Chapter 14: Gentleman

While Bella is deeply asleep, I run home to change my clothes and retrieve my mother's ring. Carlisle is in his office; Esme is outside 'gardening' (usually, she simply helps the wild seedlings by transferring them to more favorable spots, but after Seth and Embry's zealous efforts the other night, she has a path of destruction three miles long to repair), so I detour to her for a hello and a hug.

Alice and Jasper aren't here (neither are Emmett and Rosalie, but I hadn't expected them to be). I hope it's because Alice doesn't want to spoil the surprise—but part of me can't help fearing the unknown. Will my official proposal go as wrong as my original, thoughtless demand?

But then, on top of the wooden box containing my birth parents' belongings, I find a small ring box. The smooth-edged, white leather cube is incredibly understated for Alice's tastes, and this restraint comforts me, helping me shrug off my doubts and refocus on my purpose.

Going through my parents' treasures helps as well, as I remember the era in which I grew up. The certainty of marriage had been, to me, as real as my body's need for oxygen. From the little I remember about my parents, supplemented by Carlisle's memories of my mother's stories—she had imparted a few of her most precious memories before the fever claimed her, too—I know they were happy together, and proud of the life they'd shared.

She told Carlisle that my father was a lawyer. He had had money enough to afford a ring when he'd proposed, and he'd gone all out. She had been blown away by the biggest cluster of diamonds she'd ever seen. (The fact that, individually, they were small didn't bother her in the least.)

I take the ring from its protective pouch and place it into the box. It is fashioned in an old style, with dozens of small diamonds set in the shape of a large oval and joined by fine webs of gold. Bella's objection to my old-fashioned values makes me worry she won't like it—my father had chosen it specifically for my mother, whose tastes were surely completely different. Why had I told Bella I wouldn't spend anything? And why is it so important that she like this ring? I stare at it for a long time, until my need to return to Bella overwhelms my anxiety.

But I stop at Carlisle's office on my way out, as I used to. "Before you say anything," I say as I open the door, "I want to apologize. I should have listened to you. You knew leaving Bella would cause us both intense and ultimately futile agony, but I did it anyway."

Carlisle pulls me into a hug. You had to try. I understand that.

I sigh. "If I had heeded your advice in the first place—"

"Edward," he says firmly, interrupting me. "If you had heeded my advice, Bella would be dead right now." In his thoughts, he pictures Tyler and his van, the murderer from Port Angeles, James, Victoria, and then me, making it clear he is utterly convinced that not only have I saved Bella's life, I have given her a life worth living.

For a moment, I don't know what to say in response to his heart-warming certainty. Especially since he expects me to dispute it, which makes me feel like a rotten son. "I hope one day to live up to your faith in me."

He merely laughs; he thinks I already do, but he knows that I don't—that I'm genuine in my belief of my unworthiness of his high opinion—so he doesn't say anything about that. He appreciates that I haven't argued with him about Bella's destiny without me. "Go back to her," he murmurs.

I give him another hug and manage a smile before I leave. On my way past, I give Esme another hug, too. She didn't hear our conversation, but her thoughts align with Carlisle's; though she doesn't want to irritate me, she can't help looking forward to the day when Bella's home is our family home.

"You could never irritate me," I tell her, which makes her laugh. She watches me race into the trees, thinking that all is right again with her world. I carry that thought with me as I run, trying to keep my anxiety in check.

Bella is still fast asleep when I slide back into bed with her, though she reaches for me, as always. I help her lie most comfortably, then relax back into the bed, timing my breaths to her heartbeat to keep myself from panicking.

After she wakes, I give her a few human minutes. Then, when she notices my clothing, which is somewhat more formal than usual, I give her a smile and get down on one knee.

She throws a hand over her mouth, already blushing furiously, and I decide that it's okay not to have organized anything more elaborate—she would have been mortified by anything showier.

I feel the urge to remind her that she has already agreed—because suddenly I'm afraid she will say no—then tell myself to shut up. I will not stipulate her response, nor protest if she has changed her mind. To make sure the proposal itself doesn't dissuade her, I ease back on the more effusive statements I have prepared (I can always say them later).

