A/N: This story took waaaay longer than I'd planned to complete. But we're done. :)

Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine.

Epilogue – The Man Who Wasn't Too Romantic After All

Two Years Later:

The Honourable Edward Cullen, Heir to the Masen Barony

"Blast this bleeding…!"

Groaning, I yank off my sodding tie for about the umpteenth time this morning. For a few moments, I stand there, glaring at the reflection in the full-length mirror, upset with more than my incompetence with a tie, on this day of all days. My vision blurs as the scene from last evening replays in my head:

'Uhm…okay.'

'Okay? Is that all you have to say, Edward?'

'Bella, as long as you're happy, I'm happy.'

'Uhm…okay? I suppose I'll see you tomorrow, then?'

'Of course, love. I can't wait.'

"Stupid, sodding…of all the thoughtless…"

I scowl at myself. Although, if I must be honest, the reflection itself isn't shoddy. The best physical features bestowed on me by my parents and ancestors are emphasized by the bespoke morning suit I've donned today. The cut of the dark gray tailcoat accentuates the breadth of my shoulders, narrowing along an athletic build and defining an admittedly fit frame. The grayish-blue, double-breasted waistcoat ends at my hips which naturally leads the eye to the light gray trousers' straighter cut, calling attention to long, Cullen legs. Altogether, the pieces complement while the patent-leather oxfords contrast. So, apart from a ridiculous title I'm set to come into one day, there isn't much I can complain about that's been handed down to me through generations.

What's more, with gentle reminders from the woman I love, I try to tamp down on my grumbling about the former bit. It's not Dad's fault we were firstborns into an age-old Barony, just as I suppose I won't be able to completely fault myself when…when my turn arrives to pass down the sodding title. Regardless, my Peculiar American probably won't allow me to wallow too much.

My Peculiar American…

With an irate sigh and a shift of my weight from one foot to the other, I once again pull the deceivingly camouflaged instrument of hell around my neck. All the while, Jasper, who's hired himself as my personal photographer for the day, snaps picture after picture. The camera lens clicks rhythmically, over and over. That, together with the knowledge that my incompetence is being immortalized, sets my nerves on edge all the more.

"Jasper, mate, must you take pictures of every. single. action I take this morning?"

Jasper interprets my inquiry as a cue to get down on one knee for a better camera angle.

"Aye, your lass said she needed plenty o' pictures for posterity an' the future wee bairns, and if I dinnae, Alice will have ma heid, an' no' the guid yin, if ye ken ma meanin'."

"A rock would ken your meaning with that laugh," I mutter.

More chuckles erupt from behind me. Through the mirror, my eyes flash to where Emmett and Liam lay spread across the bed – my bed for much of my childhood.

Abruptly, another recollection hits me, this one much older, of being a small boy propped up on pillows on that bed while listening raptly to Grandmother recount stories about ancient Cullens from the days of old. From Tudor times to Stuart to Georgian and Victorian, I was treated to the adventurous heroics following those ancestors whose pictures hung in the manor's gallery, to tales of brave Baron knights and formidable Baroness maidens.

Those stories were my first introduction to a heart-pumping narrative about protagonists who saved the world – or who saved our English plot of land, at the very least. They were what first made me believe in the idea of perfection, in idealized heroes and heroines who rescued the day. Back then, I took the tales at face value. If Grandmother said it, it must've been so.

Years later, when I figured out that the tales were…well, just tales and that the reality of our aristocratic ancestry wasn't quite so idyllic, I had no one but Grandmother to blame. Yet, for the fact that those tales had awoken in me a passion for heart-pumping fiction…and for an idealized image of perfection, Grandmother had no one but herself to blame.

Shaking my head, I dispel all these musings and instead focus on the here and now; on the snow falling this morning, almost camouflaging the white tent I spy through the window and the holiday flowers and decorations erected around it; on last-minute guest scurrying in, dressed in their most formal wear; on Emmett and Liam lounging about with their hands supporting their respective heads, both watching me with amusement across their stupid mugs as if they're watching a televised comedic special.

"Liam, will you look at that poor bastard still struggling to tie his tie."

"How many more tries you reckon it'll take him, Em?"

"Don't really know. What I do know is that the mate's in a right strop for someone who's been counting down to this day with more eagerness than any bloke I've ever known."

"Perhaps he's getting cold feet," Liam says. "I may have to step in as his replacement, after all."

My hands halt in their latest attempt with the tie. Then, very slowly, my head spins around so that I may fully take in my bastard cousin over my shoulder.

