My eyelids flutter open, and all I can see is a bright, white light.

Squinting my eyes into slits, and shielding them from the blinding glare, I groan.

"So, this is it? I'm dead?"

I hear the sound of Libby's derisive laughter.

({'}) Not even close, girlfriend.

"You mean to say this isn't Heaven?"

I hear more laughter, but it's not just Libby this time.

"I'm afraid not," says another voice that's vaguely familiar.

The light begins to swing back and forth across my face, and I realize I have a flashlight shining right in front of my eyes.

"Get that freakin' thing out of my face," I snarl, and I start flailing my arm about. Several pairs of hands reach out to calm me down.

Thankfully, the light moves away.

({'}) Welcome back… bitch.

Blinking profusely, my vision focuses, and it's then that I get visual confirmation of the owners of the other voices. I sit up in the bed, and standing there, appearing larger than life, are the phantasmagoric embodiments of my collective libido.

Amy, Cleo, Tex, and Libby are gathered around me, and they are dressed in teal colored surgical scrubs.

"Shit…, not you again!" I silently wonder if I should start seeing a Psychiatrist, Psychologist, or maybe an Exorcist.

"Nice to see you, too, Bella," Amy says.

"Really, we should stop meeting like this," Tex adds matter-of-factly, as Cleo plays with the bed controls and adjusts the headrest.

Taking a stethoscope from around her neck and putting the ear tips in her ears, Amy begins to move the chest piece back and forth over my ribs.

After enduring about a minute of silence as a bewildered Amy tries to listen to my heart on the wrong side of my chest, I grab the end of the stethoscope from her fingers, and I bring it close to my mouth.

"What in the fuck am I doing here?" I shout into the chest piece.

Amy winces from the amplified volume and hastily rips the ear tips out of her ears. "Ouch! Was that really necessary?"

"Answer me!"

"Hey! Don't blame us. This is all on you," Cleo snaps.

"What do you mean?"

({'}) I told you, she's a dumb ass.

Cleo nods in agreement.

"You're in the hospital," Tex explains, "and you've got some totally wicked drugs coursing through your veins right now." She gives me the two-thumbs-up signal.

"Hospital?"

Tex nods. "Yeah… and you're on some reeeeally good shit this time. I believe they called them Fentanyl, Lorazepam and Entonox." Tex takes a small step away from the bed and appears to kick something on the floor. I hear a lazy chuckle coming from underneath the bed.

"What was that?" I ask.

"It's just Hippocampus. She's so bombed out of her brain on opioids, muscle relaxant, and happy gas that she can't even speak or stand up," Tex answers.

"Anyway…," Amy drawls, "we thought we'd take this opportunity to stage an intervention. We love you, but we have something we need to get off our combined chests."

"Like what?"

({'}) Like the fact you wouldn't go bareback with Edward. If you'd just sunk the salami when you had the opportunity without bothering with a condom, you wouldn't be here. You'd be thoroughly exhausted and spooning with him right about now, and I'd be feeling a whole lot better.

I sigh.

"For a start, we can't go without a condom because, unlike some people, I'm not willing to get pregnant before marriage. And you all know I can't use any form of hormone contraceptive."

It's true, unfortunately.

You name it, I tried it, and I lived to suffer through the side effects. The combined pill would make me constantly nauseous and gave me headaches. My Gyno then suggested I try the mini-pill, the shot or the implant. I chose the implant as it didn't require me to remember to take a pill every day, and it could be removed if there were any side effects.

Oh, the horrendous side effects…

The implant, as it turned out, was the worst. I gained sixteen pounds, lost my sex-drive, and had frequent breakthrough bleeding. But the scariest side effect of all was when my hair started to fall out in clumps.

Vin Diesel, Chris Daughtry, Patrick Stewart, and The Rock can go bald and get away with it. Britney Spears, Cameron Diaz, and me - not so much.

Having the implant removed after seven months of pure hell was the best decision I ever made. In the end, my Gyno just concluded that contraceptive hormones don't play nicely with my body, and he fitted me for a diaphragm.

The diaphragm, while effective against unwanted pregnancy, made our sex life even less spontaneous, and it contributed to urinary tract infections. It was not long after my third UTI, after using the diaphragm for a year (albeit infrequently) that Eric and I broke up anyway.

Stupidly, I had endured it all, simply because Eric refused to wear condoms.

My diaphragm has been sitting unused in its protective plastic case inside my bathroom cabinet for over two years. I doubt I'd trust its effectiveness; particularly, as I've lost over ten pounds in weight during that time.

({'}) You know Aunt Flo is expected in the next few days. There's no way you could have gotten pregnant. Face facts – you don't trust Edward!

"I'm trying, okay. Look, I'm honestly trying to give him my trust, but I'm scared."

"Why are you scared?" Cleo asks.

"Because I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop; I keep waiting for the day Edward realizes I'm not enough for him, and he moves on to someone else."

"You don't really think that's going to happen, do you?" Tex asks worriedly.

