Chapter Text
I should have known our second first date would be different.
“Second first date? No,” said Edward. His fork glinted in the flickering candlelight. A piano plinked in his pause. Low murmurs from other tables muffled the music to a din. “It’s our third.”
“Third? It couldn't be.”
“You don’t consider the dinner at Port Angeles our first first date, but it was.” He kept shifting the vegetables on his plate without looking up. “For your sake, I am willing to compromise and consider the meadow our second first date. That would make this our third.”
Then why did I feel that twisting, taut chord of nervousness snake through my chest? What was it about his pirate smile that made my heart flip-flop like a fish out of water?
How, after all the death-defying mayhem I endured in his absence, all the pain he’d put on my plate, could those soft buttery eyes cleave me wide open?
Who was this familiar stranger?
“Edward,” I said. “Sitting someone down at a restaurant to tell them you’re a mind-reading vampire is not a first date.”
His burst of lilting laughter turned heads. Chatter ceased. I blushed and tucked my chin.
I would never get used to the way his perfectness drew in prey.
Tonight, I feared, the prey (figuratively speaking) would be me.
I would always remember our first dinner—date, Jess and Ang had clarified—in Port Angeles when he’d hinted at being something other. The thrill of a distant danger had laced our interaction, sure, but he seemed benevolent. Protective. Polite. Willing, albeit hesitant, to communicate.
None of those facts had changed. Edward remained ever coy. Thrilling.
Dangerous.
But this time, I knew exactly what he would do to me.
What he could do to me.
And maybe that was what was different: he knew it too.
Maybe that’s why he had come dressed to death in dark slacks, a light button-up, and an Eldridge-knotted tie I wanted to pull him by. Maybe that’s why his slick silver tongue felt silkier than ever.
Certainly, that was why I had come sporting warpaint (i.e., makeup—thank you, Alice), a tight pencil skirt (thank you, Alice), and his favorite fern-green blouse unbuttoned low enough to be borderline indecent.
Two could play at this game.
“Tell me what you’re thinking?” he purred.
Between stolen glances, I noted his eyes. They’d darkened from banana to brown butter since we’d arrived, a sign he was being sapped of energy. Right now, they glittered gray in the shifting light the way Alice’s did when she lost her sight to the future.
He was looking at me but seeing someone else. Hearing something else. Dragged into another mind entirely.
In a bid to draw him out, my freshly lacquered nails (thank you, Alice) tapped on the table.
He blinked, the gray in his irises fading back to mustard.
Wherever Edward went, he would always come back to me.
(I hoped.)
“I’m wondering what made you accept my invitation,” I said.
“For the same reason you offered.”
“Being?”
“I find you alluring in every imaginable way and would never turn down the opportunity to spend time with you.”
“Oh, is that my reason?” I teased.
“I sure hope it is,” he said. “It’s mine.” A knowing glint lit his eyes. He twirled more pasta around his fork and arranged it on his plate with his knife. Lower, he added, “Whatever ulterior motives you may have, I would invite you to put them to bed.”
Ah. There it was.
We edged ever close to admitting our real reasons for this date. He had slipped up by pointing it out, and he knew it.
After all, I was sure he could guess what I was after.
“To bed, huh?”
Edward rolled his eyes.
“To rest,” he amended. “To death.”
I couldn’t resist. “‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.”
“You get cheekier all the time.”
“I’m told it’s part of my charm.”
Many things had changed. Some never did. Our first dinner in Port Angeles held an undercurrent of a darker, unspoken truth— just like this date.
To die, to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream.
I parted my lips, hellbent on tracing some path to the topic: my reason, my darker truth, my dream. So, Edward, speaking of Hamlet’s soliloquy on states of being…
Edward’s eyes crinkled at the corners. He knew my ulterior motives. He could hear it in my racing heart. He could see it in the blush on my cheeks.
He swooped in. “Speaking of death,” he said, “in keeping with the theme of our first dates, I have something to confess.”
His smoldering eyes froze me over. A noodle slipped off my fork.
“Isabella,” he said, “I’m a vampire.”
I rolled my eyes, deflating.
“That's funny." Under my breath, I said, “And I’m a vampire slayer.”
“I’ve killed. I’ve lied. I’ve stolen. I’ve cheated.”
“Me too.”
“Killing in self-defense doesn’t count.” Before I could protest, he added, “And you’re a terrible liar, so that one doesn’t count, either.”
