Twilight 2 | Page 7

in so
many real ways—kept a wall of paintings that illustrated his personal history. The most
vivid, most wildly co lorful canvas there, the largest, was from Carlisle's time in Italy. Of
course I remembered the calm quartet of men, each with the exquisite face of a seraph,
painted into the highest balcony overlooking the swirling mayhem of color. Though the
painting was centuries old, Carlisle—the blond angel—remained unchanged. And I
remembered the three others, Carlisle's early acquaintances. Edward had never used the
name Volturi for the beautiful trio, two black-haired, one snow white. He'd called them
Aro, Caius, and Marcus, nighttime patrons of the arts…
"Anyway, you don't irritate the Volturi," Edward went on, interrupting ray reverie. "Not
unless you want to die—or whatever it is we do." His voice was so calm, it made him
sound almost bored by the prospect.
My anger turned to horror. I took his marble face between my hands and held it very
tightly.
"You must never, never, never think of anyt hing like that again!" I said. "No matter what
might ever happen to me, you are not allowed to hurt yourself!"
"I'll never put you in danger again, so it's a moot point."

"Put me in danger! I thought we'd established that all the bad luck is my fault?" I was
getting angrier. "How dare you even think like that?" The idea of Edward ceasing to
exist, even if I were dead, was impossibly painful.
"What would you do, if the situation were reversed?" he asked.
"That's not the same thing."
He didn't seem to understand the difference. He chuckled.
"What if something did happen to you?" I blanched at the thought. "Would you want me
to go off myself?"
A trace of pain touched his perfect features.
"I guess I see your point… a little," he admitted. "But what would I do without you?"
"Whatever you were doing before I came along and complicated your existence."
He sighed. "You make that sound so easy."
"It should be. I'm not really that interesting."
He was about to argue, but then he let it go. "Moot point," he reminded me. Abruptly, he
pulled himself up into a more formal posture, shifting me to the side so that we were no
longer touching.
"Charlie?" I guessed.
Edward smiled. After a moment, I heard the sound of the police cruiser pulling into the
driveway. I reached out and took his hand firmly. My dad could deal with that much.
Charlie came in with a pizza box in his hands.
"Hey, kids." He grinned at me. "I thought you'd like a break from cooking and washing
dishes for your birthday. Hungry?"
"Sure. Thanks, Dad."
Charlie didn't comment on Edward's apparent lack of appetite. He was used to Edward
passing on dinner.
"Do you mind if I borrow Bella for the evening?" Edward asked when Charlie and I were
done.
I looked at Charlie hopefully. Maybe he had some concept of birthdays as stay-at-home,
family affairs—this was my first birthday with him, the first birthday since my mom,
Renee, had remarried and gone to live in Florida, so I didn't know what he would expect.
"That's fine—the Mariners are playing the Sox tonight," Charlie explained, and my hope
disappeared. "So I won't be any kind of company… Here." He scooped up the camera
he'd gotten me on Renee's suggestion (because I would need pictures to fill up my scrap-
bo o k), and t hrew it to me.

He ought to know better than that—I'd always been coordinationally challenged. The
camera glanced off the tip of my finger, and tumbled toward the floor. Edward snagged it
before it could crash onto the linoleum.
"Nice save," Charlie noted. "If they're do ing so mething fun at the Cullens' tonight, Bella,
you should take some pictures. You know how your mother gets—she'll be wanting to
see the pictures faster than you can take them."
"Good idea, Charlie," Edward said, handing me the camera.
I turned the camera on Edward, and snapped the first picture. "It works."
"That's good. Hey, say hi to Alice for me. She hasn't been over in a while." Charlie's
mouth pulled down at one corner.
"It's been three days, Dad," I reminded him. Charlie was crazy about Alice. He'd become
attached last spring when she'd helped me through my awkward convalescence; Charlie
would be fore'ter grateful to her for saving him from the horror of an almost-adult
daughter who needed help showering. "I'll tell her."
"Okay. You kids have fun tonight." It was clearly a dismissal. Charlie was already edging
toward the living room and the TV.
Edward smiled, triumphant, and took my hand to pull me fro m the kitchen.
When we got to the truck, he opened the passenger door for me again, and