A/N: A reminder: the past segment of this chapter is the start of Edward's POV of what happened with Rosalie. If you don't want to read that, this is your exit ramp.

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March 9, 2013 – Word Prompt: Physical.

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"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

The sun is a fiery pearl slipping beneath the pink horizon behind them, my brother and his new wife barefoot in the sand and pressed up against each other, lost in each other, in the moment. My parents are clapping, Jasper and Alice are clapping, I'm clapping, and Emmett is beaming, his face pink with sun and love.

This is my family, the people I love together in a perfect, beautiful moment – the kind of moment you freeze and frame on a mantelpiece somewhere – and yet it's imperfect. It's my family, but there's a piece missing, and it isn't the hazy, indistinct face of a soul mate I haven't met yet. A lifetime of moments stretch out ahead of me, and staring out at a familiar ocean from a foreign coastline, the ache for a new picture pierces me with a newfound ferocity. Over the years, I've managed to dull the ache of loving Bella, missing Bella. But in this moment, my guard down, my emotions too near the surface, it sharpens anew. And, as ever, the knowledge of the pain I put her through is the sharpest of all.

In the brief reprieve between ceremony and celebration, I slip my phone from my pocket.

"Hey, Edward." The simple answer of her voice is enough to stem the tide of melancholy. "I didn't expect to hear from you this week. Aren't you in Costa Rica?"

"Yeah. I just…I wanted to ask you something."

"Okay." Still a hint of the guardedness that I'd heard when we started talking over a month ago, but it's fading, and with it, my cautious hope grows. Stupidly.

"Would you…go with me to Alice and Jasper's wedding?" I blurt, desperate to the get the words out before my sudden swell of courage ebbs and recedes.

"What?"

"I'm, uh, going to be the best man. You're going to be a bridesmaid, if not the maid of honor. Go with me." When she's silent, I rush to clarify. "As friends. Just…not as a date. Just as friends."

"Edward, they're not getting married for a while."

"I know. And you don't have to answer now. Decide when you get the invitation in the mail." And the realization blooms and blossoms before me like an island flower; suddenly, I realize that there's one area of her life I've resisted prying into until now but which I may have just overstepped in a major way. "Unless…I'm sorry, unless you're seeing someone."

"I'm not seeing anyone," she says softly.

Relief, sudden and swift and laughable. "Okay. Well…if that doesn't change…go with me."

"Maybe," she replies, and my heart gallops in my chest: it's not yes, but it's not no, either. As I'm searching for an appropriate response to her "maybe," trying to tamp down my elation at her non-no, she speaks again. "I'm sorry, I need to get back to work. Please…extend my congratulations to the bride and groom." Not lost on me that she doesn't say their names.

"I will," I promise.

"Enjoy your trip," she says before goodbye, and I'm warm as I slide my phone back into my pocket. And as I watch Emmett and Rose, Alice and Jasper, my mother and father dancing beneath a pink-orange sky, just the echo of her voice is enough to make my melancholy and loneliness ebb with the tide.

. . .

"So," Rosalie says, plopping herself down on the couch beside me. "How's it going?"

"It's going," I reply, swirling the beer around in my red plastic cup, wishing once again that I was sitting in a movie theater with Bella, or at a dinner table with Bella, or anywhere with Bella. Friday nights are date nights – when you're single, you try to hook up, and when you're not, you go out with your girlfriend. Unfortunately, my girlfriend is doing a "girls-only" sleepover with Alice to make up for the fact that she's been spending most of her free time with me and, in her words, "neglecting her best friend." The only reason I even agreed to tag along with Mike to Ben's "small party" was because the house feels boring and empty since both Jasper and Emmett left for college, and hanging out with my parents on a Friday night is just lame.

"Where's Bella?"

"She's having a sleepover with Alice," I reply, taking a swig of my beer and glancing around the darkened basement. Mike and Jessica are making out on a beanbag chair in the corner, and Ben has disappeared upstairs in search of his parents' "good stuff."

Rosalie snorts. "Cute. Are they still in middle school?"

I feel a wave of defensiveness crest in my chest, but I bite it back. Close on its heels is a wave of guilt, because in my less kind, more frustrated moments, similar thoughts occasionally run through my own mind. "Whatever," I reply, and Rosalie switches tactics.

"So…how's that going?"

"How's what going?"

"Dating a younger girl." Her eyes are a little too knowing for my taste. "Must be…frustrating."

I look away, my cheeks burning as I remember Mike's "Never Have I Ever" game from a while back, the pitying, half-laughing eyes watching me as I admitted the truth: that Bella and I haven't made it much farther than making out. "It has its moments," I allow, feeling slightly guilty but even more relieved. When I occasionally mention to Jasper the lack of physical gratification in my relationship, I generally get a response along the lines of, "Dude, that sucks." Finally, I look at Rosalie, and I'm faintly surprised by the understanding, open look on her face. I know as well as anyone that Rose can be a bitch, but right now, she genuinely seems…nice. "We're…taking it slowly."

She nods. "And that's your choice, or hers?"

I shrug. "Ours. I mean, if one person wants to go slow, you go slow." Briefly, I flash back to Bella's story, her words about walking together at the same pace. The pace of the slower party.

"True," Rosalie says, angling herself toward me and propping one knee on the cushion, one elbow on the back of the couch. "But relationships are about compromise. Meeting in the middle. It's not like you have to screw each other tomorrow, but you should at least be…meeting each other's needs." Heat creeps up the back of my neck, and when I look up at her, she's looking at me expectantly. I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek. "Or…you know…" She trails off, and I feel the hand that was on the back of the couch fall on my shoulder. "There are other ways to relieve some tension so that you can focus on going as slow as she needs you to."

I'm so surprised that I stare at her, flabbergasted and feeling trapped – the number of times I've jerked off in the shower after leaving Bella has to number in the hundreds, but there's no way I'm confirming that to anyone, especially Rosalie Hale. At my obvious surprise, she giggles. "Not that. Close your eyes."

I frown, but she presses gently on my forehead and I let her tip my head back against the sofa, suddenly exhausted. A moment later, I feel a warm hand sliding beneath the waistband of my pants and boxers, and I lurch upright, staring down at my lap, where Rosalie's hand is moving beneath the denim. Despite my surprise, I harden immediately, untouched flesh rising to the occasion with total enthusiasm. "Rosalie," I blurt, reaching for her wrist, but she stills my hand with her own free one.

"Shh. Just relax. Feel." Her words are breathed into my ear, and the sensation pushes me even closer to the edge. My mind whirs, and I force myself to think of Bella, to gather the wits to stop it, the touch I've craved so desperately for so long. But the minute Bella's face takes shape behind my closed eyes, I see the rest of her – her dark lashes, her soft neck, the gentle swell of her breasts, her full lips – and I'm coming before I can stop any of it, foreign fingers on my skin and foreign lips pressed to mine.

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