A/N: Happy new year everyone! A few days ago marked the 10 year anniversary of this story. I can't believe it. Mind you, ~5 years of it the story was on hiatus, but still...We're finally winding down, folks. Let's see if 2020 can't be the year I finish this. Love to you all, and please enjoy the extra long chapter.

Chapter 35

BPOV

Edward's reaction made it all worth it.

The embarrassment in the lingerie shop. Renee's scrutiny. The build up of nerves as I resolved myself to actually wear the thing. All of it.

He was rearranging the pillows on my bed when I entered my bedroom. He did a double take. His lips parted. The pillow he was holding slid from his grasp and bounced on the edge of the mattress before landing on the floor. He didn't pick it up. He was busy staring. At me.

I tried not to flush. Probably failed. I offered, "Renee and I did some shopping." I tugged the hem awkwardly. "Do you like it?" It was my tamest selection from my trip to the lingerie store. I'd have to work myself up to the others—possibly never. It was a chemise, but more of a nightgown than lingerie. Black silky material. Sleeveless with straps and a delicate lace trim. Not too short, stopping just above my knees. Modest, but a definite improvement on T-shirt and sweats or patterned PJ sets.

Edward seemed to agree. "Do I like it?" he echoed incredulously. "Have you not seen yourself? Have you not seen how incredibly lovely you are?"

I was definitely flushing now, pleased.

He stepped toward me, and I reacted automatically to his nearness, the flitting in my stomach intensifying exponentially. His eyes dropped to follow his fingers as they reached out to trace my bare shoulder, down my arm, and back up again before moving to stroke the black silky fabric at my waist. "Is this...is it for me?" he asked, casual-like, but there was something else there too.

Forget Renee. Of course this was for him. I swallowed and nodded, and there it was, that flicker in him before it was gone, and it was always so easy to forget, gorgeous and confident and perfect as he was, that Edward had insecurities too.

His hands at my waist drew me closer, and then he kissed me. It was slow and gentle, not at all aggressive, but there was something...possessive as his hands secured me to him.

It felt good. Really good. A powerful tug of desire flared low in my center. My hands reached for him.

Too soon, he drew back. "I should go," he said.

My throat worked. "Why?"

"It's getting late."

Right. Edward hadn't spent the night with me in a while. Not since our new levels of intimacy had complicated things.

"Stay," I said.

He hesitated, and it surprised me. It was my awkwardness that had instigated our current nighttime arrangements, after all. I took his hand and led him to the bed. Played with his fingers. "Just...hold me."

He did as requested, taking me into his arms as I arranged myself under the sheets.

But there was something else I wanted.

I pushed up on my elbow, tracing the outline of his T-shirt, working myself up to asking for it. I tried to think of clever ways to do so but ended up just touching the collar of his shirt and blurting out, "I want to see you again."

His brow went up. "Demanding today, are we?"

I blushed, but looked at him and whispered, "Please?"

He groaned. "You're incorrigible."

I shrugged, unrepentant, even when my blushing intensified.

He shook his head dubiously, but sat up. And complied.

I reminded myself to breathe.

"It's quite dangerous, you know, looking at me like that," he said.

My blush spread to my neck, but I didn't stop staring. Couldn't stop. My bedroom lights were still on, awarding me a clearer view than last time. My eyes followed him as he stretched out beside me again, shirtless now. I was motionless, sitting up on my elbow, looking down at him. A new kind of nervousness began rolling around in my stomach.

Edward's hand came up slowly and he squeezed my arm very gently. With a tug he coaxed me down until I was back against him.

Against his naked chest.

I was very much aware of the fact that the thin material of my chemise was all that separated us. There was something even more intimate about it not being in the heat of the moment this time. A slow, complete awareness of his body against mine. It took me a minute or two to relax my palm and cheek against his chest, still absorbing the newness of this.

Good grief, he felt so good. How was it that a scrap of fabric could make this much difference?

My hand was itching to explore, to touch, but I felt shy now doing so. He was so big, perfect, hard—a stark contrast to my own softness. My palm pressed down experimentally. I swallowed, voice slightly scratchy. "It's such a crime, you know, hiding all this." I flapped my hand at him.

His lips twitched. "I can hardly go around shirtless now, can I?" he said, annoyingly reasonable.

"Too bad," I muttered. My desire to touch took over my shyness. I slid my hand up over his rounded pectoral muscles and down over his toned stomach. I felt him move beneath me. "Do you mind?" I asked, peeking at his face. His eyes appeared unusually bright.

He shook his head. "I—just never—" He stopped, looking frustrated in a way I hadn't seen before. "I—can't tell you how good that feels," he settled on.

My heart was pushing up against my chest, full and painfully sensitive, because Edward had denied himself this kind of physical gratification for decades, and the thought of him alone for all that time with no one to love him the way he so deserved was unbearable.

I felt awkward and unsteady, but still I leaned down and pressed my lips to his collar bone, then between his ribs, then just above his navel. He was very still beneath me. I pushed up on my elbow to see him better. "You're a lot more...muscular than you look with your shirt, you know," I hedged.

He shrugged.

"A lot of guys would kill for biceps like that," I tried again.

Another shrug.

I could only remember Edward wearing a sleeveless shirt twice before and his short sleeved shirts were less fitted than someone with his extremely well-muscled physique ought to. Others would be flaunting it. Not Edward.

I gave up trying to lure him out, and gave in to my fascination with exploring.

I touched the hard bulge of muscle in his arm. Pressed my own arm against his for comparison then snatched mine back. Held up my palm against his, comparably awed. The size difference was drastic. Not that that was news. The corner of Edward's lips had pulled up slightly, amused. I ducked my head and continued on.

My fingers were sliding over his toned abs when I saw it. I froze, thinking I must be seeing things. Blinked. Shook my head imperceptibly. But, no, it was still there. Edward's eyes had sharpened on me now, watching. There was an odd feeling paralyzing me; disbelief, shock. Slowly, sluggishly, I touched the mark on the lower right of his abdomen. "What...?" My voice caught. My brain was struggling to process what my eyes were telling it.

