Chapter 13: Beau
The mood in the Swan house is somber in the morning, as Charlie prepares for Harry Clearwater's funeral. I'm glad we spent last night with Seth and Sue, but I still wish I could be there today. Bella gets up early to offer Charlie breakfast, but he declines, so she hugs him and returns to bed.
To take both of our minds off the funeral, I decide to get another bit of awkwardness out of the way. When I get up, Bella sits up; alongside her obvious curiosity, a hint of fear has crept into her eyes, so I stop to reassure her that I'm not going anywhere.
I crouch down and pull up the floorboard beneath which I hid her CD, plane tickets, and photos. When she sees what I'm doing, she laughs. I breathe a sigh of relief.
"You do love me," she teases.
"Truly, I do."
She gestures for me to leave the things on the floor and come back to bed, so I set the floorboard back in place before returning to her arms.
We are interrupted by my phone. It's Alice, so I don't make her wait.
"Renée is on the way to Seattle," she announces. "She got a standby flight."
"WHAT?" Bella yells, and I'm glad Charlie has already left; he would've heard that from downstairs.
"She's decided she needs to see you—both of you."
I cringe; Bella is fuming, muttering angrily about Charlie stirring up trouble.
"She'll be in Forks in three hours."
"Thanks, Alice," I say, and Bella, after sighing, seconds my thanks.
"You're welcome," Alice replies, but there's a strange mix of emotions in her voice… smugness and guilt? "Bye," she says quickly, hanging up before I can ask what she's not telling us.
"She didn't say much," I remark, to gauge Bella's feelings on the matter before I call Alice back.
Bella bites her lip, then shrugs. "She would've said if it was important."
So I put my phone away and offer to finish my rendition of The Taming of the Shrew, which had been so abruptly interrupted by Riley the other night.
When Charlie's cruiser pulls up just after midday, we're in the kitchen, cleaning up the lunch dishes.
"Oh," he says gruffly, "you're here." He seems to be considering what to say next, but then he simply adds, "Don't go anywhere—I'll be right back."
Bella nods weakly. Fortunately, he leaves before her obvious dread can make him suspicious.
We sit in silence, waiting for him to return with Renée. Although I suspect Bella is thinking about her mother (as I am), not knowing the detail of her thoughts is especially frustrating. Perhaps because her mental silence contrasts so sharply with her mother's powerful thoughts.
The clarity of Renée's thoughts fascinates me, so I can't help but look forward to hearing them again, despite the impending awkwardness of our meeting.
Without even trying, I start hearing her thoughts when she is a little over five miles away. But unlike the initially faint images that are all I can pick up at the limits of my range, Renée's thoughts are immediately crystal clear. I am reminded of the commentary of some massive sporting event, blasting out across the grounds, but without any of the accompanying distortion or reverberation. It is as though she is screaming in my ear—and the subject of her thoughts doesn't help me counter that image. She is cursing me, fretting about Bella, missing Phil, and trying to ignore the bad memories Forks stirs up. Remembering Bella's grief-stricken state on her last visit only makes it harder for her—and for me.
After a minute, Bella notices my distraction. "They're almost here," I say by way of explanation.
She sighs, then stands up and leads me into the living room. "They're not here yet," she murmurs, before directing me to sit on the couch and then sitting herself in my lap.
We trade gentle kisses until Charlie's cruiser pulls into the yard. Bella shifts off my lap, but keeps her arms around my neck, so when Charlie and Renée walk in, we are hugging on the couch. Charlie's bad mood worsens, and Renée is stunned all over again by the impossible perfection of my god-like good looks. It is hard to hear her wondering how many girls I toyed with while I was in LA.
"Mom!" Bella cries, feigning surprise. She jumps up to accept the hug, then pulls back. "What are you doing here? You didn't have to come—"
"Bella, honey," Renée interrupts, her eyes searching Bella's face. When she finds her daughter there again, she is too happy for words. "I wanted to," she insists, her smile lighting up her whole face. "I came to spend the weekend with my baby!"
