Nina and Tracy are the funniest, loveliest, smartest. Thanks so much for everything.

I don't own Twilight.

I want to fix this fast and easy. I'm restless. Emmett and Bree just left, and it's only eight o'clock. Edward is lying on his back, and his hair is a mess, and his jeans are low, and I can make the hair messier, and touch the skin right above the waistband, and move closer and closer, and be sweet and soft, before climbing on top of him and lying there, clinging like a lost little girl until either his heart breaks or his body tells me I should touch him some more.

But I can't move. I'm tired. I'm drained. I'm nervous, scared. My hands are still shaking, and when I think about how he yelled and how he grabbed me, I'm furious.

I have so many conversations that I want to start with Edward. About his temper, about his expectations, about his acceptance of my past and my current reality. But what I really want to discuss are the implications of what we saw on TV, and I want to share my concerns, my frustrations, and my anger with him.

But this fear of the unknown, of rejection, grabs me by the throat, and I can't do it. I'm here because I chose to stay, and now I'm restless, and staying and waiting aren't good enough anymore.

Pre-scandal Bella, as Jasper calls her, would be judging me for my inability to start a conversation with my boyfriend. She never sat around waiting for things to happen, waiting for someone to speak first. She wouldn't have spent months in isolation in a friend's apartment. She wouldn't have returned to Forks with no plans for the future. She would be calling people, she'd be setting up meetings, and she wouldn't let pride stand in her way. She'd be studying hard, working hard, partying hard. Networking, building connections with anyone she came across.

That Bella was fearless. She was everything I had wanted to be growing up—probably minus the adultery. She used to picture herself flying, soaring. I see myself on that couch in Jasper's apartment, tiny and alone, in that small corner, hesitating to extend my legs, take up more space.

I need to get her back. Lying here in silence isn't going to work. In fact, I think it will kill me.

"This is so pathetic. Get up. I'm reheating the lasagna."

The kitchen is clean. The blue and white dishes I had ordered for Edward have just been washed, and the lasagna hasn't been touched. Poor Bree and Emmett. I hope they're out having something decent. The food we were supposed to enjoy together is still warm, and the salad Bree prepared earlier is in the fridge, along with the dressing I need to mix in. My stomach reacts to the things I'm seeing and smelling.

I hear him walk in, and then I feel him standing next to me. I set the plates back down on the counter and scratch his arm, down by his wrist, where it's hairiest.

"I'm really sorry," he says.

I shake my head and place both my palms on his chest, and move them down to his stomach. I smile, but he's serious, and his eyebrows are serious, and his arms stay down, and his hands aren't on me.

"Don't do this," I tell him. "Let's just forget what happened. I won't lose control like that again when your family is around."

"I'm the one who lost control. Are you okay?"

"Yes, are you?"

He nods. "Your wrist?"

We inspect it together. It looks fine. He remembers my arm, but I shake my head when he attempts to check for bruises under my sleeve.

"I forgot about that. It doesn't even hurt," I lie. I don't want to deal with his guilt, even though it's throbbing now.

"Listen, Edward, I know you think I overreacted, but I was in shock. That, like, came out of nowhere... just when I thought things were getting quiet."

"I know. I just wish you didn't care."

"But it directly affects my life," I explain, lifting my hand to touch his face. I know he likes small touches, little things to remind him that he's loved, by me, and that I want to touch him, always. His lip are on my skin for a second before he speaks.

"His marriage doesn't directly affect your life."

"Oh, I don't care about his marriage. I don't care about him. But that doesn't mean I'm going to sit back and enjoy watching... whatever comeback he's got planned."

"You always knew it was a possibility," he points out.

"And I knew that I'd hate every minute of it. Watching everyone welcome him back? Because what? He's done so much to redeem himself? I mean, as a Democrat who hated him, you're going to resent it too, I'm sure. And look at it from where I'm standing. The mere thought of seeing old friends and acquaintances this week causes me anxiety. I can't go back to school, or send out a resume, because I feel sick when I think about what... And he's out there flirting with his wife for the cameras and planning a comeback! There's such a double standard in place. You can't expect me to ignore that or accept it. I will never escape the oral sex jokes—my name is synonymous with the act—"

The anger returns, and I see it everywhere, on every part of his face, his body.

"Bella, please stop that. It kills me that no matter what I say or do, you still... you're not getting better."

