Seven: Driver

The telephone's first chime sets my teeth on edge. By the end of it, as Alice's confidence in the caller's identity cements, I can't help wishing Bella would let me whisk her outside before Esme answers. But Jasper's insight into her emotions and the dawning awareness in her eyes as she studies my face confirms that it's already too late.

I tilt my head towards the window, but she replies by turning her attention to the section of wall currently blocking her view of Esme.

Fortunately, Renesmee's hearing isn't good enough to pick out the voice on the other end from this distance—although her senses are improving minute by minute, so it won't be long—but her curiosity means that she doesn't just want to know the caller's identity, she wants to listen in. I absolutely won't put Bella in the position of having to lie to Rey, so I put down the book we were reading and say I'd like to go outside.

Rey is still curious about the phone call, but the outside world is equally interesting, so she happily accepts the trade. Bella hesitates, though; clearly, she wants to torment herself. When Rey asks what the matter is, she cringes.

Alice suggests (telepathically) that we tell her the truth—that the caller is her human grandmother, and she's frustrated because she has a small gift for Bella (in deference to Bella's "no presents" stipulation, it is simply a framed photograph) and nowhere to send it—but I want to spare Renesmee the burden of that unavoidable separation for as long as possible, so I ask Alice to find us a sunny locale. She takes the hint and eagerly snatches Rey from Bella's arms as she offers a couple of options.

Bella manages a smile when Rey suggests climbing some more trees, but hearing her mother's voice is affecting her deeply—the painful longing she feels reminds me of how I'd felt during my self-enforced exile. I desperately want to comfort her, but I feel utterly helpless. Jasper relinquishes his connection with Rey and moves around behind Bella and me, placing his hands on our nearest shoulders and using his touch to ease our discontent more swiftly. While proposing a wrestling match in the treetops, he advises me to take Bella somewhere alone.

Emmett and Rey both jump at the idea of any sort of match—to the point that Emmett actually picks Alice up and whisks her and Rey outside.

The others follow; Jasper hesitates, torn, but I signal for him to leave and he gratefully races off after Emmett, who has almost reached his target: the nearest rock in his network of 'wrestling arenas' that isn't currently being rained on (as identified by Alice). Renesmee laughs delightedly, not noticing that her parents aren't among the family throng until Emmett sets her and Alice down beside the roughly hourglass-shaped rock.

Part plaintive, part bemused, her thoughts call for us to join them, but Alice whispers to her that Mummy isn't feeling very well right now and needs a little time alone. They're all as impressed as I when she immediately blames the phone call (although I would've preferred her to have kept a more open mind to other possibilities), so now she absolutely wants an explanation—and Alice is inclined to give it to her.

However much I want to dictate their answer, my focus, as always, is Bella. Since the others left, she has done nothing but look back and forth between the door and the obscured phone. When Renée pauses to let Esme speak, Bella takes a step towards the door on a slightly skewed trajectory that also takes her closer to the phone. I move with her, casually placing myself between her and the phone. My attempt at subtlety doesn't work; she seems fully aware of my purpose, as her eyes flick from the wall to me, tightening.

"Let's hunt," I murmur, but she shakes her head—and then, as Renée laments our "seclusiveness", she becomes a statue.

Of course, I've seen it before a million times—we all do it, for various reasons—but watching Bella stand utterly motionless with eyes full of despair is honestly terrifying. My mind literally refuses to accept that this outwardly lifeless creature—part Athena, part Aphrodite, unequivocally greater than both—is my Bella. It's as though I've never seen her so completely still, and yet I have, haven't I?

Even as I work through my own distress (helped in no small part by Emmett and Rey's pretend arm-wrestling match), Renée's chirpy voice cuts through my thoughts. Thanks to Esme's careful deflection, Renée has moved on to sharing news of her own: Phil is feeling great and playing even better; she took her class on a fieldtrip to the local museum; and she has been asked to help out with creating artworks for a charity concert to raise money for children with cancer.

