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Te Amo...

Summary:
The wedding night of Carlisle Cullen and the new, Esme Anne Cullen. Complementary piece to "Bridging The Gap."
Third Person.
CxE.
Rated Adult for Lemons.


Notes:


1. Where Have You Been?

Rating 0/5   Word Count 5962   Review this Chapter

"The opposite of loneliness, it's not togetherness. It is intimacy."
- Richard Bach

*****

The orange sun fell leisurely below the cover of trees that enclosed the small wooden cottage, and with its last dying rays - just before the day melted seamlessly into twilight - it highlighted a couple standing alone upon the porch steps.

The beautiful gentleman, if one such gentleman could be called simply beautiful, wrapped his arms gently around his mate, his beatific face alight with joy as he dropped a delicate kiss to the caramel-haired young woman's white neck.

"Mrs. Cullen."

A shiver of delight ran through Esme Cullen's, née Platt's, petite and gentle, yet strong frame before she leant backwards into the embrace of her new husband.

Carlisle Cullen looked down upon his new mate with greedy eyes, roving the splendor of her curves and the lines that lay hidden underneath her silk wedding gown. His fingers held her reverently to him -aching to hold her like he wanted, take her how he wished - and still his surgically trained hands remained trembling, holding her like a piece of delicate, precious porcelain. His unsteady feet were unable, at that precise moment, to take them towards their future.

There had yet to be a point in his long life that the blonde doctor had felt this unsure. Placing his imperceptibly crooked nose upon the lithe muscle of his wife's shoulder, he drank in the honeyed nectar of her skin while a foreign nervousness pulsed around his cold body. After three centuries alone, Carlisle believed he knew everything about himself - the only companion he had had for a number of decades. Yet, when Esme Platt had appeared, something had ignited within his long untouched chest.

A strong wash of what only could have been described as desire had swept through him when she had finally became his by name only a small number of hours earlier; a desire that had far surpassed anything the compassionate man had known in his life. Intimacy, on any level, was novel in the golden eyes of the elder vampire. He was rendered cautious, alert of his abilities, or indeed inabilities in a situation such as this.

It had been something that the pair had dared to dream of for a long while. For Carlisle Cullen, it was something that had taken his thoughtful and often fact-laden mind off his work. From the uses of the new-age chemical cures in his realm of medicine, his thoughts had taken him to the undreamed of, unfamiliar lands of a physical relationship.

However.

For Esme Cullen, the smaller beauty sheltered within the arms of her love, what was to come was something that dreams had actually been made of. The man with the wheat hair had been her savior when she had been human; it was in his embrace, his mouth on hers, her name on his lips, where she had always seen herself.

Surprisingly in tune with the other, the newlyweds could not help but wish that the night they both greedily envisioned for a number of months, would in truth become reality. The nervous woman wished for this time to be her first; the first time she would love and be loved in return, the first time she would be cherished, it would be the first time. While, the man by her side wished for everything to be all right. He wished for his inexperience to be no problem, he longed for his wife to forget about the abhorrent man from her past, he wanted it, like it was for him, to be the first time she was to ever make love.

Wrapping his strong limbs tighter around the body of his wife, Carlisle Cullen picked her up. In a traditional bridal carry, Esme Cullen was carried in the arms of her partner from the front porch, the footsteps of her husband the only sound that appeared from within the heart of the wooden cottage, to the bedroom that she had once dreamed they would share.

Setting his beloved wife on her unsteady feet just inside the wooden barrier of their bedroom door, Carlisle looked down into the softly lit, amber eyes of his companion. He watched, with avid fascination, as her pink tongue peaked ceremoniously from between the plump lips he loved so much, instinctively wetting a lip that could never again dry.

The innate side of Carlisle Cullen, a facet that was never truly shown except the occasions in which he hunted, threatened to burst through the limit of control. A hunger that had little to do with thirst, but more to do with desire pulsed throughout him. He wanted, if not needed this one woman, and so, when their lips crashed together for only the second time as a married entity, his consciousness exploded.

