Dreams wouldn't be dreams if they didn't crash. Life wouldn't be life if it didn't hurt. Love wouldn't be love if it didn't break, nor had the power to heal.

Hope keeps this alive. Hope is not a wasted breath.

I wake up with a tickling sensation at the back of my neck. My eyes open groggily, while mind tries to catch up.

Edward. He is breathing in my hair.

An involuntary, slow, goofy smile spreads across my face.

Here, in his arms, feeling all of him against my back, his breath tickling my neck and legs twined with mine…this is what happiness feels like. It's not parental approval, it's not societal acceptance. It's just this - our little bubble.

I close my eyes again, hoping I can put off the bursting of this bubble for a bit longer. It's barely light outside. I guess the time to be around five a.m., though when I crane my neck to check the clock, Edward's arm pulls me closer and makes it impossible to move. He doesn't snore, I notice.

I lie there for a few more minutes, but sleep eludes me because I'm too stiff after lying on this side for hours. My struggle to change position without waking him is a wasted effort. As soon as I move, he grunts a little, and when I look behind me, he has his brows furrowed.

I turn around fully and his eyes flutter open and closed, like a baby's.

"Blue," he slurs out before relaxing into the pillows again.

I try not to laugh. Try.

I carefully maneuver myself out from under his arm, and place my pillow where I was sleeping. He snuggles up to it instantly.

Yep. Kid.

I stretch as I sit up, and think about going downstairs to make some coffee, but his adorable pout and tousled hair are too much to resist. The comforter is bundled up against his legs and I shamelessly gawk at his nakedness.

Mine. By some miracle, this glorious man, who could have anyone he wanted, wants me - the epitome of fucked-up-ness.

I shake my head and lean into him, kissing the back of his head. He hums in his sleep.

I kiss lower and lower - his nape, his shoulder blades, tracing his spine with open mouthed warmth that makes him moan into his pillow.

"Bella?" he mumbles as if he can't quite believe I'm real.

I move back and with a little effort turn him around, which wakes him up a bit more. He rubs a hand across his face and shields his eyes against the dim light of the breaking dawn.

I place my leg on his waist and sit up, straddling him, and placing a hand on either side of him, pepper kisses from one shoulder to another. I kiss his neck. I kiss his chin. I kiss over his heart and revel in how it gives me life too.

His sigh is just as content as mine.

I keep kissing and take my time, slowly dragging my lips down his abdomen. He has no six-pack or anything, but he still has defined muscles. He hates exercising - I totally understand that. The flab on my waist is proof I'm not a stripper's body anymore.

The flab on my waist is also proof of how he ensures I'm well fed. How he's that someone who gives a shit if a skip a meal and gives me shit about it. How he forces me to eat an extra helping to make up for the meal I skipped.

I kiss his waist and wonder about the tiny scar there. I would ask him, but his eyes are closed and he looks asleep again and I kind of have another plan.

So I kiss lower, and lower.

And lower.

Till my mouth takes him in…and oh yeah, he's awake alright.

His body jerks forward of its own accord and his hands find my hair.

"Bella," his sleepy throat rasps out.

I double my efforts.

"Bella. Bella wha-" Groan.

My hand slips between his legs.

His hand fists my hair.

I once told him I suck pretty well. Back when he showed up at the club for the first time. I prove it again.

His noises get louder.

His breaths come out uneven and labored.

And I know. I know, even if his "I-I'm-nnnfff" wasn't an indication enough.

I take it all in and hold down his legs as he lets go.

When I finally let him go, he looks doped. Goofy grin matching mine and features relaxed into the most fuckable morning face ever.

Goddammit I am horny.

"Good morning," I say, and he looks at me like I'm his world. He looks at me like I would look at him for all of my existence.

His hands grab my arms and pull me against his warmth. His kiss thanks me, morning breath be damned. His hand moves up my arm to my shoulder, till his thumb rubs small circles against my pulse.

"I loved that wake-up call," he whispers against my lips. "Thank you."

Somehow, hearing him say thanks makes me blush. It makes me feel warm allover.

I bite his lower lip lightly. "Anytime."

He sighs again. "Although...now I'm so relaxed, I could sleep again."

I push back the hair from his forehead. "Go ahead. It's still early."

I cover him up with the comforter again and watch him sleep for a while, till my stomach grumbles and I have to get up.

