Selling tchotchkes in a town so small it wasn't even incorporated was never part of my long-term goals. My life had changed drastically in the past year, and not simply because all the plans I made with Bella went to shit. No, the thanks—and the blame—could be laid on Jasper's shoulders. The prick had paid off his old comáreto claim she witnessed me killing Gianna. I snorted as I thought about it, picking up a brass candlestick and wiping down the glass shelf under it. I pictured taking out a hit on him in the prison they'd buried him in, but, of course, that wouldn't happen. My movements were locked down so tight I couldn't take a crap without the marshals knowing about it. I had done nothing as crass as shooting that puttana in my living room. I was much more inventive than that, and there was absolutely no chance that her body would ever be found.
We ran through the dark like a pair of children, hands clasped and hushed giggles escaping my throat. I had never in my life done something quite so carefree, or even—dare I say—scandalous, and it made me slightly hysterical. The door to the truck creaked as Edward opened it, and I laughed some more, covering my mouth with my hand like it was some clandestine meeting rather than my truck in our backyard. There was very little moonlight so we did almost everything by memory instead of real sight. In my mind’s eye, I saw his green eyes shining with lust as he closed us in our temporary haven.