"Well, anything is possible. Look at Eric. Things went well in the beginning. We were engaged, and then look what happened… And seriously, Libby, do you honestly want to go through all of those embarrassing tests again? The Chlamydia screening was particularly unpleasant, wouldn't you agree?"

Libby winces at the memory and crosses her own legs.

"Up until now, Edward has been perfectly happy to use condoms. He knows how I feel about the subject of protection. I think he just got caught up in the moment," I conclude.

({'}) But what if it happens again?

I shrug. "He'll just have to continue to be understanding; I suppose. I refuse to go through what I did when I was with Eric. I'm not going to compromise my own needs."

"Okay, so you're adamant you won't go bareback until after you're married and ready for kids," Amy confirms. "So the answer is simple… marry Edward."

They all smile at each other and nod in agreement.

"Preferably as soon as possible," Tex adds.

({'}) Good call!

Libby high-fives Tex.

"Um… There's just one small problem with that plan," I remind them.

"What's that?" Cleo asks.

"Edward hasn't asked me to marry him."

"Yeah, so?" They all say in unison.

"So…" I give them the 'duh' face. It should be patently obvious that I need to wait for his proposal.

"Just ask Edward to marry you," Cleo says.

"Are you insane? I'm not going to ask Edward to marry me!"

"Why not?" Tex asks.

"Because… because… I'm meant to be the proposee, not the proposer."

"Rubbish," Amy scoffs. "This is the modern age, Bella. Women can propose marriage to men, you know…"

"Well excuse me for being old-fashioned, but I think I'd like to be the one being proposed to. That way, I'll know Edward's ready for marriage. I'd feel so embarrassed and rejected if I were the one to propose, and he said, 'No.'"

({'}) Aha… but this is where we have come up with a cunning plan.

"A cunning plan?"

({'}) Exactly. We have a foolproof way to ensure Edward will say, 'Yes'. In fact, he'll be unable to say, 'No.'

"Oh, really? And what is this… cunning plan?"

({'}) Just invoke the 'undeniable request'. Ahem… and I quote… 'I will do anything that is physically within my ability to do. Name it, and I will do it, but only if you win...'

"No!"

({'}) But-

"I said, no!"

"Bella, those were Edward's own words, verbatim, so if you ask him to marry you, he can't refuse," Amy argues.

"The undeniable request was meant as a joke; a game. I won't bribe or force Edward into marrying me with something as stupid as a wager. It's not that simple, and as I said-"

Suddenly, Hippocampus starts muttering from beneath the bed. "Your abs… yeah, I wanted to lick them." After a few seconds of silence, the hippy continues as if she's having a conversation with someone. "Uh-huh. Yes, really..."

"Hmm. That's weird," Tex says, shoving Hippocampus with her foot a few times.

"Anyway, as I was saying…" I'm ready to launch into a rant about how I want to be romanced when I'm proposed to, but suddenly, Hippocampus speaks up again.

"Thought it looked as big as a baby's arm," she says. Then she giggles.

"What's she on about?" Cleo asks, looking first to Tex, and then Amy and Libby.

{{'}) At a guess, I think she's talking about Edward's cock. In particular, the time Edward came to the waterbabes class wearing those tight, black swim shorts.

We all sigh dreamily at the memory.

Hippocampus speaks up again, "Eric… Ewan McGregor… You…"

"What?" I shriek in disbelief as I awkwardly launch myself off the side of the bed. "No fucking way!"

"What's going on," Cleo asks, "What's she talking about?"

"No, no, no, no. NO!" Ducking down, I grab hold of Hippocampus by the ankle, to pull her out from under the bed, but for some reason, my right arm isn't doing anything useful. Her eyes are rolling back in her head, and she's grinning like a loon. Immediately, I straddle her chest and start slapping her cheek. "Wake up!" I demand.

Hippocampus just giggles and says, "Because I secretly like that Ewan sings and drops his trousers to get his lightsaber out in just about every movie he's in. And I loooooove his Scottish accent."

({'}) Me too.

"Shut up! Stop talking. Please, stop talking." I place my hand over the hippy's mouth, but it doesn't make any difference. "Help me!" I call out. "We have to stop her. She's playing Kill/ Fuck/ Marry and giving him the uncensored answers."

"Who's she talking to?" Cleo asks, but suddenly she appears to have an epiphany. "Oh, shit!" She drops down to her knees and begins to shake Hippocampus by the shoulders. "Wake up! You're blabbing our innermost secrets to Edward. Wake up, now!"

"I really like your cock. I call it El Capitán. That's Español for 'The Captain,' you know," she says in a stage-whisper. There is a pause before Hippocampus continues, "Well that's what I call it… what is its real name then?"

For a beat, I stop to listen for the answer, but I can't hear anything.

"What's he saying?" I ask.

"Shhhhhhh!" they all admonish.

"Shut the fuck up! We can't hear anything over your foghorn voice," Amy hisses.

Suddenly, Hippocampus breaks out into hysterical laughter. "Of course, of course… I promise I won't tell anyone."

"Well, what did he say?" I ask, turning to look at Tex and Cleo. They both shrug.

Damn.

