Chapter 12

Once the cat's been let out of the bag, there's no going back. Everything Edward has revealed about himself has solidified what I already felt for him tenfold.

That first night after his confession, he'd lain in bed with me and had held me in his arms while he'd told me cute stories about Charlotte's childhood. How it wasn't always bad for him, something for which I'm grateful. He's such a wonderful, sensitive soul and deserves nothing but the best. It truly sucks that so many people tend to judge him by his past and not by the actions he makes in the present.

It's been a few weeks since we spent that afternoon at the ballpark and the evening together.

It's now Friday and we've stolen a few hours alone at my place.

"What does this one mean?" he asks, tracing his thumb over the intricate sparrow that rests below my right breast.

I smile remembering why I got it. "This one is a good one." I let my fingers tangle with his over the artwork. "When I was little, my dad called me his 'petit oiseau'. Ironically, he doesn't even know I have it."

"And the others?" He kisses the small flower behind my ear.

"Angela dared me." I giggle and shake my head. "She has one, too. Same spot." I put my hand over his chest where Charlotte's name is written in dark cursive letters. "The good outweighs the bad, Edward."

I understand a lot of the art colouring his skin is there because of the dark places his mind had been in during those times. I also see some light in the artwork. Like mine, some of his pieces simply remind him of the good things. As sparse as they may have been at one time in his life, they are a reminder that good things exist.

He kisses my lips, letting them linger there for a moment before pulling back and resting his head in the valley between my breasts. "I'm starting to finally see that."

Saturday comes with all the stress associated with it. Tonight, Edward's invited me over to dinner to meet his parents for the first time. I'm a little nervous, but Charlotte will be there and rumour is, she's been putting nothing but good words in for me.

Edward had wanted to come and pick me up at my place, but I told him not to be silly; that I remembered where he lived and could get there easily by myself. Besides, I want to be able to freak out in peace, and I know just the person who can calm my nerves.

I dial the number as I'm getting dressed and allow the phone to ring and ring before her answering machine picks up.

"Damn it, Angela! Answer your phone. I'm having a crisis. I'm meeting the parents. Where are you when I need you? You are a horrible sister." I hang up in a huff, only to call right back. "I take that back, you're the best sister and I love you. I hope you and Ben are boning and if you are I hope you don't tell me the details. Love you."

I'm finished getting dressed and I'm pacing. I should be leaving, but I still need my pep talk. Angela hasn't called back yet and I'm freaking out a little. I'm biting my nails and ruining the paint job that Charlotte did Thursday night when she and Edward came over for dinner. She's probably going to be really upset.

I take a deep breath in and call the only other person who can calm me down … my mother.

Her phone only rings once before her piercing shriek comes over the line. "Bella? C'est toi? Il me semble que ça fait longtemps qu'on s'est pas parlé." (Bella? Is that you? It's seems like it's been forever since you called me.)

She's being dramatic, it's been three days … Okay, maybe five. But between work and seeing Edward, I've been a little busy.

"Oui, maman, c'est moi," I say with a laugh. "Comment vas-tu? Comment vas papa?" I ask her. I'm well aware that I'm stalling. (Yes, Mom, it's me. How have you been? How's Daddy?)

She goes into a long-winded story about my dad cutting the wrong part of the tree they have in front of the house. She tells me how it now looks like it's leaning to one side. She was so upset about it all that she made him dinner. Trust me, that's punishment in itself, as my mother can't cook for shit—except for meatballs and meatloaf—but he ate every bite, accepting his fate. I laugh at her story then sigh, thinking of the real reason for my call.

"Bébé, qu'est-ce qui a?" My mother, she knows me so well. (Baby, what's wrong?)

"J'ai rencontré quelqu'un, maman, et il est merveilleux ... fantastique même. Mais il m'a invité à rencontrer ses parents aujourd'hui." I explain it all to her in one breath. (I met someone, Mom, and he's great ... fantastic even. But he invited me to meet his parents today.)

"Et tu es nerveuse? Bella, chérie, sois toi même. Tu es une merveilleuse jeune femme et je suis sûr que tu n'as rien à craindre," she tells me, and immediately I'm calmer. It's like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. (And you're nervous? Bella, honey, just be yourself. You are a wonderful young woman and I'm sure you have nothing at all to worry about.)

I sigh again, this time in relief. "Merci, maman. J'avais vraiment besoin d'un pep talk." (Thanks, Mom. I really needed the pep talk.)

"Alors," she begins with a girlish giggle, and I can almost hear her wiggling her eyebrows at me, "parles-moi de ton jeune homme." (So, tell me about your young man.)

So, I do. I tell her about meeting him on the subway, omitting the obvious things, like him sticking his crotch in my face and my wanting to nuzzle it. How we've been taking things slow despite being together for a couple months. I don't feel awkward talking to my mother about how we've decided to wait to have sex. My parents were always very open with us when it came to the taboo subjects most parents don't want to touch. I hesitate, and she immediately picks up on it.

"Qu'est-ce que tu ne me dis pas, Isabella Marie?" (What aren't you telling me, Isabella Marie?)

