Sometimes, the flames are so bright that the light is blinding.

–

Edward doesn't show up on Tuesday. He actually has a meeting to attend. He sends me a quick text so I don't wait for him for dinner. I end up ordering Chinese food for myself. I hate cooking – it reminds me of home, when I used to cook for my parents. My mom, Renée, was a horrible cook. Or it reminds me of James, and how I used to wait for him for dinner till one in the morning. The food would be too cold to eat so late, but I would eat anyway because it was my hard earned money and leave his untouched just to prove a point.

So, usually, it's Edward who does some magic with whatever groceries I have and makes sure I eat home cooked food at least once a week. Months of this routine with Edward, and I still haven't made myself capable of making anything but a bowl of soup, and tea or coffee without depressing myself.

–

It's Sunday today, and it's my day off. Saturdays exhaust me – Saturdays is always the best for business – so I spend most of Sundays in bed. Sometimes Maria stops by with a homemade dish for me, which I reheat and eat all day. But today there is a Parent–Teacher conference at her kid's school, and that's where she has gone. Bored and alone, I eat a bowl of cereal and watch TV, snuggled on my huge couch.

I feel something cold and wet touching my face and, irritated at the disturbance, I roll over to bury my face in the back of the couch. I hear a chuckle and finally my sleepy brain catches up with my senses and I gasp, alarmed. My adrenaline rush fades as quick as it had come when I realize it's just Edward, kneeling on the floor beside the couch, leaning over me to kiss allover my face.

"You scared me," I breathe, taking his hand and putting it over my heart so he can feel my pulse racing. His other hand strokes my hair as if I were a kid.

"I'm sorry. I wanted to surprise you, but you were asleep and I only have a couple of hours…" he says sheepishly. The sleep fog slowly lifting from my head, I realize he never shows up on a Sunday.

"It's a Sunday…"

"Sophie wanted to spend a day at Grandma's…so she is with my mom."

"And Tanya?"

He frowns. "The fuck I know. She left early in the morning. Must've gone to a spa or something."

"Oh."

"So anyway, I'm here," he smiles. "I'm here so we can celebrate your birthday."

I don't even know how he knows. "When did I tell you about that?"

"You didn't. I caught it off our old yearbook."

"Shut the front door! You still have those?" Now I am grinning like a loon.

"It was buried in some cardboard box somewhere. I hunted for it."

He gets up off the floor and sits beside me in the tiny space. He then leans towards me and captures my lips with his, moving his hands to my face so his thumbs trace my cheekbones.

We don't make love that evening. We cut the cake he brought for me, and he gives me a necklace with a silver butterfly pendent.

"Because you're going to fly one day, and you're just as fragile," he murmurs, pulling me closer as I sit between his legs, my back flush to his front.

I scowl as I turn my face towards his. "I'm not fragile."

"You are to me. I know you're strong – you're actually the strongest person I know – but when I hold you like this," he squeezes me into his embrace, "all I want to do is protect you from the world. You're my butterfly."

I roll my eyes at his logic but the stupid grin doesn't leave my face till he leans down and kisses me.

We spend the whole two hours just sitting on the couch, snuggled and cuddling and kissing. It's enough. It's his way of showing that what we share is much deeper than an arrangement based on sex. It's something far more powerful. He consumes my thoughts in a way I never thought would happen. I worry when he doesn't call all week. I worry when the bags under his eyes become more prominent than usual. He takes care of me and makes me feel treasured. He suggests almost every time that I should quit what I do. That he could pay for my education, under some pretense or the other. That maybe he could take a loan on my behalf – no one would question him. But I can't take advantage of him.

Hurt flickers across his face when I refuse – yet again – but he quickly covers it up with a smile and a kiss on my forehead. I can't stop hurting him, but maybe I can say something to make it better…or worse, depending on how he takes it. I turn around in his arms, straddle his lap, and touch his precious face.

He closes his eyes, leans into my hands and sighs as if my touch has brought him the greatest comfort.

"Edward?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"I think I love you."

He looks up, smiles at me, and I lean into him and put my head on his shoulder, just being. I don't expect a reply. I don't want one. I'm content. I'm happy. For once in my life, I'm just happy. He has brought so much light into my life that I'm blinded by all the happiness coursing through my veins.

"Bella?"

"Hmm?"

"What did you wish for when you blew the candles?" I can hear his smile.

I think for a moment and finally whisper, "Light."

"Bella?"

"Hmm?"

"I think I love you, too."

––x––