Chapter 11


"Write in recollection and amazement for yourself." Jack Kerouac


The big, black dog comes bounding up to me, his huge paws sending sand flying as he gambols across the beach, his jaw slack, pink-red tongue lolling. I freeze, my eyes squeezing tight, my shoulders curling inwards, as he barks his cheerful "hhooof" at me. I feel his toenails scrabbling at my thighs, hear his heavy pants as he tries to engage me in his game.

"Go away," I whisper. "Go home."

Blindly, I try to push him away. He takes it as my acquiescence to his playfulness and I feel his teeth against my fingers. He's not trying to hurt me, but the feel of his hot, wet mouth makes my knees shake.

"No. Bad dog." There's no authority in my voice, and I can hear the sand being disrupted by his frantic paws as he runs around me, jumping up on me, and woofing his excitement.

A shrill whistle rings in my ears, piercing even over the thudding of my pulse in my ears, and a woman's voice shouts, "Gus! Heel!"

The dog races off with a cheerful bark, and my lungs remember how to pull in the air they're screaming for.

Opening my eyes, I see a tall guy with a shaved head clipping the dog's collar onto a fluoro yellow leash, while the dark-skinned woman at his side shakes her head. I can just hear her rousing on the dog for "scaring the nice lady."

She says something to the guy, pointing across the beach towards the parking lot. He nods before he and the dog start walking in the direction she was indicating, the lead pulled taut as the mutt drags his owner along.

"I'm so sorry. He's a bit excitable—we should have kept him on the leash. I hope he didn't scare you too much."

I shake my head as the young woman walks towards me, her smile apologetic.

"It's okay," I mumble. "I'm just not used to animals."

She rolls her eyes—they're blue, I realize, startling and bright against her dark skin. "Yeah, well that one can be a bit of a handful, even for the most devout animal-lover."

She puffs out an exasperated breath. "He's my boyfriend's dog. Don't tell him, I love the stupid thing, but it's such a pain in my ass sometimes."

I mime zipping my lips and she grins. Her white teeth are slightly crooked—somehow, they only emphasize her stunning beauty.

"I'm Emily," she says, offering me her hand. "Are you local?"

I nod—her fingers are warm and soft in mine.

"Bella. And yeah, I've lived here most of my life." My feet dig into the sand, like I can bury my shyness with my toes. "What about you—are you holidaying, or new in town?"

"We just moved here," she says, her hand absently patting her stomach. "We've spent the last week getting the house set up, though. Can you believe this is the first time we've come down to the beach?"

"But it's been so hot!"

"Ugh. Don't I know it?" She grumbles something under her breath. "But Liam—my boyfriend—wanted to get everything just perfect. I swear, I was gonna just leave him to it after yesterday. It's too frigging hot to be rearranging the furniture forty-seven times—just get it all in and turn the damn air-con on!"

I smile as she shakes her head.

"Do you work locally, Bella? Or do you commute into the city?"

"Oh, uh, I work from home. I'm a writer."

"Really? Cool."

"Uh, how about you?"

"I'm commuting." She sighs. "I work in HR. Well, for another four months I do, then I'm on maternity leave." She pats her belly again. "I can't wait."

"Oh, um, congratulations."

"Thanks." Her blue eyes sparkle as she looks out at the breaking waves. "It was a bit of a shock, but we're pretty excited now."

We stand, watching the whitewash sprawl across the sand, until Emily yelps, "Oh, shit! I totally forgot Liam is waiting for me."

She laughs at herself, smiling at me. "It was nice to meet you, Bella. I should –" She waves towards the parking lot.

"Yeah, of course. Uh, it was nice to meet you, too."

"Hopefully I'll see you around—it'd be nice to hang out. I don't really have any friends here, yet."

My fingers twist together behind my back. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Great. Well, I'm sure I'll run into you around the place. We, uh, we're planning on having dinner at that little bar. Uh, I don't know what it's called, on Bayside Street."

"Well, you're local now, so you call it Sam's."

"Okay. You're gonna have to explain that to me one time. Anyway, we're having dinner there tomorrow, if you want to join us?"

I hesitate, my teeth scraping my bottom lip. Oh, what the hell. I need friends—real ones, with like, bodies and stuff.

"Uh, if you're sure?"