"Oh, you want to know what mine is called? My VAAAAH-JAY-JAY is called-" Hippocampus shouts in a sing-song voice.

"Dear God," I whimper. "Please, shut the hell up!".

"What was that?" Hippocampus says, becoming serious. "Oh, okay - can you please hold my other hand? Don't leave me, Edward."

We all look around at each other, confused.

"What's happening, Bella?" Cleo asks fearfully.

"I have no idea."

-oo0oo-

Saturday, 22nd December - 2:30am - St. Vincent's Hospital.

Suddenly, I feel a searing pain ripping through my right shoulder, and my eyes open wide in shock.

"HOLY MOTHER OF FUCKING SHIT!" I gasp loudly, before scrunching my eyes shut again.

My breaths are hard and rapid as they escape my mouth through pursed lips and gritted teeth.

I open my eyes again and realize I have a plastic mouthpiece in front of my lips, and I greedily suck the nitrous oxide gas into my lungs, as though my very existence depends on it. The gas starts to make me feel dizzy, claustrophobic, and sick, but it dulls the pain just a little.

"Shh-shh-shhhh. It's all over. You were so brave, and you did really well," Edward says soothingly next to my left ear before gently kissing me on the temple.

"Okay it's in," I hear an unfamiliar male voice say, and I notice a handsome grey-haired doctor standing on my right, addressing a young female nurse. His name tag proclaims him to be Orthopedic Surgeon - Associate Professor F. Sance.

"I want you to perform neurovascular obs on the right arm for the next two hours at fifteen minutely intervals, and put the arm in a sling for her comfort. I'll put through a request to Radiology for some post-reduction x-rays to check for any missed fractures. I'd also like you to recheck her neurological status, and once you are happy her GCS is okay, Isabella can have some more analgesia if she needs it."

The doctor then gently extracts the mouthpiece from my death-grip and places the trippy gas out of reach.

Bastard!

It's probably for the best, because right now I feel as if I'm going to...

"Vomit," I manage to choke out, and the nurse, with lightning-like reflexes, manages to position a disposable plastic barf bag in front of me, just in time, and then I bring up everything I've eaten over the last week.

Mercifully, the nurse hands me a cup of water, so I can rinse my mouth, and she disposes the foul-smelling barf bag into a yellow hazardous waste bin. Exhausted, I feel tears leak from my eyes, and they travel down to my chin. A tired and emotional sob rips from my throat.

Edward softly brushes the tears away with his fingertips and wipes my nose and mouth with a Kleenex.

"What about the right ankle and the scalp lac?" the nurse asks. "Should I page the Plastics Registrar on-call?"

The gray-haired doctor, who I decide looks a bit like George Clooney, moves closer and runs his gloved fingers just above my hair line. "No… I wouldn't bother them with this. It's a small, clean cut, and the edges are easily approximated. In fact, I would be inclined to skip the sutures and just glue it together with some Histoacryl.

"As for the ankle, the first x-ray panel came back negative for any fractures, so it's just a sprain. There's some bruising developing, so keep the foot elevated on a pillow and apply a fresh ice pack. Once she's ready to leave, apply a compression bandage and arrange a hire crutch."

"Sure thing, Prof," the nurse replies.

The doctor pats me reassuringly on my knee before saying, "I'll leave you in Adele's capable hands, but I'll be back to check on you before you leave. He then exits the sterile-looking cubical through a pair of peach-colored privacy curtains.

Adele then proceeds to ask me a barrage of questions concerning my ability to move my hand and to distinguish between sharp and dull sensations along the extent of my arm.

-oo0oo-

5.30am.

After three hours of being questioned, poked, prodded, iced, glued, scanned, wrapped, and medicated, Adele and Doctor Sance tell me that I'm free to leave the Emergency Department. They exit the cubicle, so I can get myself ready.

Only there's one small problem.

We came to the hospital in an ambulance, and I have no idea how we're going to get back to the hotel.

I'm barefooted, wearing a black and gold mini v-string and a starched, white, backless hospital gown.

Edward is holding onto my killer high heels and my iPhone.

Unfortunately, Edward didn't think to bring along any other clothes or money. He had apparently been too afraid to move me due to my dislocated shoulder, and had been holding a facecloth to my head to control the bleeding until the ambulance arrived.

He said he'd barely had time to pull on a pair of pants, and find my insurance details in my suitcase, before the paramedics wheeled me out of the hotel room on a trolley, heading for the elevator.

Edward is wearing the white Navy officer's pants and nothing else; not even underwear or shoes.

Just as I'm about to ask Edward how we are going to get out of here, I hear a familiar female voice.

"Frank! How wonderful to see you!" It's my mother. Edward must have called her.

"Well, if it isn't the lovely Ms. Renee Higginbotham! What are you doing here?" the doctor replies in a voice that makes their reunion seem mutually joyous.

"I got a phone call about two hours ago to say my daughter was here. She was bought in by ambulance, and her boyfriend phoned to say they needed a ride. Phil and I rushed here as soon as we could manage."

"A ride? Surely, you're not back on the bike already?" he asks concerned.

Huh?

