engaged

Book I

Beau

One has to pay dearly for immortality;

One has to die several times while one is still alive.

                                                                        Frederick Nietzsche

No one is staring at you, I promised myself. No one is staring at you. No one is staring at you.

But, because I couldn't lie convincingly even to myself, I had to check.

As I sat waiting for one of the three traffic lights in town to turn green, I peeked to the right—in her minivan, Mrs. Weber had turned her whole torso in my direction. Her eyes bored into mine, and I flinched back, wondering why she didn't drop her gaze or look embarrassed. It was still considered rude to stare at people, right? I felt like that was one of those constant rules of social etiquette.

Then I remembered that these windows were so darkly tinted that she probably had no idea if it was even me in here, let alone that I'd caught her staring. I managed to take some comfort in the fact that she wasn't really staring at me, just the car.

My car. Jeez.

I glanced to the left and groaned. Two pedestrians were frozen on the sidewalk, missing their chance to cross as they stared. Behind them, Mr. Marshall was gawking through the plate-glass window of his little souvenir shop. At least he didn't have his nose pressed up against the glass.

The light turned green and, in my hurry to escape, I stomped on the gas pedal without thinking—the normal way I would have punched it to get my ancient Chevy truck moving.

Engine snarling like a hunting panther, the car jolted forward so fast that my body slammed into the black leather seat and my stomach flattened against my spine.

"Arg!" I gasped as I fumbled for the brake. Keeping my head, I merely tapped the pedal. The car lurched to an absolute standstill anyway.

If I had been embarrassed before… Yikes. I didn't dare look around at the reaction. If anyone had been wondering who was driving the car before, they were probably sure now. With the toe of my shoe, I gently nudged the gas pedal down one half millimeter, and the car shot forward again.

God, I missed my motorcycle. See, I didn't mind the speed of this beast, I just hated how touchy it was! I could handle speed—I enjoyed speed. But this stupid car was nearly impossible to drive!

I managed to reach my goal, the gas station. If I hadn't been running on vapors, I probably wouldn't have come into town at all. I absolutely hated being the center of attention, and I might as well have been driving a parade float for all the attention this car garnered.

I jumped out of the car, moving a little quicker than I would have if I were driving my truck. I got the hatch open, the cap off, the car scanned, and the nozzle in the tank within seconds. While I watched the numbers on the gauge sluggishly tick by, I began to wonder—for maybe the hundredth time—if it wasn't too late to send this beast back.

My eyes wandered to the horizon as I leaned against the car waiting for the tank to fill. It wasn't bright out—a typical drizzly day in Forks, Washington—but the scant light seemed to bounce off the shiny black car like a spotlight. The word 'ostentatious' came immediately to mind. I sighed and absentmindedly twisted the ring on my left hand. It was strange how it had become almost commonplace at this point.

It was stupid to be so self-conscious about the car, and I knew that. Did it really matter what people were saying about my new car? Or about my mysterious acceptance into an Ivy League college? Or about the shiny black credit card that felt increasingly heavier and heavier in my back pocket right now?

"Yeah, who cares what they think," I muttered under my breath.

"Um, hey bud?" A man's voice called.

I turned around, and immediately started turning red.

Two men stood beside a fancy SUV with brand-new kayaks tied to the top. Neither of them was looking at me; they were both staring, slack-jawed, at the car.

Personally, I didn't totally get it. But then, I really only bothered to know the difference between a Toyota, Ford, or a Chevy. This car was glossy black, sleek, and pretty, but it was still just a car to me.

"I'm sorry to bother you, man, but could you tell me what kind of car you're driving?" The taller of the two men asked.

"Um, it's a Mercedes."

"Yes," the man said politely while his shorter friend raised an incredulous eyebrow at me. "I know. But I was wondering, is that… are you driving a Mercedes Guardian?" The man said the name with reverence. I had a feeling this guy would get along well with Edward Cullen, my fiancé—and very soon to be husband with the wedding being only days away. "They aren't supposed to be available in Europe yet," the man went on, "let alone here."

