Chapter 34

Sunday, September 11

“Keys. Wallet,” Edward mumbled under his breath, patting his jeans pockets to take inventory before heading to Charlotte’s place. He was just bolting down the stairs to the side landing when a knock sounded at that very door.

“Shit,” was his second mumble. He realized he’d forgotten to make a Very Important Call this morning. He was cringing when he opened the door, but his expression was lost on the talking grocery sack and twelve-pack of Heineken that greeted him.

“I got chips, I got salsa, I got pretzels and nuts,” Emmett’s voice boomed from behind the bag. “I also picked up one of those fancy deli trays with ten different kinds of dead livestock and their milk by-products. But most important of all - libations!” He hoisted up the beer for emphasis.

“Wow. Shit,” Edward repeated under his breath.

“Would you care to maybe help me with this?” Emmett grunted back, stepping into the doorway and shoving the twelve-pack at Edward.

“Sure, sorry,” he replied, grabbing the box out of one beefy paw and heading back up the stairs to the kitchen, Emmett on his heels. The pair set the feast on the island countertop and Emmett began to unpack the groceries.

“You ready for another virtual ass-whipping, Eddie?” he taunted. He knew Edward hated that nickname, which was exactly why he relished using it.

“Well, see, that’s the thing - I should have called you earlier. I really don’t have time for video games today.” His lips twisted into another sheepish cringe.

Emmett stopped unpacking and gave him an incredulous look. “Dude! It’s Black Ops Sunday. You cannot bail on me. I’ve been looking forward to this rematch all week.”

“I know. I’m really sorry. I kind of forgot about it, to be honest.”

“Forgot?” Emmett’s face registered complete incomprehension. “We’ve only been playing this game almost every weekend since I bought it for your birthday, which was how long ago?”

“Uh . . . three months?” Edward calculated, wincing slightly.

“Exactly. But you forgot I’d be over.” He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, waiting for an explanation.

“I know. I’m sorry, man. It’s just . . . I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. I can’t stick around this afternoon - I’ve got stuff I’ve got to take care of.”

“Stuff?” Emmett’s eyes were mere slivers of blue ice as he stared his friend down.

“Yeah,” Edward replied, having trouble meeting his gaze. “I have an appointment I can’t really get out of.”

Emmett’s chest heaved a quick snort of denial. “I checked your schedule before I came over. You don’t have any bookings today. And you don’t need me until tomorrow night, for that newbie - Mandy? I think that’s her name.”

“This isn’t work-related,” Edward countered.

Emmett’s brows raised as realization dawned. “Oh, I get it. It’s that girl, Bella, isn’t it? You’re seeing her on the side.” He chuckled and shook his head. “I figured that was it.”

“What do you mean? Figured what was it?”

“The complaints Rose has been getting,” Emmett informed him. “You didn’t think Lauren would be the only one, did you?”

Edward’s heart sank a little, and his shoulders followed. “Great,” he muttered. “Why hasn’t Rosalie said anything to me about it?”

Emmett shrugged. “She was waiting until I talked to you today. Once again, I get the unenviable job of being your go-between. I know you two aren’t exactly BFFs, but you really need to open the lines of communication a little bit. She is your boss. For now, anyway.”

“For now?” Edward repeated. “What, is she canning me already?”

“No. She doesn’t want to. But if you continue to . . . disappoint some of the customers the way you have been lately, you won’t leave her much choice.”

Edward’s lips pursed together as he nodded slowly. He knew it would come to this, but he’d been hoping he’d be able to buy more time than just a couple of weeks.

“Is that your strategy?” Emmett continued. “Playing the celibate card until requests for your services dwindle down to nothing?”

Edward shrugged one reluctant shoulder, knowing how shitty that must sound to the guy who’d gotten him the job in the first place. Emmett’s expression confirmed it.

“Look, man. If you want out, just be upfront about it. Don’t puss out and force Rose’s hand. Don’t you think you owe her a little better than that?”

Edward sighed under the weight of Emmett’s judgment and slumped onto one of the kitchen stools.

“I know, I suck. I’ll admit it - I was going to try to play both ends against the middle for awhile, hoping to put off the inevitable. I need the money, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep escorting. I can’t . . .” he stopped, trying to find the right words to explain. If he couldn’t articulate to Bella how he felt about her, how could he say the words to Emmett? “I just don’t have it in me anymore. Bullshitting woman after woman that I’m not interested in and then using them for sex.”

“I hate to break it to you, but they’re the ones using you, my friend,” Emmett interjected gently. “And paying handsomely for the privilege, as you’re well aware.”

Edward let out a wry laugh. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? I can’t be that guy anymore. That overpaid fantasy guy. Every night it gets harder for me to live the lie they demand, even for a few hours. I’m done with it - all of it. The problem is, I don’t have a back-up plan in place yet. But I might in a few weeks, if things go my way.”

“What things?” Emmett asked, hopping onto the stool opposite Edward and leaning his elbows on the granite countertop. “Talk to me, brother. What’s all this about?”

Edward hesitated, wondering if he could trust Emmett to keep his confidence, especially now that he’d moved in with Rosalie.

“A great opportunity kind of fell in my lap. A friend entered me in the Seattle International Piano Competition next month, and I’ve been rehearsing every day, trying to get my chops back so I can do well in this thing. It could be my ticket out of escorting, if I can impress the right people. That’s where I was headed now - to practice.”

Emmett nodded, studying his friend with thoughtful eyes. “That’s great news, man. That’s what you should be doing - putting that education of yours to work. I know that’s your dream, so you should definitely go for it.”

He stopped and shook his head, chuckling. “It’s the damnedest thing, though. When I first got you the job at Renaissance, I wasn’t sure you were cut out for the escort business. I didn’t think you’d last more than a couple of weeks, to be honest. Then you went and turned out to be one of Rose’s best guys. She still gets more requests for you than she can book. You’re pretty enough that the young ones aren’t threatened by you, but still manly enough that the older women don’t feel like they’re robbing the cradle. And you’re so fucking smooth, you charm every last one of them without even trying. It’s like you were made for this gig. But your heart was never in it, was it?”

The question was rhetorical, but Edward answered anyway. “Is anyone’s heart ever in it, in this business? I think the guys who don’t have a heart to begin with have the biggest advantage. The ones who do had better learn to keep it under lock and key, or they won’t last. As long as I kept it all in perspective and treated every date like the business transaction it was, I was fine. I never counted on anyone actually finding that damned key. I thought I had it well hidden.”

His eyes drifted from Emmett’s as he remembered sitting across the dinner table from Bella that first night, bound to her by a tension so thick that he knew something would have to give. He just never dreamed it would be him. He was so focused on breaking down her defenses that he didn’t realize how quickly she was demolishing his own. She’d zeroed in on his vulnerability like a heat-seeking missile, not stopping until she’d stripped away his carefully constructed façade.

Maybe Bella never even found the key to his heart. That would have implied a gentle and welcome admittance, not a forceful intrusion. Her victory was far more swift and decisive than that. She simply broke the lock, kicked the door down and grabbed the bloody organ in her bare hands. But that vessel had never pumped so powerfully, so eagerly, as it did under her possessive touch. Edward couldn’t begrudge her ownership. After all, his heart’s new master seemed to be doing a hell of a better job making him feel alive than he ever did.

Or maybe he embraced her possession because she didn’t lord her power over him or use his vulnerability against him. Instead, she opened her own door and offered herself in return. He recalled the thrill of utter triumph when she melted against him in the glow of the sunset coming through the hotel windows; when she lay naked and utterly exposed on the couch, looking up at him with a mixture of trepidation and trust.

She let the trust take over. Let braveness conquer fear.

Now it was his turn.

Emmett watched the battle taking place in his friend’s eyes. It wasn’t even a battle, really. He could see that Bella had already won. Or maybe Edward had - the real Edward. The one Emmett remembered from high school, two years his junior, a tangle of gangly limbs in gym class, but a graceful master behind the keyboard at school recitals. He’d done what he had to in order to survive. Now it was time for him to actually live.

“I know the feeling,” Emmett said. “It’s not like escorting was my dream job, either. But I never had a talent like yours. I had big NFL dreams when I was in high school, but I got my comeuppance pretty quickly in college. I lost my athletic scholarship after my first year - couldn’t keep my grades up. I came home to work at my dad’s construction firm with my tail between my legs.”

Edward stared at him in surprise. “You never told me any of that.”

Emmett’s smile was wry. “It’s not something I like to revisit. I’m sure you understand.” Edward nodded in commiseration while Emmett continued. “I’ll never forget the day Rose approached me. Some buddies and I had stopped at one of those highbrow cocktail bars near our construction site after work. We thought it would be fun to show up in our filthy dirty work clothes and mix it up with the suits. You know, show the white collars what real men look like.”

Emmett let out a booming laugh at the memory. “It worked like a charm. You should have seen the women swarming around us. But Rose was the one who caught my eye. And I definitely caught hers. I was pretty damned shocked when she told me what she really wanted from me, though. I never dreamed when I went in that place that I’d be recruited by a modern-day madam.”

He paused and reached for the twelve-pack of beer warming on the counter. “Mind if I have one of these? Maybe you should have one, too, for the road,” he suggested, tearing into the box and handing Edward a beer before opening his own.

“Sure,” Edward agreed, knowing he had a long afternoon ahead at Charlotte’s.

