Sometimes your silence has more profundity than all my words combined. Sometimes your simplest touch – an arm over my shoulder, a peck on my temple, when you breathe against my cheek – is more powerful than all verbal assurances.

–

I watch Edward neatly slice the pie his mother gave us while we were leaving. But you didn't even get to enjoy the dessert, she said, and handed it to me. I couldn't not hug her in gratitude.

"Your mom's so nice," I say, and Edward looks up like he has snapped out of some chain of thought.

"Yeah, she is."

"Your house is nice, too."

And it is. It's not as big as his parents', but it's just as beautiful. It lacks bright colors, though. Everything is painted a pastel shade. It's hard to miss all the drawings stuck on these walls, too. His daughter really loves sketching, apparently.

"It's all she does," he tells me with a roll of his eyes as he moves about in the kitchen. But his eyes shine with that pride that only fathers can have. "I keep trying to get her to do something else – you know, broaden horizons or something – but she hates dancing, or music, or playing outside with her friends. She just wants a new sketch book every month or so."

"That's not a bad thing – she's talented! Where do you put all these drawings, though? There are only so many walls," I chuckle.

"Once she gets tired of looking at them, she takes them off and throws them in the trash, putting on new ones on the walls instead." He places a plate in my hands. "And then once she's asleep, I go out and retrieve them and put them in a scrapbook."

And I fall for him a little bit more.

"That's just the sweetest thing," I whisper as he hops up on the counter beside me.

"It won't be very sweet when I gift her a thousand scrapbooks on her sixteenth birthday," he jokes.

I raise a brow. "Let me guess – in front of her date?"

"Fuck, no. She's never dating. I prohibit it."

I grin and kiss his cheek.

"I would love to meet her," I tell him, feeling shy about saying that, stupidly enough.

"Believe me, I would love that, too. Soon. Too bad she's with Tanya today; you could've met her now."

I shake my head. "Nah, the Meet the Parents ordeal is enough for one day."

His smile falls and he puts an arm around my shoulders. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Edward, it's not your fault," I say for what seems like the hundredth time.

"But I still wish there was some way I could make it up to you."

I pick up my fork and stab the pie. "What did your dad say?"

"He's being a jerk. Don't… Just forget about it."

My stomach sinks and I look down. How bad is it that he doesn't want to tell me?

He shifts so he is facing me, and puts a finger under my chin and makes me look at him. "Hey. It doesn't matter what he says."

"Yes, it does," I sigh. "We both know it does."

He sighs too and rests his forehead against mine. "I told him that he acted like an asshole. That he should've talked to me if he had a problem with us. That his approval meant something to me and that he hurt not only you, but also me. That his blatant lack of respect for my girlfriend went against everything he taught me."

"You've never called me your girlfriend before, you know that?" I blurt out.

He's a little taken aback. "Isn't that what you are?"

"Yeah, I guess. It just caught me off guard. Anyway, so what was his response?"

He lets out a breath. "He said he was sorry, but I told him that he was apologizing to the wrong person." His jaw tightens. "But he was only sorry that my mood was ruined. Not yours. Like I said – a jerk."

"Esme told me about him, you know…she told me how he thinks I'm a failure for not giving everything my all; for taking bad decisions."

"None of it – I swear, nothing – justifies what he said. I hope he gets an earful from mom."

I smile slightly, because I can actually imagine that scene.

We continue talking about other random stuff as we eat, making it a point not to discuss the dinner at all.

It's only when we're about to go upstairs that I notice the farthest wall is actually made of glass and I can see the entire backyard.

I turn around and look at Edward with wide eyes. "You have a swimming pool?"

"So?"

"In your house."

He chuckles. "In the backyard."

"This must be so much fun."

"It takes very little to make you happy," he says softly, looking at me like I'm confusing him.

"That's not little. That's a fucking swimming pool."

"It's such a small one. Sophie wanted it. It's no big deal." He sighs and kisses my forehead. Then he pulls back to look at my face carefully. "You wanna go for a swim?"

I try to curb my inner child. I shake my head. "I don't even know how to."

"I'll teach you, and the shallow end is actually really shallow."

"But right now? It's really late."

He smiles and pushes my hair behind my ear. "Come on, I know that excited look on your face. It'll help us unwind. It's been a long day."

