Twilight character names belong to Stephenie Meyer. I own Dodge and Burn.
Much love and thanks to Editor Azucena , Pre-readers BtwntheStacks and Lemonmartinis and Beta-MsKathy
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Dodge and Burn / Chapter Twenty-One / She Walks in Beauty
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"Do you know what I regret most?" Edward asks Bella as the plane levels off and the seatbelt lights turn off.
"No, what?" she asks.
"That I walked out that night. I should have stayed and kept talking until we figured it out."
She looks out the window at the blanket of clouds strewn across the vast sky.
"Well, yes…it really hurt when you walked out." She lets out a deep sigh.
He takes her words in and tries to steel himself for more.
"And you regret it," she affirms aloud, as she tips her head sideways. "I've heard it said that regret won't change anything, Edward."
He turns toward her, a sharp fear in his gut. "Do you believe that? What does that mean, for us?"
"Nothing…and everything," she responds mysteriously. "Besides Rose pushing you, why are you here now?"
He looks at her defeated expression. He fights the urge to pull her into his arms.
"Because I love you, Isabella."
Her heart flutters wildly at his words. She hadn't dreamt she would hear them so soon again.
"Still?" she asks.
"Yes, by God, yes," he insists, gazing at her with desperate eyes.
He lets out a long sigh.
"How can I explain it when such simple words can't convey something so complex?"
"Why don't you try using fancy words?" she asks provocatively.
"Fancy?" he asks, looking confused. "You mean fancy romantic talk?"
She nods and waits patiently.
He thinks for a moment and then leans toward her.
"No amount of fear or fury caused by what I learned that night has changed the indisputable fact that I love you. Even if you cast me aside, Isabella, I will love you for the rest of my days."
There's a long pause as she closes her eyes, then opens them, smiling.
"That's very lovely and romantic, my Edwardian-Edward," she says in a gentle tone.
"I mean it. So tell me, do you still love me?" he asks cautiously.
She studies him, trying to imagine how to verbalize the thunderstorm of feelings surging through her.
He holds up his hand. "No. Never mind. Don't answer that yet."
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They sit quietly absorbing everything and a while later, she reaches over and touches his hand. She looks at him with a gentle expression. "I want to tell you something. I've replayed that evening many times in my head, and I realize now that I was so stunned when you found that bottle that I was immediately defensive. Frankly, I was in shock and didn't have time to process what it meant to you. Now that I know about your experience with finding your dad…"
She takes a deep breath as his fingers reach for hers.
"Of course you would be horrified," she says softly. "I'm so sorry that I was too wrapped up in my own issues to realize what was happening with you."
Edward nods slowly. "My reaction was so instinctive and powerful. Just the idea of losing you like I lost him. To come home and find you…"
"Shhhh," Bella whispers in a soothing voice. "I won't do that to you, Edward."
"But how can you know for sure? If you do get sick, will you be clear enough to make those kind of choices on your own? This is what haunts me, what I don't understand."
"And that's a question I can't answer. Honestly, I've wondered that from the moment I left that pill bottle on my mantle."
The flight attendant steps up to offer them drinks. They both request water and wait for her to move past them.
She continues. "The thing is, you haven't lived with the horrors of Alzheimer's first hand. I think if you understood it…"
Edward gets a melancholy look on his face. "No, I haven't, but after yesterday I understand it much better than I did before."
"Yesterday?" she asks. "What happened yesterday?"
"I went to that retirement home, Belmont Village, with Sean and Julia. Have you heard of it?"
"Sure, it's one of those high-end places. I looked into it for Mom when I went through a really rough spell taking care of her. But as long as she owned a home, we couldn't get any assistance, and we couldn't afford it either." She tilts her head and studies him. "So, why were you guys at Belmont Village?"
"They play music for the residents once a month. Julia's great uncle lives there."
"Okay, but why were you there?" Bella persists.
