Author's Note: NSFW. If you don't love lemons, you can skip to the next scene break without missing much plot. I'm being a little (very) self-indulgent here—consider it an elaborate apology for the pain of last chapter. ;)
- Chapter 16: Parle du Loup -
"I've just never…I don't know what to do," I admitted. I steeled my resolve; this was what I wanted, and I wouldn't let my nerves get in my way. "Will you show me?"
His smile was warm, a breaking dawn that calmed me from the inside out. "It would be my honor."
And then he closed the scant distance between our lips, capturing me in a languid, unhurried kiss that held the promise of much, much more.
- o - o - o -
Edward looked down at me tenderly when we finally parted, stroking my hair.
"That must be a mess," I mumbled, sitting up slightly to take out my undoubtedly ruined bun.
"Let me," Edward said, pushing himself up from the pillows. I could feel his breath on my neck, blowing the loose strands against my skin.
One by one, with a gentleness that made my heart skip, he pulled out the pins holding my ruined hairstyle in place until it all fell in waves around my shoulders. He gathered it all to one side, exposing my neck and shoulder, and leaned in to brush his lips against the juncture.
"I've always loved your hair," he muttered next to my ear, then pressed a slow kiss to the sensitive place just below my lobe.
I could feel his smile against my skin as I gasped, and then his tongue as he flicked it across the same spot, tasting.
"Edward," I breathed. I turned my head toward him, desperate to feel his mouth on mine again. He obliged, laying us back down as he kissed me. He let his free hand drift across my midriff, then up my ribs, moving ever-closer to the undersides of my breasts. I arched into the feeling automatically, knowing I wanted to feel those long, cool fingers on the sensitive skin.
But he hesitated there, thumbs brushing a torturous, repetitive arc against my side as he released my mouth. "May I…?"
"Yes," I hissed, in no mood for politeness.
He chuckled into my neck. With a touch so light that I thought I might explode, his hand slipped tentatively higher on my breast. And as he skimmed over my tight, peaked nipple, a lightning bolt shot straight down to my center.
It suddenly occurred to me that we were still fully clothed, and already I felt like I would be burned alive. Would I even survive long enough to get to the good part?
Luckily, it seemed Edward was of a similar mind. His hand continued its path up to where the buttons of my blouse began. Deftly, he slid them through the small loops one-handed until the front hung open, exposing my chemise. And then his hand returned to run along the lace edge, fingers brushing against the tops of my breasts, now revealed to him.
"Your skin…so soft and warm."
I was wriggling against him now, his own arousal pressing into my hip.
"I want to see you," he said huskily, and I nodded fervently.
He slid my blouse off one shoulder, and I twisted out of it somewhat inelegantly. I reached to tug at the hem of his sweater, my arm brushing against his length in the process.
It made him groan, and I felt a heady sense of power.
But I couldn't linger long on that; I was already turning my attention to his crisp button down, exposing the space below that tantalizing hollow of his throat.
I leaned in and tasted it as I moved down his placket, kissing and then dipping my tongue into the space. I was rewarded with another husky sound from deep in his chest as he pulled my hips flush against his.
"I have to feel you," he whispered, sounding somewhat frantic. He ran his fingers around the waistband of my skirt, searching for the fastener.
"At the back." My words were muffled as I continued my mouth's descent down the expanse of his chest my work had revealed.
He found it, and then he was freeing me from the confines of the garment, tugging it down to my knees. I wriggled my legs until it fell all the way off then kicked it away. In my short chemise and stockings, it was the barest I'd ever been in front of a man.
It was the first time I'd seen Edward shirtless, as well. He was beautiful—lean and hardened and so undeniably male, the planes of his muscles inviting me to touch.
Edward smiled down at me, hooded eyes burning a trail along my collarbone, the expanse of my chest, down to my pointed nipples, stark against the thin silk of my underthings.
"So lovely," he said, running his hand down the curve of my hip to the bottom edge of my chemise. He dipped his fingers under the lace hem, and I couldn't fully stifle my giggle when I saw his consternation at finding yet more silk rather than the bare skin he expected.
"Just how many layers are you wearing?" he groused.
"You're getting very warm," I teased. "Just the chemise, brassiere, tap pants, and the stockings to go yet."
"Oh, of course, the stockings," he said with a rueful grin. "I suppose I should be grateful it's not corsets, petticoats, and drawers."
I sat myself up and Edward propped his head up on one hand, gazing at me intently. Biting my lip, I grasped either side of the short skirt of my chemise and tentatively lifted it up and over my head.
