The wonder of the engagement has yet to wear off for Esme when Edward proposes something she had yet to think about.

"We'll have to move of course," he says casually, looking up from his pile of records. He's bought some new ones, classical things he's been interested in, and he arranges them in neat piles by the gramophone.

"Hmm, yes," Carlisle agrees. He flips to the next page of his medical journal, marking something of particular interest with a fine-tipped ink pen.

"Oh, but why?" Esme asks, looking between them. It sounds as if it's already been decided, the two of them quite assured by one another and she wonders if she missed some important conversation.

"You haven't," Edward assures her, brows twisted as he filters through her thoughts.

Carlisle stands at the perplexed look on her face, abandoning his journal and moving to sit beside her on the chaise. His arm wraps around her shoulders, bending her close enough to press a kiss to her temple. "Well, I assume you'll want to be married, in the legal sense, love?"

"Of course," she says, but she must still look confused because Carlisle tells her so and presses another kiss to the tip of her nose.

Edward settles on a record and lays it into the gramophone. Music filters through the room, something slow and jazz like. He clears his throat then, "I think what Carlisle is getting at is that it is best that Esme Platt doesn't reappear in the very town she disappeared from a little over a year ago, especially announcing an engagement to the resident bachelor doctor."

It clicks then for her and she sighs. "I suppose you're right. We'll have to go somewhere no one knows us." She glances around quickly, at the home they've made together. She'll be quite disappointed to leave it behind now.

"Don't be sad, Esme." Edward frowns.

"I'm not. Not really, I'll just miss it is all." She squeezes Carlisle's hand. "So much changed here."

"Well, then one day we'll have to return." He leans back against the chaise, drawing her to him. "When the humans forget who we are."

"Truly?" she asks.

Carlisle nods, a kind smile twisting his mouth. "That's the nice thing about property. It goes up in value, especially after a century or so."

Edward barks a happy laugh. "You would know, old man. And look at it this way, Esme. Moving means you get to go house shopping." Edward grins when her face lights up. "I knew that would change your tune."

They begin their search the following week, on a day that Carlisle takes off from the hospital. They drive for almost two hours, and neither Edward, nor Carlisle will tell her anything until they arrive. They want it to be a surprise, she guesses, and she likes surprises, so she indulges their mood and talks happily until they turn down a secluded road marked by a sign that reads PRIVATE PROPERTY.

Interest peaked, Esme scans the wood-line, watching as the home rises into view behind a high stone and wrought iron gate. It's bricked sides stretch up tall and straight, and she imagines the well to-do couple that once owned this estate. It leaves her quite speechless as they pull up the driveway, lined by tall cedars and intricately placed stones.

Edward hops out before the car has even stopped and Esme pulls her door open even before Carlisle can reach her. "This place is—" she begins, but all she can do is gape, taking his hand as she steps towards the massive building in front of her.

Carlisle holds an older set of keys out before her. "Edward secured them from the landlord earlier. This way you can enjoy yourself. Really get a feel for the place without having to worry about your blood lust."

"Oh, Carlisle, you two didn't have to do that."

"I wanted you to be able to look, without the concern of your thirst." He brushes a stray strand of hair from her neck. "You've been doing so well lately."

"You're too kind to me," she says, though she supposes that killing the landlord on accident might have put a damper on potentially purchasing the house. Somewhere in the distance she hears Edward laugh at her.

"I want to give you everything," Carlisle says, capturing her attention once more and looking unapologetically honest. Eager and hopeful even.

She smiles, and laughs, taking his face in her hands, cradling his jaw and pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth. "You already have," she whispers.

"Not nearly so," he says. "Nothing will ever be enough, but I will try my very best to make you happy. Always." He lets his hands wander down her sides, until he's clutching her waist. He spins her in his arms, so she can lean against his chest and look up at the house.

"It has a tower and a spiral staircase."

She almost vibrates with excited energy and he chuckles against her ear, dangling the keys in front of her once more. She holds out her palm and he places them gently there, but catches her other hand in his, leading her up the front porch steps.

Inside is just as wonderful as she could have imagined. She spins in place, taking it all in, watching the dust dance in rainbow spirals from the ceiling to floor.

