Disclaimer: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Everything else is original and belongs to me, Cosette Cullen. Thank you for the inspiration, SM.

A/N: GuitarGirl, Mel/mcc101180, and Wiltshire Glo keep me on my grammar toes.

Chapter 37 – I Love You Because I Know No Other Way

~*~ Bella ~*~

"We were supposed to get married today, down at the courthouse," I blurted, after grilling Riley about Rose.

My therapy session via Skype had ended a few minutes ago, but I'd kept online to get the scoop. Riley and Rose had been inseparable at our going-away party, but I didn't know if they were going to attempt a long-distance relationship.

I was thrilled when Riley told me they'd kept in touch over the last few weeks—texting, calling, and even Skyping. Edward's sister had found herself a wonderful man, and I sincerely hoped that it would last.

"You both agreed it would be best to wait to get married, in light of Edward's diagnosis. Yet I hear some melancholy in your voice," Riley correctly assessed. "Where is that coming from?"

"I'm conflicted. There's no rush now that Edward's not deploying, and logically, I know that getting married when he's dealing with his diagnosis and treatment would be too much for him. But . . . I don't know . . . I was looking forward to becoming Bella Cullen, I guess."

"But you still will be someday. You know that, right?"

"Yes, I know it'll happen when the timing is right. I'm just a little sad that it's not now."

Riley nodded. "You're allowed that. Just don't get stuck there. Grieve it, and then let it go and live in the present."

"I know, I know. 'Thoughts become things—choose the good ones.' I think you've successfully drilled that little adage into my head."

He chuckled. "Good to know I'm doing my job effectively."

"Edward's first therapy session is today," I blurted out what had been on my mind all day.

"Aaand?" He drew the word out, prompting me to continue.

"And I'm nervous. I don't know what to expect, and I don't know whether I should push him to talk about it or not."

"You should be prepared for him to come home in not the best of moods. He'll still be dealing with all the negative emotions that the session will inevitably stir up. His psychologist will have already pressed him to talk, so you should provide him a no-pressure environment."

"Okay, that makes sense," I agreed, sighing. "Thank you so much, Riley, for everything."

"You're welcome, Bella."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," Edward answered gruffly, setting his keys on the kitchen table.

I moved in front of him, taking his hands in mine. "Are you hungry?"

Edward nodded and lowered his head to the curve of my neck, his lips grazing my skin.

"I didn't cook tonight. I was hoping we could go to that Italian place we saw the other day?"

"Sure. Let me change first."

An hour later, we were seated in a cozy corner of an upscale bistro, salivating over the best fried calamari I'd ever had. The mussels in marinara sauce were pretty delicious as well.

"I didn't have time to cook tonight because I got home from school just in time for my therapy session with Riley."

"It's fine, baby," Edward mumbled quietly. He wasn't in a bad mood as Riley had predicted. Rather than outward anger as I'd expected, he was subdued and introspective.

"Have you talked to Rose lately?" I didn't think he had, but I wasn't sure.

"No, not since the party."

I told him what I'd found out, that Riley and Rose were trying to do the long-distance thing. He didn't have a lot to say about it, except that Riley seemed like a good guy.

"Riley told me that I probably won't need PTSD therapy for much longer. I haven't had a nightmare for a few weeks now."

"Yeah, I noticed that." He pushed his appetizer plate to the side and slid his hand along my thigh. "You're the strongest woman I know."

"Really?"

"Yes, really." He raised an eyebrow. "Why do you sound so surprised?"

"Because I have PTSD, which according to you, means that I'm fucked up, that I have a mental disorder."

Setting his beer bottle on the table with a loud thud, he squinted his eyes, his forehead wrinkling. "What the hell? I have never said that about you."

I took a drink of my ice water, steeling myself. I wouldn't push him, but perhaps I could leave subtle openings for him to talk about his diagnosis and the Army-mandated psychological treatment.

"But you said that about yourself. So if that's true about you, then it must be true about me."

Edward blinked, his mouth opening and then closing again.

"When Riley diagnosed with PTSD a few months ago, did you think that made me weak?"

His eyes went wide. "No!"

"Mentally ill?"

"Bella!" he scolded. "Of course not."

"Then why is it any different for you? Perhaps you could extend yourself the same courtesy, the same non-judgmental compassion that you gave me."

Edward's silence continued as he turned his attention away from me and onto the label on his bottle of beer.

"Do you think I'm doing better than I was a few months ago?" I continued.

He nodded, his fingers picking at the label. "You're not as jumpy as you were. And fewer nightmares, like you said."

"So, then you would agree that therapy for PTSD can work, that it can be effective?"

Edward let out a heavy sigh, his jaw flexing. I waited, wondering if he was going to reply. Finally, he answered, his tone begrudging, "I suppose so."

