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What an exciting chapter this is going to be!

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That evening, when Connor walked into my office, I was looking through a file, but instead of seeing the words on the page, I was seeing images of Caroline telling me what to do and when to do it for the rest of my life.

"It's Friday, Aiden," he told me, taking my coat off the rack near my door and tossing it at me.

My thoughts shaken, I looked up from the coat that was on my lap. "You're right, Connor. And it's evening."

"You have to come out with us today, man. Being engaged has made you boring," he teased.

I laughed, closing the file, putting it on my desk and getting up. "Really?"

"Really. I mean, ever since that day, you have not come out once. It's been about a month, Aiden," Connor said, "Come out and we'll have some drink and you can sip in solitude while the rest of us pick up girls."

"Sounds like a fun night," I said, sarcastically, slipping on my coat.

"Yeah!" Connor hyped, clapping me on the shoulders as we walked out of my office.

"Where are we going?" I asked, stepping into the elevator.

"The rest of the guys are already at Lush, so let's just go there. We can get that VIP floor without all the random people sweating on us and have a good time," Connor said.

I nodded in agreement.

Lush wasn't the kind of club we usually went to. We generally preferred a bar downtown, but Friday night meant that Steven's, our favourite would be packed, so this would be a good option to keep out of the range of paparazzi. Connor and I did occasionally drink with some important people who would rather be out of sight of the cameras.

It was only when I drove out of the basement parking – I occasionally drove myself for the fun of it – that I realized how late it had gotten. The sky was dark and the streets were packed with people trying to enjoy their Friday nights out.

I followed Connor all the way up to the third floor of Lush, where the music wasn't as loud as it was everywhere else, the place wasn't as packed, and the bartender knew your name, not because of how frequently you visited, but because of the high quality of service.

"Mr. Carlisle," the bartender said as he saw me and Connor, "The usual?"

"Scotch on the rocks," I told him, "I have to drive home."

"And for your Mr. Matthews?" he asked Connor.

"The usual," he said, "And another round of whatever those guys are having."

Connor pointed to our friends who sat in a corner.

"Put it on my tab," I told him and Connor laughed.

"If this is your way of celebrating getting engaged, it's way subdued, man," he said, shaking his head and leading me over to the area where everyone else was sitting.

We slipped right into a conversation, especially when the drinks arrived and all the guys were getting hyped up on their booze. I slowly sipped my scotch, thinking about driving home and also not wanting to let my guard down and let slip to one of them that my whole engagement was a sham.

About a half hour later, when the boys were all ready for another round, I volunteered to get it, still nursing my first drink. I walked up to the bar and leaned against it, waiting for one of the bartenders to be free to give my order.

I looked down at the lady who was sitting at the bar, bent over an empty glass. The light brown hair was familiar and I bent my head to look at her closer.

I couldn't have been more surprised to see who I did.

"Rosalie?" I asked, in an incredulous tone. With the collected and professional manner in which she presented herself, I would have never guessed her to be like this.

She turned her head up to look at me and squinted at me, clearly dazed and then gave me a dazzling smile. "Oh, Jayden," she hiccupped and then smiled absently, "Aiden."

I raised my eyebrows. "What are you doing here?"

Her head dropped, lolling slightly as she answered me. "Looking," she said, "For a boyfriend."

My eyebrows raised even more. "I thought you had a boyfriend."

She snapped her head back to look at me, a slight frown on her face. In her inebriated state, she seemed almost childlike, like she was pouting. "Nope," she said, popping the 'P', "He and I broke up, like two whole days ago. I'm done with him."

I watched her. She was clearly not speaking sense and clearly on the rebound because she wasn't sober.

"How many of these has she had?" I asked the bartender, who walked over to me, picking up her glass and sniffing it.

"That's just the second one," he said, with a chuckle, "She wanted two old fashioned drinks without the cherries."

"I don't like cherries," Rosalie told me, slurring her words and wagging her index finger at me, like I had even suggested feeding her cherries.

I chuckled. "You're a lightweight, aren't you?" I asked, amused by the display this polished and put-together woman was putting on after just two drinks.

"Excuse me," she chastised me, getting up and trying to square up to me despite only reaching my shoulders, "I will not have you call me names, even if you do have a billion dollars."

I chuckled again, amused by her words and actions.

"You laugh at me," she said, "But I'll find myself a boyfriend and then we'll see who's laughing. Where are my shoes?"

She looked at the ground, by my feet, not seeing her shoes which were sitting on the other side of her barstool. I raised my head to see a few groups of men looking at her. She was an extremely attractive girl, dressed well and there's no doubt that any of them looking over would have loved to be with her that night, but I wasn't going to let that happen.