Bella smiles back; despite her worries about her mother (or anyone) 'wasting' money on her, it's obvious she is just as happy to see her.
Renée eyes her daughter for another long moment, overjoyed to have her back, before turning to me. For politeness' sake, I stand up, but before I can give a verbal greeting, she steps around Bella.
Her intent to slap me is as potent as a real slap—and as plain as day. Bella catches her arm before she gets within striking range, saving me from having to duck out of the way.
"How dare he show his face," Renée exclaims, glaring right at me even as she refers to me in the third person, "after what he did!"
I wish I could explain to her why I left. I wish I could let her hit me and that it would hurt as much as I deserve to hurt. She is surprised by the emotion in my eyes, but it doesn't distract her from her justifiable anger.
"Mom," Bella murmurs gently, rubbing her arm. She waits until Renée looks back at her before going on. "I forgive him. I need you to forgive him, too."
Renée sags, torn between joy at having her daughter back and fear that I will break her next time, because she doesn't trust me with Bella's heart. "He hurt you, baby. How can I forgive that?"
"We've figured it all out, and I trust him not to hurt me again," she says with absolute certainty; I try not to react and expose the lie. "I love him, and he loves me."
Renée's thoughts immediately turn to the hospital and Bella's casual dismissal of her warning about the depth of my feelings; obviously, it had never been a 'crush' for either of us. Even as she worries that there was more to that event, questioning whether the two incidents—Bella supposedly wanting to break up with me and me actually breaking up with her—are related, she abruptly wonders if we'll be getting married next (because she thinks we both look serious enough for the next big step).
The emotions that that thought stirs in her are curiously mixed. Her disapproval is clear—she and Charlie married too young—but there is joy, too: without that mistake, she would never have had Bella.
My whole being aches at the thought of denying Bella the chance to be a mother. Alice doesn't care about motherhood because she has no sense of herself as a being capable of it, but Rosalie would give up everything, even Emmett, for a life in which she got to have a baby, and Esme makes do with mothering us, but her heart still aches for the baby she lost.
"I am truly sorry for the pain I caused," I tell Renée earnestly. "I ran away from my feelings, and I hurt everyone. But now I know how I feel." She purses her lips, unconvinced—she saw my devotion to Bella in the hospital—so I try a different approach. "I was irresponsible and immature, and I know I don't deserve a second chance, but—"
"You don't," Charlie retorts, and Renée is in full agreement.
I don't know what to say in the face of their united disgust.
"We're getting married," Bella blurts out.
Everyone freezes, even me.
"WHAT?" Charlie roars.
Renée is too stunned to speak; despite her earlier thought, she hadn't expected it to be a done deal already. When the shock begins to fade, her first thought—just as my strong-willed yet inexplicably socially self-conscious bride-to-be had warned—is that Bella is pregnant, though it only takes a moment for her to realize I've only been back a couple of days, so even if Bella is pregnant, we wouldn't know yet. And she has enough faith in Bella's responsible nature that worrying about Bella falling pregnant accidentally seems silly.
"We're going to live together when we go to college," Bella explains, "and Edward is old fashioned," she adds, like it's a bad thing. It takes a second for me to realize that she's implying we're going to get married before we start college in spring. Has she changed her mind about college, or is it merely the first explanation she thought of and now she's locked into a sudden ceremony?
"You're too young to get married," Charlie insists.
Renée nods, but in her head, she's already picturing a storyline that could fit any one of her favorite romantic novels—complete with fairytale wedding. Bella's seemingly overnight transformation from a lost soul to the confident young woman she has always known was in there speaks to her childlike optimism. The anger she feels at me is already morphing into a hopeful fondness—she admires my romantic ideals.
And Bella knows her mother so well. "He loves me," she says, "and I know what I want. I'm not being naïve."
"No one thinks you are," Renée replies; of the two of them, she knows that Bella has always been the adult.
