Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns all.
Rated M for several reasons.
Chapter 30 Giant Slaying
BPOV
So we are. And it's full dark now, just like my mood.
"I'm sorry." I murmur as we sit in the car staring out the windshield.
"For what?" He asks, managing to sound both gentle and incredulous.
"For my sudden unwelcome outbreak of green. It's kind of killed the day."
He squeezes my hand, reminding me that they're still linked.
"I know we'd planned to meet the gang and get dinner at Saddles but what do you say to staying in and in front of the fire?" He asks.
This makes me snort in amusement.
"What?" He wants to know.
"Go out and get drunk with your friends or stay in so you can make me talk?" I ask.
He sighs which draws an answering one out of me. Yep. Killed it stone dead. Not even Super Vet is gonna be able to resurrect this puppy . . . .
"I have Merlot. And artisan bread. And a selection of European cheeses . . . ."
"I'm a sucker for cheese." I admit.
"I know this about you." He allows. "And I may have intended to lure you into agreeing to stay in all along. But we can go to Saddles if you really want to."
I watch the first few flakes of snow land on the windshield.
"And." Edward continues. "At the risk of a blow to the gentleman's area, you did say, just the other day, that the talking thing was working."
Yes, but I didn't say I was enjoying it.
"Please, Bella, talk to me."
"Stilton?"
"And Camembert, for melting and dipping."
Suaveward.
"Come on then." I sigh in capitulation, extracting my hand from his. "Let's talk."
He favours me with his best crooked smile and I deliberately resist giving him one back, childishly annoyed that he seems to suddenly find it so easy to get me to open up to him.
...
I could get used to being spoilt by Edward. He settles me on the couch, hands me a glass of merlot, starts a fire, puts some music on that I haven't heard before but he knows I'll like and starts preparing our dinner to be eaten picnic style in front of the fire. Me, I can feel myself gradually thawing as I relax and watch the snowflakes swirl outside, thinking how best to explain my sudden attack of green and what if anything will be the outcome of it. I mean, it's not like I can put a hit out on every woman he's ever boinked, I'm not rich enough.
I'm still mulling it over when the entree arrives in the form a baked camembert, skin opened to emit steam and the most enticing smell.
"Bread stick My Lady?" Edward asks, proffering one with a flourish.
"Yum, please."
We lay waste to the gooey goodness our sounds of enjoyment, yes we're both pigs when it comes to calorie laden food, and the crackle of the fire the only backdrop. And when we've eked out the last of it Edward tops up our glasses and we lounge back against the cushion mound he made, watching the flames in companionable silence.
"Still hungry?" He asks after a moment.
"Oh yes, but that was delicious and there's no rush."
He nods, sipping his wine, stretching out his legs so his toes can bask in the heat and immediately it occurs to me that The Daughter's toes would be right up there next to them since she isn't a short ass. But she isn't here. I am.
"She and I." He says suddenly. "It was only ever once."
"I thought they were all only ever once." I can't help but sneer.
"Ah." He breathes with a solemn nod. "I see."
"I'm sorry Edward, I wish I did. I can honestly say it's never bothered me until today."
"Wow." He hums. "Ego killer."
"Please, we both know your ego's immortal."
Edward laughs and reaches for my hand, hesitating briefly before wrapping it in his own.
"I didn't mean that to be hurtful." I confess. "I just, never thought about it. If you were interested in someone then I just used to move right along with my night. And it doesn't bother me, I think, that if you tripped she'd be under you before you hit the ground."
"It wouldn't do her any good." Edward says seriously, squeezing my hand for emphasis. "You are the only woman I want. And I think you always have been, if only I'd gone with my instincts and told you that in college."
I soak that up for a moment and then add my own regret.
"It might have helped if I'd let you know how much I liked you instead of putting so much effort into pretending I wasn't bothered."
He starts to laugh.
"What?" I huff.
"Don't hit me but if we'd been less moronic we could be married with kids by now."
"There's a scary thought." I admit with a shudder.
"It is but in mitigation I have to say that our kids would be awesome."
I haven't words or thoughts for that, my brain has updated its status to 'Out to Lunch', so I drain my glass and wait as Edward solicitously re-fills it. After a couple of minutes the useless organ comes back, shrugs and points emphatically at Edward. Alright, alright, I'm going to . . . .
"Um."
"What?" He asks softly, inspecting my face.
"If you . . . . fuck . . . . if you liked me that much how were you able to . . . . you know . . . ." Because I couldn't, didn't, at least not back then.
He swallows and sips his wine before responding.
"Be with other women?"
I nod.
"You know there's probably no way I can answer that without digging my own grave?" He sighs.
"That's not true. I think, though it's not necessarily a bad thing, that we know each other so well already that nothing but complete honesty is going to work for us."
"Then in answer to your question I genuinely don't know. I've heard it said often enough that men and women view sex differently, or at least we used to and I'm not sure if that's truth or major league cop out. But being attracted to you, conflicted about you, caring about you. Shit. It didn't stop me producing testosterone. Girls used to throw themselves at me and some of them were sexy, and damn Bella, I was only human.