“Anyway,” Emmett continued after a couple of swigs, “I probably would have done anything Rose asked me to then. Jump through hoops, perform party tricks, dance around in a goddamned pink tutu - I didn’t care. It was all a game to me then. I just wanted to get her attention. Get that icy blonde ball buster to want me as much as I wanted her. I used to describe every date she sent me on in excruciating detail, just to get a rise out of her. I wanted to make her jealous in the worst way. It was so fucking high school,” he said with a rueful laugh.

“Yeah, but it worked,” Edward noted. “She couldn’t stand it. She used to ask me about you all the time when I first started. She wanted to know how I knew you, how we met. She interrogated me about you - she wanted to know everything. You were obviously the teacher’s pet.”

“Really? She used to grill you about me?” A satisfied grin captured Emmett’s face. “She never let on, of course. Cool as a cucumber on the surface, that one. But those are the ones who burn the hottest underneath. Once you crack that ice, you’re in for a hell of a ride.”

It was Emmett’s gaze that now drifted, burning bright with his own memories of the woman he loved. Edward had the feeling that his own story wasn’t so different. Maybe you’re never ready to meet the one who turns your world upside down and then gives it a violent shake or two for good measure. But if you’re smart, you figure out how to roll with it, and maybe give as good as you get.

“Well, Rosalie made it pretty obvious where she stood when she took you off the market,” Edward commented. “I laughed at first when she created that Enforcer position for you. But it’s actually not a bad idea, giving new clients a bit of assurance that they’re the ones in control, and nothing’s going to happen that they don’t want to happen. They don’t have to know you’d never lay a hand on me.” He grinned at Emmett before taking a few gulps of beer.

“But I would, if you ever touched a woman in any kind of way she didn’t like.”

“You know I’d never do that.”

“Right. But there are a couple of guys on our roster that I don’t entirely trust not to get carried away. I tag along for most of James and Felix’s dates. James is just a little weasel, but Felix . . . I don’t know what that guy’s capable of. I kind of think Rose should cut him loose.”

“The guy is huge, too. You don’t want to get into it with him.”

“I could take him,” Emmett scoffed. “I’ve taken down bigger men than him in my day.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. For his dates’ sakes,” Edward said with a small shudder.

“Damn straight. Guess I won’t have to worry about that with you, now that you’re refusing to let little Eddie come out to play.” Emmett’s grin soon faded. “Seriously, though, you need to have a talk with Rose. Just be straight with her like you were with me. She could surprise you and cut you some slack if she knows why you’re doing this. Otherwise, she might start to take it personally.”

Edward let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. You’re right, I do owe her that much. And you. Don’t think I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done for me, because I do. I mean that.”

“I know you do,” Emmett said with his usual easy smile. “Believe me, I get why you can’t do it anymore. I couldn’t go back to escorting now. What was it that Paul Newman always said about his wife? Something like, ‘Why would I go out for hamburger when I have steak at home?’ That pretty much sums it up for me.”

Edward grinned at the analogy. “Words to live by.”

He and Emmett raised their beers in a silent toast to the women in their lives before draining the bottles dry.

# # # # # # # # # #

Monday, September 12

Hella-bo-Bella! Here’s the plan for pre-Bday festivities. Dirty John’s, 8 p.m. for pool, darts and the best hot wings in town, all within walking distance of the dorms. Riley and I will swing by your room to pick you up, then walk over to Jess’s sorority to get her. We’ll meet a few of-age Delt brothers at the bar for drinks and general merriment. C U then!

Bella re-read the text message she’d received from Mike over the weekend while she was in Forks, visiting her father. There was no getting out of it now. At least Alice and Jasper would be there so she wouldn’t have to worry about Mike and Jessica being the only people she knew. She still had hopes of playing match-maker for the latter, since she suspected Jess still had a thing for Mike after all these years.

She looked in the mirror once more, grabbing a brush and running it through her hair. She hadn’t gone out of her way to fix herself up, since Dirty John’s on a Monday night wasn’t exactly a fancy occasion. Besides, if she looked as plain as possible, maybe Mike’s interest in her would wane. Jess was much prettier, she thought as she regarded her pale, lightly freckled face in the mirror. Without make-up, Bella felt about as ordinary as they come.

So why did Edward look at her the way he did first thing in the morning, like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen? She knew better. She’d frowned at her pasty complexion and dark under-eye circles many a morning before a hot shower brought her to life. She was nothing like Edward, freakishly handsome in sleep, even when he frowned or snored or his mouth hung ajar. He looked better in his unconscious moments than most guys did when they’d made a conscious effort.

Well, not everyone could be like him. Most of us need some conscious effort, Bella thought to herself. She hoped the fact that she’d skipped it tonight would be enough to keep Mike at bay.

As if on cue, a cacophony of howling and fists banging on her dorm door signaled his arrival.

“Hella-bo-Bella!” came Mike’s muffled call. “It’s time for the birthday festivities to begin.”

Bella marched to the door and jerked it open. “You know I hate that nickname,” she reminded Mike’s grinning mug.

“Sorry, Bells,” he replied, resorting to one she could tolerate. “You ready to go?”

She liked that he looked a little uncertain as his eyes skimmed her baggy t-shirt, worn jeans and sneakers. Behind him, Riley stood grinning and waving, looking as casual as she did. She returned his easy smile, and wondered vaguely if he was already stoned.

“I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied. “Just let me grab my bag.”

Moments later they were strolling through the quad toward sorority row, making small talk about school, parties and the weather. It was always a topic of conversation if they were able to walk freely around campus without the sky pissing rain upon them.

The three were still gratefully dry when they showed up at the Grab A Thigh Later house, which Bella came to realize was actually Gamma Phi Beta, after Mike had pronounced it a couple of times. She opted to stay outside with Riley while Mike went in to get Jessica. Bella was in no mood to be confronted with bubbly sorority types, whom she imagined would be made up to the nines on a Monday night just to sit around the house and study.

Jess did nothing to dispel her stereotypical notions when she appeared, bounding out on the landing in a fitted t-shirt and jeans that managed to look far more dressy than casual, as did her carefully curled hair.

“Hey, birthday girl! You ready to celebrate?” she exclaimed as she joined them, flashing her usual overly large, disingenuous smile. She barely waited for Bella’s response before turning to Mike and chattering away about some upcoming Greek party.

Bella was only too happy to lag behind with laid-back Riley, trying to ignore Mike’s apologetic glances over his shoulder as they all walked toward the bar.

“So, how’s your Beastie Boys t-shirt faring these days?” she asked. “Did that jungle juice finally come out?”

“Yeah, it’s looking fine. After a couple of washings, it’s almost good as new. Well, for a twenty-year-old shirt,” Riley added with a laugh.

“I still feel terrible about that,” she lamented. “I’ll be on the lookout for a replacement. There are a ton of thrift stores around here - you never know.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he insisted. “Just have a good time tonight. Mike tells me this is your last night as a teenager. That’s big.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Bella fell silent for a moment. It was finally here - the big 2-0. She was about to officially enter adulthood. She’d been so anxious to grow up and leave her awkward youth behind that she’d taken some pretty crazy steps to rush the process. Still, she couldn’t regret them, because they’d led her to Edward. His words echoed in her head now, begging her not to hurry it along. I wish you could see how special you are right now, where you are. Who you are.

Why was he the only one who’d made her believe it?

She didn’t know, but she wished he were here right now to remind her.

# # # # # # # # # #

Slu-u-u-u-u-rp.

Edward cringed at the sounds emanating from his date as she sucked another spoonful of tomato bisque between her thin lips. She stared carefully down at her bowl, methodically blowing on each spoonful of hot broth before noisily inhaling it into her mouth. He wished he’d cranked up the sound system up a little louder so the ambient music would drown her out.

Mandy Cook was rather typical of his younger customers. A bit shy and insecure, a bit plain, a bit plump. He’d escorted many a girl like this to social functions requiring a date, his presence providing evidence that the girl in question was desirable enough to get one.

But this girl had requested a private date. When Edward had informed Rosalie that he wasn’t available Tuesday, she’d bumped his new client up a day. Apparently another regular had canceled on him. His boss said nothing about it, but Edward knew he would have to, and soon - especially after he insisted that Rose switch hotels for the date. He refused to entertain any more clients at Hotel 1000. Eventually he was going to have to explain why.

Slu-u-u-u-urp.

Edward forced a smile. “Are you enjoying the soup?”

Mandy gulped loudly and looked up, hazel eyes bulging in alarm. They protruded to the degree that he suspected she had a thyroid problem.

“Very much,” she replied, still looking slightly terrified. “How about you?”

“It’s delicious,” he agreed softly, reassuringly. “I think you’ll like the chicken parmesan here, too.”

She nodded, then bent over her bowl once more, a lock of wheat-colored hair falling over her forehead before she pushed it behind one ear. He’d quickly discerned that she was a simple girl with simple tastes. He feared that her reason for hiring him this evening would turn out to be just as elemental.

He tried not to make the obvious comparison, but he couldn’t help it. Though the girl was quite different from Bella on the surface, she was proving to be identical in one increasingly apparent way.

Could Mandy Cook really be the second virgin to hire him for sex in less than a month?

# # # # # # # # # #

Thwap!

Bella’s face fell at the sound of yet another of her darts missing the target entirely and bouncing harmlessly off the back wall of Dirty John’s. Apparently her lack of athleticism extended even to the game of darts. She was just glad she hadn’t nailed any of the bar patrons yet.

