Note: This epilogue is told from Carlisle's perspective and is primarily a retelling of the events in the first five chapters. However, as seen through his eyes there will be a few new insights. If you prefer not to reread the events, however, you might simply read the first and last sections of this chapter, where you will see the results of Bella's dance lessons at the wedding.

Epilogue

Bella was truly a vision of loveliness. I felt certain I had never seen a more glorious bride. Her expression was serene as Edward held her in his arms. My son's entire mien, too, reflected his joy that Bella was now his wife. Matrimonial bliss enveloped them utterly.

Contentment curled warmly through me as I watched the happy couple on the dance floor. Edward led flawlessly, his feet moving with perfect rhythm, his body gently guiding Bella's. Her movements were smooth and graceful as she completed the well-practiced steps. Her gaze remained upon Edward's beaming face, but for one instant I saw her eyes flick over his shoulder to offer Emmett a grateful smile.

Esme's arm slid around my waist, and I lifted her chin to place a gentle kiss upon her lips.

"Carlisle," she sighed contentedly, "just look at them. I've never seen Edward so happy, so at peace." After watching them for a few more moments, she laughed lightly. "And Bella is dancing! She really seems to be enjoying herself."

"Yes, she does," I agreed, a smile spreading over my face.

My hand slipped into my wife's as my thoughts wandered back to the day Bella had learned to dance. The morning had been chaotic as my family prepared to go to Seattle. Rose and Alice had argued about which stores to visit, while Jasper and Emmett had spent considerable time convincing Edward to leave Bella for the day so that he could find an appropriate wedding gift for her. He'd consented to the excursion earlier but had changed his mind at the last moment. It had taken Alice's firm conviction that he was meant to go into the city to persuade him to accompany his brothers on the trip.

Esme gave me a lingering farewell kiss just before leaving. We were still standing in the kitchen when we heard the tumult in the garage.

She shook her head. "Emmett's instigated another wrestling match with Jasper," she said with mild exasperation.

Before I could respond, we heard a tremendous crash. An instant later, we stood outside the garage, staring at a massive hole in the wall. Alice darted through the gaping portal, and I turned to see Jasper sprawled against a tree about fifty feet away.

"Emmett!" I said sternly, my ire piqued at his irresponsible and destructive behavior.

Emmett emerged from the garage with a sheepish expression on his face. "Sorry," he murmured. "I guess things got a little out of hand."

"A little?" I repeated with considerable vexation. "You've nearly destroyed the garage! I expect this to be repaired by the time I return home this evening."

Esme nodded at my side. "You'll need to repaint the entire exterior so that everything matches."

"Yes, Mom," he said obediently.

Rosalie huffed in the background. "I thought you were taking me to Tiffany's!"

"Sorry, babe," Emmett said. "Buy yourself something nice from me."

"Oh, I will!" she assured him.

Within a few minutes Jasper and Alice had driven off in her Porsche, followed by Esme, Edward, and Rosalie in the Volvo. I gave Emmett one more remonstrating look then got into my car. Thanks to his childish behavior, I was now running late.

The morning did not improve when I received the call about the warehouse fire in Port Angeles. One man was gravely injured and required superior facilities and care if he had any chance for survival. Neither the Forks nor Port Angeles hospitals were equipped for such injuries, but I knew that Harbor View Medical Center in Seattle was. I planned to phone a colleague there to request that she oversee the case. After discovering that she was not on duty, I decided to call her at home; she was an extremely dedicated physician, and I felt certain she would not mind the intrusion. I had her home number stored in my Blackberry but soon found that I'd inadvertently left it at the house.

Fortunately I had no surgeries scheduled until the following day, so my agenda permitted a quick trip to retrieve the forgotten device. When I arrived home, two surprises met me. First I noticed Bella's truck parked in the drive. Next I observed the pristine condition of the garage. Emmett had completed the work in record time. For a moment I wondered if he had enlisted Bella's help and determined to chastise him if this were the case. He had caused the damage; it was his sole responsibility to repair it.