Edward was still tracking my reaction. Softly he said, "Vampires can get scars, Bella."

The numbness was transitioning into a dull throb. "But that's..." I fumbled. "I mean how...?" I tried to clean the cobwebs from my brain and rationalize my own naive idiocy, because, I'd seen Japer's scars after all. Somehow that had seemed different. Stupid. So stupid. "It's just...you always seem so...invincible."

He was looking at me calmly. Too calm. Controlled. Moderating his response. "I can imagine it would feel that way from your perspective," he allowed. "But..." he hedged, "it's relative, isn't it?"

There was a clenching in my gut. I was staring at the long, thin, jagged line that started just above the waistband of his pants and crept around his right side. It was faint; paler than the surrounding skin—something I wouldn't have thought possible. It had made it difficult to see. At least at first, because now it seemed to be burning into my eyes as I stared. I could feel it beneath my fingers. It was depressed into the skin, not protruding. Three, maybe four, inches long.

Question after question pelted through me much faster than I could arrange to ask. But I would need to. Because this was Edward, and Edward did not readily offer up information about himself, no matter how implicitly obvious the questions were. I would have to—

"It was glass," Edward said.

My mouth opened but no sound came out at first. This I had not expected; this piece of information offered with no prompting at all. "W—what?" I managed.

"A shard of glass," he attempted again.

More confusion and shock. More questions. "H—How is that possible?"

He sat up carefully, setting me away from him. Then he stood.

My arms felt limp like spaghetti, empty, as I sat up. "Where are yo—?" He disappeared before I could finish. I heard the sound of a drawer opening and closing downstairs in the kitchen before he was back.

Holding a knife.

He lifted it over his palm.

"No!" I blurted, panic, disbelief, shock, all creating an edge of hysteria. "What are you doing?"

"It's all right," he tried to soothe. He didn't succeed. "It's easier if I show you."

"No, wait! You don't need to—"

Too late. The movement of his hand was too quick for my eyes to fully process but I knew it had happened. Whatever it was. Whatever he was trying to show me.

He seemed surprised by my reaction, by my sudden hysterics as I leapt up off the bed and snatched up his hand. He was slower to react, my clumsy leap having also sent me perilously close to the blade in his other hand. "Careful," he muttered as he drew the knife a safer distance away from me.

I was still hysterical, even though a smaller, more rationale part of me knew I was overreacting. It was too much. Too much to take in. Too much to make sense of. Even when on a certain level I'd already understood what he was trying to tell me. I smoothed his palm to check for damage. "What did you do?" I was half shouting at him. "You didn't need to—you didn't have to—" I gulped for air.

Edward was looking at me in alarm. "Calm down," he murmured.

"You—you cut your hand!" I said with appalled disbelief. "Why did you do that?"

"Calm down now," he repeated, frowning. "It's just a scratch. Nothing to—"

His face transitioned to one of dismay when I suddenly burst into tears. He dropped the knife to take my face between his hands. "Why on earth are you crying?" he asked desperately.

"I don't know!" I wailed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Sorry I frightened you. Shh, it's all right." He sat down on the bed and pulled me into his lap.

When I'd calmed down enough I took his hand in mine again, opening his palm. There was no blood, but there was a thin line where the skin had separated. Edward was watching me warily now, obviously worried I was going to fly into hysterics again. I still couldn't quite breathe steadily. "H—how is it possible?" I whispered. I gulped and tried to raise my voice. "With a knife? I thought—I thought..."

"You thought we couldn't get injured?"

It sounded even more idiotic when he said it aloud. Of course I hadn't thought that, had I? Not entirely. I just hadn't thought...well, clearly I hadn't thought it through much at all.

Edward took pity on me and didn't wait for my answer. "It's certainly true that we're much more...durable, but we can be injured, it just requires...more force."

More force. As in, a human couldn't do it but another vampire could. Including himself.

"Tell me what you're thinking, please," Edward pleaded softly when I didn't respond.

I stared at the knife on the floor. Tried to swallow. "How is it...the knife...doesn't...break?" My voice went up on the last word, incredulous.

"How does paper pierce your skin?" he answered, pausing to let that sink in. Of course it was obvious now. He allowed, "It could break, but all it takes is adequate speed and shear force."

I understood. But I was shaken. In more ways than I could explain. And questions. So many questions. Swarming and multiplying like angry bees.

"Bella?" Edward asked anxiously.

I gently touched the line in his palm with my fingertip. "Does it hurt?"

"No more than you'd feel a cut of similar magnitude."

I turned that around in my mind. "You mean...it's comparable, to what a human would feel, for something the same size?"

"In a matter of speaking, I suppose so, yes."

"And...it will heal?"

"I'm not sure heal would be the appropriate word, but, yes, it will close and disappear in a few days, in much the same way."

I was fascinated and horrified in equal measure. I shifted, climbing off his lap so that I could see it, my eyes dropping, searching. It was nearly impossible to see from this angle, with him sitting up. I reached out to touch the scar on his lower abdomen. "And this?"

"That was..." He grimaced. "It penetrated father into the skin."

Something was griping in my chest. Twisting. Hard. Thinking of him. Injured like that. "Did it...hurt?"

I watched his face change. It went darker. There was anger. His voice hard now, he said, "It was no more than I deserved after putting your life in danger like that."

Air rushed from my lungs.

He'd been injured.

Saving me.

And I'd had no idea.

The last one hit the hardest.

I choked out, "When? When did—" I tried to run through the possibilities. "...you were hurt when...when you fought Victoria?" Even when I asked the question I was discrediting it in my mind. It couldn't have been...he'd been fine after—hadn't he? And why was he blaming himself for that when I'd been the one to—

"No," Edward said, "Victoria wasn't...particularly skilled." He paused. "The same could not be said of her long-time partner, however."

My eyes were wide, horrified. "James? It happened when—when you—saved me—from James?" I gasped out between breaths. I didn't need confirmation. I already had my answer. Glass. Edward had said it was glass. Glass. The ballet studio. Broken mirror fragments. I'd been barely lucid, in and out of consciousness. I'd heard fragments of the fighting but I hadn't actually seen Edward fight James, wouldn't have seen Edward get hurt. And Edward hadn't offered the information after the fact. Of course he hadn't.

