27

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN STRONG FAMILY TIES AND FAMILY TIES THAT ARE BRITTLE

HE REACHED FOR THE MOUSE, but Bella stopped him, placed her hand over his, the look of worry on her beautiful face making him want to kiss her, feed from her even as she, too, fed from him, bring her pleasure to show her that she need not be afraid. As it was, he surrounded her with his scent, honey lilac with a hint of lavender and freesia, stroked it over her skin, her arms, her face, her back, anywhere that was appropriate, soft and delicate as satin or silk. This, it was something he learnt how to do from Jasper's thoughts, his memories, who, in turn, had used it for well over a century to ensnare and trap human women when he was hunting, not wanting to play with his food, unlike Emmett—feel pain and negative emotions from the very beginning, for it was very hard for Jasper, Edward knew, to feel his prey's, the humans' emotions, pain, fear, and so many more, as their life force slowly faded away, their bodies being drained of blood.

Edward, he wasn't, nor would ever use this ability to kill, take life, because he knew Jasper still thought about it more often than not, the feeling of hot, sweet human blood going down his throat, the monster within him being fully satisfied, not having to worry about his thirst, the burn of his throat, for at least three and a half days—but to calm Bella down, make her feel loved, cherished, and protected. When they were at last wed, he and his Bella, his reason for existing, his one and only love, on their wedding night, honeymoon, and thereafter, he would stroke his scent over her skin, her breasts, the vee between her thighs, where he would be inside her as he made love to her, claimed her for his own, as only a husband should claim his wife, Bella, too, claiming him for her own. Just thinking about it, what he would do, how their bodies would tangle gracefully together, fitting so perfectly, akin to two puzzle pieces, made him close his eyes, shudder, anticipation rampant in his veins, his body, his heart, and his very soul, press a kiss to her shoulder, her lips.

Bella, too, shivered, and because he could still hear her thoughts, connected to her mind as he was, Bella his own, Edward knew it was from pleasure, pressed herself closer to him, wanting to feel protected and cherished. "What if Alice is there, Husband, my love, what if Carlisle and Esme are not alone, the entire Cullen family with them?" Her voice was soft, filled with pleasure, but there was a hint of fear and hesitation in it, too.

Not liking that one bit, he increased the potency of his scent round her, stroked it over her back, arms, and face—her lips, until she could think of naught but the pleasure, kissing and feeding from him even as he, too, fed from her, her worrisome thoughts flying away like so many little butterflies. "You have no reason to fear or fret so, mon doux, my beloved mother, Elizabeth, and I, we can handle the entire Cullen family at once if need be."

She placed warm, discreet kisses to his skin, his throat, for they were not alone, were in the company of his beloved mother, Elizabeth. "Tell me, husband of mine, what is it that you are thinking about? I can see images of Jasper in your head, but those, they match not with your emotions, the love, happiness, and excitement I sense coming from you."

So, her shield was protecting the plans he had for their wedding night, honeymoon, and beyond, how he would make love to her, what he would do? Good. When he spoke, he did so on the mental level, this a private conversation between a husband and wife-to-be, not for his beloved mother's ears to hear. Our wedding night, honeymoon, and beyond, how I am going to make love to you, what I am going to do, ma belle sirène.

Bella shivered again, and this time, Edward knew from her thoughts, it was from a combination of pleasure and anticipation, pressed a honey-sweet, warm kiss to his throat, biting down just hard enough to break skin, draw a single, luminous drop of ruby red blood, her warm tongue discreetly flicking out to lick it, drink it, kept their conversation on the mental level. Will you give me a taste of that tonight, Husband, when we practice for our wedding night and honeymoon?

He again let his scent stroke over her lips, smelled her arousal. I already am, ma belle mariée, ma belle séductrice.

"No," his beloved mother's voice startled him and Bella both, because while it was true Edward's vampiric mind was superior to Bella's, he hadn't been paying much attention to his surroundings, too absorbed in his and Bella's conversation, his own thoughts, had actually, just for a moment, forgotten his beloved mother was there—made Bella jump in his lap, "your papa is right, I cannot have such a conversation with Carlisle and Esme via video, it must be face to face, it is only right."

Edward blinked several times, his eyes stinging, like how they always did when he wanted to cry but couldn't, his body incapable of producing tears anymore, emotion, love for his mama, papa, and Bella, his beautiful bride-to-be and future wife, gripping him by the throat, couldn't help but speak in French, simultaneously translating the words for Bella in his head. "Papa est là en ce moment, Maman?"

Papa is here right now, Mama?

A nod, his beloved mother taking his face between her hands, pressing a kiss to his forehead, stroking his hair, familiar gestures he loved, had missed so. "Yes, my beautiful boy, my Edward, my precious, beloved son, he came down from heaven when he saw you and I were so upset because of Alice, is sitting next to me right now though you and your bella cannot see him. I will go place our tea in the picnic basket we always used to use to take our luncheon with us when we went horseback riding in the countryside, then we will take our leave to the Cullen household."

His beloved mother stood up, went to the kitchen, where the picnic basket she was speaking of was stored away as it always had been, taking the tea set with her. He took out his phone, not the old one, but the modern, very technologically advanced one, the one he himself had made from scratch, the mobile Wi-Fi coming from his own satellite. Ah, yes, he had forgotten to tell his Bella that, that he had built and launched his own satellite, the internet connection he had flawless, much faster than that of big, popular cell phone companies and services, but he would tell her later, soon as he got the chance, for he would keep naught from her. He opened the text message Gideon had just sent him, lips curving as he read it. Turning the screen off, he slid his phone away, looked up at Bella, couldn't help but stroke her hair, her face. "Gideon is asking what our wedding vows are going to be, ma belle mariée, says that he forgot to ask us earlier, when he was here."

She shifted on his lap, turned so she was completely facing him, straddling his thighs, her beautiful frock not sliding up despite the intimate position, wrapped her arms about his neck, her warm, gentle fingers threading through his hair. "They cannot be the usual ones . . . at least not solely, our love is too unique, pure, for that." A pause, a little vee marring her forehead. "What of I take thee, we input the name of the other each, to have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, when thee art strong and shalt thee ever be weakend, to love, protect, and cherish, from this day forward and for eternity. With this ring I bewed, bind myself to thee, body, heart, mind, blood, and soul."

