I needed a lot of hand-holding on this one here. Writer's block is such a cruel, cruel thing. Couldn't have done it without my team. We've got a fairly long chapter here, friends, but I don't think you'll mind.
Too exhausted to disagree, Isabella nods and allows Edward to lead them out into the rain and toward his apartment. She has never been there but doesn't have the fight in her to resist his request. Her world has officially been torn open again, and it sways beneath her feet as Edward guides her along the uneven sidewalk.
She can't remember a time when she has felt so displaced, so unsure, about how she should feel. She has waited, prayed, for this day to come for so long, yet she wishes she was still talking quietly with Edward behind the bar before Rosalie and Victoria walked into The Lost Key. She hadn't been in a great mood to begin with; her mother's letter had plagued her mind for the rest of the evening. The rain had made her shift at work slower than usual; therefore, she had more time to let her thoughts get the better of her.
But, just like he is doing now, Edward tried his best to keep her occupied, and her spirits lifted, given the circumstances. Now, as he wordlessly dodges puddles and large gusts of wind and rain, Isabella is grateful for his presence in her life.
In more ways than he knows.
As Edward guides them away from the city's hub, she wonders if James felt this same sense of peace with Victoria that she feels when she thinks of Edward. If he did, it comforts her to know he got to experience this specific rush of emotion at least once in his life before he died.
Her heart squeezes in her chest once more as she pictures James' final moments. With Victoria's words repeating in her mind, she thinks of his face, hears his voice, and the strained words she imagines he said in his final moments.
Did he wish for more time? Of course, he did; he was on the precipice of fatherhood.
The smile that pushes its way to her face surprises her as she loses herself in her grief; the squeeze of Edward's arm around her reminds her all this is real. Somehow, despite her current state of despair, she can picture James as the doting father he would have been.
"Are you hungry?" Edward asks, his voice breaking her away from destructive thoughts.
"Not really," Isabella answers with a slight shrug against the side of him as they slow their pace.
"You will be," Edward sighs, slightly hesitating as he thinks for a moment. "Is it alright if we stop?" He doesn't want to prolong her current vulnerability, but he knows what will happen later once the shock of the evening wears off.
She nods easily and offers him a slight smile in reassurance. She knows he is worried that stopping will make her more uncomfortable than she already is. "I don't mind."
"It won't take long," he insists. He shifts a little so she can see behind him. "She's expecting me."
"Why does that not surprise me?" Isabella laughs softly, shaking her head jokingly at his expense.
He returns her laugh with a chuckle of his own. "Come on."
With a tug on the hand held tightly in his, he turns them right and leads them down a narrow street, eventually stopping in front of a small, almost invisible door. There aren't any signs outside to suggest anything would lie behind it, but of course, Edward would know otherwise. He knocks on the door, loud enough to be heard over the rain but not loud enough to startle anyone at the late hour. Isabella stands next to him and waits patiently, curious but also numb from both the weather and the night itself. Grateful for the sliver of space between the lip of the roof and the rain, she wraps her wet overcoat around her tightly as she waits.
Soon enough, she hears the sound of the opening of locks from inside. When the door cracks open, she is greeted with the sight of a slight, older woman with a gentle smile.
"Evening, Edward, I was worried you forgot about me," an older, frail-looking woman says. Isabella watches as she squeezes Edward's free hand in her own, and she knows there's an untold story here, another layer to Edward she uncovers every day.
"Forget about you, Esme? Never," Edward smiles. "Especially on a night like this."
"It is awfully dreadful out there, isn't it? That's why I made you extra," Esme replies.
"Extra?" Edward looks over at Isabella. "It's like you saw this coming."
"Saw what co—oh, dear!" Just then, Esme shifts her eyes to Isabella, realizing for the first time that Edward is not alone tonight. "You must be freezing!"
Stranger no longer, Esme drops Edward's hand and immediately replaces it with Isabella's, ushering her inside her small house without care or warning.
"She'll be fine," Edward says, stepping behind them and closing the door. "We're just heading home."
"This must be Isabella," Esme smiles, now placing her other hand on top of Isabella's. As she moves closer, Isabella can see wrinkles on the older woman's face around her eyes and mouth and realizes it's true that wrinkles appear where smiles have been. She can tell by the warmness radiating from her that she must be someone Edward knows and trusts, especially when Edward walks over to a small table and picks up a large bowl.
