A/N: So I've wanted to write this story for ten years, when I first heard about the movie and read some stories with a similar plot line. The idea isn't original, but neither are the Twilight characters, so I'm telling myself it's okay.
It's going to follow Edward and Bella over ten years (not continuously...you'll see), but the first weekend is going to be a lot longer compared to the others (I'm all about the build up).
Rated M because this story will be loaded with lemons later on. No story of mine is complete without smut!
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, but I hear Rob's goofy laugh in my sleep sometimes.
Prologue: August 13, 2019
The thick scent of pine and salt water assaulted my senses as I opened the door into a beautiful, familiar room. Tiny white lights danced across the ceiling and the walls, casting a delicate sheen on the floorboards. A full moon radiated its steady stream of white light through the windows, giving the room an effervescent glow. I inhaled sharply. Memories of this place, this room, clouded my mind. I thought of him, as I always did. I thought of his painfully beautiful face, his crooked smile, his tousled bronze hair. I felt a tightening in my chest, a reaction to the memory—the absence—of him.
I placed my overnight bag on the table beside the door and stepped out of my sandals as the door closed behind me. A gentle breeze fluttered through the windows, warming the air on this sultry August night. I glanced out the window at the moon and the stars, their light undulating with the gentle waves of the Pacific. I pictured him standing in the water, waist-deep, his hands on the glasslike surface, enticing me to follow…
I sighed deeply. Turning from the window, I walked over to the large bed, draped in gossamer and transparent netting. The fabric rustled with the movement of the air, which came off the waves and left me breathless. The comforter was a stunning royal blue, the color of the sea, and I blushed at the memory of its desecration. It was so long ago now. As though a lifetime had passed.
I gazed into the mirror at my reflection, and I wondered how exactly I had changed in the last ten years. I saw the familiar porcelain complexion, the chocolate colored eyes, the chestnut brown hair that cascaded down my shoulders. My face was thinner, I thought, like the last of my childish features had finally disappeared. I looked more feminine now, more…adult. More beautiful, he had said.
I remembered him sitting here with me, cradling me in his lap, admiring the shy smile on my face as I studied our reflections. Like a voyeur, I watched him kiss my hair, tighten his arms around my waist, whisper in my ear. The mirror had its purpose, I mused. Several, in fact. My cheeks flushed a delicate pink at the thought of our bedroom activities. That, too, had changed over the years, adapting to our moods, our bodies, our experience as time went by.
I quickly lost track of time as I sat there, dangling my feet over the edge of the bed, gazing out the window at the full moon. I knew last year had been different than the others. Something had changed, but I had refused to think about it then. The two of us had come here for a decade, never arranging things beforehand, just showing up on the same date. If one of us didn't come, then the ritual would end. Simple. Infallible. Easy to escape, if one of us wanted to…
Somehow, the arrangement had become my most fiercely guarded secret, as well as the happiest two days of my year. I wondered, sometimes, how he explained his annual disappearances to the people in his life. I had encountered my own difficulties over the years, but somehow I managed to return here, year after year. I wondered about him in the months between our days here, but it was against the rules for us to talk about that; our outside lives had no place in this private corner of our existences. Those were the only rules, really. But they were enough.
The memory of our parting burned more deeply in my mind with each passing minute, and I felt my heart flutter and my breathing quicken. I sensed his absence deep in my chest, pulsing through my veins. I yearned for him, for his touch, for his sweet breath in my ear. I wanted to feel his strong hands roaming across my body, coaxing a reaction from every inch of my electrified skin. I wanted him here beside me, telling me everything was okay, that he was here last year, was coming this year, and would return every year for the rest of our lives.
Suddenly, a gentle knock at the door broke the stillness of the room and the intensity of my thoughts. I raised my eyebrows a bit at the interruption; no one, in all our years here, had ever disturbed us before. I walked out of the bedroom and into the entryway, hearing the timid call of my name behind the door.
I opened it to see the innkeeper there, his face uncertain, his forehead creased with apology.
"I am so sorry to disturb you, miss," he said, addressing me in his languid Canadian accent. "There is a phone call for you at reception."
I never brought my cell phone to this place, and the room itself was devoid of any modern technology. No television, no phone, no microwave in the tiny kitchenette. I only brought a few articles of clothing, and those were even less necessary once we both arrived.
"Oh," I said, surprised. Someone clearly knew I was here. "May I ask who's calling?"
"It's your husband," he replied. And he stopped, dropping his eyes, silenced by the look of shock that graced my face.
Promising? Dumb? Unoriginal? Reviews (good or bad, doesn't matter) are much appreciated. Thanks!