"Oh, no… not likely," she scoffs softly, "Phil drove us here in the van. Sadly, my beloved bike is still under a tarp in the garage. I'm waiting until my compensation and insurance money comes through, and then I'll fix her up. The court case starts after the new year."

Compensation… and a court case? What court case? My mom never told me anything about a court case. And what happened to the bike?

"How's the pelvis going, by the way? Will we be seeing you back at the dance studio soon? We've been learning the Foxtrot, but the classes aren't as fun without you there to help out."

Her pelvis? What the hell? It sounds as though she was in an accident of some kind.

"Oh… aren't you a darling, but I'll pretend I didn't just hear you say that, because Phil will get mad at you." They both laugh. "I'll have to ask Brad at my next physio appointment when he thinks I'll be up to doing the jive again."

"So, you said your daughter was here... Tell me her name, and I'll show you to her cubicle."

"Isabella Swan."

"Really?" he replies. "She's just behind this curtain."

The curtain is partially drawn back, and for the first time in five years, I see my mom's face close up.

Mom is the sort of person who would rather be behind the camera than in front of it, which means photos have been few and far between. The last photo she sent me was two years ago, and it was a group shot taken during a work function. Although her hair is cut shorter than I've ever seen on her before, and there are one or two new character lines, she hardly seems to have changed.

"Baby," Mom gushes effusively, and then she moves forward to greet me. She has a metal walking stick in one hand.

"Hey, Mom," I reply, rolling my eyes as she kisses me several times on the cheeks before addressing Edward.

"And you must be Edward," Mom says, giving him a kiss on the cheek and pulling him into a firm hug. Looking at me around Edward's bicep, she whispers, "Wow, he's a hottie," before giving me a wink and the thumbs up signal.

"It's nice to meet you Ms. Higginbotham," Edward says, as they end the hug. He's blushing slightly; probably because he's going commando and shirtless and my mom just hugged the shit out of him, but most likely it's because he caught the gist of what my Mom just said to me.

"Psssht. Don't be so formal. Just call me Renee or Ren. So, are you okay, kiddo? What exactly happened?" she asks, looking me over.

"I… uh- I fell. I accidentally stepped on Edward's shoe in heels and rolled my ankle. On the way down, I bumped my head and dislocated my shoulder."

"I swear, Bella Swan; you could trip over thin air."

"That's not true… anymore. Anyway, what happened to you?" I ask accusingly, indicating to her walking stick with my good arm. "You had an accident and neglected to tell me? When?"

Mom sighs. "It was back at the beginning of September. It was a hit-and-run accident. Some drunk asshole in an Audi went through a red light, clipped the front end of the bike, and sped off. I was in this very hospital for six weeks with a fractured right Acetabulum, some cracked ribs, and bruising. My leathers and helmet saved me."

"Mom, why didn't you tell me? And at your age, aren't you a little too old to be riding a motorcycle?"

Edward raises his eyebrows in surprise. Clearly, I forgot to mention to Edward that my mom is a juvenile trapped in the body of a fifty-year-old woman.

"Pshht! I'm not old! And honestly, I didn't want to bother you. There's not much you could have done all the way on the other side of the planet except worry unnecessarily, and I was fine, really. I had lots of friends around to assist me during my recovery. Trust me, I'll be dancing before you know it," she says, looking towards the doctor and smiling. Mom turns to look at me again, and I scowl at her. She gives me a mock-scowl in return, and it makes me chuckle.

"I'll see you later, Renee," the doctor says. "Maybe I can call on you some time and take you out for dinner?"

Mom moves towards the curtain. "Uh… sure, Frank. Just call me," she says offhandedly, and then she reaches up to close the privacy curtain behind him. With an eye roll and an exasperated look, Mom returns to the bedside and drops a plastic shopping bag on one of the seats.

"Mom? Won't Phil be upset?"

She opens the shopping bag and begins to pull out some clothes. "Upset about what?" Taking out a red t-shirt, she tosses it in Edward's direction. "Phil's bigger than me, but it's still going to be small on you. Sorry, Edward, but it's the best we could do at the last minute."

"Mom! You just accepted a date with that doctor."

"Yeah. So?"

"Won't Phil get jealous?" I ask.

Edward holds up the t-shirt in front of him, and I start to snicker. It has a picture of Lady Gaga on the front. In white lettering, it says 'KEEP CALM AND JUST DANCE.' Lady Gaga has a white crown perched at a jaunty angle on her head.

"What a strange thing to say…" Mom replies. "Why would Phil get jealous? Phil and I have many friends in common." From the bag, Mom then pulls out a pretty blue, strapless, shirred cotton summer dress and a brand new strapless bra.

I decide to drop the subject. Clearly, I'm missing something. I focus on trying to get dressed so we can get out of here. Edward helps me to sit on the edge of the bed, to allow Mom to help me with the clothes. It's fortunate I'm the same size as my mom.

When Mom removes the white hospital gown from me, she excitedly exclaims, "I see you're wearing the panties from the Playboy Valkyrie set I sent for your birthday! Oh, Bella, they look fantastic on you. Don't you think they look fantastic on her, Edward?"

