Twilight 2 | Page 6

it was definitely preferable. He pulled the old afghan off the back of the couch and
draped it over me so I wouldn't freeze beside his body.
"You know, I've never had much patience with Romeo," he commented as the movie
started.
"What's wrong with Romeo?" I asked, a little offended. Romeo was one of my favorite
fictional characters. Until I'd met Edward, I'd sort of had a thing for him.
"We ll, first o f a ll, he 's in lo ve w it h t his Ro sa line— do n't yo u t hink it mak es him see m a
little fickle? And then, a few minutes after their wedding, he kills Juliet's cousin. That's
not very brilliant. Mistake after mistake. Could he have destroyed his own happiness any
more thoroughly?"
I sighed. "Do you want me to watch this alone?"
"No, I'll mostly be watching you, anyway." His fingers traced patterns across the skin of
my ar m, ra ising go o se bu mps. " Will yo u cr y?"
"Probably," I admitted, "if I'm paying attention."
"I won't distract you then." But I felt his lips on my hair, and it was very distracting.
The movie eventually captured my interest, thanks in large part to Edward whispering
Romeo's lines in my ear—his irresistible, velvet voice made the actor's voice sound weak
and coarse by comparison. And I did cry, to his amusement, when Juliet woke and found
her new husband dead.
"I'll admit, I do sort of envy him here," Edward said, drying the tears with a lock of my
hair.
"She's very pretty."
He made a disgusted sound. "I don't envy him the girl—just the ease of the suicide," he
clarified in a teasing tone. "You humans have it so easy! All you have to do is throw
down one tiny vial of plant extracts…"
"What?" I gasped.
"It's something I had to think about once, and I knew from Carlisle's experience that it
wouldn't be simple. I'm not even sure how many ways Carlisle tried to kill himself in the
beginning… after he realized what he'd become…" His voice, which had grown serious,
turned light again. "And he's clearly still in excelle nt healt h."
I twisted around so that I could read his face. "What are you talking about?" I demanded.
"What do you mean, this something you had to think about once?"
"Last spring, when you were… nearly killed…" He paused to take a deep breath,
snuggling to return to his teasing tone. "Of course I was trying to focus on finding you
alive, but part of my mind was making contingency plans. Like I said, it's not as easy for
me as it is fo r a hu ma n."

For one second, the memory of my last trip to Phoenix washed through my head and
made me feel dizzy. I could see it all so clearly—the blinding sun, the heat waves coming
off the concrete as I ran with desperate haste to find the sadistic vampire who wanted to
torture me to death. James, wait ing in the mirrored room with my mother as his
hostage—or so I'd thought. I hadn't known it was all a ruse. Just as James hadn't known
that Edward was racing to save me; Edward made it in time, but it had been a close one.
Unthinkingly, my fingers traced the crescent-shaped scar on my hand that was always
just a few degrees cooler than the rest of my skin.
I shook my head—as if I could shake away the bad memories—and tried to grasp what
Edward meant. My stomach plunged uncomfortably. "Contingency plans?" I repeated.
"Well, I wasn't going to live without you." He rolled his eyes as if that fact were
childishly obvious. "But I wasn't sure how to do it—I knew Emmett and Jasper would
never help… so I was thinking maybe I would go to Italy and do something to provoke
t he Vo lt uri."
I didn't want to believe he was serious, but his golden eyes were brooding, focused on
something far away in the distance as he contemplated ways to end his own life.
Abruptly, I was furious.
"What is a Volturi?" I demanded.
"The Volturi are a family," he explained, his eyes still remote. "A very old, very powerful
family of our kind. They are the closest thing our world has to a royal family, I suppose.
Carlisle lived with them briefly in his early years, in Italy, before he settled in America—
do you remember the story?"
"Of course I remember."
I would never forget the first time I'd gone to his home, the huge white mansion buried
deep in the forest beside the river, or the room where Carlisle—Edward's father