AN. Hello My lovelies, this is Sarah here. I understand that Bella of Athens is severely un-updated, but I want to try something a wee bit different. Music referenced will be listed at the bottom

Fresh smells erupting from the bakery explode sweetly for my nose. The tang of sea breeze wafts across slowly; so I savour the air. A hint of cumin, lavender and coffee beans announce themselves in the warm summer breeze that drift their merry way over to my palate on a simple summer day. The notes of a trilling voice and a heavy bass can be heard in the distance, and ever so slowly, I saunter shyly to the nearest cafe. The voices merge together in a two part harmony, innocence and resentment all entwined in that chilling mezzo soprano and tenor.

A worn, black, leather bound journal with a battered old silver fountain pen is pulled from my tattered satchel that had clearly seen better days. I tuck this same bag under a table neatly, and hope that the long, white peasant skirt I had threw on hastily this morning was not creased from the childish way I was sitting on the wicker armchair. A smiling waitress bounds up to me in a cheerful manner, so I think to myself that I would hate to be in a job that involved such people skills. I was not naive – no not in that way either – I knew where my talents lay and social interaction was not one of my (snort) many wonderful talents.

A steaming cup of java is sent to my tiny table. I do not mind that it is so miniscule; less chance of some overeager surfer trying to ruin my day with flirty words and clumsy gestures, or so I figure. The diminutive waitress from before has parked herself down, frowns at my choice of breakfast, and proceeds to introduce herself. I am weary of her to start with, especially when the Amazonian cashier joins her while placing a peck on her forehead. Now, it is my turn to frown. The Amazonian rolls a bright red apple in my direction and presently flicks open a glossy magazine that she decides to lose herself in and ignore us lesser mortals. Still slightly jaded of these two beauties, the pixie and the princess, I sip my steaming cup and sigh with content. With caffeine, all is better. A slight aftertaste of sweet oranges and dark chocolate is present, and a hum of appreciation is found to escape my somewhat scorched throat.

Pixie beams with pride, while Princess flicks her corn silk mane with a hint of triumph. I can still hear the busker; he is now singing a folksy sounding song about winter winds and the struggle between heart and head. The trilling voice from earlier had gone, maybe I could make a story of that...

With a start, I realise that Pixie had been talking for five minutes now, and I don't think Princess was paying attention either. She must be used to it by now, I realise. Finally, she shuts up long enough for me to introduce myself. However, she is giving me dodgy looks, and I realise it is because of the small slip of the tongue just made, and the new nickname seems to be worthy in the eyes of Princess. Princess looks up from her magazine, announces her name (Oh! The honour of being spoken to! I may faint from sheer deliriousness!) Then she flashes a smile at me. This is not the same smile she unleashed on the busboy earlier when she got him to cover the afternoon shift, I note; this was a smile of comradeship however slightly all knowing it may be. There was only ever one person I know that could pull of that smirk without seeming to be a twat, and he was far far away, in a land of conflict and strife (or so he told me).

Shaking my head, I launch myself into talk with Pixie, and it seems all she can talk about is her boyfriend, who according to Princess is the prettiest man I will ever have the pleasure to meet – who I will in fact be meeting tomorrow. I nod along, and focus on not drawing any attention to where my hands were; slipping down to my journal and trying to manoeuvre it quickly into the bag.

I slurp the rest of my brown heaven while Princess orders my presence, tomorrow at the same time and place, along with Pixie fussing at my skirt and wine red camisole while lacing sweet daisies into my crown of curls with me really paying much attention. Finally, we all stand up to part, and I find myself enclosed in an amiable hug from princess and a bone crushing embrace from pixie.

Even ten minutes later, I can even now sense a smile playing around my lips from the encounter with Pixie and Princess. I know their names, but it feels wrong to call them by anything else. Still the busker is playing, and I adjust my course so I can walk them long way home – and past him. What! Another voice has joined him, its gravel and satin, aching but whole. A small drum is pulled out, I hear, and it starts off into a memory from years past.

I was 16, only innocent in one way, and that was going to change soon. I pushed down the tugging feeling that something terrible was going on when my boyfriend of six months pushed his lanky form through the door. Some called him gangly, and too smart for his own good. His hair, always messy from the surf, was today neatly washed and combed in a manner that I was unaccustomed to. I rise to my feet, all previous thoughts gone; textbook lay forgotten.

"Querida" he called. His voice was cheerful. Yet it had some worrying tone to it, a hint of sadness lurked beneath the surface I thought.


"It is done! You are looking at the newest trainee soldier in all of Cornwall!"


I have yet to discover why he would call me darling in Spanish, he would never tell me. At the time, I loved his mysteriousness; I thought it made him sexy and brooding. But now, now I think it's such a pain in the ass.

That's why the next guy I dated was as straightforward as they come. But that was the problem with guys like Embry, they are so simple, they are simple. I regret sleeping with Embry; I should have known that taking to another wouldn't have filled the void. His friend Jake was great though, always friendly and up for a decent conversation whenever I saw him. Most the time, when Jake and I got talking, Embry just stalked off into the living room and played videogames.

