Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight
Love: a temporary insanity, curable by marriage. - Ambrose Bierce
BPOV
I hold my breath. In the simplest terms, it's all I can do. Anticipation zaps through the space between as my lungs knock at my brain's door. Bella, you can breathe now, they cry. No. Not yet. Not yet, is the response. His green eyes stare. They're laden within his statuesque face, and for a moment, I think I am holding the hand of a gargoyle. No, a marble Adonis. And slowly, so slowly, Edward blinks. His eyes trail down, raking my body and finally landing on my stomach. There is no evidence. Funny joke, he probably muses in his head. I feel him bore into my belly, my flat belly, and his thoughts scream. He does the math in his eyes, retracting four weeks.
"That won't help. We have sex just about every night." I mutter and his eyes snap to mine. A smile twitches at his lips, and finally, at long last, it surfaces. At his glorious grin, I exhale.
"A child?" He whispers, his eyes softening. His thumb runs circles against my palm and I nod.
"Our child." I murmur and glance down at my flattened stomach. I'm going to be a mother… When I raise my head to gaze into his eyes, they're glazed. He stares at the ceiling, blinking furiously against his tear ducts. He fights so hard, battling the intangible weight of emotion. Edward continues his pattern of rubbing my palm, yet the pressure is lightened. I hold on to him, desiring to snap him out of this trance. But he needs it. Revelation and new beginnings streak through both our minds as I begin to ponder a child in my arms. The buzzing of the hospital's heartbeat whirrs in the background of our silence.
"God," Edward exhales in an exasperated manner. I snap from dreamland and study him. He squeezes his eyes shut before reopening them and connecting with my gaze. Hint of red irritation dances around his emerald irises, causing my own eyes to prick. "I love you so much." He squeezes my hand and I glance at his hospital bracelet. I glance his catheter. I glance at his intravenous drip. I glance at his heart rate monitor. I glance at Edward Cullen, my fiancé and father of my unborn child. I'd do this forever; sit here on the side of his bed. I'd do this for our child, our marriage and our love.
"I love you too." A wave of emotion envelops me, as does a smile.
"Well, Bella…" He murmurs and squeezes my fingers. "This is wonderful news." His eyes are red.
"You're… You're happy?" I squeak as the filmy layer of tears increases.
"Oh, Bella," He whispers through that crooked smile. "Of course, I'm happy. Don't cry." His fingers brush my cheeks gently. Tears that have unknowingly fallen.
"I'm sorry," I sniffle and choke a laugh. "I'm just so… happy too." I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.
"I hope it'll have your laugh." Edward says gently, prodding me into awkwardly laughing even more.
"I hope it'll look like you." I roll my eyes and hiccup once, bouncing slightly in my seat. He smiles.
"No, Bella, Bella. I hope it will both look and act like you, for having two of you is an excellent two-in-one price bargain."
"Ridiculous." I giggle and lean forward to peck his cheek.
"But honestly," He says softly, his green eyes brimming. "What the hell did I do right to deserve this?" His eyes are drawn downward.
"You came back to me." I offer.
"No," He shakes his head and those bronze tresses stir slightly. "Well, yes. But we owe it to someone who truly holds all the credentials."
"Elizabeth." I murmur. He nods.
"Bella, I just… I never thought I'd experience this." He whispers and shakily lifts my hand. He brings my fingers to his mouth and kisses them softly, his lips cracked and soft.
He exhales, as do I. "Why?" I smile with my tear-brimmed eyes.
"I never thought I would have children. You know, I was so incredibly busy – and arrogant. It just never occurred to me that it was a possibility… Without you. I never thought you'd come back to me, Bella," He whispers. "And without you, there's no purpose in getting married, or having children. A trophy wife is too absurd, if I ever decided to wed out of love. A colleague in my firm is out of the question. Why? Because no one, and believe me when I say, no one, compares to you. And what you mean to me. But here you are, holding my hand, cleaning me up and wiping me down. You put up with my crap: my snide comments created from witticism, my cover-hogging ways, my inability to keep out of the ICU ward. And you, you incredible woman, are going to have my child? I can't even grasp it." He smiles so hard with my fingers pressed against him, and I cannot help but allow the tears to spill. For the umpteenth time, he makes me cry. But this time, it's not because he's walking out or stomping on my heart. This time, he's walking back in and fixing it. Hell, he even walks away with it, taunting for me to take it back. But I don't. I don't even think about it.
