Edward frowned at his father's pacing form. Carlisle Cullen was usually a calm, collected man. Even with the pressures that came with being the CEO of Cullen Advertising, Carlisle was cool and levelheaded.

"Dad, what's wrong?"

Carlisle stopped in his tracks, running his hand through his blond hair frantically. "We're doomed, Edward. We're going to lose the company."

Edward had never dreamed that this day would come. Carlisle Cullen had built their advertising company from scratch, pouring his blood and sweat into it. Since he was a boy, Edward had watched his father's commitment and dedication transform their small family business into a successful company. Cullen Advertising was Carlisle's life. Taking it away from him would be like killing him in cold blood.

After getting his dad to calm down, Edward managed to get out the sordid details: Aro Volturi, a big shot owner of Volturi, Inc., had set his sights on CA. Volturi was known for consuming smaller companies in order to add to his already vast business empire. He had already stolen some of their major clients. It would only be a matter of time before Volturi Inc. could effectively tear down Cullen Advertising.

Their worst nightmares had officially begun.

"That SOB is going to buy us out?!" Edward raged.

Carlisle sighed tiredly. "Our only hope now is to pull off the Swan Project."

Charles Swan was the owner of a chain of hotels across the continent. He had always been their biggest client. Surely, he would be able to help them out of this dilemma. With his influence, CA could be propelled to the top of the advertising world, making it less vulnerable to greedy bastards like Aro Volturi.

"What does Charles Swan want?" Edward asked his father cautiously. Mr. Swan had proven himself time and again to be a very demanding client.

"He wants a new campaign, something we've never done before. He's given us one month." Carlisle answered weakly.

"One month!" Edward exclaimed. Impossible! Even with all of his staff working on the project, it was a stretch to come up with an outcome that was good enough for Mr. Swan in such a short period of time.

He watched his father's handsome features contort in pain. Carlisle was clearly giving up. But Edward wasn't.

~wWw~

"Em, what have you got?" Edward asked as he sat at his desk, scanning the contents of a clear folder.

Emmett McCarty, his VP of Operations and best friend, had his nose buried in another folder. "Nothing good. About the same as the hundred others I've seen so far. Geez, you'd think these kids fresh out of college would have more original ideas. Nothing."

"Same here." Edward sighed, leaning back in his chair and closing his tired eyes.

It had been over a week since he'd had that painful conversation with his dad, and he was no closer to a solution to the problem. He'd put all of his staff to the project, making them work overtime just to create the perfect campaign. He even sent his Creative Director and brother-in-law, Jasper Whitlock, to look for new copywriters with potential outside the company.

Just when Edward was about to give up and call it a night, his desk phone rang.

"What is it, Rose?" he asked his secretary.

"Mr. Whitlock wishes to see you, Sir, he has someone with him," Rose replied in an incredulous tone. It was as if Jasper had brought someone he shouldn't be seen with.

"Send them in," Edward instructed, wondering at Rose's odd response.

Jasper strolled in, a big grin on his face. "Edward, let me introduce you to our savior," he drawled in his Southern accent. A petite, dark-haired woman followed him into the office. Both Edward's and Emmett's jaws dropped in astonishment.

Smiling pleasantly before them was the ugliest woman they had ever seen. She had a long nose, large ears, and warts on her neck. Her mouth was too wide for her face, and the teeth that showed were black in some places. Her thick dark brown brows were fused into a hard line. Ugly Betty would probably look gorgeous next to her.

Edward dropped his eyes, realizing he was staring long enough to be polite. "Yes?" he choked.

"Edward, this is Bella Swan," Jasper introduced with a satisfied smile.

Edward almost laughed at the irony—a hideous girl with a name that meant beautiful. Then he frowned as he realized who she was. "You're Charles Swan's daughter?"

"Yes, I am," came her soft but confident reply.

He knew Charles had a daughter, but he always hid her from public. He could now see why.

"I'm here because I want to work for you. My previous employer didn't give me the chance to grow professionally, and Mr. Whitlock tells me that wouldn't be a problem here."