Mike, of course, was only too eager to help. For the third time in ten minutes, he positioned himself right behind her and closed a guiding hand over her arm. He instructed her once more in the art of setting her sights on the bull’s-eye, lining up the dart accordingly and hefting it so that it made the proper arc to hit its intended target. As soon as he stepped away, she tossed the tiny feathered arrow and watched it sail so high that it barely cleared the ceiling.

She heard Jess guffaw behind her while Mike and Riley assured her she’d get the hang of it. Then a fourth voice rang like a bell over the bar buzz, flooding her with relief.

“Go-o-o Bella!” cheered Alice Cullen, weaving her way through the crowd, Jasper right behind her. She applauded as she approached, but it was more good-natured than sarcastic. Bella took a deep bow in response.

“How do you like my mad darts skills?” she deadpanned.

Alice grabbed her up in a quick hug and spoke low in her ear. “Your aim was true when it came to my cousin. That’s all I care about.”

Bella flashed her first genuine smile of the evening.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” she said. “You too, Jasper.” She introduced them to the group, explaining that Alice was the cousin of her “friend,” Edward. She didn’t know what else to call him.

“Who’s Edward?” she heard Riley murmur to Mike.

“The creepy suit guy who took her home after the party that night,” Mike mumbled back.

Riley looked confused for a second before light dawned. “Oh, the guy she hurled on?” he said with a chortle.

Mike snickered and nodded, while Bella gave them both a sour look. She glanced at Alice to see if she’d heard, but she was busy talking to Jasper about what kind of beer to order. Apparently he was planning to provide the pitchers since he was twenty-one. Bella didn’t notice Jessica approach, and jumped when she spoke close to her ear.

“Edward Cullen? Isn’t that the name of the guy you said you hired to take your virginity?”

Bella’s spine stiffened in shock. “What are you talking about?”

“That story you told us all at the dorm party, about giving it up to a paid escort. I thought you were joking.” She arched one expectant eyebrow at Bella, clearly awaiting an explanation.

Bella’s heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach as the memory of her drunken slip came rushing back. She swallowed and scrambled for a response.

“Of course, I was joking,” she agreed, adding a laugh so phony that even the Queen of Fake, Jessica, was sure to pick up on it. “You saw how drunk I was. Whatever I said was just wishful thinking out loud. ‘Cause Alice’s cousin is, like, really good-looking,” she added lamely.

“Oh yeah? I didn’t get to meet him that night. Mike thought he was kind of a douche. But you know how guys are - he was probably just jealous,” Jess responded with a phony laugh of her own. “I figured you were kidding. I mean, who would actually do such a thing? Like, what kind of girl would pay a male hooker to pop her cherry?”

Jessica laughed again, but her eyes were mirthless as they branded Bella in unspoken condemnation.

Now they both knew exactly what kind of girl would do such a thing.

Chapter 33

Tuesday, September 6

11:03 a.m.

TEXT MESSAGES

From: Rosalie Hale

To: Edward Cullen

E - check your schedule for next week. I’ve added a couple of new clients. Mandy Cook Tuesday eve; Larissa Holcomb Thursday. Took the liberty of booking your usual suite at Hotel 1000 for Mandy - she’s a shy one who will respond very well to your particular talents, I think. Larissa is the opposite - freshly divorced with money to burn. Excellent opportunity for repeat business. She wants to meet you at Canlis for dinner and then it’s up to you.

Bad news - can’t make either of those appointments. Personal reasons. You know Thursday is my day off. Please reschedule if you would, thanks.

I’ve been pretty understanding about this Thursday rule of yours. I think you could bend it once in the interest of obtaining a potentially lucrative client. And if you needed Tuesday off, you should have let me know earlier.

Sorry, I forgot to ask for the 13^th off. But I have an appointment I can’t get out of. As for my Thursdays rule, I’d say it’s a pretty fair trade-off for me being available to you every fucking weekend for over two years now. Surely you can reschedule. Or find another escort who’s available.

Not sure I like the attitude I’m detecting here. I’ll chalk it up to the shortcomings of texts. Just as I’ll chalk up your failure to satisfy one of our best customers last night as a one-time occurrence. If it becomes a pattern, then we have a problem. Understood?

Completely.

“Fuck you, Rosalie Hale,“ Edward hissed at the phone as he turned it off and shoved it in his back pocket. He was glad Charlotte was nowhere around - he felt guilty cursing in front of her, though he’d done it before - yesterday, in fact, when he was begging her for money. But she came through anyway. She was at the bank right now, making arrangements, while he wrestled with the keys of her Steinway, playing the same passage over and over until the notes and nuances were just right. He’d ignored the vibration of the phone in his pocket until he was done. He knew Bella was at work - she was scheduled for a few hours between classes. He wished he could call her right now, just to hear her voice. It gave him strength and reminded him why he was doing this.

All he had to do was get through seven more weeks. He knew Charlotte was right - if he made a good showing at the Seattle International Piano Competition, it could open a lot of doors for him in the world of classical music. He’d had something of a name locally when he was younger. He just needed to create a little buzz again - get them talking and hopefully considering him for any jobs that might open up. He would take whatever anyone offered at this point - anything to pad his resume and hone his skills.

Anything to help him hand Rosalie Hale his walking papers once and for all.

Damn that Leslie Grimm and her loose lips. He’d hoped he could trust her to keep mum about his refusal to sleep with her last night, but he should have known better. She probably took the rejection personally, and her retaliation was swift. He took a mental tally of the dates he knew he had lined up in the next few weeks. Could he get away with refusing sex that long?

He already knew the answer was “no.” He had plenty more Leslies waiting in the wings, hiring him for a very predictable and specific reasons. How long could he spurn his regulars before Rosalie bounced him out on his ass? Not seven weeks, that much was certain.

“Let her fire me,” was his gut response. The thought of being intimate with anyone but Bella made his stomach turn. How had she accomplished that so fast? Many females had come before her, but none had ever touched him the way she did - made his insides twist and burn for one girl and one girl only. He knew she‘d ruined him for other women that first night. That the need for her would only escalate; that having her again would only make him crave more, like a junkie jonesing for only the purest, uncut drug to give him that unparalleled high. Anything less would be a crushing disappointment.

But maybe that was what he would have to endure for just a little longer. Because as much as he abhorred the idea of sleeping with anyone else, he feared losing the only security he’d known since admitting his grandmother to Tranquility Gardens. Charlotte was in the process of taking care of a major chunk of his debt, and he couldn’t bear to ask her for a penny more. He still had to make a living somehow. Sticking with Renaissance Escorts for the time being allowed him to pay the bills and still have most of his days free to practice for the piano competition. Suddenly his entire future seemed to hinge upon this one event, and how well he performed. Because if he excelled, it could be the ticket to leaving the escort business behind and obtaining a decent-paying music job instead.

All he had to do was tough it out for seven more weeks. Six and a half, really. Then, if the piano competition was a success, he could walk away from escorting and be the kind of man Bella deserved. But until that day, he vowed to keep his hopes and plans to himself, no matter how hard it was. He wasn’t about to make a single promise to Bella he wasn’t absolutely sure he could keep. He would give her no empty reassurances until he was certain he could back them up.

He paused for a moment and imagined surprising her with the good news . . . revealing that Charlotte had entered him in a piano contest, he’d performed well enough to get a job offer out of the deal, and he was done with the escort business for good. He pictured her face, first frozen in shock, then melting into pure joy as he picked her up and whirled her around. He wondered what such freedom, such happiness, would feel like.

He turned back to the piano with a smile of grim determination and stretched his fingers out over the keys. The happiness he longed for was literally in his own hands.

He wasn’t about to blow it.

# # # # # # # # # #


2:17 p.m.

TEXT MESSAGES

From: Edward Cullen

To: Bella Swan

So, where’s the text message you promised me today?

What text message? Weren’t you supposed to call me, anyway?

The text message telling me you aren’t pregnant. And I’ll call you after your classes are done.

I’m not pregnant. I have PMS like crazy. I’m sure Flo will visit me any time now.

You’re making me nervous.

Don’t be. It’s day 28. No need for alarm.

Sure. Fine. So how’s work? And how was your drawing class? I want to see some of your artwork.

Work sucks. At least the mayhem of book rush is over. You’ll love my artwork from today - first day we had a nude model. Female. Rather Botticelli-esque, complete with useless drape that covered only one calf and forearm.

Nice. Definitely want to see your sketches. For purely artistic reasons, of course.

Of course. Geez. Don’t you see enough naked women?

Ouch. I deserved that. I try to see as few as possible. There’s only one female figure I’m interested in studying nowadays. Which reminds me, what do you want to do for your birthday? It’s your day. Tell me what you want and I’ll make it happen.

You know what I want - you, to myself. I don’t like sharing. Not sure you can arrange that in one week. But I’ll come up with something fun for us to do in the meantime.

I AM all yours, believe that. I‘m working on making it happen. And on your birthday, rest assured, I will absolutely belong only to you.

That’s enough. For now.

I am one lucky bastard. I’ll call you after your class.

Good. After a 50-min. Global Politics lecture, I’ll need to hear something positive.

I’ll try to work up a little comedy routine for you.

I don’t need jokes. Just say something sweet to me.

That’s easy. I’ll start now. I’ve been thinking about you all day. Trying to figure out what to get you for your birthday.