While chewing a mouthful of calamari and contemplating whether I should let the topic pass, Edward spoke again, "Maybe you should have been a lawyer."

"Is that supposed to be an insult or a compliment?" I smiled, tracing his jawline with my finger.

Edward looked at me, a broad smile covering his entire face. It was the first one of the night but not the last if I had anything to do with it. "Hmm, maybe a little of both?"

Motorcycles are sexy—an aphrodisiac on wheels, I'd recently discovered. The first time I'd ridden with Edward, I was both nervous and excited. When he'd leaned the bike, tightly hugging a corner as he turned, I couldn't help but hold my breath in fear that we'd fall all the way over. But after a couple of times riding with him, my anxieties had dissipated, making room for exhilaration and desire.

Now, the masculine roar of the engine vibrating between my legs and the feel of Edward's hard body molded to mine was something I couldn't seem to get enough of.

Sitting behind him on the bike as we roared down the street following our delicious Italian dinner, I had full access to his body, with my arms wrapped around his torso and my hands clutched to his chest. If I wasn't concerned about distracting him from driving, my hands could easily roam over his chest, across his rippled stomach, down to his thighs, and finally to his dick. Instead, I settled for sliding my hands under his leather jacket and subtly exploring his six-pack.

You heard that right—a leather jacket in August. Edward was a stickler for safety, insisting that we both not only wear helmets but that all skin was covered. "God forbid if we wrecked, this layer will keep your skin from being left on the asphalt," he'd explained when fitting me with my own purple and white motorcycle jacket.

When we came to a stop at a red light, my hands wandered from under his jacket, furtively sliding down his thighs. Edward covered one of my hands with his, rubbing it gently as we idled at the light. My free hand moved back up his muscled thigh, unexpectedly coming to rest between his legs. Honestly, I hadn't consciously planned it, but I couldn't resist the impulse to touch him there, with his legs spread and straddled over this mechanical beast. So damn sexy. My hand was possessed, acting independently as it cupped the bulge in his jeans.

"Bella!" His reproach was nearly drowned out by the rumble of the motorcycle as his hand flew off the handlebar and landed on mine. He moved it up to his stomach as he revved the engine, speeding off toward home. My wicked chuckle was for me only, silenced by the confines of my helmet.

As we turned onto our street a few minutes later, I realized we were now moving slowly enough that it wouldn't be too dangerous to indulge myself again.

Keeping one arm around his waist, I palmed his semi-hard erection with my free hand. My touch was not soft and teasing; I moved my palm over him firmly, with purpose. Feeling his cock grow and harden beneath my hand sent me into orbit, my desire growing out of control.

As soon as we came to a stop in our garage, he cut the engine and immediately yanked his helmet off. "Fucking hell, woman!" he bellowed.

I had already removed my helmet, hanging it on the back of the bike. Hearing the garage door close behind us, I responded to his half-hearted chastisement by blindly unbuttoning his jeans. I'd become quite adept at accessing button-fly jeans at lightning speed.

Still straddling the bike, I pressed my cheek to his back as I freed him from his jeans, wrapping my hands around his length.

"Fuck!" He gripped my thighs on each side of him, his fingers digging into my flesh.

After several firm strokes, I swung my leg around and stood up. Before Edward could move, I bent over and took him into my mouth. I moaned at the sensation of warm, salty silk on my tongue. With an unprecedented low number of bobs up and down, he exploded in my mouth, his fingers threaded tightly in my hair.

As I stood up, he got off his bike, not saying a word as he buttoned up his jeans. When his eyes finally met mine, they were dark and predatory. He scooped me up, and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me into the house.

With our motorcycle jackets still on, he laid me down on the first flat surface we came to—the kitchen table. After yanking my jeans down to my knees, he dropped down and buried his face between my legs.

"Best goddamn thing I've tasted at this table," he growled, his tongue warm and wicked as he returned to his ravenous indulgence.

I cried out, also finding my nirvana in record time.

Like I said, motorcycles were fucking sexy.

"I don't know, Mom," Edward mumbled into the phone, his jaw clenching. "I don't understand why you'd want us to go ahead and get married now. If we did, it would be down at the courthouse."

Edward's jaw relaxed as he paused and then chuckled at something Esme must have said. "Yeah, well, I thought you'd want a big wedding to get your hands on."

I crawled onto our bed next to Edward, propping my pillows against the headboard so I could sit up. Removing the lid from my red felt-tip pen, I set to work reading and grading a stack of essays written by my sophomore students. I'd learned during my first month of teaching that a teacher's day extends far beyond the hours in the classroom.

"Well, thanks for doing that for me, Mom, especially so quickly." Edward's fingers trailed ever so lightly over my bare thigh, leaving goose bumps behind. "I promise I'll let you know asap," he added with a chuckle.

