Posted 2021-07-27; Beta'd by Eeyorefan12
The minute Bella got back to the room, she yanked off the little foam toe separators that she was wearing. Wiggling her toes, she sighed with relief, chuckling darkly as she relished this minor sensory freedom. Freedom. As if.
After spending the evening with Sulpicia and the two beauticians she'd brought in to scrub and polish Bella from head to toe, being released from their ministrations only felt like being on temporary parole. Felicia and Sulpicia would be here first thing in the morning to continue the torture before the "big event".
She had just flopped face down on the bed, her latest novel in hand when the door opened quietly.
"Hey," she said, happy to see that it was Edward. "I thought you were banished until tomorrow?"
Walking to the bed, he leaned over and kissed her. "Not for another"—he checked his watch—"eight minutes. Which is why I'm here." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "I wanted to check on you."
Straightening up, he rubbed the back of his neck and looked towards the bathroom. "I've got the tux, the ring, even an extra pair of socks, but can you believe I forgot a toothbrush for tonight?"
"Of course you did." Fake excuses or not, she was really glad to see him, and she followed him into the bathroom. Sulpicia had insisted that she and Edward not see each other the night before the wedding or bad luck would surely follow, and Edward had taken her edict quite literally until now. Apparently, she thought wryly, the superstition even applied to marriages that weren't going to be permanent.
She flipped on the shower as Edward closed the door.
"How are you doing?" he asked, leaning against the counter, looking concerned.
She supposed that was a fair line of inquiry, given Sulpicia's increasing testiness around all things wedding-related. Bella's day had been fine, though. "All good." She wiggled her freshly-painted fingers and toes for him to see.
"Good." He nodded, his relief apparent.
"Are you okay?" she asked. He did seem unusually tense.
"I don't like that we'll be apart. I know it's just for the night but . . ." His voice trailed off and he dropped his gaze to the floor.
"You'll miss my snoring that much, huh?" She elbowed him gently.
He chuckled, reaching over and squeezing her hand. "More like I'll miss the continuing saga of Bunnicula."
Bella snorted out a laugh. "Yeah, I'm never going to live that down." She shook her head. Given her propensity to talk in her sleep, she supposed she was lucky Edward hadn't teased her about it until now. But vampire rabbits . . . she didn't think she'd ever seen Edward so out of breath from laughter as the night she'd apparently been quoting a character from one of her favorite books as a child.
"I won't be far away, just a few doors down around the corner."
It occurred to her that he might be reassuring himself more than her. "Are—are you worried that something's going to happen . . . to me?" Given why they were getting married—
"No." He shook his head. "If I was worried about that, Sulpicia would need a crowbar and at least twenty guys to pry me out of here, trust me."
She did.
That little realization made her pause. And she wondered what sharing that with him would do.
"I do trust you, Edward."
His hand, still holding hers, tightened slightly.
In the brief pause that followed, she heard him swallow. Then he cleared his throat. "So, tomorrow."
"Don't worry, I've seen how she looks at you. I'll elbow Sulpicia out of the way if she gets any ideas. Just don't kiss anyone who isn't wearing white, 'kay?"
Oh, she liked how she could make him grin. "Good to know." The grin faded quickly, though, and his expression became much more serious. "I just—God, this is so fucking crazy, Bella. We're standing here discussing this like . . ." He shook his head, that wrinkle in his forehead appearing.
"Like we're making the best of a shitty situation?"
He ran his hand down the back of his neck. "I think you might be doing better with it today than me."
He did look miserable. He was usually so steady, so encouraging about everything. He'd been her rock. She wondered if his unsettled state was just about the spectacle of the wedding itself or if there were other things he couldn't share. At least she could try to lighten part of the load he was carrying.
"Why so worried, Cullen? Did you finally cave and say yes to Sulpicia planning your bachelor party?"
The laugh came back. "God, no. Plus, that duty would have gone to my best man Pietro"—he rolled his eyes—"not that the guy could plan his way out of a paper bag."
She knew Edward had put his foot down about a stag party when it had been suggested. Having read about the Italian version of said pre-marital event, she didn't blame him, certainly not with Aro—or worse, Sulpicia involved.
"Thank you," Edward said then. The grip of his hand felt softer now—easier.
"For what?"
"Holding my hand. Figuratively and literally."
"Oh, so you've figured out the difference between those two, huh?"
He rolled his eyes. "Hanging out with a Harvard nerd has its benefits."
Even over the hiss of the shower, the loud knocking on the bedroom door was audible.
Edward sighed. "I'm going to bet that that's Sulpicia or one of her henchmen—and my cue to leave." He glanced around him and then pulled open a drawer to grab one of the packaged toothbrushes there "Can't forget my prop," he said, holding it up with a grin.
