Katinki graciously edited this story
A/N: Thank you so much for reading and sharing your thoughts! I'm a bit behind on replying to the reviews, but I absolutely love them all.
Chapter 19
"I've got several pages of questions for you, and I don't even know where to begin," I tell Edward, trying —and failing—not to sound whiny. "We always seem to have so little time, and there's never any privacy. I mean, just look at this place!"
We walk along a wide and busy path in a huge, well-maintained park. The promenade was Maggie's idea, and it caught me by surprise because we don't usually venture outside our neighborhood during daylight, except for that one trip to the cemetery.
A large, imposing building looms in the distance, and despite the scaffolding that covers its left side, I immediately recognize it—it's Buckingham Palace. Silently congratulating myself on doing my first bit of actual sightseeing in London, I wonder if the King is moving in here, hence the renovation. According to The Times, he currently resides at St. James Palace. Unsurprisingly, the sight of scaffolding makes me queasy. Ever since the accident, I've developed a strong aversion to any kind of construction work, so I'm relieved when a small, overgrown lake appears in our way, forcing us to change direction.
Today is Saturday, December 28th, and despite the chill, the park is buzzing with well-dressed people. It seems Londoners aren't too different from Seattleites when it comes to their (very low) weather standards: as long as it's not pouring rain or the wind isn't strong enough to sweep you off your feet, it's considered a fine day for a stroll. We move along slowly, dodging the occasional crowd. Maggie and Alistair walk ahead, chatting and scanning the passersby. I cling to Edward's arm while keeping a close eye on my aunt, making sure I don't miss my cue to curtsy to anyone I'm supposed to know.
There's no denying that this entire outing is meant to show the world that Edward and I are an "item." I might not be a mind-reader, but right now I don't have to be. Just one glance at people's faces—wide eyes, raised eyebrows, and mouths forming silent "O"s—tells me exactly what they're thinking. It's both hilarious and unnerving to be the center of attention like this, and it makes me feel a little giddy.
"I am in full agreement," Edward says quietly. "And I deeply regret that you must endure this. If it provides any relief, you may take solace in knowing that you are spared from hearing the full extent of their thoughts." He grimaces comically as if he's just swallowed something sour.
I giggle. "Honestly, I'm truly in awe of you," I tell him in a whisper, knowing that he'll hear me anyway. "Being able to know everyone's thoughts and still, um, follow your diet? That's a pretty impressive level of sainthood, if you ask me."
He faintly smiles at my joke. "Unquestionably, I have lost many illusions about the human race since I acquired my gift. It is all too simple to yield to cynicism and a sense of superiority, though our kind is particularly inclined to such faults, mind-readers or not."
His mouth then curls into a smirk, and I squeeze his arm tighter. "What?"
"However, the fact that their predominant thought is almost invariably centered on my… remarkable appearance…" His eyes sparkle with mischief. "Admittedly forces me to view their other sentiments with a greater leniency."
I snort and roll my eyes, murmuring, "Handsome and humble!" He laughs. The thought lingers, though. We're just teasing each other, but honestly? He truly is incredibly humble—surprisingly so, considering everything: the magnitude of his talent, the brilliance of his mind, and most of all, the way he holds on to the shreds of his humanity, fighting his nature every single day. If only people knew…
And yet, for some unfathomable reason, this incredible man chose me. How crazy is that?
"Please be serious and tell me something. Are all vampires," I whisper this word just in case, "good-looking, or is it just you and Carlisle? And what about Rosalie, she's not like you, is she? She's very beautiful, but I saw her all flushed and sweaty—you never sweat… And her eyes are blue. What's with the eye color, by the way?"
"No, Rosalie is not like Carlisle or me," he says, and there's a sudden note of discomfort in his voice. Is it that bad, I want to ask, but he looks flustered, and I worry that pressing any further might make him stop talking altogether.
"The hue of our eyes reflects our sustenance," he continues, slightly more at ease. "The vast majority of vampires adhere to the traditional diet. They, as you may well know from the legends, possess eyes of a crimson shade. As to the physical allure, our appearance is enhanced during the transition. It is but one component of our predator's arsenal, and it serves merely as an instrument to achieve the ultimate goal—catching our prey."
He slows our pace slightly, increasing the distance between us and the Buchans, and then adds, "Other instruments include a captivating scent, heightened senses, remarkable speed and strength, and, should those prove insufficient, our bodies are capable of producing venom."
