Bella methodically tore off a small piece of her second breadstick, twirling it between her fingers before popping it into her mouth. The silence stretched between them like a taut wire, but she found herself oddly comfortable with it. Edward, on the other hand, looked like he was conducting some sort of internal orchestra—fingers steepled with mathematical precision, golden eyes tracking every micro-expression that crossed her face.
She chewed thoughtfully, letting her gaze drift around the dimly lit restaurant. A couple at the corner table was having what appeared to be a very intense discussion about their mortgage. The hostess was flipping through what looked like a worn copy of *Us Weekly*. Normal. Everything so painfully normal.
Everything except the bronze-haired boy sitting across from her, who looked like he'd stepped out of a Renaissance painting and into the Forks Diner, still wearing clothes that probably cost more than her dad's monthly salary.
Bella swallowed and tilted her head, studying him with the same casual interest she might give a particularly complex algebra problem. "You know..." she said, her voice carrying that deceptively light tone she'd perfected over years of deflecting her mother's more invasive questions, "you're in a better mood when your eyes are lighter."
Edward blinked.
Actually *blinked*. Like she'd just told him the square root of negative one was purple.
For a moment—just a fleeting, beautiful moment—his carefully constructed mask of polite interest completely fell apart. His lips parted slightly, his perfect posture wavered, and those long, pale fingers actually *twitched* against the table.
"I'm sorry?" The words came out slightly strangled, like he was fighting to maintain that velvet-smooth voice of his.
Bella raised an eyebrow, tearing another piece of bread with deliberate slowness. The crusty exterior gave way with a satisfying *crack*. "Don't look at me like I just started speaking Mandarin, Edward. I'm just making an observation."
"An... observation." He said it like she'd just claimed to have observed unicorns grazing in the parking lot.
"Mmhmm." She popped the bread into her mouth, chewing while she watched him struggle to recompose himself. It was fascinating, really—like watching someone try to solve a Rubik's cube while wearing oven mitts. "Today? Your eyes are this really pretty amber color. Like..." She squinted thoughtfully. "Like honey, maybe? Or those fancy golden retriever puppies in the pet store windows."
His eye twitched. Actually *twitched*.
"But Monday?" She continued conversationally, reaching for her water glass. "Monday they were darker. Almost black. Like you hadn't slept in a week." She paused, tilting her head. "Do you sleep, Edward? You always look perfectly put-together, but there's something..."
"Bella." His voice had dropped to barely above a whisper, but somehow it carried more weight than if he'd shouted. "You shouldn't—"
"Shouldn't what? Notice things?" She set down her water glass with a gentle *clink*. "Sorry, but I'm kind of observant. Occupational hazard of being the new girl. You spend a lot of time watching people when you don't know anyone."
Edward's hands were completely flat on the table now, pressed down like he was trying to anchor himself to reality. "What exactly do you think you've observed?"
The question hung between them, loaded with something that made the air feel thick and electric. Bella could practically feel the weight of whatever secret he was carrying, could see it in the way his shoulders had gone rigid, in the careful control of his breathing.
She leaned back in the booth, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Oh, now we're getting somewhere."
"Bella." There was something almost desperate in the way he said her name.
"I have new theories, you know," she said, ignoring his warning tone entirely. She was enjoying this far too much to stop now. "About you. About your whole..." She gestured vaguely at him, encompassing his perfect hair, his expensive clothes, his impossible beauty, his complete and utter wrongness in a place like Forks. "Situation."
If Edward had been pale before, he went absolutely alabaster now. "Your... theories."
"Oh yes." Bella's grin widened. She felt like she'd just found the loose thread that would unravel an entire sweater. "Want to hear them?"
"No." The word came out so fast it was barely intelligible.
