"The Red Eye" outtake #2: The Killer Inside Me

So, I find myself traveling with an infant. Again. In addition to the dubious pleasure of taking an infant on a honeymoon. But since my choices are: a) taking a baby on a honeymoon; or, b) not having a honeymoon, you can see how I arrived at my decision. Ninety years, people, nine frickin' decades. That's all I'm saying.

So Bella and I planned our wedding and reception small so we could get the hell out of Dodge as fast as possible, since neither of us are big "party" people. We caught a flight to Niagara, because I decided that a honeymoon at Niagara Falls was all cool and romantic.

Well, I was right about the whole "cool" part since it was November in upstate New York. But still romantic, although a honeymoon in Cleveland would be romantic if Bella was there.

Bella is exhausted by the time we get there so I persuade her to take a nap and offer to take care of Thomas. I know, I am a selfless, selfless vampire. I'm like the Mother Theresa of vampires.

Except that I have a plan. I have been observing Thomas' awake-to-asleep ratios, because I've got plenty of time like that, what with not sleeping and not really wanting to pay attention to my job ever, and I think that if I play my cards right I can get a couple hours of sleep out of him.

Thomas and I do a little bit of reading: some "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" and some Wilkie Collins. We bite some blocks and do some crawling around and manage to stay awake for about an hour and a half past our normal bedtime. All part of my diabolical plan.

When Bella's had a few hours of sleep and Thomas is getting all droopy-eyed, I put him down and we have a little vampire-to-baby talk.

"Buddy, I promise I will never again talk with you about this stuff, because I know it's creepy to think about your parents having sex. But, for the next couple of hours, I'm really hoping that you could just sleep, ok? I've been waiting for this particular couple of hours for a really, really long time. I'll keep the baby walkee-talkee thing on but I am hoping that you are particularly tired. I'll make it up to you, I swear. Whatever you want. New toys, more stuff to put in your mouth, anything you want. Deal?"

Thomas just looks at me with his sleepy eyes and drools a little. I chose to take that as a "yes."

I slip into the bedroom of our cabin and close the door. Bella is still sleeping and I am debating whether to wake her up or not. I feel like a cad. I lie down carefully next to her and just watch her sleep. Because that's what I do. It's not creepy if it's your wife, right?

Bella took a bath before her nap and her hair is still a little damp. She's wearing a pair of dark blue, silky pajamas. I see her wedding ring on her hand and there it is. The other implication of the Victorian-Pavlovian response. I see her with my wedding ring on and that convinces me that I have to pounce on her.

I nuzzle my nose into her warm, slightly damp neck and kiss her right under her jaw. She lets out a little sleepy murmur and shifts towards me a little. I decide that was particularly successful and do it again. Her eyes flutter open and she smiles at me.

"I'm sorry to wake you up," I whisper. She rolls her eyes at me.

"No you're not," she says, putting her hand in my hair softly. I smile and put my lips back up against her neck and continue kissing her there.

"I should change," she says, not moving. "Alice gave me very specific directions."

I shake my head. "No, you don't have to change." I move my hand to her top button and undo it. I do an exemplary job on the first button but lose it with the next few. Sorry, pajamas.

I need to mention here that my new wife is not particularly loquacious. Apparently she doesn't need to be because I NEVER shut up.

"Bella…my love…oh, do you want me to…of course. Let me do that…is that…oh, you're so beautiful. Don't do…oh, I see what you're…sweetheart, you have to tell me…like this? Oh, you like that, don't you? Do you want me to…are you…oh, my God, I can't believe that…love, you don't need to…oh, Bella. I want to…that's so good. Please don't…you have to tell me…I can't…please, do that again…yes…just like…can you…oh, God, please…my Bella. I want…please…I'm going to…Jesus, Mary, Joseph and all the saints, including that weird one that is in charge of shoes…" (sound of crashing when I hit the lamp on the nightstand accompanied by my fist going through the headboard after tearing the sheet).

I stare at my wife for a full minute before saying; "If I had known it was like that I would have insisted on doing that with you when we first met."

She laughs and lays her head on my chest.

"I'm serious," I say. "That's all we're doing from now on. I'm going to hire a nanny."

"I'm not going to say 'I told you so,'" she says. "But I tried to get into your pants ages ago."

"I know," I say. "I don't know what's wrong with me. Don't worry. I'm a convert. Thomas is still asleep. Let's do it again. Can we do that? Please?"

My new wife is surprisingly tolerant of my new hobby, especially considering the number of items of clothing I destroy in the next few days, as well as the dent I put in the side of the rental car and the bruise on her shoulder.

But the most expensive repair required on my honeymoon ends up being the replacement door for the cabin. Again, totally my fault. I was reenacting the kiss from "Niagara" and got a little excited.

And the car thing? Let's just say that I paid out of pocket rather than try to tell our insurance agent the truth.

a/n: Betham betaed it, Stephanie Meyer has ownage. Thanks for reading! xoxo JuJu