Bella immediately noticed Edward's expression change and she frowned and reached out to squeeze his hand. "Edward, what is it? What's wrong?"
Edward just stood there a moment, feeling his heart rate increase as the blood drained from his face.
Emmett noticed and said, "Hey, man, you all right?"
Instead of answering either of them he turned to Bella and asked a question of his own, "Is the photographer actually going to be here?"
Bella gave him a strange, concerned look, and shook her head. "No, he was supposed to, but he had to go to China somewhere. I believe that he's photographing some of the conflicts."
Edward swallowed and nodded, giving Bella a tight smile.
Sensing that something was wrong, she whispered softly, "We don't have to go in if you don't want to."
Edward shook his head, took a deep breath and looked to Emmett and Rosalie who were both watching him with concern. "Shall we?" he said as he led Bella inside.
Bella was still concerned, but she nodded and gave Emmett a questioning look over her shoulder. Emmett shrugged, indicating that he didn't know what was going on and Bella turned her attention forward again as they handed over their tickets, entered the gallery, and checked their coats.
The show was nothing out of the ordinary, James Hunter's work, most of which was black and white, was displayed in gallery style frames, black with white matting. People were milling about, examining the different photos while sipping at wine and eating o 'devours. The space was filled to capacity with politicians, artists from the local area, journalists, and community members.
At first their small group of four was able to stay together, but with the crowd eventually the couples got separated and then Bella found she was alone, having been separated from Edward in the crowd of people that were clamoring to examine some of the photographs more closely.
Bella only knew a few of the photographer's works from memory. It was commonplace to see Hunter's work on the cover of magazines or newspapers throughout the world. One of her favorite photographs had actually been one he had taken at a student protest in California. He had seemed to capture the intensity of the situation while making the viewer sympathetic to the cause of the young men and women who were fighting against educational cuts in the state. And, while Hunter seemed to have a few photographs that captured that same spirit, she found as she walked around the gallery, glancing at photographs as she tried to find Edward, that the majority of the photographer's work actually made her sad and even a bit queasy.
There was no doubt that the man had an eye for attention grabbing images, but she found that the majority of what he captured on film seemed to capture agonizingly private moments that made her feel uncomfortable. Then again, she figured that this might actually be the draw to many people.
As she made her way through the maze of the gallery, pushing through some of the more crowded sections where booze and food were being served, she finally found Edward in a practically empty back room that only had a few photographs on display.
His back was to her, but she could tell that something in his posture wasn't right and walking up to his side she placed her hand on his arm, causing him to flinch as she whispered, "Edward?"
Edward didn't look at her and just continued to stare ahead; his jaw clenched tightly a look of anger on his face. Following his gaze she gasped when she saw the photograph of him standing at his parents' grave sites staring at them from just a few feet away.
She hadn't known that it was James Hunter that had taken the photograph.
When he spoke, the sadness in his voice was a stark contradiction to the anger of his expression. His voice was barely above a whisper as he said, "I hate that picture."
Bella felt an ache in her chest as seeing him like this and she reached up to touch his arm again and whispered, "Edward?" When he didn't respond her fingers moved to his cheek and she moved to stand in front of him, effectively drawing his attention away from the photograph as he looked down at her with pain filled eyes.
Edward let his attention be drawn away from the photograph that had caused him so much pain in his life and he let himself drown in the chocolate brown eyes that were shining with unshed tears. He hated seeing her hurt and knowing that he had been the one to put that pain in her eyes. Trying to make her feel a bit better he attempted to smile, but didn't quite succeed.
Bella tiptoed up and brushed her lips against his and he felt some of the tension that had been coursing through his body slip away.
Slipping her hand into his she started to lead him out of the room. "C'mon."
He didn't argue and let Bella take him out of the room. As they made their way through the crush of people, she never let go of his hand, not letting him be separated from her this time and it was a few moments later that they arrived at the front of the gallery. When Bella asked for their claim tickets so she could get their coats, he handed them over wordlessly and watched as she retrieved their coats. He still didn't say a word as they reached the sidewalk outside and slipped on their outerwear.
Still looking full of concern, Bella took his hand and quietly led him to a sculpture garden located off one side of the gallery. They went further into the space which displayed numerous modern works of sculpture and she whispered, "I'm so sorry, Edward, I didn't know. If I had…"
Edward shook his head and replied sadly. "It's all right, Bella. I should have known better than to go in and…seek out that photograph."