Charlie's disapproval turns on Renée. "Of course she is! She's just a kid; she doesn't know—"
"If it's a mistake, then we'll figure it out," Bella says firmly. "But marriage isn't the end of the world." I almost believe her. "This is what I want."
Charlie glares at me, his emotions a whirl of love and concern for his daughter and anger for me. It must be very odd to have me show up six months almost to the day after deserting Bella without warning and then two days later be prepared to marry her.
"Have you thought about when?" Renée asks, already thinking of Phil's sporting commitments. I am amazed that she has such faith in Bella.
Which makes me realize how little faith I have shown in her. Despite her strength, despite her repeatedly showing me that she is strong enough to live in my world, I have constantly underestimated her.
Charlie huffs at Renée, but otherwise doesn't verbalize his disgust.
"August," Bella replies. Then she blurts, "Please don't tell anyone yet—apart from Phil, of course."
Charlie purses his lips; no doubt he is hoping he won't ever have to tell anyone.
Renée dithers for a moment, then gives in to her natural excitement and throws her arms around Bella. "I'm happy for you, baby," she gushes.
Charlie, unseen by Renée, throws up his hands in disgust.
"Thanks, Mom," Bella mumbles, clearly thrown by this exuberant reaction. But then she hugs her back. "I love you."
"I love you, too, Bella—so much!" They pull back and smile at each other. "My baby is officially all grown up." Then she chuckles. "I'm not old enough to be a grandmother yet, though," she jokes.
Bella gives a grimaced smile, but is spared having to comment by Renée turning her eyes on me.
"Edward," she says solemnly, "I like that you are prepared to commit to Bella. But this is my commitment to you: if you ever hurt my baby again, I will hunt you down and rip you limb from limb with my bare hands." For the first time, in the ferocity in her eyes—and the conviction in her thoughts—I can see Bella's fire in her.
While Bella stifles a chuckle, I nod. "I understand," I promise, respecting her warning. "And I am committed to Bella, whether we're married or not." I wish I could promise never to hurt Bella again, but even if I manage not to cause her mental anguish ever again, I can't disregard the agony of the transformation.
I feel a burst of frustration from Charlie—he'd obviously prefer not.
Bella takes my hand and squeezes it; I'm not surprised that she has noticed my poorly concealed distress, though I wonder if she ascribes it to the thought of not marrying her rather than the suffering I will put her through when I bite her—the three days of agony, the lifetime of nagging thirst, and the heartbreak of cutting herself off from her parents. But, for her sake, I push that guilt aside and smile in the hope of easing any concerns she has. She smiles back, and I think she looks genuinely happy for the first time since I returned.
"Have Carlisle and Esme heard about this?" Charlie asks, breaking the brief silence.
"Not yet," I reply without looking away from Bella. Her eyes sparkle as she no doubt imagines my parents' joyous reaction. Then she turns her head to look at Charlie.
"But we know they'll be pleased," she adds defensively.
I can tell from his reaction that he disagrees, but he doesn't comment. "I'd like a word with them about it," he says instead.
"Sure," Bella says, striving for casual but not fully masking her unease. Then she frowns, as though she's given up hiding it. "As long as you promise not to be rude. You can't blame them for Edward's—" she pauses; even though I'm here, she can't even say the words. I press a kiss to her temple.
"I'd love to meet your mother, Edward," Renée speaks up, moving the conversation on to spare her daughter. "Perhaps we could all have dinner together tonight?"
"I'll ask when I get home," I reply, though I'm conscious that Bella won't be happy that they'll have to eat.
Renée claps her hands together. She is looking forward to seeing my lovely father again, but she's especially excited at the prospect of meeting my mother—the image in her head of a beautiful, kind-hearted woman is remarkably like Esme.
But I'm distracted from listening to her thoughts when Bella's heart stutters. When I refocus on her, her eyes are wide with what looks disturbingly like anxiety.
"You're leaving?" she murmurs, before Renée can express her excitement in words.