"Hell yes, I'm sure. Liam's invited a few of the guys he works with, so it'd be great to have another girl along." Emily's smile is wide. "About seven-thirty, okay?"

"Okay."

She dashes back across the sand, her dark hair whipped around by the sea breeze that's starting to roll in.

I head in the opposite direction, down to the wet sand, and the foamy waves that are spreading across it. I start towards home, walking in ankle deep water, feeling him smiling by my side.

"She seems nice."

I nod. "Yeah, she does."

"You're gonna go, right?"

"I think I will. It'll be nice to hang out with another girl. I mean, I feel weird about seeing Alice now … I guess I'm kind of lonely."

His arm is across my shoulders, his lips against my temple. "You'll have fun."


I do have fun.

When I walk into Sam's, I find Emily immediately—she's sitting with Liam and a group of other guys, their table laden with bowls of kumera fries and littered with glasses filled with beer of varying shades.

Emily is easy to like. She's friendly and warm, and she seems genuinely interested in making friends here in town. She shines bright in a big group of people—somehow steering the interaction without dominating it. It's fascinating to watch. Reading people's tells seems to be second nature to her, and she skillfully keeps conversation in safe waters, knowing just when to adjust sail to avoid the reefs of touchy subjects, or change tack when someone seems uncomfortable.

"So, you guys moved here for Liam's job?" I ask.

"Nah, we moved 'cause of the peanut." She pats her belly. "We thought it'd be nice to raise kids here, you know? Away from the busyness of the city. We were pretty lucky that Liam got a job so quick, though."

"What are you saying about me?" Liam turns to his girlfriend, his cheeks dimpling as he smiles.

"That you take longer to get ready than I do."

He nods, winking at me, rubbing at his scalp. "It's true, Bella. It's my hair, you see. It takes a lot of work."

I'm laughing when I feel a hand on my shoulder. "Bella?"

I look up, startled, but relax almost immediately. I haven't seen her since I graduated high school, but she still looks exactly the same—from the blonde bob to the ripped jeans and scuffed Docs. "Angela, hi!"

"You remember Ben, right?"

I nod as he smiles.

"Of course. How are you guys?"

"Really good! I was actually going to give you a call soon. I saw your Dad last weekend and he said you were around—we just moved back here a few weeks ago."

"Awesome. Angela, Ben—this is Emily, and Liam."

"Yeah, we've met, actually." Ben tells me as Angela and Emily shake hands. "Well, I've met Liam—we're going to be working together."

"Oh." Angela looks between Liam and Ben. "These are the people we're having dinner with, then?"

Ben chuckles. "Yeah."

Ben seems to know everyone at the table, and he guides Angela around the table, his hand on the small of her back as he makes introductions. I feel a little pang as I watch, even as I imagine Edward's smile, and his whispered, "Later." I push the feeling away and turn my attention back to Emily.

It's a fun night, and by the time we all decide to head home—well after one in the morning—Emily, Angela and I have plans to meet up for coffee soon.

It feels good to be out with a big group of people—especially people who just know me as "Bella," not as "Charlie and Renée's daughter," or "Jasper's ex-girlfriend." It's nice to have friends to just hang out with and laugh and talk shit and just be.

I guess I hadn't realized just how used to being alone I had become.


Isabella checked the clock for what felt like the hundredth time. Edward had crawled into her bed—having used the key she'd given him the previous week—sometime around eleven o'clock that morning. He had just embarked on another month of nightshifts, and he was struggling to readjust to the nocturnal lifestyle.

However, by seven o'clock, Isabella was becoming agitated as she watched the sun sink into the sea.

"Edward?"

Edward shook his head, mumbling a little and burrowing his face closer into her pillow, his slow deep breaths born as much of a desire to fall back into the soothing rhythm of sleep as they were to pull her fragrance from her linen and into his lungs.

"Edward?"

Impatient, she clambered across the bed, perching herself on his lower back.

"Owwf." Edward wriggled his hips in protest. "Sore."

"Oh, sorry." She slid back, until she was seated on his butt, then set her hands on the small of his back and started kneading the tight muscles either side of his spine. "Better?"

"Mmm."

She tried again, her fingers continuing to push deep circles into his flesh. "Edward?"