Her voice was strangely alluring, not at all what he expected. He lowered his gaze again, pretending she was as pretty as her voice was.

She placed her resume on his desk. He went over it quickly, impressed with her qualifications and extensive experience in the field.

"You do realize that we're working on a project for your father, Miss Swan?" Edward looked up at her, his eyes hurting as he looked at her disfigured face.

"Yes, which is why you I think you should hire me. I know exactly what he wants." She slapped a Manila envelope on his desk. "My proposal," she declared, walking to the computer in front of the office to start her PowerPoint presentation.

A few hours later, the three men shook their heads in awe.

"I must say, that idea's original," Emmett commented.

"That's a presentation I could have prepared in a week, and she put that together in, like, an hour," Jasper whispered to Edward.

"'What Women Want', huh?" Edward smiled.

"Yes. You do realize over sixty percent of hotel patrons are female? A women-centered campaign that focuses on their needs, on what makes them feel pampered and important, would ensure a considerable increase in profit," Bella explained.

Edward felt the first glimmer of hope in days. This could actually work. It had to.

"Can I talk to Mr. Cullen for a moment?" Bella suddenly asked.

Emmett and Jasper looked at him for a second. "Leave us," Edward ordered. Emmett took a last look, as if afraid for him, before he went out the door. After it was closed, Edward drew his fingers together and reluctantly gave her his attention. "What is it, Ms. Swan?"

"I want to discuss payment," Bella told him in a businesslike tone.

Edward smiled. The future of the company relied on her talent. He was willing to pay any amount. "Name your price."

"You," was her only reply.

~wWw~

"Don't do this, Son," Carlisle pleaded for the umpteenth time.

"But Dad, we need her. We would be shark bait without her," Edward answered with as much life as he could manage. It was true. Aro Volturi had called again this morning, promising to make their life a living hell if they didn't meet with him soon. They were running out of time, and Bella's proposal was the best anyone had presented so far.

Too bad she was a disgusting pervert underneath all that amazing intellect.

"You've always been the perfect son. But you're too kind-hearted for your own good! It's not right! It's not worth destroying your life over!" Carlisle's voice rose steadily.

"I'm not in this for life. It's only one night, and then I can divorce her." Edward murmured confidently, but deep inside, he was cringing in horror.

Bella could have asked for anything: money, a managerial position, stocks. He would have gladly given any of those. But she had to ask for marriage. To him. Her most important condition was to consummate the marriage. Just one night, and then he could file for divorce.

When he had recovered from the shock, he vehemently protested. He was not some prostitute she could just use for one night. He was the goddamn President of the company!

Then she started dangling her proposal before him, reminding him that he had no choice. Would he be able to find a replacement this late? Unlikely.

Damn, she played dirty.

"Why marriage?" he had asked desperately. If sex was all she was after, why the need for a marriage contract? It was horrible enough to try to have sex with someone so ugly, but to be her husband!

She shrugged. "I've always had a crush on you. When Dad invited you to our home I used to hide behind the staircase and watch you." Edward almost balked at her admission. What a creepy stalker! "And of course, who wouldn't want a young, sexy husband? Just one night is enough to last me a lifetime." She gave him a smile that was supposed to be seductive but ended up looking frightening.

He simply could not do it. It was sheer madness. His shoulders dropped in defeat. He began planning a meek surrender to Aro Volturi in the morning.

Then his eyes dropped to the framed picture of his family on his desk. His mother, Esme, smiling delightfully at the center, appropriately as the heart of the family. Alice, his sister, that tiny bundle of energy squirming beneath his playful hug. And his father, encompassing them all in his warm embrace. Losing the company would devastate them—Carlisle, most of all.

And so he made the pact with the she-devil. They would be married after the Swan Presentation in two weeks.

Carlisle placed a hand on his shoulder. "You should marry for love, son, not for a business deal."

