Hi again everyone! (: Soooooo. I was planning to write outtakes, and here's the first one. I kept getting this particular scene stuck in my head over and over again, and I debated on whether or not to even write it. But thanks to the encouragement of some lovely people, I did. I realize the open ending wasn't everyone's cup of tea, and even though I was happy with it, I had the advantage of knowing what happened next.
I know quite a few people messaged me, too, and I loved responding to them. But a bunch of people asked me over review what happened next, which I never got caught up with. So THIS is what happens next ;)
I'm sorry so many of you felt let down with the ending. I wasn't being lazy or bored with the story, I promise. I just wanted a less defined, happy-go-lucky kind of ending for these two because I felt an ending where everything got tied together would feel lame and unlike the rest of the story. But anyway, here's a piece of the rest of the ending. It's told in E's POV and B's.
"You look just like this man I used to know," she drawls as she fiddles with her bouquet.
Her smile is as sly as always and her twinkling eyes are still hidden behind dark glasses. "Really."
"What happened to him?" I ask, even though it's kind of cliché, like something out of a movie.
But Bella is all about those fucking movies.
It feels like we're in one now, right here in the middle of Paris, meeting after all this time.
She bites her bottom lip, catching another smile before it breaks across her face. "Well, I hear he's become quite the lawyer."
"Been keeping track?"
Her smile slips past this time. "Of course."
Her hand trembles a little when she's unlocking the door.
It'd be inconsequential if I didn't know her better. But I do know her better, despite her best efforts.
The door swings open as she leads me inside her fancy hotel room—she never was one for ordinary.
She puts her flowers down on the desk. She removes her hat, her glasses. Each movement is slow and measured. And she won't even look at me.
It's making me fucking crazy.
But I'm so used to feeling that way around her that I stay quiet. I let her take a small breath and turn towards me slowly. She bites her lip and leans back delicately onto the desk.
I finally see her beautiful brown eyes.
There's nervousness there that I don't think she's ever let me see before. Not until now.
I take a measured step towards her.
She doesn't blink.
So I take another and another until I'm right there, standing in front of her, surrounded by her soft scent that never changes. She always smells like the sweetest vanilla.
"Edward," she says quietly, dropping my gaze.
I grab her chin, forcing her to look up at me again. Then I jerk her forward roughly so she falls against me. She kind of gasps, grabs the sides of my shirt.
She's timid. Maybe she always has been beneath the bravado and façade of her old self.
When I can't stand it anymore, I kiss her the way we used to kiss: demanding and angry and frantic and, underneath all that, loving, too.
She remembers that.
Her small hands are cool beneath my shirt, tracing and moving, and mine are against her hips, hoisting her up on the desk, carelessly knocking her flowers aside in the process.
"Edward," she chides, and her voice is breathless and teasing, and that's familiar, too, so I smile against her mouth before I kiss her again.
My hands climb up to the straps of her dress and jerk them down sharply. My head dips, my lips skimming the newly exposed skin that's so fucking soft and sweet.
Bella's hands tug at my hair and her little breaths touch my neck, my cheek. All I can feel is her. All I can smell and touch and taste is her, and it's been so fucking long since I've had her, since I've been with her in any way. It hits me hard and I can't believe I've spent the last three years without her.
I won't ever do it again. I don't care what she wants. I'll do anything. Anything for her.
It's the scariest fucking thing I've ever thought, even scarier than when I first realized I loved her, that night when she came into the guest house, rain-soaked and drunk and vulnerable. It was the first time I really saw her. The pain-filled girl hiding behind old glamour and makeup and sly smiles.
I pull her closer to me and she lets me.
Her warm, smooth legs open and wrap around me so tight, and I can't help but rock into her, against her, listening to her barely-muffled moans. My hands grab her hips again, holding and steadying as I press into her roughly; she scrapes her nails lightly down my back, beneath my shirt, making me groan into her shoulder.
I become impatient.
I push the skirt of her dress up quickly and pull black lace down her legs without hesitation.
When I look at her again, her eyes are all dark desire and her lips are swollen and her hair is messy.
I smile at her.
She smiles back.
It kind of makes the last few years of shit worth it.
"Slow, Edward, slow," she whispers—almost begs—her little body shaking.
I nod against her shoulder, half out of this world as I push into her. She's so fucking tight and I have to keep reminding myself that it's been a while since we've done this. It might be hurting her. I have to hold my breath to keep from losing it.
I feel her gentle-sweet touch against the back of my tense neck, and it grounds me the way I need to be grounded.
And then, after gentle thrusting and careful movements, I'm all the way inside, and I exhale pure relief against her neck.
She cries out softly, her body arching against me. I can feel every shake and quiver she gives, every little gasp. Everything she does is maddening and soothing, and I'm fucking caught up in her.
But I still ask, because my nagging mind won't stop. I have to ask.
