Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. That's depressing.

Sometimes I wonder if he's real. Because he's sweet and blue-eyed and perfect. He strums Van Morrison on his guitar and he drives a Ford F150. He says it reminds him of home. We drive down the winding roads that lead to nowhere in this small town. His mom is lovely and sends me containers of greens and grits. She says I need more meat on my bones and she gives the warmest hugs. His father's tough and quiet, like my dad, but he says his father loves me. I go to his parent's house for dinner a lot and we make out in his truck for what feels like hours before he walks me to my front door. This Sunday he drives us down to La Push beach and we walk along the shore, the frigid water tickling our feet. I say he's handsome and he says I'm beautiful. I call him babe and honey and he calls me darling and brown eyes.

We lie on old beach towels and I bring a picnic basket filled to the brim. It's turkey sandwiches and apple slices and Coke and a slice of peach cobbler. Once we're full and content, I rest my head on his chest and he places his arm under his head, blinking up at the sun. He sighs and says, "One day I'm going to marry you."

He's grinning and his dimples are prominent. I want to kiss them both, but I just look at him and say, "Why's that?"

"Because you're different. You're special. You're doe eyed beauty and sweet cream soft. I can imagine you in white silk and a veil, and I can see us sitting on the couch, rocking babies and watching the news in 10 years, and I can see the two of us with wheelchairs and dentures. You're special, Bells, and I'm gonna make sure you see that."

I don't say anything because I'm digesting each word and smiling goofily. We're content in our daydream silence. I see the local boys on top of the nearest cliff. They're laughing, all white teeth and chuckles, and I watch as they each jump off, letting out whoops and hollers as they go. I giggle at them, but decide to focus on my boy. I roll onto my stomach and he lifts his neck and places a soft kiss on my lips.

We lay there for a long while before I whisper, "I hope you mean that."

"I wouldn't dare lie to you, my sweet brown eyes."

He's Southern charm and lilting accents and honeyed skin. He's sweet whispers and French toast and muddy roads.

As we lay beneath one of Forks's rare sunny days, I pray that one day I'll stand next to him and say "I do."


We're leather and lace, sunshine and rain. But we work. He yells and I shove. He scowls and I grin. I yell that it's over and he kisses me hard. I slap him, but he persists. I moan "fuck you" and he whispers "you're a crazy bitch." His hands are in my hair and mine are running across his torso. We're aggressive and rowdy and I hear him let out a high-pitched moan as I nip his bottom lip. Clothes fly and I moan out of pain and pleasure.

It ends with bruises on my hips and scratches on his back, but we're all smiles. He's kissing my hair line and I'm brushing the blond curls away from his eyes. Our world is golden once again.

We drag white cotton sheets into the living room in his apartment and watch reruns of That 70's Show, for him, and Sex and the City, for me. He tickles my stomach and I elbow his ribs. I'm giggles and grins and he's laughter and love. Our breakfast is popcorn and salty kisses and we lie on his couch, oblivious to the world.

Carrie Bradshaw is mumbling something about relationships and love and how when you know it's the one, you need to take advantage of that. Suddenly my boy jogs out of the room and I'm left confused. He's gone for seconds, but it feels longer because I miss the warmth of his body next to mine. I miss his popcorn breath and his soft chuckles.

He's back at my side, dropping to the floor, and I smile because he looks so adorable and nervous. He's running a hand through his unmanageable blond curls and giving me a meek smile. "I think I need to marry you now," he says.

"Really?" My voice is shaky and it sounds sort of like I'm laughing and breathing at the same time. His smile widens and I place my hand in his. He stuffs his other hand in his pocket and pulls out a blue velvet box. I shake my head because I'm a fumbling mess and he's lost his chill composure. He's nervous and sweating and I'm worried he's going to faint on this hardwood floor.

"Yeah, really. Uhh... I don't know how to do this," he's mumbling. "Shit. Bella, I love you. I don't think I've ever met someone who's so... you. Oh, this isn't... Bella, will you just take this ring and say you'll love me for the rest of your life? Because if I'm not sure I have you by my side I'll fucking combust. If I don't have your deep brown eyes and your soft pink lips and your pale porcelain skin and your... your heart, I can't live. And I want to stand by you and have tons of babies and I want to hold your hand when life sucks and I want you to know that no matter what you have me. Cause I think that's what marriage is about and so I think if we can try octopus sushi, I think we can give this marriage shit a whirl."

He opens the box and the ring's perfect. It's dainty and classic, but gorgeous and unique. I cover my mouth and I murmur my response and we kiss. His lips are moist and the kiss is passionate because this is yes. This is waking up to find myself in his arms and creating a family that's as ethereal as him. This is the beginning of the rest of our lives... as cliche as that sounds.

His arms are my cocoon and I breathe in his smell - sandalwood. He's gorgeous and sweet and perfect. It makes me want to cry because he's way too good for me. But he stays and he tucks my hair behind my ear and trails kisses down my collar bone. He clasps his hand in mine and slips the other beneath the hem of my shirt.


I'm in a strapless soft organza A-line floor-length dress. My mother, Renee, says it looks like something you'd wear to the beach. I glare and she adds, "But as long as you like it. That's what matters." She's right though. It's simple and classic, but I feel like a princess. My make up is nonexistent and my hair falls in gentle waves against my shoulders. I'm barefoot and so is my fiance. He's in a tuxedo and it makes him look like a rugged James Bond. He's my summer and my winter. He's why my life's worth living and he's why I'm happy and I don't think I've smiled this much in my entire life.

Our hands are clasped and we're facing each other while the preacher talks. We trip over our vows and he yells an ecstatic "I do" and mine's quiet, but it's filled with love and hope and happiness and dreams of what's ahead. I can't stop smiling, but I guess that's a good thing.

Waves are crashing around us and I can't think of anywhere better to have this day than La Push beach. My feet grip the sand and finally, the preacher says that he can kiss his bride and he does.

His lips are on mine and my hands are in his hair. There's no where I'd rather be. All I need are these tanned arms and this white smile and that muscled chest. All I want is him to hold me and keep whispering how much he loves me. He's this gorgeous amazing person and he's mine, all mine. Because this is perfect and as our guests clap and chatter amongst themselves, I can't see anyone but my husband. Because we're groggy morning kisses and midnight Scrabble games and animal crackers. We're Bella and Jasper. We're bliss.

Author's Note:

This was something I just kind of had playing in my head and decided to write everything down real quick. I plan to keep this as a one-shot. I kind of like the simplicity of it and I just want to keep it this way. Tell me what you think. I didn't use a beta so if there are any mistakes, my bad.