She moved to sit on a bench, tugging him down so he could sit next to her. "You knew it would be there?" she asked with a frown.
Sitting next to her, Edward nodded and shrugged. "That photograph was what won Hunter his first Pulitzer. It's what put him on the map, so to speak. Before that he was just some punk college kid with a camera who claimed he was a photographer because he thought it would get him laid more often." Edward frowned off into the darkness for a moment. "It should have never have been taken…or published."
He remembered the day of his parents' funeral quite clearly. He hadn't been able to sleep and had stayed up most of the night, staring out his bedroom window, watching as the snow fell. He'd been alone, the house quiet. Some of his father's distant cousins and his mother's elderly great aunt and uncle had offered to stay with him, but not knowing them well he had refused their offers, though he knew they were trying to be helpful.
His father's staffers had handled most of the funeral arrangements and his father's secretary had consulted him on a few matters, but after giving her the most pertinent information, such as the name of their favorite pastor at the local church, the fact that he wanted his mother's favorite flowers—sterling silver roses—placed on both his parents' caskets, and asking for a moment of privacy at the gravesite after he service, he hadn't been involved. Truth was he hadn't been able to stand looking at the tears trickling down Mrs. Copes' cheeks or watch as his parents' families, however distant, grieve at their loss.
See, Edward hadn't cried, not when the principal of his school had pulled him out of class to tell him of the accident. He hadn't cried when he had gone to the airport to watch as his the temporary metal caskets that his parents' bodies had been stored in for transport were unloaded from the cargo hold of a plane. He didn't cry in the days leading up to the funeral when he felt obligated to take the calls from various politicians that had been his father's friends as well as enemies: senators, congressmen, governors, and even the president had called to offer their condolences. He had been polite, thanked them for their words, but he had not cried.
Everyone remarked at how strong he was when the saw that he didn't shed a single tear at the church or the graveside. It was only after the graveside service was done and when everyone had been escorted out of the cemetery that he finally broke down.
As he stood there wearing his father's favorite tie and the black wool scarf that had been his mother's which still carried her scent—sentimental gestures that he didn't quite understand himself—that he finally cried.
And, James Hunter had caught it on film.
"I hate that picture," he whispered softly again into the darkness as he held Bella's hand.
Bella had sat there, watching his expression as he had become lost in his thoughts. When he finally spoke, saying that he hated the picture again, she nodded and whispered, "I can understand why."
"No, no you don't," Edward said with a sigh.
Bella felt hurt, figuring he meant that she didn't understand the pain of losing someone like that, a fact that she couldn't necessarily argue against.
"Everyone looks at that picture and they see grief. They think I'm crying because of it. I…" he shook his head and looked down at his and Bella's fingers weaved together as they held hands on the cold bench. "That moment that everyone thinks is one of despair…" He looked up at her, pain in his eyes and he whispered so softly that she could barely hear him, "I was so angry."
Bella squeezed his hand, feeling her heart clench at his words and his expression.
"I was crying because I was so angry at them both for leaving me all alone," he managed to choke out and then he looked away from her and took a deep, unsteady breath.
Bella moved to wrap her arms around him and Edward pulled her to sit across his lap, wrapping his own arms around her waist, neither of them saying anything for a while as they just held each other close.
It was Edward that finally broke the silence. "Hunter had snuck back into the cemetery even though all the other mourners had left and the media had been asked to stay away. He's a…voyeur who exploits people's pain and suffering."
Bella frowned. "If I had known I wouldn't have brought you here."
He nodded and whispered, "I know. It just…after the funeral when I saw that picture on the cover of every paper and magazine in the days and weeks following it just kept reminding me of what a bad son I was at that gravesite."
"Oh, Edward," Bella said with tears in her voice. "Your feelings were normal…understandable…you shouldn't feel that…" She wasn't even sure how to voice what she was trying to say. "I'm sure your parents knew that you loved them."
He smiled a bit sadly and nodded. "I know. It's just at that moment I felt like no one would ever love me again."
"I love you," Bella responded without thinking.
Both of them were taken aback by the enormity of what she had just said. Bella blushed as bright as a tomato and Edward eyes widened as he whispered, "Do you?"
Bella worried her lower lip and nodded. Honestly, she was falling in love with Edward, but she had never meant to say those words so soon. Looking at him, he seemed to see those words as a lifeline and she didn't want to qualify what she said by telling him that.
He didn't say them back, but as his lips met hers and he kissed her like there was no tomorrow, she couldn't help but believe that he felt the same way.