So I hadn't really planned on writing more as part of this story, but then I spent eight hours in a chair in Orly airport in France. So... yeah. A part two. Cool. See you at the bottom!

When we finally get up from the dock, the sun almost below the horizon, Edward stands first and holds his hand out. I take it and rise.

The mood has shifted a little. We've spent the better part of three hours making out and talking but suddenly, the awkwardness seems to have caught up with us.

"When do you fly out?" he asks.

"Tomorrow morning at nine; Jake's staying for a couple days but I have to be back at work on Monday."

"Continental?" I nod. "Yeah, I think my parents are on that flight. I guess I better go back and figure out how I'm going to get home. See if I can get a deposit on the honeymoon reservations."

I don't feel sorry for him—because he's not pitiful at all—but I do feel bad for him. "Well, we should probably head back. You can figure all your stuff out and I should probably spend some time with Jake before I leave."

He looks at his feet. "We… we should probably lay low for a little while."

I nod, staring at my feet as well. "Yeah, that's a good idea."

"Maybe…" He clears his throat. "Maybe not see each other for a couple days. Till we get back and settle in."

I nod and feel a pang in my chest for him. Today is not actually the worst of it—at least here, everyone knows what happened. Soon he'll have to go back to his life and explain to his colleagues, his other friends, his neighbors, everyone, why he went to Scotland to get married in a fucking castle and came back a bachelor.

"That's probably a good idea," I agree. If it's space he needs, then I'll give it to him.

"But I do want to see you," he adds quickly and I smile. "I don't want to not—what I mean is this is just a really weird situation and I have no idea—"

"It's okay," I tell him. "I understand."

He smiles and rubs his thumb over the back of my palm, where our hands are still joined. "That's the cool thing about you: you really do understand."

I fawn and fall to pieces on the inside a little at his warm words and am struck with a sudden jolt of fear. I'm so busy watching out for Edward that I'm not even thinking of myself. I like him, but he's in a bad place right now, no matter how charming he still is, no matter how sweet his smile. He could fall apart any minute and if I'm not careful, I'll end up in pieces too. So I say, trying not to let my voice shake even as he continues running his thumb in long sweeps across my hand, "Even once we meet up, in Seattle, y'know, in a couple days, we should probably take it slow." With my chin still down, I look up at him and then down at our joined hands.

He nods slowly but doesn't take his eyes off his finger, still making that maddening circuit of almost-touches across my knuckles. "Take it slow."

When I look up at his face again, he's staring right at me. Swallowing, I repeat, "Slow."

He nods, without taking his eyes off me. "Slow."

Not even ten minutes later, I find myself pushed up against the cold stone wall of one of the corridors in the castle, Edward's knee insistently wedging itself between my legs. He puts one hand on my hip, pulling me forward, moving his thigh so that it's right there, and the rhythm that he moves it against me matches the way he kisses me. I moan into his mouth as he traces long, sucking kisses down my face to my neck and then back, until he's working the edge of my jaw.

I slide my arms across his shoulders and into his hair and fist, making him release a low growling grunt that vibrates across my skin. "Fuck slow," I breathe more than say.

He pulls away at my words, a small smirk emerging on his face. "Fuck slow," he agrees. "Or fuck fast. We'll see."

I lean forward and kiss the corner of his mouth, letting my tongue play in the small space between his lips. He groans and grabs my thigh, haphazardly lifting me as he moves quickly down the hallway into the closest room, which happens to be his.

He quickly slams the door shut with his foot and moves to kiss me but stops. Instead he looks around, eyes widening as we pause our frantic motions, his hands left clasped around my waist, mine resting on his chest. The room is Edward's just for the night.

It's the honeymoon suite.

He releases me so both my feet are on the ground and we pull apart a little, looking at our surroundings. A massive bed, laded with pillows is in the middle of the room. I cross my arms as I notice lilies—which were in all the bouquets in the bridal party and the lapels of the men's coats—in arrangements throughout the room. Most noticeable: no TV. This hotel room is not meant for watching TV.