Five minutes later, I'm sitting on the edge of the pool, my feet dipped in the water, while I watch Edward show off his swimming skills and roll my eyes at his antics.

"Stop rolling your eyes and get in."

But I'm a chicken. "Nah, I'm good. I'm enjoying the show." Each flex of his muscles, each water droplet in his hair and sliding down his back when he comes up for air…

Yeah, I'm enjoying the show, alright.

"Well, I'm not. You didn't even take your dress off." Saying that, he splashes a little water towards me, and I let out a small squeal. The front of my dress is all wet. "See? Now you have to take it off."

I have the strongest urge to kiss that boyish grin senseless.

"You're crazy."

"I'm lonely in here."

He comes up to where I'm sitting and grasps my ankles under the water.

"Edward…" I warn, and shriek as I am suddenly pulled into the water, with Edward's arm holding my waist. My head is under water only for a second or so, but I cough and splutter as I come up for air, grabbing his shoulders like my life depends on it. It does.

He laughs and holds me tighter, using his other hand to move my hair from my face.

"Stop laughing! I could've drowned."

"No, you wouldn't have. I've got you." He sighs and rests his forehead against mine. "I've got you," he whispers again, suddenly serious.

"I know," I whisper back. We stay in this moment for a while, just content in breathing.

I run my nose across his jaw and kiss his neck, planting a trail of kisses from his shoulder to his chin. He moves his head so I'm kissing his lips instead, and all at once my mind is devoid of every thought except Edward. His scent, his touch, his lips, his breaths, his wet hair between my fingers.

I want him. I want him more than anyone ever wanted anyone.

His lips make their way down my neck and his hand eases a sleeve down so he can kiss my shoulder. I touch every inch of his skin I can reach and arch my neck to give him better access.

At some point he eases us back towards the steps – all the while kissing my lips, my face, my hair, my shoulders, my arms – and we carefully get out of the pool. My dress leaves a trail of water while we go inside in an unspoken agreement, shivering because of the cold air. He turns out the lights and draws the curtains close, and I get rid of my dress and hang it at the back of a chair – hoping it will dry by morning.

He takes my hand and we rush upstairs, still shivering in our partial nakedness and trying not to trip because of wet feet. We make it to the room, and as soon as the door is shut I am backed against it – his still–wet body covering mine and his lips hot as fire against my own. It feels like drowning and being blessed with one last breath. It feels like I am falling into a nameless, faceless existence where all that matters is his touch. Like if he stops touching me, I might cease to exist. Like his touch is my identity and my desperation is his.

When we can't breathe anymore, we part; but only long enough to discard the rest of our clothes.

"As partial as I am to this," he says breathlessly, hands reaching behind me, tracing my skin and fingers giving me gooseflesh as he undoes my bra clasp, "it looks better on the floor."

We are one being of tangled limbs and unspoken promises; of shallow breaths and stolen kisses; of padded footsteps towards the bed and loud moans in the silence of the room.

"Hey," he says when he is hovering over me – so close, so close, right there.

"Hey," I say back, feeling the blood rushing beneath my skin and the smile curving my lips.

"This is probably not the best time to say this, but just so you know… she and I never slept in this room."

It's endearing that he doesn't say her name. I lock my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.

"It wouldn't be a problem to me even if you did," I say against his lips.

"It would be to me," he says against mine.

And that is the point where our words end. Because all words fall short in the moment. Nothing else matters anymore except this. Nothing is more life giving than this.

He caresses and teases and takes and gives and gives and gives everything. He loves me tender, he loves me hard, he loves me with passion and yet as gentle as a feather. He brushes his thumbs against my temple and he cherishes me with his lips. He locks his fingers with mine and hands dragged above my head are perfection. He kisses down my chest and not once stops moving and everything in that moment is perfection.

Life can wait.

Disappointments can wait.

Bitter words and sadness and cynicism are a product of the mind.

But we are in this moment mindless and primal.

Just feeling.

Broken hearts mended by soft lips and warm breaths and curling toes.

––x––

A/N: Um…the awesome author rushed recc'ed Flames at the end of her The American President update (a fic I love) and my inbox kinda…became a scary place. But a scary that I loved. No, really, fucking loved.

You guys blow me away with your support. Thank you.