The night felt different after the confessions quieter, slower, warmer. Like the world had exhaled with us. I lay curled against Edward's chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear. It was the safest sound I'd ever known, even though everything about him should have been dangerous.
His fingers drifted through my hair in slow, absent-minded strokes. He wasn't talking. Neither was I. But the silence wasn't empty it was heavy, full of everything we still needed to say.
And everything we were terrified to say.
I shifted slightly, lifting my head. His eyes were already on me, watching, studying, loving.
That look made my chest tighten.
"Thinking?" he asked softly.
I nodded. "A lot."
He brushed a thumb over my jaw. "About us?"
"Yes." I swallowed. "And about your father."
The warmth in his gaze dimmed not fully, but enough for me to see the flash of pain he always hid. His hand paused in my hair.
"Yeah," he murmured. "We need to talk about that."
I sat up slowly, pulling the blanket around me. Edward followed, sitting close enough that our thighs touched. He reached for my hand immediately, his fingers curling around mine like he needed the anchor.
I needed it too.
"What happens now?" I whispered.
He took a slow breath, eyes dropping to our intertwined fingers. His thumb brushed my knuckles.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But I know what won't happen."
I waited.
"I'm not letting you go," he said softly, voice steady but fierce. "I'm not choosing distance. I'm not choosing fear. I'm not choosing him over you."
The tears formed instantly.
"You don't mean that," I whispered. "He's your father."
Edward looked up sharply, eyes burning with something deep.
"He's the man who raised me. Yes." He tightened his grip on my hand. "But being a father isn't the same thing as being right."
My throat clenched.
"What if he hates me?" I breathed. "What if he thinks I manipulated you? What if he thinks"
"Leah." Edward cut in gently, lifting my chin. "He can think whatever he wants. You didn't manipulate me. You didn't chase me. You didn't even want anything serious."
I gave a weak laugh. "I definitely didn't."
"But here we are," he whispered. "And I'm not losing this because of him."
His voice cracked at the end just slightly, but enough for me to hear the fear he tried to hide.
I took his face gently in my hands.
"You're not losing me," I said. "Not unless you walk away."
His breath caught.
"You'd stay?" he asked vulnerable, disbelieving. "Even after everything? Even knowing who he is to you who he is to us?"
"I'd stay," I whispered. "Because I love you."
Those words still made something inside him shatter and rebuild every time. His eyes softened, darkened, warmed. He took my hands in his and kissed both palms slowly, reverently.
"We'll figure it out," he said against my skin. "We'll figure him out. Together."
My heart fluttered painfully.
"But what if he forbids it?" I asked. "What if he tells you to walk away from me?"
Edward's entire expression changed calm, controlled, but cold with certainty.
"Then he'll have to get used to disappointment."
I stared at him, breath caught in my throat.
He meant it.
He truly meant it.
Edward wasn't the type to defy his family lightly. He had always carried himself with the weight of expectation on his shoulders every decision calculated, every move measured. But here he was, tossing caution out the window for me.
For us.
"Frank isn't going to be happy," I murmured.
"No," Edward agreed quietly. "But happiness isn't something he's ever concerned himself with. Control? Yes. Appearances? Absolutely. But happiness? That's not his priority."
"What about yours?" I whispered. "What's your priority?"
"You." His answer was instant, unhesitating. "You're my priority now."
My breath hitched.
He leaned in, pressing his forehead gently against mine.
"You didn't choose this situation," he murmured. "Neither did I. But we choose each other."
The truth of that settled over the room like a warm blanket.
I exhaled shakily. "I'm scared."
"I know." He cupped my cheek. "So am I."
"You don't look scared."
His lips twitched into a faint smile. "That's because you can't see my heart beating like a damn sledgehammer."
I laughed softly, brushing my fingers across his chest. His heartbeat was strong, fast, real.
"We can't keep hiding this," I said.
"No," he agreed. "We can't."
"So… we tell him?"
He paused.
Not in fear only in thought.
"I'll talk to him first," Edward said. "Alone. He needs to hear from me that this is my decision. That I'm not confused. That I'm not being pushed. That I'm not a boy he can manipulate."
"And what do I do?" I asked.
He reached for me, pulling me into his arms.
"You stay," he whispered into my hair. "Stay with me. Be with me. Let me fight this battle without thinking you'll run."
My arms wrapped around his waist before I even realized I was moving.
"I'm not running," I whispered. "Not anymore."
He exhaled the kind of breath someone takes when pain begins to lift.
When he pulled back, he held my face in both hands.
"If he rejects this," Edward said softly, "if he tries to tear us apart, I want you to know something."
My chest tightened. "What?"
He kissed me slow, gentle, full of love instead of heat.
"I will choose you. Every time."
My eyes stung as tears broke free.
"I don't deserve you," I whispered.
"Yes," he corrected softly, thumb brushing the corner of my lips, "you do. You deserve love. You deserve someone who stays. You deserve someone who chooses you without hesitation."
He kissed my forehead.
"And that's me."
The tears came faster this time, spilling down my cheeks as he hugged me close, his chin resting on the top of my head.
After a long moment, he spoke again quiet, grounded, certain.
"This won't be easy," he murmured. "But every good thing in my life has required a fight. And you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."
I slid my hands up his back, gripping his shirt like letting go might break something inside me.
"Then we fight," I whispered. "Together."
He pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes bright with something soft and fierce.
"Together," he echoed. "Always."
He kissed me again slow, deep, promising. And under that kiss, under the weight of his hands holding my waist, under the sound of our breaths mixing together, I felt it:
The decision.
The choice.
The future.
Not simple.
Not easy.
But ours.
And for the first time in my life, that was enough.