"You weren't lying when you said you made extra," Edward says as he eyes the size of the bowl. He lifts the lid and sniffs the homemade dish before quickly closing it. "Thank you, Esme."
"I knew you would need it tonight with the rain," she replies. "And now there's enough for the two of you."
"It smells wonderful," Isabella adds politely, watching Edward gather two warm rolls from the table next to the bowl.
"Esme makes the best beef stew in Port Angeles," Edward says, walking to where they stand near the door. He gives Esme a look that makes Isabella slightly less frigid than she was when she stepped inside a few minutes before.
"And only the select few know about it," Esme laughs as she shows them the door again. "Get on, you two, before it gets worse out there."
They say their thanks once more, and Isabella follows Edward wordlessly down the street as he wraps one arm around her again. He cradles the bowl in one arm, the heat warming at least one part of his body while Isabella warms the other side as they walk to his apartment. She ensures the rolls stay dry beneath her overcoat, not wanting to ruin any portion of Esme's efforts. She has so many questions she wants to ask him. How does he know her? When did this start? Has it been happening for long?
There are so many things she doesn't know, but there is one thing she absolutely does: he has managed to take her mind off her brother, at least for a little while.
"Thank you," Isabella sniffles as they turn at the end of Esme's street.
"What for?"
"Everything," Isabella sighs, unsure where she should begin. Edward nods in understanding as the lid to Esme's bowl bobbles as they continue walking. He knows what it's like to be lost and then found by someone; he knows how showing gratitude can be overwhelming when it comes to finding a place to begin.
"Are you able to walk up the stairs?"
"Yes, I'm fine now," she says, thinking of how weak her legs had been when Edward first found her earlier.
"It's not much," Edward says in warning as he comes to a stop in front of a small, brown-wood door on a quiet street in the corner of town. Isabella wonders if this street is the furthest away from the heart of the city. From The Lost Key. "But you're welcome to stay if you're not up to going to Rosalie's tonight. Or, I can take you home later if you want."
"Thank you," Isabella says sincerely. She thinks of the distance from here to Rosalie's and grimaces at the thought of having to walk that far again tonight.
"Think about it while we eat," he smiles. She nods even though her stomach is in knots and follows him up the stairs once he has opened the door and locked it behind them once they are inside. Their waterlogged feet echo against the floor as they walk upstairs to another locked door. Isabella's dress clings uncomfortably to the back of her legs, and she can feel the droplets of water running down them and into her shoes. She curses the weather for unknowingly making her night even worse than it already is.
Eventually, the final lock clicks free, and Edward lifts his arm that hangs loosely around her shoulders to nudge the door open the rest of the way. He heads inside first, looking around the space as if his lifestyle requires him to constantly look over his shoulder. Isabella isn't surprised but sadly understands why he must check, especially now that they fully understand their deep connection to Marcus.
"You're safe here," Edward says softly, noticing the way she hesitates in the open door. Now that he knows there is no danger, he walks back over to where she stands and wraps a gentle hand around her wrist so they don't ruin the rolls from Esme. "Come inside."
Immediately, her shoulders relax as soon as the door closes behind her as if they had closed off all access to anything outside of this room.
Truthfully, a room is exactly what this is.
Besides the two of them, there isn't a lot else. She eyes a small refrigerator in one corner next to an even smaller table. A stove with a single burner rests on the other side of the refrigerator, and she suddenly understands one of the reasons Esme had gifted Edward with dinner. On the other side of the room is a small bathroom, and besides a closed door and a small fireplace, the only thing left is a simple bed of white cotton beneath a small window.
"I told you it wasn't much," Edward says softly, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck once he has placed the stew on the stove and took the rolls from her.
Isabella finishes eyeing his apartment and looks at him curiously. "But why?"
"What do you mean?"
"I've seen the books at work," she answers with a shrug. "You do very well for yourself." If she didn't know any better, she would think Edward was nowhere near as successful as he really was.
"I don't need a fancy house to remind myself of that," he replies, his hands on his hips as she stares at the ground. She also senses there is a story to tell here, and she nods and doesn't press him further.
"It looks like you don't need much at all."
