“Be nice.”
He took a big envelope from his jacket pocket and tossed it on the counter. “I got your mail.”
“Anything good?”
“I think so.”
My eyes narrowed suspiciously at his tone. I went to investigate.
He’d folded the legal-sized envelope in half. I smoothed it open, surprised at the weight of the expensive paper, and read the return address.
“Dartmouth? Is this a joke?”
“I’m sure it’s an acceptance. It looks exactly like mine.”
“Good grief, Edward — what did you do?”
“I sent in your application, that’s all.”
“I may not be Dartmouth material, but I’m not stupid enough to believe that.”
“Dartmouth seems to think that you’re Dartmouth material.”
I took a deep breath and counted slowly to ten. “That’s very generous of them,” I finally said. “However, accepted or not, there is still the minor matter of tuition. I can’t afford it, and I’m not letting you throw away enough money to buy yourself another sports car just so that I can pretend to go to Dartmouth next year.”
“I don’t need another sports car. And you don’t have to pretend anything,” he murmured. “One year of college wouldn’t kill you. Maybe you’d even like it. Just think about it, Bella. Imagine how excited Charlie and Renée would be. . . .”
His velvet voice painted the picture in my head before I could block it. Of course Charlie would explode with pride — no one in the town of Forks would be able to escape the fallout from his excitement. And Renée would be hysterical with joy at my triumph — though she’d swear she wasn’t at all surprised. . . .
I tried to shake the image out of my head. “Edward. I’m worried about living through graduation, let alone this summer or next fall.”
His arms wrapped around me again. “No one is going to hurt you. You have all the time in the world.”
I sighed. “I’m mailing the contents of my bank account to Alaska tomorrow. It’s all the alibi I need. It’s far enough away that Charlie won’t expect a visit until Christmas at the earliest. And I’m sure I’ll think of some excuse by then. You know,” I teased halfheartedly, “this whole secrecy and deception thing is kind of a pain.”
Edward’s expression hardened. “It gets easier. After a few decades, everyone you know is dead. Problem solved.”
I flinched.
“Sorry, that was harsh.”
I stared down at the big white envelope, not seeing it. “But still true.”
“If I get this resolved, whatever it is we’re dealing with, will you please consider waiting?”
“Nope.”
“Always so stubborn.”
“Yep.”
The washing machine thumped and stuttered to a halt.
“Stupid piece of junk,” I muttered as I pulled away from him. I moved the one small towel that had unbalanced the otherwise empty machine, and started it again.
“This reminds me,” I said. “Could you ask Alice what she did with my stuff when she cleaned my room? I can’t find it anywhere.”
He looked at me with confused eyes. “Alice cleaned your room?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s what she was doing. When she came to get my pajamas and pillow and stuff to hold me hostage.” I glowered at him briefly. “She picked up everything that was lying around, my shirts, my socks, and I don’t know where she put them.”
Edward continued to look confused for one short moment, and then, abruptly, he was rigid.
“When did you notice your things were missing?”
“When I got back from the fake slumber party. Why?”
“I don’t think Alice took anything. Not your clothes, or your pillow. The things that were taken, these were things you’d worn . . . and touched . . . and slept on?”
“Yes. What is it, Edward?”
His expression was strained. “Things with your scent.”
“Oh!”
We stared into each others eyes for a long moment.
“My visitor,” I muttered.
“He was gathering traces . . . evidence. To prove that he’d found you?”
“Why?” I whispered.
“I don’t know. But, Bella, I swear I will find out. I will.”
“I know you will,” I said, laying my head against his chest. Leaning there, I felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.
He pulled out his phone and glanced at the number. “Just the person I need to talk to,” he murmured, and then he flipped it open. “Carlisle, I —” He broke off and listened, his face taut with concentration for a few minutes. “I’ll check it out. Listen . . .”