While his eyes traced the sleek contours of my car—it truthfully didn't look much different from most other Mercedes sedans to me, but I wasn't the most informed about cars to begin with—I briefly contemplated the nearly here wedding.

One the one hand, I had always been exceedingly skeptical of the entire institution of marriage given my parents experience. But then, the idea that I could call Edward—handsome, beautiful Edward—my husband was extremely enticing. The public declaration of love and that promise of forever was something I was more than willing to give.

As soon as I started thinking about Edward and marriage and husband, I sort of got caught up in a dizzy spin of fantasies. The stranger had to clear his throat to get my attention; he was still waiting for an answer about the car's make and model.

"I'm sorry, I don't know," I told him honestly.

"Do you mind if I take a picture with it?"

It took me a second to process that. "Really? You want to take a picture with the car?"

"Sure—nobody is going to believe me if I don't get proof."

"Um. Yeah, sure."

I swiftly put away the nozzle and crept into the front seat to wait while the enthusiast dug a huge professional-looking camera out of his backpack. He and his friend took turns posing by the hood, and then they went to take pictures at the back end.

"I miss my truck," I sighed to myself.

Very, very convenient—too convenient—that my truck would wheeze its last wheeze just weeks after Edward and I had made the engagement official. He had asked, as an engagement gift to me, that he be allowed to replace my truck when it passed on. Edward swore it was only to be expected; my truck had lived a long, full life and then expired of natural causes. According to him. And, unfortunately, I had no way to verify his story or to try to raise my truck from the dead on my own. My favorite mechanic—

My breath caught, a lump started forming in my throat. I pushed it back and instead, I listened to the men's voices outside, muted by the car walls.

"…went at it with a flamethrower in the online video. Didn't even pucker the paint."

"Of course not. You could roll a tank over this baby. Not much of a market for one over here. Designed for diplomats, arms dealers, and drug lords mostly."

"Think he's something?" the short one asked in a softer voice. I ducked my head, cheeks flaming.

"Huh," the tall one said. "Maybe. Can't imagine what you'd need missile-proof glass and four thousand pounds of body armor for around here. Must be headed somewhere more hazardous."

Body armor. Four thousand pounds of body armor. And missile-proof glass? Nice. What had happened to good old-fashioned bulletproof?

Well, it made some sense—for Edward at least.

It wasn't like I hadn't expected Edward to go overboard with the new car. I'd agreed that he could replace my truck when it needed replacing, not expecting that moment to come quite so soon, of course. When I'd been forced to admit that the truck had become no more than a still-life tribute to classic Chevys on my curb, I knew his idea of a replacement was probably going to be… a lot. I'd been right on the mark about that. But even I couldn't imagine that he'd get me two cars.

The "before" car and the "after" car, he'd reluctantly explained when I'd lost the ability to speak in coherent sentences.

This was just the "before" car. He'd told me it was mine as long as I needed it. It hadn't made any sense to me at the time. I understood now.

Apparently, Edward felt I was so fragilely human, so accident-prone, and so much a victim to my own dangerous bad luck, that I needed a tank-resistant car to keep me safe. I wanted to be upset, but at this point there really was no arguing with Edward. He worried endlessly about my safety, and if this helped ease some of that worry then maybe it wasn't the worst thing in the world.

I sighed.

I hadn't even seen the "after" car yet. It was hidden under a cover in the deepest corner of the Cullens' garage. I knew most people would have peeked by now, but I didn't really want to know. Especially since I might not see it for years—or ever.

Probably no body armor on that car—because I wouldn't need it when the cover came off. That car was for me in the event I ever decided to end my mortal life and begin an immortal one. If I ever chose to become like the rest of the Cullens.

"Hey," the tall man called, cupping his hands to the glass in an effort to peer in. "We're done now. Thanks a lot!"

"You're welcome," I called back, and then tensed as I started the engine and eased the pedal—ever so gently—down…

No matter how many times I drove down the familiar road home, I still couldn't make the rain-faded flyers fade into the background. Each one of them, stapled to telephone poles and taped to street signs, was like a fresh stab to the heart. My mind was sucked back into the thought I'd pushed back before. I couldn't avoid it on this road. Not with pictures of my favorite mechanic flashing past me at regular intervals.

