Bella stepped closer still, in slow graceful movements, careful not to make a sound on the creaking floorboards beneath her. Edward’s face was angelic as he slept. There was something at once masculine and feminine, adult and childlike about him. Did he really have no idea how exquisite he was? Did he not notice Jessica and Lauren and the other girls at school eyeing him with appreciation? If he only knew their thoughts about him! Bella froze as Edward sighed in his sleep, reaching for the sheet and covering himself back up with it. Perhaps she was taking this too far, she thought. She wanted to go further still. She wanted to touch him, but knew it was impossible. He would awaken, recoiling in horror from her icy touch.
She looked at her angel as he slept. Her angel. She had no claim on him. He was everything she wanted, and nothing she deserved. How could a good and decent human like Edward Cullen love an undead, murderous monster like Bella? In her view of time, he was just a child. Only 17 years old. Bella was 125 years his senior. Still, she wanted nothing more than to cradle him in her frozen arms. In some dark corner of her mind she knew it would either be love or death for him. With whatever tiny shred of goodness and humanity left in her, she hoped for love.