My eyes widen. "Venom, wow… That sounds like an overkill. Um, literally." I take a deep breath. "As to the scent, I must admit that I'm not immune to that… not at all." I bite my lip and look down, feeling my cheeks flush despite the icy wind.
"The sentiment is entirely mutual," Edward mutters, and my breath hitches.
We walk in silence for a moment, and then I ask, "How often do you need to hunt?"
"It varies. Usually, every fortnight is enough," he replies. "Although when I am near you, I prefer to take precautions." He doesn't elaborate.
I fire the next one. "Can you eat human food?"
"I cannot." He smiles apologetically. "Carlisle and I do occasionally participate in the charade called dinner. That, however, requires that certain measures to be taken afterward."
I wrinkle my nose. "What measures?"
He lifts an eyebrow. I blink.
"Oh…I see. Gross. I'll make sure to talk Maggie out of inviting you guys to dinner... So, if you don't eat… then I guess you don't have to deal with… other bodily functions…" I sigh. "God, I envy you so much."
"And why is that?" He is having too much fun with this.
I scowl. "Why? Where do I start?! Next question: you said that you don't sleep. Don't you need to… rest, or mentally recuperate? Do you ever get hurt or feel pain? You mentioned having heightened senses. Does that mean you feel pain more intensely, too? In general, compared to when you were human, do you feel things differently? I mean, without the typical human physiology like an increased heart rate or sweating, it has to be different… Speaking of, do you ever get shortness of breath?"
I'm getting a little winded myself.
"That was five questions," Edward says in an amused tone. "We do not tire, Bella. Similarly, we have no need to breathe, save for the purpose of scent and speech, and pain is a rarity for us. Externally, we are nothing but a beautiful human facade," he adds quietly. "Internally, however, the transformation is profound. Our human bodies have been changed unrecognizably. Nevertheless, our emotions are similar to what humans experience throughout their lifetime, though they do not always manifest in physiological reactions, if that is your question." He places his right hand on mine, tucked through the hook of his left arm, and gives it a gentle squeeze. "We still feel them all. Stronger, deeper. Lack of physical impact is compensated by the severity of our mental response."
This fascinating new information requires a lot of processing, but instead of asking him to explain or give an example, I unload on him the next batch of questions. "I almost forgot! What about fangs, do you have any? Are they retractable? And how does this venom thing work?"
He chuckles and shakes his head at my eagerness. "No fangs. Our teeth are sufficiently sharp as they are. As for the venom, it is... complicated." His expression suddenly hardens. "I believe we have had enough conversation on the subject of vampire physiology for one day." The way he says it leaves no room for discussion.
"Not fun!" I huff.
"Quite the opposite," he counters, locking his gaze with mine and unleashing the full force of… whatever makes my knees weak in his presence. "I do not doubt that fun is yet to begin." With that, he winks, and I forget that we're in a public place and that staring at your fiancé with your mouth open is probably considered mauvais ton.
XXX
It turns out, Edward's idea of fun is no fun at all.
We parted ways after the promenade, but he returned after Jessica (who had finally come back from her mom's and was devastated to find out that she'd missed our engagement) said goodnight and left my room. Then he climbed onto my bed, took my hand in his, and demanded that I tell him my entire life story.
"You need not go into extensive detail about your time, nor how matters stand there. I recall your reservations—the butterfly effect, I believe you called it? And truly, I am uncertain whether I wish to know of the great trials that humanity will inevitably face in the years to come. Yet, I would be most delighted to hear about your life and your family, should you feel at ease to share it."
"Edward, my life is incredibly boring," I say. "And I'm not exaggerating or being modest about it… Seriously, if you look up the word "boring" in the encyclopedia, I'm pretty sure my portrait will be right there."
He lets out a muffled laugh. "Boring, you are resolutely not. Stubborn and infuriatingly desirable, however…" He trails off, and my skin prickles. Because I'm not a vampire, I have a lot of physiological reactions in Edward's presence.
And because he plays me as skillfully as he plays his pianoforte, I spill everything. The whole inconsequential and occasionally pathetic story of my life. I tell him about Mom, about Forks and Charlie, about being a young adult in a big city, first on my own and then with James, and how that ended. About my lackluster job and the apartment Alice and I rent together. Edward asks a few questions as I go, like, "Do women in your time attend universities?" or "Am I to understand correctly that you traveled such a distance within a single day?" but after I tell him about James, he becomes silent, so I finish relatively quickly.