My best friend. My Jacob.

The HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY? posters were not Jacob's father's idea. It had been my father, Charlie, who'd printed up the flyers and spread them all over town. And not just Forks, but Port Angeles an Sequim and Hoquiam and Aberdeen and every other part of town in the Olympic Peninsula. He'd made sure that all the police stations in the state of Washington had the same flyer hanging on the wall, too. His own station had a whole corkboard dedicated to finding Jacob. A corkboard that was mostly empty, much to his disappointment and frustration.

My dad was disappointed with more than the lack of response. He was most disappointed with Billy, Jacob's father—and Charlie's closest friend.

For Billy's not being more involved with the search for his seventeen-year-old "runaway." For Billy's refusing to put the flyers in La Push, the reservation on the coast that was Jacob's home. For his seeming resigned to Jacob's disappearance, as if there was nothing he could do. For his saying, "Jacob's grown up now. He'll come home if he wants to."

And he was frustrated with me, for taking Billy's side.

I wouldn't put up posters, either. Because both Billy and I knew where Jacob was, roughly speaking, and we also knew that no one had seen this boy.

The flyers put the usual big, fat lump in my throat, the usual stinging tears in my eyes, and I was glad Edward was out hunting this Saturday. If Edward saw my reaction, it would only make him feel terrible, too.

Of course, being that it was a Saturday, that meant that Charlie would be home. As I turned slowly and carefully onto my street, I could see my dad's police cruiser in the driveway. He'd skipped fishing again today. Still in a bit of a tizzy over the wedding.

Since he was home, I couldn't make a call inside. But I had to call…

I parked along the curb behind the Chevy sculpture and pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. I dialed, keeping my finger on the "end" button as the phone rang. Just in case.

"Hello?" Seth Clearwater answered, and I sighed in relief. I was way too chicken to speak to his older brother, Liam. The phrase "bite my head off" was not entirely a figure of speech when it came to Liam.

"Hey Seth, it's Beau."

"Oh, hiya, Beau! How are you?"

Choked up. Desperate for reassurance. "I'm fine, Seth. Thanks."

"Calling for an update?"

"You're psychic."

"Not hardly. I'm no Alice—you're just predictable," he joked. Among the Quileute pack down at La Push, only Seth was comfortable even mentioning the Cullens by name, let alone joking about things like my nearly omniscient sister-in-law-to-be.

"I know I am." I hesitated for a minute. "How is he?"

Seth sighed. "Same as ever. He won't talk, though we know he hears us. He's trying not to think human, you know. Just going with his instincts."

"Do you know where he is?"

"Somewhere in northern Canada. I can't tell you which province. He doesn't pay much attention to state lines."

"Any hint that he might…"

"He's not coming home, Beau. Sorry."

I swallowed. "'S'okay, Seth. I knew before I asked. I just can't help wishing."

"Yeah. We all feel that same way."

"Thanks for putting up with me, Seth. I know the others must give you a hard time."

"They're not your hugest fans," he agreed cheerfully. "Kind of lame, I think. Jacob made his choices, you made yours. Jake doesn't like their attitude about it. 'Course, he isn't super thrilled that you're checking up on him, either."

I gasped. "I thought he wasn't talking to you?"

"He can't hide everything from us, hard as he's trying."

So Jacob knew I was worried. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Well, at least he knew I hadn't skipped off into the sunset and forgotten him completely. He might have imagined me capable of that.

"I guess I'll see you at the wedding," I said.

"Yeah, me and my mom will be there. It was cool of you to ask us."

I smiled at the enthusiasm in his voice. Having Seth there would be nice—a link, however tenuous, to my missing best man. "It wouldn't be the same without you."

"Tell Edward I said hi, 'kay?"

"Sure thing, Seth."