She turned off the shower, following him out of the bathroom and to the door, where he paused and turned to her. Surprising herself, she wrapped her arms around him. "We're gonna be okay."
Edward returned the gesture, whispering, "Thanks, Swan."
It wasn't the first time she'd initiated such an embrace, but it was the first time she'd done so to offer him comfort, instead of the other way around. She liked the feeling.
- 0 -
Bella told herself that there were a good many reasons for her to be nervous. She was getting married, and many other people's lives besides hers rested on her convincing the assembly gathered outside that she was madly in love with her groom.
Not that she was spending a lot of energy on thinking about her feelings at the moment.
Things had gotten a bit too concrete when Felicia had arrived that morning with the "real deal" as she'd put it, clearly proud of the American idiom she'd acquired somewhere.
The real deal referred to the foundation garments that went under the wedding dress. Bella had expected a bustier, as she'd worn one to try on the dress, but what Felicia had handed her was not the same thing at all. Bella didn't bother to ask what it was called, but this undergarment, constructed of nothing but see-through lace and thin metal stays, was all one piece that served as a bra, corset, and underwear. It undid at the crotch.
She'd probably flamed several stunning shades of fuschia when Felicia explained what the opening was for, not that it should've required much explanation, given its position on her body. Still, she'd briefly entertained the thought that it was only intended to make it easier to take care of things by herself in the bathroom—until Felicia had seen fit to clarify its other practical and more provocative uses.
Once she was wearing it, the contraption was a lace cage that clung to her like it had been molded on—in a supremely uncomfortable way.
She shifted in her dress, trying not to touch her face or her hair. She fiddled instead with her silver Claddagh ring. Sulpicia had tried to talk her out of wearing it, but it was a tangible token of what felt like a rapidly disintegrating past, and she'd decided it would be her "something old". Though her relationship with Edward was as fake as a three-dollar bill, the wedding was real enough, as was the man standing outside waiting for her.
"Oh my god," she whispered, taking in a deep breath and releasing it.
They were getting married.
She was getting married.
"Don't think about it," she mumbled.
She could handle the ceremony. She could handle the party that Sulpicia had arranged for afterward—at which there would be no naked people in attendance. She knew because she'd asked, flaming cheeks and everything.
What had left her chewing her lip raw, until Sulpicia had noticed and put a stop to it, was what was expected of them tonight.
They would walk through several performances today: a somewhat public ceremony and party open to locals, a more private dinner with the Morandi's friends and associates, and then . . . the two of them. Edward and her. Alone.
She'd been physically attracted to Edward for a long time, far longer than she'd wanted to admit. Her feelings . . . well, she'd kept as tight a rein as she could on them, but her hold had slipped by degrees. Today, she knew that she'd given up far too much control to those emotions.
She felt a lot of things for Edward, a lot of things she was afraid to name.
So tonight.
Tonight.
We'll be expected to do what a newly-married couple would do.
Her face flamed, thinking of how public it would feel, even if it was just the two of them in the room. They could fool the camera. She and Edward had talked about it—well, he had talked and she'd nodded along. They'd already done something that imitated the act, after all. It wouldn't be too difficult to fake it. But . . . she didn't want to. If she were being truly honest with herself, she wanted the real thing.
She wanted him.
Shame made her dip her head for several reasons, the foremost of them quite significant: What if he didn't want her?
She could endure the humiliation of pretending the act, if necessary, but the idea of having to do so after having asked and then being rejected—oh, God. To have to look him in the face after that.
Be sensible, Swan. He's a man. He'll want sex.
Right?
But he'd been so respectful, so—she searched for the word—noble. Noble to a fault. Wasn't that the phrase Aro had used to describe him to her that evening in Stockbridge? And Edward had always seemed so apologetic at having to engage in any intimacy with her here.
Maybe that's because you've always acted like the virgin that you are, Swan. He'd feel like an asshole taking advantage of you.
"Ugh!"
She'd never wanted to have sex with Jake—hadn't even considered it, really. And while there had been one or two people she'd met through friends who might have become something more if she hadn't been so focused on school, there hadn't been anyone that she could imagine being with so intimately. It wasn't that she was afraid of the experience. In fact, she'd felt envious of those of her friends who liked to talk about it, both the pleasure one could feel and the sense of closeness to another person. She'd known she was missing out. But after Jake, trusting someone of the opposite sex hadn't come that easily for her.
She trusted Edward. He was her . . . friend.
More than a friend. How much more, well . . .
