Breakfast at Tiffany's (Includes 4 Outtakes) by hmonster4 & profmom COMPLETE.pdf

Fanfiction based on Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight Series

Rated M for Mature

Breakfast at Tiffany's

By HMonster4 & ProfMom

Summary: Edward admires Bella from afar, until a chance meeting convinces him to send her messages in the

Tiffany's window. Can their two worlds merge beyond the grand gesture? elaboration/continuation of the One

Shot.

~*~

Chapter 1: Separate Worlds

Pop Tart Soliloquy – Valentines Day 2008

"Excuse me?" A blonde man tapped me on the shoulder. I tipped my head in acknowledgement. "Are you tired?

Because you've been running through my mind all night."

I literally choked on my Cosmo, shooting pink liquid all over the front of Blondie's shirt. "Ewww, that is so not

original. No thank you and goodbye!"

He walked away as Alice rolled her eyes.

"Sad, that isn't even the worst one I've heard tonight." I complained as I hoisted my glass at the bartender.

"'Nother round please!"

"Slow down, Bella! This isn't a race!"

"Alice, it's Valentine's Day. Men are dogs who just want to get laid, and I don't want to be a notch in someone's

bedpost. My only objective is consuming more of these pretty pink drinks. It's my one sure thing for tonight."

Alice Brandon, best friend, confidant extraordinaire, had pulled me out of hibernation to celebrate a girl's version

of Valentine's Day. Neither of us was involved in romantic relationships, having spent the last six months in the

sixth ring of hell known as online dating. Our experimentation had turned up nothing but freaks, geeks, and more

freaks. My personal favorite would have to be the guy who claimed to be 6'2, but was really 5'2 with really bad

chest hair that was obviously dyed. He had been into toe sucking, and had inquired as to what size underwear I

wore.

Not one to wallow in her lack of success, Alice insisted we go out to a bar on Valentine's Day. Her logic? That

there were plenty of guys who were dateless, and they would be out drowning their sorrows. What better way to

meet them?

Instead of meeting Mr. Wonderful, we spent the night laughing at the feeble attempts by clueless guys to pick us

up. The lines ran the gamut from attempts at cute (Excuse, we don't not know each other, do we?) to innuendo

laden (if I tell you that you have a beautiful body, will you hold it against me?) to down right crude (is your

underwear made of Windex, cause I can really see myself in them).

We finally gave up around 1 and headed home. It wasn't too cold, so we walked down Fifth Avenue, looking in

the windows and admiring all the things that we could never afford.

"God, I hate Valentine's Day. I truly do. Look at these displays. Commercial, shallow, that's not love!" I protested

sloppily. I had a habit of being rather verbose when I drank.

"Okay Cynic-rella Bella. I get that your love life sucks right now, but do you need to be such a downer? Maybe

you don't believe in love, but that doesn't give you the right to ruin it for the rest of us!"

"I am not being a downer. And I do believe in love. I just want to be realistic about it."

"Okay then, what is realistic? Define true love for me."

I stood in front of the window at Tiffany & Company, studying the display. The wind picked up, carrying with it

traces of my shampoo. Strawberries. That's it!

"True love is like a package of strawberry pop tarts." I started. Alice snorted. "Very lady like, Alice Brandon. Just

hear me out."

I started pacing up and down in front of Tiffany's as I spoke. "When you first get a pack of pop tarts, you are all

excited to open the shiny package. Once it's open, you find two perfectly matched pastries with simple pink

frosting and gorgeous colorful sprinkles."

"Okay, perfect match who is gorgeous and doesn't dress too flashy. Maybe you should've had another Cosmo,

Bella."

I was on a roll. "But there is more to it than looks, for inside lurks those amazing strawberry preserves that remind

you of everything good and simple and wonderful in life. Kind of like these windows" I pointed to the Tiffany

display

"Perfect match, gorgeous, simple, and good in bed. You want to date a supermodel!"

