me smiling lovingly. He smiles in return. "I forgive you. I just hope you won't behave like that again, okay?"

"Promise I won't do it again," he vows adorably. "I love you Mommy."

"I know baby." I hug him, saying, "And I love you too."

"What about me Mommy?" asks Esme coyly, pouting.

"What do you think?" I ask her, walking over and up to her bed. Taking her green mug, I put it on her night table and turn to her once more, tickling her mercilessly. She squeals, trying to squirm away from my tickling fingers.

"You love me!" she shrieks in a fit of giggles through the tickles.

"And don't you forget it!" I hand her mug back to her. "Here you go."

"What about me?" I hear my husband's baritone ask suggestively and I note that he is no longer rocking his chair.

"Yeah, Mommy, what about Daddy?" asks Esme.

"Yeah, what about Daddy?"

Glancing over my shoulder at my husband, I catch him staring intently at me through hooded eyes that barely conceal his bedroom eyes and a smirk that should be illegal. Instantly, my body reacts as I feel my skin Braille in anticipation of his decoding touch and my nipples tighten before becoming stiff, eager peaks, and I'm thankful that I at least had the forethought to wear panties for once.

"You," I say slowly, licking my lips slowly and meaningfully. "I adore you."

The minute descent and ascent of his Adam's apple tells me his eyes didn't miss anything. He sees right through me and the effects he has over my body, which belongs to him. As true as that is, the same can be said for me and his body, I own his body. If I were to allow myself to take into account how white his knuckles have become, I'd say he's gripping that armrest a little too tightly and that's a dead giveaway of my effect on him.

"Not as much as I adore you," he whispers lowly. I shiver from the untold promises his tone holds. "Hmm…" he hums in appreciation. I bite my lip, trying very hard not to moan in front of our children. The children laugh and their laughter sounds like it is coming from miles away.

"That's something that can be discussed…" I mumble, full of implications, "later."

"I love Daddy too!" says Carlisle.

He shifts on his seat uncomfortably, noticing the path of my gaze checking him out. As I take in his PJ's, black cotton pants, which are starting to look slightly tight on him, and a soft white tee, he sips his hot chocolate and continues to stare at me over the brim of the mug. Grabbing my own warm mug in my hands and taking a sip, I leer secretly. Glancing at our kids, I note that they are oblivious to our exchange.

"But I love Daddy more!" contests Esme.

"Nuh-uh!"

"Uh-huh!"

"Well, I know for a fact that your daddy loves you both, equally," I say before things escalate.

"Your momma is right," says their father, sounding slightly breathless.

I think I'll tease him a little more…

"As soon as you're done with your hot chocolates, I want you two to go brush your teeth and get ready for bed," I inform my two angels. "It's almost time for lights out."

"Aww… Mommy!" The twins pout in protest, making me smile. "But Daddy hasn't finished our bedtime story…" I glance at my husband and notice that he's pouting along with them. The three of them look adorable. "Ten more minutes, please?"

"What's this?" I ask. Taking their mugs and placing them on the tray as they hand them over and lick their lips, looking content. "You guys are sure being stubborn tonight," I observe. Curious as to what story he's been telling them.

"Mommy!" they protest in turn, giggling, as I take a moment to tackle and tickle them, while I make sure to expose more of my thighs than necessary. Their daddy watches with a devilish smile on his face and a hunger for me in his eyes. He knows exactly what I'm doing and he's enjoying it, willing victim that he is. I concentrate on Carlisle and Esme, trying not to lose focus, though he is clearly making it difficult as he adjusts himself.

"Now, what do you say?" I tease, still tickling them mercilessly.

"Ten more minutes!" they beg.

"Yeah, baby." I can hear the smirk on his voice. "Ten more minutes?" I ignore him. Carlisle and Esme giggle, glad that their Daddy is on their side or so they think. This kind of foreplay is something else their father and I like to play. Needless to say, I'm game if he is.

