Nine: Prince
On our next hunting trip, Bella casually proposes that we journey farther afield. Eager to oblige, I recommend Olympic National Park's southeast—specifically, a waterfall-strewn stretch of the Enchanted Valley.
As we run east, the drizzle thickens into rain. Bella laughs as we smash through the droplets, creating cascading micro-explosions, and swipes her hands through the air to collide with even more. But the rain eases as we ascend into the mountains, and then stops altogether a few miles from the valley.
The sky here is mostly clear, and the gibbous moon lights up the forest, making the babbling streams shine and the lightly frosted trees sparkle. After admiring the pretty little falls for approximately five seconds, Bella fixes her gaze on me. Out of the bottom of my eye, I see her hands unhook the metal clasp on her belted top, and then the top is gone—like magic—and she is entirely naked.
Seeing her this way makes my own state of dress unbearable, and yet my hands reach for her instead of the fastenings on my clothes. She smirks, thankfully still amused by my recurrent incapacitation, and steps into my arms, freeing me from my trousers even as she wraps a hand around the nape of my neck and presses herself against me.
My whole being sings with pleasure as she unites our bodies, indulging our passions in a wondrously prolonged series of orgasms before eventually turning her attention to the hunt.
Predictably, she rejects the nearest prey—a black bear—even after I point out their abundance in the park. But then I rethink my assumption.
"Is it the bear or the number? Because I'm—" I break off, suddenly conscious that saying I'm not thirsty will remind her of the 'extra' lives she is currently taking. Will she decide not to hunt now, too, no matter her physical need?
I rack my brain for an alternative remark, but her ability to see my self-censorship is paralyzing.
She waits a full second for me to go on, her expression growing increasingly somber, then murmurs, "Not what?"
I give up. "You still need to hunt—"
"But you don't," she interrupts, her tone disconcertingly neutral despite the tightness around her eyes.
To avoid agreeing, I try turning it into a joke. "I could go for a mob boss, but I doubt there's one nearby."
She rolls her eyes, but my silliness has worked: the tension is gone from her face. "There's a deer nearby."
"Race ya?" She quirks an eyebrow, presumably questioning my dedication to the contest, so I waggle an eyebrow in return, and orient my body in the deer's direction.
"All right," she allows, lining up beside me. "Go."
The casual, understated cue catches me a little off-guard, but she waits till I start running before setting off. Head start or no, she overtakes me in two hundredths of a second. I try to keep pace with her, but she runs with such single-minded determination that I can barely keep her in sight, and must duck and weave around the billowing branches in her wake. She takes down the solitary blacktail buck and is already starting to drink when I catch up.
"I win," she crows the moment she's done, then launches herself at me, pinning me against the nearest tree trunk—with her body and the piercing, blazing red of her bright eyes.
Midnight passes without acknowledgement from either of us. As we indulge our passions anew, Bella's increasingly frequent glances toward the horizon give me advance notice of her growing need to return to our daughter, though she holds out longer than I expect. For once, I'm torn: every second in her embrace is precious, and yet I'm excited to show her the cottage.
As always, I break first. In a moment of stillness, I press a kiss against her throat and murmur, "Happy birthday."
She hums softly. "Very happy," she concurs, tightening her fingers in my hair and arching her throat to press into my lips. "But also irrelevant."
"You've happily celebrated my birthday twice now."
"Because that's what you wanted."
"That's what my family wanted," I correct.
She gives a little huff. "What did you do before Alice got to you?"
"It wasn't Alice." I raise my head to meet her gaze—she doesn't release her grip on my hair, but obligingly moves with me—and I have to chuckle at the incredulous bent of her brow. "Carlisle and I didn't feel the need to celebrate past events in our lives, but it pleased Esme, so we started marking the dates after she joined us."
"I imagine Alice altered the meaning of marking the date."
"Maybe for her dates. You've only known her since she went a little crazy over you—so it's really your fault."
She scoffs lightly. "You went along with anything she wanted, so it's your fault she thinks she has final say over our choices."
I have to laugh; she's right, and I have no defense—but perhaps there is an element of reason involved beyond my tractability/indifference. "I enjoyed her visions, and I didn't have anyone else to think about, so, yes, I went along with whatever she wanted—but seeing the different futures made it feel like I was involved in the choice."
She smiles at that, then releases my hair with a soft sigh. "Shall we go home now?"
"I promise it will be worth it."