I take her left hand in my right and press a kiss to her knuckles, then bring out the ring box. The hand covering her mouth falls to her side, and she waits, lips parted and cheeks flushed, for what comes next.

"Isabella Marie Swan, I promise to love you for the rest of eternity. I will dedicate every minute of my existence to making you happy. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

She takes a shallow breath, and then murmurs, "Yes."

I feel what is possibly the most intense joy I have ever felt. Although she has already told our parents, it feels different now—more real. She has chosen me. Without any exaggeration, I am the happiest man on the planet.

I flick open the lid of the box with my thumb—I don't know how I forgot to open it—but Bella takes it out of my hand before I can extract the ring.

"It's beautiful," she says, sounding wonderfully sincere.

"May I?" I ask, impatient to get the ring on her finger and make it official.

She gives me a little smile, then lowers the box. I pluck the ring from inside and quickly put the box on the floor. When I loosen my grip on her hand, she stretches out her fingers obligingly. My frozen heart gives such a jolt, it feels as though it could start beating again at any moment.

Slowly, taking in every moment, I set the ring on her fourth finger and slide it into place. When it fits perfectly, I feel an overwhelming, wholly irrational sense of rightness. I lift my gaze to meet hers and the joy in her eyes makes my spirit soar.

"I love you," I murmur.

"I love you, too," she replies.

Focusing on the simple joy of Bella consenting to be my wife, I stand up and wrap her in my arms. A laugh spills out of me as the intense happiness inside me seeks an outlet. And then I kiss her until we're both gasping for breath. When I finally pull back so she can take a proper breath, she chuckles breathlessly, her eyes sparkling just as I imagine mine are.

She breaks eye contact to take another look at the ring. "It's beautiful," she says again, tilting her hand side to side so that the little diamonds twinkle in the changing light.

"It was my mother's."

She looks up at me, her wide eyes full of love. "You never said you had anything of hers."

"Carlisle took it and a few other possessions when he took me," I explain, building up to the truth. "I waited to tell you because I've imagined it on your finger since the day I fell in love with you."

Her blush warms the air and thrills me. After a moment, though, her self-consciousness becomes satisfaction and her lips widen into the smile I so adore. "Thanks for keeping it simple for once," she jokes.

I want to tease her in return, but the reminder that I usually overcomplicate everything detracts from my light-heartedness. She touches my cheek, comforting me wordlessly, and then leads me downstairs for breakfast.

This time, she insists on foraging for herself. Her cereal seems even more starkly basic than usual—it doesn't fit with the luxurious celebratory meal my fiancée should be enjoying. I should be able to make her something special—but at least I still have time to correct my oversight. I will be a good husband and cook for my wife.

Bella finishes her breakfast, then eyes me meaningfully. "I've been thinking," she says ominously.

"Please, enlighten me," I reply, only joking on the surface.

"It's about one of those human experiences you don't want me to miss out on."

"Oh," I say, brightening.

Her face falls even as her cheeks redden. I don't understand why my reaction concerns her. "What is it?" I press, hoping she won't leave me hanging much longer.

"You're old fashioned…"

"Yes?"

"And when you're my husband—and I'm your wife—that means we'll have certain duties to each other."

I can't help rolling my eyes. "Bella, I'm not going to insist you do anything differently."

She shakes her head. "That's not what I mean." Her blush deepens.

The suspense feels like it is literally gnawing away at my insides. "Bella, please, just tell me what you're talking about."

"You can't guess?" she murmurs, sounding… disappointed?

I feel like the worst fiancé in existence. "I'm sorry."

She bites her lip. "If we go to college, we'll be husband and wife for a whole year—maybe longer…"

"Nothing would make me happier," I agree, hoping she'll get to the point before I have to leave for my next hunting trip (but I make every effort not to beleaguer her with the intensity of my impatience).

She sighs, then blurts, "I want a proper marriage, right from the start." I don't understand. She sees my confusion, and adds, "A marriage isn't official until it's consummated."

Oh. For a moment, my mind goes completely blank—and then my impossible fantasies fill the void.

