I returned home over an hour later to find Edward and Esme sitting at our dining room table. It was a beautiful antique piece we had merely for show and because Esme was so fond of it. She has an eye for things that are poetic in design, things that are old, things that had been abandoned and neglected, forgotten by others. She saw the beauty in them and carefully, lovingly restored them to a glory that perhaps surpassed their original state. I thought how very appropriately that talent of hers applied to me as well.

But she didn't even look my way when I stepped into the doorway. Instead, she rose from her chair, wishing Edward goodnight and walked past me and up the stairs. It reminded me painfully of the moment I'd left earlier, and I chastised myself yet again for doing it. Her arm barely brushed mine as she walked past, but it was enough to awaken my entire body with the memory of her touch, the taste of her lips, the sound of her voice passionately saying my name. And now she wouldn't even look at me.

Edward glanced up at me with one eyebrow raised, waiting until we heard her door shut before speaking. I walked over to the table and sat down across from him.

"What did you do to her?" he asked. "I asked her where you were when I came in, and she nearly bit my head off."

I silently forgave him for the intrusive, forward way of questioning me. After all, he was both young and very close to me; we had easily become as close as family, closer, in fact, than the only family I had known during life.

I shook my head. I knew precisely what I'd done, but I didn't want to talk about it. I'd hurt her feelings, perhaps irrevocably. I'd made a complete fool of myself. I had failed her and myself. Everything had been perhaps too perfect and easy between us to be real, as I had feared almost from the moment our relationship had so quickly begun. It seemed that it should have been more complicated to fall so deeply in love with someone else, but it had not been so up until now.

"Whatever it is, you had better go fix it," Edward said after a moment. "You know that she is perfect for you. I've never seen you so happy. Esme's obviously in love with you too."

I hadn't spoken in much detail about my feelings for Esme to Edward. I wasn't sure how much, if anything, she had told him. But I knew that we didn't have to say anything to him. He had the astounding talent of receiving others' thoughts and was just playing the motivator. Or perhaps our affection for one another was just so obvious that it couldn't be missed.

"Don't mess it up," he said with a slight half-smile as he rose from the table, patting me on the shoulder as he passed.

"I appreciate your faith in me," I replied with a hint of sarcasm.

Edward chuckled. "Anytime, Dr. Cullen," he said as he headed out the door with a wave.

I paused at the bottom of the stairs before deciding not to hesitate any longer. This behavior compromised the very foundations of our relationship, which had been built on trust and honesty. I knocked softly on Esme's door. She did not respond, but I knew she was in there.

I had reached a point where I was less afraid of being invasive and ungentlemanly and having her more angry at me than I was of losing my nerve about trying to explain myself. I tried the doorknob tentatively to find that it was unlocked.

"Esme," I said as I cracked the door.

Still, she did not respond, but I found her sitting on her bed with her knees pulled up, her arms hugged around them with her face buried in the white cotton of a simple white nightdress. It was a habit she retained from life, which I asked her about once since she did not need to go to bed. Still, she insisted on keeping a full bedroom suit, including the bed, and her nightclothes. She said that it made her comfortable and helped her connect with humanity.

I realized that she was shaking with emotion, as if she was crying silently, though I knew she had no real tears. The effect was somehow more upsetting than if she had been actually sobbing though when she looked up at me with such pain in her eyes.

"May I come in?" I asked, still standing in the doorway. Then, before she even had time to reply, I knew I was acting a fool again.

I walked over, sitting beside of her and taking her in my arms. To my relief, she consented, though not quite sinking against me as fully as usual.

"I'm so sorry," I said, kissing her hair. "You have every right to be angry at me. . ."

"I'm not angry at you," she interrupted. "I'm just ashamed of myself."

"Why?" I asked quickly, genuinely surprised.

"Sometimes I just wish we were human," Esme said, pulling at the nightgown as she shifted to tuck her feet under her. "Then, maybe this would be easier."

"I doubt that," I answered. "Besides, if we were, we never would have met. You know, that for over two centuries, I've questioned myself about the point, if there was a point at all, in what happened to me. I wanted so desperately to destroy myself in the beginning. I could not live with the torment of needing to destroy life, of the idea of being rejected by God as I had been taught, for something that I felt I didn't choose. Perhaps though, I did choose it in some ways. I could have been disobedient, rebelled against my father, my only family, and the only hope of a successful future that I saw as a widowed minister's only son. It was the only time I've felt truly victimized though, in those months after being turned. But, still, I refused to be something I knew I was not."