Renée's full life makes me happy, but I know it will never assuage Bella's guilt, and it won't stop Renée feeling abandoned if she ever realises we're avoiding her. If we can't deflect her suspicions, I dread the accusations she's bound to fling at her daughter—the worst being that she has chosen me over her, because, as much as I hate it, that is the truth.

When Esme speaks, Bella relaxes ever so slightly. I raise my hand towards her cheek and she unfreezes, but it's clear her thoughts are still thousands of miles away.

"Let's go," I murmur, hoping to coax her from the house before her mother speaks again.

She stares into my eyes for several seconds, then abruptly nods. I gesture towards the door for her to lead the way, and am caught completely off guard when she catches my hand in hers before rushing outside. My fingers react instinctively, returning the hold, and I let her lead wherever she will—even if she wants to ignore the call of our bodies and go straight to Renesmee.

When she leads me across the river, away from Rey and the others, I don't realise how presumptuous I'm being until she drops my hand before coming to a halt. Her subtle standoffishness coupled with my awareness of the grief she will still be feeling just barely keeps me from closing the distance between us and tearing the dress off her body.

But my hand still tingles from her touch and I find myself stepping closer, wanting to comfort her with my touch—and my body.

She smiles at first, but the moment I raise my hand towards her face, she takes a step back and her smile switches to a frown. I stop, obeying the unspoken directive, but the rejection is like a physical blow. Even though I understand it—even though I caused it—it still hurts. What's worse, though, is that my impatience has robbed her of the comfort she had been feeling in my presence. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head. "There's nothing else we could have done," she says, either misinterpreting my apology or saying what she wants to say regardless. "No other possible way this could have gone. If you'd stayed away, Tyler's van would have killed me, and that would've been so much worse for everyone. Renée would have blamed herself—"

"I don't believe that anymore," I interrupt, wanting her to see herself as I see her. "No mere van could defeat you."

She smiles a very little, then shakes her head. "I remember the dent you put in the side—I would've been squished flat."

That image brings Alice's horrifying vision to the forefront of my mind, despite my previously successful efforts to 'forget' it. She had only had a split second's view of the van's first impact on Bella's fragile body, but that had been more than enough to imagine all the bones that would shatter between it and the solid truck. It was only afterwards that Alice realised it wasn't her own horror that had short-circuited her concentration and cut off that vision—Bella's future had changed the instant I saw it.

"What did Alice see?" Bella murmurs softly, intuiting the bent of my thoughts.

"Not much," I breathe, focusing on that good fortune to keep the remembered horror out of my voice. "As soon as I saw that it was going to hit you, I nixed that version of the future—I changed your future mid-vision."

She smiles, and then her expression turns wistful, then sombre. "All those promises we made about visiting Jacksonville and watching Phil play—" she breaks off with a soft gasp. "Will his team travel to New Hampshire?"

"No; he plays in the Southern League."

She sighs, barely comforted. I wish I could make lying to Renée easier, but I can't think of anything we haven't already discussed, and there's something else I should mention—by now, Renée must have sent dozens of emails.

"Her emails—" I stop when Bella cringes; I hadn't figured out what I was going to say anyway.

"Have you read any?" she murmurs.

"No, but I can…"

She shakes her head. "I'll read them, and I'll reply, too."

We both cringe at that, anticipating the painful task. Alice's thoughts interrupt me before I can offer to operate the fragile computer, so I simply nod, then let her know that Alice is on her way with a proposal.

"Will I like it?" she asks softly, not quite hitting the joking tone I think she was aiming for.

"There's not that much to it," I reply as honestly as I dare, and then our overly exuberant sister races up behind me, dodging around me with a millimetre to spare, and comes to a stop in front of Bella, who acknowledges her theatrics with half a smile.

"Bella," she says resolutely, "here's the plan: you're going to call Renée for your birthday—" she ignores our synchronous grimaces—"and I'll help you email her tonight. Remember, you were sure we could make it work."