"I thought you'd like to spend some time with your mother," I reply, deeply regretting this latest misassumption.
Her fingers tighten around mine while her other hand goes to my chest, clutching my shirt. Since I returned, we have parted seven times (not counting the time that I was chased away by wolves), yet she looks as unhappy now as she did when I left to fight Victoria.
"I'll stay," I promise, beyond caring that Charlie appears to be thinking violent thoughts that center on me and his gun, while Renée worries that Bella's clinginess might drive me away.
Bella exhales, reassured but embarrassed, too, and releases my shirt.
"You better mean what you say this time," Charlie growls at me. "You have no idea the hell you put her through."
I flinch at the swell of pain in his thoughts. The intensity of my reaction startles them both, and I'm intrigued by Renée's theory—that I might be many times more intuitive than the average person. Though she is thinking in terms of reading emotions, not thoughts, she is absolutely right. Trust Bella's mother to be the quickest to figure out my gift of anyone I've ever met (besides Bella).
"I mean it," I promise him. "I love Bella, and I want to marry her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her."
Renée is pleased that I sound as adamant as before—she takes it to mean that Bella's extreme reaction hasn't unnerved me. And then her thoughts stray to Phil, who'd told her he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her when he proposed. I wonder how many marriage proposals don't include that statement. It subdues me when I realize mine didn't.
My proposal hadn't even been a question. I have done so many things wrong lately.
To get the conversation back on track, Renée asks, "What time do your parents normally eat?"
"It usually depends on what shift Carlisle is working at the hospital. I'm sure they'll fit in with whatever time you'd prefer."
"Six-thirty or so?" she suggests. Then she glances at the clock on the wall. "What time are they expecting you home?"
"I said I'd call," I reply, trying not to be brusque; even after decades of enduring society's ever-increasing caution, the thing I hate most about pretending to be a teenager is being expected to gain my parents' permission for everything.
To avoid further expressions of parental concern, I pull out my phone and call Carlisle. He answers on the first ring.
"Edward," he greets cheerfully.
"Carlisle," I reply. "Are you at home?"
"Yes. Alice filled us in—she's choosing our outfits as we speak," he jokes.
I can't help but smile; I know how happy they all are to be back home. "That's great," I say, almost so distracted that I forget to tell him the full story for the sake of my audience. "Bella's mother is in Forks for the weekend. Would you and Esme like to come to dinner with us tonight?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," he apologizes, understanding at once. "Yes, that would be lovely."
"Great," I say cheerfully—for Bella's sake, for she is looking more shame-faced by the second. "I'll pick you up about ten to six."
"Alice said Charlie should drive himself, and you can drive the rest of us. Come at five-fifteen and we'll show Renée around the house before we leave."
"Okay. Anything else?"
"Not as far as I'm aware—oh, Alice is getting something for you to wear, and I think she's looking for something for Bella, too."
I am torn between letting Alice have her way and trying to protect Bella—regardless, one thing seems clear. "Would she like to come, too?"
He chuckles. "She didn't mention it, but I think so."
"I'm sure she'll be welcome. See you later."
"Bye."
I hang up. "Alice would like to come along, too, if that's all right."
"Of course it is," Renée gushes. "She's such a darling!"
"If Alice is there," Charlie speaks up, "will we be able to talk about this wedding thing?"
I give him a wry smile. "I have very few secrets from her, sir."
Bella chuckles; then she sighs. "She really doesn't have to come—"
"She wants to." Thinking Bella might appreciate some warning, I say, "It sounds like she'll pick out something for us to wear as well."
Bella's eyes widen. "For us?"
I nod. "Sorry."
She pouts, suddenly looking a lot less worried about my vampire family being forced to consume food; maybe that is Alice's plan.
"Will she have anything that fits Bella?" Renée asks, picturing Alice's tiny frame.
"She dabbles in fashion design," I say, keeping it general. "I'm sure she has plenty in Bella's size."