Oh, but did his Bella have a way with words, and it made his eyes sting, want to cry, if such a thing was possible, that she loved him so. As it was, he wrapped his scent, honey lilac with a hint of lavender and freesia, and arms about her, cocooning her, took a deep, sweet, sipping, gentle, blood kiss. "It is perfect, mon coeur et âme, ma vie."

"Beautiful." He and his Bella both looked up, to find his beloved mother knuckling away a tear, a soft, loving look on her face.

Edward knew she already had the picnic basket containing their tea somewhere on her person, that she had a plan, a way to get him and Bella back to America, Forks, the Cullen household, then back to England, this beautiful country house that was where he spent so many days and nights as a human, one of his favorite places in the whole entire world without them having to use a plane, so he didn't ask that, instead asking a different question. "Is Papa coming with us, too, Mama ?"

The look on his beloved mother's face, it was one of love, so deep Edward could feel it in his very bones, and happiness, and there was something else, too, something in her face, thoughts, though he didn't know what it was, as she was keeping them well hidden from him. "Yes, I am."

Edward turned slowly at the sound of that voice, Bella, too, turning with him, to find his father, a man who he hadn't seen in eighty-six years, slightly longer than his beloved mother, as he had passed away a fortnight before he and his beloved mother went to the hospital with the Spanish influencer themselves, dressed in a white button-up shirt, black pants, and dress shoes, his hair arranged as it always had been, his bones and facial structure the template from which his own had been cast. The emotion that gripped him, it wasn't as strong as when he saw his beloved mother for the first time in eighty-six years, for they were not as close, but they were still quite potent, for he loved his father, too, the single word he spoke a rasp. "Papa?"

Smiling, his father took his mother's hand, gave it a loving squeeze, then continued walking to where he and Bella were sitting, kissed him on the forehead as he always had done when getting home from work, even when he was no longer a small child, had turned sixteen, then seventeen, after kissing his mother, then pressed a kiss to Bella's forehead, too. "Hello, beloved son."

Edward swallowed, cradled his Bella close to his heart, pressed repeated kisses to the top of her head. After seeing his beloved mother, Elizabeth, for the first time after not seeing her for a long time, nearly a century, a huge pain and weight had been lifted off his shoulders, his heart. Now the same thing happened again, though this time it was less acute, sharp, more subtle, but still very much there, for he had missed his father, too, missed seeing him and his beloved mother interact together, their love true and genuine and strong, unlike Carlisle and Esme's, or any of the Cullen family pairings, for that matter. Edward wondered what was next, if his grandparents would come, too, if he would get to practice sword play with his grandpapa again. He shook his head to clear it, realizing both his beloved mother and his father were waiting for him to speak, say something . "How?" It was a single word, his question, but it was all he could muster, for he was as confused and excited as his Bella felt.

His mother came to stand beside his father, and that image, it made his eyes sting, made him want to cry, tears unable to come out, his body incapable of producing tears anymore as it was, for though his human memories of his father were weak, not as strong and intact as that of his beloved mother, it was memories such as these, of his mother and father standing together, dancing, laughing, or simply being side by side, in each other's arms, that were the strongest. His beloved mother took one of his hands, his father taking the other, then his parents took one of Bella's hands in one of theirs, for Edward knew his father loved Bella as his mother did, as a daughter, his own flesh and blood, his beloved mother no doubt having told him all about her.

It was his father who spoke, answered his question, his voice soft, gentle for him, though it held a hint of anger . . . no, anger wasn't the right word, rage more accurate, and that rage, Edward knew from his father's thoughts, it was directed towards the Cullens. "I could not stand it, hearing the way the Cullens are so very promiscuous, understanding not the words privacy and modesty, stand the thought of your beloved mama speaking to Carlisle and Esme on her own, for, as your parents, your papa and mama who love you very much, it is something we both should do together, and your mama should not have to do on her own, not if there is another possibility, so I asked God, even as I was sitting here, next to your beloved mama, to make me a creature akin to her, and God granted my petition."

A pause, his father turning to look at his mother, briefly letting go of his hand so he could stroke her cheek, then Edward's, before taking his hand again. "Of course, because you and I are not as close as you and your Mama, though I have a feeling this will change over time, as I need not go to work anymore—I have not the same abilities as she, but I, too, will never leave you or your mama, for that matter, again."

His father laughed then, dark and satisfied, the razored edge of a sword. "Your grandparents, they, too, petitioned the same thing of God, a being great, powerful, and eternal, who has no physical form or substance, neither beginning nor end, is merciful and loving—and their request was granted. They wanted to come, too, of course, give Carlisle and Esme a piece of their mind as well, but I told them it was best if only your mama and I handled this, were the only ones of our family who went to speak to Carlisle and Esme, other than you and your beautiful bride, of course." His father's eyes lit up, along with his beloved mother's, and Edward wondered what was going on, what they were thinking, made them act thus, because they were both keeping their thoughts hidden from him, likely because they wanted to surprise him. "Your Grandpapa James does send you a message, says to be prepared, as he will spar with you later, test your swordplay skills, as it is customary when we come to England."

Edward's lips twitched, his eyes continuously stinging, for he wanted to cry from happiness, but was unable to, his body incapable of producing tears anymore. He was getting his family back, people who he'd missed very much, even as he was three days away from starting his own family with Bella, his beautiful bride and wife-to-be, the love of his existence, his heart and his soul. These developments, they would no doubt make Rosalie even more envious of him and Bella, hostile, but Edward didn't care, pressed repeated kisses to Bella's hair, her face, anywhere that was appropriate, all the while being careful to remain polite for company, he was so very happy, ecstatic, incandescent with love and joy.

