New Moon (Twilight, #2)

by Stephenie Meyer

I could stake a claim. I had that much within my power. I’d have to tell him everything, I knew that. It was the only way to be fair. I’d have to explain it right, so that he’d know I wasn’t settling, that he was much too good for me. He already knew I was broken, that part wouldn’t surprise him, but he’d need to know the extent of it. I’d even have to admit that I was crazy—explain about the voices I heard. He’d need to know everything before he made a decision. But, even as I recognized that necessity, I knew he would take me in spite of it all. He wouldn’t even pause to think it through. I would have to commit to this—commit as much of me as there was left, every one of the broken pieces. It was the only way to be fair to him. Would I? Could I? Would it be so wrong to try to make Jacob happy? Even if the love I felt for him was no more than a weak echo of what I was capable of, even if my heart was far away, wandering and grieving after my fickle Romeo, would it be

“Knock it off, Bella, or we’re turning around in New York and going back to Forks.”

“Marcus sees relationships. He’s surprised by the intensity of ours.”

You remind me of him—only he was not so angry.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Charlie yelled. “Give her to me. Get your hands off her!”

Horror washed through me. Thirty.