"What kind of bedtime story has Daddy been telling you two to make you both so stubborn?" I huff suspiciously. They glance at their father, grinning, and, as I glance at my husband, he is also grinning. Suuuuuuuuspicious. I raise a questioning brow. He has this look…

"Daddy's and your story, Mommy!" gushes Esme, finally confessing after another round of merciless tickling.

"Our story now, is it…" I muse, staring at my husband lovingly.

"They wanted to hear it," he explains in a voice that lacks any of the previous innuendo. Staring back at me with a similar gaze, he shrugs, smiling. I love him.

"Yeah!" Carlisle confirms, explaining happily, "Nana and Ai told us it was the best story EVER!"

"Did they now…" I should have known those two where behind this.

"Uh-huh!"

Absent mindedly brushing a hand over my exposed navel and bringing my husband's attention to the rip, he takes a double take and groans.

"What's wrong Daddy?" Esme asks, full of concern. "Does your tummy hurt?"

"Yeah, what's wrong, Daddy?" I ask innocently.

"No, sweetheart," he replies contritely. "Daddy just…" he trails off, stealing another glance at me and staring from the rip on the navel of his shirt and down to my thighs. I squirm as his gaze shifts to the apex between my thighs and he subconsciously licks his lips, shuffling on my feet. "Tired."

Right. I stifle a giggle and his eyes darken deliciously.

"Oh…" Esme sounds disappointed.

"Come here," my husband beckons to me in a low growl that only I can distinguish, and I know his patience is growing thin. I smirk and sashay slowly over to him, making sure the gentle glow of the lamps catches my form as I pass them.

"Don't worry, Esme, Daddy can stay up all night if it's for you both…"

He gasps, his eyes dilating, Adam's apple quivering, and his knuckles whitening from trying too hard not to snatch me off my feet and having his wicked way with me right here and right now. It worked, I think, giddy. Not only is this old shirt soft, it's practically see-through, indecently so. Meaning, I just gave my husband a peep show that showcased and silhouetted everything he already knows he owns but can't touch right now.

"Awesome!" I hear Carlisle say.

As I stand before him, my husband lets out a shaky breath and reaches out a trembling hand to caress my exposed navel that's been teasing him for a long time now. Like always, the shock of his touch, skin to skin, makes me sway and makes his thoughts more than a little muddled.

I shake my head, reminding him that we are not alone. None too gently, he takes both of his hands and places them at my waist, turning me around, and effectively bringing me down onto his awaiting lap. He twitches under me as the weight of me settles on him and he grounds me to him. I gasp.

"We'll get to finish the story…" Esme's voice falls indistinct to the background.

"You're such a tease," he whispers with a strained voice in my ear and kisses my shoulder, then nibbles it, breath hot and heavy. "So immodest and tempting..." I shiver. God only knows how much more self-control I have left before I jump him and show him how immodestly wet and ready for him I am. "Have I told you that I love you today?"

"Only if Mommy says it's okay." Carlisle reminds his sister.

"You haven't," I tease quietly. Shaking my head, I giggle, feeling my skin Braille under the warmth of his lips and my eyes close for a fraction of a second. I feel his warm breath at my ear and shiver, before he kisses it and nibbles it, too.

"Well, I love you, Mrs. Whitlock," he whispers fervently, causing me to tremble as I feel his left hand caressing my thigh. Instantly, I'm breathless and so is he as he places the right hand that's been itching to explore my exposed stomach over my navel once again. I start opening up to him and suddenly, I remember our children are present and they've been talking around us. This isn't the right time to lose myself to my husband or to be tempted by him.

"I hope mommy says it's okay…" says Esme.

"Stop it, Jasper," I chastise, swatting his hand away. He chuckles and groans silently as I ground myself against him, causing him to bury his face against the nook of my neck to pray for some control.

"Woman, I need you…" He confesses, voice as husky as smoke.

"Incorrigible," I whimper. Focus, focus… I need to focus.

