“You are making me insane, Bella. Haven’t we had this argument a million times, you always begging to be a vampire without delay?”
“Yes, but… well, I have a reason to be human that I didn’t have before.”
“What’s that?”
“Guess,” I said, and I dragged myself off the pillows to kiss him.
He kissed me back, but not in a way that made me think I was winning. It was more like he was being careful not to hurt my feelings; he was completely, maddeningly in control of himself. Gently, he pulled me away after a moment and cradled me against his chest.
“You aresohuman, Bella. Ruled by your hormones.” He chuckled.
“That’s the whole point, Edward. Ilikethis part of being human. I don’t want to give it up yet. I don’t want to wait through years of being a blood-crazed newborn for some part of this to come back to me.”
I yawned, and he smiled.
“You’re tired. Sleep, love.” He started humming the lullaby he’d composed for me when we first met.
“I wonder why I’m so tired,” I muttered sarcastically. “That couldn’t be part of your scheme or anything.”
He just chuckled once and went back to humming.
“For as tired as I’ve been, you’d think I’d sleep better.”
The song broke off. “You’ve been sleeping like the dead, Bella. You haven’t said a word in your sleep since we got here. If it weren’t for the snoring, I’d worry you were slipping into a coma.”
I ignored the snoring jibe; I didn’t snore. “I haven’t been tossing? That’s weird. Usually I’m all over the bed when I’m having nightmares. And shouting.”
“You’ve been having nightmares?”
“Vivid ones. They make me so tired.” I yawned. “I can’t believe I haven’t been babbling about them all night.”
“What are they about?”
“Different things—but the same, you know, because of the colors.”
“Colors?”
“It’s all so bright and real. Usually, when I’m dreaming, I know that I am. With these, I don’t know I’m asleep. It makes them scarier.”
He sounded disturbed when he spoke again. “What is frightening you?”
I shuddered slightly. “Mostly . . .” I hesitated.
“Mostly?” he prompted.
I wasn’t sure why, but I didn’t want to tell him about the child in my recurring nightmare; there was something private about that particular horror. So, instead of giving him the full description, I gave him just one element. Certainly enough to frighten me or anyone else.
“The Volturi,” I whispered.
He hugged me tighter. “They aren’t going to bother us anymore. You’ll be immortal soon, and they’ll have no reason.”
I let him comfort me, feeling a little guilty that he’d misunderstood. The nightmares weren’t like that, exactly. It wasn’t that I was afraid for myself—I was afraid for the boy.
He wasn’t the same boy as that first dream—the vampire child with the bloodred eyes who sat on a pile of dead people I loved. This boy I’d dreamed of four times in the last week was definitely human; his cheeks were flushed and his wide eyes were a soft green. But just like the other child, he shook with fear and desperation as the Volturi closed in on us.
In this dream that was both new and old, I simplyhadto protect the unknown child. There was no other option. At the same time, I knew that I would fail.
He saw the desolation on my face. “What can I do to help?”
I shook it off. “They’re just dreams, Edward.”
“Do you want me to sing to you? I’ll sing all night if it will keep the bad dreams away.”
“They’re not all bad. Some are nice. So… colorful. Underwater, with the fish and the coral. It all seems like it’s really happening—I don’t know that I’m dreaming. Maybe this island is the problem. It’s reallybrighthere.”
“Do you want to go home?”
“No. No, not yet. Can’t we stay awhile longer?”
“We can stay as long as you want, Bella,” he promised me.
“When does the semester start? I wasn’t paying attention before.”
He sighed. He may have started humming again, too, but I was under before I could be sure.
Later, when I awoke in the dark, it was with shock. The dream had been so very real… so vivid, so sensory.… I gasped aloud, now, disoriented by the dark room. Only a second ago, it seemed, I had been under the brilliant sun.