Not wanting to seem sinful by succumbing to the powerful, animalistic instincts that his body screamed at him, not wishing to mate - for the first time - roughly upon the floor, Carlisle maneuvered the joined pairing to the soft bed, balancing his weight above her slight form on his elbows while their tongues battled together in a greedy dance of passion.

The smallest of the pair sighed in complete and utter pleasure, as they shared ravenous kisses and shy touches together upon the sea of the plain comforter that adorned the bed on which they lay. A contented purr rumbled in the throat of Esme's new husband as their silky tongues playfully rubbed against each other in the confines of her warm mouth.

With trembling hands, Esme Cullen removed her thin fingers from the form of fists. Releasing the needy hold she had on the back of Carlisle's black suited jacket, she moved her hands to the pearl white bindings of her husband's dress shirt, unfastening them.

Esme slowly removed his jacket and shirt, pushing both from his shoulders, her warm hands brushing gently against the bare skin that she uncovered. Holding her cherub's bow-like lip hostage between her sharp teeth, Esme looked up at her mate with awed eyes.

It was a strange sensation for Carlisle Cullen, one that the blonde man was incapable of comprehending, that he was desired at all.

Those that the vampire worked alongside in the hospitals would express their perfunctory and natural longing for the young, striking, flaxen haired doctor in inane giggles and impious thoughts. The nurse's that the man, who hovered above his only love, had worked alongside would say that his handsome face, alluring scent and velvet tones were the height of desirability. Yet, to see the only person Carlisle Cullen had ever wanted, and would ever want, yearn for him in the same intense fashion he did her, was a soothing balm upon his nervous soul.

Esme's ocher eyes regarded Carlisle in wonder. Needing to know that the man above her was real, and not just a figment of her imagination, she reached out to touch his chest with worshipful fingertips. The feeling of the softest skin she had ever imagined met her sensitive touch, her fingers weaving through the fine blonde hairs that lined his strong torso. Her fingers traveled over dips, unyielding muscles prominently highlighted upon the white of his skin, and as her fingers brushed his navel Carlisle Cullen let out a shuddering breath, trembling delicately before he dropped his fair head to rest against her shoulder.

Reaching behind his wife, Carlisle removed the pins that kept his wife's caramel waves tame upon the crown of her head. The pair became covered by the fragrant curls that ran free from their bindings, as their lips met again. Never, could they get used to the beautiful feeling that each experienced when his flesh met hers, never could they tire of the simple act of love that for the pair had remained missing until five, or so, months earlier.

Moving his hands from where they sat at his wife's slim waist, Carlisle held the back of the white, silk wedding gown Esme wore, working the pearl buttons one by one from their bindings. He became quickly enthralled when his fingertips touched skin he had never once believed he would expose.

Something ignited within Carlisle Cullen's cold chest, blazing a trail of fire in its wake, when he looked down upon his mate who lay beneath him in only the chemise and silken pair of bloomers that she had worn beneath her wedding gown. A color that was normally akin to a molten gold, Carlisle's irises blended into a shining onyx when he found that his mate's body was nearer than it ever had been before; thirst and desire burning a delicious path in his stomach, moving slowly below his waist, provoking his body to respond in ways he had never known.

"You are wearing far too many clothes, Mr. Cullen," Esme whispered seductively; her eyes widened, mouth dropped when she had figured out that she had indeed said that. The embarrassed, young woman was positive, if it were possible, that an enticing blush would have painted her attractive face.

Barely able to contain his delight that his meek Esme had said such a thing, Carlisle quickly shed the offending woolen trousers that kept her from him, joining his wife once again on the bed, clad only in undergarments. Spreading back out above her, his fingers toyed shyly with the hem of her silk chemise; lips touching once, twice.

Lifting the full slip from her body, Carlisle never once broke the eye contact between the pair of burning black irises. Muscles tensing and locking into place, Esme Cullen had never felt so exposed and ridiculously outside of her comfort zone, and, as if by impulse, her small hands automatically shot upwards towards her bosom, hiding the exposed skin with crossed arms.

Hands stilling, Carlisle looked down upon the drawn face of his wife. As if to remove the connection they had just shared, her eyes closed, before her face fell into a fearful grimace.