There are times when my mom is so inappropriate, but actually, it's one of the things I love most about her. Although Renee is my mom, she has never been much of a mother-figure towards me. To me, she's always been more like a cheeky, rebellious aunt, or a much older sister. She's the female relative I can tell almost anything to, with the knowledge that she won't judge me or try to control my life, unlike a real mom. At least, that's been my observation gleaned from the mother-daughter relationships my friends frequently complain about.

Edward nods; blushes again, and busies himself with trying to get the red t-shirt on. His biceps and chest are testing the limits of the fabric, and it only comes three-quarters down the length of his torso. He's baring his midriff.

"Cute shirt. Does your boyfriend like to parade you around to all the gay bars dressed up like that?" I giggle, and he rolls his eyes at me.

Although they gave me a crutch to use under my uninjured arm, I don't feel safe enough to walk while I still have drugs circulating around my body, so Edward leaves the cubicle to search for a wheelchair.

A few minutes later, he returns appearing quite flustered.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Never mind," he replies, helping me to get situated in the wheelchair.

As we make our way towards the exit, it becomes apparent why Edward had been feeling uncomfortable. A group of scantily clad women in their early twenties, who are obviously drunk or high, wolf-whistle and cat-call to Edward. They must be having a bachelorette evening, as one of them is wearing a flashing tiara that proclaims she's a bride-to-be.

Edward ignores them as we pass them by.

"See," says one of the women, turning to her friends, "I told you that he was probably already taken or gay." The women burst into laughter.

({'}) Buh-bye, whores.

Raising my good arm, I'm about to give them the middle finger over my left shoulder, but Mom beats me to it. Edward just chuckles as he maneuvers the wheelchair through the sliding glass doors.

While we're waiting on the footpath, Mom surveys the roadway, and then shaking her head, she pulls out her cell phone. After a pause, she speaks into the phone.

"Phil? Where are you?

"Yeah, we're waiting outside the Emergency Room...

"Okay. See you soon. Bye." I look up at Mom, and she says, "Phil went to get us breakfast. I hope you're okay with egg and bacon sandwiches and coffee."

Edward enthusiastically nods in response while my stomach just growls in a threatening manner.

"Here we go," Mom says, pointing to a camper van that's passing the hospital, heading towards the main gate.

I blink my eyes several times, and silently begin to wonder how hard I hit my head, because... seriously?

Behind me, I can hear Edward chuckling.

Mom looks at me, sighs and then says, "Believe me; I know what you're thinking, but Phil got it for a bargain. It'll get a new paint job… eventually."

The basic color of the van is red, but on the sides, there are four, large, naked female asses. The word 'WICKED' is spray-painted on the front, and I realize this must be an ex-hire Wicked camper van.

The van pulls up next to the footpath, and the driver-side door of the wicked ass-mobile opens. The last person I expect to see steps out.

({'}) Huh? Is there something else your mom forgot to mention?

"I'm sorry to have kept you all waiting," says a tall, blonde woman, who is wearing shorts, a tank top, and tennis shoes. The woman has the body of a dancer and looks to be in her late forties. "I was only around the block, but there was a line of taxi drivers waiting to get their morning coffee, so it took a while longer than I thought." The woman steps onto the footpath and stands before us, her smile beaming brightly and revealing cheek dimples. "Nice shirt," she quips at Edward and then winks, "but I think it looks better on me."

"We only just got out, so we weren't waiting long," Mom says. "Anyway, Phil, I'd like to introduce my daughter, Bella Swan, and her boyfriend, Edward Cullen. Kids, this is Philippa Dwyer, but she prefers to be called Phil, and never call her Pippa unless you want to incur her wrath."

Edward mirrors my bewilderment as he shakes Phil's hand.

Phil then turns to address me, "I'd shake your hand or hug you, but you're obviously injured. How are you? I hear you took a dive."

"Yeah, I dislocated my shoulder, among other things. I'm gonna be in a sling for about a month."

"Well, it's great to meet you, finally. Ren has told me a lot about you over the years," Phil says.

"My mom mentioned you too, but for some reason, I always thought you were a man," I reply.

Mom whips her head around to look at me, confusion crossing her features. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Um… the name Phil, I guess. You never mentioned Phil was a woman when you said you were moving in together, so I always figured Phil was your live-in boyfriend."

Mom and Phil both burst out laughing, and Edward starts snickering too.

"Come 'ere and gimme a big sloppy kiss, honeybunny pooky-face," Mom jokes, and then she throws an arm around Phil's shoulder and plants a wet kiss on the side of her face.

"Get away from me, you raving lunatic. Cut that shit out or I'll hit you over the head with your own stick," Phil says, while laughing and pushing Mom's face away. "Keep that behavior up and you'll give the kids the wrong impression about the two of us." They continue laughing and then sigh.

Mom then explains, "Phil is my best friend in the world, and we share the same house, for the moment. We've also just started a new business venture together called 'La Belle Femme.'"

"Speaking of which, we actually need to start heading back. I have to open the store by nine as there are some deliveries coming in, and the Fletcher bride is picking up her special order at ten," Phil says.