He wanted to be angry with his dad. He was the father, the CEO. He should be the one looking for ways to save their livelihood. Instead, he was giving up too easily, leaving the heroic task to him. But Edward couldn't bring himself to hate Carlisle. He loved his father, and he would do anything for him. Even bed and wed a monster.

~wWw~

The remaining two weeks were hectic. Edward had their other projects postponed so that they could concentrate on perfecting the Swan Campaign. Each department was busy with every aspect of the advertisement.

Bella was the embodiment of grace under pressure. She contributed helpful advice on the design, gave encouragement to the members of the creative team when they were down, and even stayed up late adding the finishing touches. She was very thorough and efficient. The staff liked her enthusiasm.

"Bella!" Edward called out to her the night before the presentation.

She had her back to him so he could see that she was wearing a tomato red pencil skirt that fit her hips snugly. He belatedly realized what a nice, tight ass she had. If only she had a less-mortifying face…

"Yes, Edward?" She didn't look up from the paper she was writing on.

"What's that?" he asked, looking over her shoulder to read her clumsy scrawl. She even smelled nice, too, he noticed, like strawberry and flowers. Damn, what's wrong with me?

"Further suggestions to give the hotel rooms a nice feminine touch. A rose on the vanity, chocolate at the bedside table, that sort of thing. Women like that."

"Yeah." He grinned. "Should've thought of it myself."

She was a perfect addition to Edward's team. He would have genuinely liked her if it weren't for the fact that she was trying to trap him into an unwanted marriage.

~wWw~

As promised, Bella's "What Women Want" campaign was an instant success. Charles absolutely loved it and agreed to a deal that left them untouchable to Volturi.

After the presentation with his father and Mr. Swan, Edward returned to his office to find Bella waiting for him.

He ignored her, sitting on his swivel chair and putting his feet up on the desk.

"Got everything you wanted, huh?" Bella remarked casually. "Pay up."

He frowned at her. "Of course," he replied tersely. "I never go back on my word. I will marry you." He winced.

"Sure. If I were as easy on the eyes as your secretary, Rosalie, you wouldn't be bothered in the least with our arrangement."

"Emmett might agree with you. He's always boasting about his girlfriend's perfect looks."  Edward shrugged. But it's her effectiveness as a secretary that really matters to me, not her uncanny similarity to Nikki Reed, he added silently.

"You men are always after appearances. Ugh!" she made a disgusted sound.

Edward fought down his guilt at her words. It was true; all of his past girlfriends were incredibly attractive. Her words made him question his taste in women. Was he really that shallow?

Great. They weren't even married yet, and she was already fucking with his mind.

"Fine." He sighed resignedly. "Let's get this over with."

~wWw~

Edward wanted to run, to disappear to Timbuktu and never come back. Not while the woman clinging onto his arm like a leech was still alive.

The ceremony was mercifully short. The judge no doubt was aware of his distress and went through her lines as quickly as possible. When it was time to kiss the bride, Edward gave her a split-second peck on her pockmarked cheek.

The hotel reception was torture.

Esme and Alice stood together in the corner of the ballroom with troubled faces. Esme could not get over the fact that her incredibly handsome son had married a woman who resembled June Phigg before her makeover. Alice, who loved putting together parties, had organized the intimate wedding party like it was a funeral.

Bella stood on tiptoes and kissed Edward's jaw before she wandered off to the food table. Edward resisted the urge to scrub his face and smiled weakly at the pretty women in front of him who were almost in tears.

Charles Swan, on the other hand, was ecstatic. He had tried taking her to the most expensive beauticians and plastic surgeons in the world, but strangely, nothing worked on her. He had truly believed his daughter would die an old maid. He thanked Carlisle and Edward over and over again for his good fortune.

When Bella began making grunting noises while stuffing her face with hors d'oeuvres, a horrified Esme left the room. "I'm sorry, Edward, I just can't…" Alice whispered before following their mother.

Emmett and Jasper loaded him with drinks, trying to psych him up to a night that was surely going to be pure hell. "Just make it real quick so it doesn't hurt too much," Jasper suggested.

"Cover her head with a paper bag or something," Emmett recommended with a snicker.