"You want to wait," she mumbles, looking and sounding abruptly devastated.

I move to kneel on the floor beside her chair and take her hands in both of mine. "You know why," I remind her, since she has clearly forgotten. "It's too dangerous—I could kill you!"

"That's the only reason?"

"Yes! Bella, I want to. Believe me, I wish I could make love to you without breaking your bones. But—"

"I trust you," she says firmly. "I want to try."

I groan. "Bella, please—be reasonable."

"You're afraid you'll hurt me, but I know you can control yourself, and you keep saying you don't want me to miss out on anything—"

"You won't."

"But it won't be the same after. I won't be the same. And I will always wonder what it would've felt like."

I am completely lost for words. If she were trying to torture me, she couldn't find anything better. Alongside the guilt, I feel so stupid. It hadn't even crossed my mind that she might decide that that human experience would be the one she couldn't forgo.

"Won't you wonder?"

"No."

"Liar."

I wince, and she gives me a rueful smile.

"I want us to have a proper marriage. I want—" she breaks off, the blush blossoming on her cheeks.

"What?"

"I want you—all of you—before there's nothing I want more than blood."

"That doesn't last forever," I point out.

She frowns. "Why should I have to wait eighty-plus years to make love to my husband?"

"Because I absolutely cannot lose control with you."

"I trust you."

I shake my head. "It's not about that. You have no idea how fragile you are."

She doesn't answer immediately and I can see she's thinking hard, which confuses me. What argument can she possibly produce to counter that indisputable fact?

And then, as if I have goaded Bella's reckless guardian angel with my thoughts, she says, "The Denali sisters don't hurt their lovers."

I can't help but cringe, both at the painful truth of their superior self-control and at the length of time it took them to develop that self-control. "Not in the beginning," I say, avoiding the admission that I am not good enough.

Bella sighs. She pulls her right hand free of mine and idly strokes a couple of fingers through my hair. "If you don't think it's worth the effort—"

"Bella!" I cry, horrified—even though I know she's being deliberately dramatic. "I would expend any effort to give you what you want."

Her wide eyes, impossibly, widen even further. "You drank my blood and then stopped—how is sex harder than that?"

If she weren't arguing for something impossible, I would be impressed by her complete lack of blush. "You really need me to answer that?"

She fixes her eyes on mine. "I trust you."

"I don't."

Her eyes flash and her lips tighten. "That's exactly the problem."

I force myself to take a deep breath, then exhale slowly. "I wish it were that simple." I don't know what else I can say, so I shake my head. "We're supposed to pick up Renée in half an hour," I remind her, hoping she'll let me change the subject.

She nods. "I haven't forgotten."

"I'll run home and get the car—"

"Take me with you."

I smile, pleased to avoid having to leave her. Her genuine willingness to accompany me is equally pleasing; after the slight awkwardness of the first time I'd carried her on my back, she'd enjoyed the rush of flying through the forest. And I loved it, too—the feel of her body against mine; the sound of her racing heart juxtaposed against her steady, only slightly accelerated breathing; her dazzling smile.

She takes off the ring before we leave the house. I can't help sighing as I accept its return for safekeeping. She kisses my cheek, sympathetic to my disappointment, but her relief is palpable—as though she has cast off a far greater weight than the little gold-and-diamond jewel. I have to assume it is the weight of telling other people about our engagement, which will make us the subject of much gossip throughout the town; otherwise, her desire for secrecy feels more ominous. (What if telling Jacob is what she really wants to avoid?)

At least running puts us both in a good mood. Bella's heart races and she laughs more than once. To engage her further, I regularly suggest alternative pathways with rougher terrain, so that I have to shift my rhythm and lengthen my stride or even, occasionally, jump. She agrees every time.

And then I start to worry that I've given her a taste for adrenaline—but I shove this new worry down where all the others (disease, natural disaster, falling pianos) lie.

There's no one at home, so we go straight to the garage and get the car. Bella lets me open and close the car door for her without comment, looking worryingly introspective, but she reveals her thoughts before I have to ask.

"When I'm a newborn," she says lightly, "will I be able to carry you?"