We all get into the van. Phil, Edward, and my mom sit in the front while I get situated in the back, so I can rest my legs along the length of the back seat with my foot elevated.

I close my eyes for just a minute.

-oo0oo-

Midday… apparently.

I feel something soft and satiny brushing across my cheek. It tickles, so I reach up to scratch the tickle away.

Hmmm. There it is again. How fucking annoying!

Lifting my hand, I cover the side of my face.

Grrr. Now it's on my nose, and… wait… it smells floral, so it must be a flower on my face.

Ugh. Please don't tell me that I've managed to fall asleep under a bush somewhere… again.

"It's time to wake up, sleepy," a velvety voice urges.

I do like you mister sexy voice, but no…

"Bella…"

"Noooooo. Juzz-fie-more-mints," I moan drowsily.

Really, I could easily do with five more hours of sleep. Maybe I can just… drift… back to...

Mister sexy voice is chuckling at something, and the tickly thing is on my neck.

I do like the sound of the laugh, but not right now, please and thank you; bye-bye and goodnight.

"Bell! You need to wake up and get out of the van," sexy voice says a little more forcefully.

"Hunhh?" I groan, and on opening my eyes, I feel totally disorientated.

The sun's rays are dappled as they come in through the door, and I look around and realize I'm still in the van. The van seems to be parked beneath a large tree… somewhere.

I notice Edward is no longer wearing the white pants and Lady Gaga t-shirt, and he smells of soap. It seems he's showered and changed. He's wearing a pair of gray cargo shorts, a white, gray, and green plaid shirt, and flip-flops.

"It lives!" Edward jokes as he hands me the single white rose he's been torturing me with.

"Geez. How long have I been asleep?" I yawn and clutch the rose to my chest. The air inside the van is warm despite the gentle breeze blowing through the open doors. The left side of my body is damp with perspiration. "What time is it, and where are we?"

Edward looks at his watch. "We're in Katoomba. It's just gone midday, and it's nearly time for lunch. You've been sleeping for hours. You fell asleep before we even got back to the Shangri La. I didn't have the heart to wake you, so Phil dropped me and your mum off at the hotel, and then drove here. I picked up a hire car, and then your mum helped me to pack our belongings. Then I checked us out of the hotel early."

"Oh, okay." I yawn again loudly, as I attempt to move to a sitting position. "Owwww." Yep. It's all coming back to me now, and it seems those heavenly painkillers have well and truly worn off. My shoulder hurts like hell. "What about our plans for lunch and Christmas shopping? Did you call Senna or one of the others to cancel?"

He nods. "I sent them all a text to tell them not to expect us as we spent most of the night in the emergency room. I told them that you tripped and injured your shoulder without going into the fine details, of course." Edward winks and smiles. "I also rang your dad and Sue. Sue then talked to my Mum, so naturally, everyone in the family now knows. Your phone has a bunch of texts and voice-mail messages, and I've been fielding calls all morning, in between hanging out with Ren in the garage."

"Why were you hanging out in the garage with my mom?"

"She was showing me the damage to her bike, and then we started dismantling it. Your Mum is a seriously cool lady. Did you know she owns a 1955 R67/3 BMW?"

I shrug my one good shoulder.

I know very little about the bike, except that it was given to Mom by her last fiancé, George, about four years ago. Since divorcing my dad, Mom has been engaged three times, but she has never remarried due to cold feet. However, I'd bet good money that if he was alive today, Mom and George would still be together.

George was Mom's one true love – her soul mate. Sadly, they never made it down the aisle. Eighteen months after their engagement, George passed away due to complications following a kidney transplant operation.

It's sad now that I realize Mom hasn't moved on from George as I had once thought… considering Phil's… well… not a man.

Edward continues, "The R67/3 is the rarest postwar BMW motorcycle. Only 700 were produced."

He starts prattling on about 'Earles-forks' and 'sidecar specials' and a bunch of other motorbike jargon I have no concept of. It seems my mom and Edward spent the morning bonding over bike parts while I slept. Thankfully, he stops speaking bike-and-rider when my eyes start to glaze over.

"Anyway," he says, "your mum asked me to wake you because you already missed breakfast, and we're going out for lunch. She figures you might want to freshen up first."

I nod, and Edward turns around and exits the van. I shuffle along after him until my legs are hanging out the door.

"Here, let me help you put these on." Edward bends down to put a pair of flip-flops on my feet, and then he assists me out of the van. Although my ankle is slightly tender, it doesn't hurt too much, so I decide to forego the crutch Edward's holding out for me.

Slowly, we move, with his arm around my waist, and we walk along a brick-paved path towards a charming Californian bungalow style house. The house is stone-fronted in tones of gray and white, with white casement windows, a deep-red iron roof, and a wide veranda. It looks as though the house may have been built in the early part of the last century.

"So what is the rose for?" I ask, noticing the rose bush by the fence. "Does a single white rose have a specific meaning?"

"Not in this situation. But if there'd been fifteen roses on that bush, instead of just eight, I would have picked them all for you."

