June 2011
Twenty-One/Twenty-Four
Esme emerged from baggage claim looking radiant. With one hand, she pushed a four-wheeled suitcase. With the other, she secured a purse-like dog carrier. Inside that bag, with an exuberant coat of red-sable fur, Bruno was barking shrilly. Carefully, Esme situated the bag with Bruno on the floor. In her sensible flats, she half-ran up to hug Bella. Her hazel eyes were glistening with tears.
Bruno yapped shrilly with newfound disgust at finding himself on the floor.
Enveloped by her mom's scent and warmth, Bella felt like she was home. Bella wrapped her arms around her mom's middle – soft and inviting as ever, and Esme squeezed tight, rocking them back and forth. Esme released Isabella and dropped to her haunches.
"My baby. My beauty."
Like she had when Isabella was a toddler, Esme smacked a kiss to Isabella's cheek, followed by six others smooches. Bella half-expected her to say: "Yummy nummy."
"I missed you so much, Mom," Bella said into the crook of her mom's neck, eyes burning with tears of joy.
"I missed you so much every day," Esme cooed. "You've been so far away from mommy." Esme shifted position to look at Bella's face, tucking wayward hair behind her ears. Lovingly, she studied her daughter's face with the glow of an art collector studying the crown jewel in their collection. Esme kissed her cheek again.
In the background to the emotive mother-daughter reunion, Edward was eyeing Bruno with trepidation. Bella snorted her laughter. Esme took a step back, looking at Edward just as dotingly.
Hugging her, Edward lifted Esme off the floor, making her laugh. "You get more handsome every time I see you," Esme all but glowed at her nephew.
Edward winked charmingly. "It's all in the genes."
Bella unlocked the breaks of her chair, spinning to trail after Esme and Edward. With one hand, Edward hoisted Bruno's carrier on his shoulder. With the other, he gripped the handle on Esme's titanic suitcase. As was customary, everybody and their grandma gawked with varying levels of discretion. Esme kept a fine-boned hand on her daughter's shoulder.
"You're looking very skinny, darling," Esme fussed, not two steps out of the airport. "Very, very skinny."
Isabella's shoulders slumped. She had noticed. It had struck her as the opposite of a problem. Rose had packed on the freshman fifteen: Isabella had lost the remnants of adolescent pudge and baby fat. Underneath, there had been sharp, slender angles. She felt at the height of her beauty.
"She's looking gorgeous," Edward disagreed casually.
Esme tsked. "Are you eating well? It's not an eating disorder, is it? Should I be concerned?"
"No!" Bella hissed, feeling oddly mortified by her mother's hovering. She was twenty-one, almost twenty-two. "I just… I do skip meals sometimes, but it just happened."
At college, Isabella was active, busy, and happy - more than she had ever been at home. She had her regular job at the library. She was a teaching assistant. She had been tapped to serve on two administrative committees. Because she worked hard to keep her GPA high, she was on the road to becoming a Phi Beta Kappa scholar. Whatever time was left over was used to support Rose's Student-Body-President aspirations or Rose's activism. Like staging the Vagina Monologues.
"I never know what you're up to these days," Esme complained, with a long-suffering sigh. "Now that you're a big girl. It's all gotten to your head."
Taken aback, Bella froze. Esme's words stung. Neither Edward nor Esme – the two people she loved most in the world – noticed. Edward was about to pay for parking: Esme tapped him on the shoulder and shook her head, indicating he should not. Instead, she took cash out of her purse to pay.
It was like enacting a scene from a time capsule: Edward and Bella waiting, patiently, for Esme to pay for parking – after something as pleasant as pizza or as unpleasant as a visit to the dental hygienist.
Edward helped Bella into the car first, then broke down her chair. Bruno was placed in the front seat, where his barking would create a yapping soundtrack to the entire ride. "You can both go in the back," Edward said, with another goofy grin. "I can chauffer."
Esme was happy to do it. "How is my baby?" she cooed, as Edward drove out of the parking lot. Lighting up, Bella explained every tiny detail of her life to her mother, with the same enthusiasm with which she might have described crayoning in Pre-K. Esme would gloat about specific details to Edward. "Bella's a wonderful photographer, Edward. Had you heard?" Edward's excited exclamation in response made Bella's face flame like a furnace. "I just took the two classes," she agreed shyly.
"How is Rosalie?" Esme was careful to ask after a beat, her face twisting with hesitation. "Is she still at Wharton Bay?"
