The silence stretched between them as they entered the familiar streets of Forks, yellow streetlights casting pools of warm light every few hundred feet. The radio played softly—some indie rock station that Edward had tuned to without asking, because of course he'd somehow intuited her musical preferences along with everything else. Bella found herself studying his profile again in the shifting light, trying to reconcile everything she'd learned tonight with the boy who sat beside her—seventeen years old and impossibly beautiful and apparently immortal.
His hands moved on the steering wheel with unconscious grace, long fingers drumming a silent rhythm that probably corresponded to some complex piano piece she'd never heard of. There was something almost feline about the way he moved, like every gesture was calculated for maximum efficiency. It should have been unnerving. Instead, she found it oddly mesmerizing.
"How old are you?" she asked suddenly, the question tumbling out before she could stop herself.
"Seventeen," Edward replied without hesitation, his answer coming so quickly it sounded rehearsed. Like he'd been preparing for this exact question since 1918.
Bella gave him a look that clearly communicated what she thought of that particular deflection. She'd perfected that expression during years of dealing with her mother's creative relationship with the truth—the sort of look that said *really? that's what we're going with?* without requiring actual words.
"And how long have you been seventeen?" she pressed, settling back in the leather seat with the air of someone who wasn't going anywhere until she got a real answer.
Edward's mouth quirked in something that might have been amusement, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. The expression transformed his face from marble statue to something almost boyish, like he was fighting not to laugh at a joke only he understood. "A while."
"A while," she repeated flatly, her voice dripping with the kind of sarcasm that had earned her detention in Phoenix when directed at particularly obtuse teachers. "That's incredibly specific, thank you. Really helps me understand the timeline here. Should I be expecting you to pull out an AARP card anytime soon?"
"I try to be helpful." Edward's smile widened slightly, revealing teeth that were too perfect to be entirely natural. "Though I don't think AARP covers the undead. I should probably look into that."
Despite everything—the supernatural revelations, the casual discussion of vampirism, the fact that she was sitting in a car with someone who could probably kill her without breaking a sweat—Bella found herself laughing. It was a startled sound, like it had escaped without her permission, and she quickly covered her mouth with her hand.
"Did you just make a joke about being a vampire?" she asked, staring at him in disbelief.
"Would that bother you?"
"Honestly? It's probably the most normal thing you've done all evening." She shook her head, still smiling. "Most boys I know can barely manage to be funny when they're alive. Trust me to find one who gets funnier after death."
Edward's laugh was soft and surprised, like she'd caught him off guard again. The sound transformed his entire face, making him look less like an impossibly beautiful statue and more like... well, like a teenage boy who'd just heard something genuinely amusing. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"You should. My standards for humor are notoriously high." Bella tucked one leg beneath her, getting more comfortable. There was something almost reassuring about Edward's continued evasiveness, like some things about him would remain mysteriously frustrating regardless of how many impossible truths he revealed. "Okay, different question. The coffin thing—is that real? Do you sleep in a coffin during the day? Because I have to say, that would really complicate sleepovers."
Edward blinked, then turned to stare at her with an expression of genuine bewilderment. "Did you just—are you planning sleepovers?"
"I'm seventeen, Edward. I plan a lot of things that will never happen. It's called having an imagination." Bella felt heat rise in her cheeks but pushed forward anyway. "Answer the question. Coffins—yes or no?"
"That's a myth," Edward said, shaking his head. The movement made his bronze hair catch the streetlight, and Bella had to resist the urge to reach out and touch it. "We don't sleep in coffins. Actually, we don't sleep at all."
Bella blinked. "At all?"
"Never. We don't need to, and we can't." His voice was matter-of-fact, like he was discussing the weather or weekend plans instead of something that completely violated the laws of biology. "I haven't slept since 1918."
The casual way he mentioned the date—1918, like it was a recent memory instead of nearly ninety years ago—made something cold settle in Bella's stomach. She tried to do the math in her head and immediately wished she hadn't. 1918 to 2005. Eighty-seven years of consciousness, of awareness, of never getting to escape into dreams or unconsciousness.