"Why?" I can't recall what fifteen roses means.

"Because I want to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry you got hurt because of me, and I'm sorry for the way I behaved last night. I was out of line, and I want you to know that I won't pressure you like that again." We stop before the front door, and Edward looks at me worriedly.

"I forgive you; not for the first part, because we both know what a clumsy oaf I can be when I've got a bit of alcohol in me," we both chuckle, "but thank you for the apology, and thank you for understanding where I'm coming from."

He nods and then looks at the ground. He still looks shamed, so I reach up with my hand to cup his jaw, and I pull his face down for a kiss before speaking.

"Edward, I do forgive you, and please understand that I do actually want us to have that kind of spontaneity in our relationship - more than anything. But, I need to feel safe, too. Please, just bear with me. I love you, and I do trust you, but I still have scars from the past."

"I understand, and I love you, too." He kisses me again, smiles and then reaches for the door handle.

After entering through a white screen door, we walk the length of the hallway, heading to where I can hear Mom's voice. On either side of the lavender, wall paneled hallway, I get glimpses into the rooms.

Through a pair of glass doors on the left, I see the comfortable living room with its horizontal wall paneling, stained-glass windows, polished floorboards, and floor rug. There is a large leather sofa, a coffee table, and a fireplace with a mantle.

The next door along is closed; however, the door on the opposite side is wide open. The drifting dust motes are visible due to the sunlight streaming into the room through a window topped with stained glass panels. The bedroom is filled with wooden furniture, and the fact the queen-sized bedspread is colored in various shades of purple, makes me think that this is probably my mom's room. Purple has always been her favorite color.

Reaching the end of the hallway, I find my mom sitting in the kitchen on the end of a peach and gray granite bench top. She's talking on the phone, and from the gist of the conversation, it's a work-related call. Edward directs me to sit in the dining room, opposite the long, galley-like kitchen.

Before sitting down, I gaze through one of the five casement windows that make up most of the back wall, and I look at the back yard. Outside there's a wooden deck with bottle-green railing. From the deck, steps lead down to a sloping lawn that backs onto untamed bush land.

Taking a seat at the wooden, rectangular dining table, I notice another closed room next to the back door. It has a vintage picture in a frame on the door, advertising Pears Soap, so I assume it must be the bathroom.

"Thank you so much for rushing the orders to us, and we look forward to getting them on Monday morning," Mom says into the phone. "Okay, thanks, bye."

Mom ends the call and pockets her phone before jumping down from the bench. "Hey, kiddo, how are you feeling?"

"A bit rough actually… and hungry."

"You can wash up in there," Mom says, pointing to the door I correctly assumed was the bathroom. You can take a bath or a shower, and then we'll go out to lunch. I've booked us a table at Mama Rosa's because Edward says he's in the mood for lasagna, and Rosa's is the best."

I stand and head for the bathroom. Edward retrieves a skirt and a button-front blouse from my suitcase and meets me in the bathroom. "Bath or shower?" he asks.

Eyeing the large, deep, burgundy and white enamel tub, I decide a shower will probably be easier.

-oo0oo-

If I thought showering would be easier, I was wrong.

In fact, nothing is easy when you lose the use of your dominant hand. Edward had to help me… a lot, and in many ways, he wasn't helping at all.

So while my hair is still kind of gross, (because I can't wash it properly for 48 hours, due to the glued scalp cut) my boobs are clean.

They are immaculately clean, in fact.

Seriously, Edward's attention to boob detail was commendable; it was just neither the time nor the place for such dedication and distraction, since (a) we were in my mom's house, and (b) we used up all the hot water.

-oo0oo-

Lunch at Mama Rosa's Ristorante has been nothing short of sensational.

Currently, I'm sitting here, feeling stuffed to the gills having had bruschetta, Italian garden salad, San Pellegrino, and the best lasagna I've ever had.

I've consumed so much, that I can barely breathe because my stomach is pressing up under my diaphragm. Mom has even gone so far as to undo the top button of her shorts, and Edward kind of looks as though he wants to do the same. Feeling too full to eat anything else, we decide it might be time to leave.

Mama Rosa approaches, and in a heavy Italian accent, she asks, "Would you like dessert or coffee?"

Edward has been speaking to Rosa in Italian since we've been here, charming the old dear. I decide to speak some Italian, too, so I can show off to Mom. "No, grazie. Stiamo per scopare."

Suddenly, Mama Rosa's eyes widen in shock, and then her expression turns to stone. Edward chokes on his San Pellegrino, and before he can say anything, the old woman launches into a tirade, speaking rapidly in Italian and wildly gesticulating with her hands.

({'}) What the fuck did you just say?

I just wanted to tell the old woman that we didn't want anything more because we're about to burst... I think.

Talk about over reacting! Sheesh!

Edward quickly recovers and replies with, "Scoppiare!" And holding up his hands, he gestures for the old dear to calm down.

Mama Rosa seems to calm down as Edward continues to speak to her in Italian. Soon they are both smiling, and the old woman laughs and pats me, somewhat patronizingly, on the cheek. She then walks back to the kitchen, shaking her head in amusement.