"Better?" I repeat.

"You're letting it affect—"

"This is my reality."

"I'm doing everything I can to make you see that you're more than that," he cries.

And we're shouting again.

"It doesn't matter what you do, or how much you love me, or how handsome or smart or amazing you are. No one's going to care if I do great things, or if I dedicate my life to helping people less unfortunate... I could disappear for decades, but if a picture resurfaces, or my name is mentioned, I'm that girl. Nothing you do—"

"Then what good am I, if I can't make things better?"

I know he's not going to cry, but his voice is different, and it freaks me out. His back is turned to me now, his hands flat against the counter. I tug on his sleeve and rest my cheek against his arm.

"Don't say that. You make everything better."

He's shaking his head "no" and my heart breaks.

"Are you kidding?" I take his hand and bring it to my chest. "This is yours. Don't say things like that, because it hurts when you do. Please, please tell me that you're my boyfriend because of the butterflies and the fast heartbeats and dizziness. I thought this had nothing to do with fixing me, or saving me. It kills me that—"

"Bella, all I want to do is to show you that this doesn't define you. The world can say what it wants, but when it's just us, you're the girl who owns my soul. I want that to be enough for you. You're telling me it's not."

"It-it is," I stammer.

"Don't lie to me." He sounds sad as he turns around, reaching out to touch my hair. He removes the hair tie that Bree let me borrow when I was whining about the heat this morning. "Come on, let's eat. I can hear your stomach."

We eat in silence, and move to the living room in silence. We watch TV, and the third time he laughs I look at his face. His profile takes my breath away sometimes, especially when he's laughing like this. I move closer to him on the couch, and a few minutes later he's more relaxed, and a few minutes after that he's playing with my hair and kissing my shoulder when he remembers it's there. When my former lover's face fills the screen again followed by pictures of his wife taken the week his infidelity had been revealed to the world, Edward hits mute, and I'm in his arms. His words, and his voice, and his tone make me forget how to breathe. He'll never hurt me like that. He'll never embarrass or humiliate me. He'll never lie to me.

I'm not sure what makes him feel what he feels about me, but I'll take all of it. I don't know what it is that makes me want to stay with him and makes me forget about everything that's not him, or his skin, or his smile, or his eyes, but I want to hold on to that.

XxXxX

"They seem like a nice couple," Edward says, going through the welcome basket we found waiting for us in our room. "This is like a Happy Meal."

He throws something at me that lands on the floor. Dark chocolate. I pick it up and walk over to him.

"Yeah, I love him, and she's alright when she's not around her family. Wow, so cheesy," I comment, after a quick scan of the welcome letter from the bride and groom.

"She was sweet."

I nod, because it's true. Her hug, and her kind words, and her hand on my arm were sweet. Maybe a little too much, but sweet nonetheless. And they made me feel comfortable and welcome. More so than if it had all come from Jack. There was a sincerity that's usually missing in these situations. A closeness she displayed that caught me off guard for a second, but made me realize how much I'd missed something as simple as greeting an old friend after a long time apart.

"She was checking you out," I tell him.

"And I was checking her out."

"No you weren't, but I saw you checking out her ring."

"What was that thing?" Edward asks, looking a little disgusted.

"Proof that he adores her more than anything else in the world."

"Really? Because it looked ridiculous."

"I can't believe you noticed it, Edward. You never notice anything."

"I was temporarily blinded by it." He shakes his head and starts munching on a cookie he found in the basket. "Fucking tacky."

I place my hands on my hips and glare at him. He looks silly and boyish staring up at me from where he's lying on the bed.

"It's a beautiful ring, and honestly, I think it's the perfect size. How else is he supposed to show his devotion? I want one just like it, but without the side stones."

His mouth is open, cookie crumbs resting along his bottom lip. "You're kidding, right?"

I continue to stare at him, and he just shakes his head again, muttering something I can't quite make out before he picks out another cookie to eat.

"Edward?"

"Hmmm?"

I throw myself onto the bed and climb on top of him, ignoring his arms and legs that keep pushing and kicking me away.

"I'm eating," he whines.

"Don't you want to get me pretty things like that?"

"Isn't it too early to be discussing engagement rings?"

I pout and whimper a little. "I guess... But when it's not too early, I want a nice one, just like the one Jack bought."

