Chapter 21

(Edward's POV)

I had stayed with Bella until after midnight, listening as she'd told the story of her prior life. When she was too spent and exhausted to talk anymore, I put my arms around her and kissed her good night. On my drive home, I thought that I had never met anyone braver or stronger or more resourceful.

We spent much of the next couple of weeks together—or as much as we could, anyway. Between the hour she worked at the store and her shifts at Newton's, it wasn't usually more than a few hours a day, but I anticipated my visits to her place with a sense of excitement I hadn't felt in years. Sometimes, Lilly and Noah went with me.

Other times, Jessica would shoo me out the door with a wink, urging me to have myself a good time before I headed over.

We seldom spent time at my house and when we did, it was only for short periods. In my mind, I wanted to believe it was because of the kids, that I wanted to take things slowly, but part of me realized it also had to do with Rosalie. Though I knew I loved Bella—and I grew more certain with every passing day—I wasn't sure I was ready for that just yet. Bella seemed to understand my reluctance and didn't seem to mind, if only because it was easier to be alone at her place.

Even so, we'd yet to make love. Though I often found myself imagining how wonderful it would be, especially in those moments before sleep, I knew Bella wasn't ready for that. We both seemed to realize it would signal a change in our relationship, a hopeful permanence of sorts.

For now, it was enough to kiss her, to feel her arms wrapped around mine. I loved the scent of strawberry shampoo in her hair and the way her hand nestled so perfectly in mine; the way our every touch was charged with delicious anticipation, as if we were somehow saving ourselves for each other. I hadn't slept with anyone since my wife had died, and now I felt that in some way I had unknowingly been waiting for Bella.

I took pleasure in showing her around the area. We walked the waterfront and past the historic homes, examining the architecture, and one weekend I took her to the Gardens, where we wandered among a thousand blooming rosebushes. Afterward, we went to lunch at a small oceanfront bistro at Caswell Beach, where we held hands across the table like teenagers.

Since our dinner at her house, she hadn't broached her past again, and I didn't bring it up. I knew she was still working things out in her mind: how much she'd told me already and how much there still was to tell, whether or not she could trust me, how much it mattered that she was still married, and what would happen if James somehow found her here. When I sensed she was brooding over such things, I would remind her gently that no matter what happened, her secret would always be safe with me. I would never tell anyone.

Watching her, I would sometimes be overcome with an overwhelming rage at James Tierney. Such men's instincts to victimize and torture were as foreign to me as the ability to breathe underwater or fly; more than anything, I wanted revenge. I wanted justice.

I wanted James to experience Bella's anguish and terror, the unending bouts of brutal physical pain. During my time in the army, I'd killed one man, a soldier strung out on methamphetamines who was threatening a hostage with a gun. The man was dangerous and out of control and when the opportunity arose, I had pulled the trigger without hesitation. The death had given my job a sobering new meaning, but in my heart I knew that there were moments in life when violence was necessary to save lives.

I knew that if James ever showed up, I would protect Bella, no matter what. In the army, I'd slowly come to the realization that there were people who added goodness to the world and people who lived to destroy it. In my mind, the decision to protect an innocent woman like Bella from a psychopath like James was as clear as black and white—a simple choice.

On most days, the specter of Bella's past life didn't intrude, and we spent each day together in a state of relaxed and growing intimacy. The afternoons with the kids were particularly special for me. Bella was a natural with children—whether helping Lilly feed the ducks at the pond or playing catch with Noah, she always seemed to fall effortlessly into rhythm with them, by turns playful, comforting, rowdy, or quiet. In this way she was much like Rosalie, and I somehow felt certain that Bella was the kind of woman Rosalie had once spoken about.

In the final weeks of Rosalie's life, I had maintained a vigil beside her bed. Even though she slept most of the time, I was afraid of missing those times when she was conscious, no matter how short they might be. By then, the left side of her body was almost paralyzed, and speech was difficult for her. But one night, during a brief lucid period in the hour just before dawn, she'd reached for me.

"I want you to do something for me," she said with effort, licking her cracked lips. Her voice was hoarse from disuse.

"Anything."