Painting tender kisses across the skin of her face, Carlisle tucked a loose caramel curl behind her ear, murmuring; "My darling, you are so very beautiful."

Maneuvering himself so that he lay upon the bed, Carlisle gathered his adored bride into his arms, cradling her to his bare chest. Stroking intricate patterns onto the exposed skin of her back, the blonde vampire snuggled closer. "You do not know how long I have waited for you," he whispered, dotingly, brushing his lips against her brown in a loving caress. "I will wait forever for you, Esme."

Watching as his wife settled herself into his arms; he could not help but abhor the human man from her past all the more. Even long gone, his presence tainted this one, special night, with the dimming memories of detested nights that the then Esme Anne Platt had spent in bed with Charles Evenson. Tears of venom burned in the eyes of the blonde vampire, he would never hurt her, never be able to see her in pain, but was this the answer to his questions?

Was she ready?

Had he rushed her?

Did she still want him; want to do this with him?

Carlisle Cullen was a very patient man, superior to most, but he harbored absolutely no tolerance for being the one to cause his mate pain, had no tolerance to place his beloved in a situation where she would experience pain of any sort.

As her husband continued to hold her, gently touch her, hum softly in her ear amidst murmurs of his love, Esme gathered back the self-confidence that had left her when her chemise had been removed. The man by her side, in whose arms she lay, was in a different league to her last husband. He loved her, doted on her every move, every breath, every words, he wanted her; he was everything to her, he was hers.

Just knowing that he would be there for her, was there for her, in her darkest hours where the presence of her ex-husband loomed, lingering in the shadows, dampening her spirits, raining on her newfound happiness - he was with her, gave her the confidence back. Moving her fingers shyly across the contours of her husband's chest, she followed the trail of darkening hair in rhythm with Carlisel's hands brushing through her soft tresses.

"Carlisle," came the whisper, from the bashful young vampire; her fingers brushing where the edge of his white underwear met his strong hips.

"Yes, love?"

Taking a deep, unnecessary breath, filling her lungs with the honey and sandalwood aroma of her husband, a second, uncertain, quiet whisper was issued from a hesitant pair of lips. "Make love to me."

No sweeter words had ever been heard by the blonde vampire, than those that his scared wife had just whispered. Pressing his lips, once again, to the point where his mate's forehead met her odorous, soft hair, Carlisle maneuvered himself so he once again lay, hovering, just above his wife. Touching his lips to hers, in a chaste yet loving peck, he placed his hands upon the ever so soft skin of her waist, before drawing his wife's lower lip between his own.

Not wishing to scare his mate, not wanting to pressurize her in any way at all, his hands remained where they were. His lips, although aching with the desire to move, to mold to his wife's, never did highlight the almost carnal need that built in his chest, but remained ever so sweetly pressed against hers; flesh against flesh.

Only when Esme reciprocated a hint of his overwhelming need did he then move. His hands moving northwards; brushed tenderly from her slim waist, over the smooth, flat plane of her stomach, landing on the lower curve of each breast. All the while, her hands proceeded to move downwards, coming to rest with her small thumbs in the waistband of her husband's white undergarment.

Opening her mouth in a silent gasp when her husband cupped he r bosom through the silk of her liberty bodice, Carlisle took full advantage, sweeping his tongue hungrily into the enticing warmth of his mate's mouth. Teasing the skin of her stomach with tickling fingers, and soft caresses, Carlisle's fingers gently followed the line of her ribs until they rested upon her soft back. His thumbs pressed insistently against the fastening of her bodice, and before he worked away the binding, Carlisle angled his head slightly, deepening the kiss that the pair shared.

Overwhelming arousal coursed through Carlisle Cullen's long, dry veins, mixing with venom, heating his cold form with a scorching passion when he moved the silk bodice away from his wife's bosom. The luscious orbs, peaked with dusty, rose-colored nipples, gained and held Carlisle's complete attention, ever when his wife's fingers thread greedily into his soft blonde locks pulling his mouth back to hers for another scorching kiss. Even then, mouth against mouth, tongue against tongue, and bare chest against bare chest, he still doubted that the woman before him was indeed his.

