-Edward-
Bella hadn’t suspected a thing.
I watched her walk toward the school’s entrance, her shoulders hunched slightly against the early morning chill, one hand in her pocket clutching the note I’d written. She didn’t turn around again. I waited until the front doors closed behind her before pulling away from the curb, the weight of what I was about to do pressing firmly against my chest.
I hadn’t planned to take her away like this—not so soon—but she’d given me the answer I’d waited for. Not just the words, but the conviction behind them. Marry me. And she meant it. She’d meant every syllable.
I couldn’t give her forever. I couldn’t even promise her next month. But I could give her this. A moment. A memory. Something untouched by fear and shadows.
I dialed Renee as I drove.
She answered quickly this time, warmer than I expected given our past. I must have done a decent job smoothing things over yesterday.
“Edward,” she said cautiously. “Bella’s not with you, is she?”
“No, she’s at school,” I assured her. “I wanted to talk to you again—about the trip.”
There was a pause, but I could hear her smile forming through the static. “I was hoping you’d call. So… what’s the plan?”
That word—plan—lodged in my throat.
“Simple,” I said quickly. “Quiet. Just the four of us, a Justice of the Peace. We’re not making it an event. Just a moment.”
“And you’re doing this in Jacksonville?”
“Yes. I wanted to give her the chance to see you again, spend time with you—and give her this one thing while she’s still… herself.”
“You mean before she disappears again?” she asked bluntly.
I hesitated, carefully choosing my next words. “Before life takes her somewhere I can’t explain. Somewhere far from here.”
The line was silent again. Then, to my surprise, Renee let out a shaky laugh. “You’re strange, Edward. You always have been. But… my daughter’s eyes light up when she talks about you. I haven’t seen that in a long time. If she wants this, I won’t stand in the way. Just… don’t break her.”
“I never will,” I promised.
“You’ll need to file with the county clerk at least three days in advance. I’ll text you the location. I’ll meet you there.”
“Thank you.”
“Just make her happy,” she said. Then she hung up.
I sat still for a long moment, the phone heavy again in my hand. It was happening. Not because we were rushing toward tragedy, but because Bella had chosen me—fully, freely, and with open eyes.
I would give her this. Even if the world came undone after.
I drove north, away from Forks and the quiet weight of Bella’s trust, toward the clearing where the rest of my family waited. The morning mist hadn’t lifted from the treetops yet, and it clung to the branches like breath held too long. My thoughts echoed that tension—tight, stretched thin between hope and inevitability.
When I stepped out of the car, the hush of the forest met me like a held breath. I could already hear Emmett’s movements in the distance—loud, crashing practice swings—and the low, clipped cadence of Jasper’s instructions threading through the trees.
I moved fast, running until I broke into the clearing. Jasper’s head turned immediately, his eyes scanning me like a field medic assessing a wound.
“You’re late,” he said. “Everything okay?”
I gave him a quick nod. “I had a call to make.”
Alice was perched on a boulder, her knees tucked under her chin. She didn’t speak, but her gaze flicked to me briefly—seeing more than she’d say aloud.
Emmett grinned, oblivious to the current running beneath all our movements. “You missed Rosalie slamming me into a tree. Twice.”
“I wouldn’t say I missed it,” I muttered, stepping into position.
“Good,” Jasper said, clapping his hands once. “Let’s run it again. Aro will send the guard first, but if he’s serious—if he’s really made up his mind—they’ll all be there. We can’t count on mercy. Just speed, coordination, and numbers.”
We scattered into our formation. Jasper barked commands while Esme and Rosalie moved like mirrored blurs. Carlisle kept time, watching for openings, weaknesses. Emmett barreled forward with enough force to tear apart half the clearing if he missed a cue.
I moved with them—faster, sharper than I had in decades. But I wasn’t really here. I was already a week ahead, standing beside Bella in the soft light of a quiet room in Jacksonville. Her hand in mine. Her name becoming mine. One moment, given freely before everything else came undone.
Jasper snapped me out of it with a hard shove to the ribs. “Focus.”
I nodded once. I could give Bella that moment.
But first, I had to survive this one.
The clearing blurred around me as I lunged, twisted, and deflected Jasper’s blow. I heard the crunch of his boots shifting in the soil, Rosalie’s practiced pivot behind me, and the satisfying thud of Emmett crashing into a tree—not part of the drill, but not entirely unexpected either.
We reset. Jasper called out positions. Alice observed from the edge, arms folded, her gaze flicking toward the future—and occasionally, toward me.
“Again,” Jasper said.
I nodded, but my body moved before my mind caught up. I was faster than I needed to be. Too precise. Not because I was fully present—but because I wasn’t. Not really.
Bella.