"And where did Daddy leave off, before I came in?" I ask my kids in an attempt not to jump my husband and distract myself. "Later," I whisper to my husband.

"Later won't come too soon…" he pouts, behaving only slightly.

Esme jumps off her bed and decides to join her Daddy and I on the rocking chair, instead of answering. As I gather her in my arms and set her on my lap, Jasper holds on tight to my waist with both hands. The added weight of Esme is really not helping the situation, I note with a smirk. In response, Jasper grips me tighter with the hand that's been slowly inching its to the inside of my thighs.

Esme then turns around on my lap, placing her two little hands over my cheeks and giving me a peck on the lips, smiling. "I love you mommy."

"Not fair," I hear Jasper mumble, his fingertips doodling circles on my oversensitive skin. Esme giggles, having heard her father, and kisses me again. Jasper starts to complain again but I elbow him before he can finish his sentence. He pouts against my neck, still buried there, and kisses my nape again after a moment of consideration.

"Daddy was taking you to the dance!" Esme finally answers, burying her little hands in my hair. I frown. Was it at the wedding? But that seemed unlikely. Esme pushes her Daddy away as she attempts to hog me for herself."

"Hey, I was here first…" complains Jasper.

"But I love Mommy more!" Esme giggles at her father and Carlisle comes over, trying to join us on the rocking chair, too. Noticing, Esme shifts to my right and leaves room for her brother on my left, which he instantly occupies.

"There's no way," Jasper argues.

"That's right, Esme," Carlisle puts in, wrapping an arm over my shoulder and kissing me on the lips, too. "I love Mommy more!"

"Inconceivable!" says Jasper, trying to kiss me on the lips as well, but his attempts are thwarted by our little spawns as they shield my lips or his with their hands, giggling all the way. And so, the argument goes, with some more tickling involved.

Then, I remember a particularly memorable dance when I was eight and Jasper was fourteen. I blush lightly at the recollection; I used to be such a silly child then. As if sensing my thoughts, Jasper chuckles. I elbow him again.

"Ouch!" he complains loudly and exaggeratedly. "Esme and Carlisle, you're both heavy and hurting Daddy…"

"No, I'm not!" Esme argues, laughing and Carlisle joins her, saying, "We're not!"

"So which dance?" I ask.

"The one from when you were eight," Carlisle says, confirming my guess. Craning my neck, I glare at my husband.

"What?" he asks defensively, pouting. "They asked."

He looks so damn adorable, I think resentfully. I sigh. He steals a kiss and I swoon. Damn him to an eternity with me… I giggle maliciously.

"You, Mr. Whitlock, are in big trouble for this," I inform him. He has the decency to pretend to look ashamed and looks away, but not before I catch sight of that smirk!

"Ooooh," Carlisle and Esme coo. "Daddy's in trouble."

"So…" I say, glancing between my kids. "Do you want Mommy to tell you her side of the story?"

"Yes!" Carlisle says with glee and Esme echoes it.

"Okay…" I agree. After all, it's a Saturday and staying up after their bedtime hours for one night won't hurt them. "Just this once you get to stay up later than usual."

"Yay!" they celebrate, jumping right out of my arms the next instant and running in circles around the rocking chair ecstatically.

"But you've got to brush your teeth first," I wager. "And you've got to listen to Mommy when she says it's lights out once the story is over. Is that understood?" They nod and hasten to comply, leaving the room in a flurry of giggles and silliness as they race to the bathroom. I love my family, I think, snuggling deeper onto my husband's lap.

"You never cease to amaze me," Jasper admits after a moment of silence and particularly good behavior.

"I would hope…" I whisper, feeling myself blush as his left hand skims the underside of my breast. "Hmm..." I hum contently and Jasper echoes it with his own of appreciation.

"We are back!" Carlisle announces, jumping into his bed and startling us. Jasper's hands quickly drop to more innocent places and caresses.