"As long as she doesn't go all prom on me," Bella grumbles.
I shrug. "It's Alice." And the dinner will be a big event in her mind, easily on the scale of prom.
Bella sighs martyrishly. "This is your fault."
I cringe. She's right—it's my fault that Renée is here at all, asking to have dinner with my family, all of whom will be forced to eat and then vomit up the undigested sludge. And it is most definitely my fault that Alice has six months' worth of exasperation to get out of her system.
"Will they be dressing up?" Renée asks, worrying about the meager wardrobe she brought with her.
"Alice would be delighted to find you something," I offer.
"I couldn't possibly—"
"Mom," Bella says, "she'll dress me up whether I want it or not—" I wonder if she deliberately emphasized this point for Alice's benefit—"so if you'd like her to, please tell her so. She might ease off on me, then."
"That dress you wore to prom was beautiful," Renée points out, remembering Alice's hand in that. "You looked lovely."
Bella makes a face, and I have to suppress a shudder myself; her broken leg had somewhat ruined the effect. How had I managed to feel so sure back then, despite the horrific injuries she had suffered? I really had thought that we could cope with anything—until Jasper's near-fatal slip had reminded me how dangerous all vampires are, even the "vegetarian" ones.
"We should go somewhere nice, then," Renée goes on, and I focus on her voice (and her loud thoughts) with relief. "How about Port Angeles?" she suggests, even though she just came from there. She smiles at Charlie and I see a flash of memory—the two of them parked up outside the movie theater, wrapped up in each other, kissing madly.
As embarrassing as it is to see Bella's parents in such a position (although it's not like I don't see much worse from my own family), I enjoy seeing Charlie look so carefree and happy. Then the realization hits that I've never seen or felt him feeling overly happy—another sign I should've heeded: he has obviously never truly got over his heartbreak. And Bella is a lot more like her father than her mother.
"Good idea," Bella says. "Edward's taken me to a nice restaurant there once or twice." There is no hint in her voice or demeanor that the one time we dined in Port Angeles wasn't a planned and pleasant date.
"Port Angeles is quite the drive," Charlie remarks.
"It'll give me plenty of time to get to know Esme," Renée replies, her natural excitement coming to the fore.
"There'll be seven of us," he points out.
"If you don't mind driving," I suggest politely, "I'm sure Alice would enjoy riding with you, and I can take everyone else in the Volvo."
He frowns as though neither option is particularly appealing, but perhaps he is simply wishing he could take me—and throw me in the back of his police cruiser in handcuffs.
"That sounds excellent," Renée says, knowing that Charlie would prefer the least number of passengers as possible, and Alice being so small means he's not likely to feel crowded. "What time did you say we'd pick them up?"
"Five-thirty."
She glances at the clock again. "Twelve-forty-eight," she announces. "Plenty of time—oh, but I'm all excited now!"
Bella smiles affectionately at her impulsive mother. "It'll go fast," she promises.
Charlie can see he's in a losing battle, so he excuses himself before it gets any worse. He's going back to La Push, but he promises to pick up Alice from our house at 5:30.
Despite Bella's claim that the time will pass quickly, the afternoon drags—for the two of us at least. As we chat with Renée, we cross one awkward subject after another. We have to lie or skirt the truth in so many instances that the differences between her world and our world are painfully obvious. I can only hope that Alice is briefing Carlisle and Esme on the history we have effectively invented.
In the end, Bella suggests we leave early. Renée is predictably enthusiastic.
The tidy Volvo further impresses her. She asks if it belongs to me, so I give her the standard line—it was Carlisle's old car; when he upgraded, he gave it to me so I could drive myself and my siblings to school. She asks about school in Los Angeles and I tell her it was very different to Forks. She laughs, and I take the opportunity to point out the town's many charms, most notably the many nearby hiking trails that my family and I frequent—which makes her laugh even harder. She thinks I will have to carry Bella if I ever want her to join us—so then I have to fight my own laughter.