"You see, it took me an hour to describe 27 years of my life. I expect at least a 6.7x longer story of yours—and yes, I did the math," I tell him, smiling.
He remains completely motionless, and I begin to worry. "Edward?"
"Forgive me, I was deep in thought," he says quietly. "I was having an epiphany of sorts. For the first time since I awoke to this wretched existence, I find myself grateful for what I have become." He pauses. "That I am given the gift of living long enough to find this James and snap his neck with my bare fingers. Perhaps even play with him a little—before." His voice is soft as a caress. It makes my skin crawl. He's not joking.
I clear my throat. "That's, um… yeah, the sentiment is really sweet, but… I'd appreciate it if you don't. His mom is actually nice. She doesn't deserve that."
His silence tells me that he remains unconvinced.
"Also… the way my life derailed after we split… that wasn't just his fault. I allowed it. I was unprepared and weak, and honestly, my actions were less than smart." I shrug. Talking about James with Edward feels weird but good. My gut tells me he understands what I'm saying. My brain, however, argues that my gut might be wrong, and objectively, I don't really know anything about this beautiful, dangerous creature just yet.
"You are the most gentle and brave soul I know," he whispers as his thumb gently circles my palm. "But I am certain that you acted the best you could. In a union that was, as I gather, akin to marriage, such a profound betrayal is a wound from which even the strongest may not recover. Your father should have addressed the matter. Particularly given that, as you mention, he is a head constable and thus possessed the means to do so."
An image of Charlie chasing James, first in his cruiser and then on foot, aiming and shooting him in his, ahem, strategically important area, flashes through my mind, and I burst out laughing.
"Charlie would definitely do that if he could," I assure him. "He actually never liked James and even ran a detailed background check when we'd just started dating… Um, in my time, there's a way to know if a person ever broke the law and got caught, even if it was a minor thing. Unfortunately, James's record was spotless."
Edward scoffs and utters a single "Ah." His tone suggests that he wouldn't waste time in this manner before taking justice into his own hands.
"But enough about me," I say cheerfully. "Now, it's your turn. Start from the beginning and don't stop until the end." I grin.
"I love your smile," he says softly. I blush, but then my eyes narrow in suspicion, and I kick him in the ribs, hurting my elbow in the process.
"You're stalling," I press. "Come on, I'm all ears."
He releases my hand, gets up from the bed, and walks to the window. The dim streetlight casts a soft glow on his chiseled profile. He pinches the bridge of his nose and stays still for a long moment, then sharply inhales and begins his tale.
"As I previously mentioned, I was born on the 20th of June in the year 1652, in London. The vicar of the parish to which my family belonged was most meticulous in his record-keeping, so my birthdate is beyond question." He pauses. "The vicar's name was Reverend Cullen."
His voice is flat and disconnected, as if he's reading an article from Wikipedia. I want to nudge him, to force some emotion out, but decide to be content with what he's giving me, and how he's giving it—for now. Something tells me that this kind of sharing is a brand-new experience for him.
He doesn't remember much from his early childhood, other than what he was told later. His father, Edward Masen Senior, was a barrister. Unfortunately, on a rainy night when he was coming home from visiting a client, his carriage had an accident and fell into the Thames. Edward's mother and older brother were with him. They all died, leaving Edward an orphan at the tender age of 9. By pure chance, Edward's mom didn't have one of her rings on her—she'd taken it to the jeweler the day before because the stone was loose and needed fixing. The ring was the only personal thing left of her that was passed to Edward since they'd never found her body.
The same year, after spending some time with various friends of the deceased couple, Edward ended up in Rev. Cullen's family. It seems his wife had a severe case of empty nest syndrome and wanted a boy. At the time, their own only son, Carlisle, was already of age and lived independently.
"Ah, so Carlisle is your adoptive brother!" I exclaim. "You really didn't lie to me… well, except when I decided that he was your half-brother, and you didn't correct me."
"Carlisle is my brother in a way that no blood bond could provide," Edward says. "I owe him many things, not least of which is my sanity… But I digress. My new family was… troubled."