And then, inevitably, something would happen between us. I couldn't resist you, stay away from you, even though I thought I should. And then all those girls, they'd just fade into the background and there'd only be you. And me resisting you. And you being you and not seeming to care either way. And then time would pass with nothing between us changing and somehow I'd be back to the ordinary, horny, single college guy whose best friend was a woman.
I'm hungry, are you hungry?"
I don't get a chance to reply, he's already up and in the kitchen.
The fire continues to snap, crackle and pop, the snow to fall outside.
"Dig in." He urges when he's laid a huge spread before us.
A huge spread of all my favourite things, our favourite things.
This is Edward and nothing fundamental has changed about him except my perception. I no longer see him as a friend, someone I love in an abstract way and find physically attractive. I realised today that I see him as mine. And I badly want to rub all those other women's fingerprints off him . . . .
We eat for a while, our conversation confined by mutual consent to the food we're consuming. Where he got it, where I'd get it in New York, which would be better and whether or not we'd be up for running it off in the morning.
Then he feeds the fire while I clear up and before I know it we're curled up together under a blanket in front of the flames, savouring another glass of the excellent wine. But he's very still and quiet and I know he's going to re-open our earlier conversation as soon as he's girded his mental loins. Because even though all this talking is going to prematurely age me I'm coming to believe, more and more, that he might be right and it might be worth it.
"Bella?" He asks the top of my head.
"Hmm?" I respond to his collar bone.
"Is it okay if I tell you that you aren't the only one that's been in touch with their inner Jolly Green Giant?"
"It might be."
"You know it's been there, even when I hadn't the right, but it's changed for me. I've always wanted to be possessive of you but now I can't seem to help it. I hate that I ever allowed another man near you."
"You do know I'm not a fire hydrant or some other inanimate object you can piss on, right?"
"Yes, of course I do. But that doesn't change my worries and fears. New York is full of eligible bachelors, baseball players, Pulitzer Prize winning journalists . . . ."
"He's back in London."
"You know what I'm trying to say."
"Edward. We're together, we agreed to try this, I would never . . . ."
"And neither would I." He says firmly. "And I'm going to remind you that I am crap at explaining as you clearly had no idea what I was trying to say. I trust you implicitly Bella and I hope that you feel the same way about me, I want you to know that you can feel the same way about me."
"I trust you Edward you've never been that kind of man."
He presses a kiss to the top of my head and then takes a deep breath.
"What?" I query his collar bone quietly.
"I want to own up to something and I hope it will help, but I'm in unchartered territory here and . . . . I'm nervous."
"So am I now."
"I'm sorry, don't be, but just, don't get mad, okay?"
"Okay."
"Okay. You promised."
"No I didn't." I snort.
"Cut me some slack." He groans.
"Sorry Edward, sometimes your buttons are just too tempting to push."
"If you could restrain yourself long enough for me to get through this serious confession?" He growls in a mixture of exasperation and amusement.
"Yes, of course, sorry." I murmur. "But you do know that humour can be a defence mechanism?"
"Bella."
"Sorry." Just don't hurt me okay? My defences have been rendered inoperable by the cheese and you and . . . .
"It's not now that worries me." His velvet voice is quiet but compelling. "It's the past. And, don't get mad, because I know that's both none of my business and my own fucking fault. But Bella, I . . . . you're so special to me . . . . we're so special to me . . . . that it kills me that . . . . fuck I'm going to sound like a total caveman . . . ."
I want to crack a joke about fetching his club but now really isn't the time and he's not the only one that should be bearing their soul and working at this. While he's struggling I take my own deep breath.
"It was your thighs." I admit. "They looked great on that horse. They always look great. Feel great. And I suddenly hated loathed that I wasn't the only one that knew that."
"Sticking my neck out here. But for me it's your breasts. That anyone else has seen them. Touched them. Fuck. Tasted them. They should only ever have been mine."
I'm not mad. I'm just at a total loss for what to say. I have fingerprints too and I really don't want him not to be able to see past them, so I need to . . . . find a way to see past his.
"Bella say something. Please."
"Sorry. Again. I was just thinking about how complicated this is."
"Mom says it doesn't have to be."
"Oh my god! You've discussed this, us, with Esme?"
"Under duress." He defends, tightening his hold on me. "You've met the woman. You know what she can be like. And she loves you. Quite possibly more than she does me."
I snort into his collar bone. "That was derision by the way." I clarify.
"Okay." He chuckles. "Mom loves me best, just don't tell Ali or Em."
"See, I told you your ego was alive and well."
"Can we get back on track here?"
"Proceed." I instruct, snuggling down into his chest.
"She says, and she cited Dad's formerly promiscuous ass, that it isn't where you've been that counts, only where you end up. And know you want to stay. I have ended up here. And I want to stay here, with you, Bella Marie Swan. I want to be the last man who knows your breasts and I want you to be the last woman that knows my thighs."
Not romantic?
I guess that depends on who you are and who you are with.