17
THE CALM BEFORE THE INQUISITION
BELLA SHIVERED, pressed herself closer to him. "What are we going to do?"
Edward held her tighter to him, not misunderstanding her shiver, the temperature of his skin, usually cold as ice, for once, the same temperature as her own thanks to the hot water. As for her question, he knew exactly what she was speaking of, because, as he'd pointed out, once one saw the truth, one could not unsee it. After the realizations he'd come to tonight, what happened in the Cullen household, neither he, nor his Bella, his beautiful bride-to-be, would look at the Cullens quite the same way, their relationships with them forever altered, for they were not numb, nor blind to the truth . . . not anymore.
"This, mon coeur, I know not." He looked out the window, saw it was twilight, the sun peeking through the clouds, no city lights or pollution near their own, little cottage to block their view of this beautiful, wondrous thing. His skin, it sparkled as it always did where the sunlight hit it, and, Edward was surprised, where Bella's skin came in contact with his sparkling one, it, too, sparkled, as if the part of his soul that was inside her was reacting to the sunlight, too.
Amazed, he took her hand, turned it over, traced gentle, abstract patterns on her skin, the abstract patterns echoed by one of sparkles in their wake. He saw her fingers were wrinkled, pruney from soaking in the water for so long.
Lifting her hand, he pressed a kiss to her wrist, inhaled the scent of her sweet, sweet blood, blood that was tailor-made for him, just as his blood was tailor-made for her, the burn in his throat making him smile. "Come, mon ange, it is getting quite late, we have been in the bath for long enough, I reckon, and your skin is getting pruney from the water. We have a lot to deal with come morn, have what is no doubt going to be a very difficult, emotionally draining conversation with my beloved mother, Elizabeth, before we head to the Cullen household, as I will have to repeat everything we just spoke of, perhaps go even more in depth, with more details, but for now, I wish to kiss and hold you close in our bed, practice for our wedding night and honeymoon."
He made as if to rise, get out of the bath, Bella held firmly, lovingly, in his arms, heard her heartbeat and breathing speed up. When he looked at her, he saw there was a blush all over her body, her skin turning a lovely rose, her blood rushing to the surface, Edward able to smell it, tasted in the air. She buried her face against his neck, pressed a soft, honey-sweet, warm kiss to his collarbone, her lips gliding over his skin, lighting it afire. "Can I ask you a question, my beautiful fiance and future husband?"
He laughed, a low, throaty sound, distracted by the way her lips, warm, so warm, felt against his skin, for even now she continued to kiss him, soft and sweet, making him burn from within. "Of course, my sweet, beautiful bride-to-be, you can ask me anything, you know that. Tell me, mon coeur, what answer do you seek from me, what is it that makes you blush thus, makes such heat burn under your skin, your heartbeat and breathing akin to that of a trapped bird's?"
Bella pulled away from his skin, winced, set a hand to his cheek. "Please excuse my probably butchered pronunciation ahead of time. What does," she went back to placing kisses all over his skin, Edward not stopping her because it felt too good, " Ce n'est rien, maman, tu m'as tellement manqué, car personne ne t'a jamais remplacé dans mon cœur, mean?"
Ah, now her blush and hesitation made sense. She probably believed the reason why he'd said what he had in French was because he hadn't wanted anyone, not even Bella, to understand, the words private, between a mother and her beloved son. She was wrong, so very wrong, was his Bella, the thought of that, keeping anything from her, even the most miniscule of things, wretched and vile to him.
The reason why he'd spoken in French, it was because when it came to matters of the heart, matters of love, he and his beloved mother, Elizabeth, often chose to speak in this love language, their love, while not romantic, very, very strong. This beautiful habit was so ingrained into him, it was so easy for it to slip back into place, as if his beloved mother, Elizabeth, hadn't passed away, as if Edward hadn't spent eighty-six years without seeing her.