"Ready?" I ask as Esme settles into her bed with more decorum than her twin brother and Jasper goes back to working circles over my hips, slightly distracting me. They nod, warmly settled under their covers. "Here we go… Well, your Mommy couldn't believe her eyes! Her Prince Charming had come to her ball, just like he promised he would, if a little late…"

"She still won't let that one go," Jasper huffs.

"Hush, Daddy," Esme hushes indignantly.

"Mommy's speaking," Carlisle finishes looking over at his father with great disapproval before focusing back on me.

"Manners!" I tease, swatting at his thigh and biting my lip to stop myself from chuckling.

"Sorry," mumbles Jasper, pretending to look like an aggrieved and chastised child.

"As Mommy was saying before Daddy so rudely interrupted…"

Jasper: *Cough… cough*

________________________________________

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SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 13

BELLA'S POV

Mommy and Daddy lied when they said that Prince Charming was really, really coming to my ball, I conclude, and the thought makes me really upset and sad. Disappointed, I look around for Prince Charming once more and still see that he isn't her and that confirms that the only explanation I have for my Prince not being here yet is that both my parents are liars. Lip trembling, I look down at myself; I dressed up in this big, stupid dress that I don't like and agreed to this ball for nothing...

Mommy and Daddy are big, fat liars and I hate this. I hate this! I can't help it, I start to cry as my heart feels stuffy and uncomfortable as I keep staring at the stupid, fluffy dress I'm wearing and feel ridiculous. I hate this! Now big, fat tears slide down my cheeks hot and fast as I open my mouth, wailing with frustration. Doesn't matter that I hate to cry or that I'm a bigger girl now, I can't help it as the tears continue to flow uncontrollably.

Daddy and Mommy start fretting all around me, trying to get me to calm down and telling me more lies, saying that he is coming, but is running late. Liar! Insulted, I sit on the ground and start kicking my legs wildly as Mommy and Daddy worry overhead, saying I'm having a tantrum episode as if I couldn't hear them, but I ignore them and pretend not hear, since I don't want to listen to them or their lies any more. What hurts me most is that I'm used to Mommy, Renée, lying to me but never Daddy, Daddy always told me the truth about everything and never lied before.

"Liar!" I accuse, pointing at Daddy and that makes him look really hurt and flustered. "He's not really coming, is he?" I cry.

"Did you really call him, like I told you?" demands Mommy, accusing Daddy.

"Of- of course," Daddy defends, flustered, and upset. I hate it when they fight. I cry harder.

"This is all your fault, Charles Swan!"

"How is this any of my fault?" Daddy refutes. "I spoke to kid and he promised he would come, end of story. If he doesn't come today, that's on him, but I'll be sure to find him later and give him a piece of my mind."

"Stop fighting! I hate it!" I cry, shielding my ears, but Mommy doesn't listen.

"Ugh!" Renée exclaims in disgust. "Men! Always thinking that the way to solving things is to use their fists. The end all!"

"You know what?" Daddy nearly roars. "You take care of this, Renée! Call me back when you've stopped accusing me, like always, and I might just show up!"

"Fine! Leave!" hollers Renée after Daddy's retreating form. She then turns to me, lowering her voice and sweetly saying, "Sweetheart, everything will be all right. You'll see, he'll come."

Shaking my head, I shrink back from her touch, unwilling to believe Mommy's words. Thinking about it like a big girl, I really, really want to calm down and have a good time, like Angie and everyone else is doing but for some reason I can't, and it frustrates me. So, I continue to cry as I watch everyone else around me having fun. As I watch, I realize something… Though I didn't want this party in the first place, now that I'm watching everyone have fun it does seem like a lot of fun and this whole thing is beginning to win me over.

Even Edward and Jacob are having fun, even after saying that parties for girls couldn't be as fun as parties for boys, though not so much now. They are both looking over at me from a respectable distance, pouting and looking like they might start crying because I'm crying. For some reason I don't get, they really hated to see me cry. Boys are so weird. Still, the observation gives me some comfort and I try smiling at them to show that I'm okay, but only more tears came out.

