Disclaimer: I wrote this story. But Stephenie Meyer came up with the characters in the first place. That's why she's got a big house in the desert and I have to put on an extra jumper when it gets cold rather than turn the heating up.

This is my first go at this, and I want to thank beta-reader extraordinaire and holder of hands XoEMC, who has been invaluable in her help and her support, and quietruby for jumping off the writing cliff first. There are others who have inspired me, especially my daughter, who came up with the name for the movie. Now read on... AFMxx


Say Hello, Wave Goodbye - Prologue


From the WavesFanGossipLondon website: Dateline Leicester Square, London, Wednesday, June 17 2009: Well, Edward 'Dr Dan' Cullen is back in his home town tonight for the premiere of Keith Moon biopic Beat It, in which he's playing Mick Jagger. But what we want to know is who, if anyone, will be on his arm as he makes his way up the red carpet. A certain American beauty linked with our Edward was spotted rushing out of Heathrow yesterday morning, making her way to the hotel where we know he's been staying... As usual, nobody's talking officially, but we hear no second room was booked... We'll be there tonight so watch our Twitter account for on-the-spot reports.



The noise was deafening, the lights were blinding, and I was in the last place on Earth I wanted to be.

Off to the left were pens of screaming girls with magic markers, uncapped and ready, glossy 10x6 photos, and battered posters of me looking all heroic and windswept as Dr Dan, their mobile phone cameras pointed and prepared and vocal chords already stretched almost to breaking point.

Over to the right was the slightly more disorganised rabble; the press corps - the dirty fuckers in macs, wobbling on stepladders at the back with their telephoto cameras, and minor celebrities and pop stars-turned-TV-presenters with microphones at the front, dwarfed by the big square lenses of professional cameras ready to record every word I 'spontaneously' decided to say - well, what I learned to say last weekend in spontaneity boot camp with the film's PR people.

I took a deep, cleansing breath and heaved myself from the limo, ran my hand through my hair - 'spontaneously' again. Maria, my appointed PR for this premiere, was close at hand with her clipboard, choosing which of the TV people were worthy of my attention. I may not have played the lead, but thanks to Making Waves I was suddenly a sensation, especially back home in London. It was a shame my dad had been called into surgery so my parents weren't able to come, and that Em was stuck in LA doing the press there, I missed them so much at times like this.

I thought the screams were loud in the car - out in the open they were unbelievable. Maria steered me in the direction of the press pen, where the camera flashes dazzled me as simultaneously the screams deafened me - I was in a state of total sensory deprivation.

All at once Maria pushed me towards the press corps, and the yelling becomes gruffer as the paps started yelling for me to move left, right, back, forward, anything for their perfect shot. After a few minutes of posing I grudgingly moved along to the TV people with their microphones.

I answered a couple of them, giving them 30 seconds or so with a couple of soundbites each - yes, it was lovely to be back in the UK, yes, playing such an iconic character had changed me, the usual bullshit questions, the usual bullshit answers. I was tired and hungover, and I really needed a smoke.

"Edward! How lovely to see you again!" said a chirpy blonde I vaguely recognised... nice tits, not very tall, I was certain I'd done some lines with her back in the day. "Is Rosalie here with you tonight?"

Bad move, Blondie. Before I could begin my reply, Maria had me by the elbow and was moving me down the line, hissing "No personal questions" at the somewhat deflated reporter, who was going to have some explaining to do to her editor when she got back with eight seconds of footage of me grinning and taking a deep breath. The other interviewers saw what happened to the blonde girl and were much more sensible about their questions, giving my 'spontaneity' a chance to shine.

Apparently my silver tongue is what I am famous for. Well, that and my is-he-isn't-she romance with Rosalie Hale, my co-star in the Waves movies, a 'romance' which had been completely out of my control for just over a year.

The hardcore Making Waves fans - the DanFans - the press, gossip bloggers and Twitterers called us RoseWard and speculated wildly about what we're up to all the time, much to the delight of Maria and her acolytes - and, to be honest, Rosie lapped it up as well. The reality was much more mundane, and much more sinister. I hated the whole circus with a passion, and since everyone stopped believing anything I had to say about it months ago, I had decided to say nothing about my off-set antics with Ms Hale any more.

She was coming to the premiere. I'd left her in the hotel. She had sworn to me she wouldn't crash my entrance, after all, it was MY movie, MY exec. prod. title in the credits. I lost 10lbs to make this movie, grew my hair, hell, I'd even sung live vocals in front of a crowd of extras; something I certainly didn't do when I was playing Dreamy Dr Daniel and making cow-eyes at her Nurse Ellie.

Finally, I linked up with one of my co-stars from this movie, Charlotte Collete, for some more pap pics, then I veered off to the fan pen - apt title that, they do look like they're about to be herded off to market. I recognised one or two of the hardcore DanFans - the ones who knew where my parents lived, what I liked for breakfast, where I drank. I scribbled my name for as long as I could and posed for pictures until Maria's hand appeared under my elbow once again.