Bella tries to prepare her mother for the house we live in, but Renée is blown away by the grand old mansion in the middle of the forest. It appeals to her romantic sensibilities, and she thinks she could almost live here—if it weren't in rainy, miserable Forks.
I listen to my family's thoughts now, relieved to hear that Alice has informed them of our backstory. Alice's visions of the evening and her excitement about us getting married help me feel better; again, I think about how much I've missed her. And then I see her vision of me hugging her, apologizing for my pointless struggles with fate. She tells me I can make up for it by letting her organize our wedding—and I'm immediately torn between unconditional agreement, on my own behalf, and concern for Bella's preference for a small wedding.
Alice doesn't approve of my hesitation, and I see our conversation shift again and again, until there's no hug and I'm telling her I am sincere in my apology and I will make it up to her, but I'll let Bella decide what she wants for her wedding—which is the reason for Alice's pointed disregard of me when she comes down to say hello to everyone.
Bella barely waits until the introductions are over before trying to argue against Alice's makeover plans, but Alice ignores her and all but drags her upstairs. Esme and Renée follow, leaving Carlisle and me to bring up the rear, and she swaps her frustration at Bella's appalling eye for fashion for her general frustration with me. I don't mind because it helps her recover her cheer as she focuses on the (speculative) future in which she gets everything she wants.
Alice's room is covered in clothes. Bella slows, but Alice keeps pulling her to the back of the room, where her real clothes are stored in an enormous walk-in wardrobe. Renée walks through the doorway and then gasps, stunned by all the big-name items; unlike Bella, she understands how much money this wardrobe represents.
"I want to be a fashion designer," Alice says cheerily, not the least bit annoyed at having to lie about what she wants to be when she grows up. "I search out all kinds of designer clothes and then—" she shrugs—"when I get inspiration, I pull them apart and put them back together how I like."
She points at a suit hung on a screen off to the side, dismissing me, so I give Bella a quick kiss and then take my clothes into the en suite. I don't get a choice, but I like what she has chosen for me, and from her thoughts, I know it isn't merely so I don't embarrass her. While I change quickly, Alice shows Renée a couple of options; she prepared three outfits, just in case, but Renée falls in love with the second one, a green wrap-around dress covered in sunflowers, so she doesn't need her backup.
To block out Renée's thoughts as she changes, I direct all my focus on Alice's thoughts, grateful for her matching focus as she watches Bella. Bella's options are quite different to her mother's. She and I are equally surprised that one is a pair of fairly ordinary-looking pants; she snatches them up like she's worried Alice will retract the offer, and then picks a blue, three-quarter-sleeved shirt and a merino wool sweater. Alice escorts her behind a screen so she can change, then goes to help Renée find coordinating accessories.
I wait in the en suite until Bella is dressed; in the second it takes me to reach her, she has already started arguing with Alice about shoes. They both try to make me take sides, as if which shoe she wears matters to me. Esme offers Renée a tour of the house, so Bella uses the distraction to put her own shoes back on and follow after. Alice swears under her breath, but not loudly enough for Bella to hear. I give her a smile as we bring up the rear.
Thanks to Alice's careful preparation, we arrive back in the living room less than a minute before Charlie arrives at 5:28. Alice dances out to the car and he nods in our direction before driving off as soon as she clicks in her seatbelt. Within a matter of seconds, he is already feeling better about tonight, and she knows exactly what to say to set him at ease.
By the time the rest of us climb into Carlisle's Mercedes—I am still driving, but Carlisle offered his car because of its roomier back seat—I can no longer hear the detail of Alice's thoughts over Renée's. To ease Bella's self-consciousness at taking the front passenger seat and leaving the adults to pile into the back, Carlisle announces his curiosity at sitting in the back for the first time. She smiles gratefully at him, and her flushed cheeks lose a little of their color. I can't help but picture her blushing deeply when the conversation comes around to our wedding. The thought thrills me.