He stroked Bella's hair apologetically, kissed her, soft, deep, honey-sweet, and slow, pulling away only when she was breathless, needed to breathe, drag air into her lungs, Edward hearing her heartbeat ricochet inside her chest, a rapid, staccato fast, tattoo beneath her skin. "Forgive me, mon coeur, mon ange, I did not wish to make you feel as if I did not wish for you to understand part of my conversation with my beloved mother, Elizabeth, on the phone. It is just that when it came to matters of the heart, she and I, we often spoke in French, the habit, a beautiful one, so ingrained into me, it was very easy for me to step back into it when my beloved mother, Elizabeth, spoke to me in French, having heard emotion, thick, pure, and powerful, in my voice."
Edward shook his head, took another kiss, making this one a blood kiss, the taste of her blood, so sweet and perfect, tailor-made for him, he couldn't even fathom going back to drinking animal blood, not being intimate with her thus. He spoke slowly when he pulled away, pronouncing the French words carefully, having decided now was as good a as time as any to start teaching her French. "My beloved mother, Elizabeth, asked me, 'qu'est-ce qui ne va pas, mon amour?' In English, it means, 'what is the matter, my love?' The French part of my answer, 'ce n'est rien, maman, tu m'as tellement manqué, car personne ne t'a jamais remplacé dans mon cœur;' it means, it is nothing, Mama, I missed you so much, for no one has ever replaced you in my heart."
This time it was Bella who took a honey-sweet, slow, blood kiss, her beautiful lips soft, wet and salty from the tears cascading down her cheeks, tears, he surmised, of love and happiness for him. "Oh, Edward, you and your beloved mother, Elizabeth, you love each other so." She touched a hand to her abdomen, over her for now, empty womb. "Do you think our future child, be at Edward or Elizabeth Catherine, will have such a bond with us, too?"
He pressed a kiss to her abdomen, over her for now, empty womb, then placed a hand over hers, his smile, soft, filled with love, that of a husband to his wife, for though they weren't married yet, the things they were discussing, they were such that only a husband and wife should discuss . . . at least during the time he'd been a youngling, human. "Of course our future child, be it Edward or Elizabeth Catherine, will have a bond with us akin to the one I have with my beloved mother, Elizabeth, for we will raise him or her just like she raised me, with tender, loving care, teaching him or her everything there is to know about the world."
He shook his head, laughed once, low, soft, and musical. "Stop distracting me. Come, mon coeur, let us get out of the bath."
She placed a hand against his chest, over his heart that hadn't beat in a long time, almost, but not quite, a century, stopping him. "Just one more thing . . ." She bit her lip, glanced nervously in the direction of their bedroom, her heartbeat picking up speed, the blush that had turned her skin a lovely rose returning, making Edward, as ever, wonder what she was thinking about, what was going on in her beautiful, secretive head, her mind impenetrable to him.
"Will you help me choose an appropriate outfit for tomorrow's luncheon. Not the undergarments, of course, for you are not my husband yet, much as I wish you already were, but the frock and shoes? I am planning on asking your beloved mother, Elizabeth, to help me with my hair again. You bought me so much clothes, were so thorough when we went shopping in Chicago, I have no idea what would have been appropriate to wear to a luncheon such as this a 1918. Not that anyone, except perhaps Esme and Carlisle, will notice I am dressed as I would have been in 1918, but I want to get under your skin, drive you mad, so when we get back here, to our own, little cottage, you kiss and feed from me without your self-control getting in the way so much."
He groaned, buried his face against her neck, nestling her throat. "Are you trying to torture me, ma belle sirène? Now, while you are sleeping, nice and peaceful, I will just be impatiently waiting to wake you up so I can see you in a beautiful, afternoon frock." As it was, he already knew what frock he wanted her to wear, was going to choose, just imagining what the pale, pale blue silk overlaid with sheer blue embroidered lace would look like on her beautiful body made him shudder, anticipation building inside him. "Yes, I will help you." He grinned like the treasure cat then, his eyes dancing. "It is a very, very good thing, I reckon, that we mind not, being scandalous, Mrs Masen, else, if you wore gloves, wore your engagement ring not, we might give Charlie the wrong idea."