She tilts her head quizzically, questioning my uncharacteristic willingness. I can't explain without giving anything away, so I simply smile. Her eyes track the curve of my lips, lingering there in a way that renews the tension in my core, but then her expression softens, and she strokes my cheek before separating herself from me.
Our clothes are sufficiently intact that it's a simple matter to get dressed, so we share in stripping the hide from the deer, then set out homeward.
As we approach the western border of the park, Rey's dreams begin to flow through my mind—she is riding a young unicorn through the forest, her fingers buried in its silky blue mane—and then I hear Alice's thoughts as she races to meet us.
Two seconds before appearing up ahead, she sings out, "Happy birthday, Bella!"
Bella purses her lips but returns Alice's exuberant hug. "Just so we're clear, I stopped ageing four days ago."
"Yes, yes," Alice agrees, releasing her. "You're eighteen forever. We could celebrate your immortal birthday on the ninth, but I thought you'd prefer your original since it's so close."
Bella's expression shifts from mild exasperation to frustratingly neutral; is she pleased? Ambivalent? Genuinely disinterested? (Alice labels it 'amenability', but I'm not convinced—not even when Bella's lips abruptly curve into a wry smile.) "Would you have proposed we celebrate four days ago, or were you worried about my temper?" Although her tone is casual, I suspect there's genuine concern lurking within the teasing question.
"Parties are my thing," Alice teases back; "I wanted you to have your thing." Then she grins and points at me.
Bella snorts softly. "Pervert," she mutters.
Alice chuckles, unrepentant. "You were grateful for the clothes, weren't you?"
"You didn't need to watch to know we'd need them."
"Where's the fun in that?"
Bella screws up her nose, but before she can reply, Alice offers her a little golden box, which contains a key to our cottage.
She grins at Bella's evident surprise. "You'll like this one. It's from all of us—technically, it's for Edward, too," she says, blowing me a kiss before I can object to her next statement—"but you'll appreciate it more."
Bella glances at me, smiles in response to my smile, and accepts the sturdy metal box. She lifts the lid and stares at the brass skeleton key for half a second before looking up. "A house?" she says, part shocked, part thrilled, while Alice laughs—at her reaction and the immediate follow-up question-cum-accusation directed at me. "You knew about this?"
"Yes. But Esme and the others wanted it to be a surprise."
She frowns slightly at the word surprise—bolstering my belief that she enjoys surprises as much as I do—but then smiles. "Are they waiting for us there?"
Alice chuckles. "There's no one within eight miles," she says emphatically, "and Rey is still asleep."
The moment Bella catches on, her lips twitch into a little smirk.
Alice grins, then gives me a quick hug—mostly for the purpose of slipping a backup key into my pocket (even though she is "98% certain" Bella won't mangle hers)—and takes the deer hide I'm carrying.
With a parting, "See you soo-oon!" she darts back into the trees.
Bella rolls her eyes, then smiles at me. "A house? How long have they been planning that?"
"Esme's had the idea for a while, but she only started the restoration a month or so before our wedding."
"Restoration?"
"It's a little cottage in the forest that was abandoned at least a hundred years ago."
She chuckles. "Sounds perfect; lead the way."
I point directly northwest. "Run until you hit the trail."
"What trail?"
"You'll know when you cross it."
She grins, shifts into a half-crouch to give me a split-second warning, and then takes off, sprinting through the trees. We're almost ten miles away, but we reach the route Esme and the others have been using between the cottage and the main house in under a minute. The moment she catches their scent—the only physical sign marking the well-travelled but otherwise inconspicuous path—she darts along its course, then freezes at the edge of the small clearing surrounding the cottage.
I stop by her side, wishing, as always, that I could hear her mind as she gazes at the tiny stone cottage, lavender gray in the starlight. Her eyes trace the sweetly scented vines of honeysuckle climbing up one wall, the late summer roses blooming under the deep-set windows, and the path of flat stones leading up to the quaint arched wooden door.
"It's incredible," she murmurs.
I nod; she smiles, sparing me a glance, then steps onto the path.
Matching my stride to her measured pace makes the modest twenty-yard distance feel ten times greater. The sense of ownership I feel over this little piece of the world adds an unexpected thrill to this moment. I've never cared about having a home of my own, a place to settle, but here, with Bella, I feel a deep sense of fulfillment. This earth and every stone, every plant and wildflower, every creature existing in this space has a kinship with me—a precious spiritual attachment that feels truly eternal.
