I don't own Twilight. If I did, I'd run off to St. Barts to make my pale skin glow golden.

~ VII. ~

Saturday, July 11, 1931

I slept in. I don't have anywhere to be today – no work, no studying. Bella already announced that she had other plans for today. I want to be angry with her that she is withholding the pleasure of her company from me, but I can't. She has come to the library, bringing lunch every day for the past week. I don't care anymore why she does it, I'm just happy to be with her. We've kissed secretly behind the library, held hands underneath the table while reading and talked; it's all I need.

She dragged me to the music department one afternoon and made me play the piano for her. I'm still not sure how she knew with such certainty that I could play.

I had not touched an instrument in over a year, but because she smiled for me, her eyes brimming with joy, I gave in and played Chopin for her. She said it was pretty, but too old and stuffy. I played some Gershwin tunes for her that my mother had hated. Bella loved it.

It felt good to play, but only because of her.

I will see her tomorrow. Until then I will daydream of her, her smile, her voice and her kisses.

Sunday July 12, 1931

We met at the park this time; the park I'd last seen her at with Alec. She was standing at the main entrance when I arrived ten minutes before our meeting time. She nervously looked around when I walked briskly toward her. I sensed something was wrong, unnerving her.

I tried to kiss her on the cheek, but she pulled away.

"Edward, this was a bad idea. Can we please leave?"

I faked a smile. "Sure."

I offered her my arm, but she didn't grab it like she usually did. We walked away from the entrance of the park, along the conservatory and toward the road, not touching.

"Bella Swan!" I heard a woman's voice screeching from behind us. I glanced briefly over my shoulder and saw a short woman with garish red lipstick running after us. "Bella!"

Bella sighed before turning around and putting a bright, but insincere, smile on her face.

"Hello, Alice," she said in a deceivingly sweet as candy voice. Her edgy behavior suddenly made sense. I could tell she'd been trying to avoid this meeting. "What a pleasure to see you here!"

"I thought it was you, but Rose ignored me. Rose, I was right. It is Bella." The small black haired woman started waving her hand at a tall, bored-looking blonde who was standing a distance away.

"So, where's Alec? And aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?" the short one asked with an inquisitive grin on her face. She gave me the once over before returning her gaze to Bella. Her oddly grey eyes were peering at Bella like a bird would at its prey.

"Oh, I'm meeting him in a just a little while, now …" Bella answered, trying to find a polite escape from an uncomfortable encounter. I kept my distance, standing a few feet behind her.

"Hello, Bella," the blonde said in a detached tone when she arrived. The expression on her face never changed; completely aloof, she glanced with calculating blue eyes at Bella, and then tugged at the elbow of the raven-haired nosey one. "Alice here insisted on saying hello, but actually we are in a hurry to meet someone to watch a golf tournament. We really do have to run. Please excuse us."

Before the other woman could protest and dig her heels in, the cool blonde led her away with a firm grip on her arm.

I watched the whole exchange like someone would watch a stage play from the audience; my presence was alluded to and without it, presumably, there wouldn't have been a show, but I never participated.

When they were out of sight, Bella exhaled loudly.

"I must remember to thank Rose. Let's get out of here, please," she said with a pleading, apologetic expression on her face.

We walked side by side, not exchanging a single word until Bella seemed satisfied that we were a safe distance away. She reached for my hand and I pulled it away, instead pushing it into the pocket of my pants. I got it. I knew being seen with me embarrassed her. Those women were probably acquaintances from her real life – the life she led when she wasn't with me. To them, I didn't exist. Yet I couldn't shake the sting of rejection I felt, and so I kept my distance.

"You're mad at me," she finally said when I didn't look at her.

"No, I'm not."

"You seem distant. I'm sorry. Alice is a wretched little gossip hag, and I didn't know what else to do."

"It's fine. I understand. You don't want people to know about us," I stated matter of factly in a distant tone. The last sentence escaped me without much thought. I couldn't look at her, not because I was mad, but because I didn't want to see confirmation of what I already knew to be true: I was nothing to her. I wasn't really a part of her life. She liked the thrill of doing things that were forbidden to her; spending time with me was just that.

"No, that's not true," she said in a shaky tone. I thought I could hear tears in her voice. I stopped in my tracks abruptly and chanced a glance at her face. A tear was rolling down her cheek. Without hesitation, I wiped the tear away with my thumb.