Before Bella could say anything, stall him again, because he realized that was exactly what she was attempting to do, and, up until now, accomplishing quite effectively, stalling them, too comfortable to move, Edward got out of the bath, Bella held firmly, lovingly, in his arms, water streaming down their bodies in rivulets, wetting bits and pieces of the floor. He set her down somewhere dry, not wanting her to fall and get hurt, Bella automatically shifting, wrapping her arms about his neck, stretching up on tiptoe to press her forehead to his. His arms came about her waist, pulling her flesh against his body, and they stood there for several minutes, not saying anything, content to be in each other's arms thus.
It was Edward who moved first, shifting so he could press a kiss to the crown of her head, the scent of her blood, sweet, so sweet, even better, sweeter, because of the way her skin and hair were yet wet. "I will go to our bedroom first, get changed, put on some pants and undergarments, take out your beautiful afternoon frock for tomorrow, bring it here, then go to the kitchen to make you a light supper while you get changed and dry in our bedroom."
A pause, Edward inhaling the scent of her hair and skin, her sweet, sweet blood. "Dry your hair not, leave it thus, mon amour, I would dry it later, take care of you once we are done feeding from each other for the night, practicing for our wedding night and honeymoon."
Bella's beautiful, deep, chocolate brown eyes, so very expressive, glittered, and she gave him an innocent look, looked at him through her eyelashes. "Oh, I was planning on doing that, drying my hair, not. Actually, before I join you in our bedroom, get into the bed, where you will kiss and hold me close, and we will practice for our wedding night and honeymoon, I am going to get my hands and arms wet using water from the sink."
He let out a laugh, couldn't help but take a honey-sweet, deep, sipping kiss before he left, moving fast like only he could, his movements imperceptible to Bella. Edward put on a pair of khaki colored drawstring pajama pants, not even bothering to put on a t-shirt, as there was no point, he'd just take it right back off when he and his Bella began practicing for their wedding night and honeymoon.
He reached for her afternoon frock, ran his fingers over the soft, intricately decorated, velvet fabric, imagining stroking Bella's soft, warm skin through it. It made him close his eyes, that image, imagine slowly, methodically, lovingly, taking down her hair, taking out the hair pins one by one, after they returned home from the meeting with Charlie, Carlisle, Esme, and his beloved mother, Elizabeth. He imagined placing sweet, cold kisses to her nape, her neck and throat, along her arms, in time with her pulse, following the map of her blue veins.
He shook his head, opened his eyes again, walked back to the washroom, slowly, like a human, so as not to startle Bella, dropped off her frock which he'd placed in a garment bag, wanting to surprise her, not wanting her to see the frock he had chosen until tomorrow morning, stealing a kiss on the way out just because he could. "Open the garment bag not until tomorrow when you get dressed."
He left, went to the kitchen, fast like only he could, before she could speak or kiss him, prevent him from leaving, to make her a light supper. As it was quite late, he decided to make her a simple supper, consisting of a lean protein, chicken breast complete with char marks, and a simple cranberry sauce, and steamed broccoli seasoned with spices, along with a cup of chamomile and lavender tea.
He was just finishing plating her dinner up, when he heard her heartbeat and footsteps approaching. He turned, right in time to take her into his arms, his hands running up and down her arms, over her back, the blue silk negligee she wore highlighting her every curve, dip, and valley, putting him in mind of a beautiful chemise, the fabric so thin yet modest, he could just feel her skin underneath. "It feels so strange, you know," Bella spoke with her head against his chest, her left hand over his still heart that hadn't beat in a long time, almost, but not quite, a century..
He picked her up, like how a groom carried his new bride, moved fast like only he could, carried her to the table, then got her supper, had her sitting on his lap, her supper in front of her, in less than a second. "What does, mon amour?"
She pressed soft, warm, honey-sweet kisses to his neck and throat, her lips, warm, so warm, moving over his cold, hard, diamond skin, to his jaw, to his lips. "Having to move slow, akin to a human, by myself, I think I got use to calling you, you carrying me around anywhere I needed to go."