When I look at Bella, wanting to share my sense of connection with this special place, our eyes meet and I know she's feeling the same joy that's in my heart. After a long moment of gazing into each other's eyes while the forest breathes around us, she laughs softly, shifting the mood from reflective to more playful, and tilts her head toward the door.
I nod; no matter how willingly I'd spend the rest of the night right here, I'm excited to explore our little house together.
Treating the key as though it's as fragile as a dried twig, she carefully inserts it into the lock and just as carefully turns it. Because Alice left the primary lock disengaged, the door immediately begins to open, swinging silently outward in a smooth arc.
There is no longer an entryway, so we're immediately met with the main living area. Despite raising the ceiling's exposed beams to accommodate Emmett's height, Esme has preserved the intimate feel of the space. The floor is a flat quilt of smooth, irregularly shaped stones. The walls are warm wood in some places, stone mosaics in others, and adorned with some of our favorite paintings from the main house. The beehive fireplace in the corner holds the remains of a slow-flickering driftwood fire with flames that burn in enchanting shades of blue and green.
The room is furnished in eclectic pieces that shouldn't match, yet they all fit together like one big, three-dimensional puzzle, creating a sense of dynamic elegance. The chairs are medieval, the low ottoman by the fire is contemporary, and the smoked-glass coffee table, upon which three neat piles of wedding presents—an assortment of cards and small boxes—are artfully stacked, takes inspiration from Japanese Chabudai. The well-stocked bookshelf against the left wall is a mix of ancient and contemporary, with its carved wooden shelves and engraved metal brackets that hide a feature I can't wait to share with Bella.
After taking in the room, she turns to me with delight. "It's straight out of a fairy tale," she gushes. "Is there a unicorn in the garden? Will Snow White be joining us?"
We laugh together, but I can't resist 'correcting' her. "You are Snow White."
"My hair's not black," she teases, tossing her head from side to side to make her lustrous hair dance around her.
"A minor detail," I reply, gesturing for her to enter.
She chuckles, then shakes her head. "It's my turn," she says cryptically—before whisking me off my feet and into her arms.
She takes two steps forward, carrying me over the threshold, then sets me down—but it's already too late. Our bodies snap together like they're magnetized. Even as my arms wrap themselves around her waist, her hands grab my face and pull my lips to hers.
The air feels charged with heat as we shed our clothes and make love where we stand. Bathed in starlight on one side and the glow of the blue-green flames on the other, our skin constantly changes hue, heightening the sense of movement and making us one as the difference between her hand and mine, her chest and mine, her leg and mine, is lost in the unifying swathes of color.
In the afterglow of our climax, we relax against the doorframe, just gazing into each other's eyes. No matter my desire to show Bella our little house, it could never surpass my desire for her body, so she is the one to ultimately move; but I manage not to pout as the house wins her attention. Her formerly belted top provides sufficient coverage, so she forgoes her pants, while I have no choice but to forgo my shirt, which didn't survive our desperate passions this time.
To redirect my own attention, I focus on closing the door. Bella steps farther into the room, studying it from a new angle.
At the click of the lock engaging, she glances back at me with a grin. "Bit late for that," she teases.
"It's a novelty, I suppose—having a lock that our family will actually respect."
She smiles, and yet, she seems surprised. "I didn't think a lock would matter to you; it can't keep their thoughts at bay."
"True, but it's a lot easier to ignore Alice when she's not physically in your face."
"Is it?" she quips.
We share a grin, and then Bella refocuses on our surroundings. After stashing our discarded clothes in the ottoman, I follow her to the narrow stone hallway. She pauses there, her eyes immediately drawn to the architectural ceiling with its tiny arches, just like a miniature castle.
"Is Snow White's prince Prince Charming?" she asks.
For once, I can't give her an answer; Rey has already read several fairy tales with Rosalie and Esme—mostly the Disney versions, because all three of them enjoy the happy endings—but Prince Charming hadn't come up. I know that Ariel's prince is Prince Eric and Belle's prince is Prince Adam, but the only detail Snow White's prince had been given was "handsome"—and Rey had been far more interested in the personable dwarves and the ruthless evil queen. "I don't know."
She chuckles. "Well, you're my prince, and this is our castle."
I dip my head to acknowledge the honor. "Shall we begin the tour, my queen?"
Her smile is warm and joyful. "Please do," she says humbly.
