All That Glitters

by SecretsAndLiesContest

"All that glitters isn't gold...had you been as wise as bold, young in limbs, in judgment old..." So the old, Shakespearean saying goes, and with older, wiser, and less passionate couples, the warning may be unnecessary. Unfortunately for these young, modern-day lovers, passion coupled with secrets and grief can snowball into an avalanche from which they may not escape unscathed.

Subject: Secrets and Lies Contest Entry

Title: All That Glitters

Summary:"All that glitters isn't gold...had you been as wise as bold, young in limbs, in judgment old..." So the old, Shakespearean saying goes, and with older, wiser, and less passionate couples, the warning may be unnecessary. Unfortunately for these young, modern-day lovers, passion coupled with secrets and grief can snowball into an avalanche from which they may not escape unscathed.

Pairing: Edward/Bella/Riley

Rating: M - Angst

Word Count: 5,900

DISCLAIMER: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

All That Glitters

The band's instruments exploded inside the ballroom, like an unexpected thunderstorm erupting in the late summer sky. Booming drums echoed and saxophones fused with the smoother strings of guitars, all quickly followed by the lingering vibrations of brass trumpets. My breath caught in my throat.

"Isabella, are you okay?"

I met my groom's mirthful gaze and laughed along with him. "I'm more than okay."

"Good." With a quieter smile, he gripped my hips. "Happy?"

"So happy."

Never a jazz sort of girl, I wasn't exactly thrilled when my mother-in-law-to-be suggested a jazz band for the wedding reception. Since more or less the age of seventeen, whenever I pictured the musical entertainment for my wedding celebration, the vision I conjured was of a headphone-sporting, laptop-toting, digital-record-spinning deejay in ripped jeans and a tee shirt.

However, a few weeks before the wedding, my fiancé broke the impasse between his mother and me by reminding me how the former entertainment choice was more appropriate to both the venue and theme of our event. Now, a cultured and exorbitantly big-ticketed twelve-piece band graced the brightly lit stage, all attired in tuxedoes and bejeweled evening gowns as elegant as those of our guests.

Officially, our theme was, "A Late Summer Wedding in Seattle," but in reality, it turned out more, "Let's Outspend Every Other Wedding Held in Washington State Over the Past Twenty Years." Tonight, the auditorium-turned-ballroom of Seattle's historic Paramount Theatre hosted three hundred plus members of the Upper Crusties, as my best friend, Rosie, called them.

Therefore, I threw in the white flag and surrendered, as I'd surrendered on a few other mundane, wedding details over the past three months. Our guests' regal jaws would've likely dropped into the flutes they held so elegantly – flutes which brimmed with eight-hundred-dollars-a-bottle champagne, by the way – had my initial visions come to fruition. To me, minor details were insignificant in the grand scheme.

I locked my arms around my husband's neck as his hands encircled my waist, and he swept me around the lavishly decorated dancefloor, camouflaging my two left feet with his expert grace. On the theatre's stage, the band belted out one of jazz's greatest hits.

"Fly me to the moon…" My groom sang the lyrics in a rich baritone, then waited for me to join in the refrain.

"I don't know the words," I admitted with a chuckle.

"Isabella, it's our wedding song." He sucked his teeth and shook his head. "Sometimes, you're unbelievable."

I laughed. "Hey, this is the price you pay for vetoing my song selections for our first dance."

"That's because they all lacked a certain something."

He twirled me around, easily fitting me under his arm. I lifted an eyebrow when I met him again.

"Yes, yes; I know. Your sister already informed me that my taste in music lacks both the class and innate sophistication which comes with being from old-as-fuck money."

Erupting in amusement, he threw back his head. Yet, when his grey-green eyes met mine, they held a hint of contrition.

"Baby, that's not what I meant, and I hope Alice didn't phrase it that way."

"No, not exactly that way, but her meaning was clear."

"Isabella…" he squeezed my waist, "I hope you didn't yield too much on the wedding plans just to please my family. I should've paid more attention during the preparations, but between ensuring the firm won our latest case and my continuing stupor at the fact that you accepted my proposal, I've been pretty useless."

I reached up and cupped his smoothly-shaven cheek. "Yes, I yielded. I yielded because this evening isn't just about me. Tonight is about the fairy-tale-like, whirlwind romance on which you and I embarked three months ago. This evening is the beginning of our happily-ever-after. I don't care what music plays in the background."

