Midnight Sun (The Twilight Saga #5) - Stephenie Meyer Page 0,302

She wouldn’t be able to relax until it was over.

She limped slower than before, resisting.

“I’ve got all night,” I reminded her.

“Edward,” she whispered, horror in her voice. She looked up at me with panic-stricken eyes. “I honestly can’t dance!”

Did she think I was going to abandon her in the middle of the floor, and then stand back to watch, expecting a solo performance?

“Don’t worry, silly,” I said gently. “I can.”

I lifted her arms and placed them around my neck. I put my hands around her waist and lifted her a few inches from the floor. Pulling her body against mine, I lowered her so that her satin-clad toes and her plaster-clad toes rested on top of my shoes.

She grinned.

Holding almost all of her weight in my hands, I spun us into the middle of the floor, where my siblings held court. I didn’t try to keep up with them, I just held her close and whirled in a loose waltz to the music.

Her arms tightened around my neck, pulling us even closer.

“I feel like I’m five years old,” she laughed.

I caught her up so her feet were a foot in the air and whispered, “You don’t look five,” into her ear.

She laughed again as I set her feet down on my toes. Her eyes sparkled with the glimmer of the Christmas lights.

The song changed. I shifted the tempo of our waltz. The music was slower now, dreamier. Her body was melted to mine. I wished I could freeze us here, stop time forever and stay in this dance.

“Okay,” she murmured. “This isn’t half-bad.”

These were close to the words I’d hoped she would say to her children. It was encouraging that it hadn’t taken twenty years for her to come to this conclusion.

Nope, I’m not going to do it. I’ll give the money back. Ugh, this is so embarrassing. Why does my dad have to be the insane one? Why couldn’t it be Quil’s?

The clear thoughts hesitating in the doorway were very familiar. Even in his angst and self-consciousness, his mind radiated a kind of purity. He was more honest with himself than most.

“What is it?” Bella had noticed my sudden abstraction.

I wasn’t ready to answer. I felt a depth of rage that closed my throat. So the Quileutes were going to keep pushing, straining against the treaty they’d made, the treaty that did nothing but protect them. It was as if they couldn’t be happy until we did kill someone. They wanted us to be monsters.

Bella twisted in my arms to see what I was looking at.

Jacob Black walked hesitantly through the door, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the low light. It didn’t take him long to see what he was looking for.

Dang, she is here. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe my dad thinks that guy is an actual vampire. This is so completely stupid.

He didn’t hesitate, though, despite his embarrassment. Ignoring the ticket stand, the boy marched like a soldier through the ring of dancers toward us. Even in my anger, I had to admire his straightforward courage.

Should’ve worn some garlic, I guess. He snorted.

I didn’t realize I’d snarled audibly till Bella hissed, “Behave!”

“He wants to chat with you.” There was no way to avoid it. Like the first dance, better to get it out of the way. I shouldn’t let myself get angry. Did it really matter if that group of toothless old men broke the treaty? It wouldn’t change much, even if they paid for a billboard on the 101 that read: The local doctor and his children are VAMPIRES. You have been warned. No one would believe. Even his son didn’t believe.

I held still as Jacob approached. He mostly looked at Bella, his expression comical in its reluctance.

“Hey, Bella, I was hoping you would be here.” It was obvious this was the exact opposite of what he’d been hoping.

Bella’s voice was warm when she answered. I was sure she could see his distress, too, and being Bella, she would want to ease it. “Hi, Jacob. What’s up?”

He smiled at her, then looked at me. He didn’t have to look up to do it. The boy had grown several inches since the last time I’d seen him. He didn’t look as much a child as he had then.

“Can I cut in?” he asked. His tone was respectful; he didn’t want to overstep.

I knew my anger was pointless, and it certainly wasn’t directed at this blameless boy, but I couldn’t quite keep it