I look over at Edward; we're not touching at all right now. I go back to surveying the room as I let out a wry smile. This is how it's going to be, I guess. Moments like the one we just had outside on the wall, and then in the hallway are great, moments where it's just me and him and feels like nothing else matters. But the real world exists and will always intrude.

In a way, it's a good thing we stopped I guess.

But I never finish my thought, because with no warning, Edward loops his arm around my waist, pulling me to him roughly. He kisses me, hard, on the mouth and I stop caring whether we're in the honeymoon suite or on Mars. All I want is him.

Our clothes come off in fits and starts; we lose a shirt and a bra and then get distracted by the skin underneath. Then pants comes off, and we get distracted again, over and over, until finally, we make it to the bed, naked and he moves into me.

I thought this would be therapeutic for him; to fuck someone with abandon, remind himself that he is a man, that shame and someone else's shitty actions can't change that. He moves with intent, with a motive. And I was right; I can feel himself prove his point over and over again, as his hips roll strongly, forcefully. Even after abject humiliation, he is still a man. And what a man he is.

"Are you close?" he asks, moving even more steadily, sturdily. It feels good, it really does, especially when he hooks his hand under my knee and pulls it to wrap my leg around his back. But it's not enough. It's not him, it's me—just this has never been enough.

But I don't want to tell him that. Maybe I'm not out to heal him, but if I can, I do want to help him. I want to make him feel good. And this, this utterly primal movement, I think it's just what he needs.

So I reply, "Feels good," like I can't quite form full sentences. I tug on his shoulders, pulling him so our chests are flush, and breathe next to his ear. It may not be enough to make me come but it doesn't mean I'm not enjoying it.

Edward pulls away again, and without a break in his rhythm peers down at me. I look up at him and then let my eyes roll back a little as I shut them. Maybe I'm honest but I'm not above faking some things.

But when I open my eyes, I see something unexpected: he can tell I'm lying. And even more unexpected, perhaps because I expected him to be so caught up in himself, is that it matters to him.

He lays his palm flat on the bed in the space between my neck and shoulder. Rising up on it, he moves his body away from mine, stilling as he pulls out of me. This feel bad, it feels empty, unfinished. Suddenly, I'm worried. Is he going to storm out of here? Is this his breaking point? Is he going to realize that this really is too much too soon?

But I'm wrong.

I surprised him pleasantly earlier; he surprises me pleasurably now. He doesn't storm off. He doesn't break down. Instead he leans back on his knees and slides down the bed. He looks me in the eyes and drags his gaze down my naked body as he leans in, his gaze getting lower and his mouth getting closer until they are both right on me.

This, this, this is what I need. His breath coming little puffs right below my hip bone, his mouth open and covering me, the way he alternates little flicks and sucks. This time, he doesn't need to ask if I'm close or not; I'm loud enough that he knows I am. My back arches as my thighs start to shake; everything goes blurry and blank except the way his tongue moves against me and the fingers he slides into me. I try to clamp my legs together, as if I can contain this sensation as it rips through me, but he pushes the side of my knee with the flat of his palm, pinning me open. I move and rock against his mouth and he adjusts, never stopping till I am truly finished.

Without a word, as I lie breathless, he kisses the tattoo on my thigh and then moves back over me. He pushes into me again, falling right back into that rhythm he had before. Now he's not as focused on me and he really and truly fucks, in long, strong strokes that leave me spinning in the aftermath. He moves languidly, fluidly, confident and sure, like he's got a place he wants to go, a place he wants to take me, and he knows exactly how to get me there.

He starts to move faster and I realize I want to do something; I want to make this good for him. I don't think it'd be possible to make it as good as he did for me, but I roll my hips to match him on the upstroke. I tighten my body, and slip one hand into his hair and I drag the other down his body, scratching his scalp and his nipple. His expression is an impossibly enjoyable grimace and when he comes, he moves with a sudden jerk, so fast and hard into me that I want to brand the sensation into my mind forever, to always know how good it can feel.