He touched his cold knuckles to her cheek, cooling her heated skin. "Ah, it would seem I am spoiling you, but I mind not, I love having you in my arms, running with you."
Her beautiful, deep, chocolate brown eyes were earnest, beseeching him. "Will you still carry me thus, run with me and our future child, be it Edward or Elizabeth Catherine, even when I am a vampire, can do it on my own?"
Edward didn't even hesitate, he didn't need to, the images filling his head, of Bella and their future child, be it Edward or Elizabeth Catherine, in his arms as they ran through the forest, making his heart expand, love Bella even more. "Of course I will if that is what you wish, and since I know you will always wish to be in my arms, just as I will always wish to have you in my arms, there is no need to fret over that question, mon ange."
She ate quickly, yet slowly, Edward not stopping her, telling her to slow down, else, she'd get a stomach ache, he was too selfish, wanted only to kiss and hold her close in their bed, practice for their wedding night and honeymoon. When she was done, he washed the dishes, fast like only he could, then took her into his arms, like how a groom carried his new bride, carried her to their bedroom, momentarily stopping in the washroom on the way so she could get her hands and arms wet like she wanted—where they practiced for their wedding night and honeymoon, doing so for only about two hours this time, for he didn't know at what time his beloved mother, Elizabeth, would come.
He waited until his favorite part of the night, until he heard her speak, heard her say, "I love you, Edward William Masen, my husband, father of our child," before he even dared move.
His heart, it swelled, seem to beat again, though, of course, figuratively, at hearing those words. Though he knew she was very deeply asleep and his slightest touch might wake her, he couldn't help but stroke her hair, her face, her soft, warm, velvet skin, murmur in her ear, "As I love you, Isabella Marie Masen, my wife and mother of our future child."
As if she heard him, she threw her leg over his, shifted so she was laying half on top of him, and Edward didn't mind, panic, or try to cover her back up with the coverlet of the bed and blankets, her beautiful, soft skin hot, so hot thanks to the boiling heat in their bedroom, his cold skin the perfect antidote. She sighed contently in her sleep, murmured his name once more. "Edward, my husband, my love."
His still heart that hadn't beat in a long time, almost, but not quite, a century, it grew and grew, expanded, filled with so much love for Bella, it threatened to overwhelm him. He really shouldn't speak, risk waking her, but he couldn't help it. However, when he did speak, he did so in a voice so low, it was certainly inaudible to Bella's human ears. "I am here, my darling, beautiful wife, mon coeur."
"Hmm," she sighed, snuggled deeper into him.
He waited until he was certain she wouldn't speak anymore, he didn't want to miss anything, wanted to hold her in his arms as she spoke such words of love, of their future, her beautiful, secretive mind, for once, unfiltered, before he eased quietly from bed, moved fast like only he could, went to get the laptop, got back on the bed, and Bella, though she was deeply asleep, she automatically laid her head back on his chest.
Alice was going to be really, really mad, annoyed, because Edward kept on changing his mind when it came to where he'd take Bella for their honeymoon, not allowing her to see where he'd take her. Truth be told, this, it was only the second time he'd changed his mind, but it meant the future that Alice had foreseen would no longer occur. Not that she'd know about it, his third and, hopefully, final plan, his final decision, as he still kept most of his mind, ninety-nine point nine percent of it, on his second, and now obsolete plan, but it didn't matter.
He found himself smiling at the thought. Good, he didn't need everyone knowing where he and Bella were going for their honeymoon, constantly gossiping about it, both out loud and in their minds. it would have been a problem, a very, very big problem, not so long ago, keeping his honeymoon plans for him and Bella, the location of it, a secret even from Alice, as who would help Bella pack then, if Alice didn't really know where they were really going, what the weather would be like? But that, it wasn't a problem anymore, because it wouldn't be Alice but his beloved mother, Elizabeth, who would go shopping with them, to England and France, for Bella's honeymoon wardrobe. His beloved mother, Elizabeth, she, too, would no doubt know what the weather would be like, could help his Bella choose the appropriate clothing.
He did some research, sent some emails, purchased what he needed as he watched his Bella sleep.