Edward looks down and swallows hard. "I needed to see it, understand what it was like. Sean told me ahead of time that there was an Alzheimer's wing there, so I planned to visit it after their performance. As it turned out I met an old man named Andrew, and his wife Gracie, who has Alzheimer's."
"And he doesn't?" Bella asks with soft eyes.
"No. He's very sharp, but his body's failing. He had taken care of her at home until his kids insisted he move her, that the stress and work involved in her care was killing him."
"I see," says Bella, her expression all-knowing.
"He was devoted to her, Isabella," he says quietly.
"Like you would be to me," she states, understanding what he saw between them.
He nods and studies her, the sadness in her face-the weight of understanding what all that means.
"Yes, I would. But you don't want me to take care of you like that, do you?"
She has a soulful look, the pain radiating from her.
"No, I don't. I desperately don't. " She shakes her head over and over. "My dignity is precious to me. I can't bear the idea of losing it in such a lingering and endless way."
Edward thinks about dignity. The idea of being robbed of it is something Rose had brought up as well when they talked about Isabella.
"I want you to remember me like this, Edward. Not like what you saw yesterday. Never like that."
He holds her hand and hopes he never has to let go.
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When the flight attendant has cleared away their meal trays, Bella turns to Edward.
"So I need you to tell me about the talk you had with Jacob that night weeks ago. I still can't believe that you guys discussed my health and kept it from me. That made me so furious."
"I know it did," says Edward as he lets out a frustrated sigh. "I called him impulsively, not thinking about the awkward situation it would create. Although honestly, I'm still glad I did it."
"Really?" she asks with a dubious look on her face.
"Can you put yourself in my shoes? What if I freaked out like that and wouldn't tell you why, when you asked? What would you do?" He shakes his head. "When you wouldn't tell me, I automatically assumed it was something horrible."
"And you were right," she points out.
"Isabella," he warns in a stern voice. "I worried you may have had cancer or something. What if it meant that you were living on borrowed time?"
"And you call me dramatic," she says.
He shrugs. "Falling in love brings out the protective side of me. I'd put you in a pickle jar to keep you safe forever if I could." He smiles sweetly at her.
She feels the mood shift lighter and it feels good.
"Okay, that's creepy," she teases smiling back. "But I understand what you mean."
"So I want you to know that Jacob didn't want to talk to me about it when I called him. He's very protective of you, too," he says.
"That he is," she agrees, her expression warming.
"But I pushed him and said that I was going to go on the internet and get the answers myself, and wouldn't it be better coming from him?" Edward explains.
"So you manipulated him," she points out.
"I guess you could say that. You see, I asked about what your mom had died of. It occurred to me that there may be a genetic connection to your fear."
"Well, you were right about that," she says sadly.
"Jacob gave me the facts, Isabella, but he also told me that he didn't believe you had the gene," Edward says, taking her hand.
"He did?" Her face lights up as if she finds it reassuring. It startles him.
"So you really don't know then…if you carry the gene or not?"
She turns and looks out the window for a minute, then slowly turns back. He can tell that this is a weight she carries every minute of every day. Even her shoulders sag as she sits quietly.
"Isabella?" he whispers, rubbing his thumb over the top of her hand.
She looks up at him, her eyes wide and vulnerable. Finally, she shakes her head.
"No, I locked away the test results and never looked. Honestly, I just wasn't sure how I would go on if it were positive."
He nods and holds her hand tighter.
"Does this make you want to pull away from me?" she asks softly. "Because I'd understand it if you did."
"No, never," he replies without the slightest hesitation.
"Would you want to know if it were you?"
"Honestly, I'm not sure. Yes in some ways, no in others."
She nods her head in agreement. "Exactly."
"So…" he starts to ask.
"Where do we go from here?" she fills in.
"Exactly," he echoes.
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A young man walks down their aisle. His confident stride reminds Edward of someone.
"Jacob is pretty amazing, Isabella," Edward says, interrupting Bella as she reads her guidebook of Italy. "If I had a son I'd want him to be like him."