Still wondering, I pulled into the garage. Emmett's Jeep was gone—another unexpected development. I entered the house through the kitchen, where Bella's unique scent immediately greeted me. I listened for a moment to determine where she was and soon heard water running in the small bathroom near the living room.

Bella was just leaving the bathroom as I entered the room. Her gaze was fixed upon the floor, and she was mumbling softly. I heard her say Edward's name, then she repeated the phrase more clearly: "Keep it from Edward; don't let him know."

"Bella?" I queried.

Her head jerked up, her eyes wide with surprise. She faltered momentarily but regained her balance.

"Um…hi," she rasped.

Her voice was somewhat husky, and she looked pale. My curiosity and concern building, I said, "I saw your truck. Are you waiting for Edward? I thought you knew he'd gone to Seattle today—"

As I took a breath, the distinctly acrid smell of vomit prickled in my nose. I glanced at the bathroom, suddenly understanding the cause of her pallor and hoarseness.

Immediately, I asked, "Bella, are you ill?"

I darted forward, placing my hands gently upon her shoulders. She swallowed and hung her head, whispering that odd phrase again. Her heart rate increased significantly, signaling anxiety.

She did not look up at me as she replied somewhat haltingly, "Um, yeah. I had a banana that… tasted off this morning."

I arched an eyebrow dubiously; it was rare for a human to contract a food-borne illness from fruit. Still, something was clearly amiss, and I suspected that she was reticent to tell me. Bella never liked the attention that an illness or injury engendered.

"Did you come here because you felt sick?" I asked gently, hoping to convey sympathy and support in my tone.

Her bowed head and her mumbled reply indicated embarrassment. "Oh, uh no. It's… sort of silly, actually."

As I listened to her heart and lungs, I inhaled slowly. I heard nothing abnormal, but I could now discern a hint of fresh, sweet blood mingling with her floral essence. The muted quality of the aroma told me that the injury was beneath her skin; she had either sustained a fairly significant contusion or suffered a sprain.

As both my curiosity and unease mounted, I asked frankly yet kindly, "What's going on?"

She took a breath then said, "Emmett's teaching me to dance. I wanted to surprise Edward. For the wedding, I mean."

Her heart raced even faster, and again she whispered, "Keep it from Edward; don't let him know."

Clearly she had incurred some sort of injury that she wished to hide from Edward. I understood her fear, even though I knew it was unfounded. Regardless, I needed to know the nature of her ailment.

"Bella."

She did not lift her head; she seemed determined to avoid my gaze. I placed my fingertips beneath her chin, but she remained motionless.

"Tell me what's wrong," I prompted.

"Nothing," she mumbled. "I should get home now, though. Charlie's waiting—"

I lifted her chin so I could see her face. Immediately she squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Her behavior was uncharacteristic and odd, spurring additional concern for me. Still, I kept my voice calm as I informed her, "You're hurt. I can smell fresh blood beneath your skin. You've bruised yourself, or perhaps had a sprain…"

Her eyelids pinched together as she shook her head minutely. "It's nothing," she replied, then her lips moved and she repeated that phrase about Edward once again. I strongly suspected that she remained unaware that I could hear her words clearly.

"Open your eyes." When she did not respond, I moved my hand up, resting it against her warm cheek. "Bella," I adjured mildly, "please look at me."

Quickly, the words running together, she uttered, "I hit my head, and I think I have a concussion."

Her attempts at concealment made sense now: She feared that I would note some irregularity in her pupil response if I saw her eyes. It was irrational but oddly logical—something typical of my son's wonderful human fiancée.

I rubbed my thumb over her cheek, and her lids fluttered open partially.

"You've had a concussion before," I commented neutrally, knowing from her records that she had suffered this particular injury on two prior occasions.

With a nod, she confirmed, "Twice." Her cheeks flushed at this admission.

Somewhat relieved that her long-term memory appeared unimpaired, I took her arm and led her slowly to the couch. I helped her to sit then knelt before her. She still kept her eyes partially closed, concealing them from me.

Employing the steady yet firm tone I reserved for intractable children, I said, "Let me see your eyes."