"I'm taking the piss, Ed!" Liam chuckles, holding his hands up in mock defense.

"Take the piss that way again, Liam," I seethe, "and I will punch you in your face repeatedly and so hard that you'll be forced to stand up with me in front of everyone this morning resembling a mashup between a rotten potato and an overripe tomato. Then I'll kick your groin so far up your arsehole that you'll be forced to take a piss through your mouth."

"Oi!" Liam cringes.

"Ocht!" Jasper flinches.

"Blimey!" Emmett shudders.

Despite my threats, both Liam and Emmett break out into fits of raucous laughter, rolling around in my bed, holding their stomachs.

"And get off my counterpane!" I expel further, spinning back toward the mirror. "I have plans for that bed and counterpane!"

Their hilarity simply multiplies. Meanwhile, Jasper claps me on the shoulder. "Ed, pal, keep yer heid. Ignore thon twa, and dinnae fash yersel' wi' thon dunderheids todae."

"Easy for you to say."

While I grumble, Jasper resumes his picture-taking, and Emmett and Liam resort to snickering quietly. By this point, the knot I'm trying on my tie resembles more of a sailor's knot.

"Seriously, Ed, I'm not trying to be funny," Emmett says, "but what the hell's got you so prickly this morning?"

"This sodding tie-"

"It's not the tie, mate."

"It's definitely not the tie," Liam agrees.

"Aye, it's no' the tie. Ye've got a face like a bulldog chewin' a wasp, and we dinnae ken why. Fer yin, ye look pure dead brilliant; fer tu, ye'll soon be meetin' a bonnie and braw lass before the vicar; an' fer three, thon English sun has choosen to show its timorous face todae of a' days! So, what's got ye so crabbit this morning, Ed?"

My gaze sweeps from one man to the other. The three of them – Emmett, Liam, and Jasper –stand around me in a half-circle, here for me despite all my bleating of the morning. They truly are my best mates, two of them my cousins by birth yet more like my brothers, and the other the husband of a woman who's like a sister to the woman I love.

One corner of my mouth lifts in a smile as I recall the moment I first laid eyes on her…

OOOOO

"Thanks, mate, keep the change."

I shut the cab door and simultaneously peered up into the evening sky. Above JFK's International terminal, blinking lights already in motion glowed against a still, ebony backdrop and took the place of stars unable to compete with the surrounding luminescence. Behind the terminal, the Air Traffic Control Tower stood majestically like the airport's version of the Eiffel. All of it was framed by holiday lights and by a blanket of sparkling snow falling like a soothing cover, like a quiet antidote to the frenzy.

For a moment, the scene resembled a snow globe one could pick up, shake, then watch as everything fell charmingly into place. All that was missing was a smiling, graceful, twirling princess in the midst, tying the entire scenery together – the reason for the magic.

'You're too romantic, Edward. You expect too much,' Irina, my girlfriend, once said. It wasn't long after that she became my ex-girlfriend.

Snorting at my admittedly whimsical thoughts, I turned away from the night sky. My original plan had been to spend the holidays in New York City, exploring those tourist sites I rarely got a chance to visit during business trips. Despite our latest break-up a couple of months earlier, Irina had rung me a few times during my trip. Each time, I allowed her calls to go to voicemail. Not very gentlemanly, I knew, but the alternatives were to answer and either get into another heated debate where I attempted to explain why, despite what on paper appeared a perfect fit, we didn't actually work as a couple, or to say, 'Sod it, let's give it another go.'

The latter wasn't really an option. We'd gone down that road a couple of times, and each time, I came out of it feeling like a right old shit. Despite her insistence, I wouldn't do that to her or myself again.

Yet, she kept right on ringing.

But then Grandmother had rung, and in a weak, nostalgic moment for the woman she could be when she wasn't operating on Dowager-Baroness-securing-a-suitable-replacement-for-the-distant-future mode, I'd answered. The old cow must've sensed a hint of loneliness in my tone because she swore up and down that if I returned for the holidays, my annual birthday gala would be conducted differently from years past. For one, she promised she wouldn't parade every eligible and titled young woman in England before me. For another, some of those ancient traditions, which she considered vital but I considered simply ancient, would end.

Most importantly, she assured me that Lady Irina, despite her perfect pedigree and seemly suitability as the future Baroness Masen, would not be part of the guest list.

So, there I was, at the airport for my last-minute flight back to London and vacillating between romanticized thoughts of the New York City skyline and already imagining all the ways my return to London could go pear-shaped. Sighing, I panned my gaze to the terminal.

That was when I saw the snow-covered, twirling princess from the snow globe.