"Too bad." She leaned forward, lowering her voice to match his earlier whisper. "Theory number one: You're in witness protection. That would explain the mysterious past, the expensive taste, the way you and your family keep to yourselves—"
"Bella, please—"
"Theory number two: You're actually a really young-looking college professor doing some kind of sociological experiment. Studying small-town dynamics by pretending to be a high school student." She paused. "Though that would be slightly illegal, wouldn't it?"
Edward's jaw was working like he was grinding his teeth to powder. "Those are... creative."
"I thought so too. But then I came up with theory number three, and it's much more interesting." She reached for another breadstick, breaking off a piece with agonizing slowness. "Theory number three is that you're—"
"Here we are!"
Sara's voice cut through the tension like a fire alarm. She appeared at their table with the enthusiasm of someone who'd just discovered they'd won the lottery, carrying Bella's plate of mushroom ravioli like it was a peace offering to angry gods.
Bella blinked, the spell broken. She'd been so focused on Edward that she'd completely forgotten they were in a public restaurant, that other people existed in the world.
"Mushroom ravioli with extra parmesan, just like you ordered," Sara continued, setting the plate down with unnecessary ceremony. Steam rose from the pasta in delicate spirals, carrying the rich scent of garlic and herbs.
"Oh." Bella looked down at the food, momentarily disoriented. "Thanks."
But Sara wasn't done. She'd positioned herself at the very edge of their booth, angled toward Edward like a sunflower following light. Her smile was bright enough to power the entire restaurant. "Can I get you anything else? Maybe an appetizer? Or..." Her voice dropped to what she probably thought was an sultry whisper. "Maybe you'd like to try our chocolate mousse? It's *really* good."
Bella glanced at Edward, curious to see how he'd handle this latest development. But he'd already retreated—physically and emotionally—melting back into the shadows of his side of the booth like he was made of mist. His expression had gone completely neutral, that polite mask sliding back into place with the efficiency of a Swiss watch.
It was like watching someone flip a switch. One moment he'd been raw and exposed and almost human, the next he was back to being the beautiful, untouchable Edward Cullen that everyone else saw.
But Bella had seen behind the curtain now. She knew what was lurking underneath all that marble perfection.
"We're fine, thank you," Edward said to Sara, his voice carrying just enough dismissal to be polite but final.
Sara's face fell slightly, but she recovered quickly. "Of course! Just... let me know if you need anything. Anything at all." She shot one more hopeful look at Edward before retreating, her footsteps clicking against the linoleum.
The silence that followed was different from before. Heavier. Charged with unfinished business.
Bella picked up her fork, stabbing into a plump ravioli. The pasta gave way easily, revealing the earthy mushroom filling inside. She took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, then looked up to find Edward watching her with an expression she couldn't quite read.
"So," she said conversationally, twirling another piece of pasta around her fork, "where were we? Oh right. Theory number three."
Edward's knuckles went white where they gripped the edge of the table. "Bella."
"What?" She blinked innocently at him. "I'm just eating my dinner. Making conversation. Isn't that what people do on..." She paused, tilting her head. "What exactly is this, by the way? Because you asked me to dinner, but you're not eating anything, and you keep looking at me like I'm a particularly complicated math problem."
"This is..." He trailed off, seeming genuinely at a loss for words.
"A mystery," Bella supplied helpfully. "Just like you."
Edward closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, there was something almost pleading in their golden depths. "Some mysteries are better left unsolved."
"See, that's where you're wrong." Bella took another bite of ravioli, savoring both the food and the way Edward flinched at her casual tone. "I *love* mysteries. Always have. When I was little, I read every Nancy Drew book I could get my hands on. And you know what Nancy Drew's number one rule was?"
Edward looked like he was afraid to ask.
"Never give up," Bella said simply. "No matter how impossible the case seems, no matter how many people tell you to drop it, you keep digging until you find the truth."
The look Edward gave her was pure desperation mixed with something that might have been admiration. "And what if the truth is dangerous?"
"Then it's probably worth knowing."
They stared at each other across the table, the air between them crackling with tension and unspoken challenges. Bella could see the war playing out behind Edward's perfect features—the desire to tell her everything warring with whatever instinct was screaming at him to run.