When the party died down, Edward experienced real fear. A loathsome witch was about to have her way with him. He only prayed he would come out of it alive.

"Come on Edward." Bella winked and tugged at his arm.

Forcing his leaden feet to move, he followed her to their hotel suite at the top floor. This must be what a Death Row inmate feels when he walks to his death. He told himself, shuddering despite the warmth.

The decorations were impeccable, and the view of the city outside the window was amazing, but he was oblivious to it all.

He lay on the enormous medieval bed, sweating bullets. He could feel bile rise in his throat as he heard her singing off-key in the shower. "This is wrong! What am I doing?" he whispered frantically to himself. He almost peed in his boxers when he heard her turn off the shower and prepare to come out.

She emerged, revolting as always, even in the most tempting red La Perla ensemble he had ever seen. She crawled onto the bed and snuggled close to him, placing a hand on his chest. "Kiss me," she commanded.

Putting King Arthur's bravest knight to shame, he shut his eyes and gave her a close-mouthed kiss. Her hand crept lower and when it touched his crotch, she moaned in pleasure. His breathing stopped. "Okay." She laughed. "You can open your eyes now."

He helplessly obeyed her, and then rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Am I drunk? He asked himself.

Slowly, unbelievably, his new wife was transforming before his eyes.  Her long nose grew smaller until it was nice and narrow, and her ears shrank into delicate pink shells. Her skin turned soft and smooth looking like peaches and cream. Her brows thinned into perfect arcs above her long-lashed brown eyes. Her now-white teeth were like a flawless set of pearls. Her mouth became fuller, a perfect red bow. She turned into the most beautiful woman he had ever set eyes upon.

"Oh my God!" he shrieked, falling off the bed. "Who the hell are you?!"

"It's me, Bella. Relax, Edward." Her pealing laughter echoed in the room. "Take a deep breath. Just let me explain first, okay?"

He nodded but kept a safe distance from her. Indeed, the sight of her didn't hurt his eyes anymore, but what just happened was still freaky as hell.

She sat up, making herself comfortable among the fluffy white pillows. She looked as delectable as a chocolate-topped Strawberry Amaud. Edward was both fascinated and shocked. Then she began her story and he had the strange sensation of falling headlong into a Pensieve.

~wWw~

"Daddy! Daddy!" sweet nine-year-old Bella squealed as she bounced into her father's arms.

"Ah, Mia Bella." Charles laughed, giving her a quick hug then putting her back on her feet. "I want you to meet my new friend. This is Victoria."

For the first time, Bella noticed the woman standing beside him. She was tall and elegant with flowing red hair and catlike amber eyes. She was the most striking friend her daddy had ever brought home. Bella blinked, as if she was looking at a bright blazing fire.

"Hello, Bella," Victoria greeted in a high soprano voice. She bent down so that her face was level with the girl's. "What a pretty little thing you are!"

Bella shrank into her father's side. She couldn't help feeling shy and a bit scared.

"Daddy, where's Gianna?" she whimpered. She liked her better than this Victoria woman.

"You shouldn't worry about her anymore, sugar." Victoria laughed eerily. "I already fed her to my cats."

Bella knew Victoria was different from her father's other women. She was high-strung and peculiar. She kept cats and candles and dead animals in her room. She screamed at Bella when she caught her sneaking into her room and playing with her crude dolls that had pins sticking out of them.

When Charles finally ended things with her because of a pretty young actress he met in Greece, she threw a large fit, throwing expensive things around the room.

"You are an evil man!" Victoria screeched. "You treat women like objects. It's time you learned your lesson!"

With a wave of her hand, a trembling Bella floated towards her as if she were carried by invisible hands. Charles watched in horror as Victoria ran one long red fingernail down the side of Bella's face, drawing blood. She closed her eyes, whispering incantations in an unknown language while the lights suddenly dimmed and cold air rushed into the room.