Edward was looking at me anxiously again, worried he'd said too much, worried I was forgetting how to breathe, because clearly I was.

"You—should have—told me."

He blinked, surprised. The idiot. "Why? What purpose would that have served?"

"Because—because—you just should've!"

"It was inconsequential, after what he did to you."

I glared. Concentrated on calming myself down. When I'd succeeded somewhat I asked, "How did it happened?"

I could see him weighing how much he should tell me. He took in my look and sighed. "As I said, I'd never met anyone with James' level of skill, and I was...distracted—very angry and worried about you. I underestimated him. I didn't expect...that is, he could strategize in a manner I've never encountered. He landed a few hits, including this." He pointed at the scar. "He was...quite strong." Edward ended his recounting with a shrug, as if another vampire stabbing him with enough force to leave a lasting scar was nothing of importance.

Rage. I felt it for anyone who would hurt him like that. Rage so powerful it stole my breath again for several seconds. I tamped it down with considerable effort. "It...must have been...painful."

He shrugged again, but the absence of denial was answer enough.

I blinked. Darn it, I was crying again. Darn it, darn it.

Edward's face was twisting. "I'm sorry," he said hopelessly. "Have I frightened you?"

I shook my head, unable to speak.

"But you're upset," he said, brows pulled together, still clueless.

I erupted then. "Of course I'm upset! He hurt you."

"I'm perfectly fine," he said, because, yes, he would apparently remain forever clueless.

I gave up, collapsing down on the bed and pulling him down with me so that he could hold me while I lay there. Fuming. Contemplating. Absorbing.

And maybe he wasn't quite so clueless after all.

"I'm sorry," he said after a pause. "I'm unaccustomed to..." I lifted my head to watch his face, could see he was struggling. "...having someone who..." His forehead creased. "That is to say...Carlisle, Esme, my brothers and sisters do care, but...it's not the same."

"No it isn't," I agreed.

He was looking at me steadily.

I said, "How would you feel, hearing about me getting hurt?"

The lines in his face sharpened. "Yes, I see now. I understand your point."

Satisfied with that response, I picked up his hand again, frowning unhappily as I examined the damage. "You shouldn't have done this."

I looked up, and there it was again, those broken pieces of him looking back at me, telling him nothing kind or gentle or beautiful in this world could be meant for him.

I sandwiched both of his hands between my own. "These are very precious to me," I said. "No more hurting them, okay?"

He stared back at me, the tentativeness, the vulnerability, tearing another piece from my heart.

But then he was kissing me. Hard. Certain. Perfect. And his hands...yes, his beautiful hands were touching me. I was lying almost completely on top of him and, yes, his hands were moving up my back, pressing me to him, and there was more of my skin exposed than usual, wearing my chemise, and...God, I loved the way he touched me. His chest was naked and glorious beneath me, and there were tears in my eyes again because he could be hurt, someone could hurt him, someone had hurt him, and this was not at all acceptable. I was touching his face. His hair—so soft and silky in my fingers. His kiss was slower now, gentler. And then I was tucking my face against his neck, breathing in the scent of him.

It was the first time in weeks that I slept the night in Edward's arms.

"This is delicious, Esme," I exclaimed, before taking another bite. A chicken sandwich fit for a five star restaurant. Chicken breast, avocado, cheese, tomato, with a creamy sauce that was to die for.

"Fantastic," Renee agreed around a mouthful of her own sandwich.

Outside, a rumble of thunder sounded, coming from farther away now, the storm tapering off.

Esme beamed as she sat down across from us, placing a plate of homemade cookies down on the coffee table.

Renee swallowed. "But you didn't need to go to all this trouble."

"Oh it's no trouble. My pleasure," Esme insisted.

Esme's happiness in direct tandem to my official engagement to Edward was a tangible thing and it struck a cord. She'd hugged me twice today already. Twice. And every time Edward so much as touched me she all but glowed.

Speaking of, my fiancé had deftly escaped to the garage to work on one of his cars (don't ask me which one) with Rosalie. It was just Esme, Renee and I having lunch (Renee and I doing the eating, naturally). Esme was now disappearing into the kitchen again. She really was going to too much trouble feeding us. I'd have to talk to her about it later.

"So have you and Edward decided where you're going for your honeymoon?" Renee asked, picking up a cookie.

"Not specifically, no," I admitted, "but we've been discussing ideas for our longer travel plans."

"About that," Renee began, "of course it will be quite an adventure, I'm sure, but, well..." She took a bite of her cookie. "Don't underestimate the importance of putting down roots and building a life together."

I blinked, certain I must have misheard, because this was Renee, my mother. Middle name unpredictable. Last person on earth to turn down an adventure and settle into a life of routine.

"All I'm saying is," she went on, "just make sure you don't get too caught up in the adventure and forget what's important."

Huh. This was...Oh, crap. The last bite of my sandwich went down in a lump. "Is everything okay between you and Phil, Mom?"

She shifted. Bingo.

"Oh, no," I winced. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She was breaking her cookie in half now. "You've had enough to deal with. I didn't want to add to it."

How had I missed this? Had I been so caught up in myself that I hadn't even noticed my own mother needed me? We'd always been close, able to talk to each other about everything. Something occurred to me then. "Wait, is this because you came to spend time with me here in Forks?"

"No, no." She dropped the remaining pieces of cookie back down on her plate. "The truth is things haven't been great for a while now."

Well that was...unexpected. I'd never particularly adored Phil, but I hadn't disliked him either, and my mother had seemed to love him so that was what had mattered. "What happened?"

She was shredding cookie bits on her plate now. "You get to a point in life where you realize that while excitement and adventures are nice, you also need a solid foundation, you know?"

Crap. This was not good. Not good at all.

"And he just doesn't seem to want to commit to anything," Renee went on. "I mean, here I was thinking we were happy with our place in Jacksonville and then he's talking about moving again. He needs to take some more responsibility. And he never seems to be content with anything. I just don't know what to do anymore, Bella, I really don't."