Her face lights up with pride as she looks up. "Yes, isn't he amazing? I'm so proud of him."
"You know he called me to make sure I'd pick you up at the train station. He was very persistent."
"Oh, my. That must've been awkward. What did you say?"
"He kept pushing, so I had to tell him that I wasn't going to Italy with you after all. But that he would have to ask you why."
"He probably didn't like that answer. Am I right?"
Edward laughs. "Yes."
She shakes her head smiling and opens her book back up.
"Hey," Edward says before she starts reading again. "Would you have been mad if I'd come to get you at the train station?"
"Mad?" She thinks carefully. "I can't remember how mad I was still at that point. That was after I burned a written rant about you and played angry rock music really loud. Yet, it was before I fondled your picture lovingly and packed it in my suitcase."
"What?" he asks, bewildered.
She waves her hands. "It's not important. I think I was softening at that point. I probably would have had make-up sex in the car if you'd picked me up at the train station."
"Really?"
"No. But points would have been earned Mr. C., big points."
"Damn. I'm such a fool," he laments.
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She dozes off during the movie and then suddenly wakes up and looks at him. He pulls his earphones out.
"What?" he asks.
"So you've known for weeks that I have a fifty-fifty chance of getting sick and you've stayed with me. Actually, until you found those pills you'd been even more loving and attentive." Bella studies him with a look of marvel on her face. "You didn't pull away after you found out."
"No, I didn't. Why do you look so shocked?" Edward asks.
"I just always assumed that anyone would run for the hills."
He smiles. "So you've finally figured out that I'm not just anyone?"
He clears his throat and looks at her intently. "I keep telling you that I'm in love with you, Isabella. I may have lost my head temporarily with our fight, but I'm not going to abandon you again."
"Is that so?" she asks, challenging him.
"Yes, that's the truth. So now's a good opportunity, a stellar time for you to tell me that you still love me, too."
"Oh, " she whispers.
"Oh?" he asks, his voice tense. "Is that your reply?"
"Oh, I love you, Edward. Truly, I do."
"It sounds like a but is coming," he comments, his forehead creased with worry.
"Well, yes. I love you, but I think we need to slow things down while we figure all of this out. I think it's going to take some time to navigate through this issue and come to a mutual understanding. Meanwhile, I think it would be smart…" She hesitates and looks out the window. "I really think we should try being friends for a while."
"You want to be friends?" he asks loudly, flopping back into his seat. "Really?"
"Yes, that's what I'm thinking."
"Is this your idea of a punishment, or are we friends with benefits?"
"So now we're talking about sex."
"Yes, of course. A boyfriend is a good friend you also have sex with. Am I wrong about this? Why in the world would we want to give that up?"
"Well…."
"Wait a minute. you haven't liked the sex? I thought our sex was amazing. Did I miss something?"
She laughs, knowing he's teasing her. "Whoa…, slow down, you! I didn't mean that anything was lacking in the sex. If anything it's the opposite; the best love making of my life."
"Then for God's sake we should be having it, lots of it. What do you say we see if we both can fit into that business class cupboard of a bathroom?"
"You want to have sex now?"
"Of course. Don't you?" He lifts his eyebrows suggestively.
Her expression falls. "I mean it, Edward. I'm not kidding."
He takes a deep breath. "Okay. I'll be serious. So does this mean that you aren't going to let me make love to you in Italy?" he asks quietly, leaning close.
"I guess so," she admits with a somber voice.
"That just seems wrong in every way. Hey wait, does this mean you can sleep with Leonard if we're just friends?"
"You're getting off track here," she points out.
"You didn't answer the question." Her silence makes him wild. "Damn, woman. Just so you know that will kill me, Isabella."
"My idea is not to sleep with anyone, including you, until I feel safe again," she clarifies.
"Safe again?" he asks.
"Yes, not worried that you are going to walk out on me again. I can't bear that, Edward. I mean it."
"Oh, I see." His expression falls. "Is this a punishment? Not that I don't deserve it…"
"No, punishment is not my style. I just need to protect my heart. I can be a bit tender around the edges, you know."
