Summary.
Edward and Bella's long-awaited wedding draws nearer. But amidst plan-making with Alice and doubts, fears, and anticipation for her looming transformation date, Jacob Black is a recurring problem; Bella's broken friendship with him tugs at her at every turn. Can she overcome a "blood" feud and put the two pieces of her heart back together before the werewolves declare war? Takes place shortly after Eclipse.

Disclaimer.
I don't own Twilight or any recognizeable characters, locations, etc. Don't sue me. Because you won't get much.

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Beautifully Broken
By The Volvo, aka Lasia.

I don't think she was trying to intentionally torture me. She was just overly enthusiastic, as was her way. And I couldn't really blame her; if I was completely honest with myself, the very thought of the event made me giddy, but the event itself wasn't exactly why; it was more the meaning behind it, that after that one day of torture, I'd be able to spend every day with Edward. Perhaps, even, every day of forever. Just like he'd promised.

But then again, if I thought about it, Alice knew how I felt about the extravagant wedding she had planned, so perhaps the current situation was her plan to torture me into oblivion; she knew my aversion to attention, and this wedding promised only that. And I had no desire for taffeta, roses, and pastels.

There was no question that the whole affair would be held here, on Cullen property. At first Edward and I had both considered our meadow, but Alice had quickly warned us against it; according to her, the weather was supposed to be uncharacteristically nice out on the date we had picked (July 19th, which was just under a month away from the deadline I had set, but still far enough away that I didn't argue) and risking exposure to the sun would not be a good idea. And, I realized in retrospect, that Charlie and Renee would be less than pleased to navigate through the woods in their formal dress, no matter the occasion.

And as the invitations had been sent (fancy, expensive white things that I didn't particularly care for), the only things left were just "the small details," as Alice labeled them; I imagined that could only mean things like floral statues, millions of balloons, and other expensive things that I could quite possibly destroy on my trip down the aisle.

I was already at the Cullen's; I spent most of my time there anyway, returning to Charlie's (I rarely thought of it as "home" anymore; the Cullen mansion felt so much more like home to me than any other place had or ever would) only to sleep, dress, and make sure Charlie didn't starve.

At the moment, Edward and I sat at his beautiful grand piano, as his fingers played gracefully with the keys, making intricate melodies out of nothing, while I watched his fingers twist in and out of the notes easily. Every now and then, he'd glance over at me, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, his eyes searching.

This had happened no less than seven times when he finally stopped playing, his hands falling to his lap dejectedly, his face contorted in bewilderment. He glared at me, his ocher eyes drilling into mine, hoping futilely that he would catch a glimpse into my thoughts. When this failed, he sighed, his unneeded breath whooshing out of his lungs in a long, low hiss.

"Please, tell me what you're thinking, Bella."

I shrugged; perhaps my carefully composed façade of content was falling down around me and I wasn't aware of it. I had been so careful around Edward to try and keep my face calm and happy; the slightest trace of apprehension and he'd call off the wedding, fearing that I wasn't ready. I cursed his intuitiveness, but silently thanked the otherworldly gods – or whatever unseen force ruled over his kind – for making me the one exception to his abilities.

The truth was that I wasn't ready – but my trepidation wasn't in reaction to the looming date set for my crossover into the vampiric world. Part of it was, as I had told him countless times before, that I was worried of wedding young. It had been the thorn in my mother's bouquet; I hoped against all hopes that it wouldn't be mine, or I knew it would be the death of me. Loosing Edward outweighed any and all consequences, and the wedding date stayed set.

Realizing that I couldn't deliberate anymore, I cleared my throat and tapped an ebony key before me, the discordant hum vibrating through my body. I kept my eyes on it, and I heard the sound of a low chuckle deep in Edward's throat.

"E sharp, Bella," he said; I looked up to see his eyes smiling playfully, before softening. "Please."

I frowned at him. "Why do you have to do that?"

His expression flipped in reaction to my question. "Do what?"

I glared down at his hand, which was easing mine off the keys and into his lap, palm up. "Be so good at everything."

He chuckled again before pulling me closer to him, wrapping both long, cool arms around my waist and lowering his head to nuzzle his nose into the crook of my neck. I shivered as his lips brushed across my jaw.

"I'm hardly good, Bella," he whispered, his cool breath sending goose bumps across both of my shoulders. I swallowed.

"No," I managed to gasp; he was doing that dazzling thing again. "You're much too good." My voice came out barely below a sigh.

I felt his lips turn up in a grin against my neck before he pulled away, one hand on my chin. His eyes were staring into mine again, trying to unlock the inner workings of a mind that had no key.

"Bella, you're avoiding the question."

I looked down grimly; I could tell him about the trivial things that were tugging at my subconscious, things like Alice putting too much effort into a wedding that the bride would barely notice, fears about tripping in front of wedding guests, that I'd turn into a sobbing, hopelessly romantic mess at the alter. But none of those things really mattered when compared to the big picture of anxiety that loomed before me, in vivid Technicolor.

