Of Kith and Kin
Chapter 14 - Lovers in the Garden: Pruning
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She exploded into the house, dropping the small box of personal effects onto the couch before she rushed into his arms.
"I'm free," she cried, wrapping her legs around his waist as he cupped her bottom in his hands.
"Last day, and now we have all day, every day, together." She caught his eyes with hers and they sparked with the same excitement. He didn't give her the half smile that triggered her insides to melt into liquid, every time. Instead, it was a full smile, wide and beaming, and he was just giving it to her, and she was swimming in it, going under from the happiness, buoyed back up with joy.
"Finally, mine," he said, before kissing her mouth, her jaw, her cheeks.
He carried her into the kitchen where they ate cold caprese salad with their fingers, feeding each other bits of balsamic stained mozzarella, and sucking on bitter, briney olives, chasing it down with sweet prosecco. They stayed up all night, making love and playing chess, opening a second bottle of the sweet, fizzy wine before finally succumbing to sleep under a dawn that streaked the lavender sky pink and orange with the rising sun.
They woke up once, a few hours into the morning, and she pressed against him, pulling his hand to her breast. He stroked her once, then entered her, her slick flesh both yielding and clinging. She came to a quiet release, pulling him over with her, until he shuddered and whispered her name. They were asleep again, moments later, each feeling rich and fortunate, wanting only what they had, wanting only each other.
A week passed with the same idyll. They cooked elaborate breakfasts and put together a massive puzzle, each piece revealing a classic Coca-Cola poster from the decades gone by. She played with her laptop, utilizing the expensive gifts of software that her mentor had provided her with on the last day of her internship. He locked himself away in the spare room for two hours a day, but stopped so often for beverages and rest breaks and stolen kisses that it was really less than an hour, and most of that was spent thinking of her-the way her hair spilled out over his pillow, the way her body curved against his, they way her eyes held answers to the questions that he couldn't even form.
Each day they had an outing, and he showed her something new about his adopted city. Her eyes widened at the burgeoning baskets of fruits and vegetables at the Farmer's Market, and she made him take her through the stalls twice, comparing prices and products before making her final selections. They ate crepes at an outdoor stand for lunch, and she flushed and nodded her head toward a sit-com celebrity reading a script two tables over.
"Do you see? That's-"
He chuckled low. She was adorable in her delight. "Yes, it is. Do you want an autograph?" he asked, making to rise with a napkin, teasing her.
"Ohmygosh! No, stop!" she cried, pulling on his sleeve.
"If you say so," he said, settling back down, the half-grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He sipped his cup of coffee around the smile and pretended to be wounded when she punched his arm.
That night they made paella, each taking turns over the slow-cooking meal, then washing the spicy food down with sweet sangria that tasted of strawberries and mangoes. She picked a strawberry out of her glass and ate it, the juice dripping down her arm, but before she could move he was there, licking at the crimson trail until her fingers were in his mouth, and then he licked those too.
Moments later, she was spread out on the bed, his fingers trailing a bitten berry against her skin, his tongue quick to clean it up. "So beautiful," he whispered, his eyes dark in the dusky light. "So incredibly beautiful."
She surrendered to him, his hands, his mouth, and when he lay on top of her, consuming her from the inside out, he whispered a litany of possession and desire, words like 'mine' and 'beautiful' and 'need' and 'love,' spilling from his lips, tangling in her hair.
She promised him yes, always yes, as she clung to him, holding tight as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, pleasure that he gave her, time and time again. When she was able-finally-to come up for air, she flexed her hips against his, and pulled him deeper inside of her.
"Baby," he groaned, the word full of need.
"Mine," she whispered in his ear. "You're mine." A moment later he was, completely hers, as he spilled into her, saying "baby, fuck, yes," in a hoarse, low voice before words failed him completely.
The next day they threw away the leftovers, having never made it back to the kitchen to clean up.
In the days that followed, there were museums and always trips to the ocean, the two of them playing at sunset, holding hands and splashing, the warm air drying the water to salt on their skin. Each night was a feast, be it bread and cheese and fruit on the living room floor, or elaborate, saffron-scented dishes washed down with bottles of wine that they could ill afford, but that somehow made their way into the shopping basket anyway.
"It's too much," she said. "You can't keep paying for everything."
"Let me," he answered. "I love spoiling you."
"I don't need it," she said, but she let him do it anyway. Anything to see him smile, to hear him say 'love.'
Still, as that week drew to a close, their knowledge of the future began to weigh heavy on them both. Their lovemaking took on a new fervency, sudden and urgent, trying to fight off tomorrow by sinking fully into the now.
They had seven days left together. Neither of them wanted to acknowledge it, but she couldn't pretend anymore that she could leave him. It would be like leaving a piece of herself, something integral. She would be maimed.
She'd tried to talk to him a few times, but it seemed that something, some distraction always popped up, preventing the conversation from ever taking root. There was a growing distance between them, something she'd noticed in that last week. He was more withdrawn, spending his time locked away in his study, encouraging her to run errands and do the shopping on her own. She found herself alone in the kitchen, cooking dinner without him, missing their familiar rhythms and wondering what exactly was wrong. When she tried to approach him about it over dinner, he looked her straight in the eye. All of the happiness, the mirth in them was gone. They were the eyes of a stranger.
