Posted 2024-03-03; Beta'd by Eeyorefan12

Bella hadn't thought she'd ever be grateful for the formality of Sabellian customs but she was now as she, Edward, and Miss Sarris walked from the archives to the cart.

"Mrs. Cullen, I hope you'll visit my stall or shop when you have need. I have some excellent teas, should your condition require them." Miss Sarris smiled at her. "I . . . I hope your visits might be social ones, too. We are of much the same age. I would be honored by your use of my first name."

Momentarily stunned, Bella paused mid-step. She knows? The family and household knew of the pregnancy, as did Carla, and the Committee had surmised it when Edward took time away for the mating house. But she wasn't showing yet, and she hadn't said anything to anyone beyond that small circle. What else had Edward told Miss Sarris?

And why?

Not certain how to respond, Bella erred on the side of politeness, forcing a smile to her lips. "Thank you, that's very kind of you . . . Irene."

Miss Sarris beamed. "Wonderful. Perhaps I'll see you at the market when you return next week? It's my quarterly day there."

Bella's mind spun. They're friends, she reminded herself. Edward had a right to friends. And friends shared things with each other.

They'd possibly been more than friends.

Or perhaps they were even now.

Where you take pleasure, and with whom. The memory of Edward's words took on a whole new meaning.

On the days she worked at the archives, Edward used the time to complete the committee work required of him, but maybe that didn't take up the whole day. And Miss Sarris owning the apothecary business meant she was in town and in charge of her schedule . . .

Deciding that this wasn't a well she needed to fall down, Bella joined Edward in making their polite farewells before they seated themselves in the wagon and headed down the street. Where they would normally turn left, Edward kept the alogo going straight.

"Do you have more errands?" she asked him.

"Possibly. I wanted to ask you if you would be amenable to a small one."

A distraction would be welcome. "Where to?"

"The severance site."

Maybe not that as a distraction.

"Oh." She studied her gloves, flummoxed by the swell of nerves. Shouldn't her realization of moments ago make her decision a little easier? "What do you need to do there?"

"Well, I'd like you to see it, but if you're feeling well enough, there are some minor tests Mr. Stamakis would like to run to help calibrate the aperture. He wants to make sure everything is done properly when . . . you travel."

She decided she'd imagined that slight hesitation in his voice. What he was explaining made sense, she supposed. He clearly assumed she would be leaving; he'd made no attempt to convince her to stay.

Perhaps this visit was well-timed after all. Having a chance to see the way home would certainly help keep things in perspective—keep their friendship in perspective.

"What type of tests?"

"They'll need a small blood sample."

Her stomach churned.

"You are not obligated to do any of this now, Bella. The testing can be done later. I had business with the committee today, and Mr. Stamakis only mentioned it as he would be at the site for the cycle testing."

"No, no. It's fine."

Edward nodded. "It will mean a slightly later return home, but perhaps we can enjoy a quiet meal to ourselves then?" His smile was warm, the sort of expression she'd grown used to, and its appearance confused her.

"Of course." She watched the road slip by.

"You're very quiet this afternoon."

"I am. Just . . . thinking the day over. Dr. Aguil told me about the Kaethe orphans."

Edward reached over and squeezed her hand. "Those histories are difficult to hear, I know."

She nodded. "They're . . . preoccupying, yes."

They rode on in silence, leaving the town behind them and heading north. The trees grew denser, ridging the beginnings of foothills. As they rounded a bend, the severance site came into view. Perched on a hill, the imposing stone structure featured thick armored turrets from which protruded the dull metal barrels of massive guns. The obvious weaponry was a stark contrast to the placid surroundings, as were the helmeted sentries, their sleek armor at odds with the natural fibers of Bella and Edward's clothing. Stranger still to see were their radios, through which a distant voice crackled. After Edward's credentials were verified, they were allowed entry.

Inside, the building was unnervingly modern. Lit by harsh electric lights, the long, windowless hallway they were ushered into curved out of sight. It reminded Bella of a picture she'd seen of a particle accelerator.

Edward kept his hand at her back, guiding her along the interminable corridor. She wasn't sure whether she should take comfort or offense at its place there.

"We'll be just up here on the left, in one of the readying rooms." His voice bounced off the walls.

A familiar figure stepped into the hall. "Mr. and Mrs. Cullen. Thank you for coming so promptly."

"Mr. Stamakis." Edward nodded at him.

Bella followed suit, her throat suddenly dry. Blood tests were something she avoided when possible.

"We just need to take some samples. It won't take long." Mr. Stamakis gestured that they should follow him.

Stepping into what looked like a medical room, she spotted two large silver syringes on a tray. It smelled oddly of cedar trees. Of home.