I told you - I just want you. You’re on my mind all the time. Beginning to think it’s a sickness. Don’t care, don’t want to get well.

You know you kill me when you say those things. I’m right there with you. I don’t want a cure.

Being together is the cure. Shit, class is starting. I’d better pay attention - I hate politics.

Birds of a feather. I’ll call you later. XO

XO back atcha.

# # # # # # # # # #

Wednesday, September 7

4:14 p.m.

TEXT MESSAGES

From: Edward Cullen

To: Bella Swan

Where is my text message today?

What do you mean?

You know what I mean. You’re late, aren’t you.

Twenty-nine days is not late.

You said you were like clockwork.

I am. Within a day or two. Don’t panic. I’m sure it’s coming soon.

Christ. I can’t believe that clinic doctor gave you dildos and lube but no condoms. What kind of Mickey Mouse operation is that place, anyway?

Trust me, she insisted I use condoms. I’m the one who talked you out of it. If you want to be angry, be angry with me.

I’m mad at myself. I know better and I did it anyway. I wanted it, and I did it.

But I pushed you. And trust me, I know better, too. We’re both adults here. So let’s act like it and not fly off the handle. I’m barely late - absolutely nothing to worry about.

But I do worry. That’s what I do. That’s what I am - a classic, dyed-in-the-wool worrier. And now I’m about to become a praying man, too, because this is the last thing you or I need right now.

I know that. I’m sorry I was such an idiot. It won’t happen again. We’ll use condoms. Two-ply, if necessary. And I’ll go on the pill or something as back-up. Just please stop freaking out.

I’m not freaking out. Yet. Sorry if I sound like an asshole. It’s been a long day.

Yeah? Have you been working already?


Not like you think. I’m practicing the piano a bit. Trying to dust the cobwebs out of my fingers. It’s frustrating at times.

You’re playing again? That’s great! Don’t let your insane perfectionism get in the way. You’re incredibly talented. Enjoy it instead of being so self-critical. My favorite Edward is the one who throws caution to the wind and goes for it, perfection be damned.

He does have his merits, with the huge exception that he may have gotten you pregnant.

Oh good grief. That’s my cue to go. Actually I really do need to get to work. Please try not to worry yourself to death. I will tweet you the second my period starts. Which is kinda gross, when I think about it.

Not gross. Thoughtful. I’m sure we’d make beautiful babies together, but I’d prefer it to be many years from now.

You’ve thought about our babies???

Only because that throw-caution-to-the-wind guy was so careless. He’s making me pay, with nightmares of diapers and spit-up and college tuition.

STOP. I’m going now. Take comfort in your beautiful music, please. And the fact that you get to spend the day with Emily tomorrow.

All right. Have fun with Alice and Jasper at lunch tomorrow. She’s still on me to come, too. I’ll see how Em’s doing in the morning, then maybe swing by, depending.

I’d love that! I miss you so much. How can it only be two days since I’ve seen you? I’ll never make it ‘til next Tuesday. I am pathetic.

No, not pathetic. I like it. I feel the same way. I’ll do my best to come but I can’t promise anything.

Okay. I won’t beg. Unless you’re into that sort of thing . . .

I could be. *mind wanders* Don’t let me keep you. Go to work. I don’t want you to be late.

That’s the theme of the week, apparently.

Ha. Ha.

J

# # # # # # # # # #

Thursday, September 8

7:58 a.m.



Bella yawned and reached for the double espresso she’d picked up on her way to class. She wasn’t much of a morning person. Eight o’clock was far too early for her to think coherently, which was why she scheduled her Life Drawing class then. Sometimes the less brain power she used while drawing, the better. At least that’s what the instructor, a wizened and grizzled import from the Czech Republic, always told her in a thick accent whenever he paused by her easel.

“Fine. I see that you can draw. Now, loosen up your arm and draw with your whole body, not just your hand. Create the image from your gut, not your head. Stop trying to make it look perfect and feel the motion, the shape, the fluidity of your subject.”

So she would stop the pains-taking detail and sketch in big, swooping motions, while the professor bellowed, “Yes, yes! That’s it,” before moving to the next student in the circle of easels.

She always thought of Edward whenever the instructor accused her of perfectionism. Of course, it didn’t take much to make her think of him. It was much harder to purge him from her mind and concentrate on school or work instead. Did all girls feel this way about their boyfriends? Angela and Ben had seemed to do just fine in high school. They were crazy about each other but still managed to get straight A‘s. Of course, they studied together all the time. Bella tried to imagine sitting across from Edward at the library, then laughed into her coffee cup as she lifted it to her lips. She knew the textbook wouldn’t have a chance of holding her attention if he were in the vicinity. However, if he were the model in this class, that would be a different story entirely.

She was actually a little nervous about who would be posing today. She already knew the model would be male, since Tuesday’s was female. She wondered if he would be as naked as the female was. That could be . . . awkward.

She soon got her answer. The professor arrived and introduced today’s guinea pig without ceremony while the students got their drawing pads, pencils and charcoal ready. Bella rose from her stool, preferring to stand while sketching. She set her coffee cup on it and turned her attention to the instructor.

“I’d like you all to welcome our student model today, James. I will put him in more of an action pose than Megan was in Tuesday, so you can concentrate on his musculature. I want you to study the proportions of the body, and the bone structure and connective muscle beneath.”

Bella took another swig of espresso while a blonde, pony-tailed guy in a blue robe sauntered to the middle of the room. He was attractive, but clearly knew it. His self-satisfied expression made him far less appealing to her. She watched as the professor met him inside the circle of easels, bringing a prop spear for him to hold.

And then, sixty seconds later, James was the stark naked centerpiece in a circle of bleary-eyed, pencil-wielding students. He held the spear aloft, lunging forward as if frozen in the act of throwing it at some wild game, or at an ancient warrior foe.

Or at me, Bella mentally added. He was facing her nearly dead-on, though he avoided direct eye contact. Good luck holding that pose for long, Bella thought with a snort.

James lasted for about five minutes before he required a short break, his arm beginning to quiver, muscles straining with the effort of holding the object in the air. But Bella was glad for the diversion, concentrating on filling out the swell of each muscle group, from his overworked arm to the weight-bearing muscles of his thighs. Anything to keep from looking at his penis, which, from her angle, was difficult to avoid.

She was successful in her quest to keep the entire enterprise at the level of art for about twenty minutes. That’s how long it took her to get the outline and coarse details of the model on paper. She had been able to concentrate purely on the mechanics of his body, breaking it down to its components, studying in pencil how they all connected and worked together. There were only two things missing from her drawing now: his face, and his genitals.

She felt her cheeks begin to warm as she tried to determine which to tackle first. She decided she’d better go south, because once she looked him in the eye, she’d never be able to look at his crotch again.

She lowered her gaze to the model’s groin, willing her eyes to focus on what they had politely glossed over until now. She was rather stunned to be met with the sight of his semi-erect penis, well on its way to pointing right at her.

She tried not to gasp, or let her expression register even the slightest surprise. This was an art class, after all. They were here to appreciate and capture the beauty of the human form, not gawk at its proclivity for sexual arousal. Really, she should feel sorry for the guy, getting a woody in the middle of class. She supposed she couldn’t blame him, with a roomful of eyes focused on his naked body. Increased blood flow to his member was probably an inadvertent, even unavoidable, side effect.

She followed the professor’s instructions with relief now, quickly capturing the general shape of the model’s genitals without going into pornographic detail. Still, by the time she was done, she could not escape the fact that he was definitely hard, his penis perpendicular to his body, bobbing slightly next to his lunging thigh. Good grief. Why did he have to be practically facing her? Why couldn’t she have chosen an easel with a side view of the guy? Preferably one hiding his erection from her.

She turned away and grabbed her coffee off the stool. She took several sips, and deep breaths, before finally turning her eyes to the model’s face. When she did, she couldn’t help but start in surprise this time.

He was staring right at her.

He’d been watching her drink her coffee, his blue eyes clear and piercing across the room. His mouth twitched in a slight smirk when he caught her reaction. His arm twitched with the effort of aiming the prop spear at her, and his own spear followed suit.

She had no choice now but to endure his smirk as she tried to capture it in pencil. She drew his even, slightly bland features as quickly as possible, appalled that he was clearly taking pleasure in embarrassing her with his lewd gaze and matching hard-on. She hated the heat that mottled her cheeks several shades of red. She knew her mortification only delighted him. He was just that type.

She sighed with relief when she finished her rendering of the model, whom she had mentally dubbed Jackass James, with a few minutes to spare. She was even more relieved when the professor announced time was up, and brought James his robe. He donned it at a leisurely pace, as if enjoying his exhibitionism. He was probably proud of his big dick, although she’d seen bigger, she noted with her own smirk.

James began strolling around the room to look at everyone’s sketches. Bella felt herself bristle when he drew near, the hair on the back of her neck rising. She busied herself putting her pencils away while he planted himself in front of her easel.

“Nice job,” he said as he admired her handiwork. She was surprised at the genuine tone of his voice, so she hazarded a glance in his direction.

“You’re very talented,” he added, appearing to be the very the soul of sincerity.

“Thanks,” she mumbled begrudgingly.

He smiled and turned to leave, but then suddenly leaned in to speak quietly in her ear.

“It’s going to be a very long semester, though, if you keep getting me as hot and bothered as you did today.”

She jerked back and gaped at him, not bothering to hide her dismay. He only chuckled, gave her that shit-eating grin, and sauntered on to the next easel.

