It's So Nice


He'll never be this glorious again.

Even though immortality has frozen him forever seventeen, he will never look as lovely as he looks in this moment. He will never smell so sweet; never breathe so softly; never hold me so tenderly as he is right now.

I trace my fingers over the smooth marble of his nose, over the glossed plains of his cheeks and jaw, and wonder how it is that I came to be so very lucky. A girl like me. A man like him. A love like Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth. Like Ellen and Newland. Like Romeo and Juliet. Lady Luck must be dealing the cards in my favor—or perhaps all that we had gone through were trials and I had passed each and every one with flying colors.

Or maybe I just deserved him.

Whether I did or not, however, I had now been Mrs. Bella Cullen officially for twenty four hours. Deserving or not, he was mine. Deserving or not, I was his. Deserving or not, there was no second chances, no going back, no ifs, ands, or buts. Marriage, as Edward had whispered to me sometime during the course of night, was forever.

He opens his eyes slowly, eager to know the reason for my silence. But my face is vacant save for the air of bliss, whatever that may look like. There must be a smile, a little love in my eyes, a bit of fascination for his beauty… He likes the expression.

My nimble fingers continue the path down his neck—and for once I do not feel abashed with his eyes on me. Gently, my hands follow the ridges of his stomach, wrapping around his back, sketching the curve of his torso, the wider, deeper trench of his spine. My lip quirks as I reach his shoulder blades—strong and elegant. Can bones be elegant?

I don't care. His are.

My fingers make a run-around, come back to his face, and glide over his lips. He parts them softly, breathes out.

"Bella," he whispers while he presses his head to my chest. I feel his cool breathing on my chest, making goose flesh ripple out over the sensitive skin. He kisses me there, as gentle as a moths wing, and I close my eyes, laying my head on his as his words slide across my breasts, "what are you thinking?"

I am quiet for only a moment before I answer, taking a strand of auburn hair between my fingers, "I'm thinking that I don't care if I'm not meant to have you. I do. And I'm thinking that's all that matters now."

"It's me that doesn't deserve you, Bella. We've been over this."

We have, but I don't relent.

"Yes," I concede, "but I never like the outcome of that conversation."

He chuckles quietly and I squirm, the effect of his breath growing, "Stop it."

He doesn't listen, of course.

Instead, his hands come up, gentle still, tracing the underside of my breast, the valley between them, my collarbone. My breathing slows for a few seconds before becoming a little faster. He tilts his head up for a kiss, and I look down to meet him, our lips mingling, our breaths intertwining.

"I love you," he murmurs, his lips moving against mine in a saccharine embrace, "I love you."

And I chuckle, pull away, "I know."

No trouble, no fuss.

I know why.

It's so nice.

I wanna hear the same song twice.

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