You’d spent months imagining this night — both of you had. And yet somehow, sitting here together, freshly married, wrapped up in silence and each other… you were completely, helplessly stuck.

Edward’s hand rests lightly against yours on the bedspread, his thumb tracing small, nervous circles. His shirt is half-unbuttoned, his hair mussed from running his hands through it too many times.

You catch his eye and instantly have to bite back a laugh.

He raises one eyebrow, a tiny amused spark in his golden gaze.

“I suppose…” he starts, then stops, looking almost sheepish — which is rare enough to make you giggle quietly into your hand.

“I suppose there’s no manual for this part,” he says finally, voice low and a little rough.

You laugh softly, nerves buzzing under your skin. “No,” you whisper, “but you’d think after a hundred years, you’d have at least… an idea.”

He huffs out a breath that might almost be a laugh, and leans back slightly, studying you with that warm, too-tender gaze that always makes your chest ache.

“I’ve had ideas,” he murmurs, voice dropping, “but I don’t trust myself to act on them without… hurting you.”

Your heart twists, because even now — even with your new, unbreakable skin and vampire strength — Edward’s fear of hurting you is stronger than anything.

You shift closer, feeling the heat of his body even through the coolness of your own.

“I’m not afraid,” you say quietly. “I’m just… nervous.”

He smiles — soft, fragile — and lifts your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles with aching slowness.

“As am I,” he admits, almost like a secret.

You both sit there for a long second, laughing under your breath, overwhelmed with love and awkwardness, not sure where to start — but knowing you’ll figure it out, together, in your own slow, careful way