Bella frowns, unsatisfied, and Alice gets a brief vision of Bella sitting at my computer—in my former bedroom, which our family has been steadily renovating whenever we're out of the house—gingerly typing out an email. When I give Alice a mental nudge to see where I am, she finds me downstairs, at the piano. I'd rather be at the computer with them, but she shows me Bella's gratitude when I make the offer to play, so I content myself with helping indirectly—and at least I'll be able to read the emails and Bella's reply through Alice's thoughts.

As Bella slowly endorses the plan, Alice's vision grows firm enough that I can read a few snippets of email now—Renée's enthusiastic prose about her latest fad, spices, makes me smile; she has been searching far and wide for special ingredients. Do you know there's 2 types of cinnamon?, she'd written. The outer bark has a chemical that's bad if you have more than a teaspoon a day! But the inner bark is really good for you, and you should have 1-2 tsp every day. The next sentence kills my enjoyment. I'll send you some once you give me your address.

The moment Bella nods, Alice changes the subject to Bella's "after" car—a red Ferrari F430. It is a somewhat contentious topic, given her indifference to the exquisite machine and our eagerness for her to get behind the wheel.

Bella listens impassively to Alice's suggestion of visiting Olympia, then says, "When Seth gets back from school."

The strategic answer leaves us nothing to work with. "You'll drive?" I ask hopefully, trying to prolong the conversation.

"I'll drive in it," she counters.

That's the biggest concession we'll get today, so I accept it with a smile. "All right. I am looking forward to driving it—I think you'll enjoy it, too…" I trail off when it's clear her mood is sinking back into sombre. "If you don't like it, we can always swap it for another Chevy."

She gives a soft snort of amusement, then sighs. "Renée would love it."

"How about we give her and Phil a day at a racetrack for Christmas?"

She just sighs again, so Alice (who knows she's dwelling on the complicated lies we'll have to tell, thanks to our affluence resolving most of the usual impediments people face) tries an alternative, potentially dangerous, tactic. "We could declare bankruptcy. I could arrange a stock-market crash."

Bella frowns, unamused, but this displeasure, finally, is defensible. (And I'm intensely relieved that Alice didn't go with her other idea—blaming my sex addiction.)

"I don't keep track of the stock market," Alice assures her. "We've never actually invested much there—I buy and sell shares from time to time, when I need cash fast—" she waggles her eyebrows and Bella gives a little, half-grudging chuckle—"but I prefer to invest in small businesses. And art."

"And historical buildings," I add, happy for us to get sidetracked.

Alice nods once. Then she heroically gets us back on topic. "The only thing that'll buy us some time is booking a trip to Jacksonville."

"And then cancelling?" Bella murmurs. When Alice nods, her face crumples just as Alice had foreseen. "That's too cruel."

"I'm sorry," I murmur.

Bella touches her fingers to my lips—and our bodies immediately gravitate to each other.

"I'm not leaving," Alice pipes up, anticipating our request for (token) privacy.

Bella freezes in my arms. While she fights the lust, Alice sees at least three potential futures, two of which test my willpower to the absolute limit. Alice teases me by estimating the likelihood of each, but I know Bella is going to master her desire and pull away. It's no less disappointing, though, when she does. My arms remain outstretched, holding empty air.

"Bella, I thought we were best friends," Alice complains.

"So did I," Bella retorts sourly.

"All right, I'll go—see you at home." And in lots of fun positions in the meantime!, she teases as she deposits a bag of clothes on the ground, then skips away.

Bella sighs, her eyes on the little satchel. "Has she spoiled it?"

"No! Forget her," I entreat. "Just tell me what you want."

"What do you want?" she murmurs sultrily, stepping back into my arms and sliding her hands around the back of my neck, beneath my shirt.

I can barely contain the tsunami of desire that surges through me, but somehow, I hear myself saying, "Whatever you want. I'm yours."

That's all it takes; Bella shifts her weight, effortlessly pinning me to the ground, and kisses me passionately. While her hands move to divest me of my trousers, I rip her dress apart and seize her naked breasts.