Bella sighed and complied. I studied her eyes, noting that her pupils were equal, which was a good sign. Quickly I retrieved a penlight from my pocket and checked her pupils again. They reacted more slowly than normal but not significantly so. She suppressed a groan, and I knew that the light was causing her additional pain. Unfortunately it was unavoidable.

I returned the penlight to my pocket before beginning to examine her scalp and asking, "How did this happen?"

She flinched when I probed the area of swelling. She had sustained a fairly significant blow to the head, but I found no indications of any damage to her skull.

"I stumbled," she said. "Just tripped over my own two feet—same old, same old."

Curious, I inquired, "Was this while you were dancing with Emmett?"

Immediately she replied, "No." Then, emphasizing every word, she added, "No! Of course not. Emmett was very careful with me. I tripped while I was practicing on my own, after he left to get ice cream."

Clearly she had been injured while dancing with Emmett but was reluctant to admit it. I wondered if Emmett even knew… "I see. And what did you hit your head on?"

"One of the posts on the porch." Her frank tone and slower heart rate told me that she was being truthful with this piece of information.

I asked her to track my finger with her eyes to assess ocular-motor function. She performed adequately, but after a few moments she blanched, and her skin grew clammy. She was becoming nauseated again.

I smiled sympathetically and instructed softly, "Close your eyes and breathe slowly." I rubbed one hand lightly against the back of her neck as I pressed my fingers over the pressure point at the base of her thumb. For many individuals, this small action quelled nausea. Fortunately Bella was no exception.

Her breathing steadied and she whispered, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." My tone was affable, but I was concerned by her continued queasiness and sluggish pupil response. I needed to do a more thorough examination to determine how serious her concussion was.

I excused myself and hurried to retrieve my bag. Bella frowned when she saw it, but I was undeterred. I knew that, ultimately, she would prefer that I evaluate her here rather than taking her to the hospital for a head CT. In most cases, my enhanced senses allowed me to make extremely accurate diagnoses without the need for sophisticated machinery.

Beginning a standard neurological exam, I asked her the date, to which she replied correctly. I inquired about several recent events, as well, finding her responses adequate. She was fully oriented to time and place. Next I stated six items and asked her to repeat them back. Her short-term memory was unimpaired. I would check her long-term memory later.

I assessed her balance, keeping in mind that for Bella some minor ataxia was normal. Her reflexes were fine, as was her blood pressure—considering that she remained somewhat anxious. I found no signs of bleeding in either ear, either upon visual or olfactory inspection, but her pupil reactivity remained slightly abnormal.

I noticed that her gaze moved to the door repeatedly as I examined her. Twice I heard her repeat the phrase about Edward; it had taken on a particular cadence, and I wondered how many times she had employed silent recitation.

Frankly, this was the one symptom that concerned me. Bella and Edward had built a great deal of trust since their return from Volterra. I had observed the development of unadulterated honesty and faith between them. So Bella's insistence on hiding her injury from him indicated impairments in judgment. I would need to observe her closely over the next several hours.

Masking my minor apprehension, I told her, "I agree with your diagnosis, Bella. You do have a concussion, but it appears mild."

She nodded curtly, speaking with uncharacteristic brusqueness. "Right. Thanks. I didn't mean to bother you. Nothing to discuss or think about, really. I'll just head home now."

She began to stand.

With a shake of my head, I caught her wrist gently. "I can't allow you to drive for at least twenty-four hours."

Visible disappointment washed over her. "I'm okay," she insisted. "Really. I'm not dizzy at all now."

"No driving, Bella," I replied firmly. "And you shouldn't be alone, either."

"I'll call Charlie. He can come and get me and stay with me." She nodded, pleased with her solution. Her mouth moved in subvocal declamation, Edward's name upon her lips once more. She remained oblivious to the fact that I could hear her.

"Your father's in Port Angeles today," I responded. I explained briefly about the burn victim and my reason for returning to the house—which I now realized was fortuitous.

Bella encouraged me to call Dr. Lambert, expressing concern for the injured man. Quickly she added, "And maybe you could drop me off at Angela Weber's house on your way back to the hospital? She can be sure I'm all right."