When I grinned, he grinned tenderly in return. "Good, then."

Yes, it had all been a whirlwind.

But perhaps not so much a fairy-tale. Maybe a better analogy for our relationship was a story where Beauty was once deceived for three, long years by the Beast. When one day out of the blue, the Beast unceremoniously dumped her, Beauty was forced to accept that the Beast was never a real prince. The real prince then swept in and healed Beauty's broken heart before it completely shriveled and wilted, just like that unfortunate rose.

I shook off the wayward thought. Tonight was about the bright future awaiting my groom and me, not about a lost past.

"Tired?"

"Yes," I admitted. "It's been a hectic couple of months."

"True, but all the craziness was worth it. Some of the most important people in Washington are here tonight," he mused.

I smirked. "Well, that sure makes it all worth it."

He offered me a rueful smile. "However, that's secondary. The real reason it was worth it is that you, my wife, look ravishing tonight. God, Isabella, I don't have the words to describe you."

When he pulled back, his eyes drank me in appreciatively from the diamond-encrusted House of Dior tiara to the simple wedding dress on which I'd refused to yield, and finally, down to my Stuart Weitzman diamond and pearl stilettos.

"Do you at least have words for the dress?" I quirked a perfectly-groomed eyebrow, which was courtesy of a mandatory appointment with my mother-in-law's personal, makeup artist. "You must have something to say about the dress."

He dipped me so low I squealed in surprise.

"Fine, I'll admit you were right about the dress. I can't imagine you looking any more perfect tonight, except perhaps if you wore nothing at all." His voice fell a few octaves on the last, few words.

I shook my head in mock reproach. "Tsk, tsk, mister. What would your fellow Upper-Crusties think if they heard you now?"

He laughed.

My wedding dress once belonged to my Nana Sara, who wore it when she married Poppy Sam in Seattle City Hall, back in the early sixties. It was an off-white, thigh-high, strapless, lace shift. In the eight by ten picture proudly framed on Nana's living-room wall, she smiled brilliantly at her new husband, her dark hair impeccably styled into a beehive, bright blue eyeshadow framing her coffee-toned eyes, shiny lip gloss highlighting her pink lips, and off-white, patent-leather knee-high boots finishing off the outfit. The entire ensemble perfectly suited Nana's defiant nature. My nana was the type of woman for which the sixties existed: a bra-burning champion for women's equality, an eager marcher for civil rights, and a young, white woman who married a biracial man against both City Hall and her family's wishes.

My blue-blooded mother-in-law hated the dress on sight.

A bit over a year and a half ago, on Nana's deathbed and in a rare display of sentimentality, she asked me to wear the dress when I married. I wasn't about to break my promise no matter how much my mother-in-law protested. Therefore, my good friend, Leah, who designed and sold her trendy clothing line in a small boutique in Fremont, made a few alterations. She created an off-white, sheer chiffon shoulder piece, which fit inside the bodice of the dress and made it 'slightly less indecent,' – as my mother-in-law so delicately phrased it. Leah also added a removable waterfall train in the back, made of the same gauzy material as the shoulder piece, which gave the dress 'a slight more suitability for a ceremony within the elegance of St. James Cathedral as opposed to the coarseness of City Hall.'

And I walked down the aisle in the same dress my nana once wore, even if the groom waiting at the end of that aisle was not the same one whom both Nana and I once envisioned.

"I'm glad you approve. I know your mom still isn't too thrilled about my dress, even if I did alter it and accessorize with the tiara and shoes she picked."

"I don't think that's true. I'm pretty sure I heard Mom compliment the entire ensemble earlier."

I quirked an eyebrow. "I may have believed that thoughtful lie had I not overheard her in the bathroom with your sister, both muttering about my dress being the cheapest item here tonight – apparently, even cheaper than the napkins."

He rolled his eyes and sighed, shaking his head. "Lucky for us, this is our day, not theirs. Isabella, I'm sure you've noticed my family isn't thrilled with the manner or speed with which we married."

"Or with our fourteen-year age difference," I added.

"There is that, too." He offered me a wry grin.

"Well, I don't see the issue. I'm twenty-three; you're thirty-seven. It's not as if I'm a child or as if you're a senior citizen."