I stuck my tongue out at her. "But you do have to realize that pop tarts are totally processed and have a shelf life

of forever, that way you don't ever have to worry about them going bad."

"But what if I want him to be bad?" Alice pouted.

"Then you buy him a Cosmo and ask him to be naughty. Let's go home."

"Say goodnight to the pop tart windows, Bella."

"Goodnight Strawberry Pop Tart windows. I love you!" I called over my shoulder.

We linked arms, and stumbled down Fifth Avenue signing the theme song to Laverne and Shirley. Who needed a

man in your life when you have this?

Coming Home – September 2008

In college, I found the concept of Homecoming peculiar. It wasn't just that nothing about school ever implied

"home" to me, but something about the idea that everyone went all out to celebrate the return of people who had

chosen to leave made no sense. Celebrate the people who stay, the people you see everyday. I thought the people

who visited should be the ones doing the honoring, not the other way around.

Now, as I approached a small assembly at the bottom of the stairs by the baggage claim holding a large placard

that said simply, "Welcome Home, E!" I found being on this side of homecoming rather pleasant.

Leave it to them. I'd done everything I could to avoid any attention today. I dressed down as much as I could and

even wore a baseball cap, which I never do. I wore fake wire rim glasses to help alter my appearance just a bit. I

knew I couldn't keep my return a secret for long. Come Monday, when I walk into the office, someone will tell

their friend who will text someone they know at Page Six or TMZ.

I was hoping to get settled over the weekend without any cameras or unwanted phone calls. I let my mom pick out

my apartment, and it was under her name, so that no less than discrete real estate agents could blast my house

hunting expeditions across the news.

To my surprise, no one was paying any attention to the four of them. They blended in exceptionally well, seeming

like an average family for all intents and purposes. An incredibly attractive family, mind you, but they didn't

scream, "Hey take my picture and call the tabloids!"

Emmett, in particular, appeared almost pedestrian. He was in jeans and a t-shirt, with a Mets cap (a nice foil to my

Yankees hat) pulled down low. The best accessory though was the baby he had tucked in close in some sort of a

front pack. One hand was slowly patting the baby's bottom as he bounced slightly. Standing next to him was his

stunning wife, Rosalie. She was peering at baby Haley, offering her a pacifier.

Then there was my mom, Esme, the epitome of class and substance. Superb posture and a smile that could melt

the ice caps. She was holding the little sign, though the lettering looked like Emmett's handwriting.

Despite the near perfect scene, the absence of the patriarch of the family mellowed me to the point my pace

slowed. I imagined him standing there with his arm around my mom, beaming at the thought of the prodigal son

returning home. I blinked, and he was gone, replaced only with the reality that I was too late to make him proud.

My mom nudged Emmett who said something to Rosalie, and suddenly, all three of them were looking at me.

My mom met me half way, and threw her arms around me.

"What you are all doing here? I thought you were sending a car." I wanted to scold her a bit, but hugging her felt

too good.

"Don't you spoil this for me. I have my boys home, and I am going to savor every moment of it." We hugged

silently for a minute before she broke away and began to dab her eyes with a Kleenex I hadn't noticed she was

holding. "I wish your dad were here for this."

And I understood both sides of Homecoming then. I'd been missed, so they'd come to rejoice my return, but I also

knew I would have to celebrate the people who stayed. They had weathered the storm.

Yellow Wellies - September 2008

Fall is my favorite time of year. It hardly ever rains. The air smells crisp and clean. There is just a hint of the

coldness that is to come. It reminds me of wonderful things like hayrides, apple picking, and Halloween.

Last night it rained, taking with it all the grime and pollution that you typically equate with New York City. I

woke up this morning to brilliant sunshine and not a cloud in the sky. Mornings like this can't help but put me in a

good mood.

I got dressed quickly, throwing on a short felted skirt, a cardigan, and my bright yellow wellies. I love my wellies.

They remind me of my childhood, when everything was simpler. Alice teased me to no end, but I refuse to give

them up.