Her behavior was beginning to border on perseveration. However, I kept my voice even and my tone soothing as I told her, "No, dear, that won't be necessary. I can work from home for the rest of the day and keep an eye on you myself."

"But you have that burn patient—"

"He's already on the way to Seattle," I assured her. "I just need to call Dr. Lambert and alert her that he's coming. I'll be back in a moment."

I dashed to my office to find the errant Blackberry sitting upon my desk. Returning to the living room, I retrieved the number I needed then quickly placed the call. As expected, Dr. Lambert was glad to provide whatever assistance she could. I gave her all the information I possessed then thanked her.

I'd observed Bella surreptitiously as I conversed. She remained preoccupied and somewhat uneasy. Her features were pinched with pain, too. I would do all that I could to make her comfortable. As soon as I ended the call, I returned to her side, placing my hand upon her shoulder. She flinched in surprise, immersed in her own musings.

I smiled an apology. "Bella, perhaps you'd be more comfortable in Edward's room?" I suggested.

She gave a nod of agreement and began to stand. However, she wavered momentarily. Rapidly I lifted her into my arms and carried her upstairs. I set her gently upon Edward's bed then left to get an analgesic for her. I heard her sigh but wasn't sure if it was an indicator of physical or emotional pain.

She swallowed the two Tylenol without complaint and expressed gratitude when I placed a cool, damp washcloth over her brow. I tucked a blanket around her to ensure that she would not feel chilled. .

Observing the heaviness of her eyelids, I said softly, "Just rest, Bella. I'll check on you again soon, but if you need me, just call."

I walked from the room with silent steps but paused in the hallway to listen as her respiration and heart rate slowed. Within a minute she had fallen asleep. She would find a respite from her body's discomfort, but I knew her emotional agitation would not diminish. I could provide no palliative substance to soothe her spirit. To accomplish that bit of healing, I would need to rely upon my other skills.

Emmett's return was accompanied by considerable clatter. Doors slammed and pounding feet echoed through the house before I could intercept him in the hallway and alert him to Bella's condition. He blinked in surprise when I explained that she'd sustained a concussion.

"What the hell?" he blurted out. "A concussion?"

"Yes," I replied, judging his reaction. It was immediately evident to me that he knew nothing of her injury.

"Damn. She told me she was gonna practice—Oh, crap, I wasn't supposed to say what we were doing." His face fell.

Chuckling, I said, "It's all right, Emmett. She already told me that you're teaching her to dance. I think that's very kind of you."

He shrugged, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "We had fun, actually, and she learned pretty fast. I even did a couple of spins, and she only stumbled once." His expression was one of utter innocence.

"I see." My words were more than a simple acknowledgement; I felt fairly certain that I now understood what had happened.

"So when's she gonna wake up?"

"I'm not sure, but given the volume of your voice, I wouldn't be surprised if she's awake now. Still, it's best to let her rest—"

"But I got ice cream for her!" he protested.

He was directly before Edward's door now. "Sshh. Keep your voice down," I warned.

He frowned slightly at my admonition. "How'd she get hurt, anyway?"

"She said she tripped on the porch while she was practicing and hit her head on one of the posts."

I walked into the room to find Bella's eyes open.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" I asked.

"Okay, I guess," she said. She smiled up at Emmett, who now stood near the bed.

With a shake of his head, he said, "Bella! What'd you do to yourself? You've gotta be more careful!"

Bella's expression was one of abashedness, but it seemed a bit forced to me. Emmett, however, did not appear to notice. He simply shook his head in sympathy.

I checked her pulse and pupils again, asking, "Do you remember why Emmett went out?"

She replied, "To get ice cream"

She recalled the flavor, which was a positive sign. When I inquired about her level of pain, she replied honestly then seemed to regret it. I checked the contusion; it was unchanged.

So was her obduracy. Again she suggested that she leave, this time requesting that Emmett take her to the Webers' home.

"Bella," I replied, "no. You need to stay here. Or, if you'd really rather not, I can take you to the hospital. But you need to remain under professional observation."

She appeared to consider this option, which concerned me. Bella held a distinct dislike of hospitals.

"Bella?" I probed, "do you want to go to the hospital?"

