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My Valentine?

A series of one-shots of what various couples of Twilight have done on this oh-so beautiful holiday of Valentine's Day. Quil and Claire are up!!!


3. Carlisle and Esme

Rating 4.5/5   Word Count 446   Review this Chapter

The house was silent for once, our children out together. It was a rare occasion for Esme and I to be alone. Rosalie and Emmett were out at the cabin, Jasper had taken Alice out shopping after finally emerging from their bedroom and Edward was off with Bella.

I couldn't wait for Esme to come home from hunting; I had set up the speakers so that a soft waltz flooded through the house, an undercurrent to the mood I was attempting to create. I waited; pacing the floor and admiring how much Esme made every house we had lived in feel like home. I stopped short at the sound of the back door opening, I paused, waiting for Esme's soft face to look into the room.

Her gentle figure cast a shadow onto the warm wooden floor as she stood in the doorway. I stood still as a statue, as her eyes glanced into the room and soaked up the scene before her. I was in my normal clothes, a white shirt, and tan slacks. The room however was dimly lit as the only source of lamination came from a single candelabrum I had set on the table. The music swirled around us, I stepped towards Esme, presenting to her a single delicate red rose, which was just beginning to bloom from its crimson bud.

Her soft full lips moved into a curve that hinted at a smile, her light fingers picking up the delicate flower. I leaned forward putting one arm gently around her waist and kissing her neck. Her soft feminine giggle was like music to my ears. I guided her to the middle of the floor, taking her other hand in mine, the rose abandoned upon the mantle piece. We moved as it should be when two lovers danced in her time, our bodies touching and sharing their passion in soft sighs, instead of crude motions.

Esme leaned her head against my shoulder; her soft hair fell from her braid, caressing my chest. Neither of us noticed when the songs ended and others began, we were too focused on listening to the even breathing of our love.

When the CD finally ended and silence stroked us back into the world, Esme left my arms so I could lead her to the couch instead. Her skirt fanned out as I placed her gently in my lap, my nose nuzzling the soft curves of her pearly white neck. I settled my hands across her side pulling her into my chest.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Esme." I whispered softly, loving the feel of her lips at my forehead.

“I love you Carlisle. Happy Valentine’s Day…”