~wWw~

"Dad broke Victoria's heart so she punished him by casting a spell on his only daughter. Since he valued physical beauty in his conquests, she would make his little Bella physically ugly…" her voice turned bitter, and her chocolate-brown eyes flashed, "…until a selfless man married her."

Though Edward found it hard to understand the more farfetched aspects of her story, his heart reached out to her. The poor girl suffered unjustly because of her father's mistakes.

Was this really a good explanation for all the strange stuff that had been going on? Or was he only dreaming?

As if reading his mind, she walked to him and pinched his arm hard, eliciting a howl of pain from him. "Nope. You're not dreaming, what I'm saying is the truth."

He gazed at her in wonder. She was intimidating, but up close, she was utterly beautiful. "So, is this the real you?" he asked softly.

"Yeah." She flipped her brown hair over her shoulder and sat cross-legged in front of him. He was distracted momentarily by the sight of creamy thighs. "But I have to be my ugly self half of the day. You have to choose though. When do you want me to be Beautiful Bella and Ugly Bella? In the morning or at night?"

Edward shook his head at her bizarre question. "Can't you just be like this all the time?"

"No. Part of the curse," she informed him. "You've got to choose. It would be nice if I looked like this at day. Then you could show me off to your friends. That is, if you intend to keep me after tonight." She winked, melting his insides.

"I'm definitely keeping you," he whispered before he could stop himself. What man in his right mind wouldn't? She was smart and sexy, and she saved his company from sure ruin. Not that she wasn't scary sometimes, but still… "But if you're like this at night, I could have you all to myself."

"Up to you." She shrugged, inspecting her fingernails while she waited for him to decide.

Running a company meant that he had to make difficult decisions all the time, but this was the hardest one so far. "If she were Beautiful Bella in the morning, Emmett and Jasper would stop teasing me and my family might actually not disown me. But then if she were Beautiful Bella in the evening, I could make love to her all night long without suffering from PTSD afterwards," he mumbled. "Decisions, decisions…"

Bella yawned. "Edward. I'm getting older here," she complained, climbing onto the bed and lying in a Marilyn Monroe pose. "Hurry up before I lose the mood!"

"Gah!" Edward cried, tugging at his disheveled bronze-colored hair. "I just can't decide." He looked at her accusingly. "Hey, you're the smart one. You decide!"

At his words, a strange shimmering glow enveloped her and then disappeared into tiny motes of light. "What was that?!" he gasped. This was getting weirder by the minute.

Bella clapped her hands delightedly. "That means the spell is completely broken! I'm going to be my gorgeous self all the time!"

"Really?" Edward's face lit up.

"Uh huh. All you had to do was to willingly give me what all women want—the opportunity to make my own decisions; you said the magic word right there." Bella nodded approvingly.

"You could've just told me, you know. It would have saved me all the trouble," he pointed out.

She shook her head. "You had to figure it out for yourself. If I had helped you, I would've been stuck with that hag face for the rest of my pitiful existence."

Edward scratched his head. What Women Want. The answer had been there all along. His modern-day male chauvinist eyes just refused to see it. Those guys from the age of chivalry sure had it easy. But he didn't really mind. Honestly, he admired this spunky, independent Bella even more.

"So…" her voice dropped, laced with innuendo "… about that second part of our bargain…"

He stood up and joined her on the bed in record time. "Right on it!"

BELLA

I felt a prickling sensation at the back of my neck that only happened when somebody watched me intensely. I fought against the pull of that someone's gaze and glued my eyes to the screen of my laptop.

I shrugged, sipping from my hot mug. I was seldom noticed by strangers. Usually those men were old, unappealing, or creepy-as-hell (not so surprising since I was no looker myself). This was why I avoided public places with the exception of Bluebird Café where I was sitting rather comfortably, clattering away on my laptop. I found that the scrumptious muffins and the WiFi more than made up for the risk of attention that I was so allergic to. As the feeling on my nape persisted, I realized that I was considerably less comfortable than I thought and wondered if the Blueberry Delight I was munching on really was worth it.