Finally, she took pity on him. Sort of.
"Relax," she said, spearing another ravioli. "I'm not going to interrogate you all night. Your secrets are probably safe." She paused, then added with a small smile, "For now."
Edward exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. But his eyes remained wary, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Smart boy.
Because Bella Swan had always been very, very good at solving puzzles. And Edward Cullen was shaping up to be the most interesting puzzle she'd ever encountered.
—
Bella set her fork down with deliberate precision, the gentle clink against the ceramic plate somehow managing to sound like a gauntlet being thrown. She leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table in a way that would have made her mother clutch her pearls, and rested her chin on her interlaced fingers. Her dark eyes held that particular glint that had gotten her into trouble with substitute teachers and overzealous hall monitors since elementary school.
"I have questions," she announced, her voice carrying the deceptively casual tone of someone who was absolutely not planning to let sleeping dogs lie.
Edward's response was immediate—a subtle straightening of his shoulders, the faintest tightening around his eyes. His polite mask slipped back into place like armor, though she caught the telltale crease between his perfectly sculpted brows. "I'm sure you do," he said, and his voice had that dry, sardonic edge that probably worked on most people but only made Bella more determined.
"And," she continued, undeterred by his obvious reluctance, "you're going to answer them."
One bronze eyebrow arched with practiced elegance. "Am I?"
"Well." She gestured around the restaurant with one hand, taking in the checkered tablecloths, the soft jazz music playing from hidden speakers, the warm bubble of intimacy their corner booth provided. "You're here, aren't you? Sitting across from me, buying me dinner, looking all mysterious and brooding. Might as well make yourself useful."
That earned her something that might have been a smile—just the barest hint of one tugging at the corner of his mouth. But his golden eyes remained sharp, alert, like a cat watching a particularly interesting mouse. "I don't make a habit of answering questions I shouldn't."
Bella pounced on that immediately. "'Shouldn't,'" she repeated, tasting the word like she was trying to decode its hidden meaning. "Not 'can't.' Not 'won't.' Shouldn't."
Edward's expression didn't change, but she saw something flicker behind his eyes—surprise, maybe, or annoyance that she'd caught the distinction.
She leaned back in the booth, a satisfied little smile playing at her lips. "Interesting word choice."
"Is it?"
"Oh, absolutely. 'Shouldn't' implies you could answer. That you want to, maybe. But something's stopping you." She tilted her head, studying him like he was a particularly fascinating specimen under a microscope. "What's stopping you, Edward?"
For a moment, he just stared at her. Then he did something unexpected—he laughed. Not the polite, carefully modulated chuckle she might have expected, but a genuine sound of amusement that transformed his entire face. "You're relentless."
"I prefer 'thorough,'" Bella corrected primly, then immediately switched tactics. "Okay, fine. Let's start with something easy. Why are you even here? In Port Angeles, I mean." She gestured toward the window, where the early evening light was painting the street in soft pastels. "This doesn't exactly scream 'Edward Cullen's natural habitat.' You don't strike me as the type who gets excited about helping teenage girls shop for prom dresses."
Edward's smile deepened into something that looked almost genuinely amused. "You're absolutely right," he admitted, his voice carrying that low, velvet quality that did absolutely unfair things to her pulse. "I'm not."
"And yet..." Bella made an expansive gesture that encompassed him, the restaurant, the entire situation they found themselves in.
"And yet," he agreed, his eyes dancing with something that might have been mischief, "here I am."
Bella waited. When he didn't elaborate, she raised her eyebrows expectantly. "That's not an answer."
"That's all you're getting," he countered smoothly.
She narrowed her eyes at him, but there was no real annoyance in it. If anything, she looked like she was enjoying the challenge. "You're impossible."
"So you've mentioned."