"Just for two more days," Bella said, a hint of sadness marring her pride. "She got an internship at the Hill."
"That's good for her."
"What, you don't like Rosalie?" Edward demanded, sounding defensive. It was touching to see - Edward and Rosalie had spent the summer jokingly butting heads, with an undercurrent of hostility. Despite the pivotal role she had played bringing them together, Rosalie did not quite like Edward.
"She's a sharp, ambitious girl," Esme tittered placidly. "Very beautiful."
"But?" Bella asked, hurt and with a drooping expression. She wrapped her arms around her waist.
"I just think she's a bit too mature for you, baby," Esme said with a glittering chortle that fooled nobody. "Too grown-up. Quite crass, frankly. You used to be mommy's sweet girl. Like this top, darling. What is this?"
With her fingers, Esme pinched the top in question. It was an organza white top that showed Bella's bright red bra underneath. If Bella moved – indeed, if Bella stood with the crutches – it showed her firm, flat midriff. "It looks cheap," Esme whispered as if the comment would scandalize Edward's ears. "I don't think you picked this."
Bella had to give credit to her mother: her instincts were on point. Rose and Bella had gone shopping in Portland, and the top was the result. Isabella had dipped into her meager savings and asked to borrow 40 dollars from her father. Charlie had replied she could go as high as $200. "Take it," Rosalie had barked. "Nobody in your family is struggling financially, for fuck's sake."
In her first months of college, Isabella favored the style her mother had instilled in her. It was lovely, after all: Peter Pan collars. Tight-fitting jumpsuits. Polka-dot patterns. Palettes of pastels, creamy pinks, and baby blues. Even ribbons in her hair. "You're not six, Swan," Rosalie had pointed out bluntly.
"I think it's nice," Bella said weakly, in defense of her top. From the rearview mirror, she could see Edward was struggling not to smirk.
"No matter," Esme said dismissively. "I can take you shopping tomorrow."
"Oh. Thanks, Mom," Bella said defeatedly.
A companionable silence settled in the car. Even Bruno settled in his purse-like crate. Esme filled the silence immediately.
"Your father is doing well," Esme said in a falsely saccharine voice, so dripping with acid that her statement turned into snipe. There was an accusation in the way she spat out the word father. "He's having a wonderful time with his pregnant office whore."
"What?"
"Oh, has your father not told you?" Esme tittered, feigning indifference. "Well, darling, I am delighted to let you know, your father and that slut from his office – Susan? You remember her? – are having a child." Esme spat the word slut so hatefully that her entire body shook with anger.
"What?"
"Why are you telling her this now?" Edward groaned, irked. "What are you getting out of it?"
Esme looked guilty as she gently rubbed Isabella's back: Bella had paled with a mixture of dread and disgust. It was too much information to process this quickly. It felt like Esme had slapped her across the face. Like a cartoon character, she still had imaginary birds twittering and circling her head.
She rested her head against the window and lowered the windowsill, letting the cold sea air hit her. The motion of the car was making her sick.
"You deserve to know, sweetheart," Esme said, by way of atonement.
"Not from you," Edward snapped angrily, taking the words out of Bella's mouth. "Couldn't you – couldn't you wait to drop this on her? Couldn't you wait for Charlie to tell her?"
Bella wanted to hug him: Bella wanted to crawl into his lap and stay there indefinitely.
"Sue? Sue his assistant?" Bella asked hoarsely.
"Don't call her Sue," Esme snarled. "I had that whore over for brunch while she was sleeping with my husband."
"Do you know that for a fact?" Edward asked defensively, and Bella felt sick with love and gratitude. Charlie was not Edward's favorite person: Edward was defending Charlie for Bella's sake.
Esme turned cold. "The circumstantial evidence is overwhelming," she said, doubtless echoing a lawyer. Then she turned to Bella. "Sorry, sweetheart. Sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
"What did you think was going to happen?" Edward snapped icily. "That she was going to bring out blue balloons?"
Bella was muted – assaulted by a sudden onslaught of car sickness – for the rest of the trip. Esme took it upon herself to interrogate Edward about medical school, peppering some comments about the twins and Richard.
The first thing Esme did when they reached Wharton Bay was take Bruno "to potty." She took out a cream-colored leash, babbling at her fluffy dog – who had filled the car with scents and sounds of his flatulence repeatedly on the way – and walked him to the nearest rosebush. With her, she carried lavender-scented doggie bags that she mail-ordered from a company called Pooch & Mutt.