"Regardless, it's not you whom they oppose. My family will come around, and if they don't…" His shoulders rose and fell in a shrug.

"Please don't let them hear you say that; they'll blame me for inciting rebellion."

He chuckled heartily, cradling my cheek in one hand. "Isabella, they're not the ones who have to love you or want you, and Jesus, do I ever love you and want you."

He spoke the last words with undeniable passion, taking me in through hooded eyes. The hand curved around my waist dipped lower, and his long fingers splayed along my backside, with little care for our audience. He was one of the most influential men in Seattle, and I was now his wife.

"I've come around to your idea of waiting until our wedding night to make love. It is going to make the entire experience all the more amazing," he breathed. Slowly inclining his head, he captured my lips and tenderly sucked on them. "Tell me you love me, Isabella. Tell me you want me."

"Of course, I do." My nails scored the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck.

"God, baby, that feels so good. Are you going to do that to me all night?"

An image of him, of the way he loved for me to scratch his scalp and massage his body, of the words he used to say to me, flashed unbidden through my mind.

"Bella, you don't know how great that feels after a long day of practice, but turn around, and let me return the favor. I'm sure you had a long day too. I'll be your own, private masseuse; the one who soothes all your aches and pains."

I turned around and laid flat on my stomach. "Do you promise?"

"Of course, I promise."

From my shoulders to my spine, and along my waist and hips, his fingers kneaded every dip and groove with a pacifying combination of firmness and gentleness. I hummed in contentment.

"Are you going to do this to me forever?" I grinned lazily, hugging the feather-soft pillow.

"Well, I'll have to take a few breaks now and then so my fingers don't cramp, but yeah, forever."

"You know what I mean," I laughed, side-eyeing him and admiring the profile view of his perfectly-toned, bare chest and his strong jaw.

"You're my Isabella – my endless beauty."

Again, I laughed, burying my face into the gauzy pillow, though we both knew I adored his translations of my name. His fingertips paused on my ribs, the pads of his thumbs ghosting around the same areas on my lower back for a few seconds, while his warm breath tickled my ear. When he flipped me over, he dipped closer, his eyes locked on mine. His mouth hovered so near to my mouth every subsequent word he spoke rumbled against my lips.

"Bella...no matter what you ever doubt, don't ever doubt you're not only my beauty, but you're who gives my life meaning. You're…you're my everything, Bella," he said vehemently, right before he draped himself over me and molded his soft mouth and hard body to mine.

Regardless of how thrilled I was at having married my husband, just six months earlier, it was another man with whom I'd imagined spending the rest of my life. Meeting the man before me so soon after the end of that sham of a relationship was a godsend. In a matter of weeks, he filled the void and erased the heartache the other one left behind with his lies. Nevertheless, my previous relationship lasted three years; it was only natural that memories of him would intrude in my thoughts once in a while.

All the same, it was my wedding day, and I wouldn't allow thoughts of the past to trespass in the present.

"Yes," I said vehemently. "Yes, I will, because I-"

He slipped his tongue into my mouth, and the room full of guests exploded in laughter, applause, and catcalls. Finally, we pulled away, both of us grinning, and with hot and flushed faces. When he pulled me back in, I buried my face against the crook of his neck, happier than…happier than I'd been in a while.

OOOOOOOOOO

We danced a few more dances. Then, we performed the required passes around the auditorium-turned-ballroom, greeting guests and thanking them for sharing our joyous day. There was my small family circle and his much larger one. We welcomed my friends and his business associates. He introduced me to the city mayor and chief of police; I introduced him to the teachers with whom I'd work as a TA in the fall.

Renee, my flirtatious mother, hugged him and leveled him with so much praise it quickly became embarrassing for all involved, including for her boyfriend-of-the-month. In contrast, her ex-husband and my father, Charlie, didn't attend the wedding. Dad and his family remained in the town of Forks, a few hours northwest of us, boycotting nuptials he deemed, "too hasty after the collapse of your previous relationship. Give yourself time, Bella! I know what I'm talking about!"

Wise words of advice from a twice-divorced man who had little to no part in raising me and barely knew me.

Elizabeth, my husband's mother, led me by the wrist and presented me to her fellow country club members as, "Isabella, the little, fortune- ahem, the fortunate, little lady."

Anthony, his father, tightly smiled as he toasted us, only raising his expensive flute chest high. "To a long and mutually prosperous venture."