He sighed, turning his head. He couldn't quite crane his neck to see her, but Isabella could see that his eyes were finally open. "What's up, pretty girl?"

"I think we should have a fight."

Edward groaned and reached for her pillow, pulling it over his head. Though it was muffled by down and cotton, his answer was firm. "No."

"No?"

"No."

"Edwaaaard." Isabella was aware that her voice had taken on that whiny tone that she would normally despise in herself, but she didn't attempt to clear it. In fact, she hoped that it would provoke him.

"That's not going to work," was his pillow-smothered response.

Isabella huffed, bouncing a little where she sat.

"That's not going to work, either." He chuckled, flexing the muscles in his ass against her so she was bounced around on her perch.

Isabella had to bite her tongue to stop the giggle escaping. She wanted a fight and he was being playful and adorable. Her resolve wouldn't last much longer.

"Why don't you want to fight with me? Are you scared?" she taunted. "Aren't you worried you won't like me if we can't agree on something? What if we suck at conflict resolution? We need to practice, Edward."

He made no response, but Isabella watched the rise and fall of his back as he heaved a sigh.

"We've never had a fight, Edward," she continued, her voice growing soft and serious. "We've been dating for over four months. I don't know, that doesn't seem healthy to me. I'm just worried. I want to know we can fight and make up. That we can disagree."

Edward pushed to his hands and knees in one swift motion, sending Isabella tumbling off him with a shriek of surprise. He moved quickly, until he hovered over her, his eyes fierce as they locked with hers.

Isabella's heart was thudding against her throat, surprise and arousal warring with concern as his body caged her, contained her.

"Isabella." His voice was dark, drawing shivers from her like a finger tracing too gently down her spine. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course." The words were more gasped than spoken.

"Do you think I'm intelligent, Isabella?"

His eyes captured hers, she couldn't look away. "You know you are. I know … you are."

"And do you think I have a low opinion of you, pretty girl?"

Isabella frowned. "No, not –"

His head dropped lower, his lips swept across her forehead before he pulled away, leaving her stuttering and wide-eyed.

"Do you not trust me, then, to speak my mind? To be honest with you? Do you really think that I think so little of you that I wouldn't argue with you—should I feel the need to? Do you think I consider you a spoiled princess who can't separate a difference of opinion from how she feels about a person? Do you think I believe you're not in this every bit as whole-heatedly as I am—that you'd run if we couldn't agree on some point?"

"Uh." Coherency was rapidly seeping from Isabella's mind.

Edward chuckled low in his throat, shaking his head as he looked down at the girl squirming beneath him, pinned by his gaze as much as she was by his body.

"If I need to fight with you, Isabella, I will. If I disagree with you, I will tell you. And I know you would do me the same courtesy. I'm sure that neither of us has any appreciation for lip service."

Isabella's mind ran south with his words, and she considered telling him that actually, she was really rather fond of being paid lip service to. She would have, too, were she able to remember how to force sound to exit her mouth.

"We will fight, Isabella. It's inevitable. And when we do, we'll do it well. You'll scream at me, and I'll go silent and cold, and then we'll hear each other out and we'll compromise."

"Maybe I'll be the silent, cold one."

He shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Fine. You can be the silent, cold one, too. But I'm not going to shout at you, sorry."

He leaned lower and traced his lips from beneath her ear to her collarbone, then pulled back again. The blaze in his eyes gentled. "Is everything okay?"

Isabella smiled, her fingers threading their way through his dark hair. "Yeah. Sorry, I guess I was just being silly. I guess—" she sighed, "—I just … I don't know, I woke up, and I started freaking out that this was too good be true. That you're too perfect to be real. That we've had it too good, too easy."

His lips found her forehead, her eyelids, her nose. "I'm very real, Isabella, though I'm by no means perfect. And sometimes I wonder the same. To me, you seem too good to be true."

"For now," she said, tasting the bitterness in her words. "I'm sure I'll annoy you soon enough. I'll forget you asked me to do something, or I'll not hear you ask me a question, or I'll be late to meet you because I got lost writing …"

Edward sighed, brushing her hair off her forehead. "You know what? There will most likely be times I'll be too busy watching football to hear you ask me a question—or I won't want to go out 'cause there's a game on. And I'll probably forget to cut my toenails, and they'll stab you in the shins while you're asleep. And sometimes I'll have to work late when there's an emergency, and it will screw up our plans—and I won't even be able to call you to let you know why I'm running late."