His beloved mother, Elizabeth, who knew him as only a mother knew her son, noticed this, cupped his face in between her hands, her touch warm, so warm, loving, and motherly, stroked his hair, pressed a kiss to each of his cheeks, as If wiping tears away, his forehead. "What is the matter, my beautiful boy, my precious, beloved son?"

He shook his head, then, the habit so ingrained into him, a comforting one, as familiar to him as breathing, buried his face against his beloved mother's neck, spoke against her skin, even as he stroked Bella's own skin, her ribs, through her clothes. "It is naught, only that I am filled with naught but happiness, love, and elation, Mama."

He was aware of his Bella's hand shifting, coming to lie on her abdomen, over her for now, empty womb, couldn't help but place his hand over hers, his parents, thank God and heaven above, too distracted, focused on his face, not on the motions of his hands, to notice their position, that they were lying over Bella's for now, empty womb, his fingers interlocked with hers. Bella's voice, when it came, it was inside his mind, the fact that they could now read each other's mind, speak thus, very helpful, especially in these instances, this a secret they both held dear, cherished. Our future children, they will have both of their paternal grandparents now, a very good thing, I reckon, considering my own parents, Charlie and Renee, are not particularly child friendly or nurturing, what with me having to act as the parent more often than not, though in different ways, of course.

She was right, of course, heaven above, they would not only have their paternal grandparents, but both pairs of their paternal great-grandparents as well. They would be the most spoiled with love, yet educated, kind, gentle-hearted children in the whole wide world. Alice prided herself on the fact that she knew all about fashion, had gone to university multiple times for it, but both his beloved mother, Elizabeth, and his grandmothers had taken up sewing and embroidery, very respectable Victorian habits and skills for English high class ladies at a very young age, knew how to make very beautiful clothes, and he had no doubt they would make a lot of clothing for his and Bella's children. When his clothing had accidentally torn, be it a shirt or trousers, all he need due to get them fixed was go to his beloved mother, and if she couldn't fix them then she would take them to the tailor.

Oh, but how he missed those days, simpler times, when everything was done using expensive, high quality materials, not cheap stuff that could actually be dangerous for the skin, by hand, the craft beautiful and unique. He remembered small, individual, family-owned shops, crowded, winding streets, horses and carriages, the feeling of his hand in his mother's when he was a young boy, a child, then, later, when he was a young man, her hand tucked through the crook of his elbow, as he accompanied her to the dressmaker, his mother having commissioned a new frock for herself, then to the tailor so he and his father could get new suits. His Bella, she would have rather liked that, he thought, going to the dressmaker, because while it was true that she didn't usually like expensive things, especially if they were unnecessary, she also liked things that had sentimental value, were handmade, the monetary price not bothering her as much.

He pulled away from his mother's neck, looked at her, and though what he told her was seemingly random, as she couldn't hear his thoughts, read his mind, she, the woman who had carried him in her womb for nine months, birthed him, rocked him in her arms as a babe, knew him best other than his Bella, didn't look at him as if he was crazy, had grown two heads. "How I do wish she could have gone with you to the dressmaker here in England, my Bella, Mama. She would have liked that, you know, for she likes old-fashioned, handmade things better than things that are massly produced"

His beloved mother's eyes, so much like his own, yet so very different, for his were unique, one of a kind, glowed, the look on her face doting, loving, so much love pouring off her, he could feel it sinking into his skin, his very bones, his soul. "Oh, my beautiful boy, my precious, beloved son, my Edward William." She leaned in, brushed a warm, motherly kiss to his forehead, the fact that she'd called him "William" rather than "Anthony" in front of his father seeming not to bother his father at all, for he actually smiled, his lips curving up slightly. "Your wish is actually going to come true, for I have commissioned Marianne to make your Bella several frocks, all of them in shades of blue, of course, will take her to the shop with me tomorrow morn for the final fitting, while you take care of things for your honeymoon. Perhaps your papa should go with you, as I cannot go myself, for I know you do not wish for your Bella to find out what your plans are, wish to keep them a surprise."

He didn't query how it was that his beloved mother would take his Bella to Marianne's, his mother's personal dressmaker's shop, though she was long dead, for he knew she had a way, instead asking a different question. "Will you and Papa dance beside my Bella and I at our wedding, as we discussed so many times before, Mama?"

This time, it was both of his parents who answered, matching smiles on their faces. "Of course we will."

His mother glanced at the grandfather clock, her eyebrows knitting together, a little vee marring her forehead. "It is getting quite late, we should go speak to Carlisle and Esme, can continue this conversation later. Take my hands, my beautiful boy, you and Bella both."

"Wait," said his Bella, speaking for the first time in a long while, at least out loud, for she had spoken to Edward mind-to-mine—even as she placed her hand in his mother's, "will I get to ride a horse drawn carriage when we go to the shop tomorrow morn?"

So, it seemed his Bella had been paying close attention to his thoughts, likely the reason why she hadn't spoken out loud in a long while, had surmised the same thing he had. Edward didn't blame her, was actually quite happy, ecstatic, that she had been monitoring his thoughts so, for he would . . . was doing the same thing with her thoughts. His mother's eyes, they glowed with love and excitement as she looked at Bella, for she loved her like a daughter, her own flesh and blood. "Yes, and you will have to wear gloves, too, take your betrothal ring off momentarily, but fret not, for our trip to the shops will be quick, and soon you will be able to put it back on."

His father wrapped his arm about his mother's waist, Edward taking her other hand, and there was a bright flash of light, then they were back in America, the Cullen household, mere steps away from the front door. Edward immediately stiffened, Esme and Alice's thoughts more disturbing, upsetting than their verbal conversation. Deciding to give them some time to reconsider their thoughts, for they already knew he was here, no doubt, could smell his scent, Edward pulled away from his parents, bringing Bella with him, his arm about her waist, cradling her close to his side, bounded lightly up the steps to the Cullen household, tapped lightly on the door.

It was opened by Alice less than an eighth of a second later, who was ready to accost him and Bella both, attempt to convince him that he and his mother had been "overreacting" that she was only trying to help, and he and Bella should let her see what was going to happen behind closed doors, in the bed chamber, so she could "help" Bella get the appropriate clothing, the things she was planning on getting her, what she was imagining he and Bella would do in their marriage bed so outrageous, scandalous, and perverted, it made him shiver, pull Bella closer to him, press a loving, protective kiss to the crown of her head.