Renee using words such as commit and responsibility was so foreign I might have asked her if she was feeling okay, had she not looked so solemn and unhappy. My anxiety spiked. "I'm so sorry, Mom. Is there something I can do?"

"Oh, no, baby. You just concentrate on you. This is a special time in your life. I don't want this to take away from that."

There was still a lump of lead growing in my chest. "Are you...getting a divorce?"

She stared off out the tall windows. The rain had slowed to a drizzle following the tropical-like downpour. "Maybe," she said. "I don't know. After you called and I was coming here anyway we decided it would be a good time to...take some space for a while."

"I'm so sorry," I repeated, hugging her then.

She squeezed me back. When I drew away she swiped the back of her hand over her eyes and laughed shakily. "Charlie won't be happy with me. I wasn't supposed to tell you about Phil."

My stomach dropped. "Charlie knows? About you and Phil? You told him?" Enough with the triplicate questions, Bella.

"Well sure, he knows. I didn't plan on telling him but..." She shrugged as if to say it couldn't be helped.

And suddenly, for the first time, I felt torn between the love I had for each of my parents. Growing up living with Renee, seeing Charlie no more than a few times a year, I'd naturally been closer with my mother. Sure, I'd always been fond of Charlie and liked him well enough, but I hadn't spent enough time with him to truly come to love him. Not like I did now. In the time I'd spent living in Forks, Charlie and I had formed a remarkable bond, something I had not expected, and if ever I needed more reasons to remember moving here was the best decision I'd ever made, getting to know my father was one of them. Behind his demure ways, Charlie had a heart of gold. I loved him fiercely. Which was why my heart was seizing now.

Because in the time I'd gotten to know Charlie, behind his quiet, solemnity, I'd seen pieces. Pieces of a livelier, more daring Charlie, who could be charming, and entertaining, with dry but light humor and silly ideas. Hints of the man my father had been before my mother broke his heart. He'd never gotten over her. He still loved her. Having Renee railroading back into his life could well destroy the quiet life he'd reassembled. My mother was far from stupid but she'd always been oddly naive where Charlie was concerned.

"Shoot!" Renee exclaimed suddenly, leaping to her feet. "It's already a quarter to two!" She looked at me, back to her usual self already, flitting seamlessly from one task/thought/discussion to another in a way I could never achieve. "I'm supposed to be at the hospital by two." She took in my confused expression. "I did tell you, didn't I?" I blinked. "I didn't? Oh well, I offered to volunteer at the hospital a few days a week while I'm here in Forks. Gives me something useful to do. Have you seen my purse? Darn it, where did I put that thing?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it again, watching her dart around the room looking for her purse. Despite being close, my mother and I couldn't be more different. Renee was a people person, always wanting to keep busy, interacting with people, helping them, teaching them, anything to do with people. The complete opposite of me—and Charlie. It was why she'd become a teacher. It was also why it made sense that she had sought out volunteering at the hospital. Still, my anxiety was ramping. The wedding was less than a month away. She was only supposed to be in Forks for another few weeks.

"Oh! Thanks!" Renee exclaimed when I pointed to where she'd left her purse on the floor, resting against the armchair. She snatched it up. "Sorry, Bella, I've got to run." She began rummaging around in her purse for the keys to her rental.

"Mom." I stood and placed my hand on her arm. She looked at me, frowning at whatever she read on my face, but at least I had her attention now. "Don't give Charlie any false hope, okay?"

She patted my hand, but her face softened and there was a hint of...something that gave me hope she wasn't as clueless about Charlie as it might appear. "You need to stop trying to take care of us, honey. It's supposed to be our job to take care of you." She squeezed my hand. "Don't worry so much."

She dashed off then. "Love you!" she called over her shoulder. She stuck her head in the kitchen on her way out to thank Esme again.

After she was gone, I slumped down on the sofa. Tried not to worried. Didn't succeed. I was just about to get up and search for Esme in the kitchen when I caught movement from outside. I watched three figures materialize into my soon-to-be siblings—three of them anyway, since Rosalie was still in the garage with Edward. Emmett, Jasper, and Alice filed through the front door, Alice first, then Jasper, and Emmett last, baseball bat dangling from his hand.

"Oh, come on," Emmett was saying to Jasper, "You know you want to. Re-match, let's go."

Well, at least some things were still normal. Emmett was notoriously competitive, especially when it came to his brothers.

"Ask Edward," Jasper said, because, yes, Edward had just appeared from the garage. My eyes went to him instantly, and I wondered if the thrill and hyperactive draw I always felt when he was near would ever diminish. Probably not. I swear I could pick him out of a crowd in seconds.

"Edward cheats," Emmett said, and he swiped his hand out to cuff the back of Edward's head as he walked past, to which Edward promptly dodged. "You see?"

Edward rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up past his elbows, and there was a streak of black grease on his forearm.

"Hey, Bella," Alice greeted, plopping down beside me.

I did a double take as I looked at her, feeling a jolt of alarm. "Did you hurt your arm, Alice?" There was incredulity in my voice. Had I really been that naively unobservant? Was it only because of my recent enlightenment from Edward that I'd noticed, or was this an uncommon occurrence? Or both? She'd grimaced when she sat and rubbed her arm.

Alice's eyes flicked worriedly to Jasper, who, after cutting a glance in our direction at my words, turned to give Emmett a stony look. "Told you," he hissed.

Emmett grimaced. "I said I was sorry, all right? She usually sees it coming. How was I supposed to know she wouldn't be paying attention?"

Jasper's glare grew darker.

I glanced at Edward for clues; he was frowning in Emmett's direction, then he muttered, "Idiot."

Alice sighed. "It's fine, Jazz. Would you two play nice, please?"

"Um, what happened?" I interjected.

"It's nothing," Alice said. "We were playing ball and he tackled me."

Rosalie was shouting something from the garage but I couldn't hear what. Apparently she was summoning Edward because after a glance in my direction, he disappeared to the garage again.

"Jazz," Alice warned with a sigh, and after one last glare in Emmett's direction Jasper stormed off up the stairs.