He clears his throat, and his gaze leaves the floor to meet her own. "I need some things more than others." The way he looks at her now, in the soft lighting from the several sconces on the wall, tells her what, or who, he speaks of. She becomes warm at his stare and agrees with him instantly. "But I understand if you're uncomfortable. We can eat, and like I said, I can take you home."
"Edward, I don't want to leave," Isabella says, walking towards where he stands in the middle of the room. "This is perfect."
"Perfect?" She can hear the disbelief in his voice.
"This is you," she clarifies. "Everything about it is so unapologetically you. And I love it."
"No one's ever been here," he admits, watching as she steps closer until she stands directly in front of him.
"I know."
He was prepared to bring her here tonight to sort through her sadness. To help her make sense of everything Victoria shared with them about James and the night he died. What he isn't prepared for is how she is also putting him at ease. Without having to explain anything to her, she knows having her here makes him uneasy because of how guarded he has been his whole life.
Not because of her.
Until her.
Now that she is standing in his apartment, inches from him in the middle of the room, he never wants her to leave. He shows her in the only way he knows how and pulls her to him softly, his lips pressing against hers as she melts against his chest. His hands run down her body as her head tilts to one side, allowing their kiss to deepen and intensify as the weight of the night begins to finally lift. She shivers beneath his touch, and he pulls away as his hands rest on the small of her back.
"You're cold," he remembers. He feels the damp material of her dress beneath his fingers.
"I'll be fine," Isabella says, the heat of his body making her forget how long they were out in the rain.
"You'll be sick," he corrects and leans down to place a quick kiss on her mouth again. "You take a quick bath to warm up, and I'll throw Esme's stew on the stove."
She can't argue with that idea, despite how much she hates the thought of separating from him right now for any reason. He leads her to the bathroom, and when her eyes land on the size of the tub, she can't wait to submerge herself in the warm water, ready to wash away this terrible night.
"You can leave your clothes here, and I'll warm them on the radiator for you," Edward says, pointing to the edge of the sink. "I have some clothes I had gotten in case Victoria ever came back. I'll leave them for you to decide whichever you're comfortable with."
"Thank you," she replies, and he nods slightly before leaving her alone with a gentle click of the door behind him. She remains frozen for a minute, never thinking this morning when she woke up that she would end her night in Edward Cullen's bathtub. It takes a while for her to fully comprehend the shift between them right now, but when she does, she feels herself cross the line between innocence and womanhood.
Never has it been as clear to her before as it is now.
She knows what she wants, even if the man on the other side of the door remains completely unaware.
But the truth is he can't deny the feelings rushing through him as he pours Esme's beef stew into a pot on his stove, trying not to think about Isabella in the bath – his bathtub, no less. He tries to remind himself why she is here in the first place as he stirs their dinner in a daze. She had been through hell tonight and deserves a man who could help put her broken heart back together again; he didn't bring her here to show how she could serve his own needs. He repeats the thought to himself over and over as their dinner warms and as he opens the closed closet door next to the bathroom to retrieve the clothes he had gotten for Victoria in hopes she ever returned to Port Angeles.
He thinks of the day she told him she was leaving and how just a few minutes later, she told him she was pregnant and had to go for the child's safety. He had immediately assumed it was Marcus, and she did nothing to make him think otherwise. He understands her reasoning now for keeping it from him, but shakes his head at her complete lack of trust in him after everything they had been through together while they were growing up.
If she had told him the truth, none of them would be in this nightmare now. Victoria wouldn't have had to come back to work for Marcus, and her daughter would be with her and not some neighbor from the town Edward had taken her away to. Edward's connection to Marcus wouldn't be as deep as it is now.
Knowing Marcus is the one responsible for the death of Isabella's brother makes things more personal between them than it has ever been.
He wonders if Marcus somehow knows that is why Isabella is here in Port Angeles. Perhaps he knows she is here to avenge James' death, and he'll use this knowledge to both subdue Victoria into silence and remind Edward that he'll always have something to keep over his head through either his sister or Isabella. Regardless, he'll have to meet with Emmett and some of his men tomorrow to discuss –
"Edward?" He hears Isabella call him from the bathroom. "Do you have Victoria's clothes?"
