Chapter Text
The days after the wedding blurred together in a way that made it hard to tell one from the next. Sometimes, when I sat by the window in the early mornings with a cup of tea, I wondered if time was slipping past me faster than it should, or if it was simply the strange rhythm of living alongside Paul. He filled every space in my life so easily now that the hours seemed to run into each other.
There was a new tenderness in him lately, one that still surprised me. Since the night of the wedding, when he had come home with that mix of guilt and longing written across his face, Paul had been softer. It wasn't that his temper had disappeared — he was still Paul, sharp and quick and sometimes impossible to read — but he seemed determined to make up for the storm he'd caused over the invitation. Every day, in small ways, he reminded me.
He'd reach for my hand when we walked through the forest paths behind my house, his thumb brushing slow circles over my skin like he was wordlessly apologizing all over again. At night, when I fell asleep in his arms, he'd hold me tighter than usual, his face buried in my hair as though the world outside didn't matter.
Sometimes it was the smallest gestures that struck me. The way he'd make sure I always took the seat by the window when we went into Forks for groceries, or how he'd bring me coffee just the way I liked it before I even had the chance to ask. He wasn't a man of flowers and speeches, but there was something in those subtle, protective actions that felt deeper. He was trying.
I noticed it most when we walked. Paul wasn't one for stillness; his body was always alive with energy, like he needed to move or else he'd combust. But with me, he slowed down. We'd wander down by the beach, the wind whipping my hair into my face, and he'd laugh softly, tucking the strands behind my ear with a gentleness I never would have believed if I hadn't seen it myself.
And still, beneath all of that, there was something unsettled in him. I caught it whenever the subject of Bella and Edward came up. The wolves tried to pretend they weren't bothered, but it was written in the sharp set of their shoulders, in the quiet growls that slipped out when they thought no one was listening.
I hadn't asked — not yet. I told myself I didn't want to push, that it wasn't my place to demand answers about things I wasn't fully a part of. But the more time passed, the heavier the silence became.
It was one evening, about a week after the wedding, that the words finally broke free.
Paul and I were curled together on the couch, the soft glow of the lamp casting shadows against the walls. He had one arm around me, pulling me close, and the steady rise and fall of his chest under my cheek had almost lulled me into sleep. It was in those quiet moments that he was most disarmed, his defenses down, his warmth wrapping around me like a shield.
I turned my face slightly so my voice wouldn't be muffled. "Paul?"
He hummed in acknowledgment, his fingers absently tracing lines over my arm.
"Can I ask you something? And I want you to be honest."
That pulled his attention. His hand stilled, his body tensing just slightly beneath me. "You can ask me anything. You know that."
I hesitated, searching for the right words. "Why do you and the others get so... tense whenever someone mentions Bella and Edward's honeymoon? It's like the air shifts. Even Seth, who's usually calm about everything... it's different. What's going on?"
The silence that followed stretched long enough that I almost regretted asking. Paul's jaw worked as if he were biting back the first dozen things he wanted to say. His grip around me tightened, protective, almost possessive, before he let out a slow breath.
"It's not something I like talking about," he admitted, his voice low and rough. "But if you want to know, you deserve to know."
I nodded, waiting.
He tilted his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling for a moment before his gaze dropped back to me. There was fire in his eyes, but also something heavier — worry, frustration, anger all tangled together.
"Bella wants to be turned," he said flatly.
The words hit me like cold water. I blinked, trying to process. "Turned... you mean—"
"Vampire." He didn't soften the word. "She wants him to change her. That's what all of this is about. That's why the pack is on edge. Because the second that happens... everything changes."
I swallowed, my chest tightening. I'd known, in vague terms, about the possibility. The Cullens had explained their world to me, but hearing it like this — blunt, edged with Paul's anger — made it feel real in a way it hadn't before.
"And the honeymoon?" I asked softly.
Paul's hand curled into a fist against his leg, his other arm still holding me close as though I needed protection from the thought itself. His voice dropped, rough with restrained fury.
"If they sleep together while she's still human, it could kill her," he said. "He could kill her without even meaning to. He's a predator, Aurora. That's what they all are, no matter how civilized they act. One slip—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "That's why we hate hearing about it. Because it's like she's walking straight into danger and calling it love."
The raw honesty in his tone sent a shiver through me. I thought of Bella — quiet, stubborn Bella, who had always seemed so sure of her choices. I couldn't imagine willingly stepping into that kind of risk.
"I didn't realize..." I whispered.
Paul's eyes softened when he looked at me, as though he could see the unease written across my face. "I don't ever want you in danger like that," he said fiercely. "Not from them, not from anyone. You're my whole world now, Aurora. I couldn't—" He broke off, pressing his lips into a thin line, and then leaned down to brush a kiss against my temple. "I just need you safe. Always."
I let out a shaky breath, resting my hand against his chest. His heart was a steady drum under my palm, grounding me. "I'm safe with you," I said quietly. "Always."
His grip tightened around me, and for a long moment we just stayed like that, breathing together in the dim light of the room.
After that night, something shifted between us. It wasn't a dramatic change, but it was there — a deeper closeness, a kind of unspoken understanding. Paul was still Paul: stubborn, quick to irritation, protective to the point of recklessness. But he was also softer in ways I hadn't expected.
He'd brush kisses across my knuckles while we cooked together, teasing me until I laughed. He'd rest his head in my lap when we watched TV, his hand tangled in mine like he couldn't stand even a few inches of space between us. At night, when I changed into one of his old shirts before bed — fabric soft and worn from years of use — he'd grin and tell me I looked better in it than in anything else I owned.
There was a gentleness in his eyes then that made my chest ache.
It was easy to forget the chaos of our world in those days. Easy to sink into the warmth of him and pretend that the danger circling around us wasn't real.
Now fifteen days have passed since the wedding, and Paul and I are better than we've ever been. Stronger. Closer.
I was sitting at the kitchen table, half-distracted by the book in front of me, when the phone rang. Paul was outside, splitting wood like he always did when he needed to burn off restless energy. I reached for the receiver, not thinking much of it.
"Hello?"
There was a pause, then a voice I knew instantly. High, melodic, carrying a strange urgency.
"Aurora, you need to come over. Right now."
Alice.
The line went dead before I could respond.
My heart stuttered in my chest, the calm of the last two weeks shattering in an instant.