"I wouldn't be able to buy you something that big even if I sold Bree on the black market."

"Sell Emmett, too," I suggest.

"What about me? Want me to sell myself, too? Huh?" And he's flipping me over, holding me under him, my hands stretched above my head.

"Dude, stop. I can't breathe!" But I'm giggling and pretend-struggling and wiggling my ass against him. When he starts tickling me, I shriek. His hand covers my mouth, and he doesn't remove it or let me go until I stop fighting back, but the second he does, I push him onto his back.

"The ring is gorgeous, Edward. Way, way too big, but definitely beautiful. But I was only kidding, I don't care what you give me, as long as it's pretty."

"Bullshit," he says.

"Isn't it too early to be discussing engagement rings?" I tease, brushing some hair off his forehead.

"Way too early."

Of course, this makes me irrationally angry and upset, and I have to pretend he's right, which just further annoys me.

"You should be getting ready for the rehearsal dinner," Edward reminds me.

"I have some time."

"Good, I really want to..." And his hands are in and up my skirt. After our fight the other day, we've kissed a lot and touched a lot, but we've also been talking nonstop. So much that we fell asleep in the middle of long, serious conversations both nights. We had sex this morning, but it was super quick and I was still so sleepy, and I want him right now, but I'm tired and gross from the plane, and I'd rather nap...

Let's see where this goes. I let him kiss me, and then I yank off my top, and he's pulling down my bra cups instead of just taking the whole thing off, and he's clearly not in the mood to touch and hold and be sweet right now, because his clothes stay on, but his hand is in his pants, trying to take out his dick, which he's having some trouble with because he's trying to concentrate on kissing my chest and moving his hands into my underwear. I'm usually not just lying here, watching him get everything ready on his own. It's pretty interesting, and funny. Maybe hot.

Definitely hot, now that he's out and my skirt is up around my waist, and he's fingering me and breathing hard against my shoulder.

I'm crazy, stupid satisfied when he's inside me. I want to thank him and congratulate myself and shout and then just feel him moving over and over. This is going to be as fast as this morning. I kiss him once and push him off me and roll myself over onto my stomach. He's back inside, long and lovely and hot. I'm waiting... waiting...

And there's a knock on our door. Then a double knock.

"Bella? You in there? Jack told me you guys checked in."

Edward freezes and pulls out.

"Just a second!" I jump off the bed and pull on the shirt I was wearing. Edward is struggling with his pants again. His face is red. He curses and walks over to the bathroom.

"You're so rude," I say as I finally open the door. Jasper is grinning at me, his stupid shades on, collar popped, all colorful and happy and sweet, holding a bag I want to steal from him and devour the contents from.

"Dinner's in less than two hours," I remind him.

"Everything in there is covered in onions and cheese."

I squeal and try to grab the bag, but he teases me and makes me jump for it, right before setting it on the floor.

"Come here," he tells me. A hug turns into Jasper lifting me off the ground, holding me tight. I kick a few times, but then hold on with my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist.

"Okay, it's time to put me down."

"Where's the boyfriend?"

"In there," I say, pointing to the bathroom.

Edward walks out just as Jasper is lowering me to the ground. The way he looks Jasper up and down is priceless. I think he's about to laugh, but instead he walks over and introduces himself. Once they've got that out of the way and we're all enjoying a wonderful meal, Edward compliments Jasper on his pants. I'm snickering and hiding my face behind this giant burger when Jasper tells him that I used to hate those pants.

"I still do. Why do you still own them? They're yellow. Edward, oh man, he wore them in front of my dad once. You should've seen Dad's face."

Edward can't hold it in any longer. He's laughing and has to put his burger down for a second. I see tears, and Jasper is so confused. I promise him it's an inside joke about my dad, and I pinch my boyfriend hard. Twice.

"So we ran into the happy couple downstairs," I tell Jasper. "They were very nice."

"Yeah, they're good people," he replies.

"She's lost a lot of weight, right? She was always tiny, but wow. She looks awesome. And it makes her ring look that much bigger."

"That eyesore," Jasper says. "I told him to find something a little smaller, but better quality. He wouldn't listen. He almost tried to get me to buy one for Alice that was just as grotesque."

"See? I'm not the only one who thinks it's tacky," Edward tells me.

