ENTRY 6
MY TIPSY VALENTINE
"Is there anything special you'd like to do for Valentine's Day, love?"
When I asked Bella that question as we said 'goodnight' at her father's door, I really wasn't prepared to receive any kind of actual answer. I certainly wasn't expecting the one I got.
Being mindful of the fact that it was her last Valentine's Day as a human — my finally having agreed to change her after our upcoming wedding and honeymoon — I had intended to make this wonderful holiday just as special and elaborate as I could. I was going to pull out all the stops, romance my fiancée in truly grand fashion.
So the question is really, more or less, a gentlemanly formality. But Bella's eyes light up.
"I think I'd like to get drunk," she informs me, smiling up at me happily.
And my brain short-circuits. Um...what did she just say? She takes pity on my abrupt inability to speak and clarifies.
"I mean, it's kind of my last chance. Soon I'll be like you and I won't even be able to drink, much less get drunk. So it's kind of now or never, you know?"
The mental image of an amorous, tipsy Bella with even fewer inhibitions than normal has me feeling kind of drunk.
"You're not 21 yet," I remind her, somehow stringing words into a coherent sentence of utter self-preservation. I'm barely keeping my hands to myself these days as it is. The wedding seems centuries away, sometimes.
"I'm never going to be 21," she fires back.
She certainly knows how to shut down any impending argument. Reminding me of her all-too-soon human demise is all it takes. I'm feeling extremely sober again.
"You could if you wanted to, you know," I point out softly, skimming the backs of my knuckles down her soft cheek — giving her an out, as always.
But she rolls her eyes, grabs my shirt with both fists and pulls me down to kiss the argument right out of me. "Stop that," she scolds just before her lips touch mine. And by the time she pulls back, I've almost forgotten what I was so worried about. Until she reminds me.
"We can go far enough away no one recognizes us. Alice says getting me a fake ID in time won't be a problem. All she wants in return is to pick my dress for me."
I nearly gulp. My sister is even more diabolical than Bella, and that's an achievement.
Alert. Danger, Will Robinson.
"I'm getting the impression we're not talking about doing this over a quiet evening alone?" I ask, trying not to sound quite as alarmed as I feel.
I may be the predator, but my bride-to-be's knowing smile leaves me feeling like the prey. "Nope. I want the whole experience," she tells me. "I'm even willing to try the dancing, but you may have to help me again."
I brighten considerably at the idea of Bella willingly dancing with me, without constant complaint. Maybe this won't be such a bad idea after all.
This is the worst idea I've personally been party to in my existence. My century-long existence.
And I realize that about two seconds after Bella walks out of Alice's room to meet me downstairs in the living room, at which point I nearly choke on my own tongue. Quite a feat for a vampire.
The first thought through my mind is a resounding No goddamn way, because if she thinks she's going into a bar full of drunken men in that dress, she's lost her mind.
The second thought...well, I'll keep that to myself, but it involves that dress pushed up around her waist with her legs wrapped around me, her back shoved against my closed and locked bedroom door, a location I could get us to in less than three seconds.
It's strapless, red, beaded, and draws attention right to her chest. My eyes would have become hopelessly and ungentlemanly stuck there if not for the fact that the dress ends somewhere high-north of mid-thigh. My jaw is hanging open at the veritable miles of leg on display, ending in a strappy high-heel shoe that has me honestly questioning whether I suffer from some type of foot fetish.
Bella's eyes are expectant but nervous, awaiting my reaction, and I can deny her nothing. So rather than give in to whatever is the vampire equivalent of a massive coronary, I simply lock my eyes on hers and tell her how very, very beautiful she is.
But I'm probably going to murder Alice later. Her and that knowing smirk on her face.
For the first few hours, once we reach our destination, my thoughts are divided between two topics:
One, keeping a running total in my head of how much Bella has consumed compared to body weight, in an effort to ensure that my reason for existing doesn't succumb to alcohol poisoning.
Two, trying not to murder any of the total bastards whose thoughts about my future wife make me want to release the monster from its cage.
But by hour four, when I've just peeled a very amorous Bella off of my body and removed her wandering hands from my ass for the last time I'm willing to endure, I'm just trying to remember exactly why it would be a bad idea if our first time was up against a wall in an alley outside the bar.
I throw my tipsy Valentine over my shoulder and carry her to my car as she giggles, pawing my backside the whole way.
I wonder if there's a bar anywhere near Isle Esme? Perhaps we can visit on our honeymoon.
Either way, she's packing that dress.
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