I shook my head, amused. The friendship that had sprung up between Edward and Seth was something that still boggled my mind. It was proof, though, that things didn't have to be this way. That vampires and werewolves could get along just fine if they were of a mind to. Maybe they just needed something to unite them.

Sadly, not everyone liked this idea.

"Ah," Seth said, his voice cracking up an octave. "Er, Liam's home."

"Oh! Bye!"

The phone went dead. I slid it into my pocket and prepared myself mentally to go inside the house, where Charlie would be waiting.

My poor dad had so much to deal with right now. Jacob-the-runaway was just oneof the straws on his overburdened back. He was almost as worried about me, his barely-a-legal-adult son who was about to get married—to a man—in just a few days time.

I walked slowly through the light rain, remembering the night we'd told him…

As the sound of Charlie's cruiser announced his return, the ring suddenly weighed a hundred pounds on my finger. I wasn't ashamed of it, of course, but I understood it was a lot for Charlie—for anyone. I was grateful for Edward's cool hands holding mine, keeping me calm.

"It will be fine, Beau. I'm right here."

"I know, I know. I'm just nervous."

I listened to the sound of my father's boots approaching on the sidewalk. The key rattled in the already open door. I took a deep, steadying breath.

"Calm down, Beau," Edward whispered, listening to the acceleration of my heart.

The door slammed against the wall, and I flinched. My nerves were wound too tight.

"Dang door," Charlie mumbled to himself.

"Hey, Charlie," Edward called, entirely relaxed.

"Wait!" I protested under my breath.

"What?" Edward whispered back.

"Let's wait till he hangs his gun up." I think I was joking. I couldn't actually tell.

Edward chuckled and ran his free hand through his tousled bronze hair.

Charlie came around the corner, and he managed something close to a smile when he spied us sitting together on the loveseat. Lately, he'd been putting forth a lot of effort to like Edward more. Now, I was worried this revelation would hamper those efforts.

"Hey, kids. What's up?"

"We'd like to talk to you," Edward said, so serene. "We have some news."

Charlie's expression went from mildly strained friendliness to hard suspicion in a second.

"News?" Charlie raised an eyebrow at me.

"Good news." I assured him, "Have a seat, Dad."

His eyebrow stayed firmly raised, stared at me for five seconds, then cautiously crossed to the recliner and sat down on the very edge, his back ramrod straight.

"Don't get worked up, Dad," I said after a moment of loaded silence. "Everything's okay."

Edward grimaced, and I knew it was in objection to the word okay. He probably would have preferred words like wonderfulor perfector glorious. But I was trying not to freak Charlie out.

"Is it, Beau?" Charlie eyed me suspiciously. "If everything is so great, then why are you sweating bullets?"

"I'm not sweating," I lied.

Charlie sighed. "Come on, kiddo, what's going on?"

I opened my mouth to speak but my voice caught in my throat. I couldn't understand why this was so hard for me. Maybe because in the back of my head, I knew Charlie had gone through a marriage at a very young age—a marriage that had failed. Maybe because I knew Charlie worried about me, about what the world might say, about the closed-mindedness I could encounter out in the world. I knew that if he expressed any opposition it was only because he loved me. I still couldn't speak. I looked up at Edward, desperate for help.

He smiled at me and then squared his shoulders and turned to my father.

"Charlie, I realize that I've gone about this out of order. Traditionally, I should have asked you first. I mean no disrespect, but since Beau has already said yes and I don't want to diminish his choice in the matter, instead of asking you for his hand, I'm asking you for your blessing. We're getting married, Charlie. I love him more than anything in the world, more than my own life, and—by some miracle—he loves me that way, too. Will you give us your blessing?"

He sounded so sure, so calm. For just an instant, listening to the absolute confidence in his voice, I experienced an illuminating moment of insight. I could see the way the world looked to him. It helped me to better understand the 'old-timey' way he went about things.

And then I caught sight of the expression on Charlie's face, his eyes now locked on the ring.