Edward's eyes moved over my body slowly, as though he were memorizing every inch. Then, cautiously, he wrapped his elegant hand around the curve of my ribs, exploring the feel of this new territory.
I shivered at the contact, both due to the chill of his palm against my bare skin and the naked want in his eyes.
"Come back here," he said, tugging at me gently. I happily obliged, curling up against him on my side, but Edward had other ideas. He rolled me over on my back, half covering me with his body.
I arced up into him, wanting to feel his full weight on top of me.
The movement seemed to excite Edward. He searched for the top of one stocking with a renewed urgency, pulling it down roughly. I reached down to help him before he ripped them both.
Both our breaths came in pants now, and I was desperate to get the last of our garments out of the way. I reached down to his waist, seeking out his trousers. As my fingers touched his bare stomach, he groaned, pushing himself into me hard enough to make me see stars.
"Oh God," I whispered, fumbling with the fastener. He chuckled breathlessly, pulling back a little to give me room to maneuver. And then his trousers were undone and falling down his legs.
He was cool against me, simultaneously tempering and fueling the flames of desire that threatened to take me over. But I thought the skin that touched mine felt warmer than usual, as though my heat had brought us closer to the same temperature. It was not an unpleasant feeling—in fact, I relished the sensation.
"Take this off?" Edward asked, nuzzling the lace at the center of my brassiere.
I reached back and undid the hooks for him, making the fabric go slack. He lifted his head as he slipped the straps down each of my shoulders. Then, as though unwrapping a much-anticipated present, he slid the silk off my front.
I squirmed under his inspection, feeling a flush spread across my chest that was both arousal and shyness. But nothing got past Edward—he saw my discomfort and, with a reassuring smile, bent down to kiss my jaw.
"You are…" Another kiss, to my neck this time. "The most…" Down my throat, past my collarbone. "Beautiful…" Against my sternum. "Woman…"
And then he took my nipple in his mouth, his slick tongue teasing my sensitive, aching skin.
"Edward," I sighed, burying my fingers in his hair. The only thing I wanted more than for him to do this forever was to take the next step.
Then, I felt his fingertips glide down the curve of my waist to the elastic of my tap pants, toying with the edge and just barely skimming under now and again.
"You're still sure?" he said against my breast, sending vibrations through me.
I could have laughed. "God, yes."
He slipped his hand all the way under the waistband, dancing across the concavity between my hipbones. I felt instinctively what he was searching for, where I wanted him to touch me, and I parted my legs to welcome him.
He shifted his weight to the side, and then he was stroking the fine down of hair that covered my sex. I was holding my breath without even realizing, and when a single finger dipped briefly into my folds, it exploded out of me in a sharp exhalation.
"Jesus," he murmured. "Oh, Bella."
He pulled his hand away and I cried out, desperate for more. But he was merely moving to tug the last of my undergarments off, and I lifted my hips to help him. And when I was truly naked under him, his fingers were instantly on me again, gently slipping through the slickness.
I had explored that area of my anatomy before, in that idly curious way that girls often do, but never had it felt like this. Edward's touch was nothing like my own. He seemed to be testing, seeking those spots that made me tense and sigh with pleasure.
Then he pressed more firmly on one singular spot. For a split second, everything went white, and I made a choked noise.
"Ah, yes," he said with satisfaction, his mouth back on my neck. I hadn't even noticed he'd abandoned my breasts. "That's it."
He circled the tips of two fingers around the edge of it, adjusting his pressure to my reactions.
"Does that feel good?" he asked with a desperate, almost pleading edge.
"Yes," I whispered back. "God, I had no—I never—Edward…"
My incoherence pleased him; his lips turned up into a crooked grin against my skin, and the speed of his circles increased. My heart was galloping and I could hardly hold still. I pressed down into his hand, desperate for something, though I wasn't sure what.
Edward was pressing open-mouthed kisses to my ear, my jaw, my cheek, panting nearly as hard as I. "That's right, darling," he breathed. "Give into it."
His rhythm faltered as he suddenly readjusted, and he carefully slipped one long finger inside of me.
I had never had anything inside before, and for a moment it felt strange. But when he pressed his thumb to that bundle of nerves, I was climbing higher and higher again. My heart had grown wings of wax and feathers, beating zealously to carry me to a dangerous peak. It went on for seconds or minutes or hours, soft cries and whimpers escaping me with abandon.