I continued typing the new story that had been swirling around my head for a few weeks now. I was an accountant by profession but I loved to write fiction as a hobby. Of course I was too chicken to publish anything I wrote, so instead I posted them on a wonderful fan fiction website under my penname, Bellybutton.

As my thoughts wandered, I unconsciously looked up and met the most intense green eyes I'd ever seen. They were framed by beautiful, long lashes. My first thought was that I was looking at a woman, but as I took in the person's face and body, I discovered I was mistaken. It was a man, but he was neither old nor unappealing. His hair, which was impossibly untidy, was a strange cross between red and brown. His features were chiseled, his body well-formed beneath the black shirt and jeans. Why this godlike creature was looking at plain old Bella was beyond me. I unsuccessfully fought the blush that was creeping onto my face and looked back down to my laptop.

I stole a glance behind me, to my right, then to my left, to see if he was just looking at someone else. Nope. There was no one in his line of sight but me. I instinctively shrank in my seat. What the hell is happening? I asked myself. I put a lot of effort into blending in with the crowd, looking as inconspicuous as possible. I dressed in dark clothes that were neither too tight nor too revealing and put on very light make up, if any at all. I never raised my voice nor acted out of the ordinary. I was happy to be ignored and left alone (to the consternation of my therapist). What had I done to deserve this gorgeous guy's attention?

Not even bothering to finish my cup of hot chocolate, I threw my stuff into my messenger bag and hurriedly stood to leave. A few stumbles and more blushes later, I was outside the café walking briskly in the direction of my apartment.

"Miss, wait a sec!" I heard an unfamiliar voice behind me.

I was not sure if the stranger was referring to me, so I kept going. Suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked up and groaned inwardly as I faced the handsome god from the café.

"You left this," he said, handing me my Blackberry. I took it wordlessly, blushing even harder at my carelessness. Thank God he was one of the few honest people left in the world, or I would've spent my savings on a new phone.

"Thanks, Mr…."

"Cullen. Edward Cullen." He held out his hand, which I took gingerly.

"Bella Swan," I whispered timidly.

He looked at my hands, then back up to my face. His brows were furrowed for some reason. Then his eyes lit up. "No, you can't be…"

"Excuse me?" I asked, confused.

"Are you the Bellybutton?" he inquired in awe.

My mouth fell open at his question. How the hell did he know my screen name? My most secret existence? Not even Alice, Rosalie, nor Angela—my best friends—ever knew about my secret life as Bellybutton! "I beg your pardon?" I managed to croak out in my shock.

He looked unsure for a moment, and then went on. "You see, I noticed that in your profile pic, you were wearing that silver ring, that teal nail polish, and I just saw you using an Apple MacBook Pro…"

I cringed when I realized how stupid it was of me to take a picture of my hands typing on my laptop and then posting it on the internet for all to see. I was obsessed with my anonymity, so a full head pic was out of the question. I figured a snapshot of my incredibly ordinary hands would be pretty safe. Wrong!

"Your real name, Bella, sounds awfully close to Bellybutton. And when you PM'ed me three months ago, you said you love hanging out at an old coffee shop in town. Well, this is the only old coffee shop in town."

PM as in Private Messaging? Even though I initially published stories online as a creative outlet, a good number of people seemed to like my works and sent me Private Messages, which I'd replied to dutifully. I can't believe I'd unknowingly let slip parts of my private life in those messages!

"I'm sorry, but you've got the wrong person. It's all just a coincidence, that's all," I lied, walking away as fast as I could.

I wasn't a very good liar, and I could see he wasn't convinced because he hurried after me. "Wait! I'm Demonwriter!"

His admission stopped me dead on my tracks. "No. Fucking. Way." I breathed deeply, turning slowly to face him.

"Yes way." He grinned, apparently glad he caught my attention. "We're practically best friends! At least we are online."

I gaped at him. "But you're a guy!"

"Did I ever tell you anything to make you think otherwise?" he countered.

"But…. But…." I stammered, and then it all came clearly to me.