Fuck. He couldn’t be serious. She was not responsible for his erection. There were plenty of cute girls in her class, and some handsome guys too, for that matter. Any of them could have been the cause of his unfortunate predicament. He was just teasing her because she was an easy target. She really needed to work on her poker face. She couldn’t let him rattle her if he was going to be a recurring model in this class.

She stored her supplies in one of the cubby-holes at the far end of the room, then bolted from the studio without looking back. As she hurried down the hall, she was disconcerted to feel a distinct wetness between her legs. What the hell? No way had she gotten aroused by that errant penis pointing at her. Not when it belonged to a smug bastard like James. Not when it didn’t belong to Edward.

She made a beeline for the nearest ladies’ room, lunged into the first stall and slung her backpack over the hook inside the door. She dropped her jeans and panties, took a quick look, and then sank onto the toilet with a ragged sigh.

Her period had started.

# # # # # # # # # #


12:17 p.m.

“Get out! It was pointing right at you? For real?”

Alice Cullen’s face was the picture of astonished glee as she leaned in and planted her elbows on the restaurant table. She obviously found the art class story a lot more amusing than Bella did.

“Yes. It freaked me out. Well, at least it did after he told me I was the one responsible for it,” she replied with a grimace.

“He did what? Explain, please.”

Bella repeated the words James had whispered in her ear after class, feeling a little queasy as she spoke.

“No way! I can’t believe he hit on you. That guy has some balls. I guess he figured that since you’ve already seen them, he might as well put ‘em to good use!”

Alice erupted into laughter while Bella covered her face and groaned into her hands.

“That’s disgusting. He was not hitting on me,” she insisted. “He was just trying to needle me.”

“’Needle’ you? That’s one way of putting it,” Alice snorted before her attention wandered to a tall blond near the restaurant entrance. “Oh, here comes Jasper. We’ll ask him for the male perspective.”

“We’ll do no such thing!” Bella hissed, while Alice waved her arms to get his attention. “Do not repeat that story. It’s too embarrassing.”

Alice blithely ignored her, calling out to Jasper as he approached. “Bella was just telling me the craziest thing right now.”

“Oh yeah? Do tell,” he said with a quick wave “hello” at Bella as he slid into the booth next to Alice.

“She’s taking this figure drawing class that uses nude models, right? Well, today the model was some hot blond ponytail guy, and he got a boner right in the middle of class while he was watching Bella draw him.”

Jasper’s eyebrows raised while Bella’s knitted. “I never said he was hot. And he did not get a boner because of me.”

“Then why did he say he did?” Alice retorted with an evil grin, turning to her date. “He told her after class that it was gonna be a long semester if she got him that worked up every week. If that’s not a come-on, then I don’t know what is.”

“Stop it, Alice. He was just trying to rattle me. He wasn’t being serious. I’m sure he just got an erection because the entire room was staring at his naked body. You know, like an involuntary physiological response.”

“Ha! You wish. You said the guy’s little soldier was saluting right at you. Jasper, we need a male point of view on this. Was he hitting on Bella or not?”

Jasper raised a careful eyebrow at Alice, then Bella. “Well, most guys are pretty direct. If he said you were responsible for his . . . military salute, then he probably meant it.”

“Ha!” Alice exclaimed in triumph.

“However,” Jasper continued, giving Alice the eyebrow again, “Guys love to tease girls in general, especially the shy ones who look like they’d be easily embarrassed.”

Bella flashed Alice a smug grin. “Exactly! That’s me, right there. I blush at the drop of a hat. It’s so annoying. I can never fool anybody.”

Jasper caught Alice’s pout from the corner of his eye and added one more thought. “Then again, he wouldn’t bother to tease you like that if he wasn’t attracted to you. So, yeah, he was hitting on you. Pretty blatantly, actually.”

Bella’s expression soured while Alice bounced giddily in her seat a couple of times. “Thank you, Jasper. The voice of reason. Oh, man, Edward is gonna be so pissed.”

Bella’s eyes bulged. “Don’t tell Edward,” she pleaded.

“Why not? It’ll be good for him to know he’s got a little competition,“ she asserted.

“But he doesn’t. And I’m not interested in jerking him around like that.”

Alice waved a dismissive hand. “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. Do not underestimate the power of a little good, old-fashioned jealousy. Let him sweat a little.”

Jasper gave her a suspicious look. “Should I be worried about this philosophy of yours?”

“I don’t know. Are you currently boning other women for money?”

Jasper looked taken aback at Alice’s candor, then quickly recovered. “Not that I know of. Can’t say I’ve had the opportunity, though. The day is young.”

Alice caught the teasing glint in his eyes and good-naturedly elbowed his arm.

“That’s not fair,” Bella protested, feeling a little affronted at Alice’s cavalier words. “You know Edward is trying to get out of the business.”

“I know he wants to. I’d just like to see him back that up with a little action. If he’s got something in the works, he hasn’t told me what it is.”

Alice’s eyes were piercing, questioning. Evidently Edward didn’t let her in on his secrets, either. So much for getting any information out of his cousin, Bella thought with disappointment. Though Edward had alluded to some plan to leave escorting behind, she was hesitant to press him on the matter. For one thing, she still felt oddly hypocritical demanding such a thing, when Edward’s occupation was what had brought them together. And for another, she was afraid to hope for something that might not happen for awhile.

Or ever.

Alice’s face fell a little when she realized Bella didn’t know any more than she did. Damn Edward, anyway - he always played his cards close to the vest. She hated when he didn’t let her in, especially now that Em could no longer be her confidante. As hell-bent as he was on keeping their family’s legacy intact, he sure could use a lesson in what the word “family” really meant.

Jasper cleared his throat and steered the conversation back to its original topic in an attempt to soothe a sore subject. “So, Bella: how does one enroll in this naked drawing class of yours? I’m thinking I should broaden my studies to include more of the fine arts. I mean, nude figure study could greatly enrich my understanding of the fundamentals of mechanical engineering.”

The girls both giggled, especially Alice, which was what he was after. His slow, easy grin reminded Bella of Edward. Then again, pretty much anything reminded her of him nowadays.

“I’ll see if there’s an opening. You never know - after today, maybe a couple of people were offended enough to drop the class.”

“What class is that?”

Bella nearly jumped out of the booth at the sound of talking velvet coming from behind her.

“Edward!” she and Alice exclaimed in unison. Bella looked up to see the object of her affection standing right there, hand on the back of the booth, eyes on her. His smile grew as fast as hers did once their eyes met. She quickly scooted over so he could sit down next to her, pressing his blue-jean-covered thigh against hers. The warmth that engulfed her seemed surreal. She barely heard Alice yammering as she stared up at Edward’s glorious face after three century-long days apart.

“We were talking about Bella’s art class,“ Alice explained. “She gets to draw hot, naked guys with massive stiffies while I’m sitting through mind-numbing economics lectures.”

Edward raised one inquisitive brow, still staring at Bella.

“It wasn’t massive,” she quickly clarified. “It was no big deal. Literally.”

Both of Edward’s eyebrows were aloft now, as was the corner of his mouth, forming a bemused grin. “Sounds like the art models got a little more interesting today, huh?”

“You knew about this?” Alice looked a little deflated by the fact.

“I did,” he confirmed. “But Tuesday’s class had a female model.”

“Again, how do I get into this class, Bella? What‘s the name of it?” Jasper piped up with a laugh. His grin quickly faded under Edward’s withering look.

“Edward, you remember Jasper from last weekend, right?” Alice interjected quickly, giving her cousin a kick under the table. He flinched slightly but otherwise hid his irritation.

“Sure. Nice to see you again,” he said coolly.

“Likewise. Glad you could make it today.” Jasper’s effort at civility was only slightly warmer.

Alice’s shook her head in exasperation. “Anyway,” she continued, “the guy Bella was drawing today had a real thing for her. So to speak.”

“Is that so?“ Edward turned expectantly to the girl sitting next to him for explanation. She squirmed uncomfortably under the laser probe of his eyes.

“No. He was just being a jerk,” Bella mumbled.

Edward frowned while Alice filled in the blanks. “He complimented her drawing and then told her she was the reason he was sporting wood through half the class. So you be the judge.”

Edward’s laser eyes narrowed into tractor beams, aimed at Bella with the purpose of pulling the truth from her. She felt the usual traitorous blush warm her face.

“I’m sure he wasn’t serious,” she insisted once more. “He was just trying to get a rise out of me.”

Jasper and Alice stifled guffaws at the double-entendre, and Bella’s face turned redder.

“Don’t even say it,” she implored. “I walked right into that one.”

She hesitantly looked up at Edward, who was still frowning. “Don’t worry about it,” she told him. “I don’t even know how often we’re going to have models in class. I may never have to deal with him again.”

“Well, if he gives you any more trouble, you tell me. I’ll take care of it.”

Bella felt a slight chill at his tone. His mouth was set in a hard line, jaw clenched, eyes resembling chips of black ice again. He was dead serious. Instead of arguing that it wouldn‘t come to that, she found herself nodding in silent agreement. His fierce protectiveness was reassuring.

And, she had to admit, kind of hot.

Bella was thankful when the arrival of their waitress effectively halted the art class conversation. After they placed their orders, Bella grabbed Edward’s hand under the table.

“I’m glad you could come,” she said softly.

“I wanted to see you before you left for the weekend.” He squeezed her hand, then began rubbing his thumb over the base of hers.