I refocused my attention on reading the essay in front of me, trying to tune Edward out. But it was difficult to do with his hand caressing my leg and his velvet voice luring me in. Perhaps I should take my grading to another room.

"It's fine," Edward said curtly. My head jerked up, looking at him and wondering what in the world had caused his mood to change so quickly.

"I don't have much choice in the matter," he continued. "I either attend therapy or I'll be given a medical discharge."

He was quiet for a minute, and I wondered what Esme might be saying to him about his mandated therapy. "I know." He sighed, his tone softening. "I love you, too, Mom."

After he said goodbye and hung up, I turned to him, deciding to attempt a conversation about the counseling he'd been undergoing for the last three weeks. I hadn't broached the subject at all since our talk at the restaurant when I'd gotten him to agree that maybe therapy could help him since it had been healing for me. His psychologist was pushing him into uncomfortable conversations during each appointment, I was sure, so I wanted his home with me to be a refuge where he didn't have to face his demons. Though, I was curious about the techniques being used to help Edward, compared to the therapy I'd undergone with Riley.

I set the stack of essays on the nightstand and turned over, snuggling into Edward's side. "Is it horrible?"

He didn't answer for a long beat. Wrapping his arm around me, he pulled me tighter against his body. "Yes, I'd say it's horrible. It's certainly not a walk in the park."

I remained silent, hoping he'd continue on his own. My fingers gently tugged on the chest hair not covered by his wife beater.

"Major Uley said I suffer from survivor's guilt. That's actually a clinical term." He snorted humorlessly. "It used to be an actual diagnosis in and of itself, but now it's considered to be a symptom of PTSD."

"Do you agree with him?"

"I kind of have to, I guess, because I do feel fucking guilty. I was responsible for those men. It's unfair that I should be here, healthy and alive, when they're not. It just doesn't make sense."

"I didn't have that particular symptom since I was the only one involved in my shooting, so . . . uh, how do they help you? How do they treat survivor's guilt?"

Edward's fingers combed through my hair, tugging gently all the way down to the ends. It was so soothing.

"Uley said that I've never fully grieved James or the others. He said that he'll help me do that, which is supposed to somehow fucking magically relieve the guilt."

"Maybe it will."

"Maybe. I'll try."

"Do you want your birthday cake now or a little later?"

"Oh, my god, most definitely later." I pushed my plate to the side, trying to resist eating the last of the linguini with clam sauce that Edward had made for my birthday dinner. "I'm afraid I've over-indulged. My belly is beyond capacity."

Edward swallowed the last of his wine, setting the empty goblet on the table. "That's the highest compliment for a chef. I'm so glad you enjoyed it."

"Everything was perfect—the food, the candlelight, the wine, and your company. Thank you." I leaned toward him, puckering my lips. Edward smiled as he took hold of my hand and leaned over the table, kissing me softly.

"You're not too full to open your present are you?"

"Not unless it's something heavy that I have to pick up," I joked, smiling coyly.

"I think you can handle it." Edward stood up and took my hand in his, leading me out of the formal dining room. "Let's get comfortable on the couch."

As we entered the family room, he dropped my hand and told me he'd be right back as he bounded toward the hallway.

I slowly lowered my overly satiated body to the sofa and leaned my head back, closing my eyes. Life was good. On my twenty-sixth birthday, I had everything I could possibly wish for—a teaching job that I loved, a man by my side whom I adored, a beautiful home, good friends, and peace knowing that Edward and I both were on the road to emotional recovery.

I was no longer in therapy with Riley, and after only a month of counseling, I'd started to see small changes in Edward. He was more open with me than he'd ever been about his demons, his nightmares, and his guilt. He'd actually started sharing personal anecdotes about James with me from time to time.

"You can't go to sleep yet," Edward chided, startling me from my musings. "Your birthday celebration has only begun."

I opened my eyes, smiling at him as he sat down beside me holding a rectangular present, wrapped in shiny silver paper. "I was only relaxing. I'm all yours now."

"I hope so because this is a very special gift," he said, his tone serious. "It requires your full attention."

"Well, all right then," I quipped in mock solemnity, sitting up and reaching for the gift.

I turned the gift around in my hands, rubbing my fingers all over it exaggeratedly. "Hmm, whatever could it be?" I asked, my brows furrowed contemplatively. "It has the dimensions of a book, the thickness of a book, and" —I knocked on it like a door— "it sounds like a book."

"All right, I confess—it's a book. You outsmarted my attempts at concealment. But you don't know which book, do you, smart ass?"

We laughed together as I tore into the paper, quickly revealing the cover. "You remembered!"

It was a hardback copy of Pablo Neruda's poetry, Full Woman, Fleshly Apple, Hot Moon. Good lord, just the title alone sounded erotic. I looked up to see Edward smiling at me.