I pick up my underwear off the floor but don't bother wearing it, instead walking to his closet and taking out an oversized t-shirt. I half expected this room to be empty, seeing how he referred to it as the 'Guest Room,' but now that I am not, uh, distracted, I notice how small things here and there define it as his. The closet, for one, is fully stocked with his clothes. A shirt is in the laundry basket. His slippers are outside the bathroom. The bedside table has his reading glasses (he looks even more fuckable when he wears them, if such a thing were possible), the book he's been reading, wallet, cell phone and car keys. I hate myself a little for invading his privacy this way, but I open the bedside drawer too, just out of curiosity.

And I find an opened pack of cigarettes on top. It…bothers me. I close the drawer and look at his sleeping form, wondering how I don't know about this. Or why he never told me.

My stomach grumbles again, forcing me to shrug this off and go down to the kitchen. While the pot of coffee brews, I pick up my dress from where I left it hanging on the back of a chair. It's still slightly wet and cold.

I hang it back up.

Bread into the toaster, coffee strong as he likes it, a couple of omelets - and I prepare a breakfast tray. It's strange to do it, because as close as Edward and I have been for so long, I still have hardly ever done it before.

Somehow my clumsy self makes it back upstairs with this tray in hand.

He's already awake, sitting up against the headboards and (unfortunately) wearing his pajamas, saying it was the smell of coffee that woke him.

I smile and hand him his.

He takes a sip, hums appreciatively, and leans over to kiss me.

"Orgasm and coffee as a good morning?" he chuckles. "Marry me, woman."

I know he's joking and he knows it too. His smile stays and the fluttering in my heart makes sure so does mine.

But he pushes the tray aside and adjusts me so I'm sitting with my back against his chest, before picking his coffee up again.

With the soothing silence and smell of coffee, his left hand plays with my ring finger.

When we're done eating, we sit and bask in the sunlight streaming in from the window.

Till he kisses my neck and his hands make their way under my - his - t-shirt. The empty tray and cups are carefully placed on the floor and pajamas that never should've been worn are taken off, and last night is repeated allover again.

––x––

I'm washing the coffee mugs when the bell rings. Edward said to use the dishwasher but I don't know how to operate the damn thing. I never had enough dishes (or money) to warrant the purchase of one.

I look at my reflection in the steel tray I just washed. Wet hair wild and curling on my shoulders, lips swollen, hickey on the neck, eyes bright and happy - morning sex has that effect. I'm still wearing Edward's t-shirt, but at least have my underwear on. Still, I don't think Edward would want me to answer the door in this attire. I bite my already–chipped thumbnail, wondering what I should do. Edward is still in the shower - I can hear the water running.

Sighing, I wipe my hands and make my way to the door. Maybe I'll just open it a tiny bit and at least see who it is and take a message.

But before I'm even halfway there, the doorknob turns and a woman steps in. I don't see her face, because she's putting the house key back in her purse with her free hand, while her other arm balances a sleeping girl on her hip. If the strawberry blonde hair falling over her face wasn't a giveaway, the sleeping girl certainly is.

"Tanya," I blurt out, mentally palming my face because I have no idea what to say next.

Her eyes snap up to mine. At first her face is expressionless, but she takes in my attire and I can see her features twist in fury.

"Oh, you don't waste any time, do you?" she spits. "The moment I am out, you put your filthy claws in my husband."

"You two aren't together anymore," I say calmly.

"We are still married. But hell, what does it matter to you? You've been sleeping with him for a while. Do you feel proud to add another broken marriage to your list of achievements?" She raises a brow and casually flings her purse so it lands on the couch behind her.

My jaw tightens. I breathe slowly. In and out. Count to ten. Don't lose your temper.

Sophie stirs in her arms, but Tanya's hand rubs up and down her back so she doesn't wake up.

"Where the fuck is Edward?"

I open my mouth to answer but Edward does it himself. "I was in the shower," he says while coming downstairs. "And weren't you supposed to keep her for today as well?"

"I was going to but she was up at the crack of dawn. She gathered everything she had with her, woke me up, and has been begging me to take her home ever since. Then as soon as we neared the driveway, she dozed off."

As she speaks, Edward walks up to her and takes Sophie in his arms. She wakes up with the movement and rubs her eyes.

"Daddy?" she groggily asks.

"Yes, sweetheart, it's me." He kisses her forehead.

I wonder when my heart will stop becoming such mush whenever I see him caring for her.

She puts her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes again, her whole body relaxing instantly.

Edward looks back and forth between Tanya and I. "I'll just put her in her bed. Just…uh…don't kill each other?"

Tanya rolls her eyes. "You and I need to talk, Edward. Now." She looks at me.