Looking contrite, Emmett muttered another apology, then, clearly deciding it best to duck out while he still could, took off outside again, leaving the baseball bat leaning against the wall near the door.

"Don't look so worried, Bella," Alice said after they'd gone. "Jasper overreacts sometimes."

"But...are you okay?" I asked.

"Not you too," Alice admonished good-naturedly. "Of course I'm okay."

"The buffoon doesn't know his own strength sometimes," Rosalie said from across the room. She'd emerged and was walking toward us. I looked behind her; no Edward. Still in the garage, then.

"You look troubled, Bella," Alice observed.

I looked at her, contemplating, then decided that having these kind of conversations with Alice and Rosalie might be a good idea. Edward tended to give me the tamer version of things. "It's just...sometimes I forget that you aren't as invincible as you look," I admitted.

"Oh, well, we are, compared to you," Alice said. She shrugged, then winced again.

Rose flicked Alice's ear. "But clearly not invincible."

"I guess it's...relative," I said, echoing Edward's words.

"That's true," Alice agreed. She was looking at me, waiting, knowing there was more.

"And I guess..." I went on, "if you tended to be stronger and, well, bigger in your human life, you also tend to be stronger...as a vampire?"

"Yep," Rose confirmed, plopping down on the sofa beside Alice, "which also means that the men still have the physical advantage. Usually. That doesn't change."

"I figured."

Alice and Rosalie were still looking at me, waiting.

I fiddled with my engagement ring. "Did you know Edward was hurt when he fought James?"

"Yes, well," Rosalie said, "he gets too easily distracted." She looked at me. "No offense."

Alice frowned. "What she means to say, Bella, is Edward's a talented fighter. Those were unusual circumstances."

"Talented...because of his mind reading?"

Alice and Rosalie looked at each other, and my curiosity peeked.

Rosalie's brow went up, followed by a quirk of her lips. "He really does take humility to a whole new level, doesn't he?"

Alice's brow was pinched slightly when she looked at me. "His mind reading is part of it, but Edward's also a strong fighter all around, Bella."

Rosalie rolled her eyes, translating, "He's the fastest of all of us and second only to Emmett in strength."

"Jazz is the best when it comes to strategy, though," Alice pointed out.

"The point is I've never seen him lose a fight," Rosalie said. "He let himself get distracted with James."

Alice said, "James was skilled. We've never encountered anyone like him before."

Rosalie took in my expression and grinned; I'd only been half following the conversation since second only to Emmett in strength. "Not one for bragging, is he?" Rosalie guessed, grin widening.

I shook my head once. Offered stupidly, "I...knew he was...fast."

Rosalie laughed quietly at me. "He also nearly beat Emmett at an arm wrestle once. He's stronger than he looks."

"Actually," said Alice. "I think he did beat him that time."

"Doesn't count," Rosalie insisted. "Em was distracted and it was left-handed."

My jaw did drop this time before I forced it closed again.

Alice explained, "Emmett's right-handed but Edward's ambidextrous."

Ambidextrous. How had I not known that? I was openly staring now. Hungry for more. Rosalie was still laughing at me.

I considered the picture they were painting. Compared it to what I knew. James. Riley. Victoria. Tanya. Jacob. Edward had beaten them all without so much as a scratch, James being the only exception but he'd still beaten him. He'd dueled with Jasper to a draw when prepping to fight Victoria's army. Jasper, the most skilled and experienced. Only once could I remember Edward even remotely boasting. It had been to Jacob. When threatening Jacob after Jacob had forcefully kissed me. Actually, that had been more of a threat than boasting, but still. Edward hadn't been exaggerating. Clearly.

Second only to Emmett in strength. Never seen him lose a fight.

Huh.

So Edward had superior physical prowess from vampire standards as well.

That was...interesting.

And, let's be honest, quite appealing.

I should really have these kinds of conversations with Alice and Rosalie more often. No wonder Rose was laughing at me.

"Speak of the devil," Rosalie said, because, yes, Edward had just re-appeared from the garage—after hearing the entire conversation, no doubt. Rosalie obviously thought the same. "Come to thank us for boosting your ego for you, dear brother?" she asked.

"Actually," Edward answered, stepping forward into the room, and my stomach was immediately doing summersaults just looking at him. Cool it, Bella. "I rather would have preferred you hadn't given her more reasons to be frightened of me." He looked at me then, his lips tugging upward into his crooked smile to let me know he wasn't being serious, but it still hit me somewhere in my chest cavity (among other areas), because behind his easy smile were bits of truth, pieces of him that forever believed he was a monster I should fear. And, equally painful, parts of me, tied to a sense memory, that feared him, feared intimacy, feared all men who could hurt me as Jacob had, no matter how much my heart trusted this man so completely.

"Oh please," said Rosalie.

"Why don't you make yourself useful, Rosalie?" Edward said, and he tossed her some kind of car part (don't ask me what) with a wire hanging out of it that I hadn't even noticed he was holding.

She caught it, muttered, "Whatever," and then promptly left, I assumed to fix something that needed fixing.

Edward moved closer, and I was itching to touch him. He had an additional streak of black grease on his opposite arm now, and a lock of his hair had fallen messily over his forehead. He looked at Alice. "Want me to knock Emmett down a few pegs for you?" he offered.

"Don't start," Alice said. "Jasper is bad enough. It was an accident."

"He was being an idiot," Edward insisted firmly.

"Yes, well, no point in making things worse."

"If you say so."

"I do," said Alice. "Now if you'll both excuse me, I'm going to find Jasper." She stood, then sprung up the stairs with her usual grace.

Edward stared after her before his eyes dropped to me. "Should I be worried?" he asked after assessing my face.

"Don't be stupid," I answered, reaching up to pull him down on the sofa beside me. Picking up a clean napkin on the coffee table, I dipped the end of it into my glass of water, and then brought Edward's arm into my lap. I began to clean the black steaks from his skin, rubbing gently. I might need to get some soap.

Edward watched silently. When I'd finished one arm as best I could and reached for the other, he stopped me by lifting my chin, and I felt the familiar stir low in my gut at his touch. "Are you worried about Renee?" he asked.