"Esme..." He whispered raggedly against her lips, cupping her bare bosom with dexterous fingers, which was enough to derive the most erogenous sound he had ever encountered to be released by his mate.

He needed her.

Gaining confidence from the animalistic growl that rumbled from somewhere within her husband's chest, Esme Cullen slightly rotated her hips against her husband's cloth covered core, finding great pleasure in the way he moaned into her mouth, their kisses becoming looser, more adamant.

Finding the barrier of cotton nothing but a nuisance, Carlisle gently but quickly removed his undergarments, never once breaking the connection the pair had. His length sprang lose, free, pressing insistently against her thigh. Her silken bloomers followed swiftly afterwards, haphazardly being thrown behind the blonde vampire to land, with a gentle thump, somewhere upon the bedroom floor.

And there they were - two lovers, two unbeating hearts filled with an overwhelming, unarticulated adoration, lying beside the other without any barriers. It was the first time that they had been so completely open to the other, and never in all of his long, long life had Carlisle Cullen seen something so breathtakingly perfect, so utterly spellbinding, as his Esme lain bare beneath him. Her eyes hooded with lust, pale violet eyelids half-drawn over her glossy, onyx eyes, lips plump from the teasing nips her husband's teeth had bestowed upon them.

Stroking a creamy white thigh with the back of his hand, Carlisle moved upwards - through the caramel curls nestled between her legs, over her smooth stomach, the valley of her perfect breasts, over her prominent collarbone, coming to rest with both hands gently resting upon her neck, thumbs rubbing loving circles upon her cheeks.

Every ounce of the passion that had just been passed between the pair suddenly disappeared, not lost but just stored away. The heated kisses melted into gentle butterfly kisses, doting, devoted, their lips fitting together like two complementary pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, tongues lazily battling for a dominance the other did not want to grant.

The blonde man lifted their conjoined hands to rest above their heads upon the bed, fingers twined together as one in a loving braid. The yellow gold of both individual wedding bands were warm against the opposing partner's fingers, rising up on bent elbows the blonde vampire looked down into the dark eyes of his darling mate. Love, utter devotion, thorough pleasure, melted through the sharp black, shimmering with venomous tears that would never fall.

"I love you."

When the adoring whisper passed the lips of the wheat haired gentleman, he slowly, gently, lowered his lips, slowly sliding into her, uniting the pair in a way that was both new and shockingly intense.

Shock coursed through the pair, electricity straight to their unbeating hearts so it felt as though they had the power to beat once more. Never had something felt so good, never had each felt this level of happiness, never had they felt so fulfilled, so... thoroughly complete.

Their kisses, once again, became looser, tongues more insistent against the other as they rocked together in the light of the dying sun. Breathless gasps and wanton moans were traded between the pair.

A soft, vulnerable cry left the blonde doctor's mouth in the form of his love's name when he recovered from their unity. A noise of pleasure, one of adoration, one that originated straight from his unbeating heart and cried to the angels of love, thanking them for granting him the seraphic being in his arms.

He worshipped her.

Laying his petal-soft lips gently on his wife's neck, Carlisle suckled on her heavenly perfume. As his hips kept a steady, desirable rhythm below, he kissed, licked and nipped downwards, sucking on her delicate collarbone upon discovering it. The next gem he discovered was his wife's exquisite breasts, taking her dusty nipple into his gentle mouth. He savored the way his mate responded to his touch, whether it was the specific way she moaned, sighed, or a gasp of her sweet breath, the way her lips bucked against his, or her slim fingers threading through his hair - every touch, every noise, every action, everything highlighted that he was bringing his only pleasure.

"Carlisle... Please." Grasping blindly, desperately, at her husband's silky, blonde locks, she pulled his mouth back towards hers before she fell apart. Her tongue met his once again, in a languid dance, as below their waists, the passionate tango was building towards its pinnacle. Each time they met, every time they were full, expanding with a desperate amount of devotion, ardor, a lover's moan could be heard from each.