I held my breath, waiting for his response. I couldn't read minds like Edward, but I didn't need to. I saw all the emotions play across Charlie's face, the surprise, the concern, the sadness. I started to get up—I'm not sure what I planned to do; hug him? Leave the room? I didn't know—but Edward squeezed my hand and murmured "Give him a minute" so low that only I could hear.

The silence lasted for a long moment. Then, gradually, Charlie's expression became more neutral. Then his lips pursed, and his eyebrows furrowed; I recognize his "deep in thought' expression. He studied the two of us for a long moment, and I felt Edward relax at my side.

"Guess I'm not that surprised," Charlie sighed. "Knew something like this might happen sooner or later."

I exhaled.

"You're sure about this?" Charlie questioned, looking directly at me.

"I'm one hundred percent sure," I told him without missing a beat.

"I know you love him, kiddo, but…" He sighed, "Are you kids sure you want to get married? I mean, what's the rush?" He asked us intently.

I had expected this concern from Charlie. I couldn't be upset that he was so worried. I knew it came from a place of love and care, from his own past experiences, and his fear of the unknown world out there.

"We're going away to Dartmouth together in the fall, Charlie," Edward reminded him. "I'd like to do that, well, the right way. It's how I was raised." He shrugged.

He wasn't exaggerating; they'd been big on old-fashioned morals during World War I.

Charlie's mouth twisted to the side. Mulling over everything. "I love you, kiddo. If this is what you want, what makes you happy, and you're absolutely sureyou've thought it through…" He trailed off. Then he sighed. "It's a mean world out there, Beau. A real mean, pig-headed world out there."

"I know, Dad. And I love you, too." I assured him. "And I understand what you mean, but we'll be okay—I'll be okay."

"Alright, Beau." Charlie nodded slowly, considering everything. He looked at Edward for a long moment and his face became very serious. "You have my blessing," He started. Edward and I both began to smile, until Charlie held up one finger, "But—" I held my breath again. "You have to tell your mother."

I paused with my hand on the doorknob, smiling. Sure, at the time, Charlie's words had terrified me. The ultimate doom; telling Renée. Early marriage was higher up on her blacklist than boiling live puppies.

Who could have foreseen her response? Not me. Certainly not Charlie. Maybe Alice, but I hadn't thought to ask her.

"Well, Beau," Renée had said after I nervously stuttered out the words: Edward and I are getting married."I'm a little miffed that you waited so long to tell me. Plane tickets only get more expensive. Oooh," she'd fretted. "Do you think Phil's cast will be off by then? It will spoil the pictures if he's not in a tux—"

"Sorry, Mom, back up a second." I stopped her. "What do you mean, waited so long? I just got engaged, like, literally today."

"Today? Really? That is a surprise. I assumed…"

"What did you assume? When did you assume?"

"Well, when you came to visit me in April, it looked like things were pretty much sewn up, if you know what I mean. You're not very hard to read, sweetie—you've always been my open book! But I didn't say anything because I knew it wouldn't do any good. You're exactly like Charlie." She'd sighed, resigned. "Once you make up your mind, there is no convincing you otherwise. Of course, exactly like Charlie, you stick by your decisions, too."

And then she'd said the last thing I'd ever expected to hear from my mother.

"You're not making my mistakes, Beau. You sound like you're scared silly, and I'm guessing it's because you're afraid of me." She'd giggled. "Of what I'm going to think. And I know I've said a lot of things about marriage and stupidity—and I'm not taking them back—but you need to realize that those things specifically applied to me. You're a completely different person than I am. You make your own kinds of mistakes, and I'm sure you'll have your share of regrets in life. But commitment was never your problem, sweetie. You have a better chance of making this work than most forty-year-olds I know." Renée had laughed again. "My little middle-aged child. Luckily, you seem to have found another old soul."

Despite my utter shock, I couldn't help but laugh at the irony of the accuracy of that last statement.

"You're not… mad? You don't think I'm making a mistake and rushing into things?"

"Well, sure, I wish you'd wait a few more years. I mean, do I look old enough to be a mother-in-law to you? Don't answer that. But this isn't about me. This is about you. Are you happy?"