"That's okay—we'll work it out."

Edward's brow creased as his eyebrows lifted. He said nothing, waiting for her to understand.

"Oh."

"Exactly. Sweetheart, that's what you do in a relationship. You compromise—you work it out. You overlook some things, and you try to change others. You annoy each other and then you apologize, and you figure out how to make it work better next time."

"I don't know—the toenails might be a deal breaker." She giggled.

"Good to know. I'll get start making appointments for a manicure."

"A pedicure."

"Huh?"

"When it's your feet, they call it a pedicure. Mani—hand, pedi—foot. You're a nurse, you should know these root words."

"Anyway –" his mood shifted again, his eyes roving across her naked flesh, as though he had only just realized her breasts were bare, and mere centimeters from his lips "– I'm given to understand that there is one benefit to these fights you're so eager to instigate."

"Yeah?" Isabella could feel her chest rising and falling more quickly.

"Mmm." His nose traced down her neck, between her breasts to her belly. His breath was hot against her abdomen as he spoke. "I'm lead to believe make-up sex is quite coveted."

Isabella swallowed hard. "Oh."

"Oh, indeed." His voice was against her thigh, and she reflexively squeezed the muscles, trapping his head as he laughed dark, his warm breath caressing her dampened skin.

Hands on her knees, Edward broke her hold on him, pushing her legs apart, his eyes green fire as he watched her fingers clutching at the sheet, her back arching, her body silently begging for his touch.

Edward rocked back on his knees, and climbed off the bed. Isabella's eyes opened wide, confusion and shock written in their depths.

"What –" She fell silent as he shook his head.

He pulled her out of bed, smiling as she staggered, punch-drunk.

Isabella was confused but compliant as he lead her into the adjoining bathroom, as he placed her hands on the ceramic countertop and tapped her ankle with his foot, urging her to open her legs. She obediently arched when he pushed on the small of her back, watching the mirror with heavy eyes, as he finger-walked his hands up her arms, as he smoothed his palms over the slight curve of her belly, as he cupped her breasts.

When his long fingers found her nipples, tugging and twisting, her eyes fluttered shut.

"No. Watch. You're so fucking beautiful."

It was an effort, but she forced her lids open, watching intently as he cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing across her nipples. Her eyes met his in the mirror, held captive as his knees bent and she felt him there, poised to enter her.

And then he was inside her, his fingers digging into her hips as he thrust into her, over and over. He watched her watch the way their bodies moved together, the way the blood rushed under their skin, the way lips parted and breasts bounced and fingers flexed and jaws clenched.

And when her orgasm crested over her, Edward watched her eyes close tight and her jaw drop and her body shake until he, too, had to squeeze his eyes shut as heat rushed through him and every muscle in his body tensed and then relaxed.

Boneless and heavy-limbed, his thigh muscles screaming their protests, Edward released Isabella and staggered backwards, his hands finding the wall and its unmoving support. She looked no less shell-shocked—her locked elbows the only thing that stopped her from collapsing across the bathroom counter.

Their gasping breaths filled the small room, fast and shallow, but slowing and deepening as their bodies found their equilibrium once again.

Wordlessly, Isabella pushed away from the counter, grimacing a little as she stepped into the shower and spun the taps.

"Are you okay?" Edward asked as he stepped in behind her, concern adding a slight waver to his voice.

She turned, her lips twitching with a lazy smile as the hot water beat down on hard-working muscles. "Perfect."


"Shit, shit, shit … Hello?" I'm panting by the time I scoop my phone up.

"Hey, Bea."

"Jake, hi."

"Running for the phone, or am I interrupting something?"

I choke-cough. "Fuck, no. You think I'd stop to answer the phone if I was … otherwise engaged?"

"Uh, yeah. Good point. Anyway, I've gone over everything again ..."

I can tell by his pause—he's going to suggest a revision I'm not going to like. "And?"

He sighs, his breath rattling against the plastic of the phone he's probably got tucked against his shoulder.

"Are you sure you don't want things to end more neatly? I, uh, well, I get what you're trying to do, okay? But I'm—we're –" he means Maria "– just worried it's a little … uh, well, a little subversive. Or more to the point, that it's going to put moms off buying it for their daughters."