So I gesture toward the nearest open door. "Renesmee's room is on your left," I say, then wait as she steps forward to view it. "It was designed as our guest room—hence the double bed and neutral cream coloring—but they haven't changed anything yet because Rey will want to be part of the renovations." I wish I could see it through Bella's eyes, but it is actually an unexpected little thrill when I join her at the doorway and the room looks exactly as I described.
She nods, then looks into the room on the right—the bathroom—and gasps in delight at the exquisite clawfoot bath and rainhead shower.
"Esme tried to bring some of her island here for us," I murmur. "She guessed that we'd get attached."
"She knew we'd get attached," Bella teases. "Let's test out the shower."
I'm very tempted, but I can't disregard my duty outright. "Would you like to see our room first?" I ask, pointing to the door farther down the hall.
That gets her attention. She traverses the distance in three quick strides, wraps her fingers carefully around the door handle, then looks back with an impish grin on her face. "I suppose Alice has been dying for me to see the closet."
"She got the last laugh—it's bigger than our room."
"You're not joking, are you?"
"It's Alice; we're lucky it didn't get its own story."
She gives a soft laugh, then waits for me to join her before opening the door.
This room isn't a replica of the master bedroom on Isle Esme—it isn't anywhere near large enough for that—but Esme has captured its spirit perfectly. The centerpiece is a huge, white bed surrounded by clouds of gossamer that float down from the canopy to the floor. The pale wood floor is precisely the color of the island's pristine beach. The walls are that almost-white-blue of a brilliant sunny day, and the back wall is dominated by two glass doors that open out into a little hidden garden of climbing roses complete with a small round pond, smooth as a mirror and edged with shiny, cream-colored stones—a miniature ocean just for us.
"Oh," is all she says.
"I know."
We stand there for a moment in silence. When Bella's gaze settles on the bed, I imagine she is remembering the fun we had on its twin in Isle Esme, as I am.
"There's one more room," I murmur, trying to be a good husband.
"Later," she says, turning to face me. "I assume the closet is through those double doors," she adds, waving toward the ornate wooden doors on our left.
"Yes—"
The corner of her lip twitches as she steps in close. "Clothes are Alice's thing," she murmurs, her lips just inches from mine. She reaches up and twists her fingers into my hair. "Dressing down is what we're doing right now."
I would laugh, because Alice will enjoy the little joke, but there's only one thing my body wants to do right now. When I go to reunite our lips, Bella tightens her grip on my hair, holding me still, though my arms still wind themselves around her waist. She giggles as I pull her against me, before finally leaning in.
But instead of kissing me, she slides the tip of her tongue across my lips. I groan and my own tongue rises to meet hers, inviting it into my mouth—reveling in the total freedom to do as we wish.
When she reciprocates, I find myself grasping the fabric at her back and ripping the top apart.
The memory of our time on the island feels almost present; I can practically hear the waves, the sound of the wind rustling the palm leaves, beneath Bella's soft moans. The difference in our lovemaking is striking, and yet it is familiar, too. Her body is so different and yet her responses match my memories—her greater strength creates some changes, but not the outcome, though it's still a distinct thrill to be literally pinned down when she shifts us to the floor.
In every kiss, it feels like we're exchanging pieces of our souls. It isn't till after our next shared climax that I realize the deeper meaning of that: right now, everything seems to be telling me I still have my soul.
Bella quickly distracts me from philosophizing, mouthing kisses down my chest as she strokes my abs, tracing the lines of my muscles ever lower. When she slides her whole body down farther, I briefly mourn the loss of our connection, but I can only groan as her touch sets every nerve in my body alight once more. She chuckles at my responsiveness and kisses her way back up my chest, reuniting our lips as she reunites our bodies. My hips thrust upward on their own and she groans deeply, reveling in the pleasure of our coupling.
The sense of immense power spirals higher and higher, until it's all I am inside, and all I can feel is an answering power in Bella's touch.
We are still fully preoccupied when our daughter begins to wake, roused by the pre-dawn chorus. It feels easier than ever to nudge her more forceful thoughts aside, letting them flow through the corner of my mind, beyond my focus. Like diverting an incoming surge of water into a distant channel without disturbing the main flow.
But Bella will want to know, so I reluctantly separate my lips from their present location of her shoulder. "Rey's waking up."
She tenses, as always, and I force my arms to release her; but then she unexpectedly relaxes. "We'll leave in four minutes," she declares, pulling me into a freshly passionate kiss.