"I remember how he was always pressuring you guys to propose to your girlfriends. They've had a very long engagement, but they were also so young when he proposed."

"Yeah, he tried to get me to propose to you back then," Jasper recalls. "I told him you'd get my grandmother's ring. He said you'd hate me."

"I wouldn't have hated you, that was a beautiful ring. Not exactly modern, but stunning. And I mean, the girl who gets to wear it also gets to say she's wearing Vivian Aston-Hale's ring."

"I doubt I'll end up proposing to anyone with that ring," Jasper sighs.

"Why not?"

"Can you really trust anyone these days? Imagine if I'd proposed to her. My parents... Not that they would have allowed me to use it in the first place."

"Uh, your parents didn't like me either when you first introduced me to your family," I remind him. "They would have come around. She was a sweet girl..."

"She was trash," he says.

"I'm not going to defend her, but you were crazy about her. I honestly thought you'd take her side..."

I look over at Edward. He's listening so intently. Our eyes meet for a second and he gives me the small, polite smile that tells me he's good.

"No, something inside of me snapped when I found out. I was done. And Mom told me to get her out of the house, or leave with her. I was more than happy to kick her out. I can't even go back there. My parents think they're going to sell it. We don't need a place in DC anymore."

I frown, remembering how heartbroken he was at the time. I think he has a very different memory of his reaction to the news. He remembers how angry he was at Alice, but all I remember is how sad he was about her betrayal, and how much he missed her.

"I'm sorry, Jasper. That whole thing... You didn't deserve it."

Edward mumbles something in agreement. It's slightly awkward, so I try to change the subject.

"Is your dad here?" I ask.

"Yes, and he wants to speak with you. Maybe tomorrow after the wedding, or Sunday morning?"

"Yes, of course. Tomorrow's fine." I owe them so much. So much. I can't think of exactly how much I owe them without feeling sick.

"It's cool, he just wants to chat," Jasper assures me. "I'll send him an e-mail and let him know that tomorrow is good."

"I'm always nervous around Mr. Hale," I explain to Edward. "He's very intimidating, and I just owe Jasper's parents so much for how kind they've been to me."

Edward nods.

"You owe them nothing," Jasper tells me before turning to Edward. "They love her like a daughter."

"Yeah..."

"I promise," Jasper says, his hand reaching out to touch my knee. I cover it with my hand and squeeze hard before I let go. "They still love you, and they both look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Just don't let Mom talk about her 'affairs' before she met Dad. Apparently she got around... a lot. I'm sure she'll tell you all about the senator and the prince herself."

"Oh, gross. Stop."

The three of us share a laugh, and we continue to talk until it's time for everyone to get ready for the rehearsal dinner. The boys part on friendly terms. There's almost a handshake, but their hands are greasy from the food. I walk Jasper to the elevator and thank him for stopping by, and being nice.

"It was a good distraction... I've been trying to stay calm, but I'm nervous about seeing so many people."

"You didn't need me. I heard you," he says with a big, disgusting smile. "That's why I knocked again and asked you to let me in. Poor guy."

"You're disgusting!"

"You owe me. I miss our conversations, and if you were single, you'd be here with me."

"Where's Irina?" I ask him.

"By the pool? I don't know."

His fingers find my hair, twirling a strand over and over.

"You were such a gentleman in there. A good friend. Don't start this because he's in there and we're out here."

"He's—"

"I don't want to hear it," I say. "Off you go. See you at dinner."

I turn and walk back to our room. Edward is in the shower, and I decide to jump in with him, since we're running late. He doesn't even hear me come in at first, and he's quiet and distracted when I ask him to hand me the shampoo, and later when I ask him if my dress looks okay.

"Yeah, you look great."

"Thank you. You're very handsome," I whisper. "You look perfect."

He smiles and kisses my cheek, my palm, my wrist. My heart beats faster and I blush, but he doesn't notice. His eyes are on me, but he's not looking. I frown, but try to clear my head and stay upbeat. It's not easy, because I'm nervous and sick about seeing all my old friends again. I try talking to Edward on our way out. I want him to say that it's going to be fine, that I shouldn't be nervous, and maybe he can tell me I look great again. Maybe with a little more enthusiasm this time. But all I get is his hand on my shoulder, and empty, random words uttered by someone who's physically present, but somewhere else in every way that counts.

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xo