"1918," she repeated slowly. "So you're actually... what, ninety-something years old?"
"Technically, I'm one hundred and four," Edward said, his voice careful like he was watching for her reaction. "Though I was seventeen when I... changed. So in terms of physical and emotional development, I'm still seventeen. It's complicated."
"Complicated." Bella stared at him, trying to wrap her head around the numbers. "Edward, you're older than my grandfather. You're older than my great-grandfather. You were alive during World War I. And World War II. And the Depression. And... oh God, you probably remember when cars looked like tin cans and people thought rock and roll was going to corrupt America's youth."
"I do remember that last one, actually," Edward said with a small smile. "Though to be fair, some of it was pretty corrupting. Elvis nearly caused a riot in Seattle in 1957."
"You saw Elvis perform?" Bella's voice went up an octave. "Elvis Presley? The King?"
"From a distance. Carlisle thought it would be educational." Edward's expression grew fond, like he was remembering something pleasant. "Alice spent the entire concert sighing dramatically every time he moved his hips. Emmett kept shouting requests for 'Hound Dog.' We were asked to leave."
Bella laughed again, this time not bothering to hide it. The image of the elegant, composed Cullens being kicked out of an Elvis concert was so absurd it was almost endearing. "I can't believe you got thrown out of an Elvis concert."
"We were disruptive," Edward said solemnly, but his eyes were dancing with mischief. "Alice's screaming was apparently affecting the other patrons' ability to enjoy the show."
"Alice screamed at Elvis?"
"Alice screams at a lot of things. You'll get used to it."
The casual way he said that—like he was already planning for her to spend enough time with his family to get used to Alice's quirks—made something flutter in Bella's chest. She filed it away to examine later, when she wasn't busy trying to process the fact that she was discussing twentieth-century pop culture with someone who'd actually lived through it.
"But to not be able to sleep, at all. That sounds..." she started, then trailed off, not sure how to finish. How did you describe nearly a century of consciousness, of watching the world change around you while you remained frozen at seventeen?
"Lonely?" Edward suggested, his voice growing softer. The mischief faded from his expression, replaced by something more vulnerable.
"Yeah. Lonely." Bella studied his profile in the dashboard lights, noting the way his jaw tensed slightly at the admission. "I mean, I know you have your family, but... don't you ever miss it? Sleeping, I mean. Dreams?"
Edward was quiet for a moment, his hands shifting on the steering wheel. When he spoke, his voice was so soft she had to strain to hear him over the purr of the engine.
"I used to," he admitted. "Especially in the beginning. The nights seemed endless—just me and my thoughts for hours and hours with no escape. But after a while, you adapt. You find other ways to occupy your mind."
Bella found herself thinking about all those nights she'd tossed and turned in her narrow bed, staring at the ceiling and worrying about homework or her mother or whether she'd ever figure out how to fit in anywhere. At least she'd had the option of escape, of eventual unconsciousness. Edward had spent nearly a century with nothing but his own thoughts for company in the dark hours between midnight and dawn.
"What do you do?" she asked. "During the night, I mean. When everyone else is sleeping."
"Read, mostly. Compose music. Sometimes I go for walks, though I have to be careful not to be seen." His mouth quirked in something that might have been self-deprecation. "Vampires moving through forests at night tend to create... lasting impressions on anyone who might witness it."
"You compose music?"
"Piano, primarily. Though I've experimented with other instruments over the years." Edward glanced at her, something almost shy in his expression. "Would you... would you like to hear some of it sometime?"
"Are you asking me if I want to listen to music composed by a hundred-year-old vampire?" Bella pretended to consider this seriously. "Because yes, obviously. That's not even a question."
Edward's smile was so bright, so genuinely happy, that it took her breath away. For a moment, he didn't look like a dangerous supernatural predator or an impossibly beautiful statue come to life. He just looked like a teenage boy who'd been given something he'd never dared to hope for.