An enormous scream erupted from the other end of the red carpet just as I got to the doors of the cinema and I looked back to see Rosie, in a microscopic silver mini-dress and hair so big I could see it from 200 feet away. Last in, just in time to steal my thunder - well, Charlotte's thunder, anyway. I am half of RoseWard, she can't hurt me.

While everyone was looking back down the red carpet, I took the chance to dash in to the front door. Thankfully most of the bigwigs had already gone to their seats and only a couple of staff members and stragglers were floating about the foyer. The manager sidled up to me: "What can I get for you Mr Cullen? he said.

"A beer and a somewhere to smoke, please," I reply, smiling at him, my gaydar in full flow. He'd let me go anywhere this one, he was certainly a Cullenator.

"I'm afraid you can't smoke inside, it's against the law now," he looked sheepishly at me. I gave him my cutest little look, guaranteed to get anyone panting. "Where do the staff go?" I asked impishly, idly flicking the lid of the Marlboro Red box in my tuxedo pocket with my thumb.

"There's a balcony at the rear of the building, sir, but you didn't hear it from me," he replied finally, waving over a blond lad from the concession stand. "Mike, show Mr Cullen where the staff smoking area is, please."

I was led up a flight of stairs and through some double doors to a little dark open-air balcony - more like a window ledge with aspirations - almost filled with a plastic picnic table and a couple of overflowing ashtrays. Finally, gratefully, I grabbed the Marlboros, putting the box on the table and patting myself down for a light.

"Fuck it," I muttered, realising there's no sign of my zippo. I got ready to head back downstairs when suddenly out of the darkness, a flame appeared, illuminating a bewitching little heart-shaped face. "Light?" she asked in a lilting, soft, country accent.

I leaned in with my cigarette and along with the burning smell of the tobacco I got a whiff of strawberries and freesia which must have come from her skin and hair. I stepped back so she could step forward and fuck me if the view wasn't astounding. She was short and sweet and brunette and she filled her ugly polyester usherette uniform without being even slightly cheap-looking. I looked down to see two shapely calves and a pair of worn-in plain blue converse lace-ups.

She came closer. Close enough that I could have touched her face, her lovely neck, just beneath her ear. I felt my breath quicken and my dick hardened at the very thought of it, of making her perfect mouth hang open as she came... as we came... Suddenly I realised I was going to have to say or do something. "Hi, I'm Edward Cullen," I blurted out, remembering my manners and extending the hand not holding the cigarette.

She let out a breath of her own. "I know who you are," she breathed. "Nice to meet you, Edward Cullen. I'm Bella, Bella Swan." Her voice cracked slightly. I was now 100 per cent sure she was as turned on as I was - and that she knew how I felt too.

Another few seconds thudded past - or it could have been minutes, could have been hours. I dragged on my cigarette and tried to calm down both my heart and my dick. Then she reached down towards the ashtray on the table, breaking the connection between our eyes for a second as she stubbed out her cigarette. She was definitely breathing heavily. "Excuse me," she said finally. "I need to get back."

She took two steps towards me as she headed for the fire exit door back into the cinema and I flattened myself against the wall as she brushed past - and I swear I felt a jolt like I'd stuck my finger in the plug, like a static shock. She gasped quietly and I think she felt it too. Her breasts rubbed against my chest and hell if I wasn't at full mast. She left and the cool night air hit me as I slid slowly down the wall to the floor, not caring if my tux was getting dusty. I ran my hand through my hair, breathing carefully until my excitement subsided.

As I stood up again, a shadow appeared at the open fire door. A shadow with very big hair and a short silver dress. "Cullen." Rosie said menacingly from just inside the building, her American accent so grating after Bella's soft English one. "Come downstairs, they're waiting for you. Do you want to watch this thing or not?"

She grabbed my hand and hauled me up so I was standing and she met me nose-to-nose with those ridiculous high heels on, not nose to shoulder like Bella had in her baseball boots. Her tits brushed against at my chest, but that electric static spark wasn't there. I realised that, apart from a few fumblings and an almost-satisfactory blow job at the hotel earlier, I couldn't remember the last time I had shagged Rosie sober. I realised at that moment that I didn't want to shag Rosie at all. All I wanted was that dark-haired usherette who had barely spoken two sentences to me.

So I told Rosie I wanted to end whatever our relationshipwas, right then and there, standing beside a fire door at a cinema in London's West End, which happend to be surrounded by the word's press. Big mistake. Big fucking mistake.


From the WavesFanGossipLondon website

Trouble in paradise? Edward Cullen had a face like thunder as he ran out of the back door of the Empire Cinema and into a waiting limo - without even seeing his new movie. Five minutes later, Rosalie Hale followed suit, without as much as a smile for our spy, and the fans hanging out at the back. What COULD have happened?


A/N Like? Hate? Want more? Let me know. Another chapter (a flashback) is in the works already. Thanks for your time. AFM