A/N: This is the first of TWO epilogues for this story. The second epi should post on Friday.

Betad by the lovely Michelle Renker Rhodes.

Most characters belong to S. Meyer.

Epi Song: Sky Full of Stars by Coldplay

Epilogue

BPOV

I quietly hum along with the tune drifting in the air, an island beat emanating from the straw-thatched bar a few feet away. My fingers tap a light rhythm over the warm, clear waters of the Caribbean, drawing wet circles with the tips while I lie back in typical sun-worshipping mode. My eyes remain closed because it really is pretty scorchy and melty out here. We've set the beach chairs right in the water to afford us some relief from the heat while we spend the morning doing…well, doing absolutely nothing.

It's all well and good because I'm pretty sore – sore in a way that makes my lower tummy tingle and my thighs clench while images of last night…and this morning…and a couple of times in between flicker behind my closed lids.

Honeymoon sex is wild, Man.

So the lofty plans we'd so carefully prepared for today have been postponed. Rainforests and caves and horseback rides will have to wait for either tomorrow…or the next day…or the day after that…

I grin lazily to myself because really I don't need rainforests or caves or horses, and when I hear an exhalation of breath coming from the beach chair next to mine, my grin grows - until I hear the voice that goes along with the exhalation.

"Did it hurt?"

I open my eyes and narrow them from behind my dark shades, squinting at the unknown island native sitting in my husband's chair.

My husband.

"Excuse me?"

"When you fell from heaven, Mami, did it hurt?"

Oh my God, did this dude really just say that? Mel would be rolling in the sand right now in hysterics.

See, that's something my husband never did: he never fed me any lines, and I think that's one of the reasons I fell for him so quickly.

Well, that and so much more.

Anyway, I'm about to let the dude know that he's sitting in my husband's chair – already thrilled at having to say the word husband because I swear, using that title for Edward is a novelty that'll never wear off – when said husband speaks up for himself.

"Yo Buddy, you mind getting out of my chair? That's my wife there."

See the way he just said 'wife?' The intensity, the extra mmph he put into it? The way he emphasizes the 'f?'

I swear, hearing him say it makes my stomach do backflips. It's something else that'll never get old.

In heavily-accented English, my native friend apologizes for the intrusion and vacates my husband's chair.

My husband's.

And now my husband sits at the edge of his beach chair and hands me my virgin Piña Coladabecause you can't come to this island paradise and not have a Piña Colada. I offer him a smile in return, lifting my sunglasses over my head and coyly sipping through my straw while he shakes his head, bright green eyes raking up and down my bikini-clad body. And my eyes take in his blue, board short wearing self too: strong shoulders and arms lined with muscles built from hard work, alongside that perfectly toned, bare chest, those tight abs, and those powerful legs.

"Mrs. Cullen, Mrs. Cullen." His tone is reproachful, but in those eyes, I can clearly see what he wants – again.

He's had three names for me since we got married a couple of days ago: Wifey, Mrs. Cullen, and of course, a breathy Bella for when he's coming and grunting and groaning those beautiful sounds of his.

"You're the one who told me to bring plenty of skimpy, bathing suits," I remind him.

He smirks. "I should've taken you to Alaska."

"That would've been fine by me," I laugh.

And it would've. But this…this island - I haven't visited it since I was younger than Mel, and I'm giddy with promises of going to see my grandmother tomorrow. We're staying all the way on the northwest part of the island, in a place I've never been that just so happens to be the little resort town for which I was named: Isabela, a paradise within paradise.

Weeks of planning resulted in a real surprise. Edward managed to keep all our family and friends from spilling - though I suspected the island itself with all of the hints of bathing suits and sunscreen galore never mind the quiet corner whispers between Edward and Angie; however, this little piece of Eden, I had no idea. I'm so full of love and gratitude I want to burst.

He smirks at my response, but I think he's also seeing through me, and I'm no longer afraid of that the way I was in the beginning of our relationship. Edward knows me in a way no man ever has and no man other than he ever will. Yes, there will always be more to learn on both ends, but we accept each other as we are, faults and all, and I love him even more for that.