Except, she wasn't so much twirling as she was going 'round and 'round in the oversized revolving doors. And instead of a princess's tiara, she had shiny dark hair swept up in a haphazard ponytail. Moreover, as I observed her, rather than a smile, I thought I saw lines of frustration marring her forehead as she tried to balance her mobile close to her ear with one hand while pushing enough luggage for a month-long Safari with her other hand.

"Yo, buddy! Don't forget your bag in the trunk! Buddy!"

When the cab driver banged the car door, I was forced to blink away from the curious picture. However, once I retrieved my bag from the cab's boot and hefted it over my shoulder, I received a pleasant, though peculiar, surprise. The woman was still inside the revolving doors, still going 'round and 'round as if she couldn't figure her way out.

"Sulpicia, just a suggestion, but maybe if you give Tyler a second to catch his breath, he'll be able to explain where he saved the file."

"Pardon me, Miss, but do you need help?"

Momentarily risking releasing her twenty bags, she waved away my offer and resumed her phone conversation. "Sulpicia, I understand how it might be frustrating to give someone a second to stop panicking, but I think in this case, it might help. And then you don't need to worry about HR."

Snorting, I left the woman to her rather involved reasoning. But then I bumped into her again, this time at the Customs conveyor belt. Again, she appeared involved in a strange conversation.

"No, no, that's okay, Sulpicia. You don't need to yell at him on my behalf. I have a few minutes to wait until Tyler can speak."

Despite her assurances to this Sulpicia person, she rolled her eyes – eyes that were quite pretty and dramatically dark. As she stood there, the woman's items scrolled away from her. Then, impatient travelers began skipping her in line. Once again, I attempted to behave like a courteous Englishman.

"Pardon me, Miss, but may I offer you any assistance with your-"

This time, I was shot down with a loud and unequivocally bothered "Shh!" which the woman followed up by gifting me with a generous view of a shapely arse, courtesy of turning her back to me.

So, I stood there, quirking a brow and pressing my lips together to keep from laughing at the curiosity of having been snubbed not once but twice in the span of a quarter-hour by the same peculiar woman.

About a quarter-hour after that, I found myself seated by the gate waiting to board, quite absorbed in one of my favorite zombie comics. That is until I heard that now familiar voice. She was now hissing in one of those loud, American voices that aren't really hissing as much as they are shouting. When I looked up, I found her seated a few chairs down and holding another mobile conversation.

"Now, listen to me, both of you. Don't either of you try to hook me up while I'm there. That's not what this getaway is about. I mean it! I want- no, I need time away from anything or anyone who possesses a dick between its legs. I am not, I repeat, I am not on a manhunt!"

Unable to withhold my chuckle, the woman's head snapped right 'round to me. Quickly, I hid behind my comic, hoping I'd moved fast enough. When a throat cleared a few moments later, and the woman spoke in an even louder and clearer voice, she indirectly answered that question for me.

"As I was saying, I'm not interested in cock right now, no matter what that cock looks like. Cock is just trouble in the form of a big…thick…hard…twitching…throhhbbing…"

All the while, I crossed my legs, uncrossed them, then recrossed them as my cock hardened, twitched, and throbbed with each cheeky word she uttered. Princess from a snow globe, my arse; the woman was a vixen! If an amalgamation of heaven and hell existed in an airport, I'd stumbled upon it. Finally, I planted both feet on the ground, spread my legs to give my taunted cock room to breathe and calm itself, and hid both it and my flaming face behind my comic.

Then, I grinned. Touché, my peculiar American. Touché.

I'm sure we both thought she'd gotten the last laugh until Fate stepped in and sat the cheeky, overpacked, peculiar American next to me on the flight into London. By the time we landed, I was a goner. And it wasn't much after the flight that I realized that in the middle of an unplanned, international flight, I'd indeed found my princess, perfect in her imperfection and more likely to trip than twirl. Nonetheless, she was indeed the most important piece of that snow globe.

OOOOO

Which is why all the fears and concerns which plague me this morning aren't easy to express and why they're seeping through in the form of butterfingers and threats of violence.

How does one explain that he's terrified of his own happiness…petrified that his overwhelming bliss may be coming at the expense of the joy of the person he adores more than anyone in this world? How does one verbalize his greatest fear – that he's trapped the best, the most down-to-earth person in a life of titles and aristocracy that she never wanted, a life she may one day tire of?

"What if…what if I can't make her happy?"

For a long moment, all three men stare at me. Then, the bastards laugh.

Scowling at all three, I return to the tie. "Forget it."