"Don't cry. I'm not mad, please," I begged, unsure of how to touch her. She threw her arms around my neck and hugged me. I held her tightly to my chest, and when people started staring at us, I pulled her to the side where she cried silently into my shoulder.

"Please don't leave me," she whispered.

"I would never leave you, Bella."

I knew it was the truth when I spoke the words. Between the two of us, she would have to be the one to end it. She dried her tears slowly, while I held her. When she let go of me, we walked down the city streets for some time before stopping at a diner and ordering coffee. We sat and stared at our coffee cups until the steam stopped rising from them, both of us too afraid to say or acknowledge what had just happened. I couldn't find the right words.

"It's not that I'm embarrassed to be seen with you, Edward. You have to know that." She was braver than I was, and so she beat me to it. She leaned forward and timidly touched my hand.

I could understand that she wasn't ready to introduce me to her friends and family, and even I wanted to wait longer for that; at least until I had a plan. I needed to figure out what kind of life I could offer her before taking the next step. What scared me was the possibility that what we had, the time we spent together, wasn't real to her; that she had a life without me, and possibly with someone else, whereas my life had become meaningless without her.

"Is there anybody else?" I asked, looking straight into her eyes.

"No, why would think that?" she answered with her eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

"What about this guy – Alec? Your friends seemed to assume that you would be with him."

She laughed and I felt myself getting angry.

"Don't call her my friend. She is not. You don't understand … " she said.

"Then explain it to me!"

"Edward, Alec has been my friend for as long as I can remember. Neither of us has any romantic interest in the other. In fact, he is helping me, so that I can spend time with you. He's pretending for my aunt that he's taking me out, and then drops me off wherever I tell him to. He knows about us. Do you understand?"

I felt like a fool. "Why didn't you say so earlier?"

"I don't know. It's not like you tell me a lot about yourself. I have to guess everything. Plus, I don't want you to feel like I'm trying to hide you or anything. I just need some time to sort things out."

I sighed. She was right. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"I don't know, Edward. You have to decide what you want to share with me. I know you work at night at the hospital, and you study medicine. You never talk about anybody. I don't know whether you have a brother or sister, how you grew up…for Pete's sake, Edward, you never even told me where you're from. I guessed that, and you never bothered to confirm or deny, not really anyway." She looked furious and annoyed and she had every right to be.

I exhaled and started my confession. "I'm from New York. I have no family. My dad died last year of a heart attack; technically that was the cause of his death. What killed him long before his heart gave out was losing everything he'd ever earned when the market crashed, and then my brother to tuberculosis shortly afterward. My mother is still alive, barely though, and she doesn't recognize me. The last time I visited her, she thought I was a stranger and begged the nurses to send me out of her room. She lives in a mental ward, and judging by the conditions of that place, probably not for much longer. I've tried to move her out of there … into a nicer place, but it's not feasible. Even if I'd stayed in New York, found a full-time job and worked every single hour of the day, it wouldn't be enough to pay for a private hospital. Instead of dealing with it, I ran away. They offered me this scholarship at a place that seemed far enough away and I took it. I am a coward. Are you happy now?"

She shook her head and I continued.

"As to what I do to support myself, 'cause I can't say I'm earning a living, I work the night shift at the morgue, first ripping apart and then sewing dead bodies back together. I took the job, not because I like it, but because the pathology department pays the best rates for someone who barely finished his first year of medical school. My pay covers rent, books and food. That's it. It's the whole story. I'm nothing, and I have nothing to offer – at least not for some time. Someone like you shouldn't waste her time on someone like me."

I searched her eyes for what I expected to see: misguided pity and resentment. But I couldn't find it. She just stared at me, and then her lips twitched up in a half smirk.

"I still don't understand why you wouldn't tell me earlier. None of it sounds like anything to be ashamed of. You are not a coward for walking away when there was nothing you could have done. And what do you mean by someone like me?" she asked, sounding exasperated.

"I should have stayed in New York and at least tried." I shook my head and looked at her. "And you're pretty, intelligent and from a wealthy family. You deserve someone who can give you what you are accustomed to. That's not me." I gazed into her eyes before making the more painful admission. "But I can't seem to stay away from you."