His plans for tomorrow are pushed out of his mind completely as he grabs the pile of Victoria's clothes from the back of his closet. He shuts the closet door behind him just as he remembers he had dinner simmering on the stove. Cursing to himself, he rushes over and stirs the soup, making sure nothing is ruined while he is lost in his thoughts. He turns the burner off when he sees his forgetfulness has almost cost them their dinner. Exhaling loudly, he knocks on the bathroom door.
"I have them here," he says through the door, holding the folded clothes in his hands.
"You can come in," she replies, and he hesitates momentarily before turning the handle.
When he steps into the bathroom, a gust of warm air blasts in his face, and he is relieved to know she was able to warm herself from the cold while he was trying to remember how to be a respectable gentleman to a woman in distress.
Not just any woman. His woman.
The thought makes it hard for him to look away from her as she remains hidden beneath the water, her legs folded against her chest, so the only thing visible beside her head and face are her knees. He tries so hard to make sure his gaze doesn't slip from her eyes, though the temptation is strong enough to overpower him.
"Are you feeling any better?" He asks once he feels he has gained back some self-control.
"So much better," she breathes, her eyes fluttering closed as the water trickles around her. "It was just what I needed."
He nods, happy to hear of her progress, even if there is still a long way for her to go. He clears his throat.
"Dinner is ready," he says, placing the clothes on the sink before grabbing her wet clothes from before. He looks back over at her in the tub and smiles. "Take your time."
She doesn't want that.
Time.
She wants him, and every minute she spends in the bathroom is another minute of him she misses. If she has learned anything from tonight, it's that every moment counts. James and Victoria were robbed of their time together, all the special little moments shared between two people, and Isabella refuses to allow that to happen to her and Edward.
Stepping out of the tub, she reaches for a towel hanging on the back of the door and dries off as quickly as possible. Her damp hair, no longer saturated from the rain and the bath, hangs heavily past her shoulders. Using a ribbon, she braids her hair loosely to the side and drapes it softly to rest against the side of her neck. Satisfied, her eyes land on the clothes he brought in. It makes her smile to know Edward had gotten these for Victoria, hoping she would return one day. It's just another example of just how much of himself he hides beneath the pristine suits and clipped responses.
It doesn't take her long to choose something to wear, and she opens the door to see Edward pacing in his small kitchen, his tie loosened with the straps of his suspenders hanging below his waist. The sleeves of his shirt are pulled up to his forearms as he turns the burner off, pausing to take a deep breath. His head hangs downward, his chin against his chest. She has seen him like this before; it's his way of slowing everything down so he can process it all in the way he knows how.
Edward is an intelligent man. He doesn't make a move without calculating the ramifications first; growing up with a complicated mother forced him to make hard decisions at a young age. Now everything he does is weighed and measured, but now, as he hears the bathroom door open and turns at the sound, he sees Isabella in a satin lavender robe, and for the first time in a long time, he doesn't know what to do.
He knows what he wants to do but pushes the thought out of his mind as she walks over to where he stands. "I think you may be right about this being the best stew in Port Angeles," she gushes as she eyes their dinner from Esme.
"There's no question," Edward says, turning to look at the stew in question. "Esme spoils those she feeds. Here."
He scoops a small portion of the stew onto the spoon and brings it to Isabella's mouth, his other hand hovering beneath to make sure nothing spills. She opens her mouth for him, her eyes closing instantly at the savory bite. Like the bath, the warmth from the stew brings her back to life again.
"When did she start cooking for you?"
"As soon as I moved in," Edward laughs, placing the spoon on the stove. "I came home from the war and needed a place to stay. At first, I was sleeping at work in my office. It made sense to just stay there after all the hours I was putting into renovating the place. But her husband, Carlisle, insisted I come home with him one night. His brother had died not too long before, and he offered me his apartment."
"And this is it?"
"This is it," he answers matter of factly. "He told me I would need a place where work wouldn't follow me."
"Wise man," Isabella notes. "My father never had that. He worked on the farm and came home to his house on the very same farm. Day in and day out. I think that's why James left and came here."
"Did he tell you why he wanted to leave?"
"He didn't have to," Isabella sighs, leaning her back against the stove. She crosses her arms against her chest. "I knew he wanted to see the world outside of Forks. It was like he knew there was so much more for him to find. To experience."
"I can see that," Edward says in understanding.
"You can?"
"It's one of the reasons why I left for the war," he answers. He moves to stand next to her, both of their backs feeling the heat of the stove behind them. He gestures in front of them, "I thought anywhere out there was better than here."