The room wobbled.

"Bella?" Edward steadied her.

She looked away, glad for his hand on her arm holding her up. "Those are for me?" She gestured to the syringes, still not looking at them.

"Yes." He took her hand in his, running his thumb over the back of it.

"Blood tests?"

"Yes." Edward's one word was infused with worry.

"And a fetal sample," Mr. Stamakis said.

Bella's eyes snapped open as she turned to face him.

"If you wish to travel with a child"—he looked between Bella and Edward—"then we need to prepare for appropriate entanglement."

She put a hand to her midsection. "An amniocentesis."

"No, no," Mr. Stamakis said, smiling. "Only a small fetal tissue sample. If I remember correctly, the process you are familiar with is similar but much more primitive. We're able to achieve results a bit less invasively, with minimal . . . well, it used to be very common and is quite safe."

Used to be. And why wasn't it standard now?

She looked to Edward, who lifted his eyebrows, indicating it was her choice.

"No," she said.

"No?" Mr. Stamakis sounded confused.

She thought of how small the baby would be at this point, of the many things that could go wrong and how little she knew of what type of care would be available. "There are too many risks."

Mr. Stamakis blinked at her and then looked to Edward. "I promise, it won't hurt the pregnancy, Mr. Cullen. As I'm sure you are aware, this is quite—"

Edward held up his hand. "There's no need. You have my sample and my wife's. Given the precautions we take and the distance any close blood relations have to be from the aperture, I expect entanglement will be in effect for her child."

Her child.

It wasn't the first time he'd referred to the pregnancy this way, but it gave fresh color to her present ruminations.

Yes, it was her child. Her choice. Her life.

Just as his was his.

Mr. Stamakis opened his mouth and closed it, looking distressed. "Mr. Othonos was most insistent we take every precaution for both you and the child, Mrs. Cullen." He frowned. "Perhaps later in the pregnancy, then?"

Bella didn't answer, pretending to study the small metal tray.

"Proceed with the blood test, Mr. Stamakis," Edward said, his tone firm. "I'll explain my wife's . . . our decision to Mr. Othonos."

Mr. Stamakis's nod signaled obvious relief.

Feeling shakier than she hoped she appeared, Bella took off her glove and bared her arm for the blood draw, looking away. The cedar smell grew stronger. A cologne. She focused on it rather than the sting of the needle and Mr. Stamakis's slightly clumsy movements. Bella was relieved when the expected dizziness and nausea didn't materialize, subsumed as they were by more powerful and preoccupying emotions.

"It would be best if we can test the draw now and try to achieve a baseline. If you feel well enough, Mrs. Cullen?"

Bella looked to Edward for an explanation.

Edward frowned. "I'd hoped this could wait."

Mr. Stamakis opened his hands in apology. "Normally, we would, but . . . as you know, the documentation on human severance was destroyed. I would prefer to take every precaution, including testing the most basic sense of draw so that I can appropriately calibrate, especially as she will travel without a trained companion."

Edward sighed, turning to her and taking her hand. "He's right. I'd advise doing this now, if you can. I'll warn you, though: you will feel unwell for some time after."

"Is it safe?"

"Yes. The baby will be fine, especially this early. The unpleasant effects, I'm afraid, will all be borne by you. They will last several hours."

"What'll happen?"

Edward sat down beside her. "You'll be exposed to the draw—to the severance aperture. Not its full power, of course, but enough to see if you can feel it and be able to navigate travel independently."

She'd traveled before, obviously, but he was right—not on her own. Her complete lack of memory of the event was not heartening. Edward had offered theories as to why she didn't recall it, the primary one being that she'd been drugged.

"Show me what to do then."

It was simple enough. Standing in the center of the building, Bella had no difficulty feeling the aperture's "draw" even as it made her gut churn. Sensing the physical pull was like feeling her stomach drop on a carnival ride. The aperture was an unassuming metal arch, about which mirrors were angled.

"Refraction deterrents," Mr. Stamakis explained, when he saw her looking at them. "They're new but promising."

The lurching ride home was also a test of her control and one that she failed, requiring Edward to pull the alogo to a halt several times so she could be sick over the side of the wagon. He was as patient and sympathetic as always, gently rubbing her back or holding out a handkerchief for her to wipe her face with.

When they finally reached home, she couldn't bring herself to thank Esme for the dinner that had been set aside for her and Edward, retreating instead to their room. She was grateful to be left to her nausea and her thoughts after insisting Edward eat—which he reluctantly agreed to do.

He cares, she thought, hanging up her dress and corset, brushing out her hair and sitting on the bed.

Of course he did. He was beyond honorable. He was dutiful.