Thrilled by the extended deadline, I immerse myself in our connection, acutely aware of every point of contact between us—until, out of nowhere, the other thoughts in my head pull my every thought in their direction.
Daddy!, Renesmee calls, and I can't help but respond—though she's eight miles away, my head whips in her direction, breaking our kiss.
Bella freezes, alert for danger.
"Sorry," I murmur; despite my personal irritation, I can't help but smile as our daughter continues to call for me, and for her mother. "There's nothing wrong. Rey's calling for us—Alice just told her that I can hear her thoughts."
Bella chuckles even as she unwinds her arms from around my neck. It isn't any easier to let her go than any other time I've had to, but I follow suit, dropping my arms from her waist once more.
"What's she saying?"
"She just wants to be with us."
"Why did Alice tell her now?"
"You think the cottage is your only present?"
Bella abruptly scowls, and a thrill runs through me—an urgent thrill of lust. But the need to answer Rey's call is ever so slightly stronger than my desire, so I follow Bella's lead and redirect my attention onto the matter of getting dressed.
"Rey and I made you something, too," I say, following Bella into the closet, and her scowl—which had deepened at seeing the full racks of every type of dress in almost every color imaginable—vanishes.
She flicks through a few items on the nearest rack, scoffing under her breath at the more outrageous ones, so I point out the large set of built-in drawers in the back corner.
"The normal clothes are in there—shirts at the top, then pants, shorts, and so on."
She grins and goes straight for the second drawer, picking out a pair of denim jeans. She holds them up to her face and sniffs deeply. "That's more like it," she remarks. But then she sighs and inexplicably puts them back. Her smile returns when she sees my bemusement. "It is my birthday," she explains. "I'll dress up for today—as long as I can find something reasonable."
Her generosity warms my heart. "I think I can help," I offer, going over to the third rack. "Alice planned the layout item by item, and I probably picked up at least eighty percent of it."
She chuckles softly as I flick through a couple of the transparent garment bags before locating my target: a silver-and-lilac, knee-length wrap dress with three-quarter-length sleeves and a modest neckline. When I hold it up, she nods approvingly.
While she carefully wraps herself in it, I go to my single rack of clothes and select a complementary beige turtleneck and black trousers from the decidedly less colorful array of options.
Bella looks me up and down, then shakes her head. "If I'm dressing up, so are you."
"Is a shirt sufficient, or would you prefer full black tie?"
She chuckles. "A shirt will suffice."
There are a few options, so I hold up a pearl-white shirt with a subtle shine that matches Bella's dress.
"Perfect," she declares, then watches as I switch tops. "What are the buttons made of?"
"Powder-coated titanium," I reply, expecting the eye roll that follows. "They're made from recycled batteries or something. Alice is very proud of them—she'll love that you noticed."
She rolls her eyes again, but this time, she's smiling.
Back in our bedroom, I aim for the hallway before I can get distracted by memories of our honeymoon or tonight's adventures—but then Bella points outside. "Can we go out that way?"
I correct course before she's even finished her question, opening the glass door by way of answer.
She pauses on her way past, peering at the door handle. "Was it unlocked?"
"No; the mechanism unlocks automatically from the inside."
"Clever," she remarks almost absently as she steps outside, her focus already captured by the pleasant little space. "It's perfect," she murmurs, stroking the nearest rose. "They smell divine."
"Esme bred them just for us."
She hums happily. "Let's go thank her."
I nod, and we leap the stone wall and race back to the main house.
Everyone is waiting for us on this side of the river—including Seth, who arrived half an hour ago, not wanting to miss this. Rey jumps into her mother's arms, eager to be the first to wish her happy birthday, and Bella kisses her head and murmurs her thanks, then reiterates it to everyone else.
"I love everything," she gushes. "It's perfect—I especially love that there's no TV, and no computer."
Esme laughs delightedly. "The only electronic items are kitchen and laundry appliances and the central heating—there isn't even a stereo. I thought you'd like that."
Rosalie nudges Bella's shoulder. "You're more old-fashioned than Edward!"
Everyone laughs, Bella included. "Who needs technology when you have magic?" she jokes. "It's like stepping into a fairy tale."
"The happily ever after part, I hope," Esme teases.
Bella chuckles, then tilts her head in thought. "Did I marry the prince or the dragon?"