Jasper, his brother-in-law as well as his best friend, toasted us with his flute raised to the sky. Unfortunately, most of the toast was an unintelligible, drunken rant, which ended with a slurred, "Welcome to the family, Isabella. Your groom sure is one lucky bastard!"

Alice, Jasper's wife, and my new sister-in-law made no toast. Instead, she glared at me all night while whispering furiously with her friends from behind her hand.

Finally, Rosie, my best friend since my senior year of high school, made a short but heartfelt maid-of-honor toast.

"…so I wish you the best because you deserve it. And I look forward to being your best friend throughout all the beautiful moments this marriage will create, until we're both old biddies, reminiscing about the past, still looking forward to the future, and bitching about our kids and grandkids."

Everyone enjoyed a good a laugh. When Rosie and I simultaneously wiped a tear from our eyes, I suspected both our thoughts momentarily drifted in more or less the same direction. Regardless, I was equal parts relieved and proud of the way her voice only quivered slightly throughout the speech. Afterward, she pulled me into a tight embrace and managed a genuine smile.

"Guys, I'm so happy for you two."

Squeezing her hand, I moved in close and spoke for her ears alone. "Thanks, Rosie, and thanks for your unwavering support throughout everything, despite…" I swallowed and forced myself to hold her gaze.

"You're my girl, Bella." She swung our joined hands between us. "As I said, I want you to be happy. I want you both to be happy."

I turned toward Emmett, Rosie's boyfriend, who was another one of my best friends. He made an exaggerated hefting sound as he picked me up, planting a loud kiss on my cheek before whispering in my ear.

"Bella, all the best in the world, kid. And I get it; I do."

"Thanks, Emmett."

Setting me down, he shook my husband's hand and clapped him on the shoulder.

"And you, my man." Emmett chuckled. "Jasper was right about one thing in that convoluted toast. I hope you know what a lucky bastard you are."

"I do know, Emmett, which is why I moved so quickly to seal the deal."

Emmett simply nodded. Then, the four of us stood around and stared at one another.

"Well," I said, clapping my hands together, "I guess you two are next!"

Rosie's eyes instinctively fell to her left hand, and she smiled at the understated beauty which rested on her fourth finger.

"Yes, we are."

Abruptly aware of the considerable mass weighing down my left hand, I resisted the urge to stow my engagement and wedding rings behind my back. The set was undeniably grand and much more conspicuous than any jewelry I ever imagined for myself.

"Any idea yet of when the big day will be?"

"We'll probably wait a bit and enjoy the engagement period while Rosie settles into her first year of teaching." Emmett wrapped an arm around Rosie's shoulder and tenderly kissed her temple.

"Unlike what we did. I suppose we set a bad example, huh?" My husband chuckled and pulled me to his side.

"No, of course not," Rosie said with a smile. "I also want to wait until…" she cleared her throat, "until all my family can attend."

I forced my body not to stiffen.

"Well, if you want Isabella to return the favor and serve as your maid-of-honor, don't wait too long, Rosie. My wife may be indisposed within the year." My happy groom grinned and made a gesture of roundness in the vicinity of my midsection, heartily roaring when I shoved his hand away.

I scowled. "In case you've forgotten, I have a Masters' degree to complete, as well as a teaching career to get off the ground."

His warm breath tickled my ear as he nuzzled his face into my neck. "It's not as if you need to work anymore. From now on, I'm here to take care of you. You can put off school or work for as long as you want."

I burst into peals of laughter. "Wow, that's very considerate and exceedingly forward-thinking of you. I wasn't aware you were such a jokester," I teased.

My husband snorted and made no reply.

OOOOOOOOOO

Between the toasts, the band's spirited jazz rhythms, the monotonous ding of fine silver, china, and voices tinkling in the air, and the glare of crystal chandeliers and shimmering jewelry, my head spun. I scanned the glittering ballroom and found my husband in deep conversation with his colleagues. My friends and family appeared equally entertained. Therefore, I dashed for fresh air.

When the nippy and damp Seattle breeze hit me, I inhaled deeply, waiting for its familiar scent to calm my racing heart. Perhaps it was egocentric, but it seemed strange how downtown's Pine Street vibrated and shone as usual in the evenings, without any acknowledgment of how my world had suddenly shifted. Other than for a stray, late summer storm recently passed, atypical this time of year despite what outsiders believed of Seattle, it was a typical night.