"But you came back after the war," Isabella says, remembering when he had told her about the day he had come home.
Edward remains silent for a moment; his eyes focused on the corner of the small table in front of them. "I could have gone anywhere. And I thought about it. Thought about starting over without having to deal with all the responsibilities I had left behind here in Port Angeles."
He sighs loudly when he finishes, turning to grab spoons for them both. Understanding the responsibilities he mentioned, Isabella steps out of his way as he finishes preparing their dinner.
"You could never do that to Victoria."
He pauses for a beat before turning to meet her gaze. She recognizes the sadness on his face; both of their siblings are wrapped in sorrow. "I couldn't leave her behind."
"I understand."
"Do you feel that way sometimes? That you're leaving James behind?"
"Mostly when I'm feeling happy," Isabella answers honestly. "The guilt is unbearable at times."
He reaches out a hand, and she accepts it, squeezing it within his own. "I'm sorry."
She shakes her head. "I'm not feeling guilty right now. I mean, I'm feeling a lot of things, but guilty is not one of them. Not after knowing what I know now."
"What do you mean?"
She doesn't break eye contact when her hand moves to the side of his face, forcing him to look at her. "He was happy in those months before he died. Your sister made him that way. And because of her, he felt the way I do now." She looks at him through unshed tears as he wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her against him completely. "I'm grateful for her, Edward. For loving him the way he always deserved to be."
"You deserve that too, Isabella. Do you know that?"
"I do," she whispers. "That's why I'm here."
It's her who pulls his face down to hers, their lips crashing against each other in need so fierce it takes her breath away. She drapes her arms around his neck, standing on her tiptoes to get as close to him as she can. His hands, placed firmly on her hips, grip the satin material of her lavender flowered robe in his fingers so tightly the material bunches beneath him. It makes her robe rise at his touch, and when they separate to catch their breath, his eyes see swaths of creamy, unblemished skin as his lips trail down her jaw to that place on her neck that always makes her whimper in his ear. It's a sound no one but he has ever heard, and it makes him want to hear it from her lips again and again.
Her hands leave his neck to slide down his chest, stopping to fumble with the buttons on his shirt.
"Isabella, wait," he says, his hands leaving her hips to stop her from doing something she may regret when her head clears.
"You don't want this?"
"Of course, I want this. But I need you to want this for the right reasons."
"James and Victoria thought they had forever. And they were on their way to the rest of their beautiful life together when it was suddenly cut shorter than expected. Maybe the lesson I have to learn with James dying is that now is my time to live." His forehead drops to hers in defeat. "And here with you, right now, is the only place I want to be."
He doesn't move for what seems like an eternity. He just rests his head against hers, his eyes closed as he realizes what he needs to do. Unlike anything in his life before this moment, he doesn't overthink his next move. He doesn't calculate the risks in his head. In fact, in one quick passing moment, he doesn't think with his head but with his heart instead. When his lips find hers again, he lifts her legs off the ground, swallows her squeal of laughter into their kiss, and carries her to his bed beneath the window.
The sight of her looking up at him under the muted light of his room and the sound of the pounding of the rain against the roof almost makes him think it's all a dream. How many times since he has known her has he pictured this? Wished for her to be like this, with him, without anyone knocking down the door to drag him back to his life of constant worry?
For far too long.
And now that she's here, ready and waiting, he doesn't know where to begin.
She leans up on her elbows, the belt to her robe loosening as she watches him slide next to her. Like Edward, she moves so she lies on her side, facing him as his eyes slide up her body from her toes to her seemingly endless legs. She watches his eyes darken as he takes in the swell of her hips, the way her robe feathers across her skin as she loosens the belt completely. She leaves it the way it is, the pull of the satin on her body now slack as she reaches for his buttons again. This time, he doesn't stop her. He watches her fingers unclasp the buttons from top to bottom; he holds his breath as each touch awakens parts of him he never knew dwelled within him. He breathes again when he reaches behind him to remove the shirt and tosses it to the side.
Her hand comes up to his bare arm, and her fingertips glide up his skin until she's met with the sleeves of his undershirt. The shirt is tight and pulled taut against broad shoulders and his hard chest, and a rush of heat flashes down her body at the way he feels beneath her hand.