I sucked a long tail of a noodle into my mouth. “I was good enough to fool the Volturi.”
After a beat, Edward laughed so hard his fangs flashed under the warm lights. More heads turned.
“My, you're a dangerous thing. Remind me never to cross you.”
Meanwhile, my smile had turned sour with rotten memories. Even over his voice, the music, the chatter, the sexual tension, I heard nothing but Irina’s screams and the crunch of limbs being ripped from sockets.
My lie had saved us, but it had still cost a life.
Edward hadn’t noticed my reaction. He had gone back to arranging his food.
“Of course,” he continued, “there’s still the matter of the stealing and the cheating.”
“I’ve cheated death. I’ve stolen your heart.”
“It’s not stealing if I give it to you.”
“What else can you give me?”
Glancing up, his eyes pierced mine.
“You can have anything you like so long as I'm the one giving it to you.”
We were talking so softly that I thought we might bump heads.
The sudden volley of innuendo left me fumbling over my own inexperience. With no quip at the tip of my tongue, I blushed. Deeply. Dropped my eyes to the crumb-dusted tablecloth.
God. I couldn’t not tell him my reason for asking him out.
Edward’s eyes dilated at my coy glance. Mischief bolted across his composed face.
“Well, well, well,” he murmured. “If it isn’t the ulterior motive.”
I stuttered, “It’s not— I mean, I wasn’t— I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No, you didn’t,” said Edward, amused. “I might be offended if I didn’t find it all so fascinating."
The embarrassed blush never faded from my face.
Shier now, I picked at my nail polish while I spoke in a low voice.
“I know you want to put everything aside for tonight,” I said slowly, “but, Edward… we should talk. We need to talk. About— well, lots of stuff.”
Laughter from across the room stole him away. Eyes graying out, he focused his attention back on his plate. Trying to hide it, no doubt. His lips pursed in frustration.
“Yes,” he said, distracted. "I do, too." Then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Pardon me. This woman…”
Reaching over, my fingers grazed the cold, smooth skin of his hand. Edward tried to hide a shudder.
All at once, the room seemed to grow crowded and hushed: no more clinking silverware, plinking piano, or table talk. Just Edward and me— and a room packed with eyes.
Edward’s found mine. Appreciation swam in his golden irises.
I left my hand on his. The thrill of my own boldness raced through my veins.
“In keeping with the theme of our first dates,” I said, tracing a design on his palm, “do I get to ask you questions?”
“Ah, what is legally referred to as our One Conversation wherein I disclose sensitive information?” He hummed. “You know I loathe this game.”
“I know.”
I waited for the No.
Dropping his fork, he said, “Here. Did you still want to try my primavera? I'm finished with it."
He turned his plate in my direction and pushed it toward me. Edward had arranged the vegetables and twirled the noodles to look like a recreation of Van Gogh’s Starry Night.
Leave it to Edward to avoid answering a question.
“You know," I said, sniping a zucchini moon with my fork, "in human culture, it’s impolite to play with your food.”
“Then what should I do with her?”
The fork clattered against the china; I laughed so loudly I snorted. Edward broke into a snicker, and we keeled over laughing into our napkins. People stared. That only made me laugh harder out of nervousness.
“Stop it,” I said, swatting his arm. I wiped a tear from my eye. “Alice would kill me if I ruined my makeup.”
“She would kill me. She’s desperate to be back in your good graces.” Edward analyzed me. “I can’t tell you how ecstatic it made her that you let her help you get ready.”
“Well, she did show up at my house unannounced.”
“She’s a tenacious little creature, isn’t she,” he said. I shrugged. “I know you might still be…uneasy about your friendship with her. Though, if I could humbly suggest you call her? She misses you terribly.”
I raised a brow. “I thought we were putting the ulterior motives, quote, to bed.”
“And I thought you wanted to discuss them,” he said in a lilting tone. “Besides, who says that’s my ulterior motive?”
My eyes narrowed. Aha— a confession.
His knowing smirk told all.
“Circling back,” he said. “This One Conversation is transactional, is it not?” I nodded. “Good. Let’s trade. Five for five. No editing thoughts.”
“Game on.”
“I won’t go easy on you,” he warned.
I scoffed over my sparkling water. “Like I would go easy on you.”
“All right, then,” he said and gestured to me. “Bombs away.”
There was so much ground to cover. Where to begin?