"You know me so well, baby," I said, leaning over and pecking his lips. "Thank you." I began thumbing through the pages when I noticed a silver bookmark peeking out from the top.

I slid my finger into the gap between the pages, opening it to the bookmarked page. I barely registered the sterling silver swan bookmark because what was dangling from it on a red ribbon took center stage. I gasped. It was a ring—a diamond ring nestled in a square cut-out in the pages.

I looked for Edward beside me, but unbeknownst to me, he'd moved surreptitiously to the floor. He was down on one knee, looking up at me with a peaceful, soft smile on his lips.

Oh, sweet baby jeebus, was he—

Time seemed to slow to a dream-like state, even as my heart rate sped up. Edward gently removed my hands from the book, leaving it resting on my lap. I looked at him, his handsome face beginning to blur as my eyes welled up.

Holding my hands in his, he spoke with a sensually masculine cadence to his tone:

"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way than this:
where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep."

His eyes now matched my own, glistening with emotion. Joyful tears freely streamed down my cheeks. I honestly hadn't expected this; I'd accepted that our engagement was indefinitely postponed. But here he was on his knees, my sweet Edward, proposing to me and reciting Neruda poetry to boot.

Edward took a breath, clearing his throat. "Isabella Marie Swan, will you marry me, Edward Anthony Cullen, and make me happier than I ever imagined was possible?"

I was full-on crying now. "Yes!" I said emphatically, smiling as I pushed the book from my lap and launched myself at him. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I kissed him hard, and as I pushed my body against his, we toppled over.

We shrieked with laughter as we hit the floor. He was flat on his back, the length of my body covering his. "Yes," I whispered, dropping little kisses along his jaw, his cheek, on his nose, and back to his soft lips. "A million times, yes."

He cradled my face in his hands, stilling my kissing assault. "I love you, Bella, deeply and completely," he said tenderly.

"I love you. I'm the luckiest girl in the world."

He kissed me once more, a teasing smirk creeping up as he pulled away.

"As much as I'm enjoying having you on top of me, I'd love to see the ring on your hand. May I?"

"Oh! Yes!" I giggled, scooting off of him and standing up. "I saw it but I didn't see it, ya know?" I offered him my hand, pulling him up off the floor.

I sat back down on the couch, expecting Edward to do the same, but instead, after retrieving the ring from the book, he knelt down on one knee again. Taking my left hand in his, he slowly slid the ring onto my finger.

"Oh, Edward," I gasped, seeing the detail of the ring for the first time. "It's perfect."

A ginormous solitaire diamond was framed by oval and circular-shaped diamonds embedded in the silver band. It was unique, like no other engagement ring I'd ever seen.

"Yeah? I wasn't sure if you'd prefer something modern, but I thought you might like it, considering how much you loved the antiquity of Europe."

Glancing between the ring and Edward's gaze, I smiled, feeling deliriously giddy. "You know me so well, baby. I love it."

"This ring originally belonged to my great-grandmother, Eva, in the 1920s. Later, it was worn by her daughter-in-law, my Grandma Cullen, until she passed away when I was thirteen. Since then it's been in a safety deposit box, waiting for the love of my life to come along."

Edward really didn't need Neruda; he frequently melted me with his romanticism and his way with words. Stroking his cheek, I smiled as another wayward tear trickled down my cheek. "It's even more perfect now, knowing it's a family heirloom. I'll treasure it always, just as I'll treasure you."

He smiled, a grin so heartfelt that the skin around his glimmering, emerald eyes crinkled. He was the most beautiful man ever created, I was certain, because the splendor of his soul equaled the beauty of his physical form.

Rising from his kneeling position, he slid onto the sofa beside me and pulled me onto his lap. His arms encompassed me, pulling me flush against his chest and touching his warm, wet mouth to mine.

A comforting peace settled upon me, recognizing that our souls had become beautifully entangled since the day we'd met and knowing we would continue to be one, regardless of any obstacles that might come our way. Twirling the symbol of his love around on my finger, I melted into him, knowing that we would be good.

A/N: The proposal was inspired by a real-life proposal. My online Twi-friend, R4L, was proposed to in this way, except the book used was Eclipse and was opened to the proposal scene on page 460. Pretty awesome fiancé, huh?

There is a photo of the book/ring on my blog or in TIWBG Facebook group. So that is what it looked like, except our PTSDward used a Neruda book. Also, check out the picture of Bella's engagement ring.

Story blog: tiwbg dot wordpress dot com.

For photos and general chat, come join the TIWBG Facebook group. Just insert the following after the Facebook URL – /groups/281151482005898/

Then request to be added to the group.

"Thoughts become things–choose the good ones." -Mike Dooley