I can't help laughing, from both relief and amusement, as I picture us running through the forest with me clinging to her back. "You'll be able to carry me anytime," I reply. "My mass is roughly what it would be if I were human—I'm just able to exert a lot more pressure. Technically, I'll be able to stop you picking me up when I'm stronger than you again."

"Technically?"

I smile. "I won't resist."

She smiles back, then ponders my answer. "So, if I could lift 140 pounds, I could pick you up right now?"

"Yes," I agree, torn between mirth and curiosity. How strong is she? I'm tempted to suggest she try lifting Alice.

"How much could you lift?" she asks.

"Two to three tons."

"What about Emmett?"

I shrug. "Even he doesn't know. He once lifted a thirty-ton shipping container."

"And I'll be stronger than that when I'm a newborn?"

"Yes."

She grins, her eyes bright with anticipation. I try to come up with a new reason to delay this thrilling power, anything to make her less eager for the life of a newborn, but I can't think of anything I haven't already said. So I settle for describing the relationship between strength and muscle size for vampires. "Even though I was extremely weak when I died, my muscles are what they would have been in my peak condition. Emmett's muscles were larger than his natural peak, so his body was even further enhanced by the change—every one of his muscle cells was transformed into a perfect cell. We don't really know how the genetic code and physical condition interact during the change, but all weaknesses and paralyses vanish, and amputees regrow missing limbs—hair and nails harden without changing very much, though, so there's a limit."

She chuckles. "So if you'd had a beard…?"

I smile. "Yes. I would have a beard now."

She strokes my smooth cheeks. "You didn't have any stubble?"

"Short or fine hairs disappear completely—eyelashes and eyebrows being the exception."

"I wonder if there's ever been a vampire with the power to change their physical features," she muses. "Even just to grow hair—or muscle."

"Gifts with physical outcomes are extremely rare," I remind her, though the thought is intriguing.

"How many do you know of?"

"None outside of a few uncorroborated stories. Even the Volturi guard doesn't have one."

"Maybe they hide their gifts."

"Maybe," I agree. "It's not as if we advertise our abilities. Technically, Jasper's gift creates a physical effect, and Kate is able to magnify and focus her body's natural electrical current, but we don't tend to think of those as physical gifts."

She nods, then looks out the window. We are close to the hotel, and I wonder if that's what inspires her sigh. I try to tease out the underlying emotions and decide that she is sad for all the lies we have to tell her mother, but resigned. Or maybe it is more direct than that—that she is thinking of the eventual separation her radical transformation will impose.

Renée is waiting for us, watching out the window for my car. She is eyeing the rain resentfully, wishing we were in Jacksonville so we could spend the day in the sun at the beach. She thinks Bella has become even paler due to the lack of sun, and she hates leaving her daughter in this cold, miserable place. She has no idea how right she is to blame me for that.

I listen to all the questions she has for me with apprehension; the advance warning is useful, and my perfect memory means I don't have to worry about all the lies, but it doesn't make it any easier.

I reverse into the park outside Renée's room, so we're as close as possible to the door. Bella jumps out and goes with her mother to check out, while I load her bag into the boot.

"Sleep well?" Bella asks her.

"Oh, as well as can be expected," Renée replies, thinking of the relentless pounding of the raindrops on the roof that kept her awake.

"Did you talk to Phil this morning?"

"Not this morning," she says, and I see a brief but unfortunately explicit memory of the phone sex they indulged in last night. "He had an early start. But we spoke last night."

Bella smiles, none the wiser to her mother's active sex life. I can't help wishing that a version of phone sex would be enough to satisfy Bella, but I know she won't settle for anything other than true sexual intercourse. She has already said that she wants all of me.

The intervening minutes since she announced her expectations have done nothing to lessen the shock. I am still utterly terrified by the thought of it.

Sexual thoughts I've heard over the years flash through my mind—my family's, friends' and acquaintances', even strangers'—thousands of different sexual encounters, each one either a purely physical act or a labyrinth of complicated desires too overwhelming to analyze, let alone apply to our unique situation.