I'd known Demonwriter since I published my third story on my favorite website. As my most avid reader, he'd given me lots of encouraging reviews, praising my stories to the skies, and I'd gladly responded. I had read some of his works and they were actually quite good. I told him so, and he replied that a lot of his works were inspired by me. We continued communicating in this fashion, until we became online buddies and even collaborated on a story that instantly became a hit with the fans. I felt like we really knew each other deep down, well, except for real names and other private information of course. Not even an affinity online could make me give up my obsession with privacy.

But I readily assumed that Demonwriter was a girl. First of all, all the writers I've known on the site before were girls. I believed guys would rather play online games than write about romance. Next, he never really said outright that he was a guy! In the hundreds of messages and reviews he'd sent me, he never once hinted at his gender. And thirdly, he was the most deep, sensitive soul I've met in all my life, and I'd assumed that someone with such depth could only be female. All the guys I know, particularly my best friends' boyfriends, were moronic and goofy, not at all romantic like Demonwriter.

Now that I thought about it, I was just so blind in my preconceptions. His profile really wasn't all that girly, his picture was a Grunge logo, and his fiction was mostly fast-paced and action-packed.

The idea of Demonwriter as a man (and a good-looking one at that) greatly clashed with the idealized version of him in my head as a middle-aged mom of four that I couldn't help getting suspicious.

"You're not some kind of con artist are you?" I demanded.

"Of course not!" He was shocked at my sudden change of mood.

"Well, then, you were probably lying to me the whole time! Telling me that you felt this instant connection with me, comparing me to Jane Austen! You were probably just having a laugh, weren't you?"

"You'd think so low of me, after I've revealed my deepest secrets to you?" He sounded hurt and I regretted my words instantly.

After a moment, an idea formed in my head. "Oh. Oh."

"What is it now?" he asked cautiously.

"You're gay?" It almost sounded like a statement, rather than a question.

"No, I'm not! I've come all the way here, looking for you, and here you are throwing insults at me." He was clearly annoyed with me now. "Do you really find it so hard to believe that a guy like me could be as talented as you are?" He shook his head disgustedly. "And here I was, thinking the great Bellybutton was open-minded and against discrimination."

"I'm so sorry!" I gasped. "I feel like a total jerk right now. It's just that you're just so far from the norm, you know? I guess it's all my fault, insisting on the anonymity thing." I hung my head in embarrassment.

He sighed, putting a gentle finger under my chin, lifting my face up so that his bright green eyes locked with mine. "It's my fault, too. It was stupid of me to come looking for you without giving you any warning at all. It was just… I was dying to meet you all this time, and you wouldn't agree to meeting in person. I thought that the only chance I would ever get at seeing you was to surprise you. I should have thought this through before coming here."

He was so sincere, so open, but I couldn't help giving him a test before I was totally convinced. "Okay, answer this: who's my favorite music artist?"

He smiled. "Easy. Imogen Heap! You use her songs as inspiration for some of your works."

I raised a brow. "Too easy. You could've gotten that off my public profile. My favorite ice cream flavor?"

He laughed. "Ben and Jerry's Karamel Sutra."

I nodded my head. But he could've just taken a wild guess at that. "My most secret fantasy?" I fired back.

He leaned towards me slowly and whispered something in my ear.

"Demonwriter! It is you!" I squealed in joy, jumping up to hug him. Now that I've confirmed his identity, all my pent-up feelings of love and longing for my online buddy (whom I've not had contact with for so long) surged through me. I felt his arms wrap around me tightly. It took a few seconds for my final question (which I had blurted out unconsciously), and his corresponding answer, to sink in, and then I was scrambling out of his arms and covering my hot face with my hands. "Oh my God! I can't believe I've revealed my deepest, darkest sex dream to a guy I haven't met!"

His laughter echoed off the brick walls surrounding us. "Well, you know mine, so we're pretty much even."

His statement made my face burn even hotter, if that was possible.

"Ookay. Enough awkward talk. Let me buy you a cup of coffee, D'write!" I announced, linking my arm through his and pulling him back inside the coffee shop.