Though enclosed spaces are irrelevant to my gift, Renée's thoughts seem almost deafening in the car. By comparison, Carlisle's and Esme's familiar mental voices are like whispers. Thankfully, Renée is so taken by Esme that she is captivated by her every word, so her thoughts are no longer painful, merely ear-piercing.
Bella keeps her eyes fixed on the speedometer—whenever she looks away from me—so I diligently hold my speed at 69. The drive is mind-numbingly slow, but if she prefers this speed, it is the least I can do. Carlisle, who normally drives at precisely the speed limit, enjoys my efforts immensely, both because it is honorable of me and because it is good for me. As if driving more slowly can teach me patience.
But I enjoy his unique perspective on life, and I regret the months I spent apart from my family—and Carlisle in particular—in my misguided, self-enforced exile. The next chance I get, I will tell him that I should've listened to him; he had wanted me to reconsider because he believed leaving Bella would cause us both unnecessary pain, but I had doubted his opinion because it centered on his faith in me. He had been so sure that I could find a way to be with her without ruining her life. And he still believes that.
When we arrive at La Bella Italia, Charlie and Alice are already seated at one of the booths. The hostess escorts us to the table and hands out the menus, and then our waitress comes over to collect drink orders; happily, neither of the girls who served Bella and me that night is here tonight.
Bella, Alice, and I all ask for water, while the 'adults' at the table order alcoholic beverages—Charlie chooses a beer, and the other three select various wines. Alice sees Bella asking me if alcohol tastes nice to us and whether we ever drink it, and we share a grin. Bella's curiosity is a gift for both of us. I feel even worse for depriving Alice as well as myself. She meets my eye briefly and repeats her request to be our wedding planner. I want to indulge her, but I can't ignore Bella's right to plan her own wedding if she so chooses.
While Alice and I privately discuss Bella's right to have the wedding she wants—despite her modest tastes—we make our selections from the menu. Esme and Alice choose the minestrone, Carlisle and Bella (to my surprise) opt for the mushroom ravioli, Renée the squid linguini, Charlie the steak, and I pick the vegetarian lasagna.
Charlie doesn't even wait for our drinks to be served before he mentions the wedding. Carlisle and Esme are genuinely surprised—Alice didn't pre-empt this revelation—but even so, they are immediately thrilled. Esme is especially joyful. The thought of climbing across the table to hug me (and Bella) flits through her mind before she settles for reaching over to squeeze first my hand and then Bella's.
Bella's cheeks are delightfully rosy, and I can't help but press my lips to the nearest one, enjoying its heightened warmth. I hope she is pleased by my parents' reactions and not merely embarrassed. Then she smiles and everything feels perfect.
Charlie is clearly disgruntled by my parents' irresponsibility, but it gives him little to work with, especially in the face of Renée's mounting enthusiasm. My parents' jubilant reaction helps cement her romantic vision of true love conquering all. I wish I could tell her exactly what true love has conquered in this instance—she would not be so cheerful if she knew that the price of our love is her daughter's human life.
Bella twitches every time Renée says something about the wedding, and I wonder if she can't understand her mother's whole-hearted excitement or if she is regretting her announcement given the fuss in store for us.
After dinner, the moment the table is no longer between us, Esme pulls me into her arms. "I'm so happy for you, Wadie," she tells me (somewhat redundantly, as her resounding happiness is woven through every thought). You and Bella are meant to be together.
I murmur my thanks, grateful for her absolute certainty and the depth of her love for us both.
Despite the brisk night air, Renée is keen to 'explore' a little; it's been years since she came here, and Bella getting married has put her in a nostalgic frame of mind. Charlie isn't overly keen, but Carlisle manages to engage him in a conversation about fishing (Alice primed him earlier), while Esme and Renée walk ahead of us, arm in arm, chatting like old friends.