However, and thank God for this, the instant Alice saw his mother, his father standing next to her, the words she was about to speak, annoying, selfish, and oblivious to the words "privacy" and "modesty", died on her lips, and she instead asked a different question, four, actually. "Edward, what's going on? Who is that standing next to your mother? What are you doing here, I thought you guys were in England with family friends? How did you get here so quickly in the first place?"

Edward let out a sigh, drew in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of his Bella, her blood, the mere wiff of it making him ache, crave the intimacy and pleasure they experienced when they fed off of one another. "I will explain, Alice, but first I need to know one thing, where is Carlisle?"

She tapped her foot nervously against the ground in a very specific rhythm. "Out on a hunting trip with Emmett and Jasper, will be back soon, in a couple of minutes."

She was suddenly singing the ABC's backwards in her head, then imagining thousands of dresses, the designs and details for each, attempting to keep her thoughts hidden from him. But she wasn't fast enough, his mind reading ability growing in strength and magnitude thanks to the way he and Bella were so very intimately connected, and he caught an image of all the Cullens, even Rosalie, in the living room, confronting him, attempting to convince him and Bella both to just allow Alice to see what she wanted to see, no matter that what she currently desired to see the most was only for his and Bella's eyes to see, for the two of them, husband and wife, to know, by applying peer pressure.

This, he knew, the images in her head, they were only a product of her imagination, for Alice couldn't see his and Bella's future anymore, but the mere fact that she, along with the rest of the Cullens, would dare consider attempting such a thing, it made his body burn with a hot rage, his blood boil, though he was cold as ice, had no heartbeat. He cradled Bella close to his side, his heart, tightened his arm protectively about her. "What," his voice was soft, nearly crooning though he was beyond furious, the razored, velvet edge of a sword, "is it the bloody hell you think you are doing, Alice?"

"Edward, I—"

His parents were there in a flash, his beloved mother opening up her arms, wrapping them around him and Bella, beginning to rock them to and fro, stroke their hair, soothing them, even as his father spoke. "What is the matter, beloved son?"

Edward shook his head, pressed a kiss to the top of Bella's head, for he couldn't kiss her on her beautiful, delicious lips while they were in his mother's embrace. "No, Papa, I cannot tell you and my beloved mama right now, else, we will never get done what we came here to do." Because he knew his parents, knew they wouldn't stand for one more second of impropriety and promiscuity, would take him and Bella back to England and they wouldn't get anything done, have the conversation they need it to with Carlisle and Esme, so he held his tongue for now, though the urge to tell his Bella and his beloved mother was a fist in his throat, a ravaging need in his soul.

A soft, shocked gasp both from Alice and Esme, then Esme's voice as she spoke to Carlisle, was on the phone with him. "Carlisle, you need to get back here soon as you can, there are some new developments, Edward is here, along with Bella, his mother . . . and, you will be most intrigued by this, I think—his father as well."

They all, including Bella, connected to his mind as she was, Edward to hers—heard several gasps on the other side of the phone, followed by Carlisle saying, "We will be there in about fifteen minutes or so, depending on when Rosalie calms down, as we were already on our way back to the house when you called."

There were several seconds of silence, then his father took his mother into his arms, wrapping them lovingly about her, Edward doing the same with Bella, and they began to speak, doing so mine-to-mind, Edward able to hear them thanks to his mind reading ability, their ability different than his, for they seem not to be able to hear everyone's thoughts nor each other's, only speak thus, Bella, too, able to hear what they were saying, for Edward connected her to the conversation via his mind. His mother's voice, clear and bright as a diamond, filled with pride and love, love only a mother could have for her child. You know, my heart, our beloved son and his Bella, his beautiful bride, who has brought him back to life, will go have cream tea with Queen Elizabeth II, to Buckingham Palace, upon the return of their honeymoon, where he will tell her, the queen, that is, for I am certain he will tell Bella beforehand, of any new archaeological and historical discoveries he has made.

His father's laughter in his beloved mother's head, rich and full-blooded, warm and deep. Will they? Well, this comes as no surprise, I suppose, he was always so passionate about history, his ancestors, knowing where he came from, was so serious about his duties, too, always toddling after you, learning everything that he possibly could, our beloved son, loathed each time we had to go back to America. A pause, his father pulling his beloved mother closer, pressing his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. You did such a good job raising him, my love, I wish I could have been there for more of his childhood, for I love him so, but I had to work.

His beloved mother leaned up, kissed his father sweetly on the lips. No, it is definitely no surprise, quite right you are, heart of my heart. Memories in her head, of him as first a little boy, then a young man, giving them any and every reason why they should stay in England for longer, attempting to convince them. Oh, how he loathed to leave England, our precious, beloved son—it is why I started to have tea with him every afternoon even while we were in America and you had to be at work. As for you not being able to spend much time with him when he was a youngling, fret not, my heart, as that will surely change now, for you need not work anymore, and we can spend a lot of time with him, with him and Bella both, while also giving them their privacy.

His father's lips curved, and Edward saw his eyes glisten with tears in his beloved mother's mind's eye. Perhaps, my love, but they will still be closer to you, the bond between the three of you so very special, something I do not begrudge.

Edward's still heart expanded with love and happiness. He had missed this so, hearing his parents speak of him, seeing them interact thus. He picked Bella up, like how a groom carried his new bride, too fast for her to notice, carried her a short distance away, not far enough away that he couldn't hear everyone's thoughts anymore, know when Carlisle had arrived, but far enough away that they were alone, had some privacy. "I love you," he had to say it, had to get it out before it overwhelmed him, the words pouring forth from him akin to a torrent, over and over, "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you."