"Il ... euh ... il a une fille," I blurt out, the words rushing together. (He … um … he has a daughter.)

I can hear her intake of breath, just a soft gasp. I quickly explain to her about Charlotte. How he's been taking care of her all these years and how she goes to see her mother for three weeks every summer. I tell her how hardworking he is. How it pisses me off the way people treat him and judge him, before knowing what a great guy he truly is. She must hear something in my tone, I'm not sure what, but she laughs.

"Mais, comme tu protège Edward et Charlotte. Comme je t'ai dit, Bella, tu es une merveilleuse jeune femme. Edward et sa fille sont vraiment chanceux de t'avoir. J'ai tellement hâte des rencontrer tous les deux." (My, you sure are protective of Edward and Charlotte. I told you Bella, you are a wonderful young woman. Edward and his daughter are really lucky to have you. I can't wait to meet them both.)

"You're not angry?" I whisper.

"Oh, Bella." She sighs. "Why would I be angry?"

It's rare for my mother to speak English, but the warmth in her voice is the same in any language.

I shrug, though I know she can't see me. "Most people judge him. I don't know why, but I thought you and Daddy might be the same."

"Oh, honey," she says softly, and I can also hear the smile in her voice. "Your Edward sounds like a very strong young man to have overcome such hardship. I think he sounds wonderful. We all have pasts, honey; it's what we do in the now that's important. I can't wait to meet them both."

I look at the time and realise I've got to leave now or I'll be late, and I really don't want to make a bad impression on Edward's parents. I thank my mother again for the pep talk and for her understanding, then tell her I love her before getting off the phone.

One parent down … two to go.

I don't even get to press the doorbell before the door flies open and Charlotte's hugging me squealing, "She's here, Dad! Bella's here!"

Edward walks around the corner, leading from the kitchen, wide smile on his face. I take a moment to take him all in. He's wearing a tight blue t-shirt, ink on display, with his jeans resting low on his hips, suspenders hanging down. His hair's fixed in my favourite style: the fauxhawk—only there's something a little different about it. I squint to see what it is before giggling.

He rolls his eyes. "I let Charlotte dye the tips of it blue."

"I can see that," I reply, turning to Charlotte to give her a high-five.

"I figured since he was dating a younger woman he shouldn't look so old," she tells me, laughing.

"Oh, I'll show you old, Missy." Edward laughs, lunging toward Charlotte, who squeaks and runs down the hall.

Edward pretends to chase her until she rounds the same corner he just came from. He then walks over to me, eyes slowing raking up my body from head to foot and back again. Once he's close enough that I can almost feel his chest, he cups my face in one hand, gently rubbing my lower lip with his thumb.

"Hi," he whispers, staring directly into my eyes.

"Hi," I whisper back.

He leans down and kisses me. It's the sweetest, slowest kiss of my life. We're taking our time, tongues rubbing together, twisting, tasting. Until a cough from behind Edward startles us apart.

I blush bright red and Edward's cheeks flush as well, before he moves himself behind me and says, "Hey Ma. This is Bella. Bella, this is my mother, Esme." He's rubbing his hands up and down my arms and I'm thankful for the contact. It's keeping the nerves at bay.

His mother's beautiful. Hair the same colour as Edward's, well, without the blue; her eyes the same colour as her son's. It's easy to see where he gets his looks.

She smiles warmly at me, approaching me with her hands out. She takes both my hands into hers and speaks, "Bella, it's so nice to meet you. Charlotte and Edward talk about you so much I feel as if I know you already."

I blush at her words and I can feel Edward's smile against the back of my head.

"Oh, you really are pretty when you blush," she titters, and my face flames brighter.

"Ma," Edward groans. "Please stop."

She laughs. "Sorry Bella, I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"It's okay, Mrs. Cullen." My cheeks are so warm, I'm sure they rival a ripe strawberry in colour.

"Call me Esme, please," she insists with a soft smile. "Come, let's go into the kitchen and check on dinner. I'm sorry Carlisle's going to be a little late."

We walk through the house and the smell makes my stomach rumble. Charlotte and Edward laugh.

"Sorry," I whisper. "I … uh … didn't eat much today. Nerves." I shrug, taking a deep breath and letting out slowly.

Edward squeezes my hand.

"It won't be long now, dear," Esme says. "Why don't you get her something to drink, Edward? Charlotte, could you please set the table?"

"Sure, Mom," Charlotte says.

It's a little weird to hear Charlotte call her grandmother "Mom", but Edward had explained it was because when she was a baby everyone thought Esme was her mother, so they would say Mom in front of Charlotte and she picked it up. By the time she was old enough to correct it, the name had stuck, so it's more of a nickname now, though she still doesn't call Maggie mom. Charlotte once told me it's because she doesn't see Maggie as her mother, more of a friend who she visits three weeks a year.

Just as we're sitting down at the table, I can hear the front door open. My nerves suddenly kick in again. Sure his mother liked me, but this is Edward's dad; the tough as nails, retired military man. I swallow a gulp of my drink, while Edward rubs his hand on my thigh.