City lights competed with the blinding beam of headlights. Horns and sirens blared. A steady traffic of tires splashed through puddles left over from the unexpected storm. Golden leaves, the first hint of the approaching season, lined the streets, displaced by the earlier rain, while the breeze left behind bounced them off the asphalt.

I hung my head and closed my eyes. Then, lacing my hands behind me, I leaned heavily against the building's red brick wall. Minutes passed, yet the stomach-churning nausea remained.

"Shouldn't you be inside celebrating the happiest night of your life?"

Six months earlier, his departure was abrupt and unforeseen. Afterward, on the outside, I kept up the pretense of normality for Rosie, for Emmett, and for the memory of my indomitable nana. I focused on completing my undergraduate degree. I immersed myself in my search for a TA position. All the while, on the inside, every day was harder than the last.

Nevertheless, my reaction to his voice was visceral. As if he'd never left, every other sound dissolved like a misty haze vanquished by the sun's sudden appearance. In spite of it all, or perhaps because of it, I kept my head down and my eyes on his black, patent-leather shoes.

"What are you doing here?"

A long beat of silence ensued.

"I heard there was a wedding. I wanted to make the ceremony, but a storm decided to brew over the ocean and cause a shitload of delays."

"Shouldn't you be off somewhere…what was it…'setting your fucking life straight?'"

Another stretch of silence followed while I watched him shift his weight from foot to foot.

"It turns out I was able to do that quicker than I thought."

It took me a few moments to brace myself; nonetheless, when I lifted my gaze, the actual sight of him still stole my breath away. I waited until I was sure I could keep my voice steady before I spoke again.

"Congratulations."

He snorted. "Shouldn't I be the one offering congratulations?"

"I don't need insincere wishes."

He took two steps closer and casually rested a palm on the brick wall beside me, leaving his other hand burrowed deep in his pocket. His sleeves were pushed back to his elbows, exposing the black ink on his forearms. I diverted my gaze away from them.

"Why would you assume they're insincere, Bella?"

"What was the last, truly honest thing you said to me? Oh, yes." I grinned wryly before providing my own answer. "You said, 'Bella, I can't do this shit anymore. I've got to go and set my fucking life straight because if I stay, you and I are both going to end miserably."

"As I said, it turns out I wasn't as fucked as I thought."

"And as I said, congratulations. Now, goodbye."

When I pushed myself off the wall, his other hand shot out of his pocket and landed on the red bricks, caging me in between his arms.

"Stop playing your stupid games and let me through. My husband is probably looking for me."

His eyes narrowed into slits, Adam's apple bobbing furiously and nostrils flaring.

"You didn't wait long, did you?"

"You don't think so? You obviously have no idea how seconds can feel like years."

"Trust me; I do."

"I doubt it. You see, when one night six months ago, you didn't come home, I thought it was the longest night of my life. Then, the next day, I arrived home early from a canceled class, and I found you hefting a bag over your shoulder. You told me you didn't want me anymore, that you didn't know where you were going, but you likely wouldn't be back, and you asked me not to wait for you or try to contact you. Being on the receiving end of that sort of speech has a way of teaching you the real meaning of a long night. And now you're saying I was supposed to wait? I'm sorry." I expelled a cynical chuckle. "I must've misunderstood."

"First, I'd bet my damn life I never said I didn't want you anymore. Second, you never even tried to understand."

"Don't you even remember what you said?" I asked incredulously, snorting at his subsequent silence. "I suppose that's further proof of how little it all mattered to you. And by the way, your sudden departure clued me in on your lack of want; the words themselves would've been superfluous. What's more, what did I fail to understand?" I spat, tilting my head sideways.

"Well, it doesn't matter now, does it?" He ground his words through clenched teeth.

"Don't tell me; that's fine," I said. "I did a lot of thinking during those long nights, and I gradually came to a couple of painful conclusions. I understood that after being in a relationship for three years, two of which we lived together, you still weren't ready to commit. I understood that after three years, some unknown out there suddenly held more appeal for you than sharing your life with me. What I didn't understand was that after three fucking years, you planned to leave me without warning or even the courtesy of a face-to-face break-up. Three fucking years, and apparently, all that time, you kept your true self hidden from me."