I can feel my nails cutting into the palm of my free hand, and I force my fingers to stretch open, uncurling my fist.

"Subversive." I say the word, tasting it. I kind of like it—it's a little sweet, a little spicy.

"She's worried that moms will read it as you telling their daughters that they don't have to respect their parents—that you're kinda … encouraging disobedience, or at least suggesting that parental figures are sort of ridiculous."

Seriously? Did she even read the same fucking words I wrote? "Jake –"

"I know. And look, Bea. I'm with you on this, okay? I think you do it well. Tallulah agonizes over the decision—she does listen to her mom, she weighs up her advice, but she ultimately makes the decision she has to. I think anyone who actually reads the book closely will see this—that it's a young woman making a balanced, informed decision. She doesn't just rush into it—she doesn't do it impulsively, or just to get the boy. I know I questioned it at first, but I think you're right in ending it this way. However, I was asked to check with you again—see if you could be persuaded to consider revising it a little."

"Okay. Well, you've checked."

He laughs. "I guess so. All right, Bea. I've got your back on this."

"Thanks, Jake."

"Any time. Okay. Well, I'm gonna send you some cover art ideas, and then I think, once you're happy with that, we're good to go."

The tension in my chest starts to dissolve. "Okay. Great."

"All right. I'll talk to you soon, Bea. Sorry to do this to you—I know it can't be fun, being challenged on this again."

I shrug, even though he can't see me. "It's okay. I get it." I sigh. "I'll talk to you later."

"Bye, Bea."

I throw my phone back on the kitchen bench and link my hands behind my head, arching my back and shifting my weight as I stare out the window.

I close my eyes and surprise myself when the giggles burst up my throat and seem to bounce around the room.

"Subversive. Huh." I shake my head.

"Are you causing trouble, pretty girl?"

"Yep. I'm being subversive."

His laugh is a hot breeze against my neck. "I like the sound of that."

"I'm kind of proud of it." I smirk. "It feels like I must be doing something right. Pushing the envelope or whatever."

"I'd like to subvert you."

I snicker, but I'm already walking towards my bedroom, shedding my tank top and skirt as I walk.

I reach across my bed, fumbling in the drawer for a moment—and then he's above me, his lips dancing across my overheated skin, sliding inside me, pushing me towards release.

I tumble quickly, but he isn't satisfied. He demands more and more, hauling me back up the cliff face—only to hurl me off it again, his name ripping from my throat as I freefall.

My skin is damp with sweat as my lungs heave, and I throw an arm across my eyes.

I drift in and out of sleep, secure in his arms, his breath in my hair, his warmth against my side.


"Esme, how many more potatoes should I do?"

Esme looked over Isabella's shoulder, nodding to herself as she counted. "Maybe one more, dear."

"Okay."

"And then, if you could just dice them into cubes, oh, just a bit smaller than half an inch, I guess."

Isabella nodded. "Sure."

Conversation flowed easy between the two women, meandering like a river around various landmarks: Isabella's family and upbringing, her novels, stories of Edward's childhood, and complaints about the bitingly cold breezes that had swept down the coast earlier in the week.

"I must admit –" Esme continued, her green eyes fixed on her knife as it moved quickly against the board, filling the kitchen with the pungent smell of garlic and onions "– I did try to persuade him to do medicine at first. He's certainly bright enough, and of course, they're paid so much more. But he was absolutely set on nursing, and my son is nothing if not stubborn."

She scraped her knife across the board as she spoke, the garlic and onions hitting the hot oil and immediately releasing another wave of aroma across the kitchen.

"I'm glad—now—that he didn't listen to me."

"He does love it," Isabella agreed. She added the diced potatoes into the pan, stirring them briefly. "I'd love to see him in action. You know, see him interacting with the kids and stuff."

Blushing a little at her admission, she bumped the kitchen tap with the back of her wrist, quickly scrubbing the milky potato juice off her hands.

Mom would be all over a comment like that, she thought, dropping sledgehammer-subtle hints about wanting to be a hip, young grandmother.

Esme, however, just gave her a small smile. "I've often thought the same thing. Okay, sweetheart, would you be able to dice these tomatoes while I grill the chicken?"