As soon as I knew he was leaving, I was devastated. He only had a short call up time, and then into training he went. Then we did something I would never regret, no matter what anyone says so me.

I was fuming. I'm sure he could see the smoke rising from my ears I was that mad. I can't believe that he joined the bloody army without telling me! He didn't seem concerned about my anger though, he was more worried about the teardrops rolling down my pale face.

I feel myself comforted in his lanky embrace, his 6"3 frame covering mine completely. "At least I can fill out now Darlin'" I looked up; he never called me that in English. He knew I needed the reassurance that he still loved me. Clever Boy.

I'm now full out sobbing into my chest, his scent surrounding me in the most delicious, soothing manner. I need to feel close to him, as close as I can. Realising what I still have under my clothes, the forgotten plan is put into action.

I place my lips to his sweetly, and he reciprocates the action. Sighing in contentment, I start to trace my fingers up and down his defined arms and run my fingers through the chaos of his neat hair. His hair should never be like that. It will have to be shaved off! Trying to bury another sob, I slip my tongue into his mouth and feel his own massage mine with a growing intensity. His hands creep their way up to my breasts, and entrench themselves in that area – for the time being. They slip under my bra, and rub softly. I can feel him now, saluting me firmly in the thigh.

Slowly, I unbutton his shirt and kiss my way down his neck. The pure sent of him was driving me crazy. I feel my own top being pulled over my head, and my arms rise in assistance. A gasp is heard, and I smirk slowly, knowing he has found the new lingerie that I have bought, I black lacy bra with a matching pair of boyshorts. I couldn't bring myself to wear the thong. The skirt I was wearing is ripped to the floor to prove that it is in fact a matching set.

"Darlin'" he mutters. He seems to be incapable of saying much else" You look..."Slightly smug, I capture his mouth again, and my hands move south until I hit his belt buckle. Here, I wait for the groan before I proceed. Perhaps I am being slightly mean, by teasing him, but at least I know he will really want it by the time we are both ready. His jeans are hastily pushed to the floor, and my hands run appreciatively along his sides. I bit his neck, and he jumps. His hands are only just moving south. After one last tweak at my nipples, he moves down to my core. He finds the right spot, and a wanton moan escapes my mouth, and I really don't care. My lover on the other hand, takes this as encouragement, and slips a finger in. Another moan escapes both our mouths this time, mine alto, his bass with the heavy sounds his throat is making.

Tentatively, my hands grasp his member, and pump up and down. With this, my dearest slips in another finger. While we are both pumping, one hand makes its way back up to my breasts and one sole finger returns to circle my sweet spot teasingly. I see the edge, and he swiftly adds another finger so I am thrown over.

It was so powerful, and I kiss my dearest in thanks. I start to pump him harder, but he rolls over. Pulling away, hurt, I reach for my skirt. But instead, he pulls off my underwear and kisses me once again, and produces a condom.

"You want to Querida?" His accent coming out to play, as it only does when he is thoroughly impassioned. I nod eagerly, and pull his boxers down, the one article between us.

His mouth descends on my breasts, while he rolls on the condom. He ready's himself to enter me, but I place a quick kiss on his engorged dick and one more on his open lips. A quick plunge, and he is all the way through, and breaking my barrier. Adjusting to the foreign intrusion within me, a careful swirl of my hips is taken. His groan is all I need, and I start to move my hips in sync with his gentle thrusts. We both climb and climb, until he presses a single digit against my clit, and I see stars. My reaction triggering him, he surges into me and flops down, settling me on top of him.

People wonder why I would sleep with someone before they go off to the army. Isn't it more cause to get hurt? They say. I don't even bother to answer. To be so in love and not being able to show it is the true way to get hurt.

I finally see the busker, so I nip into the nearest store to get some change, and some lunch for when I get return. Spotting a gorgeous shade of bronze hair with a guitar, I finally make my way over to the mysterious – or buskers in this case.

The song now is reminiscent, cheerful, and in your face. I see tippers increase; it was so familiar in a way. The second busker appears, picks up another guitar, and his voice hits me once again. Now that the second voice has joined in; everything becomes clear. I had only head him busk once, but that was enough to make me fall.

A boy of roughly my age is sitting down, with a rose on his lap, playing a cheerful song, the ladies love him, and the tourists clap in delight. His voice, slightly wavering, is as rich and drawing as any full grown man. I see his wavy hair, and blistered fingers, and finally his chiselled facial features, and I realise I can never look back from this moment. He looks at me, and continues playing. When the song is finished he calls out "Any requests?" Many are called out, but still he looks at me. Me, in my old denim shorts and Charlie's old guns "n" roses t-shirt (which I had knotted off, because it was too hot to be wandering around in something that black and big.)

"Summer in the City!" I finally found my voice. He nods appreciatively, and begins to play. The rag-tag audience love it, and he makes more tips then I have ever seen a busker this late in the season. IT is the very end of August, and the tourists will be off again soon. Denying all other requests, he packs up and walks towards me.

"Thanks. You've just made me more tips in one song then I have all week"

I nod shyly.

"Bella" I introduce myself.