He could see confusion and passion on her face, those beautiful, deep, chocolate brown eyes he loved so much, hear so many questions in her thoughts, but he didn't give her a chance to speak, kissed her, their kiss a mixture of hot and cold, slow, sweet, and deep. He bit gently at her lower lip, careful not to inject any venom with his teeth, drawing blood, his tongue, cold as ice, soaked with venom, flicking out to taste it, drink it, laping at it with tender, loving flicks that drove her mad, had her writhing in his arms, biting at his own lip, drinking his blood. He forced himself to wrench away when he calculated she needed to breathe, but he didn't stop kissing her, his lips simply moving on to her neck, the hollow at the base of her throat, her pulse, and throbbing and straining artery. "What," she panted, her breathing harsh, as if she'd been running a marathon, "has gotten into you, Husband, my love?"

He continued kissing her neck, along the hollow at the base of her throat, murmured against her skin, "Nothing, can a man not kiss his wife-to-be when he is simply happy?"

He flicked out his tongue, cold as ice, soaked with venom, ran it along her throbbing, straining artery. Her fingers spasmed, threaded through his hair, pulling at it in just the way he liked, her body twisting and writhing in his arms with pleasure. "Oh, Edward, please, Husband," she moaned, and he knew what she was asking for, what she wanted, could hear it in her voice, her thoughts.

He nestled her neck, pressed a kiss to her artery, then bit gently at the soft, sensitive flesh, careful not to inject any venom with his teeth. "Ha," her breath hitched even as her blood, sweet, so sweet, hot, tailor-made for him, filled his mouth, pleasure, akin to that which a husband felt when tangling in the sheets with his wife, filling his body. "More," she pleaded, voice husky, thick with pleasure, "give me more, Husband."

Oh, heaven above, how he ache to take her to the sheets, strip her to the skin, kiss every single millimeter of her beautiful, warm, soft body but for her genitalia, make love to her, when she got like this, but he couldn't do that, for they were not wed . . . not for three more days, but he could give her some of the pleasure and intimacy she sought. Shifting her weight so he held her with naught but one arm even as he continued to feed, he pushed his wrist against her mouth, felt her immediately bite into his skin, begin to feed, drink of his blood, blood that was tailor-made for her.

He closed his eyes, good heavens, did that increase the pleasure, the intimacy. His knees buckled from the sheer pleasure, and he fell to the ground, cradling her close, making certain her beautiful frock didn't get dirty, that her hair wasn't ruined, his body falling atop hers.

Her fingers, warm, gentle, feminine, went to the buttons of his shirt, undid them with dexterity, pulling the fabric apart, and he didn't stop her, too far gone, lost in the pleasure to care that Carlisle might get back to the Cullen household any minute. Of course, much as he didn't want to, he kept a small part of his mind coherent to monitor his strength, the way he touched and held her to him, the way he fed—lest he hurt her.

Her fingers, warm, so warm, explored his ice cold skin, his shoulders, the muscles of his back, his doing the same, touching her everywhere he could, that was appropriate, wouldn't require them to be wed first, summer and winter meeting in a passionate embrace. He instinctively knew it would always be thus, that she would always be warm to him, even after he changed her, her skin remaining summer to him, for it was something he loved, that reminded him of long, lazy afternoons in the summer in the English Countryside on those rare instances when it wasn't cloudy, the sun out. Perhaps, he thought, he, too, would change even as he changed her, made her like him—a vampire, immortal, his skin, too, becoming warm to her touch.

Carlisle's thoughts, loud, so loud and curious, assaulted him, breaking the beautiful, intricate spell, his and Bella's private bubble, indicating he was within a five mile radius, along with Jasper, Emmet, and Rosalie.

Rosalie's thoughts, wretched, vile, and perverted, envious, assaulted him, too. At first they were a string of naught but curses. Then they became more cohesive, ugly, envious, hostile, and perverted. Why is he the one who gets to have his parents back? Idiot, I can give him pleasure beyond his imaginings, yet he rejects me, chose a human, a human! What does she have that I don't? My hair is the perfect shade of blonde, long and lush, my figure a perfect hourglass. A vile, perverted image accompanied her thoughts, what Rosalie was Imagining so perverted and revolting, he would have vomited if such a thing was possible. Rosalie was picturing herself naked, him in front of her, naked, too, doing wretched, vile, perverted, revolting things, things that had naught to do with love and everything to do with lust and selfishness.

Not for the first time, he thanked God and heaven above he had long ago found a way to blur such images though he couldn't ignore them entirely, particularly not when they were as loud as Rosalie's thoughts were—for Bella would be the only woman who he would ever see naked, clothed in naught but her skin, no matter Rosalie's foolish many attempts that it was otherwise.

This, it hadn't happened in a while, decades upon decades, not since Rosalie found Emmett. Sure, Rosalie's thoughts, they had always remained wretched, vile, perverted, and revolting, but they hadn't involved him for a while, not since she found Emmett. This, Edward realized, it was why she envied his Bella so, why she was so hostile, not only because she was human—for she coveted him, not because she loved him, had feelings for him at all, oh, no, but because she thought they were genetically superior, had struck the lottery when it came to beauty, would make the perfect couple.

This realization, it made him want to thrust his fingers into his Bella's hair, wrap his scent about her, kiss her breathless, could think of naught but him, taste naught but him, but he couldn't do that.

Still, he needed to do something, something to channel all of this love and fury, fury that was not directed towards his Bella but towards Rosalie. He pulled away from her throat, but not before making certain her skin was healed, giving her one last lavish lick, his tongue, cold as ice, soaked with venom—the taste of her driving him mad with longing and need, making him burn from within, watched as she arched her back, pressing herself into him in a delicious way. He cupped the back of her neck, her nape, lifted her head up, off the grass so she didn't ruin her hairdo, withdrew his other hand from her mouth, traced her lips, soft, warm, familiar, yet rimmed with his heart's-blood, with his thumb, wiping at the blood, then used the grass around them to wipe it off of his skin, before returning to tracing her lips. "Swallow, ma belle sirène," his voice was harsh, tangled with desire and love, "rinse your mouth off with your saliva, for I wish to kiss you and I would not taste my own blood."