"You know, I don't even know what you do," I say, later when we're lying side-by-side. I turn to face him. "And do you even remember my last name?"

He looks at me, a sheepish smile on his face. "Bella… Bella… um…"

I smirk. "Well, I know you know my first name. You said it quite uh, vehemently just a few moments ago."

"Well, you gave me a good reason to be vehement," he replies. His eyes light up. "Oh, it was an animal or something. A bird, right?" I nod. "Bella… Bella Stork?"

I roll on to my stomach, cracking up. "A-plus for effort. Swan. Bella Swan."

He chuckles. "Okay. Bella Swan. And I am a financial advisor."

I nod. "I work for a literary review magazine."

"Cool. That's…"

"Nothing like what you do?" We both laugh. "I guess we don't have too much in common."

He smiles, reaching over and sliding his hand over my bare thigh. "I think we have enough."

I turn on my side to face him and roll my eyes. "Sex doesn't count as having something in common."

He raises an eyebrow. "It doesn't?"

"No. It counts as doing something in common—each other," I joke and he grins.

"I'm sure we can find more in common," he says.


"Like… do you speak any other languages besides English?" he asks, but he's running his fingers up and down my forearm and I can barely remember what words are, let alone how to use them.

"I barely speak English most days," I say. "I do speak a little French."

"You do?"

"Very little."

"How little?"

"Like… bonjour. Or revor—"

"Au revoir—" he corrects gently, and I'm lost in the way those words sound, the way the look, rolling out of his mouth as his bottom lip stretches and puckers to form them.

"I told you it was very little," I say. He laughs. "Au revoir. Oh and, voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?" I ask. "Oh wait. You already did." He rolls onto his back laughing and I shrug. "I never said it was good French."

"You didn't say it was a Lady Marmalade lyric either."

"Tell me something," I say, smiling.

He's in a playful mood too. "What do you want me to say?"

I shrug. "I don't care. Just say it in three different languages."

He smiles and there's no other way to describe than wicked. It's sinful, and I think that Edward might be so much more to handle than I first thought he was.

"Well, since you started it with that voulez-vous coucher nonsense." He moves so his body is pressed along mine. He hitches his leg across my upper thighs, pulling them so I move into his body as he whispers in my ear. "Merci de m'avoir laissé te baiser, Bella." He kisses my ear lobe. "Mia piaciuto imensamente farti scopare." He moves his lips so they brush against my ear, and his breath tickles and titillates at the same time. "Would you let me fuck you again?"

Oh holy shit. Edward Cullen is not at all the smooth, straight-laced, Ivy league protégé I thought he was. Or rather, he is; he is all that, and so much more. He's a hard-fucking, irresistible dirty talker; a multilingual dirty talker.

And turns out, I really like that. So I acquiesce to his requests. Once for each language he asked in.


Later, when he's fallen asleep, sprawled out on his stomach, looking so sweet and innocent and nothing like the man who fucked me four times, I sneak out of the room. He asked for slow and then we went fast, but I can still give him his space. It's push and pull; if he shows me that he can do this, I can do it whatever way he wants it to be done.

I can't regret tonight though. First, because I haven't felt that fucking good—literally—in maybe ever. Second, because what it proved is that this might not be easy and it might not be typical, but god damn it, it's pretty amazing.

The next morning, I'm bleary-eyed and cranky as I walk over to Starbucks, trying to decide whether I want coffee or to give a good try at sleeping on the flight.

"Bella," I hear someone whisper and when I turn in that direction, Edward is standing in a small alcove. I move toward him and he catches me by the elbow, pulling me into his body and kissing me. His tongue brushes my lips a few times before I stop trying to resist and open my mouth and then, right there in the airport, next to a janitor's mop and bucket, we're making out. I suppose it's not that inappropriate considering where we had sex last night.

When we finally pull apart, he rests his forehead on mine, eyes closed. "Hi," he says, a small, sated smile spreading over his face and I'm caught up in him all over again.


"My parents managed to get me on the flight," he says. "What do you think the chances are that we might be sitting together?"