Edward took the chance to steal alone time and even a kiss.
"You OK?"
Bella hummed into his neck. "I don't know," she sputtered, flustered, into his neck.
"We can go to a bookstore tomorrow," he promised comfortingly, sweetly. "I promise I'll take you to the best goddamned bookstore in New England."
Bella smiled weakly, and he dropped a gentle kiss to her mouth. Under his lips, her smile turned genuine. It was the first of many casual, gentle kisses he would learn to give her, the way he might have once only kissed her cheek or her temple. "Anything to make you feel better."
Senator Masen arrived at Wharton Bay that night, in a black sedan, accompanied by a protection officer. He was no longer a former Senator. Edward Masen had become US Ambassador to the UN and had moved to New York. The president had tapped him to serve as a cabinet secretary; Masen had respectfully declined and had taken the ambassadorship.
Rosalie, uncharacteristically, was antsy1|. Edward, in turn, initially had the expression befitting a medical examination or a prostate exam. Isabella felt happy to see that figure she had dreaded all her life and was glad to see him well. Uncharacteristically, Edward Senior looked younger than his mid-seventies. There was the spring in his step that came from newfound activity.
"Hello, my boy," the elder Edward greeted the younger one warmly. He patted his cheek fondly. "You look wonderful. I'm very proud of you."
Edward's entire body relaxed as he let out a long sigh of relief. His lips turned into a boyishly happy grin. Hoping she was being discreet, Bella grinned back, silly and goofy. She found his hand and kissed the back of his palm.
Under Carlisle's reign, meals had relaxed significantly – Angie left either buffets or things they could warm for themselves. Esme – however – had hijacked the running of the house. "Let's get bang for your buck, Carlisle," she tsked. Dinner was a three-course meal, with chilled pea and mint soup as an entrée.
Rosalie had been nervous at dinner, and eager to talk to Ed Masen.
"Rosalie is interning with – eh… Jack Connnelly, sir," Carlisle told his father-in-law kindly during dinner. "Right, Rose?"
Eagerly, Rosalie nodded, peeking shyly at Edward Senior.
"Are you, young lady?" Edward Senior asked, politely but not exactly enthralled.
Bella could feel Rosalie's bubbling excitement, despite the evident shyness in her voice and tone. She decided to give Rosalie a hand. Her Uncle Edward had greeted her so warmly, after all. He had gotten Edward a birthday present, and a brooch for Isabella. "She beat out a thousand people. There were a thousand applicants per slot."
"Getting an internship at the Hill usually is quite competitive," Edward's grandfather said, still unimpressed.
The silence stretched, and Bella's usually assertive best friend did not seize the moment. Underneath the table, Bella squeezed her knee.
"Daddy," Esme announced, filling the silence. "I'm insisting that Hoffman file evidence of adultery in the divorce proceedings."
There was a collective breath that sounded a lot like a groan. Bruno, bored, started to hump Emmett's leg. Awkwardly, Emmett shifted in his seat.
"Mom."
Senator Masen's lips thinned, even as he glanced sympathetically at Bella. "You know I think that divorce should have never gone to trial," he said quietly. "In any case, I don't think it's an appropriate topic of conversation in front of guests."
Esme scoffed, waving a hand. "Emmett is a dear family friend, and Rosalie knows the ins and outs of that divorce as well as anyone," Esme tittered. "Rosalie knows what my ex-husband is like. Don't you, dear?"
Uncomfortably, the two people in question muttered their agreement. Bella buried her face in her hands.
The Senator sighed, long-suffering. "You should take my advice. You should settle out of court and leave it be. Just like you should have taken my advice and negotiated a prenuptial agreement twenty years ago," he said sharply.
"All I cared about was the baby," Esme reminisced sharply, looking meaningfully at Isabella. "And I got what I wanted. I don't regret that choice."
"Be that as it may," Edward Senior continued. "I think this divorce has been dragging on for long enough. You should finalize it now and stop throwing tantrums over baubles. You're playing into his hands."
"Now that his whore is pregnant," Esme cut in acidly, "he wants the divorce over and I'm not giving him the satisfaction."
"Esme," Carlisle interjected. "Shall we get the second course from the kitchen?"
The next day was Emmett and Rosalie's last full day in Maine. The four of them would go to Portland. Characteristically, Esme had fussed, and a fight erupted over the breakfast table.