He gazes at me, eyes full of adoration and then leans in and presses his soft lips to mine, cradling my jaw, gently tugging on my lower lip and then alternating with my top lip. He tastes of Pepsi and mint. My mind sends brain signals to my taste buds, reminding them of mint and cigarettes a few months ago, and for a split second, I miss that taste.

But he hasn't smoked since May, and he's healthier, and though no smoke and no liquor doesn't guarantee anything, I want him around with me 'til the end of my days.

"How much longer do you want to stay on this hot, sticky beach?" His voice is low and husky, and though I'm achy-sore, I want him so badly that I start throbbing in a totally different way.

Just to our side, a couple of girls stroll by giggling and clearly checking out my husband in all his toned and inked-back glory, yet his eyes never stray from mine.

"Just an hour or so more." My voice is as low and needy as his. It's our honeymoon after all. For the next few days, no one else exists on this island except him and me. "Then we can go back to our villa and…relax."

"Mm," he nods, heavy lids framing those eyes that are already getting greener in the sun. "We can relax…or I can lick and bite every inch of skin under that skimpy excuse for a swimsuit."

I close my eyes and quietly whimper, smiling at his smug chuckles.

OOOOOOOOOO

A couple of hours later, we're sighing and breathing hard, waiting for our heart rates to return to normal. My head rests on my husband's hard, sweaty chest, and our legs are tangled together over the soft, cloud-like mattress. The curtains on our canopied bed are tied back, inviting the soft afternoon breeze that blows through our large windows. The wooden ceiling fan above us provides more fresh, beach air, and as I gaze at the palm trees outside our door, the afternoon breeze billowing its green branches back and forth, to and fro, I'm literally in heaven.

Edward threads his fingers down the length of my hair, lulling me into a state of blissful semi-consciousness, his scruffy jaw skimming up and down my cheek, his other hand caressing my backside.

"Tell me what you want to do for the rest of the afternoon, Wifey."

"Mmm, more of this." The words are mumbled sluggishly, and I wonder if he even understood.

But he snickers quietly, the hand on my backside trailing over my hip and gently cupping the freshly brazilianed apex between my legs. "More of this, huh? I'm starting to worry I've worn you out in the first couple of days of our honeymoon, Babe. You need to be able to walk if we're going to visit those rainforests and ride those horses."

I angle up my head to look at him.

Half his mouth is cocked in a grin.

"I'd rather ride you than a horse any day."

He laughs out loud, so damn happy and carefree that it makes me sigh unevenly as I gaze at him.

His thumb circles my mouth. "Isabella Maria Cullen, you are insatiable."

OOOOOOOOOOO

We do break for the rest of the afternoon. The resort has a restaurant right on the beach, and we dine barefoot on fish ceviche and plantains. The next morning, we drive down the middle of the island to Ponce to see my Abuela. Edward planned this too, with Angie's help to overcome the language barrier. It's been thirteen years, Mel's entire lifetime since I've seen my gran, and she's as thrilled as I am. She speaks to me in her laid-back, easy Spanish, and I respond as best as I can. I was better at this when I was younger, when I used to visit for a couple of weeks every year, but I'm out of practice. So while we struggle a bit, we just laugh and hug because we'll make the most of our reunion regardless, and I picture myself a few years from now - five, six, or seven - balancing a copper-haired three-year old on my knee and teaching him or her all the Spanish I plan to learn between now and then.

Speaking of copper hair, Abuela loves Edward. I mean she really loves him.

"Pero mira que chulo," she says when I introduce them and she winks impishly at him, making his already red-from-the-Caribbean-sun face turn an even darker shade of crimson.

"Este blanquito tuyo 'sta mas chulo que'l blanquito de tu mai."

She makes me burst into loud chortles. And I don't want to embarrass my white boy anymore, so I leave the translation for later.