The thought rose again, uninvited, insistent. Not just Bella. Bella in white. Bella’s hand in mine. The quiet hum of a courthouse. Her voice saying my name like a vow.
Rosalie cut toward me with lethal grace, her movement sharp. I countered reflexively, avoiding her strike by less than an inch.
“Your head’s not here,” Jasper growled, circling around. “You can’t afford that.”
I clenched my jaw. “I know.”
He studied me for a long second, then backed off, motioning to Emmett and Rosalie to reset their positions.
I exhaled and tried to ground myself in the present: the dull thud of dirt underfoot, the faint breeze stirring the edges of the forest, Carlisle’s silent presence monitoring everything from the ridge.
But again, my thoughts drifted. To Bella’s dream-roughened voice that morning. To her reaching instinctively for me in her sleep. To the way her breath hitched when I mentioned Jacksonville.
To Renee’s cautious approval.
It was happening. Somehow, even amid all this chaos, I was going to marry her.
“Edward,” Jasper barked.
I snapped back, catching Emmett’s tackle a second too late and rolling through the impact. I hit the ground hard, dust kicking up in my face. I didn’t move right away.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Carlisle called out from the edge of the clearing. His tone was calm, but I heard the note of concern.
Jasper crossed to me, offered a hand, and I took it.
“You’re not doing anyone any favors by splitting your attention,” he said evenly.
“I know.”
“Then pick a side.”
I brushed the dirt from my jacket and met his gaze squarely. “I already have.”
He didn’t press me. He didn’t need to. We both knew which side I was on.
We finished the session with another round of coordinated defense, running patterns we all knew wouldn’t save us if the Volturi had already made their decision—but patterns we practiced anyway.
Afterward, I lingered at the edge of the clearing, letting the noise of Emmett’s laughter and Rosalie’s sharp words drift behind me. I stared toward the trees, past them, imagining morning sun warming Bella’s skin as she signed a simple form and whispered the word I’d been waiting a century to hear.
Yes.
A moment. A promise. A name.
I would carry her into forever… if we made it that far.
The forest was quiet again. Emmett’s laughter had faded into the trees, Rosalie and Esme already gone, Jasper trailing behind them with his thoughts unusually quiet.
I remained where I was—just outside the clearing’s center, one hand resting on the broken stump of a fallen tree. I could still hear Bella’s voice in my head, unspoken but constant. Her “yes” echoed louder than any strategy I’d drilled today.
Behind me, I heard Alice’s approach, though she made no sound. Her thoughts were gently insistent.
Just ask. I’m not going to bite you.
I turned my head slightly, meeting her eyes. “You’re not subtle, Alice.”
“No,” she said, walking up beside me. “But neither are you. You’ve been useless today.”
I raised an eyebrow, but couldn’t disagree.
She folded her arms and leaned her shoulder against mine. “You weren’t in this clearing at all, Edward.”
I didn’t answer right away. My eyes stayed on the tree line, but my thoughts were miles away. A Justice of the Peace. A slip of paper. Bella in white.
“You already know that Bella said yes,” I finally murmured. “She wants to marry me.”
Alice’s lips curled into a slow smile. “I saw the possibility days ago. I just didn’t know if you’d let yourself believe it.”
“I believe her,” I said quietly. “But I keep thinking… am I doing this for her or for me? Is this selfish? Is it fair to give her a wedding when I can’t give her a future?”
Alice didn’t reply immediately. Her silence stretched long enough that I turned to look at her.
She met my eyes with a steadiness that made it clear she wasn’t offering sympathy—only clarity.
“Edward,” she said, “for all the things we’ve lost, you’ve held on to one thing the rest of us didn’t: choice. You always believed Bella deserved one. So let her choose this too.”
I looked down at my hands. They didn’t tremble, but they felt like they should.
“I want it to be beautiful,” I admitted. “Not just some symbolic promise before the end. I want it to matter.”
“It already does,” she said, her voice softening. “It will matter to her even more than it matters to you.”
I exhaled slowly, letting her words settle. They made it real.
We stood in silence a moment longer. The wind stirred around us, and through the trees I could see the last hints of sunlight fading.
“She’ll be your wife, Edward,” Alice said. “Let yourself be happy about that. Let her have this.”
“I plan to,” I said quietly. “Even if it’s the last thing I give her.”
Alice’s voice was gentle. “It won’t be.”
And then she was gone—leaving me with just the trees, the soft echo of her confidence, and the quiet hum of Bella’s name in my chest.
The trees thinned around me as I left the clearing, my hands relaxed on the steering wheel but my mind anything but. The gravel gave way to pavement, and soon the silence of the woods faded behind me.
Bella.