"You're drinking coffee now?" Esme gasped, as horrified as if Bella were admitting to a cocaine habit. "You should eat everything on your plate. I don't want you to feel faint." "Sweetheart, this top," Esme moaned, clawing at it like a lobster with pincers. Whatever bravery Isabella had felt at wearing it – a summery, linen top that nicely showcased her boobs – had evaporated.
"Christ, Esme, leave her alone," Edward muttered darkly. It was one thing for Esme to fuss in front of Edward. It was another for her to fuss in front of Emmett and Rosalie.
"You don't mind, do you, sweetheart? You've always been my sweet girl."
"Yes, she fucking minds," Edward barked. "You're acting psychotic."
Offended to the point of tears, Esme sulked away. Edward would receive the silent treatment for the rest of the day.
"I'm not apologizing," Edward fumed.
"Cullen's right," Rosalie echoed, also fuming. "Swan, what the fuck. You should tell your Mom to crawl out your ass."
Bella burst into hysterical giggles.
Edward kissed Bella while helping her into the car, making Emmett whoop and Bella blush. "I promised Bella we'd go to a bookstore," Edward explained, looking at Bella tenderly, as they finalized their plans near the Crescent Beach parking lot.
"For fuck's sake, Swan, it's a million degrees out. Em and I are going straight to the beach." The two descended. Instead of holding hands, Rosalie palmed Emmett's ass.
"Later, fuckers," Edward said gleefully. He made the car screech as he turned a corner sharply, lowering his sunglasses.
Purposefully, Bella used her crutches and braces. Most interesting stores were hard to navigate in a wheelchair; the space between aisles was too narrow. It was a worthy sacrifice. Edward, who would have otherwise been bored out of his mind, was patient. He picked both books that were too high up or too low down on the shelves.
In the end, by the time Bella was satisfied, Edward was hoisting five tomes that reflected Bella's eclectic taste. She made Edward plop down on an unbearably cozy corduroy-upholstered couch, while she picked her favorite. She was torn between The Help – which she had not read – and Crime and Punishment.
"I think I'll get this one," Bella said brightly, finally settling on The Help.
"I think you should get all of them," Edward said. "Our treat."
Bella shook her head dismissively. "No, I can totally pay for this one."
"Sweetheart, my Dad's paying, and I swear to God, he'd buy them all for you right now," Edward swore grumpily, making Bella smile. That had happened before. In one of the very rare moments Isabella had spent with Carlisle and Lizzie as a child, Carlisle had bought her the full collection of historical American Girl dolls. Thirteen-year-old Edward had been fuming.
"Edward, that's like a hundred dollars," Bella whispered, half-faltering in her conviction.
"Darling, I swear, it's not like I'm buying you a Tiffany bracelet," Edward swore fervently, "Last time I did, he -"
Guiltily, Edward smacked his lips shut.
Instinctively, Bella knew to pounce on that little inadvertent opening. "Last time you what?" she asked, feigning playfulness.
"Last time I...?" Edward said grumpily, standing. He grabbed the stack of books and stumped over to a collection of puzzles Bella had eyed hungrily.
"Bought a girl a Tiffany bracelet?"
"Now's not the time," Edward said grumpily. He turned his full attention to the Museum Collection puzzle Bella had been eyeing. "I saw you making eyes at that Clementoni puzzle. Do you want it?"
"Maybe. I'll let you buy it for me if you tell me."
Subdued and even moody, Edward bought the entire stack of five books for Bella and the Clementoni puzzle in question. He held the door open as she excited. Out on the street, a little toddler - with a mushroom-like haircut - pointed at Bella. She made sure to smile radiantly.
"Want to get an ice cream?" Bella suggested lightly. It was absurd how happy she was at something as silly as going to a bookstore with Edward. "My treat," she added.
"I'd rather get a testicle removed than let you pay."
Bella snorted out her laughter in loud peals. "Don't be a chauvinist."
Trying to lift his spirits, she reminisced while on the way to the ice cream parlor. It was a two-block walk; Edward had offered to drive, but Bella insisted. They walked, and it was lovely. There was a hint of a cold breeze coming in from the nearby seashore, and she could even hear some gulls. Bella was careful with every crack on the pavement, getting into a rhythmic gait. Click, drag, thump. Click, drag thump.
"The last time your Dad went all out buying me things," Bella reminisced naughtily, "you got super pissy."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"It was '99. We went to visit you in Chicago," Bella reminded him, smirking. "Your parents took me to the American Girl store, remember? Your Dad asked me if I had all the dolls. I told him I had Samantha, but that I didn't have Molly, or Addy, or Kirsten, or Felicity– "
"Bee, I have no idea what you're talking about whatsoever. Were these Barbies?"