For the first time, I feel like I can still think as we unite our bodies—but all I can think is that I've never felt a deeper need for her than I do in this moment. I need to be as close to her—for our bodies to be as fully entwined—as it is possible to be.

That physical need so overwhelms anything else that I even forget my desire to hear her thoughts. Afterwards, though, when my body is truly as satisfied as I imagine it is possible to be, the lack almost seems worse: if I'd had her thoughts inside my head, we could have been even closer.

But I'm too familiar with this particular disappointment for it to dampen my pleasure now, especially with Bella smiling down at me.

Her eyes trace the line of my right clavicle and then she strokes along its length with an index finger. Her introspection is the only thing stopping me from reinitiating our lovemaking. "Did you do anything differently," she says, "based on Alice's vision?"

I chuckle softly. "I did say what she saw me saying before you did that—but that's the answer you'll always get when you ask that question."

She smiles, then sighs. "I want to go home now, but she'll just make fun of us. She's worse than Emmett!"

I nod—because she is absolutely correct—but for some reason, she laughs.

"You don't want to go home yet," she accuses teasingly.

"Part of me does…"

"That wasn't very convincing."

"I'll try harder if you kiss me?"

She acquiesces with a smirk, then indulges my passions once more before donning the clothes Alice brought for us and conveying us back to our family, who have progressed to climbing trees.

Renesmee and Emmett convince Bella to arm-wrestle with Emmett again, but the outcome is only different this time because Bella doesn't move. She holds her arm in place, grinning, as, despite everything Emmett tries—even grabbing her hand in both of his—he can't budge it at all.

Eventually, Emmett tires of failing so completely, and then he starts laughing with the rest of us as he concedes defeat. "How about a game of ultra-chess?" he suggests, hoping Bella's relative inexperience will give him the advantage there.

Rey jumps at the idea of teaching her mother how to play, so Bella agrees—and we're still playing when I start to hear Seth's mind as he gallops through the trees. The moment he arrives, Alice diverts everyone into the garage before she loses him to the kitchen, and he provides all the desired excitement and more when she unveils the Ferrari.

After pointing out several "fun" features and getting no response from Bella (besides a little smirk of amusement at Seth's enthusiastic admiration), Alice decides that it's my fault. "Edward chose the car," she informs her.

To defend myself against the (mostly) subtle dig, I say, "Alice preferred the convertible version—but the top speed on that is three miles slower."

Gratifyingly, Bella laughs—and yet, the deepening pout of her mouth as she eyes the car exposes an underlying tension.

"What are you thinking?" I murmur, my impatience getting the better of me.

She hesitates briefly before saying somewhat glibly, "I'm not sure about the colour," and I'm torn between frustration at the extent to which she's editing her true thoughts and amusement, because that answer makes her lacklustre response squarely Alice's fault.

Alice tells me firmly that her "excuse" would be the same whatever the colour (I'm not convinced), while considering joking that she picked red to hide any bloodstains. But she refrains from experimenting with such a touchy subject; "It's an homage to the Chevy," she says instead.

Bella snorts softly, then gestures for me to take the driver's seat.

Emmett clicks his tongue. "What are you afraid of now?" he teases.

"I'm afraid I'll snap the wheel off," she retorts, fully earnest, "or break something else—and then we'll crash!"

I understand her concern, but everyone else chuckles at her familiar, even more irrelevant concerns about having a car accident. "We could hit another car," she insists, sobering them a little.

"You don't need to worry about that," I assure her. "You don't have to drive unless you feel like it."

"I won't," she replies emphatically, and her audience is roughly split between assuming she means she'll never want to drive and interpreting it as fervent confirmation. After buckling her seatbelt—which earns an even bigger laugh from Emmett—she holds out her hands for Renesmee.

Alice shakes her head. "Let Edward take you for a quick spin," she says, sounding as confident as normal, despite not having had a vision about it (at least, that's what she's telling me). "Then we'll all go for a drive when you get back."