Confusion on her beautiful face, those deep, chocolate brown eyes he loved so much, her thoughts incoherent, meaning she hadn't been paying attention, but she did as he'd requested, swallowed hard, the sound audible and music to his ears, rinsed her mouth with her saliva.

Then he kissed her, parted her lips with his tongue, cold as ice, soaked with venom, stroked it inside. Oh, heaven above, but the taste of her, all of her, not only her blood, it was sweet, so very sweet, tailor-made for him, drove him mad, was his own, personal aphrodisiac.

He yearned to stroke his fingers beneath her beautiful frock, play them over her ribs, her soft, warm, so very warm, beautiful skin, but he could not . . . would not do that, not for three more days, for they were not yet wed, no matter his desires, that his body burned from within, a rampant, wild, beautiful fire in his blood, blood that was, and would always be, only for her. He again had to force himself to wrench away from her lips, break the beautiful intimacy of the kiss, when he calculated she needed to breathe, but he didn't stop kissing her, instead kissed his way down the length of her body, making certain not to touch the places that were only for husbands to touch. "Oh, dear God," her body bowed into his touch, his kisses, her nails digging into his back so hard, she'd have drawn blood if he'd been human, "please, Edward, my love, Husband, stop not, give me more."

He kissed his way back up the length of her body, again making certain not to touch the places that were only for husbands to touch, stroked her hair lovingly, soothingly, careful not to ruin her hairdo, gently—for he could not give her what she wanted, what they both wanted, make love to her, not for three more days, but he could make her sensual promises, promises that were of love and pleasure.

He moved his lips, slowly, lovingly, to her ear, brushed them against the soft, sensitive shell, the lobe, as he murmured, "When we are at last wed, ma belle mariée, ma belle sirène, I will tumble you into our marriage bed, make love to you for hours and hours on end, kiss you everywhere I can, but for your genitalia, will barely allow you to rise from our marriage bed." The things he was saying, what he was telling her, they were things he wouldn't have dared say not so long ago—the beginning of their courtship, but things were different now, he was different, they both were, and he needed to get Rosalie's thoughts, the vile, perverted, revolting images still coming his way, out of his head.

Soft, warm, feminine fingers tugging gently at his hair, his Bella pulling him back from where he'd been busy placing sweet, cold kisses to her neck, throat, and clavicle. When he briefly looked up at her, he saw her gaze had some clarity, but that clarity was slipping away fast. "What," she queried for the second time in as many minutes, pressing her body into his mouth with a soft moan when he let his very sharp teeth graze over her throbbing artery, Edward able to see her blood, sweet, so very sweet, tailor-made for him, humming just beneath her skin, "has gotten into you, Husband, my love?"

He shuddered, pulled away to say, "Rosalie, her thoughts, so very revolting, I would have vomited if such a thing was possible, I need to get them out of my head, drown them out."

Bella stiffened under him, her gaze becoming more clear, though it was still on the verge of becoming incoherent again. "If Carlisle is back in the Cullen household we should go, the quicker we get this over with, the quicker we can return to England, one of our two beautiful country houses, our homes."

Despite her words, she threaded her fingers through his hair again, pulled him back to her, allowed him to kiss her properly. He did so only for a second or two, then reluctantly pulled back with a sigh, began readjusting his shirt, buttoning it back up. When she looked at him through her long, beautiful lashes, it was with a waton expression on her face, a face that was that of an angel and seductive siren both, for she didn't want to stop kissing him, feeding from him even as he, too, fed from her any more than he did. He laughed softly, wrapped his scent all about her, smiled with satisfaction when he saw her shiver with pleasure, her thoughts going incoherent once more, flying away like so many little butterflies, leaned down to press a soft kiss to her forehead, her lips. "Come, mon coeur et âme, let us return to the Cullen household, for right you are, the faster we get this over with, the faster we can return to England, our country house, one of our two family homes we have in the United Kingdom."

He slid his hands beneath her, lifting her up, into his arms, like how a groom carried his new bride. She blushed, buried her face against his neck, pressed a kiss to his throat, over his artery, the heat of her skin, summer and sunshine, long, lazy afternoons in the English Countryside when it wasn't cloudy, wonderful against his own skin, cold as ice. "How is my hair, my love?" it was naught but a bashful whisper, her inquiry, but he heard her as clearly as if she'd spoken at a normal volume.

He pressed a kiss to her hair, taking the opportunity to inhale the scent of it, along with the scent of her skin, her blood, blood that was tailor-made for him. "You need not fret so, mon doux, it is perfect." Despite his words, he momentarily set her down, redid her hair, for he knew why she was fretting so, she didn't want the Cullens, Emmett in particular, to start teasing them, make rude, sexual innuendos, and, in addition, his and Bella's private life, love life, it was nobody's business but theirs, then picked her back up, ran with her in his arms, fast like only he could.

His beloved mother, Elizabeth, the first one to see them, noticed something was clearly wrong, for she knew him as only a mother could no her son, let go of his father's hand, came over to him and Bella, stroked his hair soothingly, her touch loving and motherly, protective in a way only hers could be, took Bella's hand in one of hers, her tone low, lest they were overheard. "What is the matter, my beautiful boy, my precious, beloved son, what is it that puts such a mixture of disgust and fury on your lovely face, a face that is a mixture of your papa and I?"

He swallowed audibly, pressed a kiss to Bella's hair again, her forehead, then buried his face against his beloved mother's neck as he had a habit of doing when he was stressed, sad, upset, or simply wanted love from his beloved mama, the habit so ingrained into him, it hadn't diminished in the least despite the fact that he hadn't seen her for a long, long time, almost, but not quite, a century, said a single word, a name. "Rosalie."

"I see." Edward pulled back at his beloved mother's tone, to find her mouth had tightened into a thin, grim line. "Well then, let us get this over quickly as possible, I do not wish for you and your Bella to be around such a wretched, vile person."

Just then Carlisle arrived, along with Jasper, Emmett, and Rosalie, Rosalie surprisingly not going straight up to her and Emmett's room, having had a series conversation with Carlisle, who had asked her to stay in the drawing room, along with everybody else so the Cullen family could forge strong ties with the Masen family, as if that was ever going to happen, especially now. If it was up to his parents and it wouldn't be considered rude, Edward knew, Rosalie and Emmett, people with such vile, wretched, perverted thoughts, they wouldn't be coming to his and Bella's wedding.