"No," Bella said. "They were dolls. And you got so pissy about your Dad getting me so many dolls in one go that you – "
She pretended to be struck freshly by the trauma. "You sheared my Samantha doll with your Dad's electric razor."
"Christ, I blocked that out," Edward said, as the memory resurfaced. "It was the first time I ever really thought my Dad was going to spank me. I really was a little shit, love. Sorry."
"'S fine. I made out like a bandit," Bella said peevishly. "Your Mom went back to the store to get me a Samantha doll and all the accessories. I still have the little tea set. Somewhere. I kept shaved Samantha, though. I didn't want her to feel bad."
While Edward found them seats, Bella had the opportunity to pay for two ice cream cones. Click, click, thump, drag. She untangled her arms from her crutches, leaning both her body and the crutches against the counter. Efficiently, she paid with a plastic debit card, linked to the account where her paychecks had gone.
As it happened every time she went out in public, without fail, somebody was staring. At the bookshop, it had been the store clerk himself. At this ice-cream parlor, the culprit was a blue-haired old lady. She had been gawking at Isabella from the moment she entered the shop, unabashedly leaning forward with Bella's every sudden move.
"Here," Bella said to Edward, handing him a little plastic ticket. "I bought you two scoops."
"Bella," Edward said, effusively, throat thick with emotion. "Sweetheart, you didn't have to."
"I'm making bank," she explained proudly, once they were seated, licking her mango-flavored ice cream like Esme had taught her. She worked her way upwards from the cone, circling it.
"You're the first girl that's ever bought me anything," Edward said softly, looking at her so warmly Bella felt tingles all over.
"That's kind of gross, actually," Bella said, wrinkling her nose and meaning it.
"Or you're just lovely in every way," he disagreed fervently, sounding so smitten that Bella leaned over to kiss him. She started with a peck, licking the lemon flavor off his bottom lip.
Edward gently prodded her mouth with his tongue, and Bella forgot how to breathe. With one hand, he stilled her wrist – a tremor shook her entire arm. With the other, he pulled her head closer, even as he tilted his.
Jake had been overeager – he had something to prove. Andrew had been shy. A third boy Bella dated, David, had been sloppy. In that case, Isabella had gone straight back to her dorm. Violently, she had rinsed her mouth out with mouthwash, and rubbed her entire face with soap.
Edward was charming, gentle, and even romantic. Expertly, he started small – sucking her bottom lip. Running the tip of his tongue on her lips. When their tongues finally touched, after barely perceptible teasing, the nerves ending on Bella's body went haywire. With aching control, Edward ran his teeth over the tip of her tongue when she explored his mouth.
Edward was an expert at this.
Bella had no idea what she was doing. Dumbly, she panted, breathless and humming with longing. The only tool under her arsenal was mimicking what he was doing and acting out of instinct.
That brought her crashing down to earth.
"Edward," she half-moaned, half-cautioned. She sucked in a breath like she was drowning.
Their little moment did not distract her, though. Reluctantly, she pulled away, sucking air. She sat up straight.
"I need to know," she said pointedly, smirking like Lucifer the cat about to pounce on a mouse. "And not just if you've bought girls Tiffany bracelets."
Edward sighed defeatedly and inched closer. "I do want to be honest with you," he said quietly. "I just…"
"You just what?" Bella asked, tilting her head curiously.
"I need you to understand something," he said hotly. "I love you. I've loved you since I was fifteen."
"I know," Bella said, surprised at the ironclad certainty in her heart and in her voice. "I just – I think it gets worse if I imagine it in my head."
Keeping her voice light and gently teasing, Bella licked her ice cream. "How many are we talking? A dozen? A score? A gross?"
Despite the gravity of the situation, Edward smiled, looking at her so tenderly he looked pained. "What the fuck is a gross?"
"A dozen dozen," Bella explained chirpily. "Go on."
Edward sighed. He looked shame-faced; he looked at the patterns on the tabletop, tracing them with his fingers. He mouthed calculations silently: Bella could see the thinking swirling in his emerald eyes. When he finally spoke, his voice was solemn, like that of a Catholic at confession. "Thirteen."
"Thirteen?" Bella sputtered, unsure if she was shocked at how few or how many there were. She felt like bursting into tears, even as she felt relief. Her worst fear had been articulated out in the open.