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did." He nodded wildly. "Maybe you would've been happier if I could've kept up the pretense."

His confirmation stoked the nausea already roiling in my stomach. "Three years, and I didn't know you at all."

Scowling, he drew closer, jerking his rigid jaw in the direction of the theatre's illuminated marquee, which displayed my husband's surname and my new name like the title of a Broadway show.

"Apparently, you got to know him right away."

"Yes, I did! He didn't play games or walk out on me. He didn't need to run off to god knows where to figure out god knows what and leave me without even the hope of his return. When he said he wanted me forever, he backed it up with vows of for better or for worse, for richer or poorer."

"Forever." He snorted derisively. "Do you even understand the meaning of forever?"

"I know very well what forever means. Apparently, you never did."

"And now, those vows of forever have made you filthy rich," he retorted, chest heaving. "I hope you were smart enough to work some stipulations into the prenup I'm sure he had you sign."

His cold words fanned across my face and weaved their way up my spine. There was more than a trace of alcohol on his breath, and the combination of the two stung like a frigid burn, like the sort of injury sustained when touching dry ice. The black dress slacks, white dress shirt, and gray tie he wore were the same clothes he wore for Nana Sara's wake and funeral a year and a half earlier.

However, unlike his impeccable appearance on that grim day, tonight his shirt was wrinkled and haphazardly shoved into his equally unkempt slacks. His tie was clumsily knotted and skewed. He was missing a belt, and the significant weight I now noticed he'd lost made his pants ride awkwardly low on his hips. Bright and clear eyes I'd gazed into so many times were bloodshot and red-rimmed as if he hadn't slept in days or even weeks. He had deep, dark circles and a sallow complexion. His hair desperately needed trimming, and his jawline hadn't seen a razor in a while. He smelled of sweat, soap, and stale liquor, and in spite of everything, it ushered me back to the days and nights between us, when our bodies laid entwined.

Not long after Nana's death, he sustained a severe knee injury. It eliminated him permanently from the rosters of UDub's Division 1 track team, dousing his rising star on the field. Looking back, I supposed that was the beginning of our end. Nevertheless, he'd maintained his runner's build until the day he left me.

Now, he looked…unwell.

Overwhelming concern and instinct eclipsed every other grievance I held against him. Reflexively, I stretched out a hand toward his cheek.

"What's going on? Are you al-"

He jerked his face sharply to one side and pushed my hand away before my fingers made contact.

"Go lay your hands on your husband's face, not mine."

Mortification flamed through me and swiftly flared into resentment, all which restored me to the present circumstances. I snatched back my hand and fisted it at my side.

"I don't give a shit about money or prenups, and if you'd known me at all, you'd know that."

"I guess I knew you as little as you knew me, and it looks like I did you a favor," he sneered, closing the narrow space between us and standing so close I had to strain my neck to hold his gaze. "I left, and you struck gold."

"I did." With only filmy chiffon covering my shoulders, I shivered as the evening's crisp air fused with his cold eyes. "I did strike gold but not in the way you're implying. He loves me exactly how I always wanted to be loved, in a way you obviously never could." In spite of my efforts, my voice broke.

"In a way I never could?" he seethed, his mouth so close to mine, its every movement rumbled against my lips. "Tell me, Bella, exactly how I could've-"

"You're here? Oh, my god, you're here!"

He backed up swiftly, and our heads wrenched apart. When we tore our mutually flustered gazes away from one another, we found Rosie running toward us, with her extremely long maid-of-honor skirt – another lost, wedding battle – hitched high above her knees. She reached us and yanked him away from me, lunging herself into his arms.

"Thank God. I've been so worried about you for months."

He brushed his lips tenderly against the top of her head, pulling her against his chest as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"I'm so sorry, Rosie," he whispered intently. "I…I should've-"

"It's okay. You're safe. It's okay." She pulled back, and her eyes inspected him anxiously. "Where have you been, and why didn't you tell us you were coming home?"

His gaze swept back to me and pinned me to the wall as if I was an errant child awaiting punishment.

"I suppose you could say coming home was a spur-of-the-moment decision."

I snorted. "What else is new from the king of stupid and impulsive decisions?"

His jaw clenched. "And what does marrying a man you only met three months ago make you - the queen of wisdom and caution?"

"The decisions I make are no longer any of your concern."