……..
Although we're playing the unconventional, polar card, I don't mind the birth of Edward's hawk-eyed characteristics. I should be the one eyeing him, and although ridiculous, he won't lay a finger off of me. He defies doctor's orders, an incredible surprise, as we weave in and out of Seattle's streets. Always a rebel and always a bastard – a reformed one, at this point – Edward is already up and running. As we walk through the brisk cold, his hand is pressed against the small of my back. If I walk several steps ahead, he'll be right there. Watching, watching for nothing at all. At this point, it's all surreal; a thought so distant it's placed on an island scarcely visible from the shoreline. Hardly visible. Too far to swim, too far to boat. It's there, but not quite tangible.
"I'm fine, Edward," I sigh and glance up at him. "I'm not some manacled, feeble woman now that you've knocked me up."
"Feministic. Crude. I like it," He flashes that grin and we both stop at a crosswalk. He retrieves his hand from the small of my back and smirks. I melt. "I'll hand you the independence token… But as for other concerns… You're far too clumsy to keep even yourself alive." He chuckles and wraps an arm around my shoulders. I scowl.
"You're terrible." I mutter and his lips press hard against my temple. He makes a popping noise – mockery.
"I'm right, darling." He laughs that musical laugh and the crosswalk signals the Walk Now sign. I mutter incoherent strings of nothingness under my breath as the cold nips my cheeks. Sam trots by Edward's side.
"I've certainly taken the fall from feminism," I smile. "Giving up on what you egotistical corporate folk consider a decent job. Then, to go on to a profession so frowned upon and joked about in white-collared society. And to top it off, I'm now chained to my stomach for nine months. I'll probably kill myself in the delivery room too, and you know that."
"God," He throws his head back. "You are so cynical! Not to mention incredibly smart. And sexy." He laughs and we continue to walk. I merely roll my eyes.
"I went to law school for a reason." I tease and we halt to a stop. Sam is already pacing up the stairs, but as the rest of Seattle passes by in a blur, we are unmoving.
Edward removes his hand from my shoulders and proceeds to face across from me. "So are you saying lawyers are sexy?" He grins and I fail to stifle a giggle.
"No, not the latter, you silly –"
"So they're sexy," He repeats with a musical chuckle. "I may have heard that somewhere…" He looks dashing in our sunless city, the grey serving his eyes wonders. They pop out against the drab surroundings, illuminating our bit of space.
"Well, I heard they aren't." I cross my arms.
"Oh, the hypocrisy!" He booms with a glint in his eye. "Come on, Margaret Thatcher." He rolls his eyes and I smack his arm playfully.
"You're so arrogant," I laugh, the brisk air forming condensation with my words. "Sexy lawyer."
"Ha ha, how I cannot wait until we are married. It wil be like this, but worse, of course. We'll have to bicker in bed too when I'm watching television and you're skimming a book. I won't have to turn off the lights though – that's on your side of the bed." He grabs my hand and we turn to walk the steps - Sam awaiting us.
"So we're going to raise our child in your apartment?" I smile and glance at his profile.
"Agh, way to ruin all my silent fun." He pouts and I raise an eyebrow.
"Quoi?" I mutter.
"Je ne sais quoi." He shrugs.
"Silent fun?" I blink twice.
"I was just thinking about purchasing different… living accommodations." His lips vacillate between a line and a smile.
"Tell me!" My eyes grow wide. "Please, tell me." I demand.
"No can do: silent fun." He breaks out into a crooked smile before pecking my temple.
"I will actually murder you, because my hormones are raging." I scowl as he pushes the door open. Sam follows.
"Again. Can't wait to get married."
……..
She sits at a table, absentmindedly staring at her nails. Her eyes squint as she raises them to her nose. Elizabeth studies her chipped, pale pink polish and she furrows her brow before grinding a flake off. Adolescence has leaked its way into her features; her facial structure is more defined, her body taller and leaner, her feminine assets hidden behind a blue, Lake Tahoe sweatshirt.