"Of course."

She blew out a breath, relieved that Edward's mother didn't seize the opportunity to remind her what a wonderful father he would be, having had so many years experience caring for children. Her own mother had brought this up at least three hundred and seventeen times in the month since Isabella had introduced her boyfriend to her parents.

"Can we do anything to help?"

Esme laughed as her husband's arms slid around her waist, turning her to face him. Isabella watched from the corner of her eyes as their foreheads touched, Carlisle's blond hair against Esme's dark red and silver.

"Hey, pretty girl."

She jumped a little as arms encircled her, her giggle an echo of Esme's as Edward pulled her against him, his lips at her ear.

"Everything okay?" he asked, his voice low.

"Fine," she whispered. "I really like your Mom—you know this."

"I do." He spoke into the soft skin where her neck met her shoulder. "But the last two times we've visited, she's stolen you away in here, and now I'm worried. One of these days, she's not going to give you back."

Isabella shook her head, her ponytail tickling Edward as he kissed her neck. "You're silly."

"Edward –" Carlisle's voice cut through their whispered conversation "– why don't you and Isabella go relax outside. I can help your mother finish up in here."

"Deal." Edward didn't release Isabella, walking her out of the kitchen still pressed against her back.

"You're going to make us fall." Isabella giggled, stumbling when his foot kicked against hers as they made their way through the living room.

"Never."

She shrieked as Edward released her waist with one arm and swept it behind her knees, pulling her up into his arms.

"Want to go for a swim?" he asked, his eyebrows lifting.

"No!" She squealed, kicking her legs as he strode outside and towards the pool.

"Edward Cullen! Don't you dare." His mother's voice rang out the open kitchen window. "Dinner will be ready in an hour."

"A whole hour, huh?"

Edward's gaze was heavy on Isabella's as she continued to wriggle in his arms. Her lips were set in a pout, but he could see in her eyes that a smile was threatening to break through.

He collapsed onto one of the recliners by the pool without warning, causing Isabella to gasp and grab at his shoulders as he chuckled.

"I can think of a really good way to spend an hour," he said.

Without giving her a chance to protest that they were at his parents' house, and where said parents could see them quite easily, his lips captured hers, lifting her by the waist until her knees fell either side of his lap. His fingers curled around her hips, rocking her forward as he pressed his hips up.

"Edward." Her protest as his lips trailed down her neck was as much a plea for him to continue.

"Don't worry," he murmured. "They're probably doing exactly the same thing right now."

"That's a little disturbing," she told him, her voice breathy with the desire she was trying to subdue.

He shrugged, his tongue against her collarbone.

"I'm not sure … Oh." His teeth against her earlobe stole her conviction, and her hands were in his hair, pulling him closer even as her lips were saying, "We shouldn't … I mean … eww, and oh …"

Edward pulled back, licking his lips to taste the residue of her kisses, his eyes sparking. He spoke low and fast. "Firstly, my mom went through all kinds of shit with my dad. I grew up knowing the truth—knowing she'd been in a abusive relationship, so seeing her and Carlisle like that—all affectionate and whatever—really doesn't bother me. It did when I was a teenager, but I don't know … she deserves it, you know? To have someone love her like that."

Isabella bit her lip, her eyes on his lap as her heart thumped a syncopated rhythm—guilt warring with the love and respect that was exploding through her veins with the compassion and care that saturated Edward's voice.

"And secondly –" he continued, his fingers tilting her chin up, his lips crawling into the smirk that made her stomach somersault "– why should they have all the fun?"

Isabella swallowed hard. "Here?"

Edward's finger left her chin, tracing down her throat and dipping into the scoop neck of her dress. "You haven't seen my bedroom here, yet."

Even as she heaved a mental sigh of relief, the tension in her body wound tighter. Edward's lips found her throat and her voice was breath-soft as butterflies tickled her belly. "No, I haven't."

His fingers trailing down her back, Edward smiled against her neck. "Well, that's an oversight I'll have to correct immediately."


A/N: You lovely people ... you steal my breath away with all your kind words. Thank you, it's truly amazing.

As ever, big thanks and huge hugs to MissWinkles, and the DTCPS ladies.

And Tam ... you're beautiful. Thank you, so much.

Shell xx