.

"Excuse me, but my landlady prefers me to keep this door open when I have a gentleman caller."

- Susan

December 18, 2009

Edward

"I don't want to go," I murmur, brazenly vulnerable. My fist clutches the strap of my duffel tighter, keeping my possessions from being whisked away to the nearby inn.

"I don't want you to go," Isabella admits in turn. Her eyes are hiding, focusing on her feet.

I glance briefly in the direction of the living room, as if I can see her couch from the awaiting doorway.

It will probably be terribly uncomfortable to sleep on, but knowing that she is above me, just a floor away...I can manage.

That is, if she asks me.

I send a hopeful look to Isabella, not even caring that I seem desperate.

I am desperate for her. And it feels wonderful.

"Do you want to stay?" she asks, uncertain.

I nod too eagerly, and she smiles.

I graciously move toward the hall, to my self-designated sleeping quarters.

"Where are you going?"

I turn around, surprised by the alarm and confusion in her voice.

"The couch?" I answer hesitantly, suddenly unsure. Isabella shakes her head.

"You don't have to - you can come upstairs. My bed is small, but..." Her fingers twist and turn, creating a beautiful tangle.

"If you don't mind," I interject, hearing her struggle.

"I don't mind."

My upturned lips display my happiness when she starts up the steps, leading the way.

We walk into what I can only assume is her bedroom, since I have never seen it before. There are various clothes thrown about, but it's not very messy. Regardless, she hurries to hang the clean ones back up.

I take in her attire as she flutters around the room. Her starry-cotton pajama pants are slung low on her hips, revealing a sliver of skin below her tank top. The tapered pant legs end right above her ankles, betraying how long she's had them.

I look down at my pants and button-down. Isabella changed and got ready for bed while we were delaying my departure, so she's ahead of me in terms of nightly preparation.

"I'll just change in the bathroom," I tell her, gesturing toward the hallway.

"Okay," she agrees without looking, tossing a few items into a pink laundry basket.

When I reach her seashell-wallpapered bathroom, I unzip my bag, trading my shirt and pants for softer alternatives. It's fortunate that I packed pajama pants, not knowing if I would want to rely on the inn's bedspread for warmth. Something tells me that sleeping in boxers would create too much awkwardness for Isabella.

This is all pretty awkward, but these are the dilemmas that arise when you're dating someone who lives four hours away.

I brush my teeth and return to her room, dropping my duffle near the door. Isabella is facing the bed, shifting her weight from one bare foot the other.

She turns when she hears me, seeming to immediately think better of it. Within the same second, Isabella returns to her previous position with a rapid spin on her heels.

We both stare at the bed hesitantly, as if it might sprout wings and come at us at any moment.

"Do you have a favorite side?" I ask to fill the silence.

Do you have a favorite side?

Nice, Cullen. What a question to ask a virgin.

At least, I think she is a virgin. Hope she is. I want her to be only mine...

I inwardly shake my head, trying to halt that line of thinking.

Unfortunately, Isabella chooses that moment to climb onto the bed, inspiring more caveman-esque thoughts.

She crawls over to the middle of the mattress before shrugging.

"I don't care either way. Do you?"

I look down, feigning indifference and really hoping it looks authentic.

I want her. I want her and her starry-cotton pajama pants, too.

"No, you can pick."

Isabella turns off her bedside lamp and lies down on the right side of the bed. The room is noticeably darker, yet it's still slightly illuminated by the paper lantern near her door.

I sit down before mirroring Isabella's horizontal position. She's on her side, just like I am. But she's too far away.

I tell myself to relax as I pull her into my arms. It's just like when we're standing up.

She molds to me perfectly.

My head rests in the crook of her neck as I surround myself with her strawberry scent. When my lips accidentally brush against her skin, I place an intentional kiss there.

"Edward?" Isabella's shaky question jolts me from my senses-rich heaven.

I pull away immediately, releasing her as if the warm skin scolded me.

Fuck. She probably thinks I was trying to seduce her or something.

"I'm sorry," I say quickly, hoping she won't ask me to leave. We'll just have to write a no-touching rule or something.

A blush invades her cheeks.

"No, it's fine. Really. I just...don't think I'll be able to sleep like that."

I smile softly, relieved by her reasoning. Then I scoot back obediently, giving Isabella a decent amount of room to call her own.

"No problem. Well, goodnight."

"Goodnight."

We stare at each other for a long moment, the quiet growing heavy.

Can I give her a kiss goodnight? Will that be weird?

Isabella's tongue peeks out of the corner of her mouth, wetting her bottom lip. Teasing me with the thought of a taste.

Oh, screw it.

I press my hand against the small of her back, pulling her in for a quick, forceful kiss. It's probably much too passionate for only our third embrace, but my body isn't listening to that little detail. It only knows that Isabella is soft and warm and mine.

When I release her, Isabella giggles as the redness of her cheeks returns with a vengeance.

Is it wrong that I find her absolutely adorable when she's flustered?

"Goodnight, Edward," she murmurs pointedly, closing her eyes. She pulls the covers up to her shoulder, snuggling deeper into the mattress. Her kiss-brightened lips release a sigh at the newfound comfort.