So he'd heard that conversation as well. Not that I was surprised. "Yes," I replied honestly. "But I'm even more worried about Charlie." I reached for his opposite arm again.

"Renee's right, you know," he said, letting me draw his arm toward me. "It isn't your job to worry about them."

I paused with the napkin in hand. "Did you know? About Renee and Phil?"

He didn't answer but I could feel his remorse and immediately felt guilty myself. Edward tried to be decent about his mind reading. He tried not to reveal other people's secrets. It was shameful, making him feel guilty for that. "I'm sorry," I said. "That wasn't fair. I know you're just trying to keep everyone's confidence."

"Except you always come first," he said then. "If you want me to pry with Renee and Charlie I will."

I looked up at him, frowning. "No, I don't want you to do that, Edward. It wouldn't be...right. And I won't ask it of you." He started to say something again but I touched his face. "No, you're right it really isn't my business. It's just..." I swallowed, "they're going to lose me soon, and I want to make sure they'll be okay."

Edward's face contorted, which made me feel even worse. "Not so soon," he reminded me quietly.

"No," I agreed. "You're right. And I'm sure they'll be...fine."

Edward gave me a pained smile that said he appreciated my attempt but he wasn't fooled.

I let out a breath and said more convincingly, "I probably am worrying too much. I mean, am I reading too much into this? There's no way Renee and Charlie would try to get back together, is there? And Charlie knows that, right?"

"I don't know," Edward said.

I couldn't help asking in a small voice, "You really don't know?"

"Yes," he said. "I really don't. Not about that. But if you want me to—"

"No." I shook my head.

"Good, because when it comes to that kind of thing, people are inexplicably difficult to read."

I sighed.

"But..." Edward asked carefully, "would it be such a bad thing if they did get back together?"

I looked at him sharply. "Well, no," I said, frowning now, "it's just that it didn't work out so well the last time, did it? And it's been so long. It's doomed to failure, isn't it?"

"Not necessarily."

I opened my mouth, then closed it, surprised. "But...it's just...Renee really hurt him. I mean really hurt him."

Edward's eyes were soft and sad at the same time. "You forgave me."

"That was different."

"Was it?"

"Yes! You left because you were trying to save me! Renee just...left!"

"I think she had her reasons."

"She left because she didn't want to be stuck in Forks," I said stubbornly, feeling slightly guilty for putting it so plainly when I knew there was more to it than that. Renee wasn't a shallow, hurtful person by any means, and I loved her dearly, but I realized that ever since I'd gotten to know Charlie I found myself sympathizing with him more, and wondering if Renee's reasons for leaving were less justified than I'd originally thought.

"That may have been part of it, but I think you're forgetting another reason."

I frowned.

"She had your best interests to consider, too. I think she also felt it would be better for you not to grow up here."

That was true. Renee had said as much to me more than once. Still, I wondered aloud, "Do you think she was right?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Edward replied evasively. "The point is her decision to leave probably wasn't as straight forward as it appeared. People are...complicated."

It occurred to me then that there was no one better when it came to understanding others, their feelings, their motivations, than Edward—not just because of his mind reading, but because it was who he was. Edward was an observer, the most considerate person I'd ever met. His mind reading was only an extension of what was already there. Edward saw people, in ways that no one else did. What must it be like, having lived as long as he had, having this gift, further exaggerated by his vampire abilities? How many people must he have seen? I was suddenly overwhelmed at the thought.

"What is it?" he asked softy.

I just shook my head. "Nothing." I dropped my eyes to focus on cleaning the second streak of grease from his forearm and gather myself. So much I wanted to ask him. For now, I settled on asking, with a hint of long buried childlike desperation I hadn't even realized I'd felt about my parents' split, "But...if she loved him wouldn't that be enough? Enough for her to stay?"

"Sometimes," he answered slowly, "sometimes people just aren't...ready."

I mulled that over. Giving up for now, I tossed the napkin onto the coffee table. "This is crazy. I don't know why I'm even talking about this. It's been forever. There's no way they'd get back together. I'm just worrying over nothing."

"Anything's possible."

I looked at him. His eyes. I could get lost in them, could stare at his face for hours and not get board. I cleared my throat. Looked toward the kitchen. "Where's Esme?"

"She ducked out quietly to give us some privacy."

"Oh."

Privacy. Funny how one word could have such an interesting reaction on my insides. Or maybe that was Edward. Yep, definitely Edward.

There was a ghost of a smile on his lips, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. Which he probably did, my mental muteness (was that even a word?) notwithstanding.

I awoke to Edward playing the piano.

Squinting, I looked around the room.

Edward's room.

Edward's (mine, really) bed.

I pushed back the covers. Saw I was still dressed—jeans and my new blouse from a recent shopping trip, wrinkled now.

It was dark outside.

I sat up and picked up my phone from the table beside me. 2:38 am. I'd fallen asleep waiting for Edward to return from his hunting trip. I scrolled through my texts. Edward had already texted Charlie so he wouldn't worry. I put down the phone. Looked down. Pictured a time in the near future when Edward would feel okay with undressing me in circumstances such as this. Blushed at the thought. Of course he hadn't, knowing I would be embarrassed. I pushed back the covers fully. I couldn't remember climbing under them, so Edward must have done that much. I sat up and finger-combed through my hair.

Edward was still playing.

I sat there, almost in a trance, feeling it a fragile gift; a dream that could pop at any moment, too lovely to be real.

Giving myself a shake, I climbed from the bed and tiptoed out of the room, drawn to it like thirst to water. I wondered why I was tiptoeing in a house full of vampires. Passing the rooms of Edward's various family members, however, all was quiet, suggesting they weren't home—or else being very quite. I stopped at the top of the stairs, hesitating, then continued down the steps, still tiptoeing, inexplicably afraid it would stop if I didn't.

I didn't want it to stop.

I reached the bottom floor, the richness of Edward's music filling the open space.

I approached slowly from across the large living space, feeling oddly intrusive but unable to stop myself, wanting, no needing, to absorb every single note, almost as much as I needed to draw breath. Once again I wondered why, if someone could play like this, they would ever stop.