"Multiple times, actually. You should probably be concerned that it's becoming a pattern." She tore off another piece of breadstick, rolling it between her fingers in a gesture that was becoming familiar. "But I'm not giving up that easily."
"I didn't think you would."
There was something in the way he said it—fond exasperation mixed with what might have been admiration—that made her pause. She studied his face, looking for clues in the perfect planes and angles, the way the restaurant's soft lighting caught the impossible bronze of his hair.
Then, like she was discussing the weather or asking about weekend plans, she said, "How does it work? You know... hypothetically."
Edward went very still. Not the normal kind of stillness that people lapsed into when they were thinking or listening, but something deeper. More complete. Like he'd forgotten how to breathe. "How does what work... hypothetically?"
But Bella had seen the reaction, brief as it was. Her smile turned sharp around the edges. "You know what I mean."
His expression remained perfectly neutral, though those golden eyes seemed to intensify in the dim light. "I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."
"Okay." She leaned forward again, lowering her voice to match his earlier whisper. "Hypothetically, if someone could... read minds. How would that work?"
For the space of three heartbeats, Edward didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't even seem to exist in the same dimension as the rest of the restaurant.
Then he laughed—a quiet, low sound that sent an entirely inappropriate shiver down her spine. "Hypothetically?"
"Obviously." She kept her tone light, casual, but her eyes never left his face.
He tilted his head, considering her with something that looked like genuine appreciation. "Well," he said slowly, drawing out each word like he was savoring them, "hypothetically, I imagine it would be... overwhelming. Exhausting, even. Like standing in the middle of Times Square during New Year's Eve, except the noise never stops."
Bella's breath caught. That was... surprisingly specific. And honest. And not at all what she'd expected him to say.
She bit her lower lip, a habit she'd had since childhood when she was working through a particularly complex problem. "But you'd still do it," she said softly, more statement than question. "Even knowing how hard it would be. Because you'd feel like you had to. Like it was your responsibility, somehow."
The change in Edward's expression was subtle but unmistakable. The careful amusement flickered, replaced by something rawer, more vulnerable. Like she'd reached past all his defenses and touched something he'd thought was safely hidden.
"Hypothetically," he said, and his voice was rougher now, less controlled.
"Of course." But her eyes were gentle, understanding in a way that made his chest tight.
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken truths hanging between them like morning fog. Around them, the restaurant continued its evening rhythm—clinking silverware, murmured conversations, the soft hiss of the coffee machine behind the counter. Normal sounds from a normal world that suddenly felt very far away.
Finally, Bella reached across the table and placed her fingertips against the back of his hand where it rested on the white tablecloth.
The cold hit her immediately—not just cool, but genuinely icy, like touching marble in winter or metal left outside in January. It should have been shocking, should have made her pull away instinctively.
Instead, she let her fingers settle more fully against his skin, her thumb tracing across his knuckles in a gesture so gentle it made something in his chest crack open.
Edward didn't pull away. Didn't flinch or make excuses or try to hide the impossible coolness of his skin. He just watched her, his golden eyes dark and intense and filled with something that looked like wonder.
"You know," Bella said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, "whatever it is you're hiding... you can trust me."
That simple statement hit him like a physical blow. She saw it in the way his perfect composure wavered, in the sharp intake of breath he couldn't quite suppress, in the way his free hand curled into a fist against the table.
"Bella." Her name came out rough, almost pained. "You don't know what you're saying."
"Don't I?" She didn't move her hand, didn't break eye contact. "I know you're not like other people. I know you're carrying something heavy, something that makes you feel like you have to keep everyone at a distance. And I know you're terrified that if someone really saw you—really knew you—they'd run."
Edward's jaw worked silently, like he was grinding his teeth to powder. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible. "They should run."
"Maybe." Bella's smile was soft, fearless. "But I'm not most people."
"No," he agreed, and there was something almost helpless in the way he said it. "You're really not."
She squeezed his hand gently, marveling again at the strange coolness of his skin, the marble-smooth texture that should have been impossible in something alive. "So what happens now?"
