I woke up alone at high noon. My first action was to sit up and look around for Edward; I was overtaken by a terrible sense of foreboding in his absence. I was just about to scramble out of bed and go hunting for him when he appeared in the doorway, bearing a large tray set with breakfast. My stomach responded with an ominous growl. It was so on-cue that we both laughed.

"Fresh pão de queijo and jam," said Edward, setting the tray down on the bed beside me. "Cuz cuz topped with queijo fresco. Kiwi, papaya and mango, and coconut milk and coffee." Planted in a small juice glass was a laelia. I smiled and tucked it behind my ear.

"You're wonderful," I said around a mouthful of pão de queijo, which turned out to be some sort of cheesy mini-bread that tasted pretty much like heaven.

"Are you talking to me or the pão?" asked Edward with a smile.

"Yes," I answered thickly.

After breakfast Edward showed me to a huge closet stocked with clothes in the sizes of each member of the Cullen family—"for emergencies," he said. I was relieved to finally be able to put on some non-stinky clothes. I wasn't really the same size as any of them—too tall to fit Alice's clothes, too short for Rosalie's, too skinny for Esme's. But there were a lot of adjustable wrap dresses in Rosalie's section, so I wore one of those, wrapping the silky white knit as tightly around me as it would go. It looked pretty, even if it was a little longer on me than it would have been on its owner. And I was Esme's shoe size, which simplified things considerably.

"You're sure your family won't mind I'm wearing their stuff?" I asked anxiously when I finally emerged, freshly bathed and dressed, from the master bathroom/closet.

"I told you," laughed Edward, "they've never worn any of this. I think Alice made all those dresses in the early Seventies. Even if we wore everything once and gave it away, which would be ridiculous, we'd still never keep up with Alice's needle."

Edward took me to his one of his favorite spots on the island that day, a picturesque little grotto under a waterfall. I was actually a pretty strong swimmer, but he was too paranoid to let me get very far from him at any given time. I didn't really mind. I liked the closeness.

That evening he made me dinner, and then we cuddled in the living room and watched the sun set through the vista windows. When I got tired, Edward lay down in bed with me, and I had no trouble sleeping.

I woke to the sound of Edward's voice. He was on the phone, talking too quietly for me to hear, but when I sat up and looked at him, he smiled reassuringly.

"That was Alice," he explained, hanging up.

"Any news?"

"Not exactly news," he said, "but at least they have a plan now. Our friends the Denalis are coming down from Alaska, and they're going to help us keep everything under control. And Laurent, one of the nomads who was travelling with James, has agreed to help us."

"Why would he do that?" I wondered. "Isn't James his friend?"

"Not really," said Edward. "Remember, what my family has, what the Denalis have—it's unusual. Vampires may travel together when it's convenient, but Laurent didn't feel he owed James anything, and he felt uneasy about this whole situation. Carlisle has a reputation in the vampire world. My father lived with the Volturi for a long time, and they think well of him. And he's made a lot of friends—or at least, friendly acquaintances. Laurent had heard of him, and I suppose he must think it's better to align himself with the respectable head of a stable coven than with the unpredictable tracker he happened to be travelling with at the time. It may sound harsh, but it does make sense. From what I've heard, James is an expedient travelling partner but he's totally lacking in the qualities that make for a permanent friendship."

"In other words," I said, "he's a grade-A asshole. But what about the other one? Didn't you say there were three nomads?"

"Her name is Victoria," said Edward, "and apparently she's James's mate. If James is an unusually good tracker, I guess you might say she has an unusual gift for extricating herself from risky situations. She's done it before: Carlisle actually knew of her, even before all this started. Her coven was destroyed by the Volturi centuries ago, as punishment for some infraction. They took in her sister Heidi and killed her mother and her other sisters, but Victoria escaped then, too. Anyway, she's gone now. They have no idea where, but she took off. Laurent thinks she probably just went to a safe place to wait for James. She'll be waiting a long time," he finished, his voice hard.