And then he crooked the finger inside me and pumped against a spot that I had never imagined could exist, simultaneously increasing the pressure of his thumb.
With his name on my lips, I shattered—white heat, a moment of glory when surely I touched the sun. And then the long, weightless fall, and I plunged into a vast, dark ocean below.
A hand was gently stroking my hair when I finally surfaced above the rush of the waves—or was that my own heartbeat? A familiar, comforting voice murmured nonsense somewhere by my ear.
"Good Lord," I mumbled, dazed, and Edward made a pleased sort of huffing noise.
He had me wrapped tightly in his arms, his back propped up slightly by pillows and his long legs extended. I turned my face into his chest, nuzzling him.
"Not bad, then?"
"Incredible," I responded. "No wonder nobody tells you about these things—no woman alive would reach her wedding day a virgin."
He laughed aloud, hitching one of my legs over top of his.
My senses were coming back to me. I realized that Edward was still wearing his boxers, and somewhere above my left knee I could feel the proof that though I had been gratified, he was still wanting. And already I was feeling the coiling in my stomach at the promise of welcoming that length inside.
Edward, however, was clearly not going to ask for more. So I would have to initiate the next step. And oh, how I wanted to.
I had one hand resting on Edward's chest, close to my cheek. Casually, as though without really thinking about it, I let it run to the side, feeling the muscle beneath bunch and twitch with fascination. His nipple, small and rose-colored, peaked as I slid my fingers over it. I savored the feel of the pebbling for a moment, then drew my touch down to the low hills and deep grooves of his abdomen.
"Bella," he said softly in my ear. "Are you…?"
"Hush," I commanded, pressing a kiss to his chest.
I could feel him tense below me as I pulled my leg back so my hand could travel over the last row of his stomach muscles, to the crisp cotton of his boxers. I skipped over the waistband to the crease of his thigh, which bunched under my touch. And then I moved toward the straining length that pushed the fabric out.
Edward sucked in hard through his teeth as I palmed him lightly, running my hand from the base to the tip and back down through his shorts. I watched with fascination as he pulsed under my fingers, seeming to grow even more—surely it couldn't get any bigger, or it would never fit, I thought.
"Bella, please," Edward muttered. I wrenched my eyes up to his face—lust-darkened, tensed, almost pained. But now I knew how just close this kind of pleasure and pain could be.
I smiled at him and released him, making him grunt and lift his hips in search of the pressure. I took advantage of the movement to pull at his boxers—he readily helped me remove them.
And then there he was, in all his glory.
I stared at down him, more than a little intimidated.
"I've never—" I started, but he pulled me closer and kissed my temple.
"You're doing just fine, believe me," he said with unself-conscious enthusiasm, and I giggled.
I turned my face up to him and our lips met in a searing kiss. It was enough to bolster me, and I returned my hand to wrap fully around his erection.
"Oh, God," he moaned.
The skin there was different than the rest of his body—just as unyielding, but softer, smoother. I suddenly remembered a phrase from a scandalous pulp romance the girls at college had passed around: "silk over steel." It had sent us all into titters at the time, but I felt it was a rather apt description for Edward, anyway.
I slid my grip up to the ridge near the top experimentally, and he thrusted into my hand in response, a bead of moisture gathering at the tip. My confidence grew—this was simpler than I feared.
I remembered how Edward had used his mouth on my neck and face to enhance the experience of what he was doing with his hands, and I wondered if it would feel the same for him. I imagined it would. So I shifted myself a little higher on the pillows til our faces were level.
Edward's head was tipped back, his eyes closed in pleasure as I pumped my hand slowly up and down his length. It was a truly alluring sight, the tendons in his neck taut and his hair mussed by my hands. I took advantage of the access to his neck, mimicking the open-mouthed kisses he'd pressed to my throat before.
A growl rumbled in his chest, emboldening me. I trailed my kisses up to his earlobe and took it into my mouth, tracing the edge with my tongue.
That really seemed to do it—Edward groaned, and then he was flipping me over onto my back. "I can't," he panted, his hands pressing into the mattress on either side of my head. "I want—I need…"
My hand was still wrapped around him, and I squeezed harder.
"Take me," I whispered, making room for him to settle between my legs.
I guided him to my center and then reached for his neck, nestling my fingers in his hair. He gasped my name as the tip of him touched the edges of my folds, slicker than ever. His arms, holding his chest up above me, were trembling, and I knew it wasn't due to physical strain.
"I don't want—to hurt you—"
"Slowly," I said reassuringly.