Edward closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, there was a kind of desperate honesty in their golden depths. "Now," he said quietly, "I tell you that you're a magnet for trouble."
Bella's smile widened. "Are you trouble, Edward?"
The question hung between them, loaded with implications and possibilities and the promise of secrets finally shared. Edward stared at her for a long moment, seeming to weigh something invisible and infinitely precious.
Then, so quietly she had to strain to hear him over the ambient noise of the restaurant, he said, "Yes. The worst kind."
But he didn't pull his hand away from hers.
And Bella, who had never been particularly good at self-preservation anyway, found herself thinking that maybe trouble was exactly what she'd been looking for all along.
—
For a long, suspended moment, Edward just stared at her. Their hands had separated, but Bella could still feel the phantom chill of his skin against her fingertips, could still see the way his eyes had darkened when she'd touched him. The question she'd asked—*Are you trouble?*—seemed to echo in the space between them, waiting for an answer that felt suddenly too important, too loaded with implications she wasn't sure she was ready for.
Edward's jaw worked silently, a muscle jumping beneath the pale perfection of his skin. His hands had retreated to his lap, hidden beneath the table where she couldn't see them, but she caught the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way he held himself like he was fighting some internal battle.
Then, without warning, he leaned back in the booth and let out a sharp breath through his nose—the kind of sound someone made when they'd finally decided to jump off a cliff.
"I followed you here," he said, the words coming out flat and matter-of-fact, like he was reporting the weather.
Bella blinked, her fork pausing halfway to her mouth. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I followed you." He repeated it with the grim determination of someone confessing to a crime. "To Port Angeles. After school. I knew you and your friends were coming here today, and I..." He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the table. "I didn't think you should be wandering around alone. Not after what happened with those men last time."
The silence that followed was deafening. Bella set down her fork with a soft *clink*, her mind struggling to process what he'd just admitted. Edward Cullen—beautiful, mysterious, impossible Edward Cullen—had followed her to Port Angeles like some kind of... what? Guardian angel? Stalker?
And then, completely without warning, she started to laugh.
It began as a small giggle, barely more than a exhale, but it quickly grew into full-blown laughter that she had to muffle behind her hand to keep from drawing stares from the other diners.
Edward's head snapped up, his golden eyes wide with what looked like genuine shock. "You find this *amusing*?"
"You followed me?" Bella managed between giggles, her shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth. "Like—what, all mysterious and brooding in your shiny Volvo? Following Jessica's ancient Honda at a respectful distance while scowling at the road?" The mental image sent her into fresh peals of laughter. "Oh my god, Edward. That's... that's so..."
"Creepy?" he supplied darkly. "Invasive? Completely inappropriate?"
"I was going to say ridiculous," she said, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "But those work too."
Edward's scowl could have melted steel. "I was trying to protect you, Bella. You seem to have a remarkable talent for attracting dangerous situations."
"Protect me from what? Aggressive salespeople at the dress shops? The terrifying specter of having to parallel park?" She shook her head, still grinning. "You do realize how completely insane that sounds, right?"
"Do I?" His voice had dropped to that dangerously quiet register that probably made most people nervous. "Because from where I'm sitting, you're the one who keeps ending up in life-threatening situations that require... intervention."
The way he said *intervention*—like it was a euphemism for something much more dramatic—made her pause. She studied his face, taking in the tension around his eyes, the careful control in his posture.
"You know what?" she said finally, leaning back in the booth with her arms crossed. "You're right. I should probably be furious with you. Any normal person would be calling the police right about now, reporting their creepy classmate for following them across three towns."
Edward's expression didn't change, but she saw something flicker in his eyes—disappointment, maybe, or resignation.
"But," she continued, her voice softening, "I'm not most people, am I?"
That got his attention. His gaze snapped back to hers, wary but curious.
"The thing is," Bella said, idly twirling her fork through her pasta, "I think you're fighting fate."