And suddenly, everything ceased to be. The birds that had chirped in the trees, the hooves of the creatures in the forest, the mild breeze that rattled the trees and carried the brilliantly orange leaves - all of it did not matter. For it was her and him; two beings, two hearts that had given in to the other and received the tantamount, beautiful feelings of a coupling. A blend of their most intimate details, of their souls, of their very hearts and so they both fell deliciously apart in the arms of their only ever respective loves, and forever, how infinite the years be that they would be blissfully bound; man to woman, mate to mate, wife to husband, they would never, could never, begin to comprehend their unity.

Esme Cullen toppled over the edge fist, crying her husband's name to the high heavens, and he followed closely behind, growling his climax into her neck. Their bare chests rubbed against each other, chests heavy with panting breaths, and Carlisle Cullen's lips moved to the thin, alabaster scar that he had left upon Esme's skin only a small number of months prior.

He had never thought, never given himself the time to comprehend, what the future would bring for the small, lovely sixteen year old that had resided in Ohio ten years ago. He was outrageously guilt-ridden for leaving her all of those years ago, for he had almost lost her. The non-blushing bride that lay below him had always been destined, no matter the miles that were put between them or the tribulations that the caramel-haired human had bravely faced, to become one. He had, and probably would forever, harbor remorse for the actions he had taken a few months ago, in order to save her, to bring her back to him - just like he would for his actions concerning his son.

Meeting Esme Platt the first time, Carlisle Cullen was enamored by her light, the stubbornness in her gleaming, wet, bright green eyes as she lay on the hospital cot. He felt very protective of her as he set her leg, and just that had the power to scare him and so he fled. The second time he met Esme Platt, he was captivated, but very differently. The youthful, young girl had grown beautifully into an achingly stunning young woman and now four months later, his love for this one woman threatened to burst, it surrounded him every day in the clash of past and present, and he had a hard time contemplating, thinking about anything but her.

When he had been changed, by the feral, wanting coven in North London, England, it had seemed that at the time everything that he had ever wanted was torn from his future - the wife that he had wanted, the children and the career he had dreamed he would once have. Yet, when he finally recovered from the blistering loneliness and soul consuming thirst, he had found that once one dream comes true, you start to take all of the others more seriously. And that was what he had done. He had found his true calling in medicine, he had found his son in the bronze-haired, Chicagoan, young man, and he thanked the ever present God that he had found his only, his wife, his best friend, his lover, his other half in Esme Anne Platt.

Carlisle Cullen knew that his wife never blamed him for his callous actions, for in doing so he had brought the pair together again, he had given them both the chance to love and to live the life that they had always wished for, and, selfish as it seemed, Carlisle Cullen could not bring himself to be sorry that Esme's transformation had indeed made them both completely whole.

He did not yet know everything about his beautiful, new bride; he yearned to uncover her soul, her mind, her delightful heart. As he brushed a couple of errant curls from his wife's forehead, she smiled up at him. Her eyes had returned to their normal hue of a wonderful dirty gold, their depths shimmered with happiness and love. Leaning once again above his mate, their legs conjoined together, he brushed doting kisses against her closed, pale eyelids, her upturned cheeks and finally her luscious lips.

"What's your favorite color?"

*****

The question session had ended hours ago, and when the sun had rose on the morning of the night before, it had highlighted a couple that were mentally and physically sated. Carlisle Cullen knew that he had just scratched the surface of what made his mate tick, yet he knew that they had an unlimited time ahead of them in order to uncover such knowledge. The past had gone and the future was a moment too far away, but he would endeavor - every day, every year, every minute - to learn about her, to show her what she meant to him, how much he loved her, infinitely, wanted her, incredibly, needed her, incessantly, and for these things the future, the horizon, was a very bright prospect indeed.

The smallest of the pair leant onto her mate, her tousled caramel curls in disarray as they swam under Carlisle's nose. Pressing her plump lips onto the skin of her husbands' shoulder, she snuggled further into his protective hold, laying her head onto the male's perfectly sculptured chest.