Edward took an unsteady breath, focusing himself. And then our eyes met, and I felt everything in me melt. It steadied him, too; his lips quirked up in that crooked smile I loved so much.
"You are everything," he whispered. Before I could respond, he captured my lips again, slow and full of love. And then he gently, carefully, heartbreakingly pushed himself against my opening.
For a moment I felt myself panic—I was trapped, held still by his bodyweight, and even that little bit of him pushing, filling, stretching—
He must have heard the change in my heart rate, because he paused and pulled back just a fraction of an inch.
"No," I said, grabbing his hip. "Wait. I just need—a moment."
Edward held his hips absolutely still as he covered every inch of my face in kisses, letting me breathe. "Just tell me when you're ready," he whispered.
I could feel myself relaxing in his arms. And there was some instinct demanding I lift myself to him, draw him all the way inside.
"Please…"
I dropped a hand to his hip and pulled it forward ineffectually, and he smiled, reaching a hand up to cup the side of my face. "This part may hurt a little," he said, voice tinged with regret.
I pulled harder, and as he slid inside, I felt a small ripping that made me gasp.
Edward was beyond pausing, though; he sunk himself to the hilt, moaning my name.
I blinked rapidly to keep from tearing up at the burning—
Then Edward went rigid above me, not breathing.
My mouth formed an "o" of shock—God in heaven, had I bled?
"Edward?" I called, suddenly frightened—not of him, but for him.
"I'm all right," he said tightly, though his fingers tore through the sheets on either side of me. "It's all right. It's not much. Just…hold still."
I hardly dared to breathe as his arm muscles flexed and rolled around me, the cords appearing and disappearing as he tensed and relaxed, over and over. In some ways, it was a relief to have him still for a moment, so I could get used to having all of him inside me now. Underneath the burning, which was starting to fade, it felt…like being whole.
"Are you hurt?" he finally asked, and I heard the anxiety. His eyes opened, and they were coal black. But he seemed in control of himself.
"No," I said quickly, reaching up to cup the back of his neck. "Just for a second." I smiled shyly. "Now it feels…good."
That drew a breathless laugh out of him, and he pulled out of me just slightly. "Ah, Bella," he sighed into my neck. "I can't even describe how good you feel to me."
I rolled my hips into him, wanting more motion. "Do we have to stop?" I asked, afraid of the answer.
"Oh God, no," he said, horrified. "Unless you—"
"No!" I cried, pulling him down—I wanted more of him, all of his weight on me. "Please, please, keep going."
He sunk forward til his chest was flush to mine, and then his hips began to move experimentally, slowly retreating and advancing.
"God, the heat of you," Edward muttered, pressing kisses to my collarbone. He was picking up his pace now, reaching that timeless rhythm. "All around…"
I tugged at his hair to bring his face up, wanting our mouths joined in the same way. He needed little encouragement, taking my lips as completely as he was taking the rest of me. And suddenly it was like we became one being, a perfect circuit of breath and bone.
I love you, I love you, I love you, I thought, over and over again, as though I could make him hear me by will alone. But we didn't really need words to express it: I could feel his adoration of me through our skin.
He arced back a little, creating just enough space between our stomachs to slip a hand down to where we were joined.
I whimpered his name when he touched me there again, breaking our kiss. The spot was even more sensitive after his earlier attentions, and his touch was near-torture in the best way.
Edward's thrusts were getting faster, less controlled. I was beyond the ability to match him; I just clung to his shoulders, allowing him to drag me with him. That dizzying feeling was back again, a spiral that got tighter and tighter, and I could tell he was right there with me.
"Bella," he whispered. Our eyes met for just a moment, and I was gone again, awash in sensation. Dimly, I felt him follow a few seconds later, jerking against me as he groaned and collapsed.
- o - o - o -
We might have lay there for days, his hand trapped between us and mine stroking patterns along his spine. I could feel his ragged breath in my ear and my heart beat hard enough for both of us against our conjoined chests.
But at some point, I became aware of something trickling between us, and I tensed, fearing the worst.
Edward felt the change in me; he pulled back a little to examine my face. Then he looked down and, realizing the problem, smiled crookedly.
"Let me help you," he said, kissing my temple. Gently, he pulled out of me, making me wince; the pleasure of the act had overtaken the pain when we were in the throes of it, but now I could feel the soreness.
Before I could blink, Edward had retrieved a damp cloth from his ensuite bathroom. I felt a flush of embarrassment as he pressed it against me. He seemed to feel no such qualms, nuzzling my neck as he tenderly cleaned away the evidence of our lovemaking.