She walks the thick, velvet carpeting that unrolls down the long entry hall, taking passing glances between towering columns that divide the rooms on the main level. "It's wonder—"

She pauses at the staircase, at the familiar curve she notes as it hugs the wall, disappearing under the landing, and it's a strange feeling that overwhelms her suddenly. Like she's seen something like this before. A familiarity . . . but she can't quite place it. Can't quite see. Something like mist fills her mind as she draws upon the staircase, the fog clearing as she counts the steps . . . one . . . two . . . three, yes, she was on the third step from the top when the blow struck her. There had been blood on the side of her face and a bruise for weeks. She'd avoided going out, even to see her parents.

She traces the arch of the landing, tilting her head gently as the memory plays out.

Yes, she'd fallen down to the first landing, catching herself against the wall.

The fingerprints from where he'd grabbed her by the elbow remained so long she'd started wearing long sleeves in the summer.

She gasps, turning away from the stairs, her hand flying up to catch the sound from her throat, but too late.

"Esme," Carlisle says, stepping before her and placing his hands on her shoulders.

She flinches, searching for his face beyond the mist, but the only thing she can see is Charles and despite the diamond skin and newborn strength, she's terrified. She's virtually indestructible and yet she's rooted to the spot, still tormented by a man who no longer holds claim over her life.

"Esme, where are you, love?"

"Here," she says, pushing the thoughts of Charles from the forefront of her mind. It takes much more effort to focus than she expects; she'd been doing so well lately, it's almost as if she'd forgotten entirely, but the memory remains now, figments filtering in and out of alertness, more vivid the longer she dwells.

"It's him," Edward says suddenly. He appears at the end of the hall, shrouded in shadow, like some kind of dark angel. His eyes are terribly bright in the dim light peeling in from outside, his pale, stone face set in an expression somewhere between horror and rage.

She turns away from him. "I'm sorry," she whispers, working harder to clear her mind, harder to hide her thoughts from him.

"I already saw, Esme. And you have nothing to be sorry about." He walks slowly down the hall, and folds his arm over her forearm. With a long look at the staircase Edward shakes his head, turning to Carlisle. "We'll find something else. Something better."

"Love?" Carlisle asks, looking even more concerned at Edward's reaction.

"Yes," she says quietly. "Something else perhaps."

She turns for the door, but not before catching the silent exchange between Carlisle and Edward.

She's worried them. That wasn't her intention, and as soon as she's free of the house her mind clears greatly. The fresh air and the forest, it helps. It's freedom when she's spent so long without it. Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath and lets herself settle. She really does love the forest: the whisper of the trees and the dance the leaves do, even the rich scent of the pine.

Hands fall to her shoulders, though she doesn't flinch this time. She could smell him—another thing she's grown quickly to love—and hear him. In fact, Carlisle's been oddly clumsy in his walk, making far too much noise for a vampire, just to ensure that he doesn't startle her, and if her still heart could beat for that, it would, because the thoughtfulness he has for her is unparalleled. Something she believed only existed in fairy tales. To place the concern of another person so highly above oneself, to always strive for their happiness and safety and contentment, it's really quite something. Something that even normal couples in love cannot understand. The force that has come to bind them together is tied so tightly she knows that Carlisle must truly be her other half.

"Love?" he whispers and she opens her eyes to see him once more. She gives him a half smile, one that curls the edge of her mouth and he pulls her into his embrace.

"I'm okay," she says because she knows it pains him to see her this way. To know that he crossed her path in her youth, that he could have stolen her away then and saved her from all the pain, but he vowed not to steal her life from her, not to be selfish, and he fights with that choice, even now. Especially now. So she shakes her head, because it is not his fault, and because of the way her life turned out, she got to hold her son. And when his time was over, her life brought her right back to Carlisle as if they were fated. Always meant to be.

And she loves that the world knew enough to bring their two souls back to each other. And despite the blood lust and the newborn emotions and the difficult things about this new life, she loves being a vampire because it means she gets to keep him forever. Him and Edward. Her boys.

She hears Edward chuckle from over by the car.

It's true, she thinks.

And the smile she gives Carlisle this time is wider and brighter and works to calm him immensely.

"Shall we keep looking?" he asks.

"I think that's a wonderful idea."