"Did Alice say anything about Charlie? He's okay, right?"

"I'm sure she would have told me if he weren't," said Edward, but that wasn't really enough for me.

"I'd better call him anyway," I said fretfully. I didn't trust luck these days.

Our days passed with a strange combination of peace and anxiety. I could never really put my fears from my mind, but at the same time, spending long days in the blissful sunshine with Edward was so wonderful that I felt almost guilty I wasn't suffering more.

"I can't believe how different my life is," said Edward one morning as we lay on a blanket on the beach under the rising sun. "Having you here...I used to think that the only way I could experience this kind of silence was to isolate myself from everyone. My only two choices were total loneliness or the incessant intrusion of other people's thoughts. I never expected this." He leaned over me and trailed his lips along my throat, my collarbone, my jawline.

I turned to him at once, pressing my body against his as we lay just above the tideline. Our bare feet tangled together in the warm sand. I ran my hands up his arms and behind his neck.

"My god, you taste incredible," I murmured, taking little nips at the base of his throat. His hands drifted down my sides and then under the hem of the wrap dress I was wearing. I arched against him, relishing the feel of his fingers sliding up my inner thighs. I let my legs fall apart and Edward stroked higher and higher, until his fingers were brushing my underwear. I couldn't think about anything but the ocean of sensation in which I was presently drowning.

I reached between us and felt how hard Edward was. He gasped when I touched him, his whole body going rigid. But he didn't pull away. Instead, he rolled over and swung me on top of him, and I couldn't help but adore the view from up here. His honey-brown eyes were glassy and unfocused as he stroked my bare legs. Moving as carefully as a surgeon, he untied the fabric belt that kept my dress closed.

Never in my life will I forget the look on his face when my dress fell open and he realized I had no bra on underneath. I saw his lips moving at top speed and heard a low mumble, but I couldn't hear what he was saying. But it sure looked a lot like thankyouthankyouthankyou. I smiled, pleased at this heretofore unseen level of lust from him. Finally, we matched.

I wriggled against his groin a little. I was so wet I left a damp spot on his jeans, which were straining so much I worried for the integrity of the seams. When I reached down to unzip them and rub him through his underwear, he threw his head back and let out a moan.

This is happening. This is happening, I thought gleefully. Edward smoothly slid his pants—and underwear—down to his knees, and I way more awkwardly freed myself of my cotton panties, and then we just looked at each other for a minute.

"Is this okay?" I asked him in a hushed whisper. He nodded wordlessly, his eyes glued to my magic zone like he was a worshiper at some sacred shrine. He seemed a little afraid to move, but I didn't mind doing the work; it seemed safer, honestly, if we didn't have to trust to his self-control. I rubbed myself against him until we were both slippery and warm, and then, bracing myself against his chest with my hands, I sank down onto him.

Nothing could describe the pleasure I was feeling; I half-expected it to hurt, but I was so aroused that any tightness served to make it feel better, not worse. About half of it was purely physical; after all, rubbing genitals is a pretty tried-and-true way to have fun. What I wasn't prepared for was how sexy he looked, struggling to maintain control, quiet moans escaping his lips. He kept his hands away from my body now, which was a bummer even though I understood why it was necessary. He was clenching his fists so hard I worried he was about to break something. But then I started shifting around on top of him and forgot about everything but feeling. I know everyone says your first time is rubbish but oh my god this was amazing.

Edward only lasted about three more minutes, although I would gladly have gone on riding him for three more years. He just began jerking suddenly, and then his eyes squeezed closed and he bit back a yell and then suddenly he was sitting up, his arms wrapped so tightly around me I couldn't breathe, and his whole body was shuddering.

It took another three minutes for Edward to notice I was struggling to inhale.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concern and guilt erasing his blissed-out expression. I nodded, still catching my breath. I smiled and leaned against him, and he played with my hair for a little while, ran his fingers gently down my spine. When I was finally ready to detach and stand up, I found my knees had locked, and Edward had to steady me—not that I minded. Oh no, not at all.

