unbecoming sweater she wore. I couldn't afford to make mistakes, and it would be a monumental
mistake to dwell on the strange hungers that thoughts of her lips...her skin...her body...were shaking
loose inside of me. Hungers that had evaded me for a hundred years. But I could not allow myself to
think of touching her, because that was impossible.
I would break her.
Bella turned away from the door, in such a hurry that she nearly ran right by my car without noticing it.
Then she skidded to a stop, her knees locking like a startled colt's. Her bag slid further down her arm,
and her eyes flew wide as they focused on the car.
I got out, taking no care to move at human speed, and opened the passenger door for her. I would not
try to deceive her anymore-when we were alone, at least, I would be myself.
She looked up at me, startled again as I seemingly materialized out of the fog.
And then the surprise in her eyes changed to something else, and I was no longer afraid-or hopeful-that
her feelings for me had changed in the course of the night. Warmth, wonder, fascination, all swimming
in the melted chocolate of her eyes.
"Do you want to ride with me today?" I asked. Unlike dinner last night, I would let her choose. From now
on, it must always be her choice.
"Yes, thank you," she murmured, climbing into my car without hesitation. Would it ever cease to thrill
me, that I was the one she was saying yes to? I doubted it.
I flashed around the car, eager to join her. She showed no sign of being shocked by my sudden
reappearance.
The happiness I felt when she sat beside me this way had no precedent. As much as I enjoyed the love
and companionship of my family, despite the various entertainments and distractions the world had to
offer, I had never been happy like this. Even knowing that it was wrong, that this couldn't possibly end
well, could not keep the smile from my face for long.
My jacket was folded over the headrest of her seat. I saw her eyeing it.
"I brought the jacket for you," I told her. This was my excuse, had I needed to provide one, for showing
up uninvited this morning. It was cold. She had no jacket. Surely this was an acceptable form of chivalry.
"I didn't want you to get sick or something."
"I'm not quite that delicate," she said, staring at my chest rather than my face, as if she were hesitant to
meet my eyes. But she put the coat on before I had to resort to commanding or coaxing.
"Aren't you?" I muttered to myself.
She stared out at the road as I accelerated toward the school. I could only stand the silence for a few
seconds. I had to know what her thoughts were this morning. So much had changed between us since
the last time the sun was up.
"What, no twenty questions today?" I asked, keeping it light again.
She smiled, seeming glad that I'd broached the subject. "Do my questions bother you?"
"Not as much as your reactions do," I told her honestly, smiling in response to her smile.
Her mouth turned down. "Do I react badly?"
"No, that's the problem. You take everything so coolly-it's unnatural." Not one scream so far. How could
that be? "It makes me wonder what you're really thinking."
Of course, everything she did or didn't do made me wonder that.
"I always tell you what I'm really thinking."
"You edit."
Her teeth pressed into her lip again. She didn't seem to notice when she did this-it was an unconscious
response to tension. "Not very much."
Just those words were enough to have my curiosity raging. What did she purposefully keep from me?
"Enough to drive me insane," I said.
She hesitated, and then whispered, "You don't want to hear it."
I had to think for a moment, run through our entire conversation last night, word for word, before I
made the connection. Perhaps it took so much concentration because I couldn't imagine anything that I
wouldn't want her to say to me. And then-because the tone of her voice was the same as last night;
there was suddenly pain there again-I remembered. Once, I had asked her not to speak her thoughts.
Never say that , I'd all but snarled at her. I had made her cry...
Was this what she kept from me? The depth of her feelings about me? That my being a monster didn't
matter to her, and that she thought it was too late for her to change her mind?
I was unable to speak, because the joy and pain were too strong for words, the conflict between them
too wild to allow for a coherent response. It was silent in the car except for the steady rhythms of her
heart and lungs.
"Where's the rest of your family?" she asked suddenly.
I took a deep breath-registering the scent in the car with true pain for the first time; I was getting used
to this, I realized with satisfaction-and forced myself to be casual again.
"They took Rosalie's car." I parked in the open spot next to the car in question. I hid my smile as I