I remain awake as Isabella drifts off quickly, her body stilling except the even breaths circulating in her chest. Tiredness is creeping up on me as well, but looking at the beautiful woman next to me is much more entertaining than sleeping.

After a few minutes of witnessing her untroubled expressions, my eye catches a small paperback on her nightstand, and I carefully reach over her to grasp it.

My decision to read it is made up of both curiosity and strategy; Isabella is still such an anomaly, and I know that I could use any extra insight I can get.

Upon closer inspection, it's clearly a compilation of poems written by one author. There are several bookmarks marking worn, favorite pages, so I select one of those.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

I write you a note
unsigned
folded and tucked
inside the novel
you've been reading
Lord of the Flies or
Huckleberry Finn my
heart pounding so hard
I can't see straight.

Next day in homeroom
your eyes look different.

All I want to say is:
don't worry about
any hidden meanings
or crazy symbolism
like in English class.

This note mean
only what it says:

Springtime
and I wish I knew you

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Did she love a boy in homeroom? I wonder, going over the words once more. The thought is unpleasant, so I push it aside. Maybe she just likes reading about an innocent romance. The written endearment is beautiful in that way.

I lay the book down and kiss Isabella on the forehead, the wistfulness of the poem staying with me.

I can think about this more tomorrow, but I need to get some rest so I won't be grumpy when I spend the day with her.

"Goodnight, angel," I murmur against brown hair as I wrap my arms around her gently. Now that Isabella is asleep, I see no harm in holding her close.

I wake up to the same darkness, slightly disoriented to find myself surrounded by Isabella. My body instinctively inclines slightly, just enough to take a glance at our connected forms. Our four legs are tangled together, spreading her warmth through me.

"Edward," she murmurs against my chest, stressing our close proximity. We're both still on our sides, having remained in that position after consciousness left us.

I look back at her face, expecting to find her eyes open, but only her pale-lavender lids are visible.

"Edward," she repeats, making my heart leap.

"I..."

I watch and listen, captivated, as she halts her sentence. I have a strange urge to rub her cheek, as if that will somehow coax the words out, but I don't want to wake her.

I study her peaceful expression reverently, silently willing her to share her thoughts. I so often wish to know what she is thinking, but now that she's said my name, this feels more urgent than usual.

Isabella's lips part, preparing for their next words as I wait with bated breath.

"...Pineapple king."

I use her purple pillow to smother my laugh, my rumbling chest jostling her head slightly.

What?

Isabella sighs and turns onto her back, no more sounds escaping her mouth. Her hair splays across the pillowcase in an elegant mess.

I lightly run my hand through her locks, barely resisting the previous desire to touch her face.

I know that the silly grin on my face will last until morning.

I'm just happy to be in her dreams.

Even if I am only produce royalty.

June 20, 2010

Edward

My bare feet slap lazily against the floor as I make my way to the kitchen, following the route my barely-awake nose has mapped out.

Even though I stayed in bed for far too long, I still feel like I could sleep longer. The familiar exhaustion is my own doing, as usual, since I always seem to stay up too late when I work in my office.

I spot Isabella standing at the marble counter, the origin of the wondrous smells placed in front of her. She's running a knife around the sides of a double-decker cake, spreading white frosting around and around.

Multicolored candles are scattered next to the sugary dessert. Twenty-six of them, I guess.

"Happy birthday!" Isabella exclaims, looking up at me for a moment. "Your friends from work will be over soon, for an early afternoon get-together," she says proudly. "Emmett and Rosalie, Esme and Carlisle, too."

"You remembered?" I ask rhetorically, excitedly. I'm pleasantly surprised. I have not mentioned my birthday in over a month.

Isabella pauses her cake decorating, stealing another glance.

"Of course I remembered," she chastises with a smile. "I love you."

The grin slowly drops from my face, but Isabella doesn't notice. She's too busy icing.

Since I have already dressed for the day, I turn toward the dining room, deciding to wait in there. I don't want Isabella to see my expression and think I'm not grateful for her efforts. While I never planned on a party, I have to admit that it will be nice to see everyone.

But Isabella's sentence is on repeat inside my head, masking any kind of joy that I should feel.

Of course I remembered.

While her "I love you" seemed genuine enough, I can't help but wonder if that was a reference to last week's gallery incident.

No. Isabella is too kind to make a dig like that. Especially on my birthday.

Right?

"The paper is on the table," Isabella calls, her helpful announcement trailing after me as I approach a wooden chair.

I predictably sit down in front of The Seattle Times, just like I do when my world is totally intact.

As I start thumbing through the pages, I wonder how long I can get away with staying in here.

Quite a while, I muse after staring at the newspaper for at least half an hour, not reading any of the potentially Pulitzer-worthy words.

I skim it for fairness' sake, gathering the rough ideas like one might do for a school report.

There are wars. There are elections. There are election wars...

The empty summarizing continues, uninterrupted, until I hear the doorbell ring.

I listen as Isabella plays the part of hostess, cheerfully welcoming the first guests inside.