He is overwhelmed with the idea of tender Isabella. He wants to hold her tight and promise her over and over that he will never hurt her again. But promises such as these are shallow and he knows it. No one can predict how a single turn in the road can throw everything upside down. He needs to show her respect and give her what she wants.
He needs to give her space, even if it kills him. How will he survive with the woman of his dreams in a bed with a wall between them? How will he rein in his desire for her?
He knew this trip was going to be challenging, he just had no idea how much so.
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After twelve long hours, the descent to Florence is finally announced. Bella spends the final minutes before landing showing Edward strange items in the Skymall magazine.
Slightly disoriented from their long flight, the sudden immersion into a world of people speaking a different language and an unfamiliar airport is startling. Undaunted, they figure out where to claim their baggage, get through immigration, and locate the rental car business.
Keys and map in hand and their confidence boosted, they stock up on water bottles before hitting the road. Despite the navigation system, Bella has drawn out their path on the map in a purple glitter gel pen. Edward raises his eyebrows and shakes his head.
"And you expect me to follow that? It looks like we're on our way to Fairyland, not Lucca."
"Oh, never mind you!" she says, pushing his shoulder gently as to not force him off track. "I'm doing the navigating so you just keep your eyes on the road."
"Yeah?" he teases as she glances from the road to the map over and over.
"Ah!" she squeals suddenly. "Veer right, veer right! We're supposed to get on the autostrade A1 north, then the E76 west, then the A11." She's waving the map wildly.
He adeptly swerves the little Fiat to the right and lets out a huge huff after they merge into the traffic. "Well, that woke me up! That's some fine navigating, Ms. Swan. Thank God I'm here. Frankly, I can't imagine how you'd make your way to Lucca on your own."
"Oh, I'd figure it out," she shoots back. She smiles inwardly though, knowing that it's going to be so much better in every way having her Edward with her.
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Due to Edward's quick adaptation to the Italian style of driving, skillful and very fast, they make it early to the market in Lucca where they are meeting the villa's agent. Edward reaches Elisabetta on the phone and she suggests that they do grocery shopping to stock up while she heads over to join them.
"What would you like for breakfast?" Bella asks as she wanders through the store. She finds delight in the smallest things and is instantly distracted. "Look at these tiny travel size bottles of balsamic vinegar!" She drops four in their cart and Edward just shakes his head.
"What do I want for breakfast?" Edward repeats.
You. He thinks silently as he watches her select peaches in the fruit selection. The way she fondles the fruit is incredibly distracting.
She turns and sees him observing her. "Why don't you go pick out some granola and yogurt that looks good or something? Make yourself useful, Mr. C."
He smirks and wanders off to find the cereal aisle.
Check-out is entertaining when the checker holds up the bags of fruit and starts chattering away at them in Italian. Bella and Edward look at each other dumbfounded, but the man in line behind them explains in excellent English that they have to weigh the fruit themselves and then print out the price tag for the checker.
"Oh no!" says Bella, flustered, worried about holding him up. Luckily the store isn't busy and he doesn't seem to mind. The man, dressed in pressed jeans and a tailored jacket, explains the oversight to the checker and the three of them head over to the fruit section so he can show them how it's done.
"You're so kind!" Bella says to the man when the last bag is calculated. "My name is Bella, by the way, and this is my friend, Edward."
Edward looks over at her surprised. Friend? How quickly she's adapted to this damn friend thing.
Edward scowls at Bella as introductions continue and they learn the Italian's name is Carlo. Carlo is way too friendly in his opinion. He practically follows them out to their car.
As soon as Carlo parts, Elisabetta shows up and after another round of introductions, they follow her up the windy road to the villa. When they pull up to the hillside classic Italian structure, Bella starts to bounce in her seat.
"What?" Edward asks, smiling.
"Look Edward!" she exclaims, grabbing his arm. "It's perfectly beautiful. It's our villl-lllaaaaa!"
