A/N: Here it is! Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer own all things related to the Twilight Saga. The Trans-Siberian owns the rights to the song "Christmas Dreams". No copyright infringement intended. All songs mentioned in the chapter are not mine.

An Outtake – Christmas Dreams

Edward Cullen was pacing his suite; back and forth, stalking the room from the piano to the door. His footsteps were quickly wearing a path in the plush carpet with furious imprints of his feet marring the neutral print. Edward Cullen was not a man to be kept waiting idly. And, for some unbeknownst reason to him, Michael Newton believed he was able to do so.

Edward scoffed at the thought of the other man. Dubbed the "Golden Boy" of Illinois, Newton used his position as the Governor's son to squeeze, slander, smile and sweet talk his way through the dirt – and ooze saccharine happiness in the good. At least, it was how it appeared to Edward. He really should have been going to practice – the one the Symphony was graciously pushing back – but instead, he was waiting on some inconsiderate twerp.

Edward wondered, not for the first time, the point of the meeting. He had never before considered Michael Newton a fan, or even an interested follower of his music. Truly, the man had never really crossed his mind. Except for when he was littering the tabloids, and filling the entertainment pages of newsstands, slickly smiling and always with the demure brunette, her face constantly away from the camera. She intrigued him, for why would such a shy woman stay with a man who attracted – truly, he sought – the lens of a camera? It made no sense. Perhaps she was the reason? Edward immediately stopped that train of thoughts – Newton did not seem considerate enough to do anything for anyone else, if even his tardiness was an indicator. The man thought of no one but himself.

Edward paged the front desk. "Hello? Is Michael Newton here yet?" he demanded, frustrated with the idiot.

"No, sorry, sir. Shall we notify you when he has arrived?" the lady's tone was formal, and businesslike, with just enough of empathetic frustration on Edward's behalf that it grated on his nerves, inexplicably.

"Please do," he grated, before hanging up.

Edward Cullen did not enjoy rude behavior, from the Golden Boy or otherwise. Aggravated, he chucked the phone onto the couch, so hard it bounced to the floor. Sighing, he picked it up and placed it in the cradle.

He moved to the piano, and began to play various pieces that were to be used in the concert. He mixed it all up, classics, carols, his own compositions, changing the order and the general flow from the real line up. His fingers glided over the keys, caressing them, making them sing, coaxing such music from them Edward was moved with it. He scoffed each and every time people told him the music came from him – he believed it was the piano. Edward was merely a catalyst. Nobody, nobody, understood the power of the piano, unless they were so in tune with it. Edward was not stupid enough (or backwards, as most people thought) to deny he was gifted, prodigal even. He felt everything was in the piano, and he coaxed it out.

He didn't hear the phone – he knew that as soon as he heard the most aggravating voice – "I believe you'll do".

Do? Do? Edward never scraped by anyone's standards – the arrogant comment grated his very last nerve.

"I'm so glad," he seethed, refusing to turn around and look at the oaf.

"Good. Are you ready for the Christmas Eve concert?" Newton began conversationally.

"Yes, we have the music choice – we're preparing their order. General practice," Edward responded, a mantra of keep it brief circling his head.

"Well… I have a song request for you. Are you aware of Vivaldi?"

Edward was in total awe of this man's ignorance. Edward Cullen, a classically trained pianist since the age of four, a celebrated composer around the world, was asked if knew of Vivaldi? Was Newton serious?

"I have, yes," Edward replied, gripping the cover so hard, he thought he heard a faint cracking noise. He turned around slowly, finally releasing the cover from his iron grasp.

Michael Newton first got his moniker "Golden Boy" for his sunny looks – blond hair, dimples and laugh lines in all the right places, clear blue eyes, he had been the poster boy for contented teenager – as soon as his father ran for the governor position. Edward had always figured the man had stuck his son in the press, using him to squeeze votes and milk them into the position he was in now. It was clear to Edward now that it had never bothered Newton.

"Excellent, excellent. You're to play Autumn, from the Four Seasons? Yes, that's what I need done. You, Mr. Cullen are the man to deliver. I'm so pleased," Newton said, a greasy smile twisting his face.

"What makes you so sure that I'll do it?" Edward found himself asking, through grated teeth.

"Well, I asked nicely," Newton said; a confused look on his face.

I'm sure once this is over, he'll run to his dad. "And?"

"I'm sure you know who my father is, Mr. Cullen. I am not a man to be trifled with," he said, a threatening tone entering his voice – it was the first time the false pleasantries were dropped. Edward found it rather refreshing.