Embarrassed, my face crumbles and I hide from them, shrinking into the layers of tulle of my puffy dress, which I hated a minute ago but now think it might not be such a bad dress after all. Suddenly there's some kind of commotion and I look up curiously. As if he magically appeared, there is this really big, big guy shouting and trying to get everyone's attention, but he isn't Prince Charming.

Deflating with disappointment once more into the layers of tulle, I am about to ignore him when I hear the magic words that come out of his mouth, saying, "Prince Jasper Charming". At these words I find myself bolting up-right and searching for my Prince amongst the crowd with eager eyes, still coming up short. And then, as if by another act of magic, I see him step out of nowhere and into sight.

Astonished, I gasp, and everyone else does so with me, at least I think they do. Suddenly, it's all too much and too sudden and I feel as if I'm in a dream, breathless and lightheaded with giddy wonderment. I can't breathe and I can't blink, otherwise, Prince Charming might disappear just as suddenly as he appeared, and I don't want that to happen.

"Bella, darling, are you okay?" I hear Daddy and Mommy ask, but I can't speak and so I do the only thing I can do, I ignore them and follow Prince Charming's every move with my eyes entirely focused on him. My Prince is coming closer and closer… Holding my breath, still, I watch him… Within moments, he suddenly stops a few steps away from me. I gasp with a rush of air and inhale sharply.

My eyes are swimming in tears by now from not allowing myself to breathe properly for such a long time. I didn't know I could even hold my breath for so long! Blushing, I realize too late that my Prince just said or asked me something and I didn't listen to a word of it so, I take a few heavy, unsteady steps that bring me closer to him. The need to reassure myself that I'm not dreaming and that he is here at my ball for real a near compulsion that puppeteers my body forward without my say-so.

"Prince Charming?" I finally ask breathlessly.

Prince Charming nods and I tremble with joy as Angela along with every single one of the girls from my class gasps as one. Remembering every single movie about Princesses I've ever seen and how they greet royalty in them, I smile broadly at my Prince and curtsy to him in greeting, feeling glad and relieved when my clumsiness doesn't cause me to fall over for once. Elated by my struck of luck, I notice that my doing so surprises him and I feel slightly smug about it.

Sure, I am a commoner, but I have manners and, more importantly, I read! I know how to behave before royalty. Still, feeling shy I shuffle under his scrutiny. However, he just grins brilliantly at me, causing my heart to skip a beat as he dazzles me that smile.

"I'm here to accept your cordial invitation to your grand ball, Princess Swan," he tells me. He called me Princess Swan, oh my GOD! I realize, squealing with glee inside and only feeling slightly overwhelmed. "I hope I'm not too late and that I'm still invited." With that, he bows elegantly at the waist, returning my curtsy gracefully.

I think I'm blushing again, but mainly I'm thinking of what to say to him in answer. What would be an appropriate way to tell a Prince that, yes, even though I was crying because he was late, I'm okay with it? Then, a light bulb turns on in my head and I have my answer. Shaking my head at my own silliness, I stare up at him again.

"You're just in time," I tell him with a smile, "Thank you for coming!"

After that, all chaos broke loose and Daddy wasn't be nice to Prince Charming because I decided to go over to hug him and tripped while running, like I always do, I should have known better, really, and ended up kissing Prince Jasper Charming on the lips! Eek! After forcing Daddy into being nice to Prince Jasper Charming and defending him, I am so mortified that I can't even look him in the eyes and decide to go into hiding in the spur of the moment.

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When I was four and my parents were going through their ugly divorce, I discovered this clearing right behind Daddy's house that has a little stream with running water and everything. Now, every time I want to escape their arguments or cry without anyone finding out, I come there to what I now call my Secret Garden. The only thing is, after a while of hiding here, someone eventually wandered into my Secret Garden while I was crying one time and we became fast friends within moments.