At 8:30, he got up, let his lips ghost over his Bella's skin, took a shower, changed into a suit, then got started on Bella's breakfast. He decided to make her an oat, banana, apple, and peanut butter smoothie with just a hint of dark chocolate, along with a cup of tea, using ginger, turmeric, lemongrass, and orange and lemon essential oils, and some honey to sweeten it, noting how much she liked this the last time he'd made this for her. He placed everything on a beautiful white bone china tray decorated with red and white roses, purple lilies, rimmed with gold, took it to their bedroom, fast like only he could, set it down on the nightstand
Edward slipped back into the bed, put his arms round her, pressed honey-sweet, cold kisses from her shoulder, to her neck, along the hollow of her throat, to her jaw, to her lips. "Wake up, my Bella, my bride-to-be, my darling, beautiful wife."
"Hmm." She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulled at the strands of it just the way he liked, took a soft, deep kiss, deep as he would allow her to make it. "I love this, waking up with a kiss from you, feel like a princess."
He disentangled himself from her, stroked her cheek, her face, his own face suffused with love, went to get the tray containing her breakfast. "You are more than a princess to me, you are queen of my heart and soul." Getting back into the bed, fast like only he could, he handed her her smoothie first, touched a hand to her cheek. "I know I usually make something solid for breakfast, but I thought it best, as we will be eating my beloved mother, Elizabeth's food again, both of us no doubt wanting seconds, to give you something light, and, despite its appearance, the smoothie will keep you full until we eat luncheon, as it is packed with protein and fiber. I also made you a cup of your favorite tea, the one with ginger, turmeric, lemongrass, and orange and lemon essential oils."
She wrapped her arms about his neck, kissed him, soft, warm, and honey‐sweet. "Oh, Edward, it is perfect, I thank you." Bella drew back, kept a hand pressed against his cold cheek, her beautiful, deep, chocolate brown eyes, so very expressive, dancing. "Can I feed from you even as you feed from me for dessert?"
He laughed, loud and cathartic and joyous, not because he was making fun of her, God forbid, but because he was so, so very happy that they could be intimate thus. He leaned in, took a honey-sweet, slow, blood kiss, felt Bella shudder from pleasure, press herself closer to him. "Of course you can, mon amour. For a human, you are as addicted to my blood as I am to yours. Alas, I cannot blame you, mon coeur, the pleasure and intimacy you and I share when we feed off of one another, it is pure, so very pure, beyond anything the Cullens or any other vampire, I reckon, for that matter, have ever or could ever experience."
Bella shivered again, and this time, Edward surmised from the way her heartbeat and breathing sped up, her skin turning to goose flesh, it wasn't from cold nor pleasure, but from fear. "Speaking of the Cullens, what are we going to do? I speak not of our relationship with them, as that is forever altered, there is no doubt about that, but after what happened last night, the realizations you came to, we will act differently when we enter the Cullen household, and Charlie is bound to notice, feel the tension in the air."
Edward grabbed the smoothie glass, set the straw to Bella's lips, waited until she took a small sip, watching her close her eyes, the movement of her throat as she swallowed, her sweet, sweet blood running through her veins, before he spoke. "No, Charlie will notice the difference not. For one, your father is, thank God, extremely unobservant, and two, he has never seen us interact with my beloved mother, Elizabeth, before, will assume it is always thus, no matter that you, Esme, Carlisle, and I might feel the difference. Speaking of my beloved mother, Elizabeth, she is going to treat us as a mother hen treats her young chicks when she sees us next, but I reckon that is a very, very good thing, will show Charlie she is more than all right with me getting married so 'young."
She drank her smoothie, then her tea, in silence, Edward stroking her arms, her hair, pressing honey-sweet, cold kisses all over her skin, anywhere and everywhere he could reach, no doubt distracting her, and when she turned to him, asked him for another cup of tea, he smiled apologetically at her, kissed her palm, then her wrist, over her pulse, inhaled the scent of her sweet, sweet blood, told her he'd make her some more tea when they got back home. They decided she should get changed first, before they fed from each other, so she went to the washroom. While she did that, Edward got some beautiful, old-fashioned hair pins and a pair of shoes with a beautiful trimming of silk and a slight, slight heel, then went outside to get some fresh lavender flowers, having decided he wanted to be the one to do her hair, didn't want to wait for his beloved mother, Elizabeth, to do it.