Bella listens to Rey's conflicted thoughts for a moment—she wants to come with us, but she wants to explore the garage, too—then nods. "Rose can show you her tools, if you like," she suggests, which settles Rey's choice to stay. "We'll be back soon."

When I turn the key, the garage rings with the sound of the engine's mighty roar, and then I give it some gas and it whoops enthusiastically. The others laugh delightedly, but all I get from Bella is an eye roll.

I use all my tricks to try to engage her interest, like wheel spinning, powersliding, and pendulum turns. But even as we race along the highway at 175 miles per hour, she seems utterly ambivalent to the powerful machine. To get as much as I can out of the little time I have before she asks me to turn back, I plant my foot all the way to the floor and watch the little needle advance towards 200.

When her expression doesn't change, I quirk an eyebrow—because how can she not enjoy the acceleration? Her lips twitch, acknowledging my amusement, but then her eyes gravitate back to the road in that familiar way (just a hundred times faster), flicking side to side to check that we're where we should be in the lane.

I'm about to ask—hopefully jokingly—if she is still unhappy with my driving, when she asks, "Have you really never crashed?"

"Never," I confirm, laughing because she'd asked me that exact question early on in our relationship.

"What's funny?" she grumbles.

Forgoing an apology that would only irritate her further, I give her the explanation I'd chosen last time. "When I first learned to drive as a young vampire, cars were a lot slower—and a lot tougher. I've never once—"

"Never once lost control," she interrupts, mimicking me in a tone heavy with arrogance. "I remember," she adds crossly, in her own voice.

I reach up automatically to stroke away her frown, but she twitches her head aside, reminding me that we shouldn't touch.

"Is that exactly what you said last time?" she demands.

"You asked the same question; should I have—?"

"Of course not," she snaps. "But I want you to tell me when we've had conversations before."

"I will. I have. I would have now if you hadn't remembered first."

She sighs. "I'm sorry. I think the car's making me irritable."

"What's wrong with it? Please tell me you're not still unhappy with my driving."

Her lips twitch, but it's more like a smile this time. "I still don't approve, but I guess I understand—although I'd much rather run." She waves a hand towards the rear of the car, presumably in reference to the noise. I'm about to speak up in defence of the elegant machine when she says, "Besides," her silky voice suddenly loaded with sexual promise that shivers through me, "I'd rather drive you."

I can barely hold out long enough to reach a place where the wide car will fit between the trees before slamming on the brakes and veering off the road. Bella has the door open even before I've switched off the engine, and we tumble out of the car together, shedding our clothes as we go.

Midway through our second round of lovemaking, Bella abruptly sits up, her eyes unfocused, her whole body tense. I drag a little more of my attention onto our surroundings and realise she's fixated on the sound of a car engine that is growing steadily louder.

When her grip on my shoulders tightens enough to hurt, I feel a slight tingle of unease. This is the first time she's been anywhere near a public road—let alone within ten yards of one—since her transformation. We're so close that she could effortlessly catch the car as it drives by; indeed, she could walk out onto the road and the driver would stop the second he saw her. In that first moment, maybe he'd even leap to the conclusion that he'd fallen asleep at the wheel and crashed, and an angel had come down to Earth to collect him.

"Is that—?"

"An overtuned car?" I interrupt, then nod.

She cracks a smile, appreciating my evasion of the obvious, and then takes a slow breath. There's no way she can smell the freshman college student as he sings along to Elton John's Rocket Man and taps his hands on the wheel, but I have no doubt the scent of those two hikers is playing through her thoughts, setting her throat ablaze.

The driver passes us by without noticing the bright red car—primarily because he's colour-blind—and Bella immediately relaxes, even though she could still easily catch him. (Will I ever not be utterly astounded by her self-control?)

She takes another breath, her eyes on mine but still not quite looking at me; then they suddenly refocus on me. "I still can't tell if that's supposed to be a sad song or a happy song."

I smile. "I think it's a bit of both."