I smile at his excitement and pull out my boarding pass. "I'm in 42C."

He frowns. "I think we're in row 8 or something."

First class. Of course, he's in first class. Look at his ridiculous wedding. Suddenly, even with him right here, I feel really far away.

"Where'd you go last night?" he asks, pulling away to look at me. "I woke up by myself."

I nod. "Yeah... I couldn't sleep and it felt too weird being there. In that room."

"Yeah, that was weird." He lets out a short laugh. "But hey, it was the honeymoon suite. Its whole purpose is to have sex in," he jokes.

I give him a wry smile. "I like how you're completely ignoring the obvious here."

"The obvious sucks right now. So, yeah, I'm going to ignore it," he says, and then brushing his lips against mine, he continues, "I'm going to ignore the obvious... and focus on you instead."

With him, it's less an initiation of a kiss and more just a mutual acquiescence; I melt into him, into the way his lips suck gently, the way his tongue moves in small strokes over mine that remind me of how he moved in long strokes over me. His kisses make me feel like it's just us and no one else. They're so, so dangerous and doubly as good.

I'm seriously considering pulling away, if only to see if there's a closet or room nearby so he can do to the rest of me what his mouth is doing to mine when I hear it:

"Do you know where Edward went?" a woman's voice asks.

"Yes, he said he went to grab coffee."

"But Starbucks is right there; I don't see him."

Almost immediately, he pulls away. Not just from the kiss but from me, in general. Those are his parents' voices.

"I've got to go," he says, staring at his feet and swallowing. He looks up just long enough to see me nod, bereft of words because I'm still spinning from his kisses, before he darts out of the alcove. I hear him greet his parents.

"Where were you?" his mother asks.

"Just... looking for the bathroom."

"Well, there's a bathroom in the lounge. And there's coffee there too," she replies. "Come on." I hear them walk away.

There it is. That pesky thing, real life, other people, parents, expectations. Edward and I would be perfect if we could just exist in a bubble of sex and walls on Scottish castles.

Unfortunately, we're both about to board a flight back to Seattle, and the chances of us finding a bubble of our own seems unlikely. We're going to have to find out how to do this in the real world.

I'm standing at baggage claim, scrolling through four days of email, when I look up. Edward stands across the carousel from me and I want to whine at how handsome he is. He hardly looks like he's been on a flight for the last twelve hours. Then again, he was in first class and I was in coach. I still don't think I've gotten the feeling in my left calf back.

I give him a small smile and he beams back. Then his parents come to stand next to him and he quickly breaks our gaze, his expression becoming stony. I sigh and turn back to my phone.

I'm okay with being the one who really has to push this; the one who has to reassure him, the aggressor of the relationship. But I don't like being someone's secret, someone's shame. I can take whatever doubt or issues he throws at me, but the way he's making me feel right now will easily end it all before it even starts.

I walk up to him and pretend to grab the stray luggage trolley next to him.


"Hey again," I say, not smiling back.

He frowns a little but then seems to get over it and lets out a little chuckle. "So in keeping with doing everything out of order… I don't have your phone number."


He laughs a little, but this time it sounds nervous. "So… can I get it?"

I frown and look at him. He looks too good so I stare at the carousel and notice my bag. I go over to get it and he follows me, helping me lift it off the belt even though it's small. "Are you sure you want it?"

He frowns. "What?"

"I know I said I'd be the best rebound ever—"

"The best god damn rebound ever," he corrects, and I can't help but smile. I need to start a swear jar or something.

"The best god damn rebound ever. But…" I trail off, wondering how to say what I'm thinking without coming across as ridiculous needy or bossy; after all, we're barely two days into this thing.

"But… what? Are you—do you not want this anymore?" he asks, face falling.

"No… I do." I let out a short, static laugh. "I do. That's the thing."

"What is?"

"I can be your rebound, Edward. I can. But I can't be something you're ashamed of."

"Why do you think I'm ashamed of you?" he asks, forehead creasing.