That was when he noticed the bruises.

"Good god, Bella, why didn't you say?" he asked, dropping to his knees to count the purple marks on my thighs and hips and stomach. I looked down, took stock of the damage, and then shrugged.

"Didn't notice," I said nonchalantly. Edward looked up at me mournfully.

"Oh, Bella," he said miserably. "I didn't...I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry...oh god. I swear this won't happen again, I'm so, so—"

"What do you mean it won't happen again?" I interrupted him sharply. He stood and kissed my forehead cautiously.

"I didn't realize how hard I was pressing," he said guiltily. "I thought I had it under control…"

"We're going to do this again, though, right?" I asked in a panic. He turned back toward the house without saying anything. "Right, Edward?"

"Come on," he said expressionlessly, leading me back toward the house. "I'll fix you some breakfast." After that, he wouldn't say another word.

The worst part was that I had only gotten started. I didn't blame Edward for not holding out, not in the least. Even if he hadn't been a hundred-year-old-virgin, I wouldn't have blamed him. We were both new to this. But it seemed so unfair that I wasn't going to get another chance, just because he was a goddamned atomic superman. What a rip!

I did everything I could to persuade Edward to try again with me. I tried coming onto him while we lay in bed at night. I practically glued myself to that one spot at the base of his throat that had always made him go crazy in the past, but he just gently disengaged me and then went on as if nothing had happened. Once, I woke up from a sex dream and started absentmindedly playing with myself in the dark, but instead of joining in, Edward had the gall to get up and leave the room. When he brought me a tray with a mug of warm milk, I stared at it foolishly.

"What's that for?" I asked.

"It seemed like you were having trouble sleeping," he said without a trace of irony. Whereupon I took the mug, walked carefully over to the open window, and hurled it outside as hard as I could. I spun around and leveled my most furious glare on him. He seemed to shrink in on himself. I'd never seen him look so guilty or so vulnerable, and I didn't care.

"You know," I said, gritting my teeth around the words, "for a genius, you are the stupidest person I've ever met! You suck! You are the worst!" And I burst into angry tears.

At once he was beside me, enfolding me in his arms.

"Why don't you want me anymore?" I sobbed. I wanted to rage at him and push him away and kick his stupid venomous teeth out, but I wanted him to comfort me even more. Preferably with his penis.

"How can you think that?" he exclaimed, sounding totally betrayed. "How can you possibly think this is about...Bella, I was hurting you! This time it was bruises—what if next time it's internal bruising? What if I crack a rib? What if I rupture something you need? I'm not made of stone, Bella! I don't have it in me to do those things with you and still stay totally in control. I want you so much! I want you too much."

"Then we'll be careful," I said tearfully, knowing that I probably looked about as unsexy as I'd ever done. "Even more careful. I'll always be on top. You can sit on your hands, I don't care, we can at least try—"

"This is so dangerous," he whispered. "We came here to escape danger. Please, Bella, please don't ask this of me."

"I'm asking," I said, "I'm begging, just...at least try!"

"Why do you ask so much?" he muttered, wrapping his arms around me and lifting me to his height. "Why can I never say no to you?"

"Say yes," I moaned, my sorrow and humiliation already evaporating under the smell of him, my legs already knotting themselves around his waist. "Say yes, say yes, say yes…"

"God help me," he said, carrying me over to the bed, "yes."

When we'd been there almost a week, I finally reached Charlie on the first ring. I half expected him to call me out immediately on my betrayal of his trust, but he still thought I was with my mom.

"You're keeping safe, right dad?" I asked worriedly, forgetting that he didn't know there was anything to keep safe from.

"Of course," he laughed. "Jesus, Bells, what's gotten into you?"

"Oh, nothing," I lied. "I don't know."

"You having a nice time, kiddo?"