Politically, of course, there was the coven-pack treaty to discuss, though I had little desire to play diplomat tonight.
I was also dying to ask about the Cullens. How was Esme’s garden coming along? Did Carlisle get his job back at the hospital? Were his siblings all living at the estate? Did they ever mention me? Not that they had any reason to, but if they did...
Or... had they left already? Again?
Bigger concerns eclipsed all the other niggling curiosities, however. Two truths needed to be uncovered tonight.
The first: Where did Edward stand on changing me?
The second: Where the hell did we stand?
Bottom line, I had to know if he loved me enough to turn me. Or if I was just—
“Dessert?” the waitress chirped.
“Absolutely,” Edward said, still staring at me.
“Crème brûlée?” I suggested.
“You know how much I adore crème brûlée.”
“We’ll take that, please. Thank you. Oh, and can we get this boxed up?”
Bewilderment flickered across the waitress's face as I handed over Edward’s pasta masterpiece. Edward bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing.
His eyes remained wise and careful as always. He knew as I did.
The game was on.
“Tell me, sweet girl,” he said, resting his cheek on his palm, “what existential horrors will you unleash on me tonight?”
My honesty streak had paid out so far. He knew I’d invited him out to talk about our…situation. Maybe he could see my side of things by the end of the night. Maybe the next time I kissed him, I'd no longer feel the sting of our breakup.
Maybe he’d finally be able to accept that it was now or never.
“Before anything, can we be candid about this?” I said. “I want you to tell me why you’re here. Why you’re really here.”
“You weren’t fond of my last answer, hm?”
“It was sweet, don’t get me wrong. But—” I bit my bottom lip, searching for the correct words. I could guess what his ulterior motives for this date were. Outright asking him, however, wouldn’t get me far. “I dunno. I can’t help thinking something is different now.”
“Many things are. Everything is.”
“Right. But. What’s different about us?” I said. Edward cocked his head, smile dissolving. “You said you’re here because you want to be with me. What makes you sure you want to be with me?”
His eyes sparkled; the amusement returned. “I hope you have all night. It’s quite a long list. Section one: your personality; subsection A: your penchant for cutting to the heart of things, particularly on a first— third first— date.”
“Second first date,” I corrected. He snorted. “What I mean is, what makes this time different than the last?”
Instead of answering, he stared expectantly. As if I already knew.
Nerves twisted in my stomach.
Softer, I explained, “I still want the same things. We still face the same obstacles. I’m assuming you still have the same objections— not just to the change, but to me being with you as I am. So fragile. So young. Et cetera.” That aching, familiar pain I’d seen a million times before shone in his eyes. “For me, nothing’s changed. What changed for you?”
“Ah. But something has changed, hasn’t it. For the both of us.” His eyes crinkled in the corners, smile sad. “That’s why you’re here, I would bet.”
My brows creased. What was different now? What had changed in Edward’s absence?
My mind went to Volterra. To the discovery Aro had made.
“Our bond?”
Edward shook his head.
“Time."
To hear the truth laid bare had stunned me into silence.
Raw honesty had not always been a feature of our previous relationship. He had refused to talk about my death in any capacity, once upon a time.
But the solemn fact grew ever closer, colder, louder.
I was going to die.
And yes. That was why I was here.
Candlelight flickered in his dark eyes as he spoke.
“You ask me why I’m here, why I’m bothering, if nothing has changed. For me, everything has changed. I know now what it’s like to walk this world without you. I know what it’s like to get— the call.” I looked down at my hands in my lap. “I have seen you sacrifice your most valuable resource to the Volturi just to save me. Regardless of our opposing visions for the future, I cannot waste my most valuable resource simply on the grounds that I am morally opposed to your change. I want time with you. As much time as I can have. That is why I am here.”
I exhaled. My insides knotted.
His— granted, terribly romantic— answer was the answer I was afraid of.
“Edward, if you still refuse any solution where I become one of you… nothing has changed.”
He stared for a long while. Unblinking. Unmoving.
I strained to catch his quiet words over the sounds of the dining room.
“That is not what I said.”
“Is it what you meant?”
Noise flourished in the heavy pause. Waiters bustled, and chairs creaked as patrons left and arrived; everyone chatted, laughed, shared stories, confessed secrets, tapped their glasses, and scraped their plates.
Everyone lived.
Meanwhile, we sat here, counting the grains of sand in the hourglass. Arguing over whether the glass should be turned over as the sand slipped away.