"Yes," he said quietly. "I lost my virginity to a high school senior when I was fifteen. Then I slept with Tanya, who was also older, and then – I was a gross little shit, and I also slept with Kate – and – Maia – That was the famous French substitute teacher affaire."
The horror of what he was admitting out loud, quiet and stiff, was dawning – and Bella felt her eyes watering for an entirely different reason. Her feelings of inadequacy were ridiculously insignificant in the face of what Edward had endured. Suddenly, she felt like a selfish idiot for bringing up the subject at all.
Bella was shaking her head. "I'm sorry I brought this up," she croaked. "You don't have to say anything else."
"Sweetheart, I'm sorry. I don't want to upset you."
"I'm upset, because… Edward, that was statutory rape. A senior fucking you when you were fifteen, and that bitch substitute teacher. That was rape."
Darkly, Edward scoffed. "The hell it was."
"It was abuse," Bella insisted, as morosely as if someone had died. "And you were especially vulnerable, and – Did you ever tell your Dad?" She demanded this angrily.
Edward was leering at her as if she had grown a second head. "Bella, what the fuck. I really – do you want the dirty details? I fucking loved it."
Gently, she cupped his cheek. "I'm sorry I brought this up," she said pleadingly. "And I really think you should talk to a therapist – "
"Christ, Isabella," he interrupted her roughly. "You don't have to read trauma into everything."
Bella was quiet, feeling unbearably sad. That familiar pain – the one that was so intense she felt it physically in her chest – struck again. She was seeing her sweet boy in an entirely new light. The old lady to their left was staring again, openly awestruck, and Isabella half-expected her to lift opera glasses.
Awkwardly, Bella turned in her seat to glare. Not for the first time, she wished she had the dexterity to give someone the finger.
If there was one thing the two of them knew how to do, it was how to fight. For Bella, it was easier than flossing. It reminded her of her teens. Edward was dismissive and furious. Bella was frosty.
"Uncle Carlisle?" Bella asked, bashful but bright-eyed, over her gazpacho at dinner that night. Fun conversation had broken all over the table. Edward and Rosalie were half-drunk on wine. That had given Rosalie the courage to interrogate Ed Masen about every policy topic under the sun.
Like he had, not so long ago, Edward could not take his eyes off Isabella. The difference now was that Edward was staring at her like a belligerent caveman. Glaring spitefully, Bella wrinkled her nose.
"Sorry, darling?"
"Did you know there's – I was peeking at the eh – the TV room. There's some lovely books in there. I eh – I didn't know if I was allowed to touch them – "
"You can do whatever you want in this house."
"Thank you," Bella managed blushingly. "I just mean, I saw this one book from 1864. Isn't that wonderful? And I thought – do you have a catalog?"
"Oh, wow," Carlisle agreed. "I had no idea. And – I don't think there's a catalog, darling. Sorry. But you're free to do whatever you want with them."
Bella whispered the next phrase as if she was admitting to a crime. "Well, do you think I could … do you think I could start it? I just – the one I peeked at was this beautiful illustrated Shakespeare play collection with like these illustrations – "
"Sweetheart, if you want to start a catalog, you'll get no objection from me."
Bella lit up beautifully, like he had offered her the world on a silver platter.
Past the rim of his wine glass, Edward was looking at her with that exasperated tenderness Bella now understood was a look of love.
Bella felt alone the following morning. Edward Senior had bullied Carlisle into a round of golf at a downstate Country Club, of which the Cullens were founding members. Victoria would share that tidbit relentlessly. Esme had disappeared, promising to return with Richard and his twins. Emmett and Rosalie had left at the crack of dawn.
"I've missed the twins by a hair," Rosalie had said drily, with a shallow phew. "Thank fuck." Then, with uncharacteristic sweetness, she kissed Bella's cheek. "I had fun, Swan. Remember you're worth ten of Jane. If you need anything, call me. I love you. And take care of you."
"Take care of you," Bella had wept into her neck. "Love you more."
After hugging Emmett in that awkward-manly-three-pats way, and giving "Hale" a parting glare, Edward had disappeared to fuck knew where.
By mid-morning, Bella had turned, with fresh diligence and excitement, to her catalog project. On her laptop, she had opened a spreadsheet, and organized it into colored columns, using her favorite font. Purposefully, she was using her wheelchair. That she was belted into it allowed her to lean forward and start from the bottommost corner of the bookcases. She felt guilty for touching the books with her oily fingertips.
That dissipated quickly. The thrill of finding gem after gem had her completely engrossed.