While Rey asserts prince and the others take a moment to fathom Bella's logic, Rosalie shakes her head. "You've got the wrong fairy tale," she jokes. "You married the Beast."
The others laugh at the "apt" reference to my traditionally surly, standoffish demeanor; then Jasper, who actually studied the tale's origins at college, invents another parallel between the two love stories. "Except the Beast ran away instead of Beauty."
Thanks to Rey, I don't need to defend myself against their mockery. She doesn't think Beauty and the Beast is anything like our story, and she tells the others so, decisively, leaving them feeling both chastened and delighted by her adorable insistence.
Bella kisses Rey on the forehead. "You're right; definitely the prince," she agrees before doing as requested—twisting slightly to help Rey climb onto her back.
Carlisle and Esme fall in behind us, while the others dash through the trees on our left and right, racing us. Rey urges Bella to run faster and faster, laughing with delight as she complies.
They pause briefly at the clearing to gush over the little house, pointing out their favorite things, and then watch excitedly as I open the door via the main lock—a little keypad hidden within the ornate panel encircling the door handle.
Our family waits for Bella and Rey to enter, but only Carlisle and Seth wait for me; the others are too focused on Rey. Emmett jokes telepathically about nothing being out of place, while verbally challenging the house's proportions. But Rey doesn't care that it is a fraction of the size of our "big" house; that one is for everyone—this one is just for her and Mommy and me. She laughs at his idea for a tower that reaches up to the treetops.
"One thing it doesn't need," Bella remarks, "is the ridiculously oversized closet with a thousand dresses—"
"Bella," Alice interrupts, "I only buy ethically made, toxin-free, environmentally sustainable clothes. Our purchases support up-and-coming new-generation designers when they need it most."
Bella purses her lips, then smiles. "Okay, you make a good case—but I'll still wear clothes more than once if I want."
Alice laughs, then sticks out her tongue.
Rey loves the sound of a closet twice the size of Alice's, and is impressed by our new clothes—especially the buttons on my shirt, which makes Bella chuckle and Alice quiver with delight.
When I admit we haven't seen the 'secret' room yet, everyone is adamant it be our next stop. As I show my wife and daughter the clever mechanism behind the bookshelf that hides the entrance to our library-cum-study-cum-music room, I'm a little sad that Bella and I didn't get to experience it by ourselves. But Bella doesn't seem to care, the others let us go first, and having Jasper here means I can feel her awe as she enters the windowless room.
Despite the impressive piano, the thing that stands out most to me—and to Bella and Rey—is Seth's mural. It spans the entire room—walls and ceiling—transporting us into the ancient rainforest. Seth invested all his spare time into it for weeks, and the effort shows. He has managed to capture the glint of light through the branches perfectly, bringing the thick trunks and dense foliage to life in a way that feels open and breezy, when it could easily have become dark and oppressive.
"Did you sleep at all?" I quip, pulling him into a hug.
Jasper feels a sudden burst of emotions from Bella, the strongest of which is unquestionably jealousy, so I end the hug as quickly as possible, trying not to be obvious about it—but she looks away when I can't help glancing at her.
She strokes her hand along the mega-violet flecks in the painted stream's rushing water. "Can the wolves see that color?"
When I shake my head, Emmett gives Jacob a mocking chuckle.
Carlisle shushes him. "Our senses are limited, too, Emmett. I often wonder about the realities that lie beyond our understanding."
Jasper nods; he finds the question especially interesting—and he thinks he can finally call himself a philosopher, thanks to the deeper wisdom that Bella's composure is teaching him.
I nod, too. "To a quantum being, we must seem as primitive as a virus."
"If they see us at all," Jasper remarks, imagining that, to such a creature, we might be an arrangement of atoms no different to any other object.
"Maybe they're what gave us life," Alice suggests, picturing curious creatures who play around with atoms, turning fleshy human bodies into living crystal sculptures.
Bella, Alice, Seth, and I share a grin. The others are less thrilled by the idea—Carlisle and Esme in particular prefer to think of any such creatures as existing entirely separately to us—and Rey is currently more interested in the curious creatures carved into the medieval writing desk; she noticed the unicorn first, and is now sliding her fingers over the griffins, sea monsters, and dragons adorning the drawer.
Bella grabs the wooden chair—perhaps to move it aside so she can see more of the desk—and her fingers sink through the hard wood. She lets go with a gasp, clearly horrified, while most of her audience laughs at our incredible newborn's reaction to the first 'damage' she has caused.