I could see him now. The piano was angled toward the window, so his back was toward me, but Edward wouldn't need sight to register my presence.

He didn't stop.

I crept along the glass wall on the same side of the room, but a distance away, so as not to feel quite as intrusive. I lowered myself to the floor, back to the wall, and watched him. I faced his profile, well within his sight now.

He still didn't stop.

It felt a treasured gift that he hadn't. He knew I was there now. Even if I couldn't pinpoint the exact moment he'd registered my presence, I knew he knew.

I decided then and there that I could sit there forever watching Edward play. There was something...different about him. Calmer somehow, and...lost, in a way...gone somewhere that no one else could see.

The notes came to a sudden stop, his fingers poised over the keys unmoving, and I felt the loss like a puff of air snuffing out the only candle in a dark room. "Don't stop," I pleaded, voice low.

He folded his hands in his lap. "It's not finished," he told me after a beat. He had yet to look my way.

The feeling of intrusiveness intensified. "I'm sorry," I said, awkward. "Sorry I interrupted."

He looked at me then, seeming to come back to himself. "You didn't," he said. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"You didn't," I echoed.

He smiled slightly then, and I smiled back, relieved. His eyes moved over me and he frowned. "That doesn't look comfortable," he observed.

I dropped my arms from around my knees. "It's fine. I didn't want to...intrude."

"You could never be an intrusion, Bella," he said.

"That's...good," I settled on. He smiled again, and my insides reacted most pleasantly. I stood clumsily, leaving my fingerprints on the glass as I steadied myself, then moved toward him, still feeling somewhat awkward as I sat down beside him on the piano bench, leaving a few inches between us. "That was beautiful," I told him, the word a gross understatement.

He lowered his head marginally at the compliment. "Thank you," he answered.

"I mean it, Edward. You have such a beautiful gift. It's like...when you play everything else just...stops."

His eyes were inscrutable as he stared back at me. "Thank you," he said again, but quieter this time.

Silence.

It had been a while since he'd played or composed anything new. Since Before. I swallowed. "Are you going to finish it?" I asked.

"Yes, I think so," he answered.

"That's good."

Silence again.

Then, "Aren't you tired?" he wanted to know.

"No," I answered reflexively. Then amended, admitting, "Maybe a little." I stared at his hands folded in his lap. His big, beautiful hands that could transform notes into that. I picked up his right hand and turned it over. The small line in his palm from a couple days ago was nearly gone now, just as he'd said it would. I traced lines around it. "So I've been thinking some more about College," I said, "and taking a few semesters after traveling."

"Yes?" he prompted.

"Why Dartmouth?" I asked. "You'd have to hide most of the time. Wouldn't Alaska be better?"

He frowned. "This isn't about me. It's about you."

"The two aren't mutually exclusive, Edward," I pointed out, mildly frustrated.

"I don't want to take things away from you, Bella. If I wasn't in your life where would you have chosen?"

His words brought on a jolt of remembered pain. My eyes flashed as I looked at him. "You are in my life, Edward Cullen. Don't ask me to picture it without you. Been there done that, remember?" I'd scored a direct blow, could see it instantly in Edward's eyes, and wished I could take it back. "I'm sorry," I blurted.

"It's all right." He attempted to smooth his features. "Poor choice of words on my part."

"I knew what you meant," I muttered. "And I will consider all the alternatives, but I'm not factoring you out of it. Forget human experiences. Me going around acting normal college girl while you have to spend your time hiding is not high on my list."

"Certainly unappealing," he agreed.

"I'd miss you too much."

"As would I," he agreed again. "Although for my part that wouldn't even be the worst of it."

"What do you mean?"

"I'd be leaving you, far too often, to brave the elements, to chance fate, without me there to tip the odds."

I made a face. "I think..."

"You think I'm overprotective."

"Maybe a little," I admitted. "But..."

"But what?" he prompted, notably impatient, and I smiled a little.

I scooted closer and tucked myself under his arm. "But I love that you are. It makes me feel safe. You make me feel safe. You always have." I checked his face, then smoothed a finger over his brow. "Don't start," I warned.

He wrapped both his arms around me. "For all the plentiful heinous acts I've witnessed in my time, never have they terrified me with the same proclivity as they have since I met you."

This gave me pause. "Why is that?" I asked, because he'd offered me something once again, unprompted, unexpected, and I wanted him to keep going.

He re-adjusted his arms around me. There was a notable pause before he answered. "There's unspeakable violence and cruelty all around us. Most go about their lives, blissfully ignorant, an unbeknownst luxury I long lost. Such knowledge carries its own weight, but how much worse it becomes, to love someone, knowing all amount of cruelties that could befall them."

I was silent.

"I'm sorry," he said, grimacing. "That was awfully bleak. I—"

"No," I cut in, turning in his arms. "No, Edward. I don't won't you to do that." He was frowning. "I don't want you to—to not talk to me. To not tell me how you feel because you're worried it's too scary for me, or—or—or anything else." I'd always known he did this—only recently was I beginning to realize just how much. There was a strange, pained beating to my heart as I saw more and more that there was so much more to Edward's life than I had ever realized, much less understood. I cleared my throat. "I—I forget sometimes...what things must be like for you. I mean...it must be...hard." I grimaced at the gross understatement, but I couldn't get it into words. Still, the way Edward was staring at me told me I'd managed somewhat. "You don't always have to protect me. I want you to be able to—to talk to me." He was still staring. Way to go, Bella! Way to get him to talk. Just keep babbling like an idiot. I touched his cheek. "Besides, I'll be like you soon enough. What will you do with all this worry?" I attempted to joke. It was a mistake. He stiffened. I pulled back, alarmed as I took in his face.

"The vampire world isn't any safer, Bella," he cut in, coldness in his tone. "It's true you'll be safe from monsters of the human variety, but I assure you we have plenty of our own kind."

I felt the same shaken feeling I'd felt before rise in me. "I—I know that.

"No," he said, voice soft. "I don't think you do. And that's my fault, of course, ever fearful, selfishly so, of frightening you. But if you are to become one of us there are...things you must understand."

"Okay," I agreed, voice higher in pitch. "What things?"