"Jacob said something else," she said finally, partly because she wanted to keep hearing that note of happiness in his voice, and partly because she genuinely needed to understand. "He said the Cullens were different from other vampires. That you only hunt animals, not people. That you're not as dangerous because of it."
The happiness faded from Edward's expression like someone had turned off a light switch. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles going white against the dark leather.
"The Quileutes are right about the animals," he said quietly, his voice carefully controlled again. "But they're wrong about us not being dangerous. We're still vampires, Bella. We're still predators. The fact that we choose to hunt animals instead of humans doesn't change our fundamental nature—it just makes us slightly less monstrous than we could be."
"But you choose," Bella pointed out, turning in her seat to face him more fully. "That has to count for something. I mean, if it was just about nature, you wouldn't be able to choose at all, right? The fact that you can decide to be better than your instincts... doesn't that make you more human, not less?"
Edward's expression grew complicated, cycling through emotions too quickly for her to identify them all. "You make it sound simple."
"Isn't it?"
"No." Edward's voice was flat, final. "It's not simple at all. Sometimes we make mistakes, Bella. Sometimes the temptation is too strong, or our control slips, or we put ourselves in situations we shouldn't. Like I'm doing right now."
Bella felt her heart skip a beat, though she couldn't tell if it was from fear or something else entirely. "What do you mean?"
"Being alone with you. Being this close to you. Letting myself care what happens to you." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper, and she had to lean closer to hear him. "What we're doing—what I'm doing—is very dangerous, Bella. For both of us, but especially for you."
The seriousness in his voice, the genuine fear she could hear beneath his careful control, should have terrified her. Should have had her demanding he pull over immediately, should have sent her scrambling for the door handle despite the fact that they were still moving at sixty miles per hour through the darkened streets of Forks.
Instead, she found herself sitting in silence, not because she was afraid, but because she suddenly just wanted to hear Edward's voice. There was something almost hypnotic about the way he spoke—the careful cadence, the precise enunciation that spoke of a different era, the way he seemed to consider each word before allowing it to escape. She could have listened to him read the ingredients off a cereal box and found it fascinating.
"You're not going to hurt me," she said finally, with a certainty that surprised them both.
"How can you possibly know that?"
"Because." Bella shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You're Edward. You saved my life tonight, you've never made me feel unsafe, and you're sitting there tying yourself in knots trying to warn me away from yourself. Monsters don't do that."
"You don't know what I am," Edward said, his voice sharp with something that might have been frustration. "You don't know what I'm capable of."
"So tell me." Bella settled back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. "Educate me. What exactly are you capable of that's so terrifying?"
Edward was quiet for a long moment, his jaw working like he was fighting some internal battle. When he finally spoke, his voice was so soft she had to strain to hear him.
"I could kill you without even trying," he said simply. "One moment of lost control, one second where my instincts overpower my rational mind, and you'd be dead before you even realized what was happening. I'm faster than you can comprehend, stronger than you can imagine, and every time I'm near you, every time I breathe, I'm fighting the urge to..." He stopped abruptly, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly she was surprised it didn't crack.
"To what?" Bella asked, though she thought she already knew the answer.
"To drink your blood," Edward finished, the words coming out like a confession torn from his throat. "Your scent is... it calls to me in a way that's almost overwhelming. Being near you is like being a recovering alcoholic locked in a wine cellar. Every rational part of me knows I should stay away, but I can't seem to make myself do it."
Bella absorbed this information with the same calm she'd shown all evening, like he'd just told her he was allergic to peanuts or didn't like horror movies. It should have been terrifying. It was terrifying, if she really thought about it. But somehow, sitting there in the warm cocoon of his expensive car, watching his perfect profile in the dashboard lights, she found that she wasn't afraid at all.
"But you haven't," she pointed out reasonably. "Hurt me, I mean. Despite apparently wanting to... what did you call it? Drink my blood? Which, by the way, sounds like something out of a really bad romance novel."
Edward's laugh was harsh, bitter. "This isn't a joke, Bella."