Well. I can take a hint. I shrug and walk off even before any of them can move. I take my dress off the chair and march upstairs with as much dignity as I can manage. As much as I'm trying not to let Tanya's presence get to me, I can't deny that it has. And it sucks that I can't really take out all my anger on her. Logically, she isn't the one who has done something wrong; I am. Logically, I know this.

However, I'm not thinking much right now. All I know is, I'm angry at everything – Tanya, his past, my past, dinner at his parents' – basically my entire existence.

Unable to stop myself, I don't actually go inside his room, choosing instead to sit on the top step and overhear whatever little conversation reaches my ears. They aren't very loud. I only hear bits and pieces, but they are enough.

"…she's a fucking prostitute. How did you fail to mention…"

"…she was. Not anymore…"

"…you can't seriously expect me to…"

"…no, Tanya…you listen…"

"…out of your mind…"

"…this was what you wanted…"

"…I may not be Mom of the Year but…"

"…don't presume what I do and don't know…"

"…Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Edward…"

"…you can't do that, Tanya..."

"…you don't get it…"

"…please…"

And silence.

And the slamming of a door.

And my mind on autopilot leading me back inside the room and making me wear my dress. Cold. Still cold.

I'm walking down the stairs – not a hair out of place, my shoes on, and purse in hand – when I hear her tiny voice.

"Dad?"

I wait for his response.

A little louder. "Dad?"

Nothing.

Voice now trembling. "Daddy?"

My hand finds the doorknob on its own. My head peeks in. She's sitting in the middle of the bed, holding her blanket tight up to her chin.

"Hi there," I smile.

Blanket is held tighter. "Where's my Dad?"

"I think he went to the washroom or something. May I come in?"

"Who are you?"

"Um…I'm your Dad's friend." I remember. "I gave you a necklace with the butterfly on it…I don't know if you remember –"

"Miss Bella? At the mall." She smiles.

I smile wider. "Yeah. That's me."

"Cool. I like that butterfly. It's my favorite thing in the wooooorld."

She's grinning, I'm grinning.

Because it's awkward just standing there. "Uh…is there something you needed?"

She nods. "May I have some water, please?"

"Yeah, sure."

I turn back around and head to the kitchen. Edward's head snaps up from where he's holding it in his hands, with his elbows on his legs – picture of defeat on the peachy couch.

"You okay?" I ask.

He shrugs.

"Sophie was calling you. She just needs some water."

He gets up and walks over to me. I hand him the glass I just filled, but he shakes his head. "She'll only drink from her school water–bottle." He fills up this…hideously purple bottle. I would smile but the furrow in his brows is worrying.

"Why are you all dressed up?" he asks.

I shrug. "Got to get back to the real world, I guess."

"Don't go yet, please."

"Edward –"

Lips shut me up. "Please." Eyes dart back and forth between the staircase and my face. "Just give me five minutes."

So I do. I sit where he was sitting moments ago and wait for him to come back.

When he does, he sits beside me with a sigh and pulls me to him. He holds on tightly, his breaths on my cheek slow and deep. I hold him with a tight grip of my own.

"Your dress is still so cold. You could've ironed it upstairs."

I shrug under his arms. "It's alright."

He rubs his hand up and down my spine for friction anyway.

We're silent for so long that if it wasn't for his hand warming my back, I would think he fell asleep.

I stroke his hair. "What happened, baby?"

His voice is a mumble against my shoulder. "I hate that the outside world keeps ruining everything. I only wanted one normal weekend with my girl, and just…first my father, then Tanya, and it's all fucking bullshit."

I kiss his cheek. "We have to learn to live with that, Edward," I say softly. "This is only the beginning."

Lips under my ear. "I know." A kiss on my face and he lets go. "Fuck, I need a smoke."

"That's a really bad habit. It took me three years to quit."

"When did you smoke?"

"Back when I was with James. Had to quit once I started doing…you know…" I let out a breath. "Not many men enjoy a woman that constantly smells of smoke. Something I learned pretty fast."

He looks uncomfortable. "I don't smoke much. Just when I'm really stressed. I don't know…it kinda calms me."

"What did Tanya say that made you so stressed?" Even though I know.

"She's…she said she's considering a custody battle. She doesn't want you to be around Sophie. But to be honest, I think she's just overreacting. She'll come around." He attempts a weak laugh. "I'll talk to her."

I'm not laughing. "Edward…"

"Don't say it. Don't. Don't tell me how this is one more reason why you shouldn't be with me and how you're complicating my life and whatever, when you know I'll want you around despite all of it. Let's just skip over that part."

So I shut my mouth and hold him to me instead. Tomorrow. We'll figure it out tomorrow.