When he tossed the cloth aside, I caught a glimpse of a rust-colored streak among the white. "How did you stand it?" I asked in a small voice.
Edward was silent for a moment as he settled down beside me and pulled me close to his chest. "I don't know," he said quietly. "It still burns, but it's different now. Your blood, your heart—they're signs you're alive." His arms tightened around me slightly. "I don't think I could do something that would change that if I tried. It's…unthinkable."
I thought then of what he'd told me not so long ago about vampire mates—how it was an eternal bond, greater than human conceptions of love. I wanted to ask if that's what this was, this connection between us. I had felt it, and I was sure he did too. But his warnings about Antoinette's gift rang in my ears.
Suddenly, I realized I may never get the chance to ask him.
The pain that bloomed in my chest was like someone taking a knife to me, slashing me open, and I sucked in a breath.
"Oh, my Bella," Edward murmured, burying his face in my hair.
"I can't—" My throat was so tight that I couldn't continue my sentence.
"I know." Edward held me ever-tighter, as though he were taking hold of time itself to keep it from marching forward. He murmured comforting words, though they were meaningless—I knew he'd made his decision, and there was no keeping him past tomorrow.
"Was I wrong?" he asked finally, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. "To take this from you?"
That was enough to break through the sadness that threatened to drown me. I lifted myself enough to look him in the eye. "No," I said fiercely. "You didn't take something from me—you gave me something. Part of you."
I pressed my palm over his silent heart to emphasize my point. "I'll never regret this," I said. "And it would kill me if you did."
He gave me a smile, bittersweet as it was. "No," he said quietly. "I cannot regret it either, though I fear that makes me unforgivably selfish."
I glared at him, but allowed him to pull me back down to his chest.
"Truly, Bella, I've never felt anything that comes close to that experience," he said, voice soft. "I'll carry it with me for the rest of my existence."
"So will I," I replied, feeling tears sting my eyes.
We were quiet then, still but for both of our hands. He stroked my hair and back idly as I ran fingertips across his chest and collarbone, memorizing the feel.
"Will you do something for me?" I said after some long while.
"If I can."
"Will you leave before I wake?"
His hands stilled, and I could feel his surprise.
"I don't think I could bear a goodbye." I knew myself—I would beg and plead for him to stay, or to bring me along, and that would only add to both of our misery.
"Is that really what you want?" he asked, unsure.
"It is."
The low rumble in his chest was agreement and distress in equal measure, and I closed my eyes against the vibrations under my cheek.
"Will you do something for me?" he asked, and I nodded. "Don't linger long tomorrow."
"Where will I go?"
"Don't worry about that right now," Edward said soothingly. "It will all be clearer in the morning."
When you're gone.
I don't know if I thought it or spoke it. I wanted to stay awake, to soak up more of what might be my last few hours with Edward. But the dizzying highs and hellish lows of the last two days were catching up to me, and my eyelids were growing heavy.
I felt the edge of sleep approach in gentle, lapping waves. I drifted there on the shoreline for some time, the push-pull of Edward's hand stroking my back mimicking the tide of my breathing. And at some point, I slipped under and didn't resurface for some time.
- o - o - o -
I woke in full daylight, alone.
Though I had asked for it, it was still a blow to reach for him in my half-daze and find nothing but empty sheets. My own nakedness and the rips he'd left in the bedding were the only proof that last night hadn't been a creation of my own mind.
That, and the ache between my legs that made itself known as I started to move.
I felt drugged, pumped full of some narcotic that just barely covered the pain I could sense circling at the edge of my consciousness. It prowled, a predator waiting for the fog to dissipate to pounce. I knew that when it hit, nothing I did could fight it off. For now, I rested in the strange, anesthetized sensation.
Gingerly, I sat up, somewhat surprised to find that my body still responded despite the loss of my heart.
There, on the table. Just like the last time I'd woken by myself after falling asleep in Edward's arms.
This time, there were two books.
The first was a play in Latin I'd never heard of—Adelphorum, by Terentius. A bookmark guided me to a snippet of dialogue.
— Em tibi autem!
— Quidnamst?
— Lupus in fabula.
A steady hand had underlined the final phrase, with an accompanying annotation of the English translation: Speak of the devil.
A spike of angry heat pierced the veil of nothingness. Of course I knew not to speak aloud of anything that would call Antoinette's attention! Had I once complained that he and Alice told me nothing of their plans? That he gave me no indication of what to do or where to go, or why I couldn't come along?