“Bella?” Edward whispered, his arms tight around me, shaking me gently. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”
“Oh,” I gasped again. Just a dream. Not real. To my utter astonishment, tears overflowed from my eyes without warning, gushing down my face.
“Bella!” he said—louder, alarmed now. “What’s wrong?” He wiped the tears from my hot cheeks with cold, frantic fingers, but others followed.
“It was only a dream.” I couldn’t contain the low sob that broke in my voice. The senseless tears were disturbing, but I couldn’t get control of the staggering grief that gripped me. I wanted so badly for the dream to be real.
“It’s okay, love, you’re fine. I’m here.” He rocked me back and forth, a little too fast to soothe. “Did you have another nightmare? It wasn’t real, it wasn’t real.”
“Not a nightmare.” I shook my head, scrubbing the back of my hand against my eyes. “It was agooddream.” My voice broke again.
“Then why are you crying?” he asked, bewildered.
“Because I woke up,” I wailed, wrapping my arms around his neck in a chokehold and sobbing into his throat.
He laughed once at my logic, but the sound was tense with concern.
“Everything’s all right, Bella. Take deep breaths.”
“It was so real,” I cried. “Iwantedit to be real.”
“Tell me about it,” he urged. “Maybe that will help.”
“We were on the beach. . . .” I trailed off, pulling back to look with tear-filled eyes at his anxious angel’s face, dim in the darkness. I stared at him broodingly as the unreasonable grief began to ebb.
“And?” he finally prompted.
I blinked the tears out of my eyes, torn. “Oh, Edward . . .”
“Tell me, Bella,” he pleaded, eyes wild with worry at the pain in my voice.
But I couldn’t. Instead I clutched my arms around his neck again and locked my mouth with his feverishly. It wasn’t desire at all—it was need, acute to the point of pain. His response was instant but quickly followed by his rebuff.
He struggled with me as gently as he could in his surprise, holding me away, grasping my shoulders.
“No, Bella,” he insisted, looking at me as if he was worried that I’d lost my mind.
My arms dropped, defeated, the bizarre tears spilling in a fresh torrent down my face, a new sob rising in my throat. He was right—I must be crazy.
He stared at me with confused, anguished eyes.
“I’m s-s-s-orry,” I mumbled.
But he pulled me to him then, hugging me tightly to his marble chest.
“I can’t, Bella, I can’t!” His moan was agonized.
“Please,” I said, my plea muffled against his skin. “Please, Edward?”
I couldn’t tell if he was moved by the tears trembling in my voice, or if he was unprepared to deal with the suddenness of my attack, or if his need was simply as unbearable in that moment as my own. But whatever the reason, he pulled my lips back to his, surrendering with a groan.
And we began where my dream had left off.
I stayed very still when I woke up in the morning and tried to keep my breathing even. I was afraid to open my eyes.
I was lying across Edward’s chest, but he was very still and his arms were not wrapped around me. That was a bad sign. I was afraid to admit I was awake and face his anger—no matter whom it was directed at today.
Carefully, I peeked through my eyelashes. He was staring up at the dark ceiling, his arms behind his head. I pulled myself up on my elbow so that I could see his face better. It was smooth, expressionless.
“How much trouble am I in?” I asked in a small voice.
“Heaps,” he said, but turned his head and smirked at me.
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Iamsorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean… Well, I don’t know exactly what thatwaslast night.” I shook my head at the memory of the irrational tears, the crushing grief.
“You never did tell me what your dream was about.”
“I guess I didn’t—but I sort ofshowedyou what it was about.” I laughed nervously.
“Oh,” he said. His eyes widened, and then he blinked. “Interesting.”
“It was a very good dream,” I murmured. He didn’t comment, so a few seconds later I asked, “Am I forgiven?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
I sat up, planning to examine myself—there didn’t seem to be any feathers, at least. But as I moved, an odd wave of vertigo hit. I swayed and fell back against the pillows.
“Whoa… head rush.”