She chuckles at that, and then reinitiates our lovemaking. Her movements now are more languid, though, and her focus seems to be our general connection, so I let her set the pace, holding my passions at bay in much the same way as I'd had to control myself when she was human. It is unexpectedly enjoyable, giving me a little extra thrill as I hold back solely for her pleasure rather than to protect her fragile human body.

She is still taking that slow pace when she suddenly twists her hips and her moans change to rapturous cries, signalling her impending climax and taking me with her. Perhaps it is my slightly greater clarity or the 'adrenaline' of the inadvertent risk we'd taken in stopping by the road, but this orgasm is the most powerful I've yet experienced. The pleasure, fuelled by Bella's exquisite moans, courses through me in wave after wave of seemingly endless bliss.

When the feeling eventually begins to subside, I fight it, slowing my thrusts, in case Bella would prefer a break, but not stopping entirely. She chuckles breathlessly and cants her hips in a wordless signal of approval.

And then the sun breaks through the clouds and lights up our heads. Bella maintains our rhythm for another few seconds before pausing, then sitting up to catch more of its rays upon her naked back. "I thought the sun's warmth would feel different," she murmurs. "I mean, worse different—but it feels better. Why didn't you tell me?‼"

I have to laugh. "I don't remember what it felt like."

She rolls her eyes. "You know what it feels like now."

I wish I could experience it through her thoughts; all I can see in her eyes is my own glimmering reflection. "I never thought of it that way—your warmth was the first that touched me."

She smiles and gives me a lingering kiss, but then breaks off when I cant my hips. "We should head back," she breathes against my cheek.

"We should hunt first," I reply, then I feel guilty: though my intentions are to ease Bella's thirst as much as possible before we drive to Olympia, they are not as pure as they should be. It has become something of a habit for us to make love before and after hunting, so if we hunt now, I might get a little more time with my gorgeous wife afterwards.

Bella heaves a sigh, then tosses her head. "Tomorrow," she growls, and then, unexpectedly, she pulls me into a freshly passionate kiss—which quickly becomes more.

Following the whirlwind of our latest climax, I smile against her lips. "You're not thirsty now?"

"Not for blood…"

As eager as I am to oblige her, I can't let her impressively swift acclimation go unpraised. "You are utterly incredible. I thought, even if everything went smoothly, it would be at least a year before we could do as the other couples in our family do—" I have to laugh at myself again for underestimating her so badly.

Her brow twists quizzically. "When you say do as the others do, what do you mean?"

"Hunt together; combine hunting and sex; trade hunting for sex…"

"Don't other vampires do that?"

"Only with those they trust; we are all at our most savage—and most vulnerable—when we hunt."

"Because blood is so distracting?"

I nod. "And a vampire with poor self-control is dangerous."

She winces faintly and I hope she isn't thinking of herself; before I can remind her of her almost peerless self-control, she says, "Vampires don't kill each other a lot, though, do they?"

"Not in the north."

"What's different about the north?"

"Most northern vampires are nomadic. In the south, vampires have been creating armies for centuries, trying to claim permanent hunting territories—as Jasper's scars attest. His gift made him an incredible asset long after his newborn advantages faded."

She gasps. "Jasper was part of a vampire army?"

"Yes; he thought about telling you months ago—Alice even caught a vision of it—but I asked him to wait. I didn't want to give you nightmares while we were in Rio."

She shudders, then nods. "I'll ask him when Renesmee's asleep." Then she frowns; I presume we're thinking the same thing—asking him while Rey's asleep will cut into our 'alone' time.

But maybe she was simply preparing to end our time right now, for she separates herself from me in the next moment and turns her attention to getting dressed. My clothes are somehow okay—just damp—but hers are too torn to repair. Luckily, Alice has filled the trunk with spare clothes for both of us, so we throw on the first items we touch and then speed home. (From Bella's expression as she got into the car, I know she was tempted to leave it behind.)

Apropos of nothing, Bella suddenly says teasingly, "What's the definition of sex addiction?"

The question heightens my desire, but I focus on the new purpose it gives me—answering her curiosity—alongside our current purpose (returning to our daughter), and manage to keep my hands on the wheel and the car on the road. "A compulsive need to perform sexual acts," I recite, picking a simple definition. "But experts disagree on whether sex can be addictive."