“Were you excited to get my text message this morning?”

“Ecstatic,” he said with a relieved grin. “We dodged a bullet.”

“I suppose so. I still think you were worrying for nothing.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “But I made another appointment at the clinic to get some birth control anyway.”

“Smart girl,” he said. “So, have you given any more thought to what you want to do on your birthday?”

“I have,” she said, her face brightening. “I already know a couple of fun places we can go. But I’m not telling you what they are yet - it’s a surprise.”

“Wait a minute. The birthday girl is the one who’s supposed to get the surprises, not the other way around.”

“You can surprise me later. But I get out of class at 3:30 on Tuesday, and I know just where you can take me for the rest of the afternoon.” She bounced a little in her seat and wondered if Alice’s boundless enthusiasm was rubbing off on her.

“I’m intrigued,” Edward replied, arching one thick, angular brow. “I think I like that compromise. You surprise me at the beginning of the evening, and I’ll surprise you at the end of it.”

The innuendo was hard to miss, and she felt the familiar shiver of anticipation ripple over her skin.

“Wait - did I hear the word ‘birthday’?” Alice exclaimed from across the table. “Bella, is your birthday coming up?”

“Yeah, next Tuesday,” she admitted.

“Really? Are you having a party? We should have a party!” She began bouncing again, eyes shining a bit too zealously for Bella‘s liking.

“We are having a party,” Edward informed her. “A party of two.” He let go of Bella’s hand and put his arm around her shoulder to illustrate his point.

“Oh, I see,” Alice commented with a sly little grin. “Well, what about the night before? We could all go out to dinner or something. What do you think?” She gave Bella a hopeful look.

“Well, actually, I am going out with some friends Monday night,” she admitted, feeling a bit sheepish. She dreaded having to tell Edward she was going out with Mike, even though he obviously had no leg to stand on when it came to her seeing other guys. But maybe he wouldn’t be bothered as much if his cousin was there, too.

“You know, you should come with us,” Bella suggested, perking up at the prospect of Alice and Jasper joining the group. “I think we’re just going to play some pool somewhere. I’d love it if you could all be there.” She gave Edward a wistful look, assuming he would be working. The shadow of guilt clouding his face confirmed it.

“Sure! Sounds like fun,” Alice said immediately, and Jasper agreed.

“I can pick Alice up and meet you,” he offered. “Are you going someplace close to campus?”

“I’m don’t know yet. My friend Mike is arranging it. I’m sure he’ll text me the details soon, so I’ll let you know.”

“Mike,” Edward echoed in poorly concealed displeasure. “So, your ex-boyfriend is throwing you a birthday party.”

Alice’s mouth formed a small “O” at that bit of information.

“No. Not a party. Just an informal gathering. A few old friends, maybe some of his frat buddies - I don’t really know. It’s not a big deal.” Why did she keep finding herself saying that?

“Don’t worry, Edward. We’ll keep an eye on this Mike guy,” Alice assured him. “Right, Jasper?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, taking the opening to get in good with Alice’s cousin.

“That really won’t be necessary,” Bella protested. “Mike is harmless. Persistent, maybe, but harmless.”

“Hmm.” Edward gave her a skeptical look. “I hope so.”

Bella sighed, now finding his over-protectiveness more annoying than hot. An awkward lull in the conversation prompted the irrepressible Alice to introduce a new subject.

“So, Edward, how was Em this morning?”

“Not too bad. A little disappointed. I told her I was going to meet you for lunch and she asked me why you didn’t come with me today. She thought it would be nice if the three of us ate lunch together.”

Though Edward’s tone was gentle, Alice still winced as if he’d struck her. “She asked about me?”

He nodded. “She remembered that it’s been a few weeks since you visited her.” He could not keep the reproach from his voice this time.

That figures, she thought. Her grandmother usually couldn’t remember what she ate for breakfast - or if she ate at all - but she had to go and remember that.

“I’ll go see her tomorrow,” she murmured guiltily. She suddenly felt the warmth of Jasper’s hand on her leg under the table, giving her a quick, reassuring squeeze. She put her hand over his, squeezing back gratefully. He turned his palm up and laced his fingers between hers. Alice smiled down at their hands joined together, knowing, without question, that she’d found “family” in him.

She was the grateful one this time when the waitress interrupted their conversation, carrying platters of steaming burgers and fries. The rest of the lunchtime talk consisted mostly of Bella trying to convince everyone at the table not to buy her birthday presents while they ignored her and tried to figure out what she would like.

“I already know what Bella will like,” Edward said cryptically before popping a ketchup-coated fry in his mouth.

“You do, huh?” Bella replied, beginning to warm up to the idea of getting a gift from him.

“Absolutely,” he replied with a wicked smirk.

“Well, then, share that with the rest of us who don’t know her as well as you do,” Alice prompted.

“Later,” he promised. “When the birthday girl isn’t within earshot.”

Bella shot him an exasperated look before turning to Alice. “Honestly, you don’t have to get me anything. I mean, we just met. Having you and Jasper come celebrate with me Monday night is really the best present.”

“Aw, that’s very Hallmark of you, Bella. But I’m not showing up empty-handed at your party. Don’t worry, I already have an idea.”

But the mischievous twinkle in Alice’s eye only made Bella worry all the more.

After lunch, she tried again in vain to convince Edward to ditch the gift idea as he walked her to her truck.

“Please tell Alice and Jasper not to give me anything. I hate getting presents - it’s embarrassing,” she lamented.

“Embarrassing?” Edward repeated with a laugh. He grabbed her hand and linked his fingers through hers as they strolled, unhurried, down the sidewalk.

“Yeah. I hate being the center of attention like that, getting stuff from people for no good reason when I don’t have anything to give back.”

Edward seemed to find that amusing as well. “First of all, your birthday is a very good reason for people to celebrate and give you things. And second, you already give us something invaluable in return.”

“Really? What’s that?”

“Your friendship,“ he answered.

They’d reached the big red rust bucket by then. Edward leaned one hand against it, his outstretched arm blocking Bella from walking any further.

“And your honesty,” he continued, leaning in closer, backing her against the passenger door. “And that uncanny insight of yours. And your selflessness.”

She let out a small laugh and shook her head. “I’m not selfless. I’m selfish. I want something I have no right to ask for. You can buy me all the presents you like, but you know what I really want.”

He nodded, lifting his other hand to her face, sending those damned shivers in every direction though the weather outside was balmy. I want to be the only one you touch this way, she thought.

“I want the same thing,” he whispered, as if he could read her mind. His lips hovered mere inches away, his eyes holding hers hostage. She felt his fingers wander along the side of her face, down to her jaw, then slowly over her trembling bottom lip.

“I want to give you everything,” he said in that velveteen voice, his breath mingling with hers as his head dropped closer. “Everything you deserve.”

His mouth muffled any argument from her about what she did or didn’t deserve, and preempted any guarantee of what he could or couldn’t give her. There was only this kiss, here and now, on a busy street filled with passersby who saw nothing more than the promise of a boy and girl falling in love.

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

Chapter 32

Charlotte felt Edward’s presence before she heard him.

She turned her head ever so slightly toward the patio doors at the sensation, waiting for his Italian leather-clad feet to appear. After all this time, he still dressed up to see her. He always arrived wearing some kind of slacks and dress shirt, designer shoes polished until she could see her reflection in them. She sensed that he liked the formality of it - a uniform, perhaps even a suit of armor, to protect him while he was on duty.

So the sight of worn sneakers and faded navy sweatpants approaching couldn’t have taken her more off guard.

She started, whipping her head quickly toward the doorway, for a split second fearing that an intruder had just waltzed into her home. But her eyes followed the familiar lean line of Edward Cullen’s long, t-shirted torso up to his unshaven face and ubiquitous sunglasses, made redundant under the brim of baseball cap pulled low. She was struck harder by their age difference than she’d ever been before, and she felt foolish for every untoward idea that had ever crossed her mind.

“Hi Charlotte,” came his usually silken voice, now rusty from the lack of take-out coffee to oil it. He sat down empty-handed in the chair nearest her chaise, leaning purposefully forward as he took off his sunglasses. “I’m glad you could see me early this week.”

“It’s no bother, I assure you,” she replied, the anxious look in his eyes making her feel uneasy herself. “You’re always welcome here, you know that.”

“Thanks.” She must have looked a bit gob-smacked still, because he quickly took off his ball cap and ran self-conscious fingers through his unwashed hair. “I’m sorry to show up looking like this. But I have something to ask you, and I knew if I waited, I wouldn’t go through with it.”

“It’s actually rather refreshing to see you dressing your age,” she said, hoping she sounded convincing. “Now by all means, speak your mind. Would you like some coffee or tea first?”

“No, no thanks,” he said, still agitated. He began to worry the brim of his cap between long, nimble fingers, staring it down as if he could somehow convince it to do the talking. But once his lips started moving, the words poured out.

“I hate asking you for anything, especially since I’m not even sure how you can help. Because even if I had the mortgages paid off, I’d still have to pay for Em’s nursing home care. I could file for Medicaid to cover it, but then they’d put a lien on the house, and that’s exactly the thing I’ve been trying to avoid. The whole point of me going into the fucking escort business was so that I wouldn’t have to sell off all my family heirlooms. I like being able to provide for all of us - Em and Alice and myself. But I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I want out. I have to figure a way out.”