"Yes, it is," he agrees, grinning. "You like it?"
"I Love it! It's so pretty. It's like a storybook."
"Our storybook," he agrees.
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As Isabella runs from room to room, Edward watches her smiling. She throws open the French doors and they step out onto a balcony that overlooks the sprawling yard and the walled secret garden with the swimming pool.
"Oh my, look at this view! It's even better than the pictures we saw on the internet."
"It is," he agrees, stepping close to her and draping his arm over her shoulders. She doesn't pull away, but instead leans into him and slides her arm along his back until her hand can rest on his hip.
"It's like a dream," she says softly. "This is going to be an amazing trip, I just feel it."
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After Elisabetta walks them through the house and explains the ins and outs of everything from how to use the washer, to obtaining internet access, she wishes them well and heads out. Bella and Edward haul in their luggage and groceries and settle in.
They awkwardly go to their individual rooms to unpack and rest from the long travel. After not sleeping on the plane, Edward passes out on top of his bed. He wakes up some time later to the clattering of sounds and then a loud squeal.
"Mama Mia!"
Isabella.
He throws his legs over the side of the bed and smiles. He tracks the sounds to the kitchen where she appears to be losing a battle with a cappuccino machine.
"Having trouble?" he asks, trying not to laugh. The machine is wheezing as Bella thumps it squarely like she's burping a baby.
She turns and appraises him wide-eyed. "Oh, look who's up from his nap!" She grins and walks over, then reaches up and runs her fingers through his hair. "You've got bed-head hair," she laughs and then strokes his cheek, "and sheet wrinkles pressed into your skin. You must have slept hard, handsome."
He nods and rubs his eyes. "I sure did." He looks past her at the mess on the counter. "Need some help?"
"Are barista abilities on your long list of mad skills?" she asks.
"Of course, Isabella," he assures her. "I'm a man of the world. Step aside." He yawns as he makes a dramatic gesture with his arm.
She curtsies and quickly steps back. Within minutes, he has the contraption figured out and she watches him admiringly, thinking how good it is to have him here with her.
"Cappuccino?" he asks, offering the ceramic cup to Bella. "You know in Italy, they think it's gauche to drink milk past breakfast."
"No!" Bella exclaims. "What do they drink to keep themselves awake in the afternoon then?"
"Plain expresso," he explains.
"Naked coffee?" she asks, horrified.
He laughs. "Naked? Yes, completely naked."
"Really?" asks Bella. "I guess I'm gauche then, cause I'm not drinking that stuff unless it's lightened and sweetened up."
She smiles as she takes sip. They sit at the kitchen table and just stare at each other for a while.
"Your hair is wet," he observes.
"I took a long bath and tried to learn how to use that shower spray contraption." She laughs. "The whole bathroom got a bath."
"So you're trying to tell me that you aren't a woman of the world?" he teases.
"Well, I'm trying to be," she insists. "Hey, let's wander down the hill soon to the neighborhood square. I noticed there were a couple of little cafes there. We could try one out for dinner."
He pushes his chair back, stands up and stretches. "Well, before we do that I need a bath, too. Let me go see what you did to the bathroom."
"Careful, don't slip!" she calls out as he heads down the hall.
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"Oh my God!" she whispers, waving her fork in the air.
Edward swallows his sip of wine and sets the glass down. "What?"
"My mouth just had an orgasm! Seriously! This is the best eggplant parmesan on the planet!"
"Really?" he asks, trying to be serious. "The best? That's a big statement?"
"You doubt me?" she asks haughtily. "Hold on, you will regret your lack of faith in me, Mr. C."
He smirks as she cuts off a sizable bite from her dish and offers it like a gift.
Jesus. She wasn't kidding, he thinks, shaking his head as the delectable bite melts in his mouth.
He keeps a poker face though just to toy with her.
"What? You don't like it?" she asks in horror.
The young waitress approaches warily just before Edward finally smiles.
