A oneshot for detochkina.

“She said yes!”

Thus began the engagement whirlwind.

In all honestly, the whole thing seemed silly to me. Though I doubted I’d ever forget the look on Edward’s face as he slid his mother’s ring onto my finger, I’d committed to him long before this morning. I made my vow after he arrived on my porch the night of his father’s funeral. I didn’t say the words out loud, nor did anyone bear witness to my epiphany. Neither were necessary for me to know that everything had changed. I was was his and resolved to do whatever I could to make him happy. I knew I’d love him for the rest of my life, regardless of whether or not he chose to remain with me—an idea which at the time was nearly impossible for me to believe.

In the past two years, the fear that Edward would eventually leave me no longer wreaked havoc on my psyche, but I still had difficulty accepting that forever existed. I coped by focusing on the present, while taking the future one Friday night at a time. Because that’s how it felt to be with Edward—like each night was a precursor to a fabulous weekend. Regardless of what the calendar said, of what the day had been like or what the next day would bring, we left it all behind us when we came home. He played the piano while I cooked dinner, and as we ate, we discussed art, literature and other topics that made us who we were while having nothing whatsoever to do with what we did. On cold winter nights, we continued these conversations from a blanket before the hearth on the living room floor. When the days grew longer and the air became thick and steamy, we moved our after-dinner conversations onto the front porch, the light of the fire replaced by the flicker of fireflies. We treated each night as if it was special, because as long as we were together, it was.

All of our close friends knew how Edward and I lived and loved, therefore, I couldn’t wrap my mind around my their reactions to Edward’s announcement. As far as I was concerned, nothing had really changed. This is why despite the fact Alice meant well, the sight of her jumping up and down screaming—though completely in character—was more than a little off-putting. My ears were still ringing from her shrieks when Rose threw her arms around me. I wondered if I was hallucinating. With the exception of myself, Rose was the least physically affectionate person I knew. But when she angled me away from Edward and whispered a firm reminder not to sign a prenup without letting her read it first, I saw her embrace for the ruse it was, I no longer questioned the possibility this was real. I extricated myself from Rose and scanned the room, looking for one the person besides Edward with whom I wanted to celebrate, the one person who wouldn’t be surprised and would understand why both Alice’s enthusiasm and Rose’s warning made me uncomfortable.

My future mother-in-law sat at the far end of the table with an enormous smile. As quickly as I could manage, I made my way over to her. Esme wasn’t the kind of person who did anything under pressure, but I still wanted to acknowledge everything she’d given me—things that went well beyond the heirloom that now adorned the fourth finger of my left hand.

“Thank you so much,” I said.

She pushed her chair away from the table; I knelt at her side, and we embraced.

“Let me see it on you. We’d been married for about a year when Kitty gave this ring to Carlisle to give to me,” she explained, squeezing my hand before raising it to the light.

“It wasn’t your engagement ring?”

Esme shook her head.

“Really?” Edward asked. “Which ring did Dad give you when he proposed?”

“I’d been wearing Nana’s—er, your great-grandmother’s—ring on my right hand. When I said yes, your father moved it to my left. It was a very impromptu thing, and it took a while for me to realize he was serious.” She turned back to me. “I always thought I’d pass this ring onto my daughter, and now I have. I think it looks beautiful with your coloring, but I won’t be offended if it’s not your taste. As we learned when we had it sized, your hands are much smaller than mine and the setting is enormous–”

“No, I love it,” I insisted, throwing my arms around her neck. “And I love you.”

She spoke quietly into my ear. “I love you, too. I’m so proud of you; you’ve come so far.”

I knew what she meant. The girl her teenaged son brought to their shore house equally uncomfortable with praise and familial affection was long gone, and Esme was as much to thank for that as Edward. Maybe even more so.

Emmett vacated the seat across from Esme and I slid into it, still holding her hand.

“Have you discussed possible dates yet?” Alice asked.

Edward answered as soon as possible at the same moment I explained that we weren’t in any hurry. Though neither of us were upset by the difference in opinion, it was obvious we still had a great deal to discuss.

“We’ve been engaged less than seven hours,” Edward reminded her. “We haven’t gotten that far.”

Alice’s forehead creased in confusion. “Then what were you doing all day?”

Rose and Emmett laughed; Jasper shook his head, and Edward pretended to cough.

“What?” Alice asked.

Edward’s voice was barely audible. “My mother is here.”

Alice rolled her eyes. “I know that, Edward. Before you got here, I bought her a tequila shot.”

By now everyone was laughing, with the exception of Alice, who still had no idea what was so funny.

“My son is being somewhat Victorian, ” Esme explained, “and he doesn’t want to admit in front of me that he and Bella spent all afternoon in bed together.” She turned to Edward. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Oh,” Alice said, realization dawning on her face. “Esme is right. You have the rest of your lives to do that, and not all that much time to plan a wedding.”