The next house they find is close to Rochester.

"It's perfect," Esme sighs before even stepping out of the car. "This is the one."

Edward laughs, slipping out the door of the car and racing inside.

Carlisle turns to her, pulling the keys from the ignition.

"This one?" he says.

She catches his hand in hers and squeezes, grinning up at the stately old manor. The front is framed by three marble archways that bleed into hand laid brickwork and intricately carved statues. Earth-green ivy scales the brick, climbing and hanging and reaching towards the very tops of the old mansion, across the iron latticework that frames the balconies upon the second level, and even over the peak of the home. It looks as if the ivy is the only thing that has lived here for some time and it thrills her.

"You haven't even seen the inside yet," he says.

"But can't you just see the potential here. Oh, Carlisle, I think it will be quite lovely in time."

Carlisle chuckles to himself and Esme pulls her gaze away from the house long enough to look at him, at the slow, deliberate toss of his head. "What is it?"

"Edward suggested that I only show you the most run-down, dilapidated home I could find. I thought him mad at first, but then, as I so often do, I trusted his unique perception and once again he has proven quite knowledgeable when it comes to pleasing you." He grins openly, leaning over to press his lips to her temple. "You do love a project, don't you?"

"I do," she sighs happily. "It gives me hope, I guess. That even the most broken things can be beautiful again. One day, with a little time and effort, it will be almost brand new."

"You are a wonder, Esme. And if you like the house so much it's yours."

"Really?"

"Anything, my love."

"You don't mind living somewhere, so—so run-down, even for a short while? I know you could have so much more, Carlisle, I don't want you to—"

He stops her with another kiss, this time his lips press against hers, crushing and wild, swallowing the gasp that soars from her throat. "Anywhere, my love. I would live anywhere, as long as you're there. I don't care if you love this house or a little one bedroom cottage with a wooden stove. It's perfect because you're here."

Esme feels his lips brush over her eyelids and across her brow. The butterflies awaken in her chest and she presses back into the seat, holding her hands tightly in her lap. If she touches him it's all over; her dangling control will unravel.

He smiles against her skin, almost like he's read her mind. He pauses against her hair and his lips tug on the shell of her ear. She whimpers then, a long, pleading sound and her fingers dig into the nylons that cover her knees, splitting the flimsy fabric.

"Carlisle," she whispers. "Not here, with Edward so close—"

"That boy stopped listening long ago," he says, his breath a warm caress against her neck. He kisses where her pulse point would be, sucking gently on the skin there. "Trust me."

His kisses move down her neck, towards her collarbone, his lips pressed against the silky fabric of her blouse as he reaches her shoulder. "I like this colour on you," he whispers.

She has to open her eyes again to remember what she dressed in this morning. It's a dark purple silk blouse, with pearl buttons down the middle, tucked into a charcoal grey skirt that hangs just below her knees.

When she meets his eyes again she has to fight not to climb out of her seat and into his lap. It's such an intoxicating feeling, being held under his ministrations, his gaze, that she wants to crawl out of her skin. "Carlisle—" she whispers again, her mouth dropping open when he reaches to kiss her.

His tongue tangles with hers, until her resolve melts entirely and she loses control, searching for it again with her hands. They climb from her lap to his arms, strong and firm beneath her curious fingers, to his broad chest, making quick sweeps against the cotton shirt and rough-hewn vest. They slide over his shoulders, holding him steady as their lips pull and part, as she swallows lungfuls of oxygen that she doesn't really need.

He growls, somewhere low in his chest, and she pulls him closer still, her hands caught up in his hair as his head falls to her shoulder, turning and pressing lingering kisses to her neck, like the fluttering butterflies that whirl in her chest.

A loud crash resonates from inside and it pulls Esme from the fog of euphoria she's been lost in. Carlisle lifts his head, looking at her with a dazed and darkened expression. She's never seen such an amber colour in his eyes before, and it distracts her, but only for a moment. Seemingly out of nowhere he sits up, rights his shirt, and threads his hands back through his hair until it sits neatly upon his head.

She envies his total mastery of control.

A moment later Edward reappears beside the car, leaning casually against the passenger side window. "So you'll be wanting to knock down some walls, I presume?"