"Have you ever been to Lake Tahoe?" Edward plops down into a seat across from her. She glances up, momentarily, before chipping another flake off her pinky nail. Her eyes are still that striking shade of light blue, and they blink, shielded by thick, black lashes.
"Hey," She greets, her eyes flickering to him for a mere half-second. "And nope. It's a friend's. Hey, Bella." Her eyes are drawn back to her preoccupation. Her light brown cascade of hair is strewn in a sloppy bun atop her head. It moves as she ducks her head.
"Hi, Elizabeth." I smile and take a seat next to Edward.
"Where's Sam?" Elizabeth looks up distractedly and proceeds to gnaw on her pinky. Her large eyes blink once.
"Here." Edward mutters and glances under the table. The German Sheppard circles around, bumping our calves, before emerging and nuzzling her knee. She smiles, charmed, and ruffles his fur.
"Hey, buddy." She grins. When she retracts her hand, she's moved on to chipping the polish off her fourth finger.
"No nail polish remover?" Edward raises her eyes and Elizabeth hides a smile.
"It's missing in action. I'm doing this old school." She purses her lips and glances from him to me.
"Alice would not approve." I feign horror and she jokingly clasps a hand to her mouth.
"Don't tell on me, Edward." She mutters and goes back to her mission. Elizabeth was introduced to our small knit of friends months ago. She took a particular liking to the notoriously rampant pixie, finding her sassy and classy. A tiny pile of petal pink begins to form on the table directly beneath her.
"Perhaps I won't." He smiles at the fifteen-year old girl. We chat for a bit, reviewing how life is treating us, how awful her classes are, how terribly irked she is by stalker #4 in her Western Humanities class. She inquires about the wedding, teaching, what type of food Edward is feeding Sam these days. She suggests Iams. The banter continues on, yet two subjects are not probed: the upcoming trial and our new… Surprise.
"I've decided that I'm a muffin kind of girl," Her quirky sense of conversation continues. "I mean, icing is good – don't get me wrong. However, the fluff of muffins is truly sovereign. You can't fluff a cupcake." She's onto her thumb now.
"I've always been a muffin kind of girl, too." I concur, my elbow propped onto the table. I cup my neck and blink once.
"Right? They're great. What's your take on this, Edward?" She turns to him.
"Neutral." He shrugs.
"Why?" She demands and tucks her side-swept bangs behind her left ear. I inhale shakily, yet I cannot bear to look away. Snaking inconspicuously from beneath her hair is the ghoulish scar that runs nearly the entire horizontal length of her head. The tresses veil it, but no amount of hair can secrete the evidence from Edward and I.
"I enjoy both." He says distractedly; he notices the scar as well, albeit its substantial concealment.
"What?" She blinks. "Are you two looking at it again?" Edward and I exchange startled glances.
"No. I… We…"
"Stop feeling guilty," She throws her hands in the air. "I mean honestly, it happened a year ago." Her Converse slip off the rung of her chair and she leans forward on the table. We're silent as she gazes at us, as she studies our faces.
"Okay." I duck my gaze.
"Hm." Edward merely grunts. She connects with his gaze, slowly, and the two begin a silent conversation. I stare at the cracks in the table.
"Uh… How is Jacob?" I blink. Elizabeth breaks Edward's gaze to stare at me.
"Great, actually," She shrugs. "He's doing well at the Police Academy. And how are you, Bella?"
I cross my arms. "I'm fine."
"You look tired." She cups her on face and tilts her head to the side. Damn.
"I am." I smile and turn to Edward.
"She's been working exhaustively, lately." He confirms with a nod. There is a round of silence as Elizabeth bores her bright eyes into me, studying me, attempting to decode me. She squints her eyes slightly and cocks her head even further.
I blink twice. "Your eggo is preggo." She finally says.
"What?" I raise my eyebrows as Edward's lips twitch with that crooked smile.
"You're pregnant." She rephrases.
"How do you… Think that?" I furrow my brow.
"You forget that I'm perceptive," She laughs, her eyes crinkling without crow's feet. "You're tired. He keeps watching you. It's obvious." I stare at her dubiously.
