Having only watched Bella in the kitchen from outside her home, it was nice to be able to finally sit at the table while she prepared her dinner. I'd often imagined us this way, being mundanely domestic, chatting with each other the way other couples might do at the end of the day. I let my mind drift. I pictured us tidying up after dinner, she washing, me drying the dishes, then moving to the living room to watch television, cozy in our own little house. Was this the kind of future Bella and I could have? Would she want that for us? Fool, stop your aberrations, I chided myself, returning to reality. She didn't seem too upset, though, when I disclosed my nightly visits. That is, until I divulged my obsession with her sleep-talking, which embarrassed her deeply. It felt good to comfort her in my arms, to atone for my knavish behavior.
Charlie's arrival ended our tableau. I disappeared to Bella's room. It wasn't the time for Charlie to find out that Bella had a boyfriend, if that was my description. But, if we were going to be together, both of our families would have to accept us.
I chuckled at Bella's voice as she conversed with Charlie. It had a frantic edge to it that Charlie picked up on, too. I inferred from the tone of his thoughts that he was worried about her not going to the dance. He wanted Bella to be happy, to have friends. However, his suggestion that she become friendlier with Mike Newton made me livid. I may not be any father's first choice for their daughter but there was no way Charlie would want him around her if he could hear Newton's toxic thoughts.
Charlie's concern grew to suspicion as Bella said a hurried goodnight. He wanted to trust her but his paternal sixth sense told him that she was too animated for the sleep she spoke of. Something was up. It was way too early for her to be asleep, yet not too early for her to sneak out for some secret tryst. Charlie was a smart man, but it never occurred to him that Bella's interest was already lounging on her bed.
I liked how comfortable it felt to be in Bella's room, now that she knew I visited. Bella's feigned tiredness as she trudged up the stairs greatly amused me. She was so bad at subterfuge. I had to suppress my laughter when she opened the window to call for me, and contain it even more when I answered her from the bed. I chuckled at her leaping heart. I couldn't read her mind, but it wasn't hard to guess her thoughts about us sitting together on her bed. She excused herself for what she called a "human minute" to shower, than went downstairs to reinforce her goodnight to a surprised Charlie. I could tell he wasn't buying her charade and I wondered if she thought she'd convinced him of her sleepiness. It seemed to be a game they played with each other.
It was lovely to have her back with me. The aroma of shampoo on her damp hair mingled enticingly with her natural floral fragrance. Even her tatty nightwear was alluring. My hands and lips couldn't keep away. I told myself, being a practical man, that touching her was necessary to overcoming my thirst. I knew my reasoning was bogus. That she responded to my touches was amazing. We marveled at our attraction to each other. And, of course, Bella had a few hundred questions about it.
It was a relief to unfold the story of my love for her. My denial, jealousy, then acceptance of my plight aroused her sympathy. She actually thought she had the easier path, as if she wasn't jeopardizing her life to be with me. If I hadn't been so high, overtaken by the newness of being so unguarded with Bella, I would have given in to the tragedy of our impossible love. All of her questions led to more descriptions of my family. She never said the word vampire. She spoke of my kind as if we were from another country, a family with a different culture she wanted to understand. How did this girl's head work? How was she rationalizing all of this?
Then she asked about Emmett and Rosalie's marriage, did they share the same intimacies as married humans? Too surprised not to laugh, one had only be around them for a short time to be aware of their physicality, I gave her an honest answer. Her next question stalled in her mind as she edited. Something made her reluctant to ask it. I prodded her, unable to get the gist of her inquiry, and she reddened all the way down her neck. Finally, she asked me outright about our own romantic capabilities. That she had thought about this at all dumbfounded me. I gave her the straightforward answer, again the practical man, but it wasn't the one I wanted to give. She fell asleep in my arms, leaving me with all the questions.