"I'm not joking. I'm just trying to understand." She turned in her seat to face him more fully, tucking one leg beneath her. "You say you want to hurt me, but you don't. You say you're dangerous, but you've never been anything but gentle with me. You say I should be afraid, but you're the one who seems terrified. So either you're a really terrible vampire, or you're a much better person than you want to admit."
"Why?" Edward asked suddenly, his voice raw with something that might have been desperation.
"Why what?"
"Why do you hunt animals instead of people? If it's your nature to be predators, if it would be easier to just... follow your instincts, why choose the harder path?"
Bella blinked, confused for a moment before she realized he'd turned her own question back on her, asking about his family's choices instead of his feelings about her. She settled back in her seat, recognizing the deflection for what it was but willing to let him have it. For now.
Edward was quiet for so long she thought he might not answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was so soft she had to strain to hear him over the purr of the engine.
"Because I don't want to be a monster," he said simply. "Because the alternative is to become something I couldn't live with being. Living on animals is... it's a bit like being a vegetarian, I suppose. We survive, but it's not always easy. Sometimes the temptation is overwhelming."
"Like with me?" Bella asked quietly.
Edward's hands tightened on the steering wheel again. "Especially with you."
Bella studied his profile in the dashboard lights, noting the way his jaw tensed as he spoke, the careful control he maintained even during this confession. There was something almost beautiful about his restraint, the way he held himself so carefully in check despite the internal battle she could see playing out across his features.
"But you're not hungry now," she said with sudden certainty. "I can tell—your eyes are lighter than they were this morning."
Edward glanced at her, surprise flickering across his features. "You're very observant."
"It's not that hard to figure out. This morning they were nearly black, and now they're more golden. It's like a mood ring, isn't it? They get darker when you're... hungry."
"Thirsty," Edward corrected automatically. "We don't really get hungry the way humans do. But yes, you're right. I went hunting with Emmett, Jasper and Hadrian last weekend."
Something in his tone made her tilt her head, recognizing the same pattern she'd noticed earlier—Edward giving her information but holding something back, like every answer came with a hidden clause.
"But?" she prompted.
Edward's mouth quirked in what might have been a smile. "But what?"
"There was a 'but' in your voice. You went hunting last weekend, but..." Bella made a rolling motion with her hand, encouraging him to continue.
"But I knew I needed to hunt, and I didn't want to leave." The words came out in a rush, like he hadn't meant to say them. "It makes me... anxious. Being away from you."
The admission hung in the air between them like a physical thing, raw and vulnerable in a way that made Bella's breath catch. The casual way he'd said it—like he was confessing to checking his watch or glancing at the weather—somehow made it more intimate than if he'd made a grand declaration.
"Anxious how?" she asked softly, not sure if she was pushing too hard but unable to help herself.
Edward was quiet for a moment, his expression cycling through emotions she couldn't quite identify. When he spoke, his voice was careful, controlled.
"Like something terrible might happen while I'm gone. Like you might disappear, or get hurt, or..." He stopped, shaking his head. "It's irrational. You managed to survive seventeen years without me watching over you. But ever since that day in the biology classroom, ever since I realized I couldn't read your thoughts, you've been... consuming my attention in a way that's probably not healthy."
"Consuming your attention," Bella repeated, testing the phrase on her tongue. "That's a very Edward way of saying you've been thinking about me."
"I think about you constantly," Edward said quietly, and the simple honesty of it made something flutter in her chest. "It's becoming a problem."
"How long have you been back?" she asked, partly because she wanted to know and partly because she needed to change the subject before she did something embarrassing like swoon.
"Since Sunday." Edward's voice was carefully neutral again, but she could sense the tension beneath it. "I didn't go to school this week because I can't be around people in direct sunlight. They'd see... well, they'd see what I am."
Bella nodded, filing that information away with everything else she'd learned tonight. Another piece of the puzzle that was Edward Cullen, another glimpse into the careful way he and his family had to navigate the world.