Didn’t I deserve the chance to live, too?
He said, “Isn’t it my turn to ask the questions?”
I leaned back. Despite the background buzzing in my head, I kept an even mask.
Until something snagged Edward’s attention— something in his lap.
Real life spun back into place— the chaos of the dining room, the buzzing of the servers rushing to and from their stations. After a few blinks, I found myself staring at him as he checked his phone. I heard it click shut under the table.
Edward stared at the tablecloth. Gray-eyed. Lost again. Edward’s telepathy had always given him sensory issues, but public places seemed to drain him these days.
He nodded to one of the servers. “Check, please?”
“Are you all right?”
The smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes. It was only a text from Alice.”
“Oh? Is there something we should know?”
After a beat, he said, “She says the movie theater will be full,” in a low voice. He didn’t look at me. “It’s going to rain.”
Neither was an issue. It rained perpetually in Washington, and we had already purchased our tickets.
One peek into his dark eyes, however, and I could guess why a crowded theater might be not ideal in Edward’s case.
“We could go somewhere else if you’d like,” I said. “I don’t mind.”
“It shouldn’t be a problem,” he mumbled.
“No, really," I said. "We could find a piano bar here. Or take a stroll around the park or something.” Edward crinkled his nose. “Or, if you still wanted to watch a movie, maybe there’s another theater…”
“Maybe something away from Port Angeles,” he said softly. “I only want to be with you.”
A weak smile crossed my lips. Edward passed the card and signed the check without so much as a glance at the total.
It was only when he offered me his hand and I rose from my seat that I realized how lightheaded I felt. His scent— earthy cinnamon, warm cloves— had stuffed my head with static. Before I could regain my bearings, I was whisked away by my vampire date into the chilly night.
My heels clicked against the pavement as he towed me down the streets of Port Angeles, punctuating my thoughts. Were we really leaving? I thought we'd had a good date. Did I push him too much? Had I crossed the line?
Wait. Had we forgotten our leftovers?
“Damn,” I muttered as I stumbled once again in these stupid high heels. Edward’s arm shot out around my waist to catch my fall.
“Careful.”
“Boy, we really booked it out of there,” I said. “Too bad about the pasta.”
Edward slowed his pace but had no response.
Okay. Awkward.
A marrow-white moon gleamed down on us from a cloudless, starry sky. Moonlight cast silver streaks onto Edward’s wild bronze locks.
“Clear night,” I noted.
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“The moon is beautiful.”
“It’s all relative,” he said, distracted. “I wouldn’t use the word with you here in comparison.”
“Sure, sure.”
“Truly. What is the moon to me— a speck in the sky? So what. You’re my North star.” He kissed the back of my hand. “I would follow you anywhere. All my paths lead to you.”
My heart fluttered.
“All mine to lead to you.”
He shot me a small, sad smile.
“Not all.”
I parted my lips to speak but found no words.
A pit of unease settled in my stomach.
“Can I ask a question that doesn’t count towards my questions?” I said.
He tsked. “You want me to make exceptions for you, now?”
“Did I, um... say something wrong?”
The joviality drained from his face. He slowed further.
“Wrong? Oh, my sweet— No. Of course not.”
“Then… can I ask why we’re cutting the night short?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you the impression I didn’t want to spend time with you. It’s only…”
“You’re overwhelmed,” I said. He didn’t look at me. “I get it. We can go somewhere else. Do something else.” With a heat creeping across my cheeks, I added in a low voice, “I’d like to keep playing our game. If you do.”
That caught his attention. A sly smile pulled at the corner of his lip.
“I love playing our games,” he said. I blushed harder. “We could get you home early, spend the evening at your place...”
I guffawed. “Aw, c’mon. With Charlie there? I don’t want to sit around whispering like church mice. Why don’t we go to yours? We could…”
I inhaled and held my breath, not sure how to finish the thought. We had agreed not to tell anyone we were going on a date tonight.
“Arcadia is a long drive from here— three hours, at least.”
“I meant the house in Forks? It’s not still packed up, is it?”
“It is. We have been very accommodating of Sam Uley’s…requests,” he said, a touch cooler. “It won’t be any hassle to remove the furniture coverings, though." He flashed me a devilish smile. "This does mean, of course, you’ll have to sneak me into shapeshifter territory.”
“When don’t I sneak you into shapeshifter territory?”
