The chef looked deeply concerned. “You think there’s a problem with his carrot?”
“Watercress, carrot—is everything food to you?” Jake demanded.
The chef shrugged. “Oui.”
“Well,” Jake said testily, “there is a string of Rutledge’s past mistresses who would undoubtedly testify there is nothing wrong with his carrot.”
“Alors, he is a virile man . . . she is a beautiful woman . . . why
are they not making salad together?”

“About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a part of him-and I didn’t know how potent that part might be-that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.”

I knew it was working then, so I concentrated even harder, dredging up specific memories I’d saved for this moment, letting them flood my mind, and hopefully his as well. Some of the memories were not clear – dim human memories, seen through weak eyes and heard through weak ears: the first time I’d seen his face… the way it felt when he’d held me in the meadow… the sound of his voice through the darkness of my faltering consciousness when he’d saved me from James… his face as he waited under a canopy of flowers to marry me… every precious moment from the island… his cold hands touching our baby through my skin… And the sharp memories, perfectly recalled: his face when I’d opened my eyes to my new life, to the endless dawn of immortality… that first kiss… that first night…

I promise to love you forever — every single day of forever.

Like we were connected, the echo of his pain twisted inside me. His pain, my pain.