A/N: For all of you waiting on an update for Entwined, this is a little interlude for you. I'm sorry it has taken me so long, but my life has taken an unexpected, difficult twist of late, and I haven't had much time to write. I promise, I will continue—and, of course, finish—Entwined. I hope an update will come your way sometime next week, but I don't want to give you anything that isn't perfectly right.
Instead, here's a cute, quick little moment from our favorite couple's life. It's canon. This is one of my middle-of-the-night, must-wake-up-and-write pieces. Sometimes sleep is a wonderful muse. I hope you enjoy it! =)
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Fifty Years
Paris, at night, practically sparkles. It is nearly timeless in its beauty—its old-worldly charm—though evidence of time still passes through it. Yet, still, there are places that seem untouched by the days and the months and the years as they go.
There is a quiet bistro, nestled somewhere in the 18th arrondissement, not far from the Moulin Rouge. It is a bit too small by most's standards, out of the way and inconvenient for one staying in the heart of Paris. But that doesn't matter—it is a favorite spot. The fact that it still stands is a testament to the city itself, and it represents so much more than just a place to eat.
A cobblestone terrace is surrounded by swirling and round hedges, encompassing a scattering of wrought-iron tables. Lights are strung overhead and soft music floats out into the night air. Quaint. Years ago, it had been bustling. Now it is quiet and hidden, a gem that settled as the city grew around it in unexpected ways.
They have no need for the wine or the mouthwatering rose petal sorbet with Chantilly cream. Instead, they take in the sounds and the sights, simply being, in a place that holds many fond memories. The music, the night air, the smells of the Seine, not too far away for them to hear it where it would never touch the ears of another. Her hand rests in his against his still heart and they drink in the serenity of the moment.
He pulls Bella closer. Her body fits perfectly into his as if they had been carved to fit together seamlessly, two pieces of the same puzzle. He sways her softly to the music as it floats through the air. He remembers a time when she would have scoffed at this kind of dance. Now it is as much a part of them as their loving endearments that never go a day unspoken.
"I love you, Bella Marie Cullen," he whispers close to her ear. She can hear the dulcet tones of his truth, all the meaning in them; she can feel the way his lips curve up with his joy and contentment. "Now, as much as I always have."
She tilts back and smiles up at him, lifting her chin at an awkward angle as not to break their contact, but to look into his eyes nonetheless.
"And I love you, Edward Anthony."
Their lips meet, gently, as their smiles melt against one another's lips. There is something in this moment that excites them and calms them at once. Lost in each other, he misses the quiet thoughts around them.
"Newlyweds," comes a soft, frail voice behind them. They both turn at the sound, a little too quick perhaps. In front of them is a graying couple, in a position not unlike their own.
She is small, a likely shadow of her former self. At one time, perhaps she was muscled and straight. Perhaps at one time, her body did not hunch with time, bending her over itself. At one time, she must have been strong and agile, able to run and jump and sweat with exertion. Her thin and sagging face holds the remnants of her obvious beauty, her eyes lighting up with the smile on her face, hidden slightly behind the folds and creases around them. She is beaming at the young couple.
Beside her is her mate, as weathered and aged, and not unlike her. He is taller than her by a half a foot, but his body shows the same signs of aching bones and tired joints. But still, there is a playfulness that surrounds him. He has a sense of humor, one which mingles with his pride and understanding of things. Their clothes are both neat and stylish, but they do not fit them as they once did, when they were strong and full and eager. Their hair is white like down, and thinning. But they are surrounded by a kind of light.
Her voice is meek as she speaks, shaking in dying Received Pronunciation English dialect, but sure and knowledgeable. They've stopped their dance, too, to speak to the unlikely couple.
They had been swaying to the music in the same manner as Bella and Edward Cullen, dancing to the light music floating overhead. Their postures are vastly different, but similar still, and it as if they are looking in a mirror in a carnival funhouse, two visions on different planes of existence. Even despite their physical failings, she is tucked up against him with purpose. Her hand is clasped in his wrinkled one the same way Bella's is held against Edward's chest.
Edward smirks knowingly at the woman's statement just a moment after she utters it.
"Pardon?"
"You're newlyweds," she tells him matter-of-factly. "We can tell."
The old woman shares a secret smile with her old man. Bella and Edward share one of their own.
"How can you tell?" The amusement is disguised in his velvet voice, but his bride can still sense it. She rubs the small of his back lovingly with tiny fingers and fists his cotton shirt possessively. It is instinctual.
"When you've been married as long as we have, you simply know. It's in the way that you look at her," she tells him conspiratorially. "Like she's the last girl on earth."
"How long?" Edward asks politely, though he already knows. It's all she can think about at that moment. All her thoughts focus on the years gone by. Images flash through his head of this couple's life together. It is all very reminiscent.
"Fifty years, just next month," she beams. "We had the most spectacular September wedding."
"Congratulations," Bella says sweetly, her eyes sparkling with shared joy and mischief.
"What's the secret?" Though he's speaking to the aged couple, Edward's eyes have turned back to the tiny brunette tucked securely in his arms.
The old man chuckles.
"Keep looking at her like that," he says.
Edward reaches up and brushes her cheek. Her unnecessary breathing hitches and she leans into him, now unable to stand. Strong, flawless legs sway, but he doesn't miss a beat in supporting her. He's been doing it for awhile.
"Always," he says, so soft it is possible that no other ears can hear but hers. She tilts up and places her lips against his throat. His words vibrate through her and she closes her eyes, breathing him in—he is everything she's always known and needed and wanted.
"For the next fifty years," he promises. "Just like the first."
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End Note: Thanks for reading! Hope you like it. Let me know!
Watch for Chapter 11 of Entwined soon!