"Fate." He said it like she'd just claimed to believe in unicorns.
"Yeah, fate. Destiny. Whatever you want to call it." She took a bite of ravioli, chewing thoughtfully while she organized her thoughts. "I mean, think about it logically. What are the odds that I'd end up in Forks, of all places? That I'd walk into that biology classroom and sit next to you? That a van would lose control and slide across an icy parking lot at the exact moment I was walking behind it?"
Edward's hands had appeared on the table again, his fingers pressed flat against the surface like he was trying to anchor himself. "Bella—"
"And then," she continued, warming to her theme, "what are the odds that those guys would corner me in that alley, right when you just happened to be in Port Angeles? Or that you'd show up tonight, right after Jessica ditched me to go make out with some college guy in his dorm room?"
"That's not fate," Edward said quietly. "That's just... unfortunate timing."
Bella raised an eyebrow. "Is it? Because it seems to me like the universe keeps trying to kill me, and you keep getting in the way. Like you're messing with the natural order of things."
Something shifted in Edward's expression—a crack in that perfect, controlled facade. "And what if I am?"
The question hung between them, heavy with implications. Bella felt her pulse quicken, not from fear but from something else entirely—anticipation, maybe, or the thrill of finally getting close to whatever truth he'd been hiding.
"Then I guess the question is," she said softly, "why do you keep saving me?"
Edward was quiet for so long she wondered if he was going to answer at all. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried clearly across the small space between them.
"Because," he said, his golden eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her breath catch, "your number was up the very first day I met you."
The words hit her like a physical blow. Not because they were threatening—though they probably should have been—but because of the way he said them. Like a confession. Like an apology.
The memory crashed over her with sudden, crystal clarity: that first day in biology, the way he'd gone rigid when she'd sat down beside him, the black fury in his eyes when he'd looked at her. She'd thought he was disgusted by her, offended by her very existence.
But what if it hadn't been disgust at all?
"You wanted to hurt me," she said, and it wasn't a question.
Edward's jaw clenched so hard she was surprised his perfect teeth didn't crack. He didn't deny it.
"But you didn't," she continued, her voice steady despite the way her heart was hammering against her ribs.
"No." The word came out rough, pained. "I didn't."
"Why not?"
For a moment, she thought he wasn't going to answer. He was staring at the table again, his hands clenched into fists, looking like he was fighting a war with himself.
"Because," he said finally, so quietly she had to strain to hear him, "you looked at me like I was just... a person. Not a monster. Not a threat. Just... Edward." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You have no idea how long it's been since someone looked at me like that."
Bella felt something crack open in her chest, something warm and aching and far too complicated for a seventeen-year-old girl to fully understand. "Edward—"
"I told you," he said, lifting his head to meet her gaze. His eyes were dark now, almost black in the dim light of the restaurant. "I'm the worst kind of trouble. The kind you don't come back from."
But instead of the fear he was clearly expecting, Bella felt a slow smile spread across her face. "You know what I think?"
Edward looked wary. "What?"
"I think," she said, reaching across the table to brush her fingers against his hand again, "that maybe I've been looking for trouble my whole life. I just didn't know it yet."
The look he gave her was pure desperation mixed with something that might have been hope. "Bella, you don't understand—"
"Then help me understand," she said simply. "I'm not going anywhere, Edward. You've saved my life twice now. The least you can do is trust me with the truth."
For a long moment, they just stared at each other across the table, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between them like a bridge neither of them was quite ready to cross.
But Bella Swan had never been one to back down from a challenge. And Edward Cullen, for all his warnings about danger and trouble, hadn't let go of her hand.
Maybe, she thought, that was answer enough for now.
—
Edward's thumb traced a slow, deliberate path across her knuckles, the gesture so gentle it seemed at odds with everything else about him—the marble coolness of his skin, the predatory stillness that never quite left his posture, the careful way he held himself like he was always one breath away from doing something terrible.
