His truly happy face, his glowing eyes, the tenderness that fills them every time he looks at her. Bella. His Bella.
And her blushes, which bring the blood running to her cheeks, her body which echoes his every movement, her eyes which follow him constantly, filled with adoration and love as she watches his face, the face of her beloved, Edward.
They are so beautiful together; so utterly happy and in love.
When I look into the face of Edward, my son for almost eighty years, I cannot help but marvel in the difference a few short months can bring. When he touches her; her face, her back, her hand; when he holds her, when he kisses her; that is when he is at his most human. His face is so gentle that I can barely contain my own joy.
He was always a well brought up boy; his manners impeccable, his voice cultured, his thirst for knowledge insatiable. He was an affectionate son, thoughtful and kind. He always respected our privacy, stayed out of our thoughts when he could, and never used those he heard against us.
When Rosalie first came to the family I hoped he would form an attachment to her; that she would be his companion as surely as I was Carlisle's. After all, she was beautiful, and he was educated and well-mannered. But her beauty held no interest for him, and she cared little for his intellect. As the years continued, they grew to care for one another, but only as siblings, with the same feuds and disagreements. And then our family grew, to include Emmett and Alice and Jasper, and he loved them as brothers and sister too; shared in their joys and their sorrows, kept their secrets with his own, and remained fiercely loyal to them.
When we stayed with the Denali clan, I thought once again that perhaps Edward would find a partner in one of the three girls, but he showed no preference, and formed no attachment even equal to that of his family, despite the obvious advances of Tanya in particular. I would sigh in the privacy of my head, and try to banish all thoughts of Edward's love life, but he would know, and he would feel guilty, and try his best to look happy and full of vigour.
But he could not conceal the longing in his eyes sometimes, when he was surrounded by three very content couples. He was always the odd man out; alone, separate. We tried to include him; we loved him and wanted him to feel part of the family. He would just smile joylessly at us, understanding our intentions and our feelings, but never able to feel at ease in a house full of marital bliss.
Every day to him was monotony, broken only by the excitement of the hunt and the companionship he shared with his brothers and sisters, and myself and Carlisle. Perhaps he himself did not see it, but it was as if he was always searching, searching for something that would make him whole.
And then he found her. Bella.
Or did Bella find him? Did Bella save him, or did he save himself through her?
Did it matter? Does it matter? Now that they are together, who cares how it happened?
My boy finally found the love he had been searching for, and as I watched them, I could not help but grow to love the girl who loved Edward enough to set his face alight once more. His happiness spread like infection throughout the house; and each one of us; even Rosalie, who disapproved; could scarcely contain our joy. Edward was in love.
And now I watch them, as they plan their life together, arguing pleasantly with Alice as she tries to organise their ceremony on her own, their hands entwined, his ring gleaming on her finger, catching the glow of the candle and sending sparkling facets of light glittering throughout the room. He kisses the back of her hand, and her eyes meet his, full of love and expectation.
I smile, unable to contain the happiness I feel at such a sight.