This mysterious friend helped me dry my tears on the day we met, to my surprise, and gave me some hope when I felt there was none. His name is Petey and he was six at the time, now he is turning ten in October and is my bestest friend. Yes, even though he is a boy and boys are yucky, Petey is an exception to the boys' rule. For the longest time, this place was his and my secret, up until I decided to ask Petey if it would be okay to introduce Angela to our Secret Garden and once he agreed, I brought her to see it during one of our many sleepovers.

About a year or so after, Jacob and Edward followed us to the garden without our say-so, which I was furious about at the time, and they were also in on the secret afterward, though I didn't talk to them for months after intruded in our garden. I really hated them knowing about our Secret Garden for the longest time, but eventually, Angie convinced me to let it go and they also showed me they were good at keeping secrets, so we came to a truce and made peace with each other and never talked about the wrongs they did again. All was forgiven.

Besides, as Angie pointed out, they only visit on special occasions, and only then do they have the chance to see our Secret Garden. And so, we four made a pact, promising that none of them are ever allowed into our Secret Garden without me. The only one allowed to be in the Secret Garden without me is Petey, though, since that garden is as much his as it is mine. Also, no one else, other than the five of us, is allowed to know about the Secret Garden. Especially not the adults!

All of us reverently kept our pact, until today. Surprisingly, it is Angela who broke it! Without my agreeing, Angela brought Prince Jasper Charming into our Secret Garden. The moment I saw the two of them entering our Secret Garden together, I wanted to be angry at her for bringing him here without warning me about it and throw a hissy fit, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. It felt good, having Prince Jasper know about our Secret Garden.

However, though I thought so, Jake and Edward were another story and they vehemently didn't agree to Prince Jasper being let in on our well-kept secret of so many years. Especially when they heard him agreeing to keep it a secret without my having to ask or say anything. Now there were six in the know. Petey, Angela, Jacob, Edward, Prince Jasper, and myself.

So, after much argument between my friends and me, I couldn't believe my ears when Prince Jasper told me we should go back to my party because I still owed him a dance. Even though I hate dancing with a passion, since I've never been good at it during my ballet lessons, I couldn't refuse his invitation. Instead, I found myself agreeing to give him my first dance. Since Prince Jasper was the one asking for a dance, after all, I had to suck it up.

And that is how I now find myself on the dance floor, in the arms of my Prince Jasper, and stepping on his toes with not a care in the world, swaying ecstatically to the song of Once Upon a December from the movie Anastasia. It is as if nothing else matters and we are the only two people in the world. I never want this feeling to end, even if I have to put up with being the center of attention for the rest of this lifetime, something I would hate under normal circumstances.

How great would it be if this dance could go on forever? Just as the thought crosses my mind, I feel a probing tap on my shoulder and a familiar voice reaches my ears, asking:

"May I have this next dance?"

Naturally, my initial reaction is to turn and glare at whomever it is that wants to interrupt my perfect moment with my Prince and give them a piece of my mind. However, all thoughts of being a total brat leave me when I do turn and meet the all too familiar, smiling blue-gray eyes of my most beloved friend.

"You!" I gasp, feeling breathless.

"Hi, Bella, it's been a while." It had. Nearly six months! Disentangling myself from my Prince, I squeal gleefully and jump, catapulting myself straight into the waiting arms of the one someone I hadn't dreamed of expecting to show up at my birthday party and hug him fiercely. Just like I knew he would, he catches me readily and hugs me back just as fiercely if a little breathless.

"Petey!" I coo with glee into his ear, nearly making him go deaf, but he doesn't mind.

"I'm glad to see you too, Bella," he chuckles, blushing lightly at my nickname for him. He hates it and I know it. Naturally, I tease him by continuing to call him Petey. I giggle. "How many times do I have to beg you to call me Peter?"

"No way, nuh-uh," I say stubbornly. "To me, you'll always be Petey... Petey!"