"Bee, baby? Are you working on your catalog project?"
Bella didn't dignify his stupid question with a response. Instead, she glowered in his direction.
Edward walked up to her slowly, as if approaching a sleeping dragon. She felt him with every hair on her body. Then he pressed a kiss to the curve where her shoulder met her neck. Involuntarily, Bella shivered. "I'm sorry," he whispered guiltily. "I'm so sorry."
"You're sorry because…?"
"Because you're always right about shit like that. And I took it out on you by being a jackass."
Imperceptibly, she softened.
"You always do that when you get defensive," Bella said, her voice cracking. Anger and sadness were waging battle in her throat. "And it's not fair to me."
"It's not," he agreed. "It's not. I think you're an angel – "
Bella rolled her eyes, even as she started to smile. "OK. OK. OK. Let's not," she giggled. "You're forgiven."
Twisting her head, she kissed him on the lips. His skin was damp from a recent shower. She turned her attention to one of the books she had just recently cataloged. It was an Audubon's Birds of America, a leather-bound tome with guilded pages that fit perfectly in the bookshelves. She popped it open at a random page, feeling like she was profaning the print just by touching it. It was an exquisitely detailed litograph. Bird of Washington.
"Look at this," she whispered reverently, filled with wonderment. "Edward, this is lovely."
"It is," he said indulgently, and Bella had the distinct sense that he was humoring her.
"You're not getting it," she said grumpily. "Edward, this was published in 1856. Look. Royal Octave Edition." Gently, she closed the book. "Look. Look at the pattern on the cover." It was a swirling, marbled pattern circling around
"I get it," he continued indulgently, kissing a line from the shell of her ear to the point of her shoulder.
"You just wanna make out," Bella mumbled, fisting her fingers in his hair.
"The book is lovely," he agreed. "But we're alone, and that couch is all sad and lonely."
July 2011
Edward and Isabella were necking – there was no other word for it – on her bed.
With time, Isabella's anxieties had shifted, and some had been dissipated out of lust. Their kissing sessions had become increasingly heated. It had taken less than a week for Edward to slip his hands under her blouse. His touch was shy but reverent at first. Feeling his hands on her bare skin had been the most sensual experience of her life. Isabella could now feel the bulge in Edward's pants, pressed against her leg. There had been no mistaking it.
Edward's arousal filled her with a potent mixture of terror and fascination.
Dread had dampened Bella's lust. Her stomach had dropped when his hand had trailed downwards, over the curve of her hips. Inadvertently, Edward had run his fingers over a hypertrophic scar, a souvenir from a bone graft.
Bella flinched, and Edward withdrew his hand as quickly as if he had burned her.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked, alarmed.
Bella's response had been throaty through her uneven breathing. "I'm fine," she swore, but her flinching had unsettled Edward.
"You need to tell me if I hurt you," Edward half-instructed, half-pleaded, voice intense.
"It didn't hurt," she said dismissively, meeting his eye. "I promise," she added gently.
Isabella could feel the session was over; she could feel him losing his erection. The mood had dampened. Almost dismissively, he had kissed her forehead. Placing his hands on her waist, Edward gently shifted her off him.
"Edward. It didn't hurt. I promise," she said gently. "It's not that. At all."
Her reassurance had failed. He had been unusually avoidant after that, wearing a morose expression befitting a kicked puppy. His worry had lingered, dampening nearly three days that could have been spent in bliss.
Despite their mutual trepidation about making their changing relationship known, Bella became especially touchy and affectionate in front of the family. This time, she kissed him in greeting at breakfast.
Glad Edward was sitting, she had rolled forward with enthusiasm, then leaned forward. It was hard to initiate the kisses from her wheelchair, and he was in the perfect position.
She ghosted her lips over his cheekbone, then pressed two lingering kisses on his cheek. One had been so close to the corner of his lips that she had felt them turn upwards into a smile. "Morning," she murmured indulgently.
Two seconds later, she was struck by the fact that both Carlisle and Senator Masen were having breakfast. Both wore identical expressions of discombobulation.
"Good morning," she repeated, plastering a fake smile on her face, marveling at how Esme-like the action had been. Slyly, she had maneuvered backward, executing a three-point turn to slip into the spot left open for her chair.
"Are you hungry, love?" Edward had asked attentively, standing. "The chef left breakfast burritos. I think there's bacon cheddar or veggie."