"I know it's a tough situation; but if I'm throwing caution to the wind to pursue this with you, then I can't be the only taking the risks. I won't be a dirty little secret."

"You…" Suddenly, his eyes widen and I think he gets it. "Because of earlier; in the airport in Glasgow when we were kissing and I left."

I look right at him, letting him squirm under my gaze. "Yeah."

"I didn't mean to do that. It was a knee-jerk reaction."

"Well, you got the 'jerk' part right," I mutter and he laughs. "I understand this can't be all castles and rainbows and it's a little non-traditional. But don't treat me like what we're doing is wrong. Like you're ashamed of it."

"I'm not ashamed of you. I'm not embarrassed that I met an awesome girl and went for it, even if it was on what was supposed to be my wedding day. I told you, I'm a mess."

"I know—"

"No, listen. My head is like… white noise half the time. I'm still so angry and I've only got more shitty days ahead of me. But, you make me feel better. About everything." He exhales deeply. "So I'm going to make you feel better about me." He gently takes my elbow and leads me around the carousel. He loops his arm around my waist and stops in front of his parents.

"Mom, Dad," he says, squeezing my hip. "This is Bella."

And of all the ways Edward has surprised me in the short time I've known him, this is the both the most and worst of it. His father, still DILF-y even though I'm far more interested his SIHF (Son I Have Fucked), looks confused before adopting a genial, albeit guarded smile. His mother is still frowning.

"Carlisle Cullen," he says, extending his hand. It's his left one and my left hand is jammed between Edward and my body, so I have to squeeze my arm through us to shake Carlisle's. The whole time, Edward doesn't loosen his grip, holding me tight to his side. I want to kill him a little.

"Bella Swan," I reply. "It's nice to meet you both."

This shakes Edward's mother out of her staring stupor. "How do you and Edward know each other?"

I sneak a look at him only to find that he's looking down at me. I shake my head slightly. He got us into this, and they're his parents. He can answer to them; I'm going to clamp my mouth shut as tightly as he's gripping my hip. "She's... someone special. Important."

I can't help it. As much as I want to guard myself, he's bringing down my walls, a brick at a time. I smile and look down, hoping no one will notice.

His mother notices. "Edward..." she says, sounding at odds with herself. I can't blame her. "This is... very inappropriate."

"Why?" he asks, like a defiant teenager and I nearly groan. "I like her, Mom."

"Edward, you were supposed to get married yesterday," she hisses.

"And I didn't. I have a world of shit—"

"Watch your language in front of your mother," his father says and Edward looks appropriately chastised.

"Sorry. I have a world of poo—" his lips tilt up in the smile he's fighting and I'm amused to see his father wearing the same expression. "Coming at me in the next few days. Weeks, maybe months even. She's the reason I haven't torn my hair out screaming or punched something."


"Seriously, Mom. I talked to Dad about this."

Carlisle nods at his wife. "He did."

He did?

"So what... what you're just going to jump into another relationship with the first girl you meet?" she asks. Her eyes dart over to me, and I think I see an apology in them for the way she's talking about me. But she doesn't say it and therefore, no one hears it, so it's just an insult.

Edward shrugs. "You've always taught me not to be rude. Don't be rude to Bella. And I don't know. Wedon't know. But... like I said. She's special to me. And I don't want to lie to you guys about anything anymore. Things are not always going to be great with me. I'm going to do things you might not approve of. But I'm telling you about them because what happened with the wedding sucked for me, yes, but it also sucked for you. And I don't want you to ever have to go through anything like that again."

"Edward..." His mother shakes her head. "I just don't think this is right." She gestures to his grip on me; half of me wants to shrink back, half of me wants to grab Edward's face and kiss him right there. But none of me does either; these are his issues with his parents and I'm not hugely into PDA anyway

"You thought what I had with... herwas right," Edward says. He shakes his head. "It wasn't. Hadn't been for awhile." His lashes dip as he looks down and then glances at me. "But I think this could be."

Carlisle clears his throat. "Look, it's been a long few days. And what is inappropriate is to talk about this situation that involves Bella as if she isn't here."