She laughs. "Is that our defence?"

"We don't need a defence," I tease back; "we're still functional."

"But we are worse, aren't we?" she murmurs, not teasing now.

When her eyes shift from the road to meet my gaze, in the split second before she looks away again, I almost stop caring about keeping the car in one piece. Truly, I can't imagine ever touching her without needing to make love to her then and there. "Yes," I murmur.

She sighs and the sound conveys the mix of contentment and frustration that it also inspires in me. "How will we ever… be normal?"

Fond memories of Bella sitting in my lap flick through my head, but each time, I have to concentrate on not thinking beyond that—to imagine shifting her to straddle me, or tearing off her clothes—but that makes me realise that that same thought progression hadn't happened after our return to Forks. My concerns about the pregnancy had overruled everything else. Only something equally important would ever achieve that again, and I can't think of anything that would qualify. "I don't know," I murmur.

Even before I turn onto the driveway, our family starts assembling outside, eager to discover if Bella's opinion of the car has improved. To tease them (and give myself something else to focus on), I drive a little more sedately, as Bella might—then I plant my foot and skid the car around the final bend, sliding to a halt an inch from Rey's outstretched hand.

Bella leaps out and whisks a giggling Rey from Jasper's arms. "I missed you!" she says, kissing her hair.

Rey returns the sentiment, waves at me as I get out, then seconds Emmett's request for Bella to share her feelings on the car.

"It's a car," Bella replies with a shrug, making everyone laugh. "I'd much rather run."

"Now you know why I hate driving slow," I quip, but she just shakes her head, rejecting the comparison.

"Which is better?" Rosalie asks me. "The Ferrari or the Vanquish?"

"Definitely the Vanquish," I reply, making Alice growl at my conclusiveness.

"Let's take the Vanquish to Olympia," Bella suggests, showing enough enthusiasm to make Alice growl a second time.

Before Jasper voices his ongoing hesitancy about Bella visiting Olympia so soon, I share our encounter with another random human. "A car went past while we were stopped on the side of the road, and Bella let it cruise on by with barely a glance."

Emmett scoffs; he knows what I'm implying. "That's not the same thing at all."

I shrug. "I would have gone for it when I was her age."

"For the car," Bella teases—but only Seth laughs (even though he knows I'm serious, something I'm not completely sure of for Bella).

He is quick to offer to drive the Ferrari, and when Bella seems open to the idea, he promises to stick to the speed limit—an inspired tactic that has her nodding even before he adds, "I won't teach Rey bad habits."

I scoff but can't exactly dispute it, so I step aside to let him get into the car.

Feeling the need to 'chaperone' him, alongside her own desire to experience the Ferrari's performance, Esme asks to join him. Seth thinks it's a great idea; she can tell Sue how responsible he is.

Rey takes no time at all to decide to come with us in the Vanquish, so our four-car convoy is soon underway, with Rosalie and Emmett in the Stingray ahead of us and Alice and Jasper passengers in Carlisle's Mercedes at the rear.

Bella cuddles Rey tightly, but otherwise seems calm as we share in answering our daughter's questions on anything and everything, from the car's different gauges to the markings on the road, to why some leaves change colour, while the number of other cars on the road increases in fits and starts. Despite our lead car sticking to the speed limit, just as he'd promised, I enjoy the longer drive as much my passengers do (although I wish we'd gone somewhere less populous).

Before we reach the city, Esme suggests to Seth that he avoid the main street, but he assures her that Bella doesn't need the precaution—it's not like we're going to get out of the car—and sticks to his course.

It is overcast but not yet raining, so there are a reasonable number of people on foot—and nearly every head turns to follow the Ferrari as it cruises past.

Compared to the shiny red Ferrari and the Stingray's silver racing stripes, my black Vanquish blends into the background.

After sharing a chuckle with Rey, Bella looks at me questioningly. "Why'd you pick such a showy car for me?"