His arms were around me then. “You slept for a long time. Twelve hours.”
“Twelve?”How strange.
I gave myself a quick once-over while I spoke, trying to be inconspicuous about it. I looked fine. The bruises on my arms were still a week old, yellowing. I stretched experimentally. I felt fine, too. Well, better than fine, actually.
“Is the inventory complete?”
I nodded sheepishly. “The pillows all appear to have survived.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for your, er, nightgown.” He nodded toward the foot of the bed, where several scraps of black lace were strewn across the silk sheets.
“That’s too bad,” I said. “I liked that one.”
“I did, too.”
“Were there any other casualties?” I asked timidly.
“I’ll have to buy Esme a new bed frame,” he confessed, glancing over his shoulder. I followed his gaze and was shocked to see that large chunks of wood had apparently been gouged from the left side of the headboard.
“Hmm.” I frowned. “You’d think I would have heard that.”
“You seem to be extraordinarily unobservant when your attention is otherwise involved.”
“I was a bit absorbed,” I admitted, blushing a deep red.
He touched my burning cheek and sighed. “I’m really going to miss that.”
I stared at his face, searching for any signs of the anger or remorse I feared. He gazed back at me evenly, his expression calm but otherwise unreadable.
“How areyoufeeling?”
He laughed.
“What?” I demanded.
“You look so guilty—like you’ve committed a crime.”
“Ifeelguilty,” I muttered.
“So you seduced your all-too-willing husband. That’s not a capital offense.”
He seemed to be teasing.
My cheeks got hotter. “The wordseducedimplies a certain amount of premeditation.”
“Maybe that was the wrong word,” he allowed.
“You’re not angry?”
He smiled ruefully. “I’m not angry.”
“Why not?”
“Well . . .” He paused. “I didn’t hurt you, for one thing. It was easier this time, to control myself, to channel the excesses.” His eyes flickered to the damaged frame again. “Maybe because I had a better idea of what to expect.”
A hopeful smile started to spread across my face. “Itoldyou that it was all about practice.”
He rolled his eyes.
My stomach growled, and he laughed. “Breakfast time for the human?” he asked.
“Please,” I said, hopping out of bed. I moved too quickly, though, and had to stagger drunkenly to regain my balance. He caught me before I could stumble into the dresser.
“Are you all right?”
“If I don’t have a better sense of equilibrium in my next life, I’m demanding a refund.”
I cooked this morning, frying up some eggs—too hungry to do anything more elaborate. Impatient, I flipped them onto a plate after just a few minutes.
“Since when do you eat eggs sunny-side up?” he asked.
“Since now.”
“Do you know how many eggs you’ve gone through in the last week?” He pulled the trash bin out from under the sink—it was full of empty blue cartons.
“Weird,” I said after swallowing a scorching bite. “This place is messing with my appetite.” And my dreams, and my already dubious balance. “But I like it here. We’ll probably have to leave soon, though, won’t we, to make it to Dartmouth in time? Wow, I guess we need to find a place to live and stuff, too.”
He sat down next to me. “You can give up the college pretense now—you’ve gotten what you wanted. And we didn’t agree to a deal, so there are no strings attached.”
I snorted. “It wasn’t a pretense, Edward. I don’t spendmyfree time plotting like some people do.What can we do to wear Bella out today? ” I said in a poor impression of his voice. He laughed, unashamed. “I really do want a little more time being human.” I leaned over to run my hand across his bare chest. “I have not had enough.”
He gave me a dubious look. “Forthis ?” he asked, catching my hand as it moved down his stomach. “Sex was the key all along?” He rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t I think of that?” he muttered sarcastically. “I could have saved myself a lot of arguments.”
I laughed. “Yeah, probably.”
“You aresohuman,” he said again.
“I know.”
A hint of a smile pulled at his lips. “We’re going to Dartmouth? Really?”
“I’ll probably fail out in one semester.”
“I’ll tutor you.