Then Jasper's thoughts hit him akin to an avalanche and he couldn't help but double over laughing, his laughter so loud it made all members of the Cullen family turn to look at him as if he'd grown two heads, but he didn't answer the questions in their eyes, their thoughts, no matter that they came quickly, one after another, akin to rapid fire, however, when his Bella, his beautiful bride and future wife who was akin to a slowly blossoming flower, an English Rose, queried of him the question everyone was thinking he answered her mind‐to‐mind. Jasper is really very confused, ma belle féroce lionne, for he is attempting to feel our emotions, get a read of them, but he cannot thanks to your beautiful, powerful shield.

A soft, mental gasp then, shall I peel it back, my shield, permit Jasper to feel our emotions? Perhaps the conversation we are about to have with the Cullens, with an emphasis on Carlisle and Esme, will be easier, husband of mine.

Edward only had to think of this for less than a second, less than a millisecond, before he shook his head, his answer still on the mental level. No, ma belle lionne, for if you do it will give Alice an opportunity to look into our future as well, and that, it is not something we shall permit her to do, for she will immediately attempt to see what is only for our eyes to see, our life in our marriage bed.

Carlisle walked inside the house, the drawing room, without a word, followed by the rest of the Cullens, then Edward's beloved mother who was hand-in-hand with his father, and finally himself and Bella. Everyone sat next to their respective partners, with his mother and father choosing to sit in a large sofa shaped akin to an L, large enough for himself and Bella to sit there as well, which they did, Edward pulling Bella into his lap. It wasn't until his beloved mother had taken out the picnic basket they had brought with them, poured the four of them, herself, his father, Bella, and himself, a cup of tea, that anyone spoke, his father breaking the silence, contentment and love in his voice. "Ah, I have missed this so, my love, having tea with you and our beloved son." A slight pause, his father's eyebrows knitting together, a little vee marring his forehead. "Of course, it would have been better if we did this for the first time after so long in England."

His beloved mother's eyes glowed as she looked at his father. "We will be back in England soon enough, can have another cup of tea with him and Bella." She turned to Carlisle, her expression shifting, becoming serious. "You must know, Carlisle," steel wrapped in velvet, a sword ready to strike, thrust deep at a moment's notice, "why I am here."

Carlisle's thoughts were a chaotic mess, passing through his mind in quick succession, one after another, for he had so many questions of his own to ask, so many theories he wanted Edward's beloved mother, Elizabeth, to either confirm or dispel. "To introduce us to your husband, Edward's father, of course."

His beloved mother glanced briefly at his father, a slight smile curving her lips, but shook her head. "When I behested you to save my beloved son, I gave you specific instructions yet you harkened not to me, have put him—pardon the expression, but it is what you have done, through hell."

Carlisle's thoughts, loud, which was, quite frankly, rare for him, assaulted Edward. Yes, she did give me Specific Instructions, and it's true that I didn't follow them, but she was half insane with the Spanish influenza when she gave them to me, her fever so high, she could not possibly have been thinking coherently. If I hadn't done everything I did, maybe Edward would be an introvert by now, totally secluded, wouldn't have met Bella.

Edward put down his teacup and saucer, set them on the table in front of him, gritted his teeth, let out a guttural growl. "I have allowed you many lenancies, Carlisle, but I will not permit you to debase my beloved mother in such a way, just as I did not and will not allow you to drink a single drop of my Bella's blood, I care not that it is only in your thoughts."

At this, his father came to sit beside him, his tone carefully controlled. What are you speaking of, beloved son?"

Edward turned to look at his father, took a deep breath, though he didn't need to breathe, but this, it wasn't about needing air to survive, but about controlling his anger, his fury, long enough for him to speak again. "Carlisle thinks Mama was half insane, delusional, with the Spanish influenza, her fever, when she gave him the instructions on how to take care of me." He laughed, harsh and bitter. "Mama was never insane, Papa, even during what I thought would be her last moments on earth, with me. In fact, do you know what, she sang to me in French during her last moments, as her life force was leaving her, as she had done when I was a babe, an infant, so I would always remember, have her song inside my heart."

The words of his beloved mother's lullaby, a lullaby she'd composed especially for him, poured forth from his lips without him having to think, as if the last time he'd heard it was yesterday or an hour ago rather than eighty-six years. "Dors, mon beau garçon,

dors, mon précieux trésor,

je te garderai pour toujours sain et sauf, mon bébé.

Aller dans un atterrir lointain,

une atterrir avec des choses belles, merveilleuses,

où tout ton rêves devenir réalité,

où tu peux avoirbeaucoup de tasses de thé et joue au soleil tout ce que tu souhait.

Et quand tu te éveiller,

les oiseaux chantent devant ta fenêtre,

les fleurs en plein essor,

l'herbe verte saupoudrée de rosée,

tu seras dans mes bras, sain et sauf,

mon fils bien-aimé pour toujours."

He translated the lullaby for Bella in his head even as he spoke the words, his eyes stinging as they always did when he wanted to cry but couldn't, his body incapable of producing tears anymore. Sleep, my beautiful boy,

sleep, my precious treasure,

I will keep you safe and sound forever, my babe.

Go to a distant land,

a land with beautiful, wondrous things,

where your dreams become reality,

where you can have many cups of tea and play in the sunshine all you wish.

And when you awaken,

the birds singing outside your window,

the flowers in full bloom,

green grass sprinkled with dew,

you will be in my arms, safe and sound,

my beloved son forever.

Tears and happiness in her mental voice, his Bella's snuggling up to him, pressing a kiss to his neck. Oh, Edward, it is so very beautiful, filled with love, can we sing it to our future children?