Jealous, ill, and exhausted, she'd never disliked the word more. Neither of them would have chosen for things to happen this way. They'd each done what they'd thought was right under the circumstances, and she'd let herself get carried away. If she cared about him—and she did—she needed to make it clear that she wanted what was best for him . . . even if that was someone else.

And she needed to make peace with that as soon as possible. She'd been living in a fantasy.

She thought of him and Irene—even the woman's name made her flinch—and how they'd touched each other on the street. Bella turned her head, as if she could shy away from the painful thought, but it remained, accompanied by other memories of Edward's and Miss Sarris's interactions. They had a history, as well as the possibility of a normal future together.

What did she and Edward have?

She heard his soft steps on the stairs and then the click of the door latch.

"Bella?"

"Hey."

It had been months since she'd spoken in English, and her use of it now made him eye her curiously. Even the one word felt strange to produce.

"Are you feeling better?" Edward replied in the same language.

"Yes, a little." She looked down, smoothing a hand over her robe.

Edward pulled off his necktie, unbuttoning his collar before sitting down beside her and reaching for her hand.

"You managed the testing very well. Not everyone does."

"Not everyone goes through it, so—" She shrugged.

"More than you'd think."

Normally, this would have been an invitation to questions and conversation.

"Mmm."

"Pensive," Edward said.

"Pardon?"

"I said you were quiet earlier. You're not. You're pensive. And . . . unhappy?"

"Pensive, yes." She offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

He waited for a beat. "About what?"

Bella exhaled. She hadn't found the right words to segue neatly into the topic yet.

"Well . . . "

Edward waited.

A lump formed in her throat. "I . . . weeks ago, at the mating house, you said that I was free to—choose whomever I wished . . . physically, I mean."

His hand tensed.

Yes, he'd grasped her meaning.

"I assumed that meant for you as well," she said softly.

Edward's fingers against hers seemed a good representation of the rest of his body: stiff with surprise. Like his nod for her to continue.

Bella's stomach felt like it was still in front of the severance aperture following an invisible source of sinking gravity.

"I know we've continued to be . . . intimate. I just—I suppose I'd like us to be clear about that. I don't want—I don't think it would be good for us to, uh, be . . . uh—I only want one partner. I don't wish to . . . share."

Edward's stillness continued.

Did he understand?

For several achingly slow minutes, he said nothing, though she thought she heard him open and close his mouth. She was too cowardly to look.

When he finally spoke, she peeked at his face. His gaze was locked on some mid-point between her and the wall. "You—you only wish to have one partner."

"Yes."

"You . . . don't wish that to be me anymore?" His tone was calm and even.

"That's not what I said."

Another pause.

"You wish to have another partner."

"No. I—" He really thought she didn't see it? "I don't mean to embarrass you, Edward. Or to pry into your private affairs—"

"My private affairs?" Now he looked at her. "My private affairs?"

Her cheeks warmed. "Yes. Your private affairs. Clearly, you and Miss Sarris are—it's none of my business. You were very clear when we mated that—"

Edward laughed, putting his other hand to his stomach—not the laughter of humor or derision but of relief. As quickly as it erupted, it was gone.

"Bella, no. There is no such relationship there. And no matter what relationships I may have had with people before, there is only one that I consider intimate, and it is the one with the woman I am sitting beside."

Was he lying? Perhaps this was another ritual—a polite deceit that allowed her to save face. "I see."

Wrinkles furrowed his brow. "No, I don't think you do."

Bella stood, pulling away. "I saw how she greeted you months ago after your return home, and I remember how she spoke with you at our mating ceremony, and I saw how you greeted each other today. You married me out of honor and duty, Edward. We are friends, yes, but I'm not naive enough to think you care for me beyond that or that you would abandon hope of a relationship with someone you can have a life with, especially with my circumstances. I might not be here in just over a year. I don't want to be lied to, even if it's another custom to save face—"

"I'm telling you the truth." His voice was louder and a touch angrier.

She stared at him, surprised by the vehemence of his denial. He sounded so . . . offended. But she had seen what she had seen—hadn't she?

Whether or not he'd acted on what appeared to be a mutual attraction was the question here.

"You don't believe me," he said flatly.

He couldn't know how badly she wanted to. If only she could erase the image of him with Miss Sarris, smiling at her, touching her. . .

"I . . . believe that you are acting in good faith and . . . I accept your word that you haven't been with anyone else since we married. Not . . . yet, which is why I—"

"Are you well enough to walk outside?" Edward stood abruptly, startling her.

Was this going to turn into a yelling match?

He had never raised his voice to her. Ever.

But men's egos . . . well, they did odd things. She'd seen as much at home—and here, with Jasper.

She shrugged at him.

"That's hardly an answer."