"Then don't. You are strong and smart; you know what you want, and how to get it. I wish I could say the same for myself. You have everything going for you, and if you'd look up from your books more often while you are studying in the library, you'd notice there're plenty of girls who'd love to go on a date with you."

"I'm not sure how many women would find my current job all that appealing," I teased with a chuckle, relieved suddenly. I wanted to tell her, "I'm weak and not smart," but I couldn't. A frown formed on her face. "I don't want to be with anyone else but you, Bella."

She blushed when I told her the truth. I reached out for her hand and kissed it. "Let's get out of here," I requested in a low voice.

I walked her to the corner, and we waited together for Alec's car to appear. I kissed her goodnight and nodded in his direction, a silent sign of my gratitude, before they drove off.

Without even placing a call to the number on his business card, he has done more for me than most people I know, and I can't quite fathom why. I rack my brain about it, sitting in my unexpectedly brighter room.

I guess hope makes everything seem brighter and, for some reason, I am hopeful; hopeful that she will wait for me; hopeful that she feels something that is worth waiting for in me.

Thursday, July 16, 1931

I don't think I've been this content in a long time, and I'm now convinced I can be patient. Brown eyes, soft skin and sweet kisses are all that I need to be. Her food is really delicious, even if she doesn't cook it, but I don't need it. I could live off of air and Bella alone.

Friday, July 17, 1931

I may have discovered my new virtue, but patience certainly isn't hers. In fact, I think I may have misjudged my girl in a lot of areas. What she lacks in experience, she makes up for in ferocious curiosity.

She stopped by later than usual today, and when she entered the reading room and our eyes locked, she motioned for me to follow her by crooking her finger.

And I did follow her. I caught up with her at the stairs leading up to circulation desk.

"Sorry, I'm late and I didn't have time to cook," she muttered as we walked up the stairs, reaching for my hand.

I chuckled; I couldn't help myself.

"What's so funny?" she requested with a smile.

"Honestly … you didn't have time to cook?" I cocked one eyebrow at her.

She folded her arms in front of her chest and the smile that had been dancing on her lips disappeared.

"What exactly are you suggesting?" she asked with eyebrows raised in disapproval.

"Nothing."

"You're full of it, Cullen. Spit it out!" Her foot tapped on the stone floor impatiently.

"Oh, come on, Isabella Marie Swan! You don't expect me to believe that you, the incarnation of a spoiled, rich girl, if ever there was one, spends time in the kitchen engaging in such menial tasks as cooking?" I teased, still laughing a little.

"Pray tell. Who do you think prepared all those lunches for you?"

Shocked by my own miscalculations, I stumbled in my response.

"Um, yeah, I mean ... " I started, scratching the back of my neck nervously. "I thought since your aunt obviously lives in a nicer part of town, she certainly must have a cook I assumed. I mean … I … ugh … I just couldn't imagine you in a kitchen … you know, cooking?"

"Oh, Edward. You are a fool! Why would I claim credit for something I haven't actually prepared? Never mind that aunt Petunia can barely pay the gardener these days, and if she doesn't watch it, she'll lose the house that is sitting on those nicely manicured lawns. Why do you think she's suffering from migraines?"

She didn't change her position, but I could tell she was no longer mad – more like amused.

"I apologize. Please forgive me," I said with sincerity. I truly did feel bad that I'd judged her so poorly.

"You're forgiven," she said with a smile, dragging me by my elbow towards the stacks behind the door, "if you kiss me."

And I kissed her in the dark and dusty halls stacked with old books, like I wanted to the first time she took me there. The kiss started out slowly; sweet soft lips pressed against mine, her mouth opened, my tongue licking her bottom lip. I wanted more and I knew I shouldn't. This couldn't lead anywhere. She is not that kind of girl, I reminded myself.

I inhaled deeply, cupping her face with my hands to kiss the rest of her pretty features, but she wanted none of that; she'd had enough of tender kisses. Instead, she captured my mouth with hers, her lips crashing into mine with force. It still wasn't enough; she wanted more. Impatiently she grabbed my hands and placed them on her chest. When I stepped away, moving my hands back down to her waist, she closed the distance and started unbuttoning my shirt.

