Midnight Sun (The Twilight Saga #5) - Stephenie Meyer Page 0,33

sarcasm as he turned to Tyler. “I’m afraid that you’ll have to stay with us just a little bit longer,” he said as he began examining the superficial lacerations left by the shattered windshield.

Well, I’d made the mess, so it was only fair that I had to deal with it.

Bella walked deliberately toward me, not stopping until she was uncomfortably close. I remembered how I had hoped, before all the chaos, that she would approach me. This was like a mockery of that wish.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” she hissed at me.

Her warm breath swept across my face and I had to stagger back a step. Her appeal had not abated one bit. Every time she was near me, it triggered all my worst, most urgent instincts. Venom flowed in my mouth, and my body yearned to strike—to wrench her into my arms and crush her throat to my teeth.

My mind was stronger than my body, but only just.

“Your father is waiting for you,” I reminded her, my jaw clenched tight.

She glanced toward Carlisle and Tyler. Tyler was paying us no attention at all, but Carlisle was monitoring my every breath.

Carefully, Edward.

“I’d like to speak to you alone, if you don’t mind,” she insisted in a low voice.

I wanted to tell her that I did mind very much, but I knew I would have to do this eventually. I might as well get on with it.

I was full of so many conflicting emotions as I stalked out of the room, listening to her stumbling footsteps behind me, trying to keep up.

I had a show to put on now. I knew the role I would play—I had the character down: I would be the villain. I would lie and ridicule and be cruel.

It went against all my better impulses—the human impulses that I’d clung to through so many years. I’d never wanted to deserve trust more than in this moment, when I had to destroy all possibility of it.

It made it worse to know that this would be the last memory she would have of me. This was my farewell scene.

I turned on her.

“What do you want?” I asked coldly.

She cringed back slightly from my hostility. Her eyes turned bewildered, her face shifting into the very expression that had haunted me.

“You owe me an explanation,” she said in a small voice. What little color she had drained from her ivory skin.

It was very hard to keep my voice harsh. “I saved your life—I don’t owe you anything.”

She flinched—it stung like acid to watch my words hurt her.

“You promised,” she whispered.

“Bella, you hit your head, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her chin came up then. “There’s nothing wrong with my head.”

She was angry now, and that made it easier for me. I met her glare, arranging my face so it was colder, harder.

“What do you want from me, Bella?”

“I want to know the truth. I want to know why I’m lying for you.”

What she wanted was only fair—it frustrated me to have to deny her.

“What do you think happened?” I nearly growled.

Her words poured out in a torrent. “All I know is that you weren’t anywhere near me—Tyler didn’t see you, either, so don’t tell me I hit my head too hard. That van was going to crush us both—and it didn’t, and your hands left dents in the side of it—and you left a dent in the other car, and you’re not hurt at all—and the van should have smashed my legs, but you were holding it up.…” Suddenly, she clenched her teeth together and her eyes were glistening with unshed tears.

I stared at her, my expression thoroughly derisive, though what I really felt was awe; she had seen everything.

“You think I lifted a van off you?” I asked, elevating the level of sarcasm in my tone.

She answered with one stiff nod.

My voice grew more mocking. “Nobody will believe that, you know.”

She made an effort to control her emotions—her anger, it looked like. When she answered me, she spoke each word with slow deliberation. “I’m not going to tell anybody.”

She meant it—I could see that in her eyes. Even furious and betrayed, she would keep my secret.

Why?

The shock of it ruined my carefully designed expression for half a second, and then I pulled myself together.

“Then why does it matter?” I asked, working to keep my voice severe.

“It matters to me,” she said intensely. “I don’t like to lie—so there’d better be a good reason why I’m doing