"What happens in sunlight?" she asked curiously. "Do you burst into flames? Melt like the Wicked Witch of the West? Turn into a pile of dust?"
"Nothing so dramatic," Edward said, and she could hear the amusement creeping back into his voice. "Though I suppose it would be easier if I did. Less explaining to do."
"Edward."
"We... sparkle," he said finally, the word coming out like he was admitting to some deeply shameful secret.
Bella blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"
"We sparkle. Like diamonds, or glitter, or..." Edward's voice grew more pained with each comparison. "Like we've been dipped in body glitter at a particularly enthusiastic rave."
The mental image of Edward Cullen, brooding vampire extraordinaire, sparkling like a disco ball was so absurd that Bella couldn't help herself. She started laughing—not the polite, controlled laughter she'd been managing all evening, but genuine, helpless giggles that made her whole body shake.
"You sparkle," she managed between gasps. "Like Edward Cullen, vampire prince of darkness, member of the undead, ancient creature of the night... sparkles. Like Tinker Bell."
"It's not funny," Edward said, but she could hear him fighting not to laugh as well.
"It's hilarious. It's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." Bella wiped tears from her eyes, still grinning. "No wonder you can't go out in the sun. Can you imagine trying to explain that to people? 'Oh, don't mind me, I'm just having a little glitter emergency. Very normal teenage boy thing.'"
"Now you understand why we're so secretive," Edward said dryly. "Hard to maintain an air of dangerous mystery when you look like you've been attacked by a craft store."
"I don't know, I think it's kind of sweet. Like nature's way of making sure vampires can't be completely terrifying. You get the supernatural strength and speed and immortality, but you also get to look like you belong in a Lisa Frank sticker collection."
Edward made a sound that might have been a groan. "Please don't ever compare me to Lisa Frank again."
"Too late. I'm never going to be able to look at you the same way." Bella grinned at him, still riding the wave of giggles. "Edward Cullen, sparkly vampire boy. It has a nice ring to it."
"I'm beginning to regret telling you any of this."
"No, you're not." Bella settled back in her seat, still smiling. "You're glad to have someone to talk to about it. Someone who thinks it's funny instead of terrifying."
Edward glanced at her, his expression soft in a way that made her chest tight. "Yes," he admitted quietly. "I am."
They were getting closer to her house now—she could see the familiar streets of her neighborhood, the houses she passed every day on her way to and from school. In a few minutes, this impossible evening would be over, and she'd have to figure out how to go back to her normal life with all this new knowledge rattling around in her head.
But there was something she'd been wondering about all evening, something that had been nagging at her since she'd first really looked at the Cullen family.
"Edward," she said suddenly, turning in her seat to face him more fully. "Can I ask you about Hadrian and Daenerys?"
Something shifted in Edward's expression—not quite wariness, but close to it. His hands shifted on the steering wheel, and she noticed the way his shoulders tensed slightly, like he was preparing for a difficult conversation.
"What about them?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.
"Their eyes," Bella said, trying to organize her thoughts. "Hadrian's are green—like, really green. Emerald green. And Daenerys has violet eyes, which shouldn't even be possible unless she's wearing colored contacts, which she's not because I've seen her in PE and contacts don't look like that. But the other Cullens—you, Alice, Jasper, Emmett, Rosalie, Katherine, Elizabeth—you all have golden eyes. Why are theirs different?"
Edward was quiet for a long moment, his hands shifting on the steering wheel as he seemed to consider his response. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the purr of the engine and the soft whisper of tires against asphalt.
"You really are observant," he said finally, his voice carrying something that might have been admiration mixed with resignation.
"It's not that hard to notice when people have impossible eye colors," Bella pointed out. "Especially when they're sitting right in front of you in calculus, looking like they stepped out of some fantasy novel. So what's the deal? Are they wearing super advanced contacts that haven't been invented yet, or is there something else going on?"
Edward glanced at her, and there was something almost amused in his expression now, like she'd asked exactly the question he'd been expecting.
"That," he said with a small smile, "is their secret to reveal, not mine."