“I meant it was ridiculous that Edward didn’t want me to know that’s what he and Bella were doing all day. As far as I’m concerned, that’s exactly what they should have been doing. In fact, after Carlisle proposed to me, I would have loved to do exactly what Edward and Bella did.”

Edward looked as if he wished the floor would swallow him whole, so I changed the subject.

“Did you and Carlisle have a long engagement?”

“No.” Esme shook her head, laughing. “We skipped that part. He proposed, and then we eloped later that day.”

“Wow. Someone was in a hurry.”

She shrugged. “When you know what you want, why wait?”

“I guess you’d been dating for a while when you got married.”

“Not exactly. We’d been on a few dates, but I wouldn’t have considered him my boyfriend. He lived upstairs from me, and we had classes together. I spent pretty much every waking second with him, but I never considered him my boyfriend.”

I studied her face, looking for some indication that she was kidding; she wasn’t.

“I knew you two were friends before you became involved, but there has to be more to the story.”

“There is.” Her smile was suggestive, and her eyes sparkled with mischief. “But I’ll save that for another time. I doubt Edward wants to hear it.”

Edward turned to Esme. “Actually, I would.”

“Fine, but not now. Tonight should be about you.”

And on that note, Emmett shifted the evening’s focus back to where it belonged. “I think the birthday boy needs to do his legal shot. What’ll it be, bro?”

Four hours later, a very drunk Edward and I returned to our hotel room. The moment the door was closed, he pressed my back against it and his body against me, allowing me to feel that he was delightfully (and predictably) hard.

Good to know binge drinking in no way impeded his ability to perform. Then again, he was only twenty-one. Rose would say he was still a baby, but then again, she was old enough to be his mother. Thankfully, I wasn’t.

“I take back what I said earlier about you being past your prime.”

“It’s the ring,” he explained.

“Bling makes you schwing?”

“Only when it serves a purpose.” He reached for my left hand and raised it to his eyes. “It’s not the ring itself; it’s what it symbolizes. The visual reminder that you’re now officially taken—by me, no less—makes me want to take you. In fact…” He let go of my fingers and pushed his hips into mine. “I think I shall.”

With speed and fluidity I would have thought impossible in his inebriated state, he opened his pants and lifted my skirt. I wrapped my legs around his waist, impatient as ever, needing him as if he hadn’t been inside me a scant five hours before.

We didn’t bother undressing. He pushed the silky elastic strap of my thong out of the way and slammed into me, propelling me against the door. As much as we’d both changed over the past four years, our passion for each other remained the same.

“Keep this up, and maybe you’ll get a birthday spanking.”

I doubted he needed my encouragement. As he pounded into me, he claimed each thrust marked me as his, but I knew there was far more to our coupling that that. After all, we’d always belonged to each other. He buried his face in my shoulder as he came, falling to his knees while still holding me tightly. I straddled him as he sat on the floor, my arms around him as his breathing returned to normal.

I couldn’t help but tease him.

“I see how it is. You’re the kind of guy who makes love to his girlfriend, but fucks his fiancèe.”

“Not necessarily. It just so happened that tonight, my fiancèe needed a thorough fucking.” He smiled at me, then brought my hand to his lips and kissed my ring.

When his eyes met mine, all traces of the commanding man who’d just taken me against a door were gone, the look of feverish need on his face replaced by wonder. It was an expression I’d seen many times, starting with the night we met. He was mine now—the slightly awkward genius who for reasons I’ll never fully understand felt comfortable with me. I was marrying that boy—the boy who brazenly showed me erotica at the Art Museum even though he couldn’t utter the phrase “blow job” without blushing, the boy who introduced me to his parents as his girlfriend after only one date, the boy who refused to be my summer fling, who gave me every part of himself—that boy was now this man. As much as the person he’d become spoke to my body, the one he’d always been spoke to my soul. Now he was mine.

“I get to refer to you as my fiancèe,” he repeated, almost in disbelief.

“That is the generally accepted term for one’s betrothed, yes.” I wasn’t about to admit I was as much in awe if what we’d become as he was. I hadn’t changed that much.

“It just amazes me. I mean, it doesn’t seem all that long ago I had to call you Ms. Swan.”

“You realize what’s next, right?”

He nodded. “I’ll get to refer to you as my old lady.”

Apparently, he hadn’t changed that much, either.

I moved my hand like I was going to smack him. “Don’t you dare.”

“I meant my wife.”

“Watch the attitude, or you’ll lose the privilege of using my first name,” I teased.

“At this stage in our relationship, calling you Ms. Swan again would be kind of hot.”

“What about Ms. Cullen?”

His eyes widened when he realized what I was implying. “I’d be ecstatic. I was just raised better than to assume–”

“I want all of you, including your name.”

Still holding me, he shifted, and rose to his feet.

“What are you doing?” I asked, as he carried me to the bedroom.

“Making love to my fiancèe.”

Whether or not I believed in forever no longer mattered—I believed in love, and I believed in him. We’d make it through the rest of our lives, the same way we’d made it through the past two years—one Friday night at a time.