"Kiss me, Edward," she breathes, her voice coming out in a breathy whisper. Like a siren, she calls out for him, and he's there before realizing his mouth has found hers again. His hands, respectfully at his side, now ghost down the side of her body. Her arm, her waist, her stomach to where the belt lies useless between them. His mouth never leaving hers, his hand slips beneath the robe, his fingers finding purchase on the side of her hip as her robe falls off one shoulder into a whisper onto his bed. His hand smoothes over her skin like the bath water from earlier, warming her in places that make her hitch her leg over his. When his fingertips graze beneath the swell of her breast, he releases her mouth and finds that spot on her neck again.
"May I touch you?" Edward asks, his voice almost pleading as his lips pepper her skin. His tongue dips against her collarbone as she tries to remember how to speak.
"God, yes," she answers, and he kisses her again as he cups her breast in his hand. Gasping into his mouth, Isabella arches into his touch, his fingers against her skin, making her hips circle slightly against him. The softest part of her touches the hardest part of him, and he groans at the contact, her body falling back against his pillows at the sound he makes. She rolls onto her back, and he's not far behind her; his body follows hers, and he hovers over her as he removes the rest of her robe, tossing it behind him as he had done with his shirt. With her now splayed naked beneath him, her cheeks flushed and her inhibitions gone, he lets his eyes roam over her completely as he rises to his knees. She watches him look at certain places more than others, his lips slightly opening as he stares.
"Jesus, Isabella," he groans, his hands sliding up each of her thighs before pulling her down to the edge of the bed. "You're fucking beautiful."
She closes her eyes at his words and lets this feeling soak into her skin. This feeling of pure desire, both for him and from him, makes her feel like she's in a different world. She feels the bed shift as he moves, and expects him to find his way next to her, but instead, she opens her eyes to see him kneeling on the floor in front of her.
"Come back to me," she pouts, and he chuckles before shaking his head. She lets him open her legs to him as he takes her in again.
"Soon," he murmurs against the inner part of her thigh.
It's the last thing she remembers him saying before introducing her to a whole new part of her life.
She clings to his sheets. His hair. Anything she can grip onto.
She learns, quickly, that although he may not use his mouth to say a lot of words very often, he makes great use of it between her legs. Each kiss against her center makes her legs shake on either side of his head. Each upward stroke of his tongue has her crying out his name in the dark. Every finger is gentle as he prepares her body for more.
With each new movement of his tongue, she learns a new word, part of a language that had been unknown to her before. This language is not words; it is the sensation of him and what he does to her and the hitching of her breath. It is the tension building in her body, curling and bending under a delicious pressure she didn't know she could withstand. It's the moment his eyes find hers, and the world slips out from under her, leaving her falling and crying out in beautiful, wild ecstasy.
Edward watches her chest rise and fall as she returns from a place she has never been before. She reaches for him blindly in the dark, and he entwines his fingers with hers and pulls her against his chest as she remembers where she is. Her fingers graze the skin beneath his dress pants and his undershirt, and even though her arms and legs still shake with a reminder of what Edward is capable of doing, she begins to lift his shirt over his head. He helps her when she needs it, but he knows what she's doing. Uncovering Isabella, her robe falling behind her on the bed, is a memory he'll always consider a gift on nights long after this one is over.
When the last of his clothes are discarded, and there is nothing left between them but their true, unguarded selves, Isabella pulls him down to her between his sheets. His body presses against her like he has been there for years.
"I've never done this before," Isabella says, her eyes searching his for an understanding he already is aware of.
As he stares down at her in his arms, the rain pounding against his roof, he thinks of his life before now. His life with his parents and Victoria. The years after they were gone. The war. Coming home. The long nights at the pub with his men. Empty, lonely nights with Rosalie's girls who were gone as soon as they were paid.
But never this. Never has this happened to him before. Never has he felt so absolutely wide open and vulnerable with anyone.
He answers her with a confession of his own. "Neither have I."
He speaks the truth. She believes him. She always has.
Like earlier in the night when she thought she might die of heartache once again, he is there to heal her. Now, as he pushes inside her, he holds her until her body relaxes and her breathing evens. He soothes and comforts her through every pain, just like always.
The way he always will.
And soon they're breathless, clinging to one another as the world falls from beneath them.
Oh, yes. So much more ahead for these two.