"I want you to be… happy." At this, I saw the ghost of her old smile, the confident, self-possessed smile that had captivated me at their first meeting.

"I am happy."

She gave a faint shake of her head. "I'm talking about the future." Her eyes gleamed with the intensity of hot coals in her sunken face. "We both know what I'm talking about."

"I don't."

She ignored my response. "Marrying you… being with you every day and having children with you… it's the best thing I've ever done. You're the best man I've ever known."

My throat closed up. "Me, too," I said. "I feel the same way."

"I know," she said. "And that's why this is so hard for me. Because I know that I've failed—"

"You haven't failed," I broke in.

Her expression was sad. "I love you, Edwward, and I love our kids," she whispered.

"And it would break my heart to think that you'll never be completely happy again."

"Rosalie—"

"I want you to meet someone new." She struggled to take a deep breath, her fragile rib cage heaving with the effort.

"I want her to be smart and kind… and I want you to fall in love with her, because you shouldn't spend the rest of your life alone."

I couldn't speak, could barely see her through my tears.

"The kids need a mom."

To my ears, it sounded almost like a plea. "Someone who loves them as much as I do, someone who thinks of them as her own children."

"Why are you talking about this?" I asked, my voice cracking.

"Because," she said, "I have to believe that it's possible." Her bony fingers clutched at my arm with desperate intensity.

"It's the only thing I have left."

Now, as I saw Bella chasing after Noah and Lilly on the grassy shoulder of the duck pond, I felt a bittersweet pang at the thought that maybe Rosalie had gotten her last wish after all.

(Bella's POV)

I liked Edward too much for my own good. I knew that I was walking a dangerous line. Telling him about my past had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, and speaking the words had freed me somehow from the crushing burden of my secrets. But the morning after our first dinner, I was paralyzed with anxiety by what I had done. Edward used to be an investigator, after all, which probably meant he could easily make a phone call or two, no matter what he'd said to me. He'd talk to someone and they'd talk to someone and eventually, James would learn of it. I hadn't told him that James had an almost eerie ability to connect seemingly random information; I hadn't mentioned that when a suspect was on the run, James almost always knew where to find him. Simply thinking about what I'd done made me sick to my stomach.

But gradually, over the next couple of weeks, I felt my fears ebb. Instead of asking me more questions when we were alone, Edward acted as if my revelations had no bearing on our lives in Crescent. The days passed with easy spontaneity, untroubled by shadows from my prior life. I couldn't help it: I trusted him. And when we kissed, which happened with surprising frequency, there were times when my knees went shaky and it was all I could do to stop from taking his hand and dragging him into the bedroom.

On Saturday, two weeks after our first date, we stood on her front porch, his arms wrapped around me, his lips against mine. Noah and Lilly were at an end-of-the-year swimming party hosted by a kid in Noah's class.

Later, Edward and I planned to take them to the beach for an evening barbecue, but for the next few hours, we'd be alone.

When we finally separated, I sighed.

"You really have to stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"You know exactly what you're doing."

"I can't help it."

I know the feeling, I thought.

"Do you know what I like about you?"

"My body?"

"Yes. That, too." I laughed.

"But I also like that you make me feel special."

"You are special," he said.

"I'm serious," I said. "But it makes me wonder why you never found someone else. Since your wife passed away, I mean."

"I haven't been looking," he said. "But even if there was someone else, I would have dumped her so I could be with you instead."

"That's not nice." I poked him in the ribs.

"It's true, though. Believe it or not, I'm picky."

"Yeah," I said, "real picky. You only go out with emotionally scarred women."

"You're not emotionally scarred. You're tough. You're a survivor. It's actually kind of sexy."

"I think you're just trying to flatter me in the hopes I'll rip off your clothes."

"Is it working?"

"You're getting closer," I admitted, and the sound of his laughter reminded me again how much he loved me.

"I'm glad you ended up in Southport," he said.

"Uh-huh." For an instant I seemed to disappear inside myself.

"What?" He scrutinized my face, suddenly alert.

I shook my head. "It was so close…" I sighed, hugging my arms around myself at the memory.

"I almost didn't make it."