She swallowed. "Um, no, here's fine, I guess."

I was not pleased with her vacillation. Difficulty with decision making could be a sign of increasing cranial pressure. Needing to examine her again, I sent Emmett for my bag.

I gave Bella another series of questions and cognitive tasks, all of which she performed adequately. Once I had my bag, I assessed her reflexes and blood pressure, then examined her eyes and ears again. Her discomfiture was obvious, but it was unavoidable.

I found no physical signs that concerned me. Minor alterations in thought were not uncommon with this type of head injury, and I reminded myself that persistence was one of Bella's inherent traits. If I noted any escalation, however, I would take her to the hospital for additional evaluation.

Once I'd completed my examination, Emmett bounded into the room. Holding out a large bowl filled to the rim, he exclaimed, "Here's your ice cream," grinning from ear to ear.

Bella accepted the bowl, claiming her nausea had resolved. Still, I sensed a hint of prevarication in her mannerisms. I suspected that she did not want to disappoint Emmett. I glanced at my watch, recalling that I'd promised to phone the charge nurse to check on a patient. As I was excusing myself, Bella inquired about the burn victim. The fact that she remembered this was another positive sign.

She was just dipping her spoon into the bowl when I left the room. I heard her and Emmett chatting then focused my attention on my phone call. I had barely finished when the distinctive sounds of retching met my ears. Bella's nausea had returned.

I hurried upstairs but paused before entering the bathroom. Emmett was speaking softly, his tone gentle. He was concerned to see Bella with tears in her eyes. I felt a tug of emotion as I watched him with her. His tenderness was quite touching.

As soon as I stepped into the room, Bella offered an apology. She tried to stand but faltered. Emmett acted immediately to position her in his lap. One huge hand eased her head back to rest against his chest while his other arm looped lightly yet protectively around her.

"You okay now?" he asked, his voice full of concern. "You're really pale…"

"You should talk," she replied, attempting a joke.

I had already run a washcloth under warm water. With a smile, I knelt before Bella and gently bathed her face, knowing that humans found this small gesture soothing.

"I think we'll try to keep your stomach empty for the next few hours," I suggested, "aside from some water, if you can manage it."

Emmett's brow was furrowed with worry. "Did I get bad ice cream?"

"No, son," I assured him, touched by his sincere distress. "Nausea is a relatively common occurrence after a concussion."

"How long's it gonna last?" he asked me.

Bella provided an expedient answer. "Not much longer, I hope. I hate throwing up!"

Emmett teased her good-naturedly, and she responded in kind. I smiled at their camaraderie; he was her big brother in every sense of the word. Without being asked, he

carried her back to the bed and tucked her in.

I slipped from the room, knowing she was in good hands. I had to chuckle to myself when she asked once again if she could leave, suggesting that Emmett drive her. She reminded me of a child surreptitiously seeking permission from one parent when denied by the other.

"Emmett," I said, knowing he would hear me easily, "no. She needs to remain here, where I can observe her, for the next twenty-four hours."

He parroted the information back to Bella. I could hear the disappointment in her voice and knew she continued to harbor a baseless hope that she could hide her injury from Edward. Understanding how she had incurred it, I sympathized with her concerns. She probably feared that Edward would retaliate against Emmett. While I doubted this would be the case, I determined to speak with her about it regardless. I could put her mind at ease.

She secured Emmett's promise to keep the dance lessons a secret, then asked if he thought I would agree to remaining mute on the subject as well. I smiled at Emmett's perception of me as faultlessly honest when dealing with my family. I suppose he was right to a certain extent; it was my form of atonement for the necessary deception in my professional life.

Emmett commented that Bella looked slightly queasy again. I listened to her reply, somewhat concerned when she confessed to additional discomfort. Emmett left her to rest. I thanked him quietly as I passed him in the hallway.

"Is she gonna be okay?" he asked, truly worried.

"Yes," I assured him. "I'll be certain of it."

Her healing, however, would be incomplete until I'd had the chance to speak with her again. Knowing that she would desire privacy, I added, "You missed a couple of spots on the exterior north wall. Esme won't be pleased…"

Emmett hurried downstairs and out to the garage.