"Sorry, mate, sorry!" Emmett says. "Look, we didn't mean to laugh. You're just so…"

"-ridiculous," Liam finishes for him.

"Aye! Yer bum's oot the windae wit that yin!"

"Again, just forget it," I hiss. "And thanks to all three of you," I say, "for being so helpful this morning."

"Here, cuz, let us help with that tie."

Emmett and Liam approach, and when Emmett lifts his hands to my tie, I shove them away. He roars. When his brother attempts to help, he receives the same. Jasper then joins in, and the four of us descend into a disarray of flapping hands and arms accomplishing anything but tying a tie.

"Piss off, Em! You too, Liam!"

"Stop with your stubbornness!"

"Aye! Quit this mulish-"

"What in the world is going on here?!"

The woman who's walked in without knocking or invitation would shame the queen herself with today's regal attire and jewelry. She stands before us as if she owns the room and everyone in it, her glare not only belying her years but sending the fear of God through Liam and Emmett, who swiftly back up.

"Lady Charlotte! Grandmother!"

"Uh, Grandmother, we apologize."

"Grandmother," I mutter in greeting, turning back to the mirror.

Jasper stupidly holds his camera up and prepares to snap a picture of her ladyship.

"Young man, I am only allowing pictures of me to be taken by the photographer whom I've personally hired for the day and who knows exactly how and when to do his job."

Jasper smartly sets down his camera. "Ocht, aye, your Ladyship."

Grandmother sniffs and turns back to me. "Edward?"

"I'm having trouble with my tie."

"Trouble with your tie?" she echoes in disbelief as if I've just said aliens have abducted me. "How is that even possible? You've tied a tie too many times to be troubled by tying a tie!"

"Even I can nae say tha' a hundred times without trippin' o'er me tongue!"

Grandmother shoots Jasper a look that would shut down the queen. His chuckles cease, and she returns to me.

"You do realize that everyone but yourself is ready."

"Everyone?" I breathe. "How does…how does she look? Does she look happy?"

"I shan't reveal that!" the Lady exclaims. "This union shall have enough to contend with without my adding questionable luck to the mix by revealing too much!"

"I didn't ask about her dress…never mind," I sigh. "Lady Charlotte, I'll be down as soon as possible."

Nonetheless, Lady Charlotte isn't done. And when she's not done, nothing keeps her quiet.

"Edward, your delay, while minimal, has already been noted."

I check my watch. "I'm not quite late yet."

She lifts her chin. "When for the past two years, you've made clear to all and sundry that you absolutely worship the Bee, all present downstairs expected you front and center the second the vicar's foot exited the vehicle. The fact that you've not yet appeared has already necessitated my thoughtful interference in quelling a handful of incidents!"

I quirk a brow toward her through the mirror. "Incidents such as?"

"Your future mother-in-law, for example, cannot quit shrieking to all who'll listen that her daughter is marrying into royalty. Time and again, I've attempted to explain to her, in the simplest of terms, that peerage does not necessarily equate royalty. However, it appears a concept she cannot grasp. I've also had to explain to her, more than once, that while I'm sure such beauty is not found in American abodes, the manor house is not, in fact, a castle. Then there is your future father-in-law, who grumbles and grunts so much that I've been forced to remind him that in this country, we use words to communicate. Then, we had a guest joke within my hearing that perhaps the reason why the future Baron has not shown his face yet is because he's experiencing a bout of cold feet. Needless to say, I took charge of that situation as well, and the Earl of Thornbury shall think trice in the future before believing himself a comedian. Worst of all, however, is Lady Irina."

"Irina?" I turn sharply. "Wait a second, Grandmother; why is Irina even here today?"

"Well, I couldn't rightly invite the Duke and Duchess of Tilbury and not invite their daughter, could I?"

"Grandmother!" I throw up my hands. "See, these are the sort of things which frustrate me. Don't you think you should've consulted Bella and me before-"

She cuts me off, completely disregarding my ire, and continues. "As I was saying, the dress Lady Irina has chosen to wear for the event is lovely on her, as is everything she wears. However, it is a suspicious shade of ivory, and the veil attached to her fascinator can be called nothing less than bridal."

"Bloody hell…"

"Heaven forfend yet more amateur comedians appear and now begin joking about Lady Irina's readiness to take the Bee's place! See? This is why I say joking and teasing are beneath the peerage! Further, can you imagine should such purported joking reach the Bee's ears?! I, for one, would not put it past her to make a scene of the American variety, one I'm not sure even I would be able to prevent! Therefore, I have, as usual, taken it upon myself to come fetch you before this event descends into chaos."