When she came out, she was holding the skirts of her frock in a way befit a young woman her age in 1918. They were long, the skirts, would have dragged on the floor but for the way she was holding them, part of the reason he'd chosen this frock above the others he'd bought for her, as the length of the skirts would render her footwear invisible unless one was paying close attention so she wouldn't have to wear the brace. The bodice was tight, emphasized her physique, gave her an hourglass figure, the silk overlaid with sheer lace, decorated with a motif of heliotropes, a tiny white diamond at the center of each flower. The sleeves, beautifully embroidered, were short, but it didn't matter, he would still hold her close, protected as she would be from the cold temperature of his skin by the beautiful shawl she would wear over her frock.
He moved, fast like only he could, wrapped his arms about her, gathering her to him, pressed a sweet, cold kiss to her lips. "You look lovely, my Bella, truly beautiful, mon amour." Edward shifted to stand behind her, gathered her hair into a French twist, pinned it in place using the hair pins, weaved the fresh lavender flowers into it. A cold, sweet kiss pressed to her nape. "There, mon coeur, all done you are."
She turned within the circle of his arms, wrapped her arms about his neck, kissed him, soft, warm, and honey-sweet, biting gently at his lower lip, not drawing any blood . . . not yet. "Oh, Edward, I thank you, my beautiful fiance and future husband, it is so very beautiful, the way you have put up my hair . . . how?"
A shrug, his eyes shining. "Before, when I was a little boy, about four or five years old, I use to come into my mother's room, watch as she did her hair for those lavish parties we used to throw, her soft, feminine, motherly, loving hands so very practiced, wait for her to fix my bow tie, memorized her movements." He touched a hand lightly to her abdomen, over her for now, empty womb, his cold fingers caressing her skin through the fabric of her dress. "A very good thing, I reckon, as now I will be able to help you with Elizabeth Catherine's hair, if indeed, our future child is a girl. Now come, mon ange, I do believe you wanted some of my blood for dessert, and I, too, crave your blood, the intimacy and pleasure, thus, let us give each other a blood kiss, feed from each other at the same time."
Gently, he took her face between his hands, cold fingers, softly, so softly so it felt like naught but velvet against her warm, soft skin, stroking her cheeks, initiated a slow, sipping, blood kiss, careful not to inject any venom with his teeth, his tongue, cold as ice, soaked with venom, flicking out to lovingly lick at her blood, even as her own tongue flicked out to lick at his own blood, Bella having bitten at his lower lip at the same time as he did her own. He shuddered, pleasure, deep, so deep, not of a predator when capturing and killing its prey, but the kind of pleasure he suspected he'd feel when tangling with her in the sheets as only a husband should tangle with his wife, arcing through his body. Edward ached, ached to hold her close, crush her to him and never, ever let her go.
He shouldn't do this, not now, when his beloved mother, Elizabeth, could show up any minute, as they hadn't agreed upon a specific time, but he couldn't help it. He kept a very, very small part of his mind coherent, monitoring his strength, the way he touched and held her, lest he hurt her, let the rest of his mind be free, enjoy the sensations, the pleasure, had her backed up against the wall, a mangled, twisted tube of tungsten in one hand, in less than a second. When Bella needed to breathe, his cold lips simply moved on to her neck, kissing along the hollow of her throat, careful not to stain any of her beautiful, soft skin with blood.
They continued like that, kissing and feeding from each other until it was quite eminent, his beloved mother's arrival, at which point Edward reluctantly stopped, pried Bella away from him, carried her to the washroom so they could wipe their mouths clean, then slipped on her shoes. When she asked him why he'd chosen high heels for her to wear, he simply smiled, told her it was because later, when they came back home, he wanted to indulge in a little wedding night dance practice before he kissed and held her close.