My lips turn towards her ear and I whisper, "You haven't been with anyone else?"
Bella's head shakes immediately. Her hands ball up in the fabric of my shirt as she pulls away from my chest to look up at me. Her eyes are tear-filled and her makeup is a little smudged. Her imperfections are what are beautiful. They're what make her real. What make her something more than a modern take on an old starlet's movie persona.
"No," she breathes. "Never."
I hug her closer and push inside deeper, watching as her lids flutter shut and wet lashes quiver against pale cheeks. My words shake when I ask, "You're mine?"
Bella's breath explodes quietly, her fingers gripping my arms, her nails digging into my skin. "Only yours," she replies.
I pull away only to thrust back harder, rougher. It makes the desk rock and shudder, and she bites down on her bottom lip so hard I think it might bleed.
"Oh God, Edward," she says.
I take in a quick breath and rest my forehead against her shoulder and thrust again. Her legs and arms wrap around me as I press my nose into her skin, inhaling vanilla and femininity and her.
I can feel her pulse.
It's as wild as mine.
"Don't stop," she murmurs. I feel the first of her tears fall against my shirt, but her grip is tight and her words are convincing and I know I'm not hurting her. "Please don't stop."
My voice is hoarse but steady when I answer her. "I won't."
Happiness is as simple as lying side by side, not even touching, just knowing the other half of the whole is there beside you.
Maybe it's a little dramatic and overdone.
But I always was one for dramatic and overdone.
I glance over and see Edward. He's staring sleepily up at the ceiling, bathed in the brilliant gold of the setting sun. The rays shimmer through the open window, scattering across the room, making this whole evening feel movie-perfect.
The past few days have been nothing but love and heat and kissing and pressing and touching and remembering. I don't even know how long it's been.
Time is measured in kisses and soft-spoken words.
My body aches and my mind loops in lazy circles, but I'm carefree-happiness and real joy like I've never felt.
I smile and roll over towards Edward, putting my hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath.
He turns his head to me and smiles back.
I reach out to touch the soft, neat-kept beard on his face. "This is new."
He catches my wrist deftly and presses stomach-tingling kisses to each of my fingertips. "Yeah."
"It makes you look older," I murmur.
"I am older," he corrects, kissing the soft skin of my inner wrist now.
"So am I."
Edward's eyes flicker up to meet mine from beneath his lashes. His smile lights up his face and he presses another kiss to my arm. "I know."
I warm and thrill.
But then I see the shift.
I see him change and sigh and grow tired. I know it's time now for discussing. For planning and talking and preparing. We've effectively avoided it all this time, but we can't outrun it forever.
I sigh, too, and lay down beside him again.
There's a beat of silence that feels unstable and unwanted.
But then he says, "I'll do whatever you want."
My head snaps over and my eyes lock with his.
"Whatever you want," he repeats.
I feel a brick on my chest, so I sit up to try and relieve the pressure. But it doesn't work. I pull my knees to my chest and hug the hotel sheets to my body tighter. I feel Edward's fingers trace up my spine soothingly.
"We can stay here," he says, so quiet I can barely hear. "We could just… live. Like this."
"This is an anomaly," I reply, peeping over my shoulder to look at him. I motion around us. "This is not how it usually is, Edward. It's usually scary."
His intense gaze and stormy eyes are focused on the knuckles he drags up and down my back, over and over again. He simply shakes his head. "I'd stay here with you."
I've always been manufactured words and masks and old starlet sensibilities. But now is my chance to be different. So I let my voice come out before I edit, before I pick my words oh-so carefully.
"No," I say. "I know you would, but I'm not asking you to do that. I'm not asking you to give up your life and family, Edward. I've been so selfish, but I won't be now."
Edward's brows pull together sharply and then he's sitting up beside me. He sighs and hangs his head, rests his elbows on his bent open knees. "Bella, I don't know if I can get you the verdict you want. I can't guarantee you won't be put in jail—"
"I know that." My words come out easier this time. Stronger. I see my hand reach out and smooth up Edward's arm. My fingers trail soft skin and hard muscle that I know by heart. "I'm not asking you for that."
"Then what are you asking?" He lifts his gaze to meet mine. Messy hair falls into his sun-struck eyes, and he looks tired and rested, tortured but peaceful. And beautiful, too, but that goes without saying.
"I'm asking you just to try." I lean forward, pressing a kiss to the top of his arm. "I'm asking you to take me home."
Edward inhales deeply and rests his cheek against the top of my head. We stay like this until the sun finally dips down beneath the skyline, and the hotel room glows with dusty-blue twilight.
"Then let's go home."
So. A little more closure, maybe. I'll be writing more outtakes as the months go on, especially one between Bella and Renee kind of delving into their "breakup" a little.
Thank you, all you wonderful beautiful people for reading and sticking with it. oxoxoxo