Pleasuring her with my fingers sounds possible—I know I can be delicate with my hands, though the big unknown is whether I can maintain that control when my primal urges are unleashed (if I hadn't been exposed to Emmett and Rosalie in the throes of passion, that thought might not scare me half as much)—but that's not what she's asking me to do. I just wish I knew how to do what she's asking. I am completely out of my depth.

Then I realize I'm not alone in this. Maybe Carlisle can talk to her, explain the danger—explain the limits. She'll listen to him. And maybe he can help me understand, too. He was a virgin when he became a vampire, too.

Feeling a little better, I pull up outside the office so that Bella and Renée can hop straight in. Because we're having lunch at my house, they've decided to go straight there; after all, neither woman has any fondness for Forks. I wonder idly if Bella will ever see Forks as I do—as a haven. For a time, it had become my own personal hell, but thanks to Bella, and Seth, it is back to being the magical land of plenty. A place where my family and I can be ourselves without living in isolation, as the Denali clan does.

Bella smiles at me as she clambers into the front seat. Renée doesn't stop talking as she climbs in—she just changes the subject briefly to let me know our destination, before going back to the cute, random things her preschoolers said about their pet caterpillars turning into butterflies.

"Zoey's conclusion was my favorite, though—that their old bodies were built for growing and their new bodies for loving." She chuckles, remembering her jumbled feelings of fondness for the innocence of the child and bittersweet sorrow for reality's far more complicated truths.

Bella has a wistful look in her eye, and I wonder if she's contemplating her change—given what she has asked me for today, she is aiming for a different distinction between her current and future physical forms. Then I hear Renée's next thought and if Bella isn't thinking about her impending transition from human to vampire, she will be after that. I try not to cringe, even as I fight the temptation to interrupt.

"Tommy asked if it hurts," Renée goes on blithely; "that's a new one! I said it's part of their natural life cycle so of course not, but does anyone really know?" She grimaces. "Maybe it does hurt."

"The price of beauty," Bella jokes.

Renée laughs, but I can't. She notices my tenseness—of course she does—so I try to divert her focus.

"Being able to fly would be pretty cool," I say, working hard to keep my tone light and relax my body.

"Wouldn't it!" she agrees enthusiastically, but more out of kindness than anything else—she isn't fooled by my attempt at casual.

"I've flown a plane," I tell her, clutching at straws. "Carlisle's dad had a microlite and he took me up in it a few times when I was a kid. It was amazing."

Bella's smile twitches at the corner, and I wonder if she's amused by me referring to myself as a 'kid', which I've never done before.

"I bet it was," Renée replies. "Phil and I took a ride in a helicopter on our anniversary, and that was the scariest and the most exhilarating thing I've ever done."

"Sounds great, Mom," Bella says. Then she smiles at me. "Maybe we should do something like that."

I glance at her. "Go up in a helicopter?"

She shrugs. "Have you ever flown in one?"

I shake my head. "But I'm interested if you are."

Renée hears the true answer—that I'm only interested if Bella is—and she can't decide if it's a problem or not. She doesn't know the correct term for what she worries I am, but I do: co-dependent. My lips twitch as I fight the smile—until she starts to think more deeply into it, curbing my amusement. She trusts Bella not to abuse my apparent willingness to put her needs before my own, but she worries that it makes me unstable.

"We could get flying lessons," Bella suggests cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to her mother's abrupt silence.

Throwing caution to the wind, I shift my eyes from the road to meet Bella's gaze, and smile at her. She seems genuinely enthusiastic and I can't bring myself to deny her (not that this remotely makes up for my less than enthusiastic response this morning). "Sure. I'd like that," I agree, knowing I'm confirming Renée's belief in my prioritization of Bella's wishes over my own.

Yet, despite that, Renée sets aside her technically correct diagnosis (by the clinical definition, I am absolutely co-dependent on Bella) and starts to wonder if I'm acting out of a perfectly normal sense of guilt. She re-examines my behavior and tells herself that it really isn't that unusual (while remaining alert for anything that might be). It's intriguing when she decides that she has given my words and deeds a deeper meaning because of her own worries; she is perceptive even of her own failings, knowing she can't trust her own judgment. Ironically, though, her insight into her shortcomings is what blinds her in this exceptional situation.