Finally, he drew in another long breath that he didn't need, his golden eyes growing distant as though he was weighing each word before he spoke it.
"I was listening to Jessica earlier," he said, his voice carrying that particular quality of reluctant confession that had become familiar over the course of their strange dinner.
Bella's eyebrows rose. "Listening to Jessica? What, like eavesdropping on her conversation with Mike about whether her highlights look natural?"
"Not exactly." Edward's mouth twitched at her sarcasm, but his expression remained serious. "I was listening to her thoughts."
The casual way he said it—like he'd just mentioned checking the weather or glancing at his watch—made Bella's fork pause halfway to her mouth. "Her... thoughts."
"I've told you before that I can hear things. Everyone around me. What they're thinking, what they're feeling, sometimes what they're planning to do." His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Except yours."
Bella set down her fork entirely, leaning back in the booth. "Right. The mind-reading thing we were discussing hypothetically."
"There's nothing hypothetical about it."
The blunt honesty in his voice should have terrified her. Should have sent her running for the exit, calling for help, doing any of the sensible things a normal person would do when faced with someone claiming supernatural abilities.
Instead, she found herself nodding slowly, like this was just another piece of a puzzle she'd been working on for weeks. "Okay. So you were... what, tuning into Jessica's internal monologue? Please tell me it was more interesting than her usual obsession with whether Tyler Crowley noticed her new lip gloss."
Despite everything, Edward almost smiled at that. "When she left you at the dress shop, I heard her planning to ditch you entirely. She was planning on meeting someone—a college boy from UW who's been texting her all week."
"Mike?" Bella guessed.
"Different Mike. This one's supposedly pre-med and drives a Mustang that his daddy bought him." Edward's voice carried just a hint of disdain. "Jessica was... quite detailed in her thoughts about how the evening was going to progress."
Bella wrinkled her nose. "Gross. Okay, but that still doesn't explain why you decided to play stalker instead of just, I don't know, calling to make sure I got home okay."
Edward's expression darkened, and when he spoke again, his voice had dropped to something barely above a whisper. "Because when I realized you were alone, wandering around Port Angeles at night..." He stopped, his hands curling into fists on the table. "It didn't feel right. You have this remarkable talent for attracting dangerous situations, and the idea of you out there, unprotected..."
"So you decided to what—lurk in parking lots and follow me around like some kind of supernatural bodyguard?" But there was no real bite in her words, just curiosity tinged with something that might have been fondness.
"That," Edward said dryly, "was never really a choice. Not when it comes to you."
Bella opened her mouth to respond—probably to point out how completely insane that sounded, or maybe to ask what exactly he meant by that—but Edward continued before she could speak.
"When I heard them..." He stopped abruptly, his entire body going rigid. His golden eyes went distant, unfocused, and his jaw clenched so tightly she could see the muscle jumping beneath his pale skin.
"Heard who?" she asked quietly, though part of her already knew.
"The men. In the alley." The words came out rough, like they were scraping against his throat. "When I heard what they were thinking about you, what they were planning to do..."
The memory hit Bella like a slap—the heat of their stares, the way they'd cornered her, the sick certainty that she was in real danger. She shivered involuntarily, and Edward's eyes snapped back to hers, tracking the movement.
"I wanted to kill them," he said simply, like he was discussing the weather. "I still do. Leaving them alive was... difficult."
Bella stared at him, her pulse quickening. Not from fear—though maybe it should have been—but from something else entirely. Something warm and fierce and completely inappropriate given what he'd just admitted.
"You really wanted to hurt them," she said, and it wasn't a question.
"I wanted to tear them apart with my bare hands," Edward confirmed, his voice flat and matter-of-fact. "I wanted to make them suffer for even thinking about touching you. And the fact that I didn't..." He shook his head, looking almost surprised. "That's why I asked you to stay. To have dinner with me."
Bella's brow furrowed. "Because you wanted to have Italian food?"