"Es okay?" she asks, gesturing to the dishes. She looks sincerely worried.
"Ahhh," Bella sighs loudly before giving the waitress a huge grin and pressing her hand over her heart. She gestures wildly with the fork. "Perfecto!"
"Is that even a word?" Edward asks.
Bella makes a face at him and turns back to the girl who looks just like the couple who have now stepped out of the kitchen. This must be a family business and her parents, the chefs.
"Es muy bueno!" Bella announces enthusiastically.
The Italians roll their eyes but breathe a sigh of relief and go back to what they were doing before the drama.
"You!" she says, pointing her fork at Edward. "You are bad."
He laughs. "And you just spoke Spanish to the Italians." He lifts his glass. "Salute!"
She giggles and lifts her glass. "Yes, salute!"
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Later in the square, they eat gelato and watch the families congregate. Little kids roll around on tricycles, old men share stories, and young men prowl the beautiful girls with their long tan legs and dark eyes.
"Do you like it?" he asks, nodding at her cup of gelato as he watches her lick her spoon.
"It's not Love Potion, but it's mighty tasty," she says playfully.
Just then a group of musicians approach their outdoor set up, settle in, and start playing. For the most part, the gathering reacts to it like ambient music and continues their conversations but as the performance goes on a few people get up to sway or dance to the music.
Edward observes Bella warily. She had a bit too much wine and he knows this circumstance will be hard for her to resist. He also knows he isn't in the mood to dance among strangers while everything feels so unsettled. He tries to distract her by asking what's on their schedule tomorrow, but her attention quickly dissipates.
She jumps up and reaches out for him. "Come on!"
"What?" he responds, leaning back on the bench.
"Dance with me?" she asks sweetly. "Please…"
He shakes his head. "Not tonight."
She pulls on his sleeve to no avail and finally gives up. She gives him a long curious look, spins on her heel, and moves towards the group dancing near the musicians.
Bella eases into the group gracefully, swaying her hips and rolling her shoulders in a kind of half dance. Edward watches her appreciatively, her white shirt catching the last rays of the falling sun.
He sighs. She's so beautiful.
His heart hurts just watching her, knowing she won't be in his arms tonight. He's confident that in time she will trust him again to hold him close, but this is going to seriously test him. He wants her so much.
The band starts up their second song and Bella shows no sign of slowing down. A moment later Edward sits up straight as he notices a man approach her. She begins to talk to him and then they both turn to Edward and she points him out. Edward realizes that it's that guy, Carlo, who helped them in the market. He nods at Edward and Edward nods back.
Edward hardly has a moment to process all of this when Carlo takes Bella's hand and starts dancing with her. His first reaction is to go rip the guy's arms off for touching his woman, but when he sees the expression of delight on Bella's face, he rethinks that idea. Besides, she told Carlo that they were just friends so he can't blame the guy even though he wants to deck him.
As he watches them, he chastises himself reminding himself that she'd asked him to dance with her and he turned her down.
Why in the hell didn't you just dance with her in the first place, idiot?
His fingers grip the edge of the bench as he watches them move back and forth. This Carlo guy, with his pressed linen shirt and slicked back hair, is just too damn smooth. He does not like it at all. Things seem casual for most of the song, they sway and converse, but when Carlo places his hand on Bella's lower back and pulls her closer, Edward quickly stands up and stalks towards them. As he gets closer, he sees that Bella's stepped away and she looks over at him nervously.
She reaches out for Edward as he gets close.
"You ready to go? I'm a little tired," she says quietly.
He nods as she loops her arm in his.
She turns back to her dance partner. "Thanks, Carlo. It was so nice seeing you again."
He smiles warmly at her and nods to Edward. "Buona notte."
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They walk silently the entire way back to the villa. Overwhelmed by a swirl of feelings, she tries to distract herself by studying the details of the neighborhood. She loves all the houses with their pretty gardens and simple elegance. At night, the Tuscan hues of sienna and ochre are quietly muted, the only color in the evening palette is the warm yellow light shining through the windows from inside.