"Edward." Her voice carried a hint of the frustration she'd been feeling all evening, the sense that every answer he gave her only led to more questions. "Come on. You just told me you're a hundred-year-old vampire who sparkles in sunlight and hunts bears for breakfast. I think I can handle whatever weirdness comes with your... siblings? Are they your siblings?"
"It's complicated," Edward said, which was becoming his favorite non-answer of the evening.
"Everything about your family is complicated. That's not an answer."
"All I can tell you," Edward said, his voice growing serious again, "is that Hadrian and Daenerys are more special than all of the Cullens combined. Including me."
The way he said it—with absolute conviction and something that might have been reverence—made Bella pause. She'd noticed the way the other Cullens seemed to defer to Hadrian and Daenerys during lunch, the way they carried themselves with a confidence that was different from typical teenage arrogance. There was something almost regal about them, like they were used to being the most important people in any room they entered.
But to hear Edward, who was already impossibly beyond normal human experience, describe them as more special than his entire supernatural family...
"Special how?" she pressed, leaning forward in her seat. "Special like they're older? Special like they have different powers? Special like they're actually aliens and the vampire thing is just a cover story?"
Edward's smile widened slightly, and for the first time all evening, he looked genuinely amused rather than tortured or careful. "You have quite an imagination."
"I'm seventeen and I've been reading fantasy novels since I was twelve. My imagination is highly developed." Bella crossed her arms over her chest, settling in for a battle of wills. "And you're deflecting. Again."
"I'm being discreet. There's a difference."
"Not from where I'm sitting."
Edward was quiet for another moment, seeming to weigh his words carefully. When he spoke, his voice was soft, almost wondering.
"You'll have to ask them yourself," he said finally. "Though I suspect they'll tell you when they're ready. They're very good at knowing when someone is ready to hear certain truths."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Edward said, pulling into her driveway with the kind of smooth precision that probably came from decades of practice, "that Hadrian and Daenerys have their own way of doing things. Their own timeline. Their own... priorities."
The Volvo's headlights swept across the familiar facade of her house, illuminating the weathered siding and the porch her father had painted last summer. The porch light was on—he was still awake, probably waiting up to make sure she got home safely from her dinner in Port Angeles.
The sight of home, of normal everyday reality, made everything that had happened tonight feel suddenly surreal. Had she really spent the evening having dinner with a vampire? Had she really sat in this car and calmly discussed superhuman senses and animal hunting and the various myths surrounding the undead?
"Bella." Edward's voice was soft, uncertain in a way she hadn't heard before. His hands stilled on the steering wheel, and she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he held himself like he was bracing for impact. "Are you... will you be all right?"
She turned to look at him, taking in his perfect features, his golden eyes that were no longer quite as dark as they'd been that morning, the careful way he held himself like he was afraid of his own strength. In the green glow of the dashboard lights, he looked almost ethereal, like something out of a fairy tale that was trying very hard to be a horror story.
"I'll be fine," she said, and meant it. "Will you?"
Edward's expression grew complicated, cycling through emotions too quickly for her to identify them all. "I don't know," he admitted finally. "This changes everything."
"It doesn't have to," Bella said softly, reaching out without thinking to touch his hand where it rested on the gear shift. His skin was cool under her fingers, smooth as marble but somehow still yielding. He went perfectly still at the contact, like he'd stopped breathing entirely. "I meant what I said earlier—it doesn't change anything for me. You're still Edward. You're still..." She paused, searching for the right words. "You're still someone I want to know better."
The expression that crossed Edward's face at those words was so raw, so vulnerable, that Bella had to resist the urge to look away. Like she'd offered him something he'd never dared to hope for and he wasn't quite sure how to accept it without breaking it.
"Even knowing what I am?" he asked quietly. "What I'm capable of?"
"Especially knowing what you are." Bella squeezed his hand gently, marveling at the contrast between his obvious strength and the careful way he held himself so still, like he was afraid any sudden movement might hurt her. "Edward, you're not a monster. You're someone who's fighting very hard not to be one, and that makes all the difference."