Their legs in a lovers knot, they had spent the last few moments memorizing the other, parts they had never really seen, parts they had never took the time to notice, parts they would forever remember and forever adore.

He had found a small dimple near her elbow, about the size of his fingertip, when she had brushed the soft fringe from his eyes. He had discovered a prominent bone in her wrist when she had laid her hand on his flat stomach. Or the beauty spot that lay below her right eye that he couldn't help but brush his lips against each and every time she smiled up at him. He worshiped her body; her small waist that flared beautifully into perfectly rounded hips, every curve and every line highlighted the fact that she was changed just after giving birth, but he had never, and would never he knew for certain, witness a more feminine figure, a more seamless specimen than his wife.

For her - Esme Cullen, from the first moment they had met, had been fascinated with his jaw and now she could see why. Steel beneath velvet, his strong jaw blended faultlessly onto his beautifully long neck that he always kept covered, hidden beneath woolen, knitted scarves, neck ties, or shirt collars. He had impeccably strong legs, a utopian, God-like torso, wonderfully dimpled cheeks and a delightfully prominent crease beneath his nose that met his cupid's bows upper lip exquisitely. But most of all she loved, and was completely awed, by his unadulterated heart.

"My love, my all," Carlisle whispered into the shell of her ear as he cuddled her tighter to his side.

He adored her.

Miles away, hidden within the gaping forest out of hearing distance, a bronze haired young vampire ran. He caught a frolicking dear in his sure, steady grip before breaking its neck and suckling where the blood ran the hottest. In the five months Esme Platt, now Cullen, had been in his life, he had watched as the bond between the person he now thought of as his mother, and his father had blossomed and thickened. And at the same time, he had watched and felt the connection between himself and the caramel-haired young vampire develop. He had witnessed overawing love between the pair, and he had a hard time thinking of a moment where two people had been so happy, where he had been so happy. He wished, longed for someone, with whom he could share but a fraction of the devotion that his parents share, but he believed his longing dreams would never come to pass for one such as him. However, he was pleasantly content to live that life and to see where it would take him; or into which chocolate brown eyed girl's arms it would lead him to.

In Columbus, Ohio a thirty year old war veteran awoke with a start. He rubbed his whiskered chin with a heavy hand before he flicked on the oil lamp that resided upon his bedside table. The murky light landed on an ornamental photo frame that stood pride of place in his dusty, dark and dirty bedroom. Picking the frame up in his scarred and calloused hands, he brushed his fingers against the fine layer of dust that adorned the glass, before laying gentle fingers on her face. She had always been breathtaking in her beauty, but in this one picture it captured a lot more. Her green eyes glittered, her dimples shone, her body was wonderfully shown in the white gown. She had been gone a year. And, with an angry snarl, Charles Evenson hurled the picture of his, as he saw it, long dead wife and himself on their wedding day against the wall.

All around the world humans were awakening, sleeping or going about their business in their everyday manner. And all around the world, the unsuspecting humans lived alongside creatures that they had convinced themselves were things horror stories were made of until they came, unfortunately into the path of a "traditional" vampire.

...

In Southern Texas, the full, midnight moon's white rays highlighted a couple slowly wandering down a deserted lane. The dark haired male, a tall, strong gentleman, looked across at the pained profile of the blonde male he had come to call his brother. He knew, without question, that this man was stubborn, but he was most definitely not stupid. He was a fighter, he was a survivor, the shining white scars that adorned his neck and most of his chest paid homage to that fact.

"Maria needs me, Peter," the blonde male added with a sigh, obviously continuing on with a long, ongoing conversation.

"You will always be welcome with us, my dear friend. I hope you know that," countered said Peter. His thoughts went to his white-blonde mate's face when he had informed her that he was going for one last attempt to get his brother to follow them north. Her beautiful face alight with joy, as her form - slight of five foot - jumped in time. Bring him home to us, Pete, she had sighed.

"Come with us, Jasper."

Tipping his wheat haired head backwards towards the sky, he let himself think about the freedom that his friend had told him stories of. The North was civilized, in his brother's words; they could go out during the day, there was no fighting, no pain, no Volturi. Jasper Whitlock's ruby eyes glittered in the light of a dingy street lamp. After quietly agreeing to continue his travels with the closest people he had to family, much to Peter's satisfaction, his eyes sought out the heavens; God, give me strength.