"Sure am," I said. "Soaking up the sun. I'll almost even have a tan when I get back. My friends won't even recognize me when school starts back up."

"Yeah," he said, "I wouldn't put money on it."

We'd been at Isle Esme for about two weeks before there was any more news, although Edward talked to Alice on the phone most days.

"They've almost got him," he said with a grim smile, pressing end on his cell phone. It was New Year's Eve. I hadn't yet voiced my worry that this might not be wrapped up in time for me to return to school for my last semester. Then some explanation would have to be found for Charlie, and I would probably get into massive trouble when it emerged that I wasn't with Renee even a tiny little bit. I didn't mention that now, though. It was nice to have good news, even if it was just "almost".

"Really?" I asked excitedly. "What are they gonna do?"

"Oh, they've got help," he said evasively. "Some...friends are pitching in." Something about the way he said friends caught my attention.

"What, more nomads?" I asked.

"Not really," he said, kissing the inside of my wrist and working his way up my arm. I could tell he was trying to distract me from whatever the real issue was. And it was totally working.

Later, after we tried a move I had heard referred to as "the reverse cowgirl", I asked Edward if I could borrow his phone to call Alice, knowing that if I used mine to call someone not on my family plan it would incur roaming charges that might make Charlie suspicious. He tossed it to me and went whistling into the kitchen to start on dinner.

In my ever-present clumsiness, instead of hitting the Contacts button, I hit the Recent History button. I was about to try again when I noticed a name, a few calls down, which definitely didn't belong there.

Staring up at me from the screen were the words Billy Black.

Okay, what the hell was Edward doing talking to Jake's dad?

Over the next week, I did the following three things on a loop: worried about what was going on back at home, boinked the brains out of my insanely hot boyfriend, and saw to basic survival needs like eating and sleeping. There was a small part of me that wondered whether I would ever get to go home. I'd never seen the formidable James, but he was giving six Cullens and five Denalis a run for their money, even with Laurent helping them out.

Every time that Edward and I made love, a small voice in the back of my mind wondered if this was it, the last happiness I got to have before some new nightmare began, as they always seemed to do where I was involved. I could tell Edward was thinking the same thing, from the way he clung to me as I drifted off to sleep afterward.

And then, without warning or fanfare, it was over.

I woke up one morning to the sight of Edward, beaming at me in the early sunshine.

"Alice called," he said. "We can go home."

"We can?" I said groggily, my half-asleep brain straining to accept this thing I had feared would never happen.

Edward nodded. "Come on, Sleepybella," he said, lifting me in both arms, the sheets still wrapped around my body. "Bathtime. Then home time!" I giggled, delight and relief spreading like the heat of a fire throughout my body. James was dead. The nightmare was over. We could go home. Suddenly I forgot about all the fear and anxiety that had defined our stay at Isle Esme, and thought only of all the good that had happened there. And oh, how good it was.

Only a few hours later, we were snuggled together on a first-class flight back to Forks. How different this felt, how magical! Finally, life could go back to normal.

Life would never go back to normal.

I called my dad before I boarded the last leg of our flight back to Washington. We'd been careful to buy tickets that brought us through Florida, so that when I gave him my flight number he wouldn't be suspicious. I could tell from the tone of his voice that something was wrong, and immediately I knew he must have caught me. Had he called Renee? Tracked my phone calls somehow? Had someone let something slip?

But he didn't say anything about it on the phone, although he promised to be waiting for me at SeaTac when my flight got in. I spent the last forty-five minutes of that flight an absolute ball of nerves. Edward couldn't even walk out past the security gate with me, or my dad's suspicions would be confirmed and I'd really get it. When we touched down, I shouldered the massive carry-on which I'd stuffed with the underwear and souvenirs we'd bought in Rio, and my favorites of the dresses I'd worn while I was down there (Esme had assured me that they were mine, on the condition that I let her see how they looked on me).