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked. It wasn't a question of frustration but genuine curiosity.

"Because perhaps I was not worthy of you when I was merely human anyway," I replied. "Perhaps I had to learn what I did about myself during the transformation, through all this time of loneliness."

"I cannot imagine you not being worthy of me," Esme replied softly. "I had already accepted that I would never have a man like you before I gave up. . . completely."

I looked at her questioningly. I didn't have to prompt her further for an explanation, though she could not read my thoughts like Edward. She smiled up at me sadly.

"I think I began falling in love with you the night you took care of my broken leg when I was a teenager. I wouldn't have called it that until just recently though. I never thought of myself as in love with you, but it just took that brief meeting for me to idealize you. And not just because you're the handsomest man I've ever seen." She paused, looking into my eyes, this time with a smile of amusement at herself. "You are far better than even what I imagined based on the kindness you showed me that night. I don't want to make you feel obligated for this to be more than you want it to be. No matter what, I've never been happier than I am with you."

In response, I kissed her. It was a rather bold move considering the circumstances, even if things did seem smoother between us than they had been when I'd entered the room. I was astounded that she thought the issue was a lack of interest on my part. The kiss very easily became passionate, heated, and deep. I tasted her until I once again felt helpless with a desire for her that moved me so deeply I couldn't believe that I no longer had a soul.

"Esme," I said softly against her ear finally as she clung to me desperately once again. I could feel her yearning for me as if it was something physically notable from her body, like a real heat that didn't exist. It was both reassuring and exciting. I wasn't sure how to define it, but I hoped she felt the same from me. "Would you believe me if I told you that you are the first and only woman I have ever loved?"

"Ever?" she asked hesitantly.

"Ever," I assured her, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. "My mortal life was consumed with preparing to follow my father in the ministry and set an example in my community. It's not that I didn't ever experience lust, but there were other things far more important than some distracting temptation. I don't want you to think I feel that way about you—that I just want you simply for my own pleasure."

"I know what it feels like to be treated like that," she responded, averting her eyes. "And you never have done anything to make me believe you think of me that way. I don't want you to think that about me. I love you, Carlisle. I love you in ways that I never even imagined anyone was capable of loving someone else."

I watched her as she made this earnest confession and knew it was my turn next. "I feel as if I've spent all this time waiting for you, for us to be together. Sometimes I'm afraid that I won't live up to your expectations, and now to know you've been thinking of me as perfect since you were sixteen. . ." I allowed my words to trail off as she leaned her head on my shoulder.

She gave a slight laugh in reply.

"I mean it," I answered quickly. "I really have neither loved nor wanted anyone the way I love and want you. When I touch you," I felt my voice nearly give way in quite a human manner, "when I think about making love to you, it's almost overwhelming. I have been on this Earth for so long now, always believing in love, seeing it despite the many, great evils of the world, but I've never felt it in this sense. I've never loved anyone this way or made love to anyone and the fear of disappointing you consumes me sometimes. I want everything to be perfect, like I said earlier."

Esme looked up at me then, her eyes full of emotion. I felt that strange mix of strong gravity toward her but also as if nothing grounding around me existed, like I was floating on air, as the saying goes. I wanted to know so badly what she was thinking, but I also knew I had to finish telling her everything I wanted to say, even if it had not been planned this way at all. I had everything worked out in my head about how it should all be, but I suddenly felt that I could not go on for another moment without her knowing the full capacity of how I felt for her. I hoped, perhaps naively, that she would never again question my love or longing or need for her afterward.

"I want us to be together forever, Esme," I continued. "I want to give myself fully, to take you as mine completely in my heart and soul and arms in our marriage bed."

The silence that followed seemed longer than all the prior years of my existence somehow, even though it only lasted a few seconds.

"Carlisle, you want me to be your wife?" Her voice was just as laced with emotion as her eyes had already been.

"More than anything," I replied, standing up and taking her hand. "Get dressed. There's something I want to show you."