I felt that the wedding – the single strongest step that Edward and I could possibly make in solidifying our relationship beyond boyfriend and girlfriend – would push Jacob even further away than he felt now – which, with him not answering calls and Billy refusing to tell me where he was, already felt like a great, uncrossable chasm -- and that grim idea cut me like the sharpest of swords couldn't.

I loved Edward. I really did. He was the light at the end of an infinite, vague darkness last year, and while Jacob had held me together, I'd never felt whole until I'd felt Edward's marble-cold touch again. He had cleared my mind; before, it seemed things were hazy, like I didn't much care what I did or where I went, even counting before I had moved to Forks. Now, some moments and days stood out in picture-perfect black and white, others in vivid colors no rainbow could hope to match. Usually, the difference between the color and the grayscale was Edward – his touch his embrace, his lips. Everything dulled when compared to him, and yet everything since meeting him was brighter.

And then there was Jacob – Jacob, fighting for Edward's position as my light. When I thought about it, I had to admit that Jacob was my sun – his warmth, his friendship had held me together during those dark, shapeless months. But that was it; he was the friend, and the night was always more romantic, more appealing. Edward was my moon, and it was during those times that he disappeared from the sky that my life felt the darkest. I could live the days without a sun – but my nights without a moon were dull and forgettable.

And Edward was something I could never forget, nor did I want to.

And so my predicament was written like a romantic stage tragedy. They fight; Paris falls. There was never any doubt about who Paris was in this messed up piece of Shakespeare; it was as if he'd reached up from the grave and contorted all our lives in the most twisted of webs, smiling ruthlessly at his masterpiece.

Edward's alabaster finger had begun to tap an impatient tempo on my side where it rested. His other hand had fallen from my chin and was tracing butterfly shapes on the back of my hand. Restful and restless, all at once. I sighed and captured the cold, drumming hand in mine.

I raised his hand to my face and, pressing it to my lips, I whispered, "I wonder how Juliet felt when Paris fell."

Edward's brow furrowed and his hand felt rigid. "What is that supposed to mean? Juliet didn't love Paris."

I frowned into his palm, inhaling his intoxicating scent at the same time. "Who said anything about love?" I cringed silently, hoping he wouldn't feel the reaction on his hand. "I'm sure Juliet never wished anyone's death. . ."

Edward stopped just short of snorting, but the sound within his throat tipped me off. "She faked her own death, Bella . . . what's all this about?"

I laid a light kiss on his thumb and let his hand slip away from mine. Dangerous territory, I warned myself. I was walking into a trap that I couldn't see a way out of, and what worried me most was what Edward's reaction would be, despite having many precedents to compare it to.

I took a deep breath and plunged forward. "I haven't talked to Jacob in so long."

Edward, understanding now, tensed up beside me. "Jacob is Paris?"

I nodded, trying to catch his expression. "They fight; Paris falls," I quoted, my voice quiet. Beside me, Edward took a long, unnecessary breath.

"And when did you start comparing the relationship between Jacob and yourself to Shakespeare?"

I frowned again and put my hand on his cheek. "You've always been Romeo."

"And yet you feel the need to wonder about Juliet's feelings for her fallen suitor."

He looked down at me then, but his eyes were empty. I cried out in frustration and my other hand went to his neck, pulling myself up so I was eye-level with him and staring into his tawny eyes. "You must stop this! You know I can't bear it – he's my best friend, Edward. He helped me," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper as I feared his reaction; any other time I'd brought up those months long ago, his eyes had shielded over in pain and I could feel his heart breaking. "I've told you; if not for him, you'd have come home to less than a human being. Much less."

He had closed his eyes, but he brought his hand up to where mine rested on his cheek, closing over it gently. "I know, Bella. I do. And I've told him that, as well. But I don't think you understand the game he's playing here – every thought, every movement he's made has been part of his scheme to win your heart. And, although I owe him my life many times over, I won't let him win this one." He opened his eyes and traced my lips with his other hand. "I saw you first – and I loved you first."

I couldn't find within me the tenacity to remind him that Jacob and I were long-time family friends, having known each other (not well, but well enough) much longer than I had known Edward. His eyes sparkled in a grin and I leaned my head against his chest, wanting everything except Edward and I to disappear, become nothing more than the ghost of a memory of a dream one can't quite remember. He kissed my hair gently and he slowly began to sway from side to side, lulling me into calm and security. There was nothing false about this; this was the truest kind of trust, the rarest and rawest kind of love and devotion. I knew my heart remained true to Edward, as Juliet's remained to Romeo.

And Paris lay forgotten for those blessed moments, my thoughts enveloped and obsessed with the scent, feel, and warmth of chilled marble's embrace

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Author's Note.
A few notes before we continue:

- Some chapters are written from a different point of view than Bella's; in these cases the character speaking will be written atop the chapter in ALL CAPS.

- I'll only update one chapter at a time; usually I update with everything I have written whenever I start the story and then I forget to update ever again. This will hopefully give me some incentive to keep writing on this story, which I've been working on since January.

Have fun reading! Please feel free to leave comments addressing parts of the story that you like or with any questions you may have.