"Yes, I'd much appreciate it if you talked about this whole situation that involves me when I'm actually not here," I quip and then cringe. So much for staying out of it. But Carlisle has that suppressed smile on again and when I look up at Edward, he is grinning at me with a kind of adoration that doesn't crumble me brick by brick, but slams into me like a sledgehammer.

"Let's all get some rest," Carlisle suggests, noticing his wife has gone a lovely but angry shade of red. "Edward, I trust you're still coming home with us."

He laughs bitterly. "It's going to take a lot for me to step into that apartment again," he says and I realize that he was probably living with her. He's still got to deal with all that. I slip my arm around his back and squeeze slightly.

"Anyway, Bella, it was nice to meet you. I hope to see you again soon," Carlisle says with a warm smile. His wife simply raises one perfectly arched eyebrow.

I smile back and with a final squeeze around his waist, slip out from under Edward's arm. As I walk away, I hold up my cell phone to him as a reminder and turn away.

"I'm just going to help Bella load her luggage into a cab," he says to his parents. He walks over as a taxi stops in front of me. Edward bangs on the trunk once to get the cabbie to open it and loads my suitcase in. Whatever I say about his first class life, I can't say that I don't admire the first class manners that go with them.

"This thing between us," he says, gesturing his index finger between us. "You said it: it's not going to be simple, it's not going to be easy. But—" he takes one step closer. "I want it anyway."

I look up at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He smiles and I crumble a little on the inside.

"You are so wrong," I say, lightly punching him in the chest. "It's you."

"What about me?" he laughs, trying to catch my fist with his hand.

I dodge it and poke him with my index finger, right in the middle of his chest. "You. You are not going to be simple. You are not going to be easy." He finally catches my hand and adjusts the grip so he's holding it against his chest. "But I want you anyway."

Maybe this is the way things will go; I can be the one to remind him that this is worth it but he'll have to make sure he shows me he's listening. Maybe it'll fizzle out in a few weeks, or even days, when the sex stops being so novel and the real world creeps in any time we leave a space between ourselves. Maybe it'll go the distance and one day, the way we started won't matter because we'll never end. Who knows?

But he's here right now, not just telling me, but showing me that he wants this, that he wants me. Whatever happens later, this is working right now.

"So we're really doing this," he says, for the second time in as many days, but this time, it's less of a question and more of a statement.

I gesture over his shoulder to where his parents are waiting, pretending with all their might like they're not watching us. "After that? I just met the parents before we went out on a real date. We slept together before you knew what I did for a living. Yeah, I think we're doing this. All backwards and at break-neck speed, but yeah. I guess we'll just have to figure it all out as we go along."

He smirks. "I have some ideas."


He gets the car door for me, but grabs my arm to turn me before I sit inside, trapping me between the small space of the open door and his warm, hot body. "I meant it when I said that, Bella."

We've said so much, in the last few minutes alone. I don't know what he's referring to. "Said what?"

He smiles that smile, the devilish one that knows everything it does to whoever it's aimed at, as he leans into and whispers in my ear, lips grazing the shell, "Fuck slow. There are a million things I want to do with you, for you, to you.

And none of them are slow."

Like I said, I wasn't planning on writing more and this is not going to turn into a full out multi-chap. I can, however, see myself writing about these two's future sporadically, so if you're interested, maybe put it on alerts?

Thank you to sweet Jaime Arkin for prereading and Kate, lovely, smart Kate, for being an English major through and through.

In case you were wondering, the things Edward says to her are (in French): Thank you for letting me fuck you and (in Italian): I really liked fucking you. Thank you Septentrion, MJ and MMeinDistress for the translations, and any mistakes are all mine.

I'm going to be taking a short break from the fandom and especially twitter, just for a month, as my graduate thesis is due soon. I'll be back after that and if I owe you something for FGB, please know I am still writing it, and you will get it. I just really need to be focused for the next few weeks and fic, the fandom and you guys are too fun of distractions.

Let me know what you thought and as always, thank you for reading. xo, Anya.