When I entered Edward's room, Bella lay quietly with her eyes closed. I spoke her name softly, relieved that she roused immediately. She blinked at me and gave me a thin smile.

I leaned in to scrutinize her eyes, reaching for my penlight. "You told Emmett that your head was beginning to hurt more."

Quickly she said, "I'm okay." She waved away the light. "I just said that because I wanted to rest some more."

"So your head doesn't feel any worse?" I confirmed.

"No. It's fine."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that." I knew, of course, that she wanted to speak with me about the dance lessons, and I was anxious to discuss her unnecessary secrecy. Casually, I inquired, "Is there anything I can do for you while I'm here?"

Her expression reflected some relief, but her halting speech and heart rate told me that she remained uneasy. "Um, I was just wondering—hoping, really—that you could try not to think about my dance lessons with Emmett after Edward gets home? Remember I told you I wanted to surprise him—Edward, I mean…"

She was able to recall our earlier conversation with clarity. This was an excellent indicator of her improving condition. I replied, "I do remember your telling me that." I kept my tone calm and encouraging as I added, "You seem quite determined that Edward doesn't find out."

She nodded eagerly, undoubtedly assuming I would comply with her request. "I want it to be a surprise, something I can give him because I can't offer him anything else—no jewelry or fancy gifts or anything—"

My still heart ached at her admission. I placed my hand over hers to emphasize the sincerity of my words. "Bella, don't you know that you're already giving him the only thing he's ever wanted?"

I smelled a hint of saltiness and knew that tears were building in her eyes. She swallowed twice, and I apprehended that her throat felt thick with emotion. There was no need for her to speak anyway. I smiled in understanding and rubbed my thumb comfortingly over her warm hand.

After a few moments, I spoke again. It was time to coax the full truth from her. I could not alleviate her apprehension until she expressed its source honestly to me. "Now, regarding your request, I think it's a reasonable one, and I will honor it on one condition."

She inhaled sharply, her eyes widening in alarm. "What's that?" she peeped.

My voice was light and calm as I said, "I want you to tell me why you've repeated 'Keep it from Edward; don't let him know' so adamantly since the moment I got home."

She was truly shocked by my words. "You heard that?"

Suppressing a smile at her reaction, I responded placidly, "I did, but at the time I couldn't understand why you would be so resolute about that. Forgive me if this sounds at all impolite, but Edward is aware that you occasionally stumble and have even been known to injure yourself in the process. So I was a bit mystified about your intense desire to hide this from him."

"I just… didn't want him to worry. I mean, he'd probably insist on taking me to Seattle or San Francisco for some sort of super-high-tech, advanced brain scan or something if he knew about this." She pointed at the contusion.

"Is that really all there is to it?" With the tenor of my voice I conveyed my wish for her to answer honestly.

I could see that she wanted to tell me the truth. However, her eyes flickered to the doorway, alerting me to her concern that Emmett might overhear our conversation. She wanted privacy for her confession.

"Emmett's out in the garage," I told her, offering her an encouraging look.

She gave a little sigh then asked reticently, "Does doctor-patient confidentially apply here?"

She was so delightfully endearing; I pressed my lips together to repress my grin. "Absolutely."

"And you won't accidentally replay this conversation in your thoughts when Edward can hear?"

"No," I replied reassuringly.

She hid her face against the blanket then blurted, "I'm such a klutz!"

We were nearing the truth now. I prompted her, "You hit your head while you were practicing with Emmett, didn't you?"

She lifted her head quickly, gaping at me in surprise. "How… how did you know?"

Her human ingenuousness was utterly charming, eliciting another smile from me. "Well, it wasn't terribly difficult to figure out. You wouldn't be dead-set against Edward finding out about your injury if you really had simply tripped. You know he would understand that and wouldn't cast blame on anyone… with the possible exception of himself for leaving you alone and not being here to catch you. But if he knew Emmett was responsible—"

"It wasn't his fault!" she interposed almost frantically.

Now I permitted myself to in earnest as I told her gently, "Yes, you were rather adamant on that point earlier, too."