Of course. He could hear a smile in his own mental tone, his heart expanding with love, even as most of him was yet cross, beyond cross, furious, the fact that Carlisle had the audacity and temerity to think his beloved mother insane, still did, along with the whole lot of them, the rest of the Cullens, for they thought he was overreacting, as they had not a strong bond with their parents, in this case particularly their mothers, when they were human—something he would never forget, nor forgive. Though I will need to adjust it slightly for each of our children so that it fits them individually, as the lullaby my beloved mother composed for me fits me, but I have months and months to do that, for our first future child, be it Edward or Elizabeth Catherine, will not come into this world for a while yet.

Edward never lost eye contact with his father as he spoke to his Bella mind‐to‐mind so he saw the furious lightning in his eyes, his fury, though different than Edward's own, for he was her son and his father her husband, equal in strength. He opened his mouth, was about to say something, Edward not able to get a glimpse ahead of time, his father's thoughts a chaotic mess, for he was so very cross, when Esme spoke, her voice soft, gentle, attempting to take on the role of Edward's mother, something which she had no right to do . . . not now . . . not ever. "Calm down, Edward, I'm sure Carlisle wasn't thinking of your mother specifically, but of most people. Why don't you go for a run, take Bella with you, cool off and talk?"

Edward clenched his fists, his body vibrating with anger, fury, wrath, pressed repeated kisses to his Bella's hair, her throat and neck, keeping it polite for company, attempting to calm himself down. Esme was wrong, so wrong, as Carlisle was, indeed, thinking only of his beloved mother, as he had heard her "speak to herself" as Edward knew it had been the angels who she was speaking to, in the hospital. It seemed Carlisle thought vampires, Children of the Moon, and shapeshifters the only supernatural creatures in the world. He was certain Carlisle, along with the rest of the Cullens—would get a rude awakening when, because she would do it today, of that he had no doubt, his beloved mother told them of the other supernatural creatures in the world.

His beloved mother's voice, a steel hand wrapped in velvet, a sword thrusting deep, to the hilt, even as she reached out, stroked his hair lovingly, soothingly. "Quiet, Esme, you have done enough damage, all of you."

"But," said a voice he would recognize anywhere, one that was just as welcome as that of his parents, "she is right in one respect, he does need to relax a little, calm down, such anger is not good, healthy, not days before one is to be wed."

Edward turned slowly, slower than even a human would have, to find his grandparents, Charlotte and James, standing in the middle of the drawing room, their physical appearance not as he remembered it, but much, much younger, akin to that of his beloved mother, but he still recognized them. He swallowed hard, love and happiness filling him to the brim, his voice coming out scraped raw when he spoke. "Grandmama Charlotte, Grandpapa James?"

His maternal grandparents both smiled, looked lovingly at him and Bella, and it was his grandfather who spoke again. "Hello, beloved one. Your papa told us to stay away, not to come here, so as to make things easier and faster, but we, the four of us, your grandparents who love you very much, could not help but listen in in case something such as this happened. Come, beloved one, let your grandmama Charlotte and I take you and your beautiful bride back to England. As I said before, such anger is not good, healthy, not days before one is to be wed, thus, we shall practice swordplay, you and I, to help you relax, and I shall see if you remember what I taught you yet."

His grandfather's eyes danced. "Your grandpapa Henry fought us for the right to come here, fetch you and your bride, for he wanted to play chess with you, see if you remembered what he taught you yet, but we all know it is not only a mental distraction that you need, but one that is both mental and physical, when you get like this, thus I won the argument. Irrespective of the fact that you will not be playing chess with him, not now, he and your grandmama Mary are both waiting in England to see you and your bride both."

Excitement filled his entire being, competing with his anger, but Edward was torn. On the one hand, he wanted to go with his maternal grandparents, get out of the Cullen household, go far, far away, on the other, he would not . . . could not leave his parents here alone, lest Carlisle or any of the Cullens, for that matter, thought of something that debased his beloved mother again. His father must have sensed his hesitation, known exactly why it was he was hesitating in the first place, because he stroked his hair gently, said, "Go with your grandmama and grandpapa, beloved son, you and your beautiful bride both, I will not permit anyone to debase your beloved mama any further."

Because he trusted both of his parents equally, no matter that he was, and would always be, closer to his beloved mother, he rose, Bella yet in his arms, started walking to his grandparents, doing so slowly, akin to a human, and why he walked thus when he was very keen to get out of the Cullen household, he didn't know, perhaps it was because there were still a part of him that was reluctant to leave his beloved mother here.

Alice darted over to him and Bella, fast as only a vampire could, placed a hand on Bella's shoulder, attempting to, though gently so as not to hurt her, tear Bella away from him. Edward should have known what was coming, what Alice was thinking, was about to say, that he didn't . . . well, it only spoke to how furious he was yet. "Go ahead with your grandparents, go back to England, Edward, but leave Bella here, your mother can take her back to England later, when she leaves. There's something important the four of us—Esme, your mother, Bella, and I should discuss, the extra wedding garter she will wear, the one you will take off with your teeth during your wedding reception."

Edward's whole body vibrated, but he kept his hold about Bella gentle, his fury rising to new levels. Alice, she had no idea what she was saying, the reason behind such a custom. "Absolutely not, such a thing will not happen in the wedding reception, no matter that it is quite popular in these days." The angry words came not only from Edward, but from his parents and grandparents as well, Edward adding, "Do you know, Alice, where such a custom comes from?" The question was a rhetorical one, for Edward already knew she didn't know the answer, spoke again without waiting for Alice to speak. "During medieval times, people, the wedding guests, would follow the groom and bride to the bed chamber, tear at their clothes, uncaring that it was wrong and promiscuous, attempting to get hold of a piece of the bride's frock, believing it would bring them good luck. My Bella and I, we will not be taking part in such a twisted custom, born out of greed and promiscuity."

Alice dropped her hand from Bella's shoulder, just stood there, her mouth hanging open, allowing Edward to walk the rest of the way to his maternal grandparents, who embraced him and Bella both lovingly. Just before they disappeared, Edward turned, said, "Be in France in three days time, if you wish to witness the wedding, as that is where and when it will take place, I will send you the address later on, along with the specific time," his words directed to all the Cullens.