Edward stared at her for a long moment, his golden eyes searching her face like he was trying to memorize every detail. "You're extraordinary," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm really not. I'm just... me." Bella felt heat rise in her cheeks but didn't pull her hand away. "A very ordinary girl from a very ordinary town who apparently has terrible survival instincts when it comes to supernatural predators."
"There's nothing ordinary about you," Edward said with such conviction that it made her chest tight. "Nothing at all."
"I should go," she said finally, though she made no move to pull her hand away or reach for the door handle. "My dad's probably wondering where I am. He's not used to me staying out this late, and if I don't get inside soon, he'll start calling hospitals."
"Bella." Edward's voice stopped her before she could move. When she looked at him, his expression was serious, almost grave. "Be careful. What you know now... it puts you in danger. Not just from me, but from others who might not be as committed to avoiding human blood as my family is."
"Others?" Bella felt something cold settle in her stomach. "There are others?"
"Not here, not in Forks. But vampires do exist beyond my family, and not all of them share our... dietary preferences." Edward's voice was carefully controlled, but she could hear the worry beneath it. "If word gets out about what you know, about your connection to us..."
"I won't tell anyone," Bella said quickly. "I mean, who would I tell? Who would believe me?"
"It's not about belief. It's about attention. About drawing the wrong kind of notice from the wrong kind of people." Edward's hand turned under hers, his fingers curling around her wrist with careful gentleness. "Promise me you'll be careful. Promise me you'll stay aware of your surroundings, trust your instincts if something feels wrong."
"I promise," she said, though she wasn't entirely sure what being careful would entail in this new reality she'd stumbled into.
"And Bella?" Edward's voice was softer now, almost hesitant. "Tomorrow, if you... if you change your mind about any of this, if you decide you don't want to be around me anymore, I'll understand. I won't blame you. I won't even be surprised."
Bella looked at him for a long moment, taking in the vulnerability in his expression, the way he was bracing himself for rejection like it was inevitable. Like he'd spent so many years expecting the worst that he couldn't quite believe in any other outcome.
Then she smiled, the expression coming more easily than she'd expected given the weight of everything they'd discussed.
"You're not getting rid of me that easily, Edward Cullen," she said firmly, giving his hand one final squeeze before reluctantly pulling away. "Vampire or not, sparkling or not, hundred years old or not. You're stuck with me."
The smile that spread across Edward's face in response was so bright, so genuinely happy, that it transformed his entire appearance. For a moment, he didn't look like a dangerous supernatural predator or an impossibly beautiful statue come to life. He just looked like a seventeen-year-old boy who'd been given something he'd never dared to hope for.
"Goodnight, Bella," he said softly.
"Goodnight, Edward." She climbed out of the car and walked toward her front door, very aware of Edward's eyes following her movement. She could hear the Volvo's engine idling in the driveway, could sense him waiting to make sure she got inside safely before he left.
Just before she reached the porch, she turned back and waved. Edward lifted one pale hand in response, and even from this distance, she could see him smiling.
"Oh, and Edward?" she called out, grinning at him over her shoulder.
"Yes?"
"Next time you take me to dinner, maybe choose somewhere with less mood lighting. I want to see if you really do sparkle."
Edward's laugh carried clearly across the driveway, warm and genuine and full of something that might have been joy. "I'll see what I can arrange."
Then she was inside, the door closing behind her with a soft click, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the impossible knowledge that her life had just changed in ways she couldn't even begin to comprehend.
Behind her, she heard the Volvo's engine fade as Edward drove away into the night, heading home to his family of beautiful, dangerous, impossible people.
Including Hadrian and Daenerys, who were apparently more special than all the Cullens combined, and who had secrets of their own that Edward wasn't willing to share.
Bella had a feeling she was going to find out exactly what that meant very soon.
But for now, she just stood in her father's quiet house, her hand still tingling from where she'd touched Edward's impossibly cool skin, and smiled.
---
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