"Where is Edward hiding?" Emmett loudly jokes, more accurately than he knows.

"I think he's in the dining room," Isabella answers, her softer voice muffled by the distance. "Rosalie, can you help me with my hair before everyone else arrives?"

"Sure, I need to finish my makeup, anyway. Have you ever tried to apply eyeliner in a moving vehicle?"

Isabella laughs, and I feel an irrational stab of disappointment because I'm not the one causing the sound.

Rosalie's high heels click on every step to the downstairs bathroom as Emmett's heavier footsteps grow nearer.

I wonder if he's wearing those dress shoes with the awful tassels. He promised he'd wear them at each holiday party this year.

More chimes from the doorbell ring out as Emmett enters the kitchen.

"Hey, Edward. Happy birthday!" my brother booms, jovial as ever.

I crack a smile as I stand. "Hey, Emmett."

He gives me a sturdy hug, slapping me on the back to make it more manly.

"Where are the munchkins?" I ask once he releases me. My brain is slowly catching up to the rest of me.

"They're at their babysitter's for the day. They don't do well with long car rides. Besides, they'd probably get into all sorts of trouble in this house."

He dons a purposeful frown before continuing. "But what gives, little brother? Why don't you visit us more often?" he asks, ruffling my already-ruffled hair.

"Sorry, I've just been busy," I offer lamely. The doorbell rings on repeat, so I work to block it out. The shrill sound is doing nothing for my nerves.

"You could always just send Bella Bee by herself. She hasn't started school yet, right? We'd probably have more fun that way, anyway."

Emmett studies me playfully, perhaps planning on messing up my hair some more, before his amusement ends. He must see the stress on my face since his own expression finally starts to mirror it.

"You okay? You know I'm just kidding, right?"

"Yeah, I know."

He lowers his voice, trying but failing to be discrete.

"Is married life treating you all right?"

"It's great," I say instinctively. The heavy dose of dread in my tone easily negates my claim.

I break away from Emmett's inquisitive blue eyes, looking down at his shoes with shame.

No tassels, I observe absentmindedly. Maybe Rosalie wouldn't let him.

"Hey, if you ever need -"

"Edward!" Esme interrupts, bursting into the dining room with all her pint-sized glory. "Happy birthday, sweetie."

Emmett looks at me nervously, his eyes still trying to convey his offer. I turn away uncomfortably, not knowing if anyone can help me.

Esme is smiling at me with affectionate excitement, soothing my anxiety just a little.

"Hi, thanks for coming," I say genuinely, remembering my manners enough to give both Carlisle and Esme a hug. "I thought you guys were still on the island."

Esme nods conversationally. "We were, but we missed you boys and wanted to come for a visit. Now seemed like the perfect time, with your birthday and all. I know you usually don't make a big deal of it, so I was happy when your Isabella told us she had something planned."

Carlisle tours the room while Esme speaks, looking at various decorations for the first time.

"I see that the Three Musketeers are all here now," he points out.

I walk over to where Carlisle is standing, so I can see inside the living room. Heidi and Alec are sitting on one of the couches, having swapped their usual office wear for semi-casual clothes.

"Oh, yeah, Isabella invited them," I report, my voice trying to convey that it's my birthday and I couldn't be happier. All these people are here for me. I should be happy.

But I'm terrified.

"We're ready to sing, everyone!" Isabella calls from an unseen location, causing my friends to stand.

I stay where I'm at as the rest of the guests are ushered into the dining room.

It's a surreal mess of happy birthdays, hugs, and one handshake from Alec because he is just classy like that.

I offer smiles and thanks for the sentiments, even though they are all blurring together.

Isabella carries in the white cake before setting it down on the table. She smiles at me, acting like we haven't been separated for the entire morning. Acting like that's not my fault.

Esme makes quick work of lighting the many candles, thanks to years of childhood celebrations and practice.

Compact digital cameras are aimed, ready to fire.

Emmett is still standing next to me, but Isabella has stepped into the crowd.

It's a small sea of friends and family and moving mouths.

They are probably singing, but I can't hear them.

Isabella is getting farther away.

With each step...

With every half-hearted smile...

Am I the only one who can see her fading?

It's torture, not knowing whether this gap between us is real or just imagined.

"Edward?" The sound of my brother's voice breaks through my silent, growing panic.

"Did you hear me?" he asks, his perpetually boyish grin in place once again. I can't tell if it's just for show.

My eyes flicker back to Isabella, who is now standing next to Rose. Not me.

"Hear what?" I ask distractedly, inadvertently answering Emmett's question.

His question doesn't matter when my wife is literally slipping away from me.

Emmett chuckles at my reply. "I said..."

He gestures to the flickering, melting candles. The fire engulfs them, threatening to destroy all the pretty wax colors.

"Make a wish."

A/N:

The lovely poem is called "The Note" by Ralph Fletcher. The compilation is Room Enough for Love. No copyright infringement intended and all that jazz.

Also, thanks to What The Fun for reading this over. And thanks for all the tweets, recs, and general pimpage being done for Rosebud. I appreciate it :)