Esme rushes to say that she can repair it "good as new", but Emmett can't resist teasing Bella.
"It's scary the first time you break something."
"I've destroyed plenty of things," she retorts.
"Clothes don't count," he insists, but none of us agrees.
"My beautiful shoes count!" Alice exclaims, reminding us of the very first thing Bella broke.
"You shouldn't have put them on me," Bella says, unsympathetic.
"Well… I did buy two pairs," Alice admits, but when Bella quirks an eyebrow in challenge, she caves. "All right, four. But one's for me."
Bella laughs at that, and her discontent dissipates.
"I was thinking," Alice says boldly (and not simply in defiance of Bella's bare feet), "we could wear them to your housewarming party."
Bella immediately shakes her head. "This is the housewarming party."
Alice rolls her eyes. "This is your birthday party—and the cottage is Edward's present, too, so it doesn't count."
While Bella looks to me to back her up, Jacob says, "Doesn't the pack coming over tonight count as a housewarming?"
"Of course not," Alice retorts, stoking Bella's frustration. "They aren't coming here."
Bella's emotions abruptly shift; "Just the pack?" she asks anxiously.
Seth nods. "Just the pack. And it's not exactly a party; no one's bringing presents—although I'd be happy to ask for something on your behalf… say, a graphics tablet?"
She chuckles, and then relaxes. "It'll be nice to see them." Then she makes a face; addressing Alice, she says, "If this house isn't my present, what else did you get me?"
We all laugh at the incongruent dread in her voice.
"The wardrobe," Alice confirms, much to Bella's relief, and then Esme chimes in to say that the headboard design is what she's going to get made for the two beds we broke on the island.
"The blue room for us," she adds, "and the white room for you and Edward—"
Bella and Emmett both rush to protest: "The white room is the master bedroom," Bella says, while Emmett objects to us being gifted a room in the house—and therefore permission to come and go as we please—when he and Rose are still barred from the island.
Esme waves a hand in Emmett's direction while answering Bella; "We redecorated it specially for you and Edward—our furniture was already in the blue room."
Bella is starting to smile when she suddenly tenses and a wave of self-consciousness floods through her, I presume at the realization we'd had sex in their bed.
"The bed was just a prop," I say, though it feels like a lame excuse.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"I wasn't planning for us to do more than sleep in there."
She gives me a rueful smile, much to our family's amusement. Before Rey asks about it, I suggest the one thing that's sure to distract her: Mommy opening her presents.
As soon as I describe where they are—'hidden' in one of the drawers in her room—she uses her grip on Bella's hand to tow her out into the living room.
"First door on the left," Bella instructs, letting Rey lead the way (and, of course, everyone else follows).
Rey is excited to see her room, but not distracted from her purpose. Bella lifts her up so she can open the drawer, and then she pulls out our present—a portrait of Bella made entirely from words—and directs her mother to sit on the bed so she can sit in her lap while Bella unwraps it.
Bella's eyes rove across the drawing, taking in every single word, pausing now and then—presumably at the crazier ones. Rey had wanted to use every word she liked the sound of, so one or two are a bit of a stretch, like recalcitrant and truculent, but I made use of the sizing and shading aspects to signify their relative importance. Loving, brave, determined, perceptive, intelligent, warm, noble, just, wise, sensible, humble, and all their many synonyms comprise the largest portion of the image.
Feeling the need to explain, I say, "We worked our way through the entire dictionary."
Perspicacious is Rey's favorite, so she takes great delight in pointing out where it stretches across portrait-Bella's lower lip.
Bella laughs and then kisses the top of her head. "I love it—and all the others, too. The whole thing is amazing, Renesmee. Thank you so much." Then she looks up at me. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Would you like to know what perspicacious means?"
She laughs. "Would I?" she quips, but Rey is already enthusiastically quoting the dictionary definition: having a ready insight into and understanding of things.
"That does sounds like me," Bella agrees jokingly.
Rey nods, fully earnest, then directs Bella back to the drawer to retrieve another gift. This time, she chooses Jacob's—a slim envelope marked with his messy scrawl.
Bella accepts it with a grin, no doubt anticipating jokey well-wishes in lieu of a gift. My suspicion is confirmed when she pulls out the envelope's lone occupant—a picture of her motorbike—and lets out an exasperated oh. "It's yours," she insists, shaking her head.