“Forks it is, then.”
Ease had fallen over him again.
Chewing my lip, I studied him on the way back to my truck.
What was making him so nervous? The thought of changing plans? The idea of being alone with no one to hear us?
Because that made me nervous as hell.
When he peeked at me, I gleaned nothing from his shy expression.
“Is it my turn for a question?” he said.
“Shoot.”
“Two questions. First, can I drive?”
“You’ll have to endure The Thing’s speed limit of fifty-five. And not complain about it,” I added. Edward threw his eyes to the velvet sky and sighed. “Aw, c’mon. It has old-world charm.”
“No,” he said, “I have old-world charm. This is—” I arched my brow. He assessed my expression. “Fine. The truck is fine.”
The keys jangled when I tossed them. Edward snatched them out of the air, simmering with unspoken insults.
He opened the passenger door for me like the gentleman he was, scanning the half-empty lot as I climbed inside. He paused longer than normal; I kept glancing while I fidgeted with the stereo. I hoped my scent wouldn't give him too much trouble.
“You’ve been on a real post-modernist jazz kick,” Edward noted as I swapped out one of our mixed CDs for my recent favorite.
“I like the dissonance,” I said, skipping to Track 05— Bill Evans’ ‘Peace Piece.’ This wasn’t something I was ready to tell him, but the song reminded me of our separation. The morbid sense of tranquility I found in my loneliness. Standing at the center of the universe, watching everyone live their lives around you while you just…
“May I place a request for ‘Alone Together’ after this?”
I blinked the memories away.
“You’re the driver,” I said. Then grinned. “I’m assuming that was your second question?”
“Nice try.”
“Damn.”
Edward smirked but remained tense and diligent. Weird, considering we were sitting in an empty parking lot.
Once we’d hit the road, he turned down the dial on the stereo until the piano faded into a whisper.
Uh oh. Bombs away.
“What do you want to do in life?”
This was not what I was expecting.
“What do you mean?”
The amusement in his smile stopped just shy of his eyes. “What do you mean what do I mean? What do you want to do? What do you hope to accomplish in life?”
Accomplish? In life? I didn’t have time to accomplish anything in life. The hourglass had tipped; every grain of sand that slipped through the hourglass chafed my veins.
My palms began to sweat.
“What I need to do is focus on getting this vampire-werewolf treaty in place. It’s the best way to keep everyone safe, our best chance at killing Victoria, and—”
“Darling Bells,” said Edward. “I’m not asking you what you need to do.”
“It’s what I want to do.”
What else could I think about? Securing my future was what I wanted to do. It was the only way I could allow myself to think about tomorrow.
“You want to do it because it needs to be done. That is not the same thing as wanting to do something for the sake of doing it.”
I shrunk.
What was there to say? Obviously, I had hobbies (albeit little free time): painting, drawing, reading. Beyond that, it was impossible to imagine a world where I could do whatever I wanted.
Anyway, what was the point?
“I just have to prioritize right now. Keep focused. One foot in front of the other. The details, they’re, er, extraneous at this juncture, y’know?”
“Are they?”
Once we left the limits of Port Angeles, he gunned The Thing at top speed.
Whatever response I had to his question didn’t seem to be the “correct” one. So, I said nothing more.
Edward simply didn’t understand my position, that’s all.
Dreams were all fine and dandy, but they meant nothing without a life to realize them.
He said, “When I first met you, I asked you about your ambitions. Your plans. Do you remember what you told me?”
My gaze drifted.
“I said I wanted to... be an artist?”
He shook his head. “Not back then. You told me you were thinking about getting a degree in Biology because it was the field of study in which you were most likely to succeed. You wanted to become a doctor or a researcher. You wanted a high-paying job—”
“To support Renée,” I finished softly. “Yes. I remember. So?”
“I’m assuming that's not what you want to do in life. What you actually want to do.”
Want to do in life. The phrase didn’t make sense. What was there to do in life? What could I do when there was so little of it left?
“What does it matter?”
“I’ve asked you about plans you would like to make and dreams and goals and ambitions you have. Of the answers I’ve received, I can’t help but notice most boil down to one aim.”
“Which is?”
“Surviving,” he said. “Caring for others. You seldom think of yourself.”
I frowned.
No. That wasn’t true.
Was it?