I find myself wondering how many people see themselves so clearly. Do I? My family (with one unremarkable exception) all think better of me than I think of myself. If they are indeed correct, is it any wonder that Bella doesn't see how special she is?

As we get closer to home, I begin to hear Alice's thoughts—she and Esme are discussing the wedding (Esme is gently talking down Alice's most outrageous ideas—which range from horse-drawn carriages to basketball-sized paper roses to edible sculptures—in the hope that Alice can find a middle ground between the lavish wedding she wants for Bella and the simple ceremony Bella would prefer) as they organize the kitchen so that curious Renée won't notice anything amiss. I'm glad I have the excuse of keeping my eyes on the road, but it's still difficult to hide my guilt at Alice's frequent, well-deserved outbursts about her "selfish" brother. At least Renée has already decided that my guilt is still close to the surface, so my silence doesn't raise her suspicions.

I consider relaxing my telepathy so I can't hear Alice until she expects me to, but I'm either too masochistic or too nosy to give up the chance to hear her unedited thoughts. Probably both.

At home, Esme is every bit the thoughtful and entertaining host, but Alice is quick to steer the conversation in the direction of wedding planning. Even without hearing her truly outlandish ideas, Bella is as reluctant to let her have free rein as I'd expected; Renée's enthusiasm draws a few concessions, though. Despite disagreeing with their thoughts, I can't help being amused by how similar Renée's are to Alice's in their disregard of Bella's desire for a small, simple ceremony. I really don't understand why they think Bella's wishes are irrelevant.

To take some of the focus off Bella, Esme recounts their experience planning Rosalie and Emmett's wedding (which she says is scheduled for next summer). Renée hangs off every word. I like that she is excited about the fortune we clearly have—instead of feeling self-conscious that she can't match my parents' financial contribution, she is glad that her daughter's 'dream' wedding won't be limited by as mundane a concern as funding.

We have vegetable soup for lunch, which is not too hideous, although Alice makes me eat two bread rolls to hide the fact that she and Esme don't eat any. The mouthfuls of dough turn into stones inside me; Alice amuses herself by picturing me throwing up later and, after enduring a few different angles, I indulge her by deciding to throw up into the river.

Yes, do that!, she enthuses, enjoying the change.

The hour after lunch passes quickly, and it is soon time to depart for the airport. Renée is sad to leave, and she hugs Alice, then tarries in a heartfelt goodbye with Esme—it is a prelude to the drawn-out goodbye Alice sees at Port Angeles airport, and a painful reminder of the final goodbye that will come in a matter of months.

Seeing Bella's sadness in advance doesn't help much in preparing me when her mood drops after watching her mother disappear into the plane.

"It won't be the last time you see her," I promise, grateful of that truth.

Bella nods despondently and buries her head in my shoulder. We watch the plane leave, and I feel intense relief when Renée's thoughts abruptly vanish from my mind. And then intense guilt at my relief that Bella has been parted from her mother.

We don't talk much on the way back to Forks. I am tempted to drive a little faster to make the journey shorter, but every time the needle creeps over the 70-mark, Bella's breathing quickens fractionally. So I hold my speed steady and try to think of a pleasant topic. I find myself thinking about school tomorrow, which is far from pleasant, but then I realize that I've never told Bella about my role in getting Angela and Ben together. I offer that story for her listening pleasure, and when it makes her laugh, I feel a little less inadequate.

It's not far off dinner time by the time we arrive at Bella's. Charlie isn't home yet, so Bella takes her time preparing (with my assistance) a hearty shepherd's pie, hiding a number of vegetables inside. When she jokes about inviting me to eat with them, I almost don't manage to hide my disgust at the thought of swallowing even so much as a mouthful of mushy potato. She deserves a response, though, so I spout some silly remark that miraculously makes her laugh. Then, to deflect attention from dinner, I explain that I'd like to talk to Carlisle—I don't say why, but her blush suggests that she's guessed the topic—and then I take my leave before Charlie arrives.