She closed her mouth, opened it, then closed it again.
"What's up, fishmouth?" he asked. She smiled a little at the familiar nickname, but it fell quickly from her face as she looked into his dark eyes again.
"Ah, nothing," she said, turning her eyes back to her plate.
That night he came to bed long after she did, and she woke to feel him pulling her into him, pulling her back to his chest, wrapping an arm and a leg around her, trapping her under his weight. It frightened her, the way he clung to her, but it comforted her too. His hunger for her was a promise that she wasn't in this all alone.
The next day was a repeat of the same and finally she'd had enough.
"I was thinking," she said, careful not to look at him. She couldn't do it if she had to see his face. "I think I can talk to my advisor and try to get into a program down here for my last year. I mean, I probably wouldn't be able to take classes in the fall, but I bet I could get something worked out by January. What do you think?" she asked, finally daring a look at his face.
The expression that greeted her was a careful blank, before finally giving way to something like anger.
"What are you talking about?" he asked.
"I thought...maybe I could move down here. Stay." The last word was almost a whisper.
"Don't be ridiculous," he answered, throwing down his napkin and standing to pace the kitchen. "You only have a year left on your program. You're not giving up now."
"No," she answered, watching him move around the small space. "Not giving up, just putting it off."
"Oh. And how are you going to pay for it? Your scholarship is through your school – you're not going to get that lucky again."
"I could…I thought I could get a job. I could waitress, or-"
"God, I can't believe I'm hearing this. You're not quitting school and you are certainly not becoming a waitress for fuck's sake."
"I thought…we could…."
"We could what? I start school in ten days." He paused then, stooping down to look her in the face. "Look, this has been great," he said, gesturing between them. For a moment, she thought she saw something in his eyes, the familiar warmth that set her at ease, but then the moment passed, and the stranger returned. "But once classes start, I'm not going to have time for distractions."
"I…I thought…" she stammered, trying to understand who this was in front of her. Distractions? Was that all she was? Why was he trying so hard to break her heart? She felt her chin begin to dimple and looked down at her hands, not wanting him to see her tears.
"Edward, I love you," she said, her voice low and shaking with unshed tears.
He gave a heavy sigh and then rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. He walked to the sink, his back to her, looking out of the window and onto the small courtyard. "I know, and I'm sorry, Bella. I should have put a stop to this a long time ago. I never meant to hurt you, I-"
"Why are you lying? You love me too, I know you do. This isn't all in my head!"
He stiffened at her outburst, then set his shoulders.
"I've never lied to you," he said, then turned and walked out. The slam of the front door shook a tremor loose inside of her.
She sat in the small kitchen and cried, her chest starting and stopping with breaths that tried to get in, then tried to get out. Soon she stopped fighting it and surrendered, giving in to the hoarse, howling sobs that came from something broken, so deep inside of her. She tasted the salty tears and wiped them away until her hands were so wet that they did little more than smear the fluid around her cheeks, leaving them hot and stinging. She cried until her eyes burned, and then swelled, and then until they felt gritty, her body heaving sobs while her tear ducts ran dry. It was a very long time before she was able to stop.
He was right, she thought, he was right. He'd never said he loved her. He loved her skin, her body, her mind, her cooking, all of it. He said the word love so many times, every single day, but not once had he ever said that he loved her.
Stupid, she thought, so stupid. He was just…playing with her. A summer fling. And even though her heart rebelled against that notion, her mind overrode it, telling her that she was a stupid little girl, and that it was time for her to grow up. She looked around his house, seeing a hundred memories, from the church key that he'd pressed into her hand that first night, to the metal strainer that they'd bought just last week, holding hands in the kitchen store, where she'd felt like a grown-up for the very first time.
So much of her was there, and it all had to be gone. She pulled paper shopping bags out of his cupboard and began riffling through his dresser and closet, taking out her things. She moved quickly, suddenly terrified that he would appear, and…and what? Hurt her even more? She didn't know how, but she knew that he could.
In twenty minutes she was done. There were five paper bags with clothes and books, her messenger bag with her laptop and a box of various personal effects – a hairbrush, some cosmetics, a few dozen trade magazines that she'd collected over the months. She looked around the house, hoping she wasn't forgetting anything. She took the photo strip that they'd posed for from the refrigerator, but left the stuffed animal that he'd won at the pier sitting on the nightstand next to the bed. Lastly, she pulled off the charm bracelet that he'd bought for her at Venice Beach, silver with a small crystal heart, and draped it around the arm of the stuffed bear. She'd thought he was giving her his heart. Now she knew better.
She spent the next three days crying in her rented room, hoping against hope that he would call her, tell her it was all a mistake, and to come home. When she woke up on the fourth day to swollen eyes and a hollow chest, she'd decided that she'd had enough of Los Angeles.
Two days later she was home, and as the cool, misty air settled around her, she looked up at the sky. It was as though she'd never been in the sunshine at all.
AN:
Chapter 15 will still go up on Sunday, as usual. :) Review replies will take longer. :(
All my beta love and affection belongs to Kris and FDM. AmeryMarie pre-read this for me and gave me some lovely advice. I don't always do what they tell me to do, so any mistakes in this fic are mine.
Thank you, all of you, for reading. :)