"I… Well, Er…" I stutter.
"She is." Edward grins.
"Congratulations. I'm just surprised it didn't happen earlier." Elizabeth shrugs with a glinting smile.
"Thank you." I bite my lip with a giggle.
"Thank you, Elizabeth." Edward nods sincerely.
"So when you win the trial, am I the official babysitter?" She asks nonchalantly and raises her nails to her nose once more. I stare at her, this unique, quirky girl with a scarred past and a complete disregard for it. She peers into the future, not allowing her countenance to swim with the past, as the flakes of her nail polish continue falling into a pile. Gone, her old petal pink nails shed, the bare, unpolished nails ready for a new coat; a new start.
EPOV
I skim the paper, inconspicuously searching for home listings. A surprise for Bella's belated birthday. A new beginning for our family. Nothing that I can't afford, I tediously glance at the suburban homes for sale. None spark any particular interest, and I sigh heavily.
"What's wrong?" Bella bounds over to me from the den. She ambles through the archway and plops directly onto my lap at the island counter.
"Oof," I smile. "Of all the square feet in this apartment and you choose this particular spot to seat yourself?" She slinks her arms around my neck and leans back into my chest.
"What are you looking at?" She squirms in my lap to gain sight of my secretive conquest. I fold the paper shut, tossing it onto the counter. It slides across the marble top, out of her reach.
"Nothing." I tease.
"Tell me." She pouts and I wrap my arms around her waist.
"Our nation's spiraling fiscal situation." I breeze with nonchalance and she rolls her eyes.
"Right. On the Home section?"
"Hey. Inflation. Foreclosures." I shrug.
"Hey… No." She pecks my cheek.
"Fine, you stubborn woman. I was wondering if we should paint the bathroom lavender."
"Right." Her tone is laced.
"New tile for the kitchen?"
"Nice try."
"An article on a family's heart-wrenching, inspirational story where they moved into their ideal, Victorian era mansion, despite the adversaries? Too high on the market? The father juggled three jobs just to pay for his family's dreams? Yet despite all of it, the marble columns still displease the wife? It has a doghouse for Sparky, too."
"Now, I'm honestly beginning to wonder if you do read the Home section." She giggles and I smile into her hair.
"I assure you, I don't."
"So then why were you?" She upkeeps that admirable tenacity.
"Would you like the truth?" I sigh. She nods vigorously and gazes up at me with those gorgeous, brown eyes. "I have a doorknob fetish." She whacks my chest. "I joke, I joke, you masochistic woman. I was… Looking into houses."
"What?" She blinks.
"For us. Our family." I smile and she snuggles into me.
"Oh, Edward… That's so wonderful." Bella muffles into my chest.
"I'm just not sure if suburban Seattle is really my calling. But of course, it's your decision. I'm waiting hand on foot for you, here." I stroke her mahogany tresses gently.
"Forks." She murmurs somewhere into my polyester t-shirt.
"Forks?" I raise my eyebrows as she raises her head. Her eyes flicker to mine for a moment before they're on my scar. I watch her carefully, studying her actions. Slowly, she raises her forefinger to my shoulder as she begins to trace my evidential mistake. It weaves, just as the jags, down my arm. We both watch her finger trail down my arm, and once it reaches the end, she meets my gaze.
"Does that hurt?" She tilts her head slightly.
"No." I shake mine.
"Good," She blinks those chocolate eyes. "That's good."
I nod. "Yes."
"So then, Forks…" She trails.
"Are you sure? All of our friends live here in Seattle." I murmur.
"I miss home," She says softly. "And you never know if they want to, as well. Jasper wouldn't want Annabel to grow up in a city… He didn't, and I'm sure he doesn't want his daughter to. Rosalie… Well, maybe if she gets pregnant – actually, you know what? I don't care. I want to have our baby in Forks. But wait… What about your career?" She purses her lips and gazes at me.
"Forks, it is."
"No, no, no. You can't leave your career." She sighs, torn.
"We can discuss this later." I offer.
"Suburban Seattle. Let's do that. We'll be right outside the city, not far from everyone. You can commute, I can too…" She counteracts. I exhale.