While Edward reheated her pick – veggie - an awkward silence had settled over the breakfast parlor. At least Senator Masen's expression had shifted, and Bella's stomach dropped. He was giving her one of his piercing stares, albeit not unkindly, and Isabella felt like a witness cross-examined at trial. After all, Edward Masen had been a particularly gifted litigant.
Bella felt a jolt of relief when Edward finally touched her again. He dropped a gentle, lingering kiss to her temple as he placed a Burrito before Bella.
That afternoon, Bella decided to take matters into her own hands. Rose's earlier comment of "TV tits" had stuck in her head. With age, she had become vain and self-confident enough to know Rose wasn't exaggerating. At college, she had seen enough breasts to know that hers were particularly pretty.
It was God's little consolation prize for her cerebral palsy, she supposed.
She slipped on the organza top Esme despised. Her breasts were perfectly visible through the top. She was rarely ever truly frustrated at her CP – she had been born with it. That day, however, all she desperately wanted was to be able to sneak into her boyfriend's room with her arms wrapped around her chest.
Luck smiled at her: she made it from her bedroom to Edward's without a single soul intercepting her. Flaming with blush, she cranked the door open. She was going without braces, only on crutches. It was the clumsiest way for her to move, but it was carefully calculated. When she used the crutches only, it was easy for Edward to lift her onto a flat surface. A mattress. A couch. A Persian rug.
What was even better – Edward was sitting on his desk, cross-legged as lithely as if his legs were playdough. And he was so cute, using one of his coloring pencils on his Physiology book.
"Edward?" she asked shyly, after cranking the door open. Her bare, perky breasts were visible through the fabric.
Edward's eyes darkened as his pupils widened.
"I've missed you," she said throatily, feeling like a raging idiot. Edward barely noticed her speaking, transfixed.
She wanted him to touch her tits. It had been at the heart of her every fantasy from the moment she turned sixteen. She inched forward slowly. Click, click, click. She worried she was going to faceplant forward. Edward cut to the chase. He stood. Very delicately, careful not to nudge her, he kissed her hungrily.
"I want you to touch me."
"Fuck," he grunted. With his hands on her waist, he lifted her off the ground. Bella released her grip on the crutches, and they fell to the floor with a clatter. Edward stumbled over the crutches as he walked them around, to his four-poster bed. He fell, back first, taking her with him.
Raising her arms, she essentially helped him remove the top she wore.
Edward savored her, the way he might have savored a chocolate truffle or a fine desert. "You're so fucking gorgeous," he grunted breathlessly, sucking on the hollows between her clavicles, and the anticipation made Bella wet. For the first time ever, she arched and wiggled against his leg, nestled between hers.
Grunting, he arched his hips, bucking against her.
Overwhelmed, he spun them both, so that he was on top. He was bracing himself above her, arms bulging. "Hi, you," he said playfully, Adam's apple's bulging as much as his pants.
"Hey, you," Bella said thickly, threading her fingers softly through his thick mane of hair. He grinned at her – goofy, lovestruck, tender – before lowering his lips to the very spot on her neck where her heart was fluttering like a hummingbird. Excruciatingly slowly, he trailed kisses from her pulse point to her clavicle. Clumsily, Bella tried to spread her legs open, but could barely do it. Her hips wouldn't cooperate: the muscles were tight and rigid with spasticity.
Edward did not seem to notice. "Fuck, baby, your tits are perfect," he grunted, looking. And they were: Bella had been blessed with pert breasts and natural cleavage. On top of each round white mold, her rose-colored nipples were small. Hungrily, he touched his tongue with a feather-light touch to the very tip of each nipple.
It was surgically controlled, and exactly what she wanted.
Mouth dry and dazed with want, Bella became a mess of gasps, uneven breathing and whimper-like moans. The sounds escaped the confines of her throat with impunity.
Eyes sparkling with self-satisfaction, Edward lowered his mouth to her nipple again. He dropped a feather-light kiss on each breast, and Bella flamed with heat. "I – I – "
He lifted his gaze and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. "Are you OK?"
"I need you to talk to me," Bella managed, losing her grip on reality. "Like the things you say when you think I've fallen asleep."
Edward's eyes darkened, and Bella could see his neck flaming. Under his reddened skin, his pulse was throbbing. She could see the tenting in his shorts, pulsating. "I love you," he gasped with a gulp. "You're everything. You're the reason I play music. You're the reason that I smile. You're the reason that I'm good."
"I love you, too," Bella echoed, hair tangled wildly underneath him. "I love you so much."