He paused for a breath, while Charlotte slowly let out the one she’d been holding. His pleading gaze dropped and he became absorbed once more in the brim of his baseball cap.

“Edward, you know I’m more than happy to help you however I can. My offer to get those mortgages off your back still stands. I don’t care about repayment.”

“But I will pay you back. Even if it takes me the rest of my life, I will.”

Charlotte chuckled. “Well, I won’t be around long enough to see that day. We’ll worry about a payment schedule later. It’s worth every penny to me to lighten that burden on your shoulders. And maybe it’ll be enough for you to go into a different line of work, even if it pays less.”

“Maybe. That’s what I’m hoping.” The reflection of that hope glimmered faintly in Edward’s eyes, and the sight of it was worth more than all the gold in Fort Knox to Charlotte.

“Do I even have to ask what - or should I say, who - brought on this epiphany?” She already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from him.

The bashful smile on Edward’s face was reply enough, but it soon became wan. “She deserves better. I want to give her what she deserves.”

Charlotte nodded slowly. “Bella? If I remember correctly.”

It was Edward’s turn to nod in answer.

“I’m sure she does,” Charlotte agreed. “But let’s not forget that you deserve better too, my dear.”

His shrug was less emphatic than his nod, which made her sigh in exasperation.

“Well, whether you think so or not, you deserve good things in life. You deserve to follow a path that makes you happy. I believe you’ve already chosen your companion; now all you have to do is find the right path. And I think you already know what that is.”

Edward looked up into her shrewd gaze. “I know. I’ve been thinking about that. I’m so out of practice, though, I don’t even know where to begin. I don’t know who’d hire me. Maybe a piano bar, or one of those department stores that likes to have some suit-guy sitting there playing classical music for ambience.”

Charlotte glanced heavenward at his self deprecation. “I won’t sit and listen to you sell yourself short. You’ve been doing enough of that for the past two years, wouldn’t you say?”

Edward grimaced in acknowledgement.

“What if I gave you a good reason to get back in practice? Would you take it?”

His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about? I’m not taking any more handouts. Borrowing money from you is hard enough.”

“I’m not talking about a handout. I’m talking about an opportunity.” She paused and picked up the letter propped against the arm of her lounge chair. She tapped it thoughtfully against the tip of her index finger, again reading the return address with satisfaction. “I assume you’ve heard of the Seattle International Piano Competition?”

Edward let out a small laugh. “Of course.”

“You won a couple of junior titles there, if I’m not mistaken.”

His brows knitted. “How did you . . . ?”

“The internet is a wondrous creation,” she replied smoothly. “I found out all kinds of delightful things about you after a little digging. You entered that competition every year it was held, from the ages of eight to twenty, under the name Edward Masen. You even placed in several of them against the best in the world in your category.”

Edward had straightened up in his chair as she casually reeled off his secrets like the innocuous bits of public information they were.

“That was a long time ago,” he said softly.

“Four years. Not so long, when you get to be my age,” she replied with a wry smile. “My point is, you missed the last competition because of your grandmother’s failing health. What if I told you that you didn’t have to miss the next one?”

He let out a sardonic laugh. “I’d tell you you’re crazy. The competition is in October. Applications to enter were due months ago.”

“Indeed, they were,” she agreed, now tapping the corner of the envelope briefly against her bottom lip. “But my late husband, Peter, had several good friends in the Seattle arts community, one of whom happens to be on the admissions committee of the piano competition. I sent him an inquiry, and wouldn’t you know? It turns out there’s a slot open due to an unfortunate cancellation.”

She paused for Edward’s reaction, but he only stared at her, bewildered.

“You’ll have to perform in the Amateur category, of course, since you’re no longer a student, and not currently employed as a musician,” she continued. “There’s no cash prize to be won, but the exposure and prestige that could be gained would be quite advantageous to someone looking to get a foot in the music business, wouldn’t you agree?”

Edward gaped at her in disbelief. “I don’t understand. It’s too late for me to send in an audition CD.”

Charlotte’s cheeks colored slightly. “Well, I’m afraid I might have done something slightly . . . duplicitous, to that end.”

His eyes narrowed as the puzzle pieces began to fall into place. When he spoke, his tone was eerily calm but utterly pointed.

“What did you do, Charlotte?”

She took a deep breath. “I may have recorded you playing the piano here once or twice without your knowledge.”

The veranda was dead silent, save for the chirp of a few nearby birds and the soft hum of a riding mower from a distant neighbor’s yard. Charlotte tried to read the look in Edward’s eyes, but couldn’t discern whether he was angry, incredulous, grateful, or some combination of the three.

“What are you telling me?” The calm in his voice was belied by a slight tremor.

“I’m telling you you’re in.” She reached out and offered him the envelope.

His hand trembled a little as he took it from her. He stared at it in shock before finally opening it and withdrawing the contents. He looked the acceptance letter over, shaking his head.

“I can’t believe you did this,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Please don’t be too cross with me,” she entreated. “You got in on your own merits. They heard you play - that was the deciding factor.”

“What did you submit?”

“The final version of the piece you practiced last week. You repeated it until it was flawless, and that’s what I sent. I also filled out the application under your real name, which I’m sure many on the admissions board still remember. I daresay they were happy to have you back in the competition.”

He shook his head again, clearly overwhelmed. Charlotte just hoped it was in a good way. But when he finally looked up at her, his expression was bleak.

“This is only seven weeks away. That’s not enough time for me to get in competitive shape.”

“Nonsense,” she argued. “You played that piece to perfection once, and it got you in the contest. You have seven weeks to make sure you can play it to perfection one more time.”

“I’d have to practice every day, or close to it.”

“Lucky for you that I have a piano and a conservatory at your disposable whenever you need it.”

He balked at the offer. “I can’t impose on you like that.”

“It’s no imposition, and even if it were, it’s one I would gladly endure.”

She could see the struggle on his face, but she wasn’t about to let him talk himself out of this. His head continued to shake slowly from side to side, eyes looking over the letter as if it were written in some foreign language he was having difficulty translating.

“Play to win,” she thought she heard him murmur at last.

“Come again?”

Edward raised his eyes to meet hers, and this time she saw only grateful determination there.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said softly, green eyes glossy with unshed tears.

“Yes, you do.” She rose from her chair and lifted one arm, gesturing in the direction of the music room.

Edward stood, but instead of turning toward the house, he grabbed her up in a bear hug, nearly knocking the wind out of her.

“You’re amazing,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. It vibrated down her spine in a way she hadn’t felt since the last time Peter had whispered in her ear. He clasped her shoulders as he pulled away to look down at her. “I’m going to do my best to make you proud, I swear.”

“You already have,” she told him.

But he had already released her and headed inside. Moments later, she heard the familiar sounds of his warm-up scales, and those simple ascending notes were the sweetest sounds she’d ever heard.

# # # # # # # # # #

　

Bella had fifty minutes to kill between her Ancient Greek Lit and her Art History classes. She knew what she should do: go back to the dorm, take a quick shower and put on fresh clothes that actually fit her.

But as she ambled through the quad, pulling up Edward’s sagging sweatpants and feeling the late summer sun warm the cotton of his t-shirt, she couldn’t bear the thought of taking them off. She pulled the neck of the shirt over her nose for a moment, taking a deep whiff of the musky scent that lingered there. No, these clothes were staying put.

How bad do I look? she wondered absently. She felt amazing. She hadn’t come down from the euphoric cloud she’d been floating on for the past twenty-four hours, and she wasn’t ready to strip the heavenly evidence from her body quite yet.

She sat down on what was becoming her favorite between-classes bench, then dug through her backpack for her cosmetics bag with a mirror attached. A quick glance showed the disheveled but undeniably glowing face of a girl who had been recently, thoroughly ravished by her . . . boyfriend?

Maybe. Possibly. Someday.

She wondered how long she could stick it out until “someday” arrived. When she was with Edward, the cocoon of intimacy that spun them together seemed impenetrable. But the minute she was alone, nagging fears began picking at her, leaving holes of doubt in that cloak of certainty. She hoped he was sincere about looking for an alternative to escorting, but until then, she knew she would have to be unbelievably strong.

If she couldn’t, she’d have to walk away.

She turned sideways and brought her legs up on the bench, knees to her chin, wrapping her arms around the baggy fleece of Edward’s sweatpants. She took a whiff of those, too, inhaling deeply before exhaling in a sigh.

“Hey, Swan, is that you?” a male voice called, shattering her reverie.

Bella looked over her shoulder to see Mike Newton approaching, and she cringed involuntarily before painting on a smile. She hadn’t seen him since the night she told him they could be friends and nothing more. He didn’t seem too put off by it, though, if his gigantic grin was any indication.

“Hey, Mike,” she said in greeting as he approached. “How’s it going?”

“Great. Mind if I sit down?” he asked, indicating the empty half of the bench next to her sneaker-clad feet.

“’Course not.”

He plopped down opposite Bella, dropping his backpack to the sidewalk below. He stretched one arm across the back of the bench, leaned back and gave her a quick once-over.

“Wow. Rough night?” he said with a laugh.

Her lips pursed indignantly while her hand reached up to smooth the haphazard bun at the back of her neck.

“What do you mean by that?” she snapped, trying to will her cheeks to stop blushing.