"Chaos, indeed." I purse my lips and shake my head, looking at her askance. "Honestly, Grandmother. Now, I'll be down as soon as I'm done with this tie."

For a few moments, while my hands hover uselessly around the tie, Grandmother simply stares at me.

"Liam, Emmett, and Highlander in the kilt, please leave us. Now."

The three briskly tuck tail and leave me alone with Lady Charlotte. When she approaches, she waits with surprising patience for me to turn to face her. Then she wordlessly and expertly begins tying my tie.

"You know, I was the one who first taught you to tie a tie."

"Were you?" Despite my frustration, I smile at her, my brow furrowing as I attempt to call up that particular memory. "I'd forgotten."

"I'm not surprised. You were quite young – barely two, if I recall correctly. It took a few tries, but you did well enough." She meets my eyes. "Although perhaps that should have been my first warning as to how willful you'd grow to be."

"You mean perhaps it should've been your first warning that I wouldn't allow you to control my life." I grin to ease the sting then give into full laughter when she shoots me a raised, gray brow before returning to the business at hand.

"Grandmother…she's given up so much over the past two years. And now…"

"Now…?" Grandmother prompts.

When I press my lips together, Grandmother tugs on my tie a bit harder than I believe necessary, making me grunt.

"It's been quite a while since I believed you were giving up anything in falling for such an indomitably-spirited woman – American or not, but please do tell me what you believe she is giving up in marrying you."

"Her country, her family, her privacy, her career. Shall I go on?" I ask when she offers no reaction.

"I'm waiting for mention of something of actual value."

"Grandmother!"

"The Bee shall retain her American citizenship, though why she would want to eludes me, especially once she gains U.K. citizenship through her marriage to you. I suppose dual citizenship will make it easier for her to visit if ever she feels homesick for cowboys and apple pie." The twist of her lips makes it obvious what value she places on either. "As for her family, did I not just relate two of many instances which highlight why some distance from the Bee's family may not be a bad thing?"

"Grandmother," I warn.

She huffs. "Edward, even I know that the Bee considers those two young women with whom she lives…or with whom she lived until today, more her family than she considers her parents. I also happen to know she does not, in fact, see her parents very often even when she was living in the U.S. Besides."

"Besides?" I prompt.

"Besides, she has us as her family well," she snaps, briskly moving on when I offer her a broad smile. "As for her privacy, the Bee certainly doesn't seem to be bothered considering the BAFTA-worthy smiles she bestows on the photographers."

I chuckle heartily. "Can she help it if everyone loves her pure Americanness? Besides, you should be grateful, Grandmother. Bella's popularity has reinvigorated the media's interest in the peerage."

"Grateful, indeed," she retorts indignantly. "Now, regarding her career, I'll admit it was not a simple process for her to obtain certification to work as an architect here in our country, but can you blame our English review boards? Those Americans build structures more for flash than substance!"

"Grandmother."

"Either way, she has her certification, and now, with assistance from your cousin Liam, the Bee is set to work with National Heritage and turn Masen Park into an amusement park."

"Grandmother, you know very well that there's no intention of turning Masen Park into an amusement park." I chuckle despite myself. "She and Liam are working to have Masen Park listed as a building of national historical interest, which will allow us to obtain grants and funding from tours."

"Hmph," she sniffs the air. "I cannot become accustomed to the idea that I'll have to watch perfect strangers roam these halls as if they own the place."

"Grandmother, they won't be allowed to tour all the rooms, and you know quite well that otherwise, we wouldn't have been able to keep the manor house. It was becoming too costly."

"Perhaps with a rich heiress as future baroness? Lady Irina is dressed and ready to-"

"Complete that sentence, Dowager Baroness," I challenge, nostrils flaring, "and I shall none too politely ask you to get your well-dressed and bejeweled arse right out of my room."

She rolls her eyes, unimpressed with the threat. "Well, at least the Bee can serve a decent cup of tea." But when she meets my gaze, the dowager offers me a teasing grin that startles the shite out of me. "Do close your mouth, grandson. Is this another habit you've picked up from the Bee?"

"Are you…teasing, Grandmother? I thought teasing was below you."

She shrugs. "When in Rome…"

"Admit it, Grandmother," I grin. "You love my Bella."

She doesn't reply to that. "I suppose I shall have to become accustomed to having my home tramped about, as I shall have to become accustomed to having a grandson, the heir to the Masen Barony, no less, writing comics to entertain the masses. Comics! Could you not write serious novels and use one of those…what do they call them? Pseudo-names?"