Apparently, the nightmare that was Edward's childhood didn't end with his adoption. Rev. Cullen was a difficult man. No stranger to violence, despite his profession, he used to beat his wife and Carlisle on a regular basis. He was also obsessed with hunting "evil"—witches, demons, vampires, Catholics, you name it—a "hobby" that he acquired during Cromwell's rule but never abandoned even after the Lord Protector's death. Carlisle despised his father's violent ways and narrow-mindedness and left his childhood home the moment he could. Pursuing his dream of becoming a physician, he took up an apprenticeship at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, visiting his family only to maintain contact with his mother, and later, with Edward.
Edward, whose young age didn't protect him from the vicar's fists, soon managed to find his own escape from his less-than-nurturing adoptive father. While doing all kinds of simple jobs at the church, he started helping Mr. Brown, the organist, and thus learned the basics of playing the instrument, as well as notation and composition. He often stayed at the church overnight under the pretense of having to finish copying sheet music or learning a new anthem. When Mr. Brown passed away, Edward took over his duties.
Since the Church of England at the time couldn't make up its mind whether pipe organs were acceptable or "too Catholic," the organs were often dismantled and then reinstalled again. This was no small task, as a pipe organ was typically integrated into the church wall. Renovations took months, if not years, disrupting church life. Edward felt like he needed to diversify his professional skills and started learning other instruments. Through a wealthy parishioner, he got access to a clavichord and a collection of sheet music in return for free lessons for the parishioner's children. Edward quickly became really good at playing this new instrument.
"What other instruments did you play?" I can't keep myself from interrupting again.
"Any and all of them?" Edward lets out a carefree laugh. "Any musical instrument I could reach, I learned to play. The trumpet was my favorite, but unfortunately, it only had limited use in my circumstances. My students, or rather, their parents, all desired to learn to play clavichord or harp. And I did not object in the least. I was never idle, what with long hours at the church and dozens of students, but my life was predictable and stable. Then, on a warm summer evening in the year 1676, when Carlisle was visiting our mother, things irrevocably changed."
As Edward learned much later, a crazed nomad vampire attacked the vicarage, killing both his parents and biting Carlisle. Edward, who was out of town at the time, was spared. Having witnessed the vampire drink his parents' blood, Carlisle had a horrifying understanding of what he was becoming. He fled to the nearby forest and, after three agonizing days, transformed into a vampire. He was 36 years old at the time.
Determined to avoid harming people, Carlisle fled far from civilization and eventually discovered he could survive on animal blood. He swam across the English Channel to France, where he stayed for five years, studying, working days and nights at hospitals, and eventually meeting other civilized (but not "vegan") vampires. Throughout this time, he'd always thought of Edward as his only family and dreamed of seeing him again.
In 1681, Carlisle finally returned to England, only to find Edward unconscious in his house, dying of influenza. A hasty decision to turn him into a vampire followed. Edward, then 29, who awoke with an ability to read minds, initially had a hard time processing and accepting his new life. Together, they returned to the Continent, where he went through the ups and downs of the adjustment period that vampires call being a "newborn." They moved around a lot, adopting new identities and mostly studying and occasionally taking on jobs. Carlisle posed as a high-profile physician in service of various rich people, while Edward easily got jobs as a court musician, using his mind-reading ability to navigate local politics. Their talents eventually allowed them to amass considerable wealth.
That continued until a few years ago, when an influential vampire friend of Carlisle's from Italy encouraged Edward to start a performing career, even though it went against the rule of avoiding attention to keep vampire existence hidden. That friend happened to be the main enforcer of the said rule—which, undoubtedly, was what made the exemption possible.
Edward pauses his tale. My head spins, and a million questions buzz on the tip of my tongue, but like usual, I blurt out the most idiotic one.
"So… did you ever get married? Did Carlisle?" All of a sudden, my cheeks turn uncomfortably warm. Now that I'm aware of his ability to see in the dark and probably even hear the blood rushing to my face, too, I blush even harder.
"I never had a spouse, no," he says. "I did not feel the need. Until now."
I desperately want him to elaborate, but of course, he doesn't.
"What do you mean you didn't feel the need? There must have been a girl that you wanted, and don't even get me started on the crowds of ladies who surely tried to get the attention of the handsome organist…" I roll my eyes. "I bet your church boasted the highest female attendance in the whole city of London."