Once they step up to Villa Eugenia, Edward takes out the key and lets them in. Bella sinks down on the white linen covered couch and Edward grabs them a couple of bottles of water from the kitchen. He unscrews the top off and hands her a bottle before sitting down next to her.
"So, Carlo invited us to his family's villa for dinner," she says.
"Yeah?"
"He wants his sister to meet you. She's a musician too, and plays the guitar as well."
He gives her a stern look.
"What?" she asks.
"I don't want to meet his fucking sister, Isabella. What the hell?"
She looks confused for a moment, then her expression brightens with recognition.
"Oh, no! She's married, he didn't mean it like that."
Edward takes a deep breath and tries to steady himself.
"What else did you and Mr. Italian Guy talk about?"
"Well, I told him about you."
Edward raises his eyebrows. "What about me?"
She sighs. "I told him that we may be friends right now, but that I'm most definitely in love with you."
"You did?" He can't hide his relief. "So did he back off?"
She nods. "Immediately. It also probably didn't hurt that you were headed over towards us just then and looking a bit territorial."
"He didn't want to get that fancy shirt wrinkled, huh? Cause I was ready to mess it up for sure."
She smiles. "I doubt he wanted to take you on. You're much bigger than him." She takes a few sips of water and then stands up. "Well, now that we've got that resolved, I'm going to take a swim and then head to bed."
He stands up.
"Isabella?" He lightly runs his finger down her arm. "Do you want company in the pool?"
She smiles sadly at him. "If it's okay, I'd like to swim alone tonight. I've got a lot on my mind."
She can feel his sense of rejection, even though he tries to hide it. She leans into him and presses her cheek against his shoulder. "I didn't like it when Carlo touched me, Edward. You are the only one I want touching me like that."
He slides his hand on her lower back and presses so that she is closer to him. "Like this?" he whispers.
She nods and gets closer still. He pulls his arms tight around her.
"Isabella, please," he says softly.
It takes all her resolve not to kiss him as his warmth envelopes her, his body's reaction to her impossible to hide.
"Edward," she moans. "I know you want me, and I'm sure you can sense how much I want you, too. I just need a little more time." She brushes her forehead along his jaw, then looks up and rakes her fingers through his stubble.
"What's this all about? Are you growing a beard?"
His expression softens. "I'm not going to shave again until you kiss me," he says quietly.
"Is that so?" She smiles.
He nods. "My beard grows really quickly. So for both of our sakes, I'm hoping you sort out things pretty fast."
She hugs him tight one last time and with a kiss on the cheek she moves towards her room.
"Goodnight, Isabella," he calls out to her.
"Goodnight," she replies.
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He stands on his balcony bathed in moonlight. His eyes roam across the yard. He sees Isabella slip through the gate and approach the pool. She lifts up her robe and carefully dips her toe in the water.
She walks in beauty like the night.
Lord Byron's famous poem has come alive for him.
A moment later she approaches the chaise lounge, undoes her robe and pulls it off revealing that she's naked. He stops breathing as she drops the garment and turns back his direction.
"Oh, God," he whispers. Her skin is soft alabaster glowing cool and hot. She is his highlight and shadow, a picture always developing before his eyes.
His fingers grip the balcony railing tightly.
She steps into the water and slowly sinks down.
He remembers the first time they made love, how he'd found her in the pool and couldn't stop touching her until she was in his arms and in his bed. Now, weeks later, he finds himself fully aroused at the memory of it and wondering how to make magic happen twice.
Despite her wishes, it's taking everything he has not to head down to the pool. Surely she is struggling, too.
He wants her.
He wants her so much it hurts, an ache he has no idea how to numb.
He gazes down at her and she's floating now, her shape and the very idea of her beckoning him. He turns away in agony.
"Come back to me, Isabella," he whispers. "Please baby, come back to me."
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I'm not sure I'd be able to resist Edward in Italy. How about you?
Thanks for reading.
xoxo
abbie
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