Carlisle snorts and Esme shakes her head. "What did you break?"

"In my defence," Edward begins, backing towards the porch, hands up in surrender as Esme climbs out of the car. "It was quite an ugly wall. I think you'll agree when you see it."

He gives her a wicked grin before beelining inside again.

"That boy," Carlisle says, shaking his head fondly as he appears beside Esme, offering her his arm.

"I love him," Esme says aloud, surprising them both. "Almost as much as I love you. And this is where we shall live. Together."

"I'll sign the papers tonight. Would you like to take a tour of your new home?" he asks. "I promise to behave myself."

She smirks. "I quite like it when you don't behave yourself," she tells him as they step upon the white washed boards of the front porch staircase. "But for Edward's sake—"

"Yes, for damn Edward's sake . . ." the boy says as he reappears in the doorway. "I will be chaperoning this tour. Apparently you two cannot be trusted when left to your own devices." He reaches out for Esme's hand. "Come see the grand hall. I think the acoustics will be perfect for the piano."

They spend hours inside the house, envisioning and touring and Esme is so grateful for this wide, expansive mind of hers because it lets her file away all the little projects she keeps amassing as she's led from room to room.

At one point, Carlisle excuses himself, leaving her and Edward to make moving plans while he spends the late afternoon at the hospital, discussing his options with the head of surgery.

When he returns, Esme notes that he is smiling. "It went well then?" she asks.

He brushes some plaster dust from her shirt, raising a curious brow at the apparent destruction behind them. Edward goes running by, hair caked white, and Esme can see Carlisle fighting not to laugh. "It did," he says instead. "I've accepted a position. They'll have an opening in the emergency department. I start the month after next."

"So long?" she says, surprised. She had thought they would be moving in immediately.

"Well yes," he says. "Because before I start working I intend to be married." He pauses. "Though we can wait, of course, if you'd rather." He reaches up, running his knuckles along her cheek. "We can have a long engagement. You can take time to plan—"

She catches his hand where it rests against her face. "I don't want a long engagement. I would marry you tomorrow, if I could."

"Then I'll get to work finding a church," he says. "We'll need something small. Something that will stay away from the public eye, with someone who will be discreet . . . well, perhaps I'll take Edward with me. He's always a good judge of character. And you, my dear," he pulls something from his back pocket, pressing it into her hand, "need to decide on a dress."

It's a bridal catalogue.

"Anything you want," he says. He presses a kiss to her cheek, lingering for a moment. "I mean it, Esme. Silk. Lace. Diamond chandeliers. I don't care."

He pulls away and she looks down at the catalogue feeling slightly overwhelmed. She's never had so much choice before. Never had the means. But now . . .

"Anything," he repeats, as if sensing her question.

She stares at him, seemingly in awe because of him, but only for a moment, before she launches herself into his arms, bodily wrapping herself around him and pulling his face down to hers. She kisses him with all the strength she possesses, all the power she can muster from this diamond body, standing on his shoes with her stockinged feet to reach. Carlisle responds in earnest, hands falling to the small of her back.

"Oh, come on!"

Esme flinches, breaking the kiss at the sound of a large, wet glob of plaster connecting with the back of Carlisle's head. She looks over, staring through a hole in one of the almost demolished walls. Edward stands there, a wry grin on his face.

"Learn to control yourself, old man," he says, launching his second attack. Carlisle moves on instinct, stepping in front of Esme to shield her. She hears the plaster hit again, ricocheting off Carlisle's back in a thousand different directions.

Carlisle reaches behind him and pulls plaster glue from the back of his head. Esme covers her face with her hands, attempting not to giggle as his face breaks into a strange kind of smile. He looks at Edward and Esme watches with bated breath as the two of them face off.

"I'm faster," Edward says, answering some unsaid thing, looking very much like the fun-loving boy he still is.

"Oh, but I'm so much older," Carlisle says. "And with that, son, comes wisdom." With that the two of them disappear in a flash of plaster dust.

"Children," Esme says. "Do not break the house! It doesn't even technically belong to us yet."

"It does," Carlisle says, appearing by her side once more, looking ragged and dishevelled. "I signed the deed this afternoon." He presses a quick kiss to her lips. "Welcome home."