"I'm not a man to threaten, Mr. Newton. Under no uncertain terms, will I play Autumn. Regardless of your father," Edward said sharply, authority filling his tone. He stood up, his imposing height and voice unconsciously moving Newton backwards.

"Mr. Cullen, I do not think you understand the implications of such a music choice. My girlfriend, Isabella, very much enjoys the piece. I simply require that you play it, with perhaps, a little dedication for her," he was silent a moment, his eyes alight with pensive glow. "Oh, yes, definitely the introduction."


"Really, is it not so simple for you to do as you're told? You're an inconsiderate man, Mr. Cullen," Newton glared petulantly.

"Perhaps, but I'd like to think not. I am not going to do the piece for you. Truly, I do not care that your girlfriend enjoys Autumn. It isn't fair to the orchestra, who has gracefully allowed me to play with them this year. Mr. Newton, you aren't putting only myself out, you are affecting the entire symphony – the orchestra, the choir, the composer, the stage hands, the patrons." Edward went silent, tapping his finger to his chin.

Newton was about to speak when Edward spoke again. "I believe 'no' is not a word you hear often enough. This shall be a lesson for you, then. I will not throw the entire theatre off balance, because you have ridiculous notions of dedicating a song to your girlfriend. It is not going to happen," he said, each word puncturing Newton's ego.

"But – I was to propose-" Newton spluttered.

"Isn't that lovely? Still, your overrated romance is not doing anything for me," Edward said, flicking his hand in dismissal. He knew – he was willing to bet his grand piano – that Newton knew very well the patronizing, condescending move; he'd just never received one.

"My father will hear about this, I can assure you!" he was actually turning colour. His pasty complexion was fading away as an unattractive red settled in. he looked like a tomato with Ken hair – Edward snorted at the mental image, not hiding his amusement.

"Really? Go ahead, call him now, if you must," Edward sneered, his disdain evident with the man in front of him.

Newton searched his coat pockets before producing a photo. "Here." He thrust it to Edward.

Edward never understood why he grabbed the photo; truly, he should have tossed the ignoramus on his ass, and let the theatre security deal with him further. But he didn't. He picked up the photo, looking into the frame curiously.

He was taken aback by the beauty in front of him. It was sunny in the picture, and part of it was from the woman's smile. Beautiful, bottomless intelligent brown eyes looked into the camera. The sun caught red in her hair – Edward was positive it was natural – and brought it forth, the fiery color at war with the earthy brown tones. She was wearing a sun dress that confirmed her beauty was not only of face – the dress worked with her ample curves. Isabella… Very, very, Isabella. Bella

He looked up pulling himself out of the trance the temptress in the picture had put him in, to see Newton's greedy smile, his manipulative look sickening. That bastard. The bastard had used his girlfriend, and her obvious beauty to sway Edward. He had used her to gain him an advantage. It was disgusting – Edward was repulsed by his actions, so easily swayed and played by Michael Newton's lechery.

"Will you do it, Mr. Cullen?" he asked.

He's so cocksure of himself; Edward was excited to put him in his place. "No, you fool. A pretty face will not move me. Get. Out. I have no more need for you," Edward snapped.

He turned around, effectively refusing Newton. He was sitting on the piano bench, fully knowing Newton was still in the room. The open mouthed breathing and look of shock that graced his face was highly entertaining. Edward mused he would keep him around just for the fun of it; but then he thought of his arrogance. Not worth it, not worth it. "Mr. Newton? Please close the door on your way out."

The resounding slam of the door had Edward grinning like the Cheshire cat. As he played, the pretty woman from the picture took residence in his thoughts. He hadn't noticed his fingers movements until almost the end of Autumn. Shaking his head of the thoughts of them kissing, he returned to his music, practicing diligently.

He was surprised to realize the visit with Michael Newton, possibly one of the most annoying and sleazy men on this earth had actually cheered Edward up. But really, it didn't have anything to do with the idiot, but of her. He supposed the Christmas show would be highly interesting.

So Edward Cullen practiced, studiously avoiding any Vivaldi unless necessary. It was so unfortunate, for he had always greatly enjoyed the Italian. But with the attached notion of another Italian, he risked his displeasure for untoward thoughts, no matter how lecherous Michael Newton was.

Edward was not going to think of Isabella. Except that was all he was able to do.

A/N: What do you think? Was it worth the ridiculous wait? How was the peak into Edward's head? I'll have the lyrics up on my profile soon (and I'll try to find the videos) – but the title pretty much says it all. Yes, this is the end. For real.

Thanks for reading! Your thoughts and reviews are very much appreciated.