They'd already been intimate in so many other ways. Ways that had felt incredibly good—natural, even. It was easy to be with him. And he was experienced, too. Confident. No fumbling around awkwardly like Jake had done, groping at her because he didn't know where to . . .
"Bella?"
"Yes?"
Sulpicia, her self-appointed matron of honor, smiled surprisingly warmly at her. "It's time." She held out Bella's bouquet. "From your groom."
Taking hold of the bold red flowers, Bella remembered to smile in return. She hoped the color was not symbolic of anything other than passion—or love.
"Are you ready?"
Fuck no.
She pretended lightness, smiling. "I guess we'll find out."
- 0 -
Someone made their glass chime, the other guests joining in so that the dining room was full of ringing crystal.
With a grin plastered on her face, Bella leaned towards Edward. "Did you bring your gun?"
"What?" he asked, before giving her the obligatory kiss.
"Did you bring your gun?" she repeated.
"Why?"
"So you can shoot the next fucker that does that?"
She could see his shoulders shaking beside her. "God, here I was thinking you'd have a hard time fitting in, but two hours into being a mob wife you're ready to start a blood bath."
"Just in terms of my feelings," she grumbled. "Italian mobsters."
The assembled Italian mobsters were living up to a few of the stereotypes Bella had previously assumed were, well, just stereotypes. As she'd walked down that short aisle towards Edward, she'd realized, with some horror, that every single man present was carrying a gun—this because most of them were doing so in direct view.
And to think her dad had once joked about a shotgun wedding. She was pretty sure this wasn't what he'd had in mind.
As Bella glanced around the dining room, it seemed that most people were now intent on the next course and not on making her and Edward kiss.
Thank God.
She took another sip of wine. She was moving a bit more quickly through her glass than usual.
She also knew Edward had taken notice when he asked, "That nervous about dancing with me?"
Bella's eyes widened. "There's dancing?" No one had mentioned dancing.
"We open the floor, so yes, the first dance is us."
"Oh God." She took another, larger sip of wine—okay, it was a gulp—mindful of Edward's hand gently lifting the glass from her hand and tipping it to indicate the plate in front of her.
"Yeah, being tipsy isn't going to make you any better at it." He smiled at her. "Try some of the food. It's really good." Then he swallowed down the rest of what was left in her glass, giving her a big wink as he did so.
It wasn't the dancing she was nervous about. No, that was nothing but another ritualized humiliation. At least Edward had said no to taking off the decorative garter belt. The nerves weren't helping with Bella's appetite, and the wine was going to her head rather quickly.
As it was, her worries about dancing were needless. Edward held her securely, easily directing her around the floor, only occasionally whispering reminders to watch him and not her own feet. Damn. Yet another thing he was really good at. When he'd leaned in to kiss her, she'd almost been able to forget the crowd of people around them—at least until they all started to cheer.
"What type of cake is it?" Edward whispered as they were cutting it.
"Um, it's called a millefoglie but I don't remember what's between the layers." Bella felt a bit embarrassed by this but in a tipsy, giggly sort of way. She had had just a tiny bit too much to drink. Maybe more than a tiny bit. She held out a forkful of the cake for him and found herself mesmerized by the sight of his lips closing around the layers of fruit and filling. Watching him, she needed to clear her throat before she could ask, "Well?"
He didn't reply, instead reaching down and using his fingers to scoop up and offer her a bite as well, a tiny smirk on his lips. Oh God, had he noticed her staring at his mouth? It's Edward—of course he noticed.
It tasted like custard or some kind of sweet cream. Chantilly cream—that was how Sulpicia had described it. It was tasty—really tasty. So delicious, in fact, that she held Edward's fingers at her mouth, kissing off the last bit of filling from them.
When the titters and comments from the women nearby reached her, Bella realized she'd had waaay too much to drink. And that she'd sucked a bit too long on Edward's thumb.
Edward's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. He leaned in, laughing and whispering in her ear, "Nice work, Swan."
Not too long afterward, Sulpicia announced that it was time for Bella to throw her bouquet. She did so with perhaps a bit too much gusto because she overshot the women standing behind her, leading to more delighted giggles and comments that Bella could only construe as having to do with what everyone was imagining would happen later.
What she realized she was hoping would happen later.
And before she knew it, later was upon them, and they were being cheered and applauded out of the reception and on their way to their room.
Edward held her hand as they walked in what seemed like a strange silence after all the noise of the reception. "Hold on," he said as they reached their door and he pushed it open, surprising her as he picked her up and carried her over the threshold. She giggled, partly out of surprise and a lot out of nerves.
Then they were alone, standing together under the profound weight of expectation that pointed to an activity Bella had never experienced before.
Maybe that was about to change.
DISCLAIMER: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.