But he loves the attention. She caters to him the entire visit. Later, some second cousins of mine stop by to say hi as well, and Abuela makes us rice and chickpeas and oven-roasted pork shoulder, and Edward licks his fingers it's so good, and my Abuela would steal him from me if she could. I tell Abuela all about my young girl, Mel, and show her pictures just like the proud caregiver – parent – that I am.

And speaking of proud parents, Abuela has apparently told all my cousins that I'm a famous dancer in New York, and Edward perpetuates the myth by insisting that I translate the story of how I ended up being lead, and how I'll be lead in an even bigger production off-Broadway come fall.

So remembering how I always loved to dance, my cousins have brought along their instruments. They play the timbales and the cowbells and the conga drums, and we all dance until late into the night. Since we're halfway to the rainforest from here, we spend the night on Abuela's pullout, and before we leave the next morning, Abuela makes me promise we'll visit again and tells me to never let go of my white boy, and I assure her that we will and that I never will.

OOOOOOOOOO

We spend the day at the National Rainforest hiking and exploring, splashing into cold waterfalls where Edward cops a feel or two. There was no sex last night due to the sleeping arrangements, and now that we've had that break, which will ensure that I'll be able to walk for the rest of my honeymoon, Edward and I are both ready to make me sore all over again.

It's the middle of the night when we arrive back at our villa in Isabela. We crash onto the bed, rolling back and forth, him on top, me on top. Somehow we hit the remote and turn on the TV, but we're so hot and horny, neither of us can let go of the other long enough to turn it off. And then it falls off the bed and thumps somewhere, yet there's no way in hell we're going to look for it now, so we'll be sexing to the cable channel the resort provides its largely northeast clientele, who want to keep abreast of what's going on back home.

So while Edward peels off my short, little tank top and unties my bikini top, I work on pushing down his still slightly damp board shorts. He wraps his mouth around a nipple, and I see stars. I can't even finish pushing his shorts off so they remain around his thighs while I wrap a hand around his stiff erection, pumping him anxiously, already imagining the fullness I'll feel when he's deep inside-

The name abruptly mentioned on the television screen makes me stop mid-pump.

Edward hears the name as well. He stops molding my breasts while I listen to the Spanish news story. Unfortunately, he can't understand a lick of it and apart from the name and the footage they're showing, he'll have to wait for my translation.

"Bella, what are they saying?"

I hold a hand up indicating he should wait. By the time the newscaster is done, the hand is now cupping my mouth.

"I think I kinda got the gist from the footage, but fill it in for me please?" Edward says.

"Eli…" I finally respond. "Apparently he and the project manager he used for his latest buildings took some short cuts with their materials and safety precautions. There was a collapse a couple of days ago. No one was injured, thank goodness, but he's in trouble now with a couple of city departments and investors. They'll probably sue."

"Oh shit." He whispers, stressing the last word.

"Yeah."

We look at each other.

"Thank God Charlie and all his friends stopped working with him."

"Yeah," I repeat. A shiver runs through me when I think that less than a year ago, he and my dad were still good friends, he and I owned a business together, and Edward worked for him.

Edward cups my cheek. "You okay?"

I nod slowly because I am. I'm more than okay. I let go of Edward and hunt around the bed, under the bed and behind the nightstand until I spy the silver remote. And then I pick it up and turn off the TV.

I crawl over the bed back to Edward, back to my husband. "Where were we?"

"I'll show you exactly where we were."

He pushes me into the mattress and pins my arms over my head, making me giggle all silly-in-love-I'm-on-my-honeymoon like. Switching both my hands into one of his, he pushes down my island Daisy Dukes, and I push his board shorts off with my feet, and with no further fanfare, he sinks deep inside and fills me, and all else is forgotten. We're a whir of whimpers and groans, of rocking thrusts that push and pull. He flips me over and spreads my legs, sliding an arm under my waist to lift me up on my knees.

"Hold on to the bed frame."