Her name pulsed in my thoughts like a heartbeat. Not the panic of before. Not the weight of impending disaster. Just her.
The way she had said it—marry me—still rang in my mind with clarity, like a note struck on the purest key. There was no hesitation, no fear in her voice. She had meant it. And that truth kept grounding me, even now.
I had killed enough hours training to appease Jasper for the day. My body had moved on instinct through each maneuver, but my focus had never left her for long. Her face. Her voice. The dream of giving her this one sacred moment before the world demanded everything else.
As I passed the familiar curve in the road leading toward Forks, I slowed, letting myself feel it—the quiet ache of wanting something so human and fleeting. A memory with her that didn’t smell of blood or fire or fear.
A wedding.
Not for tradition. Not for appearances.
But because she’d asked me for forever—and this was the closest we’d ever get.
The school came into view as I turned into the nearly empty lot. Teachers were trickling out in ones and twos, heads bent against the drizzle. And then, there she was—walking toward the curb with her bag slung over her shoulder, her casted hand tucked into her jacket pocket.
She looked tired. Stubborn. Beautiful.
My Bella.
I parked and stepped out of the car just as she reached me. Her eyes flicked up to meet mine.
“You’re late,” she said, though there was no heat in it.
“I took the scenic route,” I replied softly. “I needed time to think.”
Her brow lifted. “About what?”
I opened the car door for her and waited until she slid inside before answering. As I rounded the front of the Volvo, the words were already forming.
“About you,” I said once I was behind the wheel again. “And everything I still want to give you.”
We pulled away from the curb in silence. Her eyes flicked to mine, then out the window again.
She didn’t answer. But her hand found mine between the seats.
And I held it like a lifeline the whole drive home.
It didn’t take long.
“So… Jacksonville’s in a week,” she said, casually—too casually. “You sure that timing works for you?”
My hands stayed steady on the wheel, though I felt her watching me. “It works.”
She nodded slowly. “You said you had some things to take care of first. Still true?”
“Yes.”
Another pause. Then, lightly: “Anything I should be helping with?”
I turned to glance at her, letting the smile tug at the corner of my mouth. “Not really. Just focus on the visit. I want it to be special.”
She narrowed her eyes, clearly suspicious now. “You’re hiding something.”
“I’m preparing something,” I corrected gently. “And it’s not a secret so much as it is… a surprise.”
Her heartbeat fluttered. “A good surprise?”
“The best kind,” I said. “You’ll just have to be patient.”
She huffed but didn’t argue. I reached over and took her hand, brushing my thumb across her knuckles. Her engagement ring caught the light, the golden bands knotted together like a promise that made my chest tighten.
Soon.
“I feel like I should know something,”she said quietly.
I pulled her hand to my lips, kissing her fingers reverently. “All in due time, love. Do you trust me?”
She took a deep steadying breath next to me, and the slight hesitation made my heart ache. I doubted she’d ever stop carrying the weight of how I left her.
“Yes,” she said, squeezing my hand.
I glanced at her quickly, trying to convey all of the things I wanted to tell her.
“Then know that I’m only keeping this from you to make it more meaningful.”
That seemed to ease her a little. She leaned back against the seat and let out a quiet breath, her fingers tightening around mine.
As the trees blurred past the windshield, I let the silence settle—comfortable, warm. Bella’s fingers remained in mine, her grip loose but present. She wasn’t pressing me for more, not right now. But I knew her mind was turning, just like mine was.
I stole a glance at her profile. Her eyes were half-lidded, fixed on the scenery rolling by. The sunlight cut through the canopy overhead, casting shifting patterns across her skin. She looked peaceful, for once. And in that stillness, my mind wandered—uninvited—to the beginning.
Not the dramatic moments—the rescues, the separations, the near losses—but the quiet ones.
The way she’d looked up at me in Biology class the very first time I spoke to her, defensive and confused, unaware of what she was already undoing in me. The sound of her heartbeat when she slept on the couch at my house that first night, her fingers brushing against my arm in her sleep. The soft, unguarded laughter she’d shared with Alice over some ridiculous fashion suggestion, or the way her head tilted slightly when she read something that puzzled her.
The smell of her shampoo. The way she always curled toward warmth—even mine. The stubborn crease between her brows when she was focused on a book or pretending not to be worried. The ease with which she forgave.
They weren’t grand gestures or epic declarations. But they were the moments I lived in. The moments I’d mourn if I ever lost her.
And now, in just a week, she would give me one more of those moments—one more quiet, irreversible vow.
Marriage wasn’t just a legal formality. Not to me. Not to her.
It was a way of saying, “I choose you. Now. Always.”
I tightened my grip gently on her hand and felt her squeeze mine in return, as if she somehow sensed the depth of my thoughts.