"I'm not ashamed, Grandmother. Remember that woman you just called an indomitable American? She gives me the courage for that and more."

"Hmph."

For a few moments, I watch her as she silently finishes up with my tie, this woman who would sit at the edge of my bed, bejeweled, regal, and back ramrod straight…but her eyes soft as she regaled me for hours and hours.

"It's all your fault, you know."

Her hands still. "My fault?" she asks as if I've libeled her, glowering up at me through eyes that may be framed by wrinkles but are as sharp as ever.

"Mhm." I nod. "Your fault that I met her, and your fault that I fell in love with her. You forced me home that holiday, and before that, you made me believe in handsome knights and beautiful maidens."

Pursing her lips, she resumes her tying. "Those tales were meant to teach you of your heritage, not turn you into a whimsical romantic. Now! There!" she exclaims, tugging the tie to ensure its straightness. Then, wiping imaginary specks of dust off my shoulders, she turns me toward the mirror. "You may be marrying an American commoner, writing comics, and selling our family seat to the highest bidder, but you shall be doing so as the most handsome Baron-to-be in the kingdom."

I chuckle heartily at her reflection. When she turns me back toward her, angling her chin sharply upward, she ensures she locks me in her formidable gaze.

"I was quite correct, as I usually am, when I told you those tales of the women of Masen Park. You are bringing yet another strong, indomitable woman into our family, and you need to be just as strong."

"You're correct, Grandmother, as you sometimes are," I smirk. "And Grandmother…you do remember all those tales, don't you? The ones about our ancestors that you told me when I was a young boy? I mean the true details without the embellishments."

"Of course I do," she replies, appearing affronted as if I've just asked her if she remembers her name.

"Good," I grin. "And I guess…some of those embellishments wouldn't do much harm."

When her eyes narrow as her forehead creases with more than just age lines, I merely chuckle.

"Now, quit hiding in here and get your arse down there, and talk to the Bee about whatever is truly on your mind. Though I give brilliant advice, I get the feeling only she will do this morning, not me, and certainly not your two clownish cousins and that kilted Scotsman!"

"Yes, Lady Charlotte…Grandmother. And thank you."

"Off with you, now," she says, shooing me away.

OOOOO

"…worry about it, B! He's probably having a good…" Rosalie illustrates a lewd act with one hand as she opens the door with the other. Alice, who's standing beside her, agrees.

"Yeah, just to make sure he doesn't lose it when he sees you in the white, English lace lingerie I designed for you for to- Edward!"

"Edward!"

Their eyes grow wide when they spot me on the other side of the door. Meanwhile, despite Rose's insinuation regarding my current activity, it's the first part of what she said that makes me feel like a right old bastard. Then, I hear her voice.

"Rose, who's there?"

"'Bout time," Rose hisses at me, then to Bella, "Uh…no, B! It's just…the mailman."

"Yeah, the mailman!" Alice concurs.

"The mailman?" Bella calls out.

"Mailman?" I repeat at the same time. "Rose, Al, let me in."

"You can't see her yet!" Rose whispers furiously.

"It's bad luck!" Alice adds.

"Go take your place! Everyone's waiting!"

"I have to speak with Bella first! Bella!" I shout, attempting to see beyond the half-shut door and Rose and Alice's huge dresses and fascinators. "Bella! Bell-"

The door swings wide open, and I manage to see a flurry of white before a warm body whose heat I'd recognize from across the room launches itself into my arms.

"Eavesdropper…"

"My peculiar American, I'm sorry," I breathe instantly, holding her tightly against me while relief courses through my veins. "I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," she murmurs against my neck.

I pull her back just enough to cradle her face between my hands. "Listen to me; you have nothing to apologize for."

"I shouldn't have sprung that on you the night before our-"

That's when we both notice the two bridesmaids staring at us.

"Uhm, can you two give us a moment, please?" Bella asks.

Rose sighs heavily. "Fine."

"But this is not how this is done," Alice adds, "even in this country."

As they walk back into the anteroom the women are using to prepare themselves in, I drink in the sight of my Bella. She's a brilliant vision in white, yes, but I only care about her dark, spellbinding eyes. They sparkle brighter than any jewels hidden within the Tower of London's walls ever could. It's those eyes I can't tear my eyes away from, mesmerizing me. My hands twitch, aching to pull her back against me, but I have to explain myself first.

"I was frightened, Bella."

"I understand-" she smiles faintly.

"Not for myself," I clarify, "but because it's only been two years-"

"Like I said, I understand." She yanks her eyes away from me.