"Alright, Rosalie," I told her, picking up her shoes, "I'm going to take you home, alright? I don't think you're fit to be here on your own."

She pouted, immediately. "But I don't want to go home. I want to dance."

I smiled at her. "You can dance where we're going," I said, "I promise."

Her eyes lit up. "Really?" she asked, with the excitement of a child, "I can dance?"

"Definitely," I told her, picking up her purse that was sitting on the counter. I leaned over to the bartender, "Send over another round to the boys over there and tell them I've had to leave because of an emergency and you can put those drinks and hers on my tab."

"Sure thing, Mr. Carlisle," the bartender gave me a thumbs up.

I slipped my arm around Rosalie's waist and led her to the elevator. She came without protest. Once we were inside, she pressed herself against the glass.

"Wow, I'm falling really slowly," she said, "That's kind of cool."

She reached into her hair and pulled out the decorative chopstick in her hair and shook it out, letting it fall and cascade down her back.

"You can dance to this music!" she shouted about the elevator jazz, shaking her body, completely out of rhythm.

I watched her, with a small smile on my face, holding her shoes and purse in my hands.

Once the elevator dinged at the basement parking level, I led her out.

"That's some of the best dance music I've heard," she told me.

"It sure was," I agreed, leading her to my car.

Opening the passenger side door, I placed her in the seat. I reached over and tried to strap her in, but she took the belt out of my hands. "I can do that," she pouted again, "I'm a grown up!"

I snickered and let her buckle herself in, closing the door. I stood outside the door and opened her purse, looking for her driver's license. Once I found it, I read her address, putting it into my phone's GPS.

When I got into my side of the car, Rosalie was sitting there with a proud smile on her face. "See?" she told me, "I can put on a belt."

I looked down in between us and she had somehow managed to put her belt buckle into the latch on my side. I sighed. "You're very talented," I told her, unbuckling it and buckling it on to the correct side.

I pulled out of the basement car park on to the road and Rosalie was immediately taken by all the lights on the streets. She kept delightfully pointing to all the lit-up billboards.

"Mickey D's!" she exclaimed as I drove past a McDonald's, "Take me to Mickey D's!"

"I thought you wanted to go dancing," I said, looking over at her, as she pressed her face up against her window, gazing longingly at the McDonald's we passed.

She turned her head to look at me. "If I wake up and I don't have Mickey D's, I'm going to be very cranky," she told her, pouting exaggeratedly and adorably, "Why won't you take me to Mickey D's?"

I was going to answer her, but she cut me off.

"You have lots of dough," she told me, "Like a billion dollars. I've never had a billion dollars. I've never known anyone who has a billion dollars. Except you. That must be fun. You could put it all in your apartment and roll around in it. You don't need carpets. You could just put all billion dollars and roll in it."

She spoke like a child talking about rolling in money, making me laugh. "Unfortunately, it's not like I have it all in a bank account. So, I don't think that would work."

"You wear suits a lot," she told me, very loudly, like I wasn't sitting right next to her, trying to drive.

"I do," I nodded.

"I've only seen you in normal clothes once. It's like you're a character in a movie," she went on, "Speaking of movies, I watched this movie the other day with a really hot guy in it, but he died. I cried for like three hours after that."

"Well, I'm sorry for your loss," I told her, as I turned, pulling into the McDonald's drive-thru lane.

Rosalie looked up at the golden arches and her face lit up with a big smile. "Mickey D's!" she exclaimed, "I want fries and tenders and nuggets and sundaes and slushies!"

I pulled up to the speaker and Rosalie was in the midst of trying to wrestle her way out of her seat to get closer to the speaker to give her order. "I want fries!" she said, earnestly, in the direction of the speaker.

"Hey, Rosalie," I told her softly, "Do you mind if I do the ordering?"

She sat back and smiled, slowly. "Okay."

I rolled down my window and ordered everything she had listed for Rosalie, except the sundae and got myself a coffee. When I handed her the bag, she inhaled the smell of deep-fried goodness and smiled at me like I had given her holy grail.

"Thanks," she sang to me, as she opened the bag and dug into some fries. I took a sip of my coffee and put it back on the center console, next to her slushie.

"May I have some fries?" I asked her.

She regarded me for a while, with a suspicious look on her face. "Will you eat all of them?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"No, just a few," I promised.

She held out the pack to me and let me take some. "Ian ate my slice of pizza," she sulked, "Even when I told him not to."

"Well I won't eat all your fries or your slice of pizza," I told her, softly, seeing that her thoughts had made her sad.

She smiled when she heard my word. "You're nice," she told me, "You're not like a lot of the rich men I've met. They're super mean. They don't even talk nicely to the people who work for them."