Edward responded to my confusion with, “You want to attend college, but only if it’s affordable enough for you to pay your own way so as not to burden your parents. You want a lucrative career in a nondescript field, but only so you can help pay off Renée’s debts and supplement Charlie’s retirement fund. You want to live in or around Forks, but only so you can be close to your father as he ages and requires care.”
Those sounded like things I would say. They seemed like things I would want.
Hearing it parroted back to me, however, made it all feel…hollow.
But so what, right? There wasn't anything wrong with wanting to be helpful. People loved people who were selfless.
Anyway, I did plenty of selfish things for myself.
...Didn’t I?
“Then, of course, as you fell in love with me,” he said, slower, “those plans and dreams morphed into whatever would allow you to keep me in your life.”
My blood iced over.
“Wh— What are you saying?”
“The choices you make— the future plans you put in place— are all made with someone else in mind. But what do you want?”
“You,” I said quickly.
“You have me.”
“I want you forever. I want to be by your side for all eternity. You know what that entails. If I don’t have that, I don’t have you.”
“You’re too stubborn for your own good, sweet girl.”
“I know what I want.”
“All right,” he said. “Suppose you are a vampire. Victoria is gone, we are together, you are changed. You have limitless time and funds to do whatever it is you wish. Now what?” My mind raced over the question. “What do you study? Where do you work? What do you do? What is your life like?”
My brain had snagged on the hypothetical. Edward never once implied there would ever be a time when I wasn’t human.
What was his play, here? Was he trying to talk me out of becoming a vampire like I’d assumed? Was he trying to convince himself my becoming a vampire was the right choice?
I couldn’t decipher the move.
Meanwhile, he kept his eyes glued to me.
“I-I…um…”
Weak images flickered in my head. Of course, I wanted to paint; I liked doing it and it was an easy way to make some extra—
I liked books…maybe I wanted to own a bookstore? Or become a professor? Shopkeepers and professors had to put in a lot of hours with little pay, though, and what if Renée or Charlie needed—
I liked music…maybe I could learn to sing?
No. Ugh. Too many important to-dos clogged my brain. I needed to remain practical. Focused. Treaty first. Victoria second. Volturi third. Surviving was a selfish enough goal. I didn’t have the space to think about anything else except—
“I want you,” I said. “There’s nothing I want more than you. I know it seems like a lame cop-out, but it’s true.”
“It is a lame cop-out. It’s also not true.”
This was the one known truth. I knew it with every fiber of my being. If nothing else, of this I was sure. Everything else I could figure out later.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I murmured.
“You already have me, Isabella. Rest assured. I will love you until the end of time.”
Sure, sure. He gets the end of time to love me. I get to love him in life.
“What does that mean to you?” I said. “‘Until the end of time.’ When is the end? What happens when I die? When I go where you can’t follow? Will you love me then?”
“I’ll love you forever.”
I continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Because last time you thought I was dead, you seemed pretty intent on…following me.”
“I wasn’t myself,” he said quietly. “I was starving. I said a lot of incoherent things in Volterra. But no matter what happens, I will always, always love you.”
“So if I died, you wouldn’t try to come with.” He didn’t answer. “Aren’t you afraid? Aren’t you afraid that if you die too, our love will just— cease to exist?”
“Then why are you choosing death?” said Edward. “Do you see how this argument doesn’t make sense?”
“I’m choosing vampirism because it’s my one shot at saving myself and everyone I love,” I said. “The Volturi know I exist. Victoria is after me. I wish I had the luxury of following my dreams, but honestly? Right now, I need to focus on making it to tomorrow.”
“If that was your goal, why go to Italy in the first place? You want to survive, yet you’re so willing to risk everything.”
“Because without you, what do I have?”
By the look on his face, that was the wrong answer.
Shit.
Now what? If he thought I wasn’t doing this for the right reasons, he wouldn’t agree to turn me.
If he didn’t want to turn me, we were right back where we started.
My veins itched at the thought of him leaving. Again.
“Even when you didn’t have me,” he said, “you were willing to let it all go. Why?”
I frowned. “You mean in Volterra?”
He shook his head. “On the way back from Italy, Alice relayed the details of her visit to Forks— the state in which she found you, her and Charlie’s conversation, your conversations on the flight to Italy—”
I swore under my breath. Damn you, Alice.
“—several times over. In excruciating detail. Interspersed with insults and rants about my decision to leave you, of course.” He inhaled. Quieter, he said, “The number of times I have seen you jump off that cliff...” Edward closed his eyes, squeezed them tight, then shook his head. “If you are so intent on living forever, why would you so easily give up on life?”