"No, Bella." Pulling her closer, I wrap my arms around her waist, and when she rests her hands on my chest and meets my eyes, I swallow thickly. "You don't understand. You've given up so much for us over the past couple of years. You gave up your country, your family, your privacy, your career-"

"What?" she chuckled. "First of all-"

"We don't have to rehash those. Grandmother helped me see those more clearly."

"Good old, Lady Charlotte and her fondness for being helpful," Bella grins.

"I guess," I sigh, raking a hand through my hair despite all the care my groomer took with it this morning, "I just had a moment of panic, and for a second, I saw this as yet another sacrifice on your part, and I worried about my long-run ability to keep you happy here."

For a long moment, she holds my gaze, scrutinizing me. Then, she breaks out into a face-splitting smile that makes my heart soar like the wings of her national bird.

"Dummy."

Again, I exhale in relief, chuckling. "In this country, daft would probably be a better term."

"You're a daft, Baron Masen, gov'nuh, you are," she says, putting on what is meant to be my accent but sounds nothing like it.

"I am," I nod vigorously, "but I'm not a Baron, not yet. What I am is brilliantly, completely, and madly in love with you. And happy. I'm happy beyond anything I ever imagined for myself when my prospects for the future were limited by what I thought I had to choose from. I simply couldn't fathom how one man can have all his dreams come true in a matter of two years."

"We do things quickly where I come from," she teases, snapping her fingers.

"So I've noticed," I snort.

"As for that limited pool you mentioned, I hear rumors about a certain, young blond daughter of a Duke who came prepared, so..." She shrieks when I bite her lip.

Then, unable to resist any longer, I go ahead and crush my mouth to hers and crush her body against mine. Her dress swishes softly, and a sweet moan escapes her lips as she loops her arms around my neck and kisses me back with total abandon. Our mouths meet hungrily, her warm breaths offering me life and adventure and excitement I never knew before her.

When we pull back, our foreheads rest against one another, chests heaving.

"Hey, do you remember the time when Didyme Volturi threatened me, and Lady Charlotte texted to tell you?"

"Not sure how we segued into that subject, but yes, I recall. Grandmother literally wrote me a ten-paragraph essay, where she rambled on about tea and weeds, then two-thirds of the way down, just as my eyes began crossing, she pitched your name like an afterthought."

"And she knew you'd come running," Bella chuckles heartily, once again taking me back with her beauty and liveliness.

"Devious," I smirk, "these Cullen and soon-to-be Cullen women."

"You looked so worried when you got there," she grins. "Meanwhile, I was having the time of my life with your grandmother."

I brush her cheek with the back of my fingers, reveling in the incomparably smooth texture of her skin. "I see your point."

"The point is…I…" with each pause, her mouth brushes tenderly back and forth against mine, "am exactly…where I'm meant…to be."

"You are," I whisper, drawing in a deep breath, then releasing it against her soft lips.

"I wonder whatever happened with Marcus?"

"An even worse segue. May I inquire as to why we're now discussing him of all people?" I ask with a scowl.

"Indulge me," she says cheekily.

My brow quirks upward. "He died, and I attended his funeral."

"What?"

"No, not really," I sigh. "Well, as you know, Grandmother hired that private investigator in New York to follow Marcus around and warn every woman with whom he tried to become involved that he was a married man?"

"God, sometimes Lady Charlotte is a hoot!"

"From what I later heard, after Sulpicia Volturi gave Marcus his P45-"

"They don't give P45 forms in the U.S, but go ahead; I get it. After he was fired," she teases, gesturing for me to continue.

"After Marcus was fi-rrred," I stretch out the word in an exaggerated American manner that makes my wife-to-be laugh all the harder, "everything went pretty pear-shaped for the tosser. He had a massively difficult time finding employment, which also hindered the number of women willing to go out with him in the first place. What's more, with no more unsuspecting women she could confront and accuse of seducing her husband, Didyme grew tired of their sick, little game. So, she set the prenup into effect and divorced him; left him in the gutter, both literally and figuratively."

"Wow. While I can't say he didn't deserve it, I don't know that she deserved all that money either."

"I wouldn't worry too much about that." At her questioning look, I continue. "It seems she remarried soon after. She must've been wildly in love because she didn't even ask this new bloke to sign a prenup."

"Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh is correct. Three months later, he wiped out their joint bank account and disappeared."

"Holy crap. Wow. Well."

"That satisfy your curiosity?" I smirk.

"Hey, how the heck do you know all of that? Did you eavesdrop the info from somewhere?"