She lapsed into silence, eating from each pack in the bag, making me ponder on her words. I knew many men who were the same. She wiped her fingers and took a big gulp from the slushie.

When she was finished, she flopped around and angled herself in her seat so that she was looking at me. "You're getting married. I'm planning your wedding. It's going to be really red. And you have a very pretty nose. It's so straight, like someone made it with a protractor."

I laughed. "Thank you. I grew it myself."

She laughed, uproariously, like I had told her the funniest joke in the world. I came to a stop at a red light and turned my head to look at her.

Her face was smushed against the car seat and her hair was falling in her face. The light that was streaming in from the lampposts threw her dazed blue eyes into a different light. Her eyes were glossy, like she might have been crying. Her lips were turned up, parted and pink, with the trace of lipstick. Even though she was sitting at an awkward angle and slouching, she still had an aura of elegance about her.

"You're funny," she told me.

I smiled as the light changed to green. "Caroline doesn't really think I'm funny," I said, quietly.

She didn't seem to hear me because she sighed, deeply. "Ian didn't listen to me," she said, blinking at me slowly, her pout returning, "He didn't like my stories and he didn't respond to what I told him. I don't think he thought my stories were fun."

I shifted my eyes to her for as long as I could. She was looking down at her hands, fiddling with her thumbs. "I think your stories are fun."

She perked up, immediately. "Did you know that the national animal of Scotland is a unicorn?" she asked, as I pulled into her apartment complex.

I parked the car in the visitor's parking slot nearest to the door. "I did not know that," I told her, "That's a very interested thing to find out."

I smiled at her and she giggled. It was heart-warming to see her, or anyone in this day and age be so vulnerable and care-free.

I got out of the car with her purse, shoes and the McDonald's bag, walked over to her side and opened the door for her. She immediately tried to get out without unbuckling the seatbelt.

"Let me," I said, reaching in and over to the buckle.

She looked at me, the closest my face had ever been to hers. "I don't remember the last time Ian opened a door for me," she said.

I sighed, helping her out of the car, wondering why in the world she even went out with someone who didn't appreciate her in the least.

I got her elevator keycard out of her purse and swiped it, hitting the number for her floor. She leaned against the side of the elevator.

"This elevator's no fun," she pouted, "No dance music."

"We can put on some dance music when we're inside," I promised, hauling her out of the elevator and down the corridor towards hers.

I opened the door for her and she stumbled in, flipping on lights as she entered.

Looking around, I saw that she kept her apartment immaculate. The whole place was in light tones of cream; it was a haven of earthy colours, calming and mild. It was decorated simply, but beautifully and very well-maintained.

Rosalie staggered over to a speaker set that stood neatly in the corner of her living room and turned it on. The upbeat melody of a happy song filled the air. I watched her while I placed her purse and the bag of food on the counter and her shoes on the ground.

I was standing near the entryway to her kitchen as she unsteadily made her way over to me, talking very loudly. "I'm hungry!"

She tripped over seemingly flat ground, and I put my arms out and caught her. She gripped my suit and stood up. When she was back on her own two feet, she ran her fingers up and down the lapel, like she had never seen one before. Her eyes were drooping, slightly. She shook her head and went over to the counter and opened the bag, getting the box of chicken nuggets out.

"Sit," she slurred to me, as she walked over and sat on the couch, munching on chicken nuggets.

I sat down at the other end of the couch, watching her. "Want one?" she asked, and I took one of them. She was teetering and I didn't want her to wake up to a sauce stain on her couch, so I laid some tissues down near her.

She looked at me, finishing her nugget. She wiped her hands and put all the tissues and boxes on to the coffee table. I rested my head against my hand, waiting for her to ask me something.

"You're not talking," she said, cocking her head to a side, "But you're looking at me. You're not watching TV or looking at your phone."

I frowned slightly, wondering why she was telling me this.

"Ian didn't really look at me when I wasn't talking. He looked at his phone a lot, or watched TV," she dropped her head on to the back of the couch. Her eyes began to droop again.

"You should get some sleep," I told her, getting up, not knowing whether she heard me.

I moved her so that she was lying on the couch and put a pillow under her head. I picked up a throw blanket from the sofa and put it over her, as she settled into the pillow.

After I put all the food neatly on the counter, ready to leave, I could tell she had fallen asleep. We would be meeting the next day at eleven go look at venues, so I turned on an alarm on her phone for nine o'clock.

"Goodnight," I told the sleeping Rosalie, before I walked out of her apartment, wondering why I had enjoyed my time with a girl who was rendered childlike because of booze, demanded junk food and told me that I was nice and funny.

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Damn!

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Much love!

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