Alice takes Bella's other hand and skips alongside us, remarking on anything and everything that comes to mind (to keep Bella from asking if we feel sick after eating). Except she doesn't mention her burning desire to plan our wedding because she sees that Bella will say no—vehemently. So she bides her time, looking for something to make a deal with.
When we get back to the cars, Carlisle nicely avoids an argument by offering to ride back with Charlie. Though Renée's thoughts drown out Carlisle's thoughts just as quickly as they had Alice's, I am able to follow their conversation through Alice's vision of it. After acknowledging Charlie's understandable frustrations, Carlisle describes his own frustration with my "cowardly" actions, much to Charlie's vocal approval. My selfless father lets him vent for over a minute before assuming a liberal portion of the blame for his purported role in facilitating my flight (from the cover story that we moved because he accepted a job at another hospital). Then, steering clear of any flowery language that would irk Charlie, he declares his belief in the strength of our love and says he would not have returned to Forks had I not convinced him I would do everything in my power to make amends. Charlie doesn't look overly soothed by the pronouncement, but he shifts from vilifying me to criticizing teenage weddings, so I count it as progress.
It's quite late by the time we arrive in Forks, so I drop Renée at her hotel on the way back to Bella's, and then take Bella home and collect Carlisle. We stop along the highway to evacuate the contents of our stomachs, and then the others hunt while I drive the car the rest of the way home. I follow their thoughts carefully, practicing listening to multiple distant minds simultaneously.
I decide not to hunt, so I arrive back at Bella's while she's brushing her teeth. When she walks back into the bedroom, I welcome her into my arms. She snuggles against me for a minute, before asking after my condition. "I'm fine," I assure her before she can say more than two words. "We all are—we didn't eat that much."
She smiles at that. "You can't refuse dessert at a wedding," she teases.
I kiss the tip of her nose. "Dessert, yes. Wedding cake, no."
She chuckles, then screws up her nose. "Who says I want a cake?"
I have half a mind to say Alice, but this question only reminds me how much of a production it will be, regardless of whether Alice organizes everything or we do.
"You don't have to marry me," I tell her, feeling the need to remind her that my commitment comes with no strings.
"I do," she replies, then grins at the (unintentional?) wedding pun. "I've thought about it, and you're right. Maybe one day, I will look back and wonder why I was in such a rush. There might be one or two human experiences I'd like to have while I'm still human…"
Before I can ask what particular human experiences she has in mind, she taps my chest.
"And you are old fashioned. You do think it's wrong to live together without being married, don't you?" she asks, her tone distinctly accusing.
"Yes," I agree, not ashamed of my beliefs. "But I'm still not demanding anything. If you want to live together first, I—"
"Edward. We're getting married in August, and then we're going to college in September."
I gaze at her, so resolute, so strong, so beautiful, drinking in this moment. I feel so happy, my spirit is soaring through the clouds.
I kiss her, or she kisses me; either way, we are quickly wrapped up in each other. I am too overwhelmed with joy to be as careful as usual, but Bella only responds with even greater passion.
Eventually, when her heart is thrumming fast and her breaths are too shallow to be of much use, I manage to tear my lips away from hers. She clings to me, not letting me move an inch farther away from her, and I don't resist. Nothing makes me happier than her love for me.
I listen to her heartbeat as it gradually returns to a speed approximating normal.
"I'd better get you a ring, then," I tease, determined to make up for my lax proposal when I present her with my mother's engagement ring (Carlisle had stolen it when he took me, along with her wedding ring, necklace, and broach, and my father's wallet and watch).
She grimaces and her pulse quickens anew. "Don't spend a lot."
I roll my eyes. "We have a fortune, Bella—"
"I don't want to be worried about getting mugged."
I can't help but laugh, but I hastily school my features when she starts to look offended. "I won't spend a thing," I promise.
She quirks an eyebrow.
"I'll explain later."
She nods, letting it go. "Do I need to get anything in writing?"
I chuckle. "No, Bella. I surrender to your superior judgment."
She smiles and settles down on the bed, half-draped across me. "Smart move."