"I repaired it for you," he replies stubbornly.
She goes to argue, but then nods and simply thanks him, perhaps to derail Rey's burgeoning plan to commandeer the bike for herself.
The last present is from Seth—the wooden jigsaw he conceptualized on our wedding day. The 54 half-inch-thick pieces of alder wood are all double sided; one side is a portrait-oriented painting of us getting married beneath the flower-festooned arch, the other, a landscape-oriented painting of us dancing, mid-whirl, with Bella standing on my feet.
Bella carefully assembles the dancing puzzle, and then beams at him. She jumps up to hug him, then hesitates, but Seth just laughs and hugs her, making a joke that she can crush him "a little". She smiles, but her mixed emotions imply the main reason she held back wasn't fear of hurting him.
Renesmee wants the next hug, so Bella whisks her up into her arms, rubs her cheek against Rey's, and then gives us all a warm smile. "Thank you," she says. "I'm so happy and so grateful to have you all in my life. Everything is different, and yet the same, too. I thought it would be a transformation in every sense of the word, but it's more like a conversion—a simple upgrade. Everything I liked about myself is still there; only the things I didn't like have changed."
Her point makes me consider my own 'conversion' in a new light; if I hadn't been so ill, would I have remembered more about myself, or would most of it have been discarded anyway? I have no doubt I would have remembered my family in greater detail, but perhaps I'd lived such a sheltered life during my formative years that I'd had nothing that made me me.
Seth agrees with Bella; he feels the same about becoming a wolf—which makes an interesting contrast with how unsettling the other wolves had found it.
"Even my embarrassing memories are precious now," she jokes. "Like the time I thought Edward and Alice were dressing me up for a certain vampire occasion when they were actually preparing me for prom."
Emmett thinks that's the funniest thing he's ever heard, but everyone agrees with me when I point out that, with Alice involved, it's hardly a wild assumption.
Jacob chuckles (completely missing the point that Bella had been ready to become a vampire that night) as he recalls "gatecrashing" our prom and her unexpected tolerance of his father's request that she break up with me. Despite wholeheartedly supporting the idea, he'd known it was wrong to sell her out for twenty bucks and a master cylinder—and then she'd made it all right, as always, by being so understanding. She smiles and he shares a grin with her, believing that she's remembering that same event.
"Easiest twenty bucks I ever made," he jokes. Bella gives a wistful little hmm, which he interprets as disagreement considering all the heartache and distress we've caused him. He shakes his head. "Bells, my life was boring without you in it."
"Don't let Embry and Quil hear you say that."
"I won't tell them," he counters, and the distinct note of dejection in his voice amplifies Bella's sympathy.
Knowing it'll annoy him (and hoping he'll leave), Rosalie says, "There must still be a deeper connection there—Edward can still hear their thoughts through your mind."
It takes him a moment to fully process her meaning, and then the fury explodes inside him. He had started feeling more charitable towards me, but now I'm beating him again, profiting from his abilities yet again—worst of all, one he no longer has access to.
He starts shaking so badly he fears he'll have to leave—but that thought, the thought of leaving Rey, especially when her eyes are wide with concern for him, helps him calm down just enough to hold his shape. The need to answer her confusion does the rest. "It upsets me that I can't hear their thoughts anymore," he explains, gratefully accepting the hand she offers him, "but I'll be okay."
I want to help you feel better, she says.
"You already are," he murmurs, managing a smile.
The depth of Rey's sympathy doesn't surprise me, but it makes me want to list all of Jacob's many faults to balance out her view of him before she gets much older. And yet, isn't that true for all of us? Rey has no idea of my (hopefully former) flaws, and only a biased awareness of a few of the mistakes I've made—and the catastrophe I created that was only averted by Jacob and the pack.
'Technically," I speak up, when he's a little more settled, "I can only hear Sam's thoughts through your mind, and their minds through his."
All of his thoughts—and mine? When I nod, he sighs. He glances at Seth, who gives him a sympathetic smile, and then sighs again, irritated (but not surprised) that Sam and the others knew and he didn't.
To give him more time to process it, Esme decides to tackle another difficult matter head on. She strokes Bella's shoulder. "It's after nine in Hanover. What time were you going to call Renée?"
Bella grimaces, then sighs. "Half an hour ago…"
. . . . .
. . . . .
Author's note: Just a quick reminder that underlined text is quoting the Twilight saga (in this chapter, Breaking Dawn).