...

In Northern Mississippi, a miniature, raven haired young vampire stood stock still in the middle of the street, her red eyes glazed.

Three people resided in a well-light, well-decorated living area, two men; a softly handsome blonde male and a younger gentleman with fiery, red hair sat opposing each other at a wooden table, a chess board sat in between them. Behind the blonde man, a younger female stood, her butterscotch hair cascaded in front of her face as she rested her cheek against her mate's temple, whispering moves good naturedly into his ear, as the copper-haired boy looked on with a playful crooked grin lining his thin mouth.

"You are going to have to move your queen, my darling," the dark golden eyed woman added with a laugh, when she looked down upon the black and white pieces on the board. She ran her fingers through her husband's hair, when with an indignant, juvenile huff he scowled across the board at his younger companion, whose black pieces overawed the blonde's remaining three white.

Following his father, the redhead moved his knight, two paces forward and one to the right; "Checkmate, father."

As his son reached across to his mother, raising his hand for a high-five, his father watched with wide eyes. "Esme," he cried, playfully, as his wife congratulated her son.

"I'm sorry, Carlisle, but he did win," she laughed, as with soft eyes she watched the easy lope of her son as he walked towards the grand, shining black piano in the corner of the room.

"Rematch at dawn, Edward."

"You're on, old man."

Snapping back to reality, the black haired girl's face split into a smile; a smile that seemed to be made for her thin, puckered but, easily beautiful face. As she went to continue on her way, she was shook by another vision, this one a lot stronger than the first.

A wheat haired gentleman walked down a wet alleyway with a blonde woman and a dark-haired male. As the latter pair joked and teased at each other in amongst shy, loving touches and chaste kisses, the blonde looked on with longing in his eyes.

"Come on, Major Jasper Whitlock, the blonde girl giggled, elbowing him lightly in the side. "Lighten up."

The small black haired girl started alert once again, before continuing on her way, her dirty pale blue dress swaying in the breeze behind her. She did not know who she was, she was clueless of her past and her present but she did know her future, and she was going to find this Jasper Whitlock.

...

In the bustling, expanding town of Rochester in the large state of New York, a flaxen haired, eight year old danced into the kitchen of the wooden house she shared with her large family in the heart of the town. She hugged her mother's apron covered legs, before she ran and sat at the table her two younger brothers also sat at before smoothing out her pink dress.

Her father, a balding forty-year old banker walked into the bustling family kitchen. He kissed his wife on the cheek where she stood stirring a pot over the warm orange fire, patted his two boys on the head, before playfully tugging at a blonde lock of his only daughter's hair.

"Daddy," she squealed.

"Sorry, princess," Robert Hale whispered, before planting a kiss to the crown of his daughter's fair head. "You look beautiful, Rosalie."

...

Black ringlets bounced on the young seven year-old boy's forehead as he ran down the dirty track in front of his two older brothers and father. "Come on Papa, it is this way," he shouted, his voice booming through the woods, his chubby hands swinging and waving so the fishing rod he held came dangerously close to hitting the owner on the head.

Laughing, his father caught up with his youngest and most boisterous son. Lovingly brushing his lovely curls from his forehead, he placated his son. "Calm down, Emmett, there will be plenty fish left to take home to your mama."

...

And in the small town of Ashland, Wisconsin, the pair that lay on the bed of the house started to respond to each other's touch all over again. Their lips moved as one, tongues caressing each other gently, lovingly, as their bodies readied themselves once again for the beautiful coupling that had happened the night before.

He had her.

She was everything.

Just as the people awoke in the small town, there was another doting whisper from the blonde vampire that the unsuspecting humans lived amongst. A whisper that would be shared through the many, many years that they would call each other their respective husband or wife, a whisper that each time it was shared would make each remember how lucky they were, it was a whisper that became woefully inadequate of their actual feelings.

"I love you, Mrs. Cullen."