Yes, he was upset. She remembered that night in the kitchen after his altercation with Jasper and her fearful response then. But . . . no. Just no. Edward would not hurt her.

She sighed. "I'm fine to go outside."

Edward pulled a long coat from the wardrobe, holding it out for her to don. He waited for her to button it completely over her robe before waving his hand to indicate she should lead the way downstairs. As they passed through the house, Bella dimly registered the sound of voices drifting from the parlor but did not see anyone. She hoped that meant the family had not overheard anything from upstairs.

Outside, Edward did not offer her his arm. Instead, he walked slightly ahead and to the side of her, reaching back once or twice as if to assist her over uneven ground but never actually making contact. She wondered what he was thinking, but his tight jaw and expressionless features told her nothing.

The weather was turning cooler, but it was mild enough in the evening air. They moved through the kitchen garden, the bordering yellowed grass fields, and to the grove of detrogonisi—the family's birth trees.

From a nearby stand of stones, Edward pulled out a long-handled ax, holding it out to her. "The detrogonisi harden with age. Mine should still be soft enough to hew down. Cut it down if you feel I've not been honest on this front."

Bella winced. She had injured his ego. "Edward—"

"If you don't trust my fidelity—present or future—then cut it down, Bella. There's no point in it existing if it means nothing."

She kept her hands to herself. "Edward, as I said—"

"You think I have betrayed you."

"I didn't say—"

"You believe that my attentions lie elsewhere."

"I think—I think you did the dutiful thing, Edward. I think you're an honorable man, which is why I'm being clear that I give you permission to—"

"Take pleasure with whomever I wish? Just not you and someone else at the same time?"

"You said almost the exact same thing to me months ago. Why are you upset that I'm saying it back to you?"

"Because"—he threw the ax onto the ground and paced—"because you had no choice. You were kidnapped, violated, taken from your home—how could I not offer you every choice possible? Your life depended on accepting me."

"So . . . why are you angry that I'm offering you a choice, too?"

Edward's features softened. "Because months ago you were only my friend. And now, you are—you are someone that I feel a great deal more for." He put a hand to the tree, closing his eyes. "I am angry because—I'm angry with myself because I've apparently done things to make you doubt me. Angry because you won't take me at my word—though I don't know why—and angry because . . .because, even though I don't have any right to, I have come to love you, and—"

He blew out a harsh breath. "And now I've burdened you with my feelings." He shook his head and laughed bitterly. "I understand your feelings are not reciprocal, Bella. You are not obliged to me."

She stared at him, blinking rapidly as his words began to coalesce into something she could make sense of.

He . . . was in love with her?

"I'll take you back to the house, and leave you in peace." He reached for and gently pulled at her hand.

Bella didn't budge, reversing the grip and holding him in place. "I've . . . really messed this up."

He tugged at her arm again. "Oh, I think you've spoken clearly enough."

"Wait." She pulled her hand free, turning to face him, blocking him from moving.

"This is quite intolerable for me, Bella. Please, I can't leave you out here by yourself so if you'd just—"

In desperation, she grasped his head and pulled him to her, standing on her tip-toes to kiss him, holding him there long enough to be surprised by the dampness on his face.

"Please don't," he whispered, keeping his eyes closed.

"I'm sorry," she whispered back, her own tears threatening. "I'm so sorry."

Gently but firmly, he pulled her hands away from his face, looking at her again. "Pity is an ugly gift, Mrs. Cullen."

"It's not pity."

Edward looked down but didn't pull away, and Bella struggled for the words that would erase the lines of pain she could see in his face. The ones she had put there.

"I—" The words stuck in her throat. "Our feelings are . . . reciprocal, Edward." She felt herself choking up, overwhelmed by a cascade of strong emotion. "I thought I'd let my thoughts run away with me and that I'd read you wrong. I thought I was holding you back from a life here. I still don't know what I want to do, what you'd like me to do, but I thought if you had feelings for someone, it'd be cruel for me to keep you from that. But . . . I was jealous and now I've hurt you—"

"Bella." He cupped her face in both hands.

She swallowed, nodding for him to continue as her tears finally spilled over.

"What feeling is reciprocal?" He gave her a soft, hopeful smile. "We've mentioned several."

"I—" Her throat was so tight, she couldn't say it, so she let her hands speak for her, crossing her two fists at her chest in what had to be the universal sign and pointing at him.

This time, it was Edward who stopped further speech with his kiss.

Later, after they'd dusted the dirt and twigs from themselves, they walked back to the house together, their tightly woven fingers signaling an intention that surpassed any words Bella could say or sign. Unlike the threads that had bound them at their mating ceremony, these invisible bonds would prove difficult to break.