"I ran into the private investigator during my last business trip to New York when you stayed behind because you weren't feeling too well." I quirk a brow.

"And now we know why I wasn't feeling well," she smiles sheepishly. "And as to why I brought him up, that was my life before I met you. And while I wouldn't say you rescued me, you are descended from knights, so…"

She trails off, grinning mischievously, but when I rest a hand on her still-flat stomach and brush tenderly, she releases a series of uneven sighs.

OOOOO

'I'm pregnant,' she announced to me by the door to her guest bedroom here in Masen Park while we said goodnight, separated by rooms for the last time.

I swallowed thickly, utterly gobsmacked. 'Uhm…okay.'

Bella's beautifully smooth brow furrowed. 'Okay? Is that all you have to say, Edward?'

'No,' I thought to myself. 'I should also say I'm sorry you've given up so much to be here with me. And now, I've trapped you into giving birth to the Masen heir before we're even one year married.'

Instead, I said, 'Bella, as long as you're happy, I'm happy.'

Her dark eyes widened, and for a split second, I thought I saw a flicker of disappointment in their depths before she wiped it all away and smiled.

'Uhm…okay? I suppose I'll see you tomorrow, then?'

My heart raced. Spots danced before my eyes. Even more embarrassingly, my voice cracked like that of a prepubescent.

'Of course, love. I can't wait.'

OOOOO

"The Masen heir," I grin dreamily now, making Bella laugh. "I really can't wait. And wait until Grandmother gets a whiff of this. She won't leave you alone until you assure her you're giving birth to a boy."

Bella lifts her chin arrogantly, narrows her eyes sharply, and clears her throat. "In twenty-seven iterations of the Masen barony, a male, pure English heir has always been the firstborn and thereby maintained the House in the Cullen family. Imagine were a girl to be born first?" She shudders, completing her representation of my grandmother, while I laugh and laugh.

"Twenty-seven! Is that accurate?" she asks.

"Probably not."

A completely wily smile lifts one corner of her mouth. "Even if it's a boy, I'm going to tell her it's a girl."

"You're the devil in disguise. I've known this since the moment I first laid eyes on you, cursing, shouting 'cock' in a crowded airport, overpacking, panic-sweating, drooling, and all."

She rolls her eyes, raking her hands through my hair while gazing up at me with all the adoration I feel for her reflected in her dark eyes.

"Gee, I can see how you fell in love."

"Bella…you know, I was once told I was too romantic."

Her brow furrows. "What? What ridiculous, wearing-ivory-to-my-wedding, daughter of a duchess told you that?"

I snort. "How is it possible for a man to find this much happiness?"

"Because Edward, despite all our differences…we're perfectly matched."

"We are."

"In every way that counts."

"Agreed."

"Including in bed, which is why you impregnated me so easily."

I chuckle under my breath, squeezing her plump arse. "To be fair, we forwent condoms, and you are a wild, American cowgirl who enjoys riding my English-"

"For the love of all!"

Bella and I both look over to where my grandmother stands with hands on her ancient hips.

"There is a lovely tent set up in a magnificent English garden, brilliantly decorated for the holidays and today's festivities, and brimming with impatient guests waiting, and you are both here carrying on as if you've just met!"

"Grandmother!" Bella exclaims with an excitement that momentarily coaxes a smile from Grandmother – until she recalls herself.

"Grandmother," I smile.

"How many times must I remind you both to address me as Lady Charlotte in public? Now, the vicar is sweating under his collar, the Earl of Tilbury is turning a dangerous shade of mortified crimson, Lady Irina is close to tears behind her foolish veil, and the Bee's mother keeps wondering where are the prince and princess. Now, Edward, get your hands off of the Bee's backside, and let us make haste before more mayhem erupts!"

She turns on her heel and marches away in a manner that brooks no opposition, that displays no doubt that we will, indeed, follow.

Which, of course, we will.

I thread my fingers through Bella's fingers and bring her hand up to my lips, kissing her knuckles and her engagement ring, a platinum band with a yellow diamond the color of American sunshine…and of bees.

"Ready, my Peculiar American, for all the wonderful things to come?"

"For that and much more, Eavesdropper."

And hand in hand, we continue into our combined version of that holiday snow globe.

THE END

A/N: Thoughts?

I hope you guys enjoyed this little adventure. A new one is coming soon! Make sure you have me on Author Alerts and/or join my Facebook page and/or follow me on Twitter to keep on top of that. :)

Facebook: Stories by PattyRose

Twitter: PattyRosa817

"See" you soon!