"Bella –"
"Edward. We can visit places on the outskirts. I'm sure we'll find something… You probably have gotten the wrong impression, because after all, the Home section is for people with doorknob and wood paneling fetishes." She beams and lays her head onto my shoulder.
I gaze down at her. "I hope you realize that I don't have a preference. I'm here to make you happy, if you want a house in Forks, I'll get you one. If you want a house in suburban Seattle, I'll get you one. If you want a house in Connecticut and then a bungalow in Florida, I'll get you both. Bella," I laugh. "This is in your hands."
"I want you to like it where we live, though…" She murmurs on my shoulder.
"As long as you and our baby are there, I'm golden, love."
And later that night, in bed, I press my ear against her creamy stomach. It's smooth, flat, bare, and to my disbelief, my child – our child – is buried underneath. She laughs, melodically, and pats my hair, her fingers lingering. She absentmindedly twiddles a lock of my hair between her forefinger and thumb while I rub her belly. Silky and taut, my pattern and hers lilts my eyes shut. A boy? A girl? Visions of blue explode and spill in tune with pink, overflowing into a river of thoughts. It's a calm rushing of flow as I ponder our tiny bundle of cells. My eyes? Her eyes? Her beauty? My arrogance? I trace drawings into her stomach, lightly, gently, in hopes that our child can see through the darkness. It's not even a child yet, I think to myself, yet my fingers develop minds of their own. They continue with their depictions, drawing starry pictures for our baby's night sky. Our child, our infant, is wrapped in a blanket, snug and warm in the womb, as he or she blinks at the personalized constellations. Circles, squares, abstract lines all form the celestial imagery that the unborn truly deserves; I, an artist warped by love.
"What are you doing? It tickles." Bella giggles sleepily as she continues to pluck my hair.
"Nothing." I poke her side and she writhes.
"Stop." She sputters through a laugh. I smile into her supple skin and continue with my depictions, the darkness lulling me into a half-conscious pattern. Her fingers weave through my hair, massaging my scalp. I turn my head to kiss my canvas softly, it smelling of freesia and Bella. "Look at you," She yawns and removes her hands from my hair to stretch. Her back arches, her belly, that canvas, becoming further taut. After seconds, it returns to normality. Still flat, still smooth. "So touchy feely tonight." She chirps after executing her fatigue.
"I always am." I chuckle and shift myself. I prop onto my elbows and plant one last kiss, attempting to find my way through this darkness. Bella issues a single giggle, a come and find me giggle, so I partake in this challenge. It really isn't hard. I trail my kisses upward, up the plateau of her belly, through the valley between her bare breasts, and up the slope of her neck. I find her lips; they're curved and welcoming.
"I'm too tired for round two." She giggles against me, yet her fervor fails to cease. She wraps her slender arms around my torso, the fingertips digging into my skin. It is my turn to laugh.
"Oh?" I refuse to fit myself upon her; rather, I suffice by leaning toward my bride-to-be. Four weeks pregnant, and already, the paranoia begins to settle. Nine months of scarcely touching her… Shit.
"Oh," She pulls away and buries her face into my neck. "Come to bed, Edward." I feel her smile.
"I am in bed." I slump off my propped elbows, into my side. She shifts as well, her face still buried within my collarbone.
"You know what I mean." She murmurs and snuggles further into me. I sigh.
"Very well, then. Goodnight, love." I plant a kiss into her mahogany hair and suppress a yawn.
"Goodnight." She releases her fingers from my neck to smooth the tresses of hair. I curl my arms around her, nestling half of my face somewhere in the sea of our pillow. She emits a contented sigh - an angel's noise. And somehow, I find myself singing. To both my muse and our child.
Yay, fluff? Okay, be proud. I actually updated within a reasonable time span.
Sound the bells and flood the streets! I joke, I joke. I'm finally going to get officially
diagnosed for ADHD and I'm SO excited. Well, not for the psychologist and me sounding deranged
bit, but for the amphedimines. I may actually be able to update once a week. God, the possibilities are insane.
No pun intended. End rant... Enjoy the reading!
kisses, JennyCullen44