I took the red line up to 53rd and Fifth, just like I did everyday. The people on the train seemed to be in the same

infectious mood, actually smiling and not cutting each other off to get out the door.

I bounced up the steps from the subway and took a deep breath of the crisp air. I popped in my ear buds, and

selected my 'happy' playlist on my iPod. Not many days do I enjoy this walk, but today was going to be different

for some reason. I could feel it.

As I stood at the corner of 55th and Fifth, one of my all time favorite songs comes on. I started tapping my foot

and lip syncing along. I didn't care if people look at me funny.

Gotta try my best to break her spell

Before I burn in my own hell

And I find myself waiting

To sail that wave again

And as I'm falling deeper in

That's where obsession starts to reign

And it scares me to know

What I might find there

I walked up Fifth Avenue, tapping the song's beat on the strap of my back pack. I got funny looks from people; I

didn't know if it's the wellies or my singing. I didn't really care. Honestly, I'd rather them look at me and find me

odd for my actions than look at me and immediately formulate an opinion based on my looks. Just for once, I'd

like someone to see ME, the person, not the exterior.

I paused in front of my window, and continued to drum my fingers as I stared at collection of crystal and china. I

love this window. It's my happy place. My Strawberry Pop Tart Window. I continued to sing along to the song,

oblivious to the world around me.

And as I watch the perfect dream

Get ruined by my inner fears

I'm been waking up knowing

that my love will begin again

And I tell myself I must be strong

Can't waste my time thinking I was wrong

Don't where I end and she begins

I reached out to trace the glass and smiled. So beautiful. So classic. Definitely not the world I live in. Oh well, a

girl can have dreams. In mine, I was Sabrina the confident, riding off into the sunset with Linus Larabie. Not

Sabrina, daughter of the chauffer, looking down at the party from the branches of a garden tree.

Fortunately, I found as much comfort in a pair of yellow wellies as I did an unattainable dream.

I turned and, with a little skip, headed up Fifth Avenue. My wellies, my song, and my window buoying me along

for another day.

Inspiration – September 2008

I adore my brother, but the way he was going on and on and on made me want to plug my ears and tell him,

"Nanny nanny boo boo, I can't hear you." And I'm pretty sure men dressed in three piece suits on their way to

assume major positions in family companies did not do that.

He hadn't let up all weekend. Thankfully, I got some relief last night when Rosalie reminded him I would be here

permanently now, and unless he wanted to move in with me, he had to get home to wife and child.

For much of the weekend, he filled me in on business; the actual accounts and issues in the hopper as well as the

interpersonal side like what I needed to know about whom. Although I worked for Cullen, Inc. right out of

college, I left to spread my wings and to get out from under my father's watchful eye. I'd been living a very

different life in LA.

Toward the tail end of last night and now this morning, he moved on to my personal life. It was a warning of

sorts. Fishing at best—trying to find out if my head was really in the game.

"You been going out a lot lately?"

"Not really," I replied curtly.

"So, who's the latest conquest?" I wondered if Mom or Rose had put him up to that.

"Love is not a conquest, Emmett." I'd been involved in enough hostile take-over attempts by women to know not

everyone saw it that way.

"The Hell it isn't! I totally scored a victory with Rose!"

"That you did, big brother. She's a keeper alright."

"Hey, watch yourself." He put up his fists as if ready to fight me for her, and then chuckled.

He proceeded to cycle through a list of girls he'd seen me with in pictures in the past year.

"All old news, and besides, what are you doing reading those magazines?"

"It was the only way I knew what you up to out there. Some of those women were pretty hot."

"I never said they weren't. They also weren't the kind f women I'd want to settle down with."

"Careful now, you might have said the same thing about Rose."

"I don't think so, Emmett. She always seemed like the real deal to me. Not many are."

"And since when are you ready to settle down?"

"I never said I was. Be careful what you infer."

He gave me a dirty look and told me it was time to wrap up by looking at his watch.

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