"Oh, that need…" he says, amused. "That was never a concern. Perhaps the fact that my most basic needs were always met shielded me from any interest in matrimony." There isn't an ounce of bragging in his voice. It's just astatement of fact. "Nor did I wish to bring children into this world. I believed that as a child, I had endured enough suffering to suffice for several generations to come."
My heart is torn between irrational jealousy toward whoever was helping Edward "meet his most basic needs" and the pain I feel for the boy he once was—lost, abused, and alone.
In the meantime, he continues, "Carlisle, however, was married for a brief period in his early twenties. He made the acquaintance of his wife at the hospital where he spent many long hours, and she passed away at the same institution just two years later. They had no children and were not particularly close." He sighs. "Carlisle is married to his calling. Assisting others brings him the greatest joy of his existence." Then he adds with a mock annoyance, "That, and occasionally interfering in his brother's affairs."
I jump from the bed and flung myself into his arms. "Thank you for telling me about yourself. You have no idea what it means to me." His breath hitches, and his muscles lock for a couple of seconds before he relaxes and gently traces my lower lip. "Oops, I'm sorry! I didn't know it was possible to startle you," I tease him.
"No need to apologize," he whispers. His cool fingertips continue exploring my face and then travel to the sensitive spot behind my ear. I shiver, and my body automatically drapes around his. I reach for his neck and thread my fingers into his hair, pulling his face to mine.
"Edward…" I whisper back. "You're… it feels…" Not very eloquent, I admit.
He captures my mouth and turns us around in one swift movement, pressing me against the wall. All of a sudden, his hands are everywhere—on my breasts, on my neck, and somehow even under my skirt. His knee presses between my thighs, and it feels so good that again I'm on the verge of passing out from the sudden onslaught of sensations, but the next moment it all comes to a screeching halt. He freezes and then slowly slides down onto his knees in front of me, resting his forehead on my abdomen.
I press my hand against my breastbone, trying to rein in my rapid, shallow breathing.
"It is my turn to apologize…" Edward's voice is hoarse and shaky. "I… I am terrified, Bella." He rises from his knees and takes a step back. "When I mentioned that the needs of my flesh were always satisfied, I referred solely to my life as a human. Vampires are very sensual creatures, and it is not uncommon for them to engage in relations both among themselves and with humans. Regrettably, the latter inevitably results in the human's death." He takes a deep breath and then exhales forcefully. "Unlike them, I have carefully avoided intimacy since my emergence into this new life—for several reasons, one being the prospect of hearing the other person's thoughts. That was exceedingly disconcerting and distracting, and in the absence of true affection or even cordial inclination, I found no desire to pursue such matters."
He takes another pause. "Then you entered my life and altered everything, yet, in truth, I am afraid. I must not lose control when I am with you, and this concern extends beyond your blood alone. It is my strength as well. In the throes of passion, I might inadvertently cause you harm or injury without even realizing it."
I ponder his words. Hmmm… I didn't think about that. My instinct is to tell him that he won't hurt me and that I'll be just fine! Realistically, though… Dang, he's probably not wrong. He's a vampire, for Christ's sake. Do I want to die a stupid death "in the throes of passion," and leave him with the sense of eternal guilt? Don't get me wrong, I like sex, but if that's the cost, I'm not in a hurry to pay it.
"I understand," I say. "No pressure. We can do what you feel comfortable with… if that's what you want." Suddenly, I feel very self-conscious. What if he's not comfortable with anything? Why on earth did I think that after almost two hundred years of celibacy, he would want to be with me in this way at all? Presumptuous much?
As if sensing my distress, he pulls me in his arms. "That is what I want the most in this world." He kisses me softly on the lips, and I slowly relax.
"Tell me, what did you think when I broke into your house?" I change the subject. "Did you hear me long before I climbed to your bedroom's window? Did you recognize me from the Opera?"
He kisses me again, and this kiss is even more chaste than the previous one. "There is no more time. I shall tell you the rest tomorrow."
I pout. "That's how Scheherazade kept tricking her King, and I'm quite sure that the latter was not amused!"
Edward chuckles softly. "He grew accustomed to it. Bella…" His hand cradles my cheek, his fingers moving softly against my skin. "The mere thought of seeing you tomorrow fills my entire being with happiness."
I lean into his touch, turning to press a kiss against his palm.
"Mine, too."
Like I said, whatever he's willing to give. For now.
.
.
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