She did not respond to my humor. Instead, she lowered her gaze and said tremulously, "It's just that I was so afraid."

Sobering, I repeated, "Afraid?" I needed her to admit the root of her fear. "You mean of what Edward might do to Emmett?"

She shook her head. "No—I mean, yes, of course I don't want to see Emmett hurt. But I thought it would be a repeat of my birthday, that Edward would decide I wasn't safe here, that you all were a threat to me, and he'd… he'd… leave me again." Her eyes filled with tears.

Now that she had expressed her fear, I knew she would see how irrational it was. I wrapped my arms around her, enveloping her with all the emotional warmth I could muster. "Oh Bella. This is entirely different."

"But if he thought Emmett was responsible for me getting hurt—" A sob broke her words.

She still required another verbal nudge. "Even if he did, things have changed."

"They…" She hiccupped another sob. "They have?"

"Yes," I reassured her, understanding that she needed to hear the words; this was not the time for subtlety. "In so many ways. Edward loves you very deeply, and there is nothing that could take him away from you. He still regrets leaving you last year; I'm sure he will for the rest of his existence. He would never put you through that again."

"Even if he thought it was for my own good, to keep me safe?" she asked hesitantly, fear still lingering.

I pulled back so that I could lift her chin and look directly at her. "He knows you are safest, happiest, and healthiest with him, no matter what."

She calmed visibly, her tears ceasing as her heart slowed.

"I guess I was a little silly," she said, her cheeks coloring.

I brushed away her tears. "Do you realize that now?"

She flushed more deeply as she nodded.

I smiled in relief, knowing her thoughts were clear now. "You are definitely on the mend."

"Huh?"

With a chuckle, I told her, "Your concussion affected your judgment, Bella. That's why you thought the consequences of your accident would be so dire. But now that you can see reason again, I know the concussion is resolving."

"Does that mean I can go home before the morning?"

"Bella, you aren't still hoping to keep this from Edward?" Her human stubbornness was unwavering.

"Only the cause… and only because I really do want to surprise him with a wedding waltz."

Ah, now I understood. The secret would be kept in the name of romance. I could appreciate that.

"I promise that neither Emmett nor I will reveal anything about your dance lessons to Edward. As far as either Emmett or I know, you tripped on the stairs, just as you told us."

"So do I still have to stay here?"

"I'd prefer it. And I know Edward would, too. He's going to want to take care of you… Which reminds me, I meant to offer you a bit of pre-wedding advice."

Her sudden blush told me that she misinterpreted the direction in which my thoughts were moving. I laughed lightly, hoping to put her at ease.

"Relax, Bella. I was just going to tell you that it's good for a marriage when spouses pamper each other. It brings them you closer together and leaves both feeling cared for and needed, and that's important for couples."

"Oh," she replied, obviously relieved. "Thanks."

I stood, preparing to leave. "Try to rest a while longer," I advised.

"Okay."

I walked down the hallway with slow steps, contemplating the confusing, complex, wonderful workings of the human mind.

Edward had quickly forgiven me for failing to inform him about Bella's injury. Once he held her securely in his arms, adoration overtook any lingering irritation. His focus was solely upon her.

My thoughts returned to the present as the music ended. Edward's steps slowed, but his adulation did not fade. Other couples began to drift onto the dance floor. I looked down at Esme, making a silent request. She smiled and gave me a nod. Together we walked toward our son and new daughter.

Another song began, its strains soft and dulcet. Esme touched Edward's arm, and he grinned at her.

"I believe a mother-son dance is traditional," she said.

"My pleasure," he replied, kissing Bella's cheek before taking Esme's hand. They waltzed off together laughing.

Bella was blushing again, but it only added to the elated glow surrounding her. With a slight bow of my head, I held out my hand.

"May I have this dance?" I asked.

"Absolutely." She took my hand as a soft smile spread across her face. "You've earned it."

As Rosalie and Emmett swept past us, he quirked an eyebrow at Bella and said, "I'm next!"

She giggled then nestled her head against my chest as I led her smoothly across the dance floor.

The End--Really! :)

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