Maybe she did.
As the house came into view through the trees, I slowed the car and exhaled. A week. That’s all the time we had before the world might change forever. But until then, I’d hold on to these little moments.
It was in the smallest things—the pause before she spoke, the way her eyes lingered a moment longer on mine. At lunch, she shifted her chair an inch closer without noticing. When I reached for her hand beneath the table, her fingers were already waiting. We said little, but the silence wasn’t empty. It was full of things neither of us needed to say anymore.
***
There was a quiet understanding now, a deepening of something that had always been there between us. Not just love, but something steadier. The kind of connection that doesn’t require constant touch or reassurance—only presence. Only a glance that said I see you, and the unshakable certainty that we were already holding on.
Because these moments were ours. And they always would be.
The days slipped past in a quiet rhythm, deceptively normal.
Each morning began the same: Bella stirring beside me, her body curling unconsciously toward mine as the soft hum of the alarm clock nudged her from sleep. I would already be there, motionless, watching the moment her lashes fluttered and she blinked against the light—just to see her eyes find mine. And every time they did, something in my chest tightened.
She never asked if I’d stayed the whole night.
She didn’t have to.
School was a strange reprieve. For a few hours, we blended back into the background noise of high school life—handwritten notes, dull lectures, cafeteria chatter. Alice sat beside Bella like a sentinel, occasionally catching my eye with a knowing look. She was helping to keep the mood light, distracting Bella when she could. She’d also taken it upon herself to make sure Bella didn’t overdo it with her accelerated coursework. That, in itself, was a task requiring almost constant vigilance.
Bella stayed at school each evening until just before ten. She always said she had “a little more homework to finish” or “one more chapter to read,” but I knew what it really was—an desire for some kind of normalcy amidst the uncertainty that lie ahead. A reluctance to go back to a quiet house filled with good intentions and looming silence.
Each night, I waited until her breathing grew slow and even, until her fingers—twined in mine—went still in sleep. Then I’d slip from the room with practiced silence and make my way to the clearing.
Jasper was always waiting.
He pushed us harder now, refining every instinct, anticipating every strategy. We trained in near silence, focused and efficient. Rosalie, Emmett, and Alice joined us when they could. Carlisle, less frequently—he still had a life to maintain at the hospital—but his thoughts were always with us. Every session carried the weight of inevitability.
Still, I returned before the sky began to lighten, just before Bella stirred again. I’d climb into bed beside her, cool and still, and she’d unconsciously seek me out in sleep. Her hand against my chest. Her breath soft against my collarbone.
I’d never felt more bound to anyone in my life.
In the pockets of time between it all—between school and Bella and training—I coordinated quietly with Renee. Preparing to finalize papers, and file what needed filing. She never asked more questions than I could answer. She understood more than she admitted.
The strange thing was… this rhythm, this limbo—it began to feel like a kind of peace. We all knew what was coming. But for now, we were still together. Still alive. Still holding each other like it was all we had.
Because it was.
It wasn’t grand gestures that bound us.
It was the way Bella curled her fingers around the sleeve of my jacket when the hallway between classes grew crowded. The way she leaned her shoulder into mine while we sat side by side in the cafeteria, sharing space in silence that never felt empty. It was her voice reading quietly from her English essay as I pretended to grade my own paper, just so I could hear her inflection change when she hit a word she liked.
It was her eyes always finding me, even when she didn’t mean to look.
These moments—mundane to anyone else—became sacred. I watched the way her hand hovered over a muffin before picking the one with the most uneven top, as if its imperfection made it more real, more hers. I listened to the barely audible sigh she made after her first sip of orange juice in the morning. The creases that formed between her brows when she tried to balance calculus and literature in the same breath.
She didn’t know how closely I observed her. How much of her I was trying to memorize.
Because I wasn’t just holding on to her in these moments—I was archiving her. In my mind, every detail was stored with precision. I feared a future where memory would be all I had left, and I refused to lose even one shade of her expression.
At times, I could feel her doing the same—watching me with eyes that lingered too long. She would brush her fingers across mine for no reason, like she was reassuring herself that I was still solid, still here.
One evening, as we sat on the living room couch and she leaned against me with a book open in her lap, she sighed—not out of frustration or boredom, but a kind of quiet contentment.
“What is it?” I asked.
She didn’t look up right away. Instead, she closed the book and traced a finger along the edge of the cover.
“This,” she said finally. “Just… this. Us. Being.”
I didn’t reply—not aloud. I only tightened my arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.
Because I understood.
In a world where everything felt like it was running out—time, breath, certainty—Bella still found a way to make the present feel infinite.
And for her, I would stay in that moment as long as she let me.
1.7562 Billion Miles 