From that moment, it was a very rare day indeed we were not together. But if that voice is who I think it is... then why wouldn't he have contacted me. I thought the worse when he never showed up at the train station after his tour had finished. If he had died, his parents over in America would be contacted, not me. But his blonde curls sway in time with the guitar, he and the Bronze god singing in harmony, and I fume once more.

Making my way to the front of the audience, he does a double take, and smiles an ecstatic smile and carries on with the song. He sees me glaring, and his smile drops. The bronze god is looking at me with a strange expression, and a flash of understanding crosses his divine face. He is prettier then my Jasper, but not more attractive. My Jasper has this raw quality, brooding and excitable, if one can exclude such a presence, he manages.

He looks up once more, and I feel a large sense of Déjà Vu. "Any Requests?"

I know what he wants me to say. I won't say it. I won't!

"Nothing else matters." Expressionless apart from the mask of anger, I hear him start to play. His smile has gone completely, but I can see the calculating look in his eye.

This song finishes, and he starts another. Come Home.

No! I will not be persuaded this way to talk to him. I turn to go, but he stops suddenly and calls out my name. "Isabella, Querida, don't do this! Sing with me... I know you know the words?" Everyone, including the bronze god is looking at me. Sighing, I pick my way back to the makeshift platform he is singing on (a large wooden box) and wedge myself between Jasper and the God. He starts the song again, and everyone looks expectantly.

Hello world hope you're listening

Forgive me if I'm young or speaking out of turn

But there's someone I've been missing

And I think that they could be the better half of me

They're in the wrong place trying' to make it right

But I'm tired of justifying

So I say to you come home come home

'cause I've been waiting for ya for so long for so long

And right now there's a war between the vanities

But all I see is you and me

And the fight for you is all I've ever known

So come home

I start to sing, and I haven't done this in so long. Singing in the shower is no excuse; I should be back on the circuit, not letting anything get me down.

I get lost in the beauty of everything I see

The world ain't half as bad as they paint it to be

If all the sons and all the daughters stop to take it in

Well hopefully the hate subsides and the love can begin

It might start now yeah

Or maybe I'm just dreaming out loud

But until then come home come home

'cause I've been waiting for ya for so long for so long

And right now there's a war between the vanities

But all I see is you and me

And the fight for you is all I've ever known ever known

So come home ooh

Everything I can't be is everything you should be

And that's why I need you here

Everything I can't be is everything you should be

And that's why I need you here

So hear this now come home come home

'cause I've been waiting for ya for so long for so long

And right now there's a war between the vanities

But all I see is you and me

And the fight for you is all I've ever known ever known

So come home come home

The song gets to me, just like he knew it would, manipulative bastard. It finishes and I hop off the box.

"Can I see you again Querida?" His azure eyes are unleashed on me, and I'm tempted, but I don't think I can handle seeing him again.

"Sorry." I look over my shoulder once and he tosses me a rose, just like he did all those years ago. I blow a kiss in parting, and shake my head.

The next morning, I feel better. I have slept better, knowing he's alive; but there are still hints of dark circles forming under my eyes. Realizing I only had 45 minutes to be at the cafe to meet Pixie and Princess (and the mysterious boyfriend.) I hop out of bed and shower. Choosing to dress in a short, floral dress I think it must be the hottest day of the year. I apply concealer to my eyes, and outline them in black kohl. After rimming my eyes with mascara, I take a quick drink of water and head out to the cafe.

I am early, so I order my customary espresso and a small pastry. It's sweet jam filling teases me, and I bite in for more.

Pixie and Princess chose to appear then, and along with her a muscle bound man with the cutest dimples I have ever seen drop themselves at my non-usual table. Finding myself glad I chose a booth instead, the make greetings and introductions.

Emmett, I find, is a rugby player and has informed me that "Rosie" has really taken to me. We sit in companionable silence, until Pixie announces her boyfriend and his friend should be here soon, they just had a job to finish before they came here. I realize it is in fact about half ten.

The bronze haired god totters up to our table, and the Pixie Pounces.

"Aaaarrrgghhhh, Alice! People present!" She looks too pleased with herself to seem remorseful.

The bronze God unattaches the woman stuck to his chest and offers his wand to me. "I am Edward." His crisp, Oxford accent declares. "But you of course, are the famous Isabella."

The others turn to look at me, Princess cocking a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Famous?"

Edward smirks and turns to me "Didn't you know? Angel Voice here is Jazz's lady love!" I feel fully inclined to punch posh boy in the face. "Oh, you must stay; he shall be here in a minute." My hand is twitching, but Alice would never forgive me if I fucked up her pretty boyfriends face.

His presence his announced behind me, with a soft exclamation of "Jazz!" from Princess and Emmett. Pixie is practically vibrating with Glee. Hell.


Well, what do you think? Review and let me know? I would be eternally grateful *Insert freaky grin*

Song List (In order of appearance)

Winter Winds – Mumford and Sons.

Move along – All American Rejects

Summer in the City – The lovin' spoonful

Nothing else matters – Metallica

Come Home – One republic and Sara Bareilles