I turn to look at Edward, who is also looking at me in amusement.

"What's wrong with her?" I ask.

"You said, 'No, grazie. Stiamo per scopare,'"

I nod. "Yeah. That's, 'No, thank you. We're going to burst.' Right?"

Edward shakes his head and chuckles. "The word you needed was scoppiare, not scopare. No, grazie. Stiamo per scoppiare."

"So what did I say then that made the old lady so upset?"

Smirking he replies, "You said, 'No, thank you. We're going to fuck.'"

Oh, God.

I have a sudden urge to slide off my chair and crawl under the tablecloth, so I can hide in mortification.

My mom bursts into laughter. She laughs so hard she snorts which makes Edward laugh even harder.

Why does this shit always happen to me?

-oo0oo-

Leura - The Blue Mountains – 2.20pm.

I gingerly lay down on the queen sized four-poster bed and sigh in contentment. Edward is unpacking our suitcases and hanging our clothes in the large armoire.

The Broomelea Bed and Breakfast spa suite is simply gorgeous. If not for the fact that I'm incapacitated and stuck in this stupid sling, I'd be making much better use of this bed with Edward.

({'}) Grrr.

With everything unpacked and put away, Edward crawls up onto the bed, and he gently curls his body around me.

"What do you feel like doing?" he asks against the left side of my neck before kissing it.

I sigh. "Not much." My ankle has swollen up a bit from the small amount of walking we've done today. "Sleep… maybe watch some TV or a movie," I say, indicating to the small TV and DVD player near the foot of the bed. The owner had mentioned there was a selection of DVD movies in the breakfast room for guests to borrow when we checked in.

"I'll go and see what movies they have here, okay?"

I nod, and then watch as Edward leaves the room.

As soon as the door closes, my phone rings, and I turn and pick it up from the small nightstand where I had plugged it into the electrical socket to charge up.

It's Ali.

"Hi, Ali."

"Hey - how are you? Esme told me what happened… or at least a version of what happened. Did you honestly fall over while you were getting undressed, or was it while you were dancing?"

I chuckle. "It was neither." I go on to tell Ali the real version of events and we laugh at my rotten luck.

"Anyway, the real reason I'm calling is because I have something urgent to tell you. Are you sitting down?"

"I'm lying down. Is that good enough? What's wrong?"

"Since I woke up so early this morning, I decided to have an afternoon nap, and… I had a dream. One of those dreams."

I sit up immediately.

When we first became friends, one of the things Ali confided about to me, was her precognitive dreams.

Some of her dreams had been blessings, such as her blackjack win in Atlantic City, meeting and marrying Jazz, and the slot machine win in Vegas. But it is the dreams that have portended death that have been the hardest for Ali to deal with.

Those dreams.

The first one happened in the spring of 1996, when she was ten years old. In the dream, she saw her father kneeling and laying a wreath of flowers in front of a black marble headstone. Her mother's name was written on the headstone along with the date. The date on the headstone was the 5th of February 1997.

Six months after having the dream, Ali's mom died of pneumonia while undergoing treatment for acute myelogenous leukemia.

At first, Ali didn't know how to deal with the knowledge that she had dreamed of her own mother's death before it had occurred; before she'd even become ill. Ali battled with guilt for years as she had told no one about the dream, often wondering if she could have somehow prevented her mother's death.

It was not until she turned seventeen, that she told her father, Joseph, about the dream, and that was because she had to convince him to install several steel bollards along the outer front wall and window of the aquatic center. At first, he didn't believe her, but Joseph decided to go along with her request in the end, since Ali had threatened to go on a hunger strike unless he did as she asked.

It was a month after the bollards had been installed that an elderly driver suffered a cardiac arrest in the parking lot of the aquatic center while reversing his car. The fire officers confirmed that had it not been for the bollards, the back of the car would have crashed through the window of the front office, possibly killing Joseph who was sitting at the reception desk near the window at the time of the crash.

From the tone and hesitancy of Ali's voice, I know it couldn't have been a good dream.

"Who did you dream about?"

"It- it was about Edward."

My blood runs cold, and my throat constricts.

"No," is all I can utter. Instantly, I'm in denial.

"You can't allow Edward to go in the yacht race. Do whatever it takes to prevent him from getting on that boat."

"Why? What did you see?" I ask, feeling sick.

Edward has been so excited about the yacht race. It's all he's talked about for months since he signed on. He's been training so hard, and the race is only four days away.

The door to our suite opens, and I jump in fright. A gasp escapes my throat.

"Hey. Who's on the phone?" Edward asks, smiling brightly, and I then miss what Ali just said to me.

I hold up a finger to signal to Edward that I need him to stop talking. "What did you just say?" I ask into the phone.

"Bella… I said I saw Edward drowning."

A/N – French translation – La Belle Femme = The Beautiful Woman.

15 roses = I am truly sorry, please forgive me?

Here's a little slideshow of some of the things mentioned in this chapter. Check out Phil's van, Ren's house, and Broomelea B&B. Remove brackets for link to work. (http)(:/)(/bit.)ly/chapter139