Walking toward my father through the airport, I felt like I was walking to my own funeral. He was going to give me so much shit. I'd be grounded for the rest of my life. I would have to start learning how to sneak around like a real teenager.

Except that I was wrong. It was worse than that. So, so much worse.

"Hey, Bells," said my dad hoarsely, enveloping me in his arms before I even had a chance to put down my bag. I hugged him back awkwardly, one-armed. I heard a sniffle and pulled back to look at him. That was when I realized he didn't look angry. Not at all.

"Dad?" I said, my heart plummeting. "What is it? What happened?"

"It's Billy," he said, clearly fighting back tears. "He's dead."

You may have noticed that my Alice 1. Makes most of the clothes she puts on her family and 2. Lets them wear everything multiple times. Get ready for a ridiculously long and impassioned rant, you guys.

As my Edward says, wearing clothes once and then giving them to Goodwill would be ridiculous. Also wasteful of our planet's finite resources, which I know is a big concern for him. Smeyer often tells us that a Cullen is a genius at *insert MaGuffin here*, but doesn't back it up with even the most rudimentary research. She did it with Edward and music, and with Carlisle and doctoring, and she does it with Alice and fashion. As someone who derives much creative satisfaction and all of my livelihood from a subset of the fashion industry, I take personal offense at the way Smeyer portrays people who value fashion, like we all must be shallow materialistic junkies. First off: why give Alice fashion and international business degrees if she doesn't actually design, make or sell anything herself? Shopping at Prada does not a designer make, and only a person with poor taste thinks that "good taste" merely equals "expensive". As far as I can tell, Alice doesn't have any emotional or creative connection to fashion at all. If she actually loved fashion, if it were truly a meaningful part of her life, she would appreciate the complex relationship between wearer and garment; she would value the clothes she owns. When Alice treats Bella like an object to hang clothes on and ignores Bella's deep discomfort with her selections, she shows that she doesn't understand fashion; her refusal to wear anything more than once shows that she doesn't care about it. What's more, her sartorial binge/purge cycle is clearly disordered, compulsive behavior. It isn't fashion, it's mental illness.

"But wait!" you might be saying. "Donating to charity is a good thing! Isn't that what you're always jawing on about?" But let's think about it, even if Smeyer didn't. Most of Goodwill's clothing is priced without prior valuation by trained appraisers, so the types of things Alice would be donating (things that are still new, still trendy, and expensive to begin with) would likely be sold for pennies on the dollar. That's if it sells at all; Forks is a tiny town with a small population. Unless each Cullen has a resident doppelganger in size and style, most of that shit won't get bought and will end up being sold in bulk to be shredded and turned into rags. Let's assume volunteers at the Forks Goodwill do recognize the value of Alice's donations, and put them up for auction on Goodwill's website. Go ahead, visit the site. I'll wait.

Did you look? See what all that designer stuff sells for? Pennies on the dollar. Best case scenario, Alice's donations of three-thousand-plus outfits per year get sold for a tiny fraction of their value. It would be better for Goodwill if Alice sold the Cullen cast-offs at consignment and donated that money instead; better yet would be to buy half as many outfits and donate the astronomically large sum of money saved.

There's more. Wearing that Agent Provocateur bra once and then donating it to Goodwill doesn't even come close to offsetting the chemical waste and greenhouse gases its manufacture dumped into the environment, the hours of near-slave-wage labor that went into drafting, weaving, cutting, stitching, and embellishing it, or the fuel required to ship it from the factory to her front door. I'll be fair, in donating everything after one wear, Alice isn't doing the very worst thing she could do. She's technically only doing the second-worst thing.

Alice uses Goodwill as "a band-aid for her guilt" so that she never has to endure the indignity of wearing the same thing twice. How does anyone like this awful girl? WHY ARE WE ROOTING FOR THESE PEOPLE? I almost wish she would just own up to her own entitlement and burn the stuff in front of some shoeless orphans.