"Neither are the ones I-"

"Guys, please," Rosie said in a strangled whisper, resting a hand on either of our chests. "You two didn't work out, and it kills me, because you're my twin brother, and you're my best friend. But you both have to move on from this. We share mutual friends and lives, which means your paths will keep crossing. You can't fight every time you see one other, or it'll destroy all our relationships."

"Don't worry, Rosie. I have no intention of wasting my wedding night standing out here and arguing with him. I'll meet you back inside."

I turned away and forced my legs forward, one quick step at a time while trying not to run. Yet, I barely gained a few feet of distance before he spoke again.

"You wore your Nana Sara's dress."

Choking back a sob, I turned around slowly. All the while, my mind replayed Nana Sara's last request…and the three people who were in that hospice room when she made it.

His head swung languidly from side to side, half of his top lip curled around a disgusted sneer. "What the hell did you even do to it, Bella? You ruined your grandmother's dress. Poor Sara," he scoffed, "she's probably turning in her grave-"

"How fucking dare you!" I yelled, stalking toward him. "You don't even have the right to mention her anymore!"

He surged forward, jabbing a finger deep into his violently heaving chest.

"How fucking dare I? How fucking dare I? How fucking dare YOU!" he shouted. "You promised her! I was there when you promised her!"

"I kept my promise! You're the one who lied to her on her deathbed!"

"You don't know shit about why I did what I did! And that dress was supposed to be for our-"

"Isabella?"

With a sharp gasp, I spun around. Emmett and my husband strode quickly toward us, the former shocked, and the latter bewildered.

My husband stopped in front of me. "Isabella, we've been looking for you." His eyes flashed between the man next to me and me. "What are you doing out here?"

"I…I needed fresh air. It was suffocating in there."

He frowned and offered me a bemused smile, taking my hand and weaving our fingers together. "You should've told me you needed air; I would've walked out with you."

"I didn't want to bother you."

He said something about having the A/C adjusted in the ballroom, but I only vaguely heard him and absently nodded. In my periphery, Emmett pulled his once best friend in for an urgent hug. Frenzied and furtive whispers passed back and forth between the two. When my husband made no attempt to escort me back into the reception hall, I proceeded with the unavoidable introductions.

"Riley Biers, this is Edward Cullen. Edward, this is Riley...my husband."

An endless moment transpired while each man measured up the other. Riley was the first to stretch out a hand.

"Edward, it's good to meet you, finally. I've heard quite a bit about you."

For a handful of seconds, Edward stared at Riley's hand. Just as I feared he might leave Riley hanging, Edward's hand shot out.

"I can't say I've heard much about you, Riley." A glacial grin curved around his mouth.

"I'm not surprised. After all, you've been away for a while."

"Not for that long, Riley. I wasn't away all that long."

Riley shrugged. "You know what they say: Time is subjective."

Edward nodded slowly in return. "Yeah. Yeah, apparently it is. They also say, 'Time makes fools of us all.'" He paused. "I hear congratulations are in order."

Riley nestled me into his side and brushed his lips against my temple. "Thank you. We're overjoyed."

Edward's gaze trailed to me. "Yes, I heard."

My husband's hold tightened. "We should get back inside, Isabella. It's starting to drizzle again, and everyone is asking for the lovely bride. Edward," he said, his tone pleasant, "you're more than welcome to join us. We've got plenty of champagne to go around."

Edward's gaze broke away from me and swept to Riley, holding it steadily.

"Thanks, but I've got my own celebration planned."

"Edward, please don't go away again," Rosie pleaded in a low breath.

"Don't worry, sis. I'm not going far." He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and returned his gaze to Riley and me, grinning darkly. "Don't let me keep you both from your list of VIPs. I only came to offer my congratulations. So, once again, congratulations, Riley Biers, for loving her exactly how she always wanted to be loved."

He then turned the full force of his eyes on me. They were the same penetrating emerald eyes he once spoke of recreating in a tiny being or two – his emerald eyes framed within my caramel skin, my thick, dark curls atop his tall, lean frame.

His grin dissipated. "And congratulations, Mrs. Biers, on striking gold."

With those words, Edward Cullen, the man I loved…the man I once loved with every fiber of my being until he walked out on me with no warning or explanation, turned and strolled away into the damp and nebulous Seattle night.