“I didn’t.”
“You came dangerously close.”
“On accident.”
“I watched you jump.”
No wonder he’d seemed so tense on the flight home. No wonder he held me tight enough to leave bruises.
“Without a treaty, I can’t give you specifics,” I said.
Annoyance laced his tone now. “What does this have to do with the shapeshifters?”
“They don’t want to give you any intel unless we’re working together.”
“This has nothing to do with them,” he said. “Anyway, they’re the ones holding up the treaty with their ridiculous demands.”
“Actually, this has everything to do with them. The event involves them. Also, they aren’t ‘ridiculous’ demands. You said you would help me secure a favorable treaty for them.”
“Under the assumption we would be working off the old agreement with a few small extras. Not a complete overhaul of the terms.” At the arch of my brow, Edward argued, “No living in a fifty-mile radius of Forks? No access to the Olympic Peninsula? That is not a treaty. How can we protect you if we can’t even step foot in your region?”
“I don’t need your protection,” I said. “I need you to kill Victoria.”
“You do need our protection,” he said. “And we can’t kill Victoria if we don’t have access to the territory she wants to annex.”
“Sam’s working on it. I’m working on it. We’ll send revised terms…soon.”
“Until then, you must know you and I are on the same team,” he said. “You can trust me with any information. Whatever happened on the cliffs, that stays between us.”
“I trust you. But I’m still going to respect their wishes. I owe them my loyalty.”
Edward pursed his lips.
“What can you tell me?” he said. I wasn’t sure what to say. He studied me. “I need to know what was going through your head that day. I need to understand your intentions.”
“Well, okay. Let’s clear something up. I wasn’t, y’know, suicidal or anything,” I said. “I bet that’s what Alice told you, right? She’s wrong. I didn’t jump.” Edward cocked a brow. “Fine. I jumped. On accident. I was running away.” I paused, debating whether to say it. “From vampires.”
“Vampires,” he said. I nodded. “Plural.”
I mimed zipping my mouth shut.
“Isabella,” he said, tone lowering and laced with urgency, “if this is true, your safety should take priority over your allegiance to the shapeshifters. If there are multiple vampires after you, I need to know.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t say more.” His jaw tightened. “All you need to know is I didn’t mean to die.”
“But you can see why this gives me cause for concern,” he said. “You jumped. You screamed my name, Isabella. You— you drowned.”
“Accidentally.”
“You gave up,” he said. I winced. “I saw you give up. I saw…” He blinked as though the memories sat like cobwebs on his eyelashes. Closed his eyes. “You see why it makes me hesitant to discuss your becoming immortal.”
“Yes,” I said, “I get it.” Beat. “Just like I’m sure you can see why this whole discussion, to someone terminal, seems…” superfluous didn’t seem like the right word, yet—
"You are not terminal," he said, gripping the wheel tighter. "Don't talk that way."
At the risk of offending him further, I pivoted. “Look. We’re arguing the same thing, here, right? Neither of us can die. We can talk ourselves in circles over the finer points— my motivations for being a vampire, the philosophy behind it, the ramifications, the timeline, whatever— but at the end of the day, I’m a vampire, or I’m nothing. I’m a ghost. I’m a memory. I’m a hallucination that follows you everywhere until you go mad and—” Edward tensed. I bit my tongue. “That is the choice here. I change, or I die. We die.”
Edward seemed to crumple under The Choice. I didn’t blame him. Ever since we’d returned from Volterra, reviewing my limited options made my insides wither.
“There’s always a third way.”
But I couldn’t roll over and give up hope. Not now. I hadn’t done it after Victoria bit me. I hadn’t done it after he left. How could I come all this way just to stop fighting?
I said, “Isn’t there any part of you that wants this?”
Edward jerked his chin. “That wants to kill you? To turn you into a vile creature like myself? No, insofar as I am a rational being capable of empathy, I don’t want that for you. At all.”
“Isn’t there any part of you that imagines what it would be like?” I said. “Loving each other for eternity? You not having to worry about killing me? Growing old— staying young— together?”
“Can’t we just go on a date?” he said in a small voice.
We rode in silence.
For a while, it scared me. The tense air. The way Edward would sigh and rake his hand through his hair as he drove. Part of me convinced myself he was plotting: he would be gone by sunrise, this time no goodbye, and I would have my definitive answer, and—
His cool hand reached across the bench seat to hold mine.