"Because I was afraid that if I left you alone, if I went back to where they were..." He trailed off, but the implication hung heavy between them.
"You'd go back and finish what you started," Bella said softly.
Edward nodded once, sharp and definitive.
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of his confession settling between them. Around them, the restaurant continued its evening rhythm, but it all felt very far away, like they were sitting in a bubble that contained only them and this impossible conversation.
"But you didn't," Bella said finally. "You stayed here with me instead."
"I did." Something shifted in Edward's expression, a ghost of a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Though I suppose I don't need to worry about it anymore."
Bella's stomach dropped. "Why not?"
"Hadrian and Daenerys will take care of them."
The casual way he said it—like he was mentioning that someone would take out the trash—made her blood run cold. "Take care of them how?"
Edward's smile was sharp as a blade and twice as dangerous. "Don't worry about it."
"Edward—"
"They won't hurt anyone else," he said firmly, cutting off her protest. "That's all you need to know."
Bella opened her mouth to argue, to demand more details, to point out that she had a right to know what was being done in her name. But something in his expression—the finality of it, the way his golden eyes had gone completely unyielding—told her she wouldn't get any more information tonight.
Before she could decide whether to push the issue, Edward was already reaching for the check that Sara had left on the table. He rose from the booth with that fluid grace that never failed to catch her off guard, extending one hand to help her up.
Bella took his offered hand without thinking, marveling again at the coolness of his skin, the way it felt more like marble than flesh. He pulled her gently to her feet, his fingers lingering against hers for just a moment longer than necessary.
At the register, Edward paid their bill with crisp twenties that looked fresh from the bank, adding a tip that made the teenage cashier's eyes widen. He moved through the entire process with the kind of effortless authority that spoke of money and breeding and a life very different from her own.
Then he was at her side again, one hand settling lightly against the small of her back as he guided her toward the door. The touch was barely there, just the whisper of contact through her thin sweater, but it sent heat racing up her spine.
The evening air was crisp and clean when they stepped outside, carrying the salt-sweet smell of the distant ocean and the green scent of the Olympic Peninsula's endless forests. Edward's Volvo waited at the curb, its silver paint gleaming under the streetlights like something out of a luxury car commercial.
He opened the passenger door for her with old-fashioned courtesy that would have seemed ridiculous from anyone else but somehow felt completely natural coming from him. Bella slipped into the buttery leather seat, surrounded by the scents of expensive things—leather and something that might have been cologne but was probably just Edward himself.
The engine came to life with a purr that spoke of German engineering and careful maintenance. Edward pulled away from the curb with the kind of smooth confidence that suggested he'd been driving much longer than the three or four years his apparent age would allow.
For the first few minutes, they drove in comfortable silence through the streets of Port Angeles. Bella watched the familiar shops and restaurants blur past outside her window—the used bookstore where she'd spent an hour browsing earlier, the coffee shop where Jessica had insisted they stop for lattes, the dress boutique where this entire strange evening had begun.
It all looked different now, somehow. Like she was seeing it through new eyes, with the knowledge of what Edward was—whatever he was—coloring everything in shades of possibility she'd never considered before.
They merged onto Highway 101, leaving the lights of the city behind for the dark ribbon of road that would take them home to Forks. The forest pressed close on both sides, ancient and impenetrable in the darkness, and Bella found herself acutely aware of how alone they were out here.
Edward's profile was sharp and perfect in the green glow of the dashboard lights, his hands loose and confident on the steering wheel. He drove the way he did everything else—with complete control and unconscious grace that made it look effortless.
"It's your turn," he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the comfortable quiet.
Bella turned to look at him fully. "My turn for what?"
"To talk." His golden eyes flicked to hers briefly before returning to the road. "You've been asking questions all evening. Demanding answers, pushing boundaries, making me confess things I've never told anyone." The corner of his mouth quirked up in something that might have been a smile. "Now it's my turn to be curious."
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