I almost answer that I'd wanted to get a black one, but the eye-catching sports car is appropriate. "It's fast; it stands out, like you do; and if you don't like it, you can give it to Seth."

She laughs at that last point. "Well, he is loving it—but let's not tell him till he's got his licence."

"He can wait; Sue wouldn't let him have it yet anyway."

"All right," she agrees, grinning. "I'll tell him that was the plan all along—you picked it for him."

As a joke, I enjoy it, but I still feel the need to defend myself. "I picked it for you because it's fun—" Rey giggles at my emphatic tone—"and because I figured you'd avoid choosing any car if we let you pick."

"I don't need a car," she confirms, then shakes her head when Rey immediately nods (she likes the Ferrari), and they play a cute little game of shaking and nodding their heads more and more emphatically until they both concede with a laugh. "When you're old enough to drive," Bella says, "we can discuss your vehicle choices."

Her phrasing reminds me of another option I'd considered for her; "I considered getting you a motorcycle."

Her smile widens seemingly unconsciously, and I wonder if she wishes I had or is simply amused by the thought of it. "Why didn't you?" she replies, implying the former, but at least her tone is curious, not disappointed, and the error will be easy to rectify.

"It didn't align with Alice's expectations," I admit, wishing that I had pushed back.

She laughs. "You mean, there weren't enough zeros on the price tag?"

"It was a tie between that and her dissatisfaction with motorcycle 'fashionwear'."

"I'm surprised she saw that as a limitation."

"Yes, it's not as though you wore the proper attire when you actually needed it."

Bella sticks out her tongue at me, confirming Renesmee's suspicion that she's missing something. I don't want to explain her mother's reckless antics, so I sidestep the point by describing the high-tech suits worn by motorcycle racers, complete with automatic airbags. She doesn't fully engage in the story, though, so a cute little puppy gambolling along the sidewalk soon distracts her.

Just as I'm about to tell her that the puppy's name is Herbie, Bella suddenly lowers her window a few inches, letting in some fresh, human-scented air.

When she glances in my direction, I get the sense that she expected me to disapprove, so my smile surprises her. She studies my face for a second, then smiles, too. "Smells like rain," she jokes.

"Not for an hour at least," I joke back.

"So I can leave the window open a little longer?"

"As long as you like," I agree, wanting to show that I trust her completely.

She relaxes, appreciating the vote of confidence, and lifts her finger off the window switch.

Rey realises the significance and grins up at her mother. She can smell the humans, too, but their appeal only makes her crave Jacob's blood, not theirs.

Bella wrinkles her nose, then smiles. "Maybe he can visit tomorrow."

Rey's enthusiasm—and certainty—is so irritating, I'm tempted to offer her Seth's blood instead. But I know Bella wants her friend back, so I nod when she glances at me.

Seth cruises through downtown Olympia, then leads us down an adjacent street to start the journey back to Forks. The drive home is just as slow and uneventful, but Renesmee's constant questions keep it interesting. She falls asleep as I turn onto our driveway, and her dream-thoughts, which are mostly our faces at first, begin to replay and extend on her favourite new learnings.

Bella watches her dreams for almost a minute after we arrive before taking a deep breath. "I guess it's time to read all those emails."

Jasper dashes over, hoping to hold Renesmee, and he beams at Bella when she passes her over without hesitation. Alice kisses him on the cheek, then takes Bella's hand and pulls her out of the car. As we three follow Carlisle, Esme, and Seth inside, I offer to play the piano. Bella smiles gratefully, then listens to almost a minute of her lullaby before finally heading upstairs with Alice.

When I reach the end of the piece, my fingers play on, exploring the keys almost automatically as I compose a new melody for my newborn wife. For the first time, as I try to pay homage to Bella's new voice—not that any instrument could capture her perfection—I find the piano's sound wanting.

. . . . .

. . . . .

Author's note: Sorry this took so long! (I can't promise the next chapters will be faster, but I'll definitely keep going until this story is complete.)