I want to touch; I want to feel living, breathing skin glide below my fingertips. Bella's skin, skin that smells like soap and perfume. My body screams for it, for her.

Yet, I grabbed her wrists and stopped her. Her face fell, and I knew what she felt: rejection.

"Bella, we shouldn't. Not here and not now."

"I'm not some princess to be put on a pedestal," she said in anger, before turning around and walking deeper into the labyrinth of bookcases.

"Bella, wait!"

She halted until I caught up with her. I reached for her shoulder. I wasn't sure how to tell her that I would never in a million years reject anything she offered; that I was in love with her; that to me she was, and would always be, everything – everything I desired and craved.

I could sense, though, that that was not what she was looking for at that moment.

I was weak and gave in. I started kissing her along her neck, and let my hands trail up to her breasts where they'd yearned to be all along. She turned around, and this time I didn't pull away. I touched her like I would have in one of my fantasies; she felt so much better than I'd imagined, and her touch was magic, setting off feelings I'd never experienced before. Her hands tugged my shirt out of my pants and touched my bare back. Stumbling back into a bookshelf, I grabbed one of her legs and hitched it up, pushing my hips against her. She felt good, perfect, made for me, but everything else about this was wrong.

"We shouldn't …" I panted, my erection throbbing painfully, close to losing my head and the rest of me to her. I pushed myself away from her a little. "Not here, please."

"Fine," she relented.

And we stopped. I sank onto the floor with her on my lab, sheltered between two bookcases. I held her and touched her lightly, my fingers gliding over her cheek, her neck and down to her collarbone. I kissed her on her forehead, and while I rested my head against hers, she whispered, "Edward?"

"Yeah."

"How many women have you been with?" I looked at her face in surprise, expecting her cheeks to be pink. But she didn't react - she didn't even blush.

"Well, that would be rude and indiscreet of me to tell." I maneuvered around answering her question, shifting uncomfortably on the linoleum floor.

"I'm not asking for names. I'm asking for a number."

I laughed nervously. "Why would you want to know?"

"Why don't you want to tell me? I always thought that was something men bragged about."

"I don't. Not many. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

"Come on! How many is 'not many' exactly? And why are you acting all uptight about it? It's just sex, right?" She stabbed me in the ribs with her fingers. "You are blushing, Edward. This is getting funny. Tell me!"

"No, I'm not."

"Oh, yes you are. I want a number. Five?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Ten?"

"Stop it. Why do you care?" I responded in anger. For some reason I suddenly felt ashamed of my past indiscretions, and the fact that she made me feel that way annoyed me more than anything.

"I'm curious. I've never been intimate with a man. Don't get me wrong; I don't think I'm a prude. I just never wanted to with anyone until I met you." My anger melted away gazing into pools of dark mellow brown. "So, more than ten then?"

I counted in my head to be halfway in the ballpark. I gave her the correct number, I believe.

"Okay. . . I think about eight. Happy now?" I admitted with some bitterness, expecting her to be upset, but she didn't look it.

"Eight? If a girl had that number people would call her promiscuous, a whore even." She rolled her eyes and grinned. "Never mind that . . . so tell me, if you had no qualms about sleeping with any of these women, why are you so reticent to sleep with me? I mean you do want to. I think I can feel as much."

My cheeks were practically burning, yet she remained perfectly calm. "Bella, we've barely known each other for – what – a couple of weeks?"

"Was that one of your previous requirements? That you knew the girl for a while?" she teased.

With a huff, I replied, "Fine, since you are so curious. It's because … I like you … I think I … may be in love with you. Are you happy now?" I wished the floor below me would give in and swallow me up whole. I was terrified by my own admission.

"Liar," she said with a laugh. I stared at her. It was her turn to shift awkwardly.

She didn't return the sentiment in words, but when she kissed me, desperate and needy with her hands on my face, I thought I could feel it. We kissed until she had to go home, and I had to go to work.

I'm worried about my admission. She didn't say it back and I wonder why. I admire the girl for her lack of embarrassment in talking about something she has no experience with. Her kisses and touches are so innocent, yet there is something much wiser and more grown up about her words. I know I won't be able to sleep tonight because my mind will replay this afternoon over and over again.

Reviews make me feel warm and mellow like the rays of the Caribbean sun.

It's a cold, cold day in NYC today.