EDWARD

I could not believe my luck. I had traveled hours to get to this place, relying purely on faith that I would find the person I was looking for without any fucking clue about what she looked like. And here she was, sitting across the table from me, sipping her second cup of chocolate.

She was even more beautiful than my wildest imaginations. I was ashamed to admit that Bella wasn't the only one with the biases. I thought that someone with her creative genius could only look like Velma in Scooby Doo. But no. She was a goddess in comparison. With her long mahogany hair, flawless white skin, and large liquid brown eyes, she was indeed a sight to behold.

And her quirky personality which had caught me at the very first line of her published work did not disappoint. She was funny and clever and just bursting with so many ideas that I could talk to her forever and never be bored.

A mischievous light sparked in her chocolate eyes. "So… how come a crime-fighting detective like you got caught up in the addictive world of sappy fan fiction?"

I unconsciously raised my brows at the bait. "Well, my brother and his new girlfriend visited me last summer. One night, while she was working on her laptop, I happened to look over her shoulder at the screen, and I saw something that almost gave me a heart attack!"

"What?" she asked totally engrossed in my story now.

"I saw that she was reading your story on the net, 'The Passionate Painter'. It was like Christmas morning all over again! It was so full of smutty goodness that I honestly thought it was as good as watching live action porn. Needless to say, I ended up with a boner. And of course, a new addiction!"

She rolled her eyes and muttered, "You're such a guy." Then she straightened up and looked at me intently. "Seriously. What made you decide to become an active writer for a fan fiction site? Aside from the smut, I mean."

I thought it over before saying, "I really love to write. It helps me relax, you know?"

She nodded in understanding.

"So—" I began after a sip of my coffee, "—why didn't you want to meet up with me? Didn't you admit a while ago that you really missed me?"

"Aside from the fact that you could be an axe-murderer for all I know?" She giggled. "Hmmm… I've always been particular about hiding my real identity. You wouldn't believe it, but despite me being a lemon-writer extraordinaire, in real life I couldn't even tell green jokes in front of many people. I'm just really shy and uptight. But when I'm in front of the computer, all my inhibitions fall away and I'm a totally different person."

I ignored my body's reaction to her statement about her lack of inhibitions and said, "Like Jekyll and Hyde?" I smirked. "I wonder what would happen if one of your girlfriends read one of your more graphic stories and knew the author was you."

"Probably would have an aneurysm." She laughed, and I laughed with her.

"Bellybutton is truly the naughtiest girl I've ever met!" I teased.

"And you love me for it!" she retorted.

"True, true." It was so amazing, how we could talk like we've known each other for so long, when we've only just met a few minutes ago. I leaned back and watched her as she concentrated on another question for me.

"How do you do it? Like you can read other people's minds? Your stories show you've got remarkable insight. It's one of the things I really admire about you."

My chest swelled at her admission. "I find it very entertaining to just sit and observe people, watch their facial expressions, read their moods. You can get a pretty good idea of what they're thinking when you're looking at them… especially when you look into their eyes." I gazed deep into hers. "And of course, years of practice in the interrogation room helps a lot too."

"Of course," she echoed, her eyes glazing over.

"How a come a pretty little thing like you has never had a boyfriend?" I asked, wildly curious.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Well, um…" She frowned, like she didn't want to answer my question, but I refused to back down. "Reading and writing all about romance made me crave for my own fantasy man, and so far, nobody has ever lived up to him. I guess… I've just never met the right guy yet." She raised her perfect brow. "How about you? Have you already met the love of your life?"

I stopped short. She'd already asked me that question before, during one of our e-mail exchanges. I'd replied, "No. But when I do, you'd be the first to know."

Now that she'd asked me a second time, she set me into thinking.

I had embarked on this trip this morning, believing it was one of the most foolish things I'd ever done. But since the moment I'd met her, seen her for who she really was, I realized it was all so worth it. I had been instantly reminded why I could never stop thinking about her all these months, why I decided to see her in the first place.

"I think… "I said slowly, holding her gaze captive."… I've already found her."