I do as I'm told while my heart pounds with adrenaline, and when he kneels behind me and drives inside, I throw my head back and cry out. His thrusts are fast and hard, hips pressed against my ass, hard chest against my spine. The soft mattress bounces and somewhere in the background the ocean breaks against the shore while he grips the railing and cages me in, rolling those hips mercilessly, and when I come, I squeeze my muscles tight all around him, and he grunts against my neck and stiffens. We slink back into the mattress and breathing hard, then normal, then softer, we fall asleep wrapped around each other.

OOOOOOOOOO

The following day, we go for the horseback rides, and after that I'm done exploring the island. My husband planned and financed this vacation all on his own, and he got us five beautiful days in paradise. When we return to New York, it'll still be paradise with him, but this right here, right now, is an extra special layer of Eden, and I want to spend the remainder of it with him and only him.

We talk about bringing Mel with us next time and going to all the places we won't go this time around, and it's settled: no more exploring.

So we take a walk hand in hand along the strip of beach outside our villa. Bright stars litter the night sky, illuminating the darkness. The island's official amphibian, the tiny coqui frog sings the two-syllabled tune after which it was named while Edward and I talk and laugh and plan as we wade along the shoreline, letting the gentle tide chase our feet up and down the sand.

The heat and humidity haven't dissipated despite the sun's disappearance for the evening, so I wander further and further into the water for respite, giggling as Edward follows me. The moonlight reflects off of his vibrant green eyes, making them sparkle impishly. I splash him, playing games that I know will lead to other games. He splashes me back, and when I'm in up to my chest, I jump on him, wrapping my arms around his neck and floating against his hard, strong body.

"I love you, Mr. Cullen."

He grins crookedly. "I love you, Mrs. Cullen."

Far in the distance on shore, music plays somewhere. Perhaps that's where everyone else is tonight, but Edward and I…we're in the best place.

Edward gazes into my eyes and dips his mouth to mine, tongues swirling warm and wet. My stomach coils, my thighs clench, and I know he'll always make me feel this way: this heady anticipation, this love, this want, this need.

He holds me facing the shoreline, my back to the vast Caribbean Sea and caresses my backside under the water. We kiss and moan and kiss and moan, and I feel how much he wants me. I picture our bedroom back home: those windows where we see everything, and nothing or no one sees us.

"Love me here," I breathe, holding myself so close to him.

"You sure?" His voice is shaky, his eyes predatory black.

I nod, the tip of my tongue dizzily touching the tip of his, rubbing myself against him up and down, up and down along his length.

"No one can see."

He nods, and without overthinking, he wraps one arm around my waist, helping me float against him and then dips his hand underwater, pushing aside my bikini bottoms and sliding himself inside.

Quiet grunts emanate from deep within his throat. My eyes flutter closed, and I press my mouth to his to silence my whimpers, holding myself so tightly to him that I can feel his heart beating next to mine. He spreads his palms against my backside and pushes in deep, and I wrap my legs around his waist. Our underwater rocking sends quiet ripples throughout the ocean, and that sound, the excitement, the slightly taboo nature of where we're making love heightens it all. It only takes a few thrusts from him before I'm exploding in an avalanche of sensation. My head spins, and all I see is Edward all around me, inside me, outside me, and within me.

He's everywhere.

He's everything.

I press my heels to his ass, holding him as deeply as I can and bite his sweet bottom lip as I come, and a few seconds later, he holds me still while I feel him spill inside me.

And then we just…hold each other, and he sways us from side to side, spinning in the water, humming a tune I don't know.

"Love you - always."

"Love you - forever."

A/N: Thoughts?

This final scene…some may say it's not possible, not in a beach in PR. Too many people around and you'll never get a moment where you two are the only ones in the water. But…when the stars line up just right and providence smiles down on you and there is NO ONE else in the water but you and your love, it's very possible. Trust me. ;)

And for those who may be more familiar with the geography, I apologize if I got it wrong. It's been a while since I've been there. (Though unfortunately I've never been to Isabela.)

Final epi on Friday. :)