"You'll only be trading human monsters for our own. And in many ways ours are much worse."

"But...as a human I have to worry about both, as a vampire only one of them," I pointed out.

"Wrong," he said, and he'd gone deathly still, features stiff and immobile, ever distant. "Most humans go through their lives without ever crossing paths with a vampire, for those that do it's an unfortunate random chance encounter. But as a vampire you become far more interesting, far more of a threat to others of our kind. You know how we have to live, always hiding, never staying too long in one place. We hide, not just from humans, but from our own kind as well."

"They're not your average friendly neighborhood type, huh?" I attempted. Once again, it fell flat.

"This is not a joke, Bella."

"I know, I know. It's a coping mechanism, okay? I'm sorry. I'm...processing." I paused. "How often does it happen? I mean, how often do you...encounter other vampires?

"Often enough."

"And they're always a threat?"

"More often than not."

He was looking at me, face still controlled, but there was an intensity there that scared me. "Vampires embody the very worst of human nature, Bella."

"Not all of them," I said faintly.

He went on as if I hadn't spoken. "I told you once that the thirst for human blood is like a drug. And it is—that is, it is in that it becomes an obsession, an addiction that overtakes almost all else. But there's one vital difference: It's not a drug. It's a vampire's fundamental instinct, which is far worse."

I clamped down the automatic I know—a denial more than the truth, because a wiser, more weathered, part of me was slowly recognizing that I knew nothing at all.

"The thirst," Edward went on, "strips human inhibitions, civility, empathy. It's not just instinct. Not just fulfilling an animalistic need. For some, maybe, but for many—" He stopped, eyes flashing as he looked at me hard. "You met James."

I gulped. There was a cold, hard truth he was trying to tell me, I knew. I didn't care.

His eyes were assessing mine. His tone softened only marginally, as he told me, "Vampires are the worst kind of monsters, Bella. Many are cruel. Sadistic."

I swallowed again. "Okay," I said. I wasn't fooling him, but I didn't care. I didn't care.

He kept going. "They will destroy everything that would dare stand in their way. It's survival of the fittest. And a power-hungry desire to control the largest population of food source. Large covens like ours are rare. Most see others as a threat to their control over food. The Volturi created some semblance of order for our kind; yet the fact remains that we are always at war with each other."

"Okay," I said again.

Edward stared.

I stared back. Did he honestly still expect the running and the screaming? Apparently so. "So...you have to fight other vampires often?"

Something visible happened on his face, a crack in his long-practiced indifference. "We try to avoid conflict wherever possible."

I didn't understand, didn't understand what had caused this reaction in him. I reached for him automatically, unable to take it any longer, but he was gone; he'd stood from the bench faster than I could process. The rejection stung; his obvious torment stung more. He was silent, looking away from me now where he stood several feet away from the piano bench. "But..." I tried desperately, "that's good, isn't it? Avoiding conflict?"

"Sometimes."

"And other times?"

He closed his eyes.

"Edward?" I whispered.

Quietly, he quoted, "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." His eyes flashed to me and then away again. "I told you once before, I'm the furthest thing from a hero. Do you know how many times I've crossed paths with another vampire, seen in their mind while they were in the process of—or near about to—kill another human being and done nothing? How many times I've seen them plotting murder in their minds, knowing exactly where and who they were targeting, and done nothing? Now try and tell me—or better yet, try to tell them; the innocent people I let die horribly—that I'm not a monster."

"You're not a monster."

He looked at me then, and the pain I saw crushed my heart and stomped on the pieces.

I stood wobbly and started to walk toward him.

He stepped back stiffly. "This is what we are. We hide. We do nothing. We survive."

"You live," I told him. "The best way you can."

He stood there frozen, but he let me reach him. "You can't be responsible for their actions," I said, "Drawing that much attention to yourself, going around playing vampire vigilante, would be suicidal, and it would endanger your entire family too."

He stared at me.

"As terrible as it is, you can't do anything. You refrain from killing innocent people yourself, and that's enough." I reached for his hand. It felt cold and stiff. I stroked the back of it. Edward stared at our joined hands, at the movement of my fingers, and all I could think of was how many awful scenarios he must have witnessed, what it must have done to him. What it still did to him.

"How can you want this?" he whispered then, all pretence stripped, leaving only pain, and the realization that he was trying to make me understand what joining his world meant, that it still tortured him so, had my heart breaking all over again. "It's—" He stoped, taking in the dampness on my cheek, reaching out to touch it with his fingertip. "You don't," he whispered. "You don't want it."

"No," I agreed. "I want you. That's enough."

He held my face with both hands now. "This life...it's a life of hiding. It's not safe. It's the reason, we always hunt in pairs at the very least. There's always—"

"You always hunt in pairs?" I interrupted, latching onto this bit of new information.

"Yes, two or more."

"It's not safe alone?"

"We prefer to err on the side of caution. We vary our hunting locations, so we're often traveling outside familiar areas where the risk of encountering others of our kind may be higher. Two is always better, particularly for—" He stopped as if realizing he'd said too much.

"Particularly for what?" I demanded.

The worried look he gave me had me bracing myself. "Particularly for Rosalie, Alice, and Esme," he finished.

I mentally circled that for a minute.

Carefully, Edward supplied, "Just like in the human world, the vampire world is less safe for females than males." He was eyeing me closely, waiting for my reaction.

"Oh," I said. "I see."

He looked wary. "Do you?"

"Yes."

"That doesn't scare you?"

I shrugged.

"Always so calm," he muttered. "Here I've been trying to tell you how the vampire world is even less safe than your own, and this doesn't bother you?"

"I wouldn't say that, but it changes nothing so I'd rather take the calm approach."

There was so much warring on his face. He pressed his forehead to mine. "It feels so wrong," he agonized, but I knew I'd already won. "So wrong for me to do this to you. How can it be right? How can it be the right thing?"

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him hard. I wasn't disappointed. His arms came around me instantly and he was kissing me back. It made me wonder why everything was so hard, when this, this was so easy. I pulled back to answer him, "There's nothing more right than this."

He drew me back to kiss me again.