My hand was shaking, and I slammed the book shut. What good was it to me?
And then I saw the other.
Romeo and Juliet. God, of course.
What might he have marked there? What words could offer me solace in the midst of our own tragedy? Parting is such sweet sorrow? Surely not—I was no child bidding my beau adieu on the night of our first meeting. What did little Juliet know of partings?
The fire of rage burned away the last vestiges of the numbing fog, and the wolf of grief circled ever-closer.
As I swept both volumes off the table with a satisfying crash, it pounced, doubling me over with its intensity. I folded in two, clutching at my chest with a gasp.
And then, because I knew not what else to do, I began to weep.
Author's Note: The rollercoaster continues…
So…a good number of you had a LOT of questions after last chapter. I thank you all for being kind about your feedback, even though I could tell some of you were upset.
Now, to be vulnerable with you for a moment, my main insecurity as a writer is my ability to plot—so while I'm open to all critique, good or bad, it would mean a lot to me if you could continue being gentle in any constructive criticism you pass on. This just happens to be one of my tender bits ;)
I am nervous that I haven't written the reasons behind both Edward and Bella's choices into the story well/clearly enough though so I've decided to lay out the reasoning after the footnotes. If you're confused, upset, whatever, hopefully that helps.
And I do promise we'll get to a happy end. It's just going to take some doing to get there. I hope you can trust me to take you on that ride.
That being said, the next few chapters are definitely going to be a little bumpy. If it's been too angsty for you so far, I understand completely if you don't want to continue reading, or would rather wait until it's all written so you don't have to wait for a resolution.
Footnotes:
I now know far more about 1930s undergarments than I ever cared to. There were a variety of options for women, but a common combo was a soft, wireless triangle-shaped bra with a bit of separation and shaping, tap pants (picture loose, high-rise short-shorts), and a thigh-length chemise on top to smoothe everything out. Plus the ever-present stockings, of course. Men's underwear was mostly boxers, though briefs were just coming into common use. Undershirts (tank-style) were almost ubiquitous but when Clark Gable took off his shirt to expose a bare chest in It Happened One Night in 1934, undershirt sales tanked. Honestly, Edward should be wearing an undershirt but meh, seemed like too much work.
The first book Edward leaves is Adelphoe by Terence, a Roman playwright ca. 160BC. The play itself is kind of irrelevant, but the dialogue snippet Edward picked translates thus:
— But look!
— What is it?
— Speak of the devil!
However, the literal translation of "lupus in fabula" is "the wolf in the story." So Edward's message has a double meaning—a reminder to be wary of Antoinette's gift as Bella takes it, but also a hint about where she should go next. Many modern modern languages have similarly wolf-themed idioms, including Italian, Lithuanian, Ukraine, and French—which is where the title of the chapter comes from. "Quand on parle du loup, on en voit la queue." (When you speak of the wolf, you'll see his tail.)
Excessive Additional Context About Edward's Actions to Soothe My Anxiety:
Ok. So. Edward leaving Bella. I don't love coming in to explain all this as the author but like I said, I'm worried I didn't write it well enough to get Edward's logic across based on some reactions to last chapter. So here are a couple things about the situation with Antoinette and the Volturi that I think may not have shown clearly enough in the story:
-Antoinette's ultimate goal is to get back in with the Volturi. She thinks bringing Edward with her will make it happen.
-When Antoinette failed to kidnap/kill Bella, she went to the Volturi to tattle about the Edward's rule-breaking.
-Alice and Edward look at this like, well, Nessie doesn't know about the vampires and we can prove that. Bella DOES know, though, so we can't risk her being around the Volturi.
-The Volturi can't track Bella, but they can track Edward/other vampires.
-If Bella isn't with Edward, she's not really a blocker to Antoinette's goal, is she?
-And of course, because of Antoinette's gift, they can't really talk about the plans aloud. I've gone back and forth about the merits of writing things out as a way for them to communicate, but I think Antoinette's gift has some stipulations for this. Just assume Edward is not confident that writing is a safe way to convey plans to Bella without Antoinette discovering it. Hence why I have him passing information via underlining passages in books.
Ok, I think that covers it. I hope that all makes sense to you—though I readily admit I could be overlooking plot holes here. This section was VERY difficult for me to outline/plot out and I've definitely been concerned about whether it'll pass the sniff test of believability.
**Decided I was being too anxious about this and maybe revealed too much? So I cut this little section down. idk man I'm all over the place.