Edward's dad is … exactly as I suspected he would be. He's tall—as tall as Edward—and still muscular; his hair's still buzzed short, and he looks cold, a little mean, even.

Until he spots me and a wide smile breaks out on his face. "You must be Bella," he says as he approaches the table. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to greet you. There was an issue at the security office."

"It's no trouble at all, Mr. Cullen," I reply, standing up from the table to shake his hand. He surprises me by pulling me into a hug.

"Dad!" I hear Edward groan from behind me. "Would you let her go please?"

Edward's dad laughs and releases me, telling me to call him Carlisle, then he takes his place at the head of the table.

I can't believe I was so nervous to meet these two. His parents are lovely. They tell me stories of Edward growing up as a boy, causing him to blush frequently. Especially when his dad tells me how he never liked to wear clothes and they'd constantly find him out riding his bike naked.

I'm laughing, and laugh even harder when Esme chimes in. "Charlotte was a good case of karma for our Edward; she loved to run around naked, too. It used to drive him bonkers."

The whole table laughs at that, and I relax instantly. Conversation flows during the rest of the meal and through dessert, which Charlotte excitedly tells me she helped to make.

After dinner, Esme tells Edward to show me his place and makes Charlotte stay back to help with the dishes. I'm more than happy for the distraction, because I need a little space to breathe after the high emotions this dinner has brought on.

"So, this is it," Edward says as he opens the door and lets me through before him. "It's not much, but it's comfortable, cheap rent and close to Char."

Looking around, I'm glad to see it's not cluttered like a typical bachelor pad usually is. From experience, single guys aren't the cleanest of creatures.

"My dad is a neat freak," he explains from behind me, as if he can read my mind. "Moving around, we were always taught to live with the bare essentials because Mom hated packing."

"This is a great space, Edward." We're in a small kitchen that opens up to a combination living and dining room. Off to the left, there're two doors and I can see his bed through one of them. I turn to him and he's rubbing the back of his neck, stepping from one foot to the next. "What's wrong?"

He looks so … uncomfortable, which is weird because this is his place and it's great. I'm actually a little jealous because damn, it looks better than my crummy little apartment.

"You … being in here." He takes a deep breath, his eyes intense. "You're the first woman I've brought here."

I smirk, taking a step toward him and scratching the light stubble on his jaw. "I like that … being here and being the only one."

He leans forward, and says against my lips, "I want you to be the only one."

My heart hammers against my chest, and his lips are on mine. We're sloppy-kissing and laughing. Happy. This is perfection and erases all the stress and worry from my mind.

I poke his ribs, and he smacks my ass as I giggle and run toward his bedroom. He follows me, laughing, and tackles me onto the bed. We're kissing again; his body cradled between my thighs, his arms on either side of my face, caging me in.

I run my hands up and down his back, my mouth following the sweet tango of his. His kisses are addictive and I get lost in him.

We're keeping this very PG, kissing like this, and I like it. Once in a while, he tickles my ribs and we roll around on the bed, so I'm holding his hands above his head and he's leaning up to catch my lips in a kiss or nibble my neck. This foreplay's the sweetest torture, but it's fantastic. I can feel how hard he is pressed up against me and I really want to rub myself against him, but I don't because the last thing I want is for any of this to get out of hand before he's ready to take that step.

We kiss and kiss and kiss some more, until a gasp breaks us out of our bubble and our heads snap toward the door.

"Oh, shoot, I'm sorry," Charlotte squeaks before turning around.

I get off Edward and he quickly stands, wincing when he adjusts himself subtly. "Char, it's all good, honey. We weren't … you know …"

"Yeah, no … we weren't …" My face is flaming red. Jesus, this is embarrassing. I feel like I was just caught by my parents while grinding on the couch.

Charlotte turns back to face us, and I can tell she's trying not to laugh. Thank God, because the last thing I'd ever want is for her to be embarrassed about whatever she has witnessed. Hopefully, we weren't grinding too hard against each other.

"Way to go, Dad," she says, giggling. "I just wanted to say goodnight to Bella."

"What about me?" Edward pouts, clearly relieved she isn't freaking out about seeing us in a compromising position. At least we still had all of our clothes on.

"You too, Daddy." She rolls her eyes playfully.

We give her a hug, making a Charlotte sandwich, and she giggles, telling us we're weird goofballs. I love it. I love her and I'm definitely in love with her father.

When she leaves, telling us, "Be safe, kids," I gasp and spend a few minutes standing there, staring at the door that closed loudly behind her.

"Did she really just say that?" I ask to nobody in particular, although I'm sure Edward's wondering the exact same thing.

He chuckles and wraps his arms around my middle, leaning his chin on the top of my head. "I think she did."

We both turn toward each other and break out laughing. I swear, this day has been crazy but fun. I'm not sure anything will top it. Ever.

Thanks for sticking around and reading beyond the anvil. :)

Thank you, Mid for all you do.

Thanks, Kni, for your input.