A.N: I own neither the greateth intellect of the Elizabeathan Shakespeare nor that of the Lady Stephenie Meyer; therefore, thou shall not sue against me! Fondest felicitations to my Beta reader (thou knowest who thou art!) and my ardent thanks for her gift of editing! And now reader I must bid you ado and if you truly enjoy this, I beg you REVIEW!

My Misstress' Eyes

They sat quietly in the kitchen silently immersing themselves in the brief beams of sunlight streaming through the windows,sinking into the rhythm of their homework of choice at the moment, and most of all into each other. Bella was skimming through Shakespearean sonnets for an upcoming essay and Edward was pretending to brood over pages of a calculus book he had undoubtedly memorized eons ago. He looked up when his fiancé clicked her tongue

"What?" he asked. She looked up at him frowning.

"So much for 'Shall I Compare Thee to a Summers Day' He is starting out harsh with some of these comparisons. They're far from flattering" she added starting to look down again. Smiling he reached across the table, slipped the book from beneath her arms and began to read.

"Hey!" she complained, "I wasn't finished with that yet." He held up one finger for silence and she huffed indignantly, slid away from the table and crossed her arms, waiting.

"Hmm" he said thinking aloud after a moment. "That's right, your eyes aren't suns. They're more like meteors." She rolled her eyes. "Or maybe windows." he reflected absently. "Sometimes that's the only way I can read you." There was another short pause. "Maybe, maybe not. They might be redder on occasion, but I don't fancy kissing a coral as much as I'd fancy kissing you."

She blushed, her heart rate spluttering he smiled briefly hearing it and the possibilities behind it, but did not look up from his analysis.

He snorted, "Dun? Certainly not, you're closer to white than any other color except red at times, I should know." He smirked wickedly into the pages before adding somewhat huskily "Besides, you do melt quite obligingly, what other reason would you need to compare the two?"

"Stop it" she said flustered, trying her hardest to sound severe, "That's not entirely true. You're just teasing me now." He looked up catching her completely unprepared for the scorching promise of his amber eyes. "Wanna bet?" he asked quietly. He held her swayed for a moment, satisfied with the potency of his "dazzle", before releasing her. She looked away once she regained the ability to breath and amended herself not entirely grudging. "Okay so maybe your not." He chuckled.

"It's still not the point of this" she reminded him and he hummed in agreement, returning to the poem in front of him.

"Oh, well, I don't agree with that" he started again, "Your hair is definitely silky. And that," he said emphatically, "is an outright blasphemy! Perfume is nothing compared to your scent." For the second time in minutes a seeming gallon of blood rushed to paint her cheeks, thankfully, unseen by him.

"That's true," he murmured, continuing to read, "I do love to hear your voice…and you do spend quite a bit of time on the ground!" he laughed suddenly. Bella gave a heartfelt sigh, "I guess this is the most praise us normal girls can expect to get from poetic geniuses, huh?" She looked up wistfully, pleadingly, swept in a sudden wave of melancholy at his seraphic face. For the hundredth millionth time, trying to prove how inadequate she was compared to him, was for him. He heard it, read it (her eyes were indeed windows of sorts), shook his head internally and for the hundredth millionth time chose to ignore it. He smiled fondly at her, instead.

"You didn't read the ending to this did you?" he asked, tapping one finger against the text.

"I told you I hadn't finished it yet." she returned, a hint of former irritation in her voice. They gazed at one another; then, without a word, Edward stood and crossed to her side of the table. Bending slightly, he carefully cupped her face between his palms, leaned his forehead against hers and began to quietly recite:

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;

Coral is far more red than her lips' red:

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,

But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

And in some perfumes is there more delight

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak,--yet well I know

That music hath a far more pleasing sound;

I grant I never saw a goddess go,

My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground;

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare

As any she belied with false compare.

'Shakespeare couldn't be more right' he thought for the brief moment he could hold on to coherency while kissing his heaven incarnate. Sometimes it was the little things, barely discernable and unexaggerated, that made beauty the precious thing it was.

A.N: looks things over gapes at AN at the top OMGods I can't believe I wrote that! But please if you liked it reviews do wonder for my morale it would really help! (If you really, REALLY liked it check out my other one shot Second to a Haircut, I might actually be adding more to it and look out for a new story Power Plays! On a more serious note, I, again would like to thank my Beta reader and to say this work and all the other works she works on for me are dedicated in part to her since she gives her time and effort for these pieces and also in Loving Memory of my Mother who gave me the greatest insentive to hone this talent of my and my love for literature!