"I don't know, I think I'm having an out-of-body experience right now."

Renée had chuckled. "Does he make you happy, Beau?"

"Very much."

"Are you ever going to want anyone else?"

"Nope. Never."

"So, why would I think you were making a mistake?"

"I don't know, Mom. I thought you'd tell me I sounded like exactly every other infatuated teenager since the dawn of time."

"You've never been a teenager, sweetie. You know what's best for you."

For the last few weeks, my mom had unexpectedly immersed herself in wedding plans. She'd spent hours every day on the phone with Edward's mother, Esme—no worries about the in-laws getting along. Renée adored Esme, but then, I doubted anyone could help responding that way to my lovable almost-mother-in-law.

It left me without much to worry about; Edward's family and my family were taking care of everything, leaving me with almost nothing to do.

Charlie had become more relaxed after talking to Renée. She assured him we would be okay—that even though we were young, we knew what we were doing--and that the world was coming around and we'd have each other and our families if we ever needed them. Once Charlie felt more at ease about the whole idea, he threw himself into the planning and preparing which—on top of everything else he was worried about—left him a little stressed out.

"Dad?" I called as I pushed open the front door. "I'm home."

"Hold on, kiddo, stay right there."

"Huh?" I asked, pausing automatically.

"Gimme a second. Ouch, you got me, Alice."

Alice?

"Sorry, Charlie," Alice's trilling voice responded. "How's that?"

"I'm bleeding on it."

"You're fine. Didn't break the skin—trust me."

"What's going on?" I demanded, hesitating in the doorway.

"Thirty seconds, please, Beau," Alice told me. "Your patience will be rewarded."

"What she said," Charlie added.

I counted down in my head. Before I got to thirty, Alice said, "Okay, Beau, come in!"

Moving with caution, I rounded the little corner into our living room.

"Oh," I gasped. "Aw, Dad. You look so—"

"Silly?" Charlie interrupted.

"I was thinking more like debonair."

Charlie laughed. Alice took his elbow and tugged him around into a slow spin to showcase the pale gray tux.

"Now, come on, Alice. I'm not some fashion model."

"No one dressed by me ever looks like anything lessthan a model, Charlie."

"She's right, Dad. You look fantastic!" I smiled. "What's the occasion?" I feigned ignorance.

Alice rolled her eyes. "Ha, ha. It's the final check on the fit. For both of you."

I peeled my gaze off the unusually elegant Charlie for the first time and saw the ominous black garment bag laid carefully across the sofa.

"Ah."

"What's thatlook for?" Alice glared.

"Are we absolutely sure it's perfect? Because if it's not, don't worry—we can just rent a tuxedo."  I shrugged, teasing Alice further.

"Very funny, now let's go!" Alice scooped up the bag as she spoke.

"Alright, alright." I laughed.

I climbed the stairs to my room. Alice handed me the bag outside my door and I went into my room, closing the door behind me. As I opened the garment bag, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror.

This was it. It was happening. I began to imagine the next few days, then the next few weeks, months, years even. I couldn't imagine the wedding, because I had no idea what Alice, Renée, and Esme had put together—I gave them full creative control, after all. My imaginings began after the wedding.

We were alone, just Edward and me. The setting was fuzzy and constantly in flux—it morphed from misty forest to cloud-covered city to Arctic night—because Edward was keeping the location of our honeymoon a secret to surprise me. But I wasn't especially concerned about the where part.

Edward and I would be together, and we would be married. An official married couple. We were going to Dartmouth College in the fall, and we were beginning our forever. But before 'forever,' there was one big thing—one big human experience—that I was hoping for. It was going to be a big step and I was ready for it. I couldn't help but grin as I imagined it all. It was going to be amazing, it was going to be perfect.

Imagining it, I wasn't nervous—I wasn't scared. I didn't mind that the whole town was talking about me. I didn't think about the spectacle the wedding would be. I didn't worry about tripping down the aisle or giggling at the wrong moment or being too young or the audience watching or even the empty seat where my best friend should be.

It was going to be me and Edward. Forever.