My tense shoulders screamed with relief. My heart tripped back to a normal rhythm.
I squeezed his hand back.
A small smile crept over his lips.
I went so far as to turn up the radio. To wriggle in next to him. To lay my head on his shoulder. Pinpricks of pleasure raced through my veins at the contact.
We drank in the calm and comfort of our silence the whole way home.
“My turn?” he said once the engine had stopped. He threw the passenger door open and held his hand out in offering.
I took it.
“Last one,” I warned as we waded through the wind-combed meadow.
“What were your motives for asking me out?” he said as we climbed up the steps to the house. “Unedit.”
I took a moment to think before I answered.
“The same reason you accepted.”
“Being?”
He was right.
Honestly? It didn’t matter if we had come to a consensus on the change or not. When I daydreamed about how this night would go, our date didn’t end with his fangs in my neck. Or a contract written in blood. All I saw was his lips on mine. All I wanted was to laugh at his jokes, to tousle his hair, to hold his hand. To be with him. Damn the rest.
Time had a funny way of bringing about compromises.
“I miss you, Edward.”
It seemed silly to say. We'd spent most evenings of the past two months together, if only for my protection.
But he said, “Every bone in my body aches from missing you.”
And a pleasurable chill snaked down my spine.
“Well, then…” Pausing at the front door, I glanced shyly up at him.
“You said our relationship was conditional.” Edward’s voice quieted. “I have not met the conditions. I haven’t agreed to…change you. I know this is partly why you wanted to go out with me in the first place— to gauge where I’m at.” Before I could deny it, he said, “It’s all right. This is not an accusation. You have every right to know where I sit. You deserve definitive answers. Peace of mind.” He paused. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to give that to you.”
Lead filled my heart. It sunk to my toes.
“Ancillary motives,” I murmured softly.
Which, the more I thought about it, the truer it became.
Yes, asking Edward out on a date had been a litmus test to see where he was at with our impasse. But my real reason, I’d discovered, had not been duplicitous at all.
Change or no change, I was going to die.
Change or no change, all I wanted was him.
“I’m sure it must feel as though my silence means I am not interested. You have every right to assume so,” he said. “I assure you that is not the case, but I understand if you would prefer to move on.”
I answered in a whisper, too afraid of how I would sound if I spoke up.
“Do you want me to?”
These last two months post-Italy felt like balancing on a knife’s edge. Waiting. Worrying.
What good was it making these demands? I made them because I didn’t want him to leave again. Last time, the pain had almost been too great for me to shoulder. Where did it get me? I was still hurting. I barely saw him. We were not quite friends and far away from being lovers.
And if he decided changing me wasn’t worth it, what then?
What if this time he left because I had been too stubborn? I had all this time to simply be with him, and instead…
After the clicking of keys, the front door fell open. Moonlight spilled into the foyer.
We stood inches apart, unmoving.
Waiting.
Slowly, tentatively, Edward’s cold hands grazed my waist.
My fingers brushed down his silk tie. I was too terrified to stare higher than the knot at his collar.
For what seemed like years we half-held each other as though we were scared the other would shatter. I leaned closer into him until our bodies touched but didn’t press against him, afraid doing so would push him away.
I wanted this so badly.
I was so, so scared.
“I’m trying to accept this.” Sweet cinnamon whispers splayed across my face as he spoke. “I am. I’m trying. I know that to you this choice seems a no-brainer, but…” Edward cupped my face. His thumb stroked my cheek. “Oh, my love. This is the hardest decision I've ever had to make.”
When his forehead came to rest on mine, I couldn’t help closing my eyes, parting my lips, breathing in his intoxicating scent.
I said, “How can I help? Please, let me help you.”
Please, hear me.
“I need to be sure,” he replied, “that you have something to live for that is not me. I need to be absolutely sure you want something more than immortality and superhuman abilities and riches and me. Because one day, those things will not be enough.”
I shook my head; it buzzed with electricity. I covered his hand with mine to give the spark another outlet.
“You will always be enough for me,” I said.
And I thought I heard him sigh a soft, “Oh,” and I thought I felt his hands tighten around me, but I couldn’t be sure of anything, really, but the pounding of my heart, his dizzying cinnamon scent, and the darkness that cloaked the room when the door slammed shut behind us.