Mike’s face fell in dismay as he tried to correct his blunder. “Nothing! I mean, you look great - you always look great. Maybe a little like you just rolled out of bed, but I’m guessing your alarm didn’t go off or something this morning. Happens to all of us. I almost left the dorm without my pants last week - got all the way down the hall in my boxer shorts before Riley stopped me,” he finished with a weak laugh. “You remember Riley, right?”

“Yeah, of course. Keeper of the good stash.”

Mike grinned at that. “Indeed. You should come over some time and partake with us. We’ll make sure you don’t overdo it this time, though. We don’t want a repeat performance of last time, do we?”

“No,” Bella agreed, wincing. “Definitely not.”

“You were so sick,” he lamented. “And I don’t need that rage-0-holic suit-guy of yours bashing my face in, either.”

Bella let out a loud guffaw. “He would never do that. He isn’t the least bit rage-y.”

“Apparently you didn’t get a good look at his face when he found you with us. I thought he was gonna rip off my nut sack and make me wear it as a party hat.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she scoffed. “And gross.”

Mike snickered. “You were drunk. You don’t remember.”

“I remember just fine. Edward took care of me all night long, even after I barfed on his shoes. Even after he had to watch me barf twenty more times before I was finished.”

Mike shuddered slightly. “Poor Bella,” he commiserated, taking the opportunity to reach over and give one of her shins a squeeze. “I guess suit-guy is a regular prince to put up with that, huh?” His sarcasm was hard to miss.

“He is, actually. Not many guys would clean up after a girl spewing Technicolor vomit into a dorm sink all night long.”

Mike’s expression grew sober. “I would. If you’d let me.”

Bella couldn’t handle the sincerity in those sky-blue eyes of his, and her gaze faltered and fell to the sidewalk. She heard his fingers drum the back of the bench; heard him draw in a long breath before speaking again.

“But that won’t happen, because I’m not letting you get that wasted again.” He nudged her left foot with his knee, prompting her to look up at him. “Seriously, Swan, I haven’t seen you since our movie night. I hope you’re not becoming a hermit. You can still party and have fun without overdoing it, you know. I’ll police you myself,” he offered with the quirk of any eyebrow and a half-joking grin.

“Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse,” she answered, smiling in spite of herself.

“Officer Mike Newton, Booze Patrol, at your service - here to take any shot that comes at you.” He pantomimed bringing a shot glass to his lips, throwing his head back and swallowing.

“Wow. How selfless of you,” Bella replied with a roll of her eyes.

“It’s true. I’m a giver like that,” he said, splaying his hand over his heart for emphasis.

“That you are.” It actually was true, she thought.



“So, what do you say? When are we gonna get together? There’s a pledge party at my fraternity this Saturday night - you and Jess should come by. You know where the Delt house is, right?”

Bella did a double take. “I didn’t know you were in a fraternity. When did that happen? You weren’t even here during rush week, were you?”

“No, I couldn’t make it because of my forestry internship. But I’m a Delta Tau Delta legacy, so they pretty much had to take me, the poor bastards,” he said with a laugh.

“Legacy. What’s that mean?”

“My dad and grandfather were both Delts, so basically that puts me at the top of the pledge list, even though I’m a sophomore. It’s been a blast so far. They’re easy on the hazing, hard on the studying and philanthropy. It’ll probably be a good thing that they’ll be on my ass to keep my grades up.”

“Wow. That’s cool. Congratulations,” Bella told him. She didn’t quite get the appeal of fraternities and sororities, but for a social animal like Mike, they were probably his own version of nirvana.

“Thanks. So, Saturday? Is it a date?”

She tried not to cringe at the term. Had he gotten nothing out of their last talk?

“Actually, I told my dad I’d go home to visit him for the weekend. I’m guessing he has a birthday present he wants to give me or something.”

Mike’s eyes grew round. “Your birthday! Oh, man, I forgot that was coming up. Next Tuesday, right? The big two-oh.” His knee nudged her sneaker again. “Now that is an occasion to celebrate. Got any big plans?”

“Yeah, I do, sort of,” she admitted. Bella realized she had no idea what Edward had planned for the day. She didn’t care, as long as she was spending it with him.

Mike’s face fell when he deduced her meaning. “I suppose suit-guy is taking you out to some fancy restaurant, huh?”

“I don’t know, actually. He probably wants to surprise me.”

He nodded, pursing his lips together in what looked like distaste. Then, in a flash, his smile returned. “That’s fine. You can still ring in your birthday, college-style, the night before. Why don’t we round up Jess and Riley and whoever else you want to invite - maybe go out for burgers, knock back a few beers, and sing Happy Birthday at midnight. Whaddya say?”

His expression was too hopeful to crush with a “no, thanks.” Bella decided to suck it up and play along. Besides, it might be kind of fun to go out with a group. That way it wouldn’t seem like a date, and maybe she could even steer Mike in Jessica’s direction, if Jess was still interested.

Not to mention, it would be a nice distraction to keep her mind off of what Edward might be doing on the eve of her big day.

“Sure, sounds fun,” she told him, trying to sound enthusiastic. “But please don’t feel compelled to sing or anything on my account.”

“Are you trying to tell me something about my singing ability? I think I’m offended. I think I’m wounded, actually.”

“That’s kind of how you sound when you sing,” she said, putting on her best deadpan face. “Wounded.”

“Oh!” he exclaimed, slamming his fist over his heart, then pulling an imaginary arrow from it in slow motion. “Straight for the jugular!”

“The truth hurts,” she teased.

“Yeah, well, I’m gonna sing extra-loud right in your ear for that one, ’de-e-ear Bel-laahhh,’” he crooned, leaning in to bellow the last two words in her face.

“Stop!” She put one palm up to his chest and gave him a good-natured shove. “Save it for the actual day, for the love of God.”

He only laughed. “Fine. Lucky for you, I gotta get to class anyway. I’ll text everyone and get a little party group together, then I’ll give you a call with the deets. Sound good?”

She nodded affirmatively.

“Cool. See you soon, Bella.” She wasn’t sure she liked the way he said her name - a little too soft, a touch too intimate.

He gave her shin another squeeze before he got up and left. She absently rubbed the spot where his hand had been as she watched him walk away. She realized she didn’t want anyone touching her that way but Edward.

And she didn’t want Edward touching anyone else that way, either.

She shivered despite the warm sun on her skin. She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around her legs, burying her face in his scent until it was time to leave for her next class.

# # # # # # # # # #

10: 38 p.m.

The crowd at the Christophe Gallery is beginning to thin.

Hors d’oeuvres starting out as miniature architectural marvels have been leveled to a rubble of crumbs on silver platters. A streaming champagne tower has been reduced to a few bubbling puddles in the bottom of lip-stick stained flutes. And an everything-old-is-new-again throwback to the heyday of impressionism has successfully shown his latest works to an appreciative crowd of wealthy Seattleites looking to expand their art collections.

The artist and his agent are in seventh heaven. Leslie Grimm, the PR rep for the gallery, is right behind them. Indeed, her cloud of blonde curls and pale satin gown give her a faintly angelic quality, tarnished only by her vibrantly painted face and fingernails.

She drains the last of dregs of her fourth - or is it fifth? - champagne glass and surveys the stragglers, searching for her date. He is not hard to find. The wayward hair springing from the head of his six-foot-plus frame is instantly recognizable to her. He is still chatting with the artist, looking positively absorbed in the conversation. Damn, he is good. He always knows how to make a good impression on the people she needs him to, and for that alone, he is worth every penny.

But she knows what else Edward Cullen is good at, and in that arena, he is priceless.

Hot damn, that boy is gorgeous, she thinks as she glides across the room toward him, swaying slightly in an alcoholic torpor. Not one single painting in the room can rival the artistic planes of his face. She cannot help but admire how the cut of his suit complements his figure, lengthening his legs, broadening his shoulders, narrowing his waist. The work of art it creates is breath-taking. But she knows from experience that the canvas beneath is the real star.

She takes his forearm when she approaches, seamlessly inserting herself into the conversation. Small talk is made, congratulations are shared, and eventual good-byes are said. She is ready for the real fun to begin.

She keeps a socially acceptable distance as Edward escorts her to the parking garage. But the minute they reach a dimly lit corner, she is all over that suit, pulling at it, pressing against it, lifting herself up and pulling his sculpted face down to hers.

Something is missing in his kiss, she thinks; but perhaps she’s just had too much to drink. She’ll sober up a bit in the car on the way to the hotel, and he’ll loosen up once they’re in private.

“Where are you taking me?” she purrs as he guides her down the row of imports toward his convertible. “You know I love that suite at Hotel 1o00.”

Did his lip just curl? Impossible. He loves that suite, too. It’s his favorite, she knows.

“I’m taking you home,” he says. He lets go of her hand and fishes for his keys. She stops dead in her tracks, too stunned for movement.

“Home?” she repeats, her own lip definitely curling in distaste. “My place is a mess. I had something a little more upscale in mind. Or at least more seductive.”

She is using her best sex-siren voice on him. He smiles, but it is not the type of smile she wants to see. His expression is . . . polite. She would call it indifferent if she didn’t know better.

“I can’t spend the night with you tonight, Leslie.”

She knows better now. His eyes reflect the cold, gray concrete and steel of the parking garage when he glances at her. She is still staring at the back of his head after he turns and walks toward his car, aiming the remote keys to unlock it. The electronic beep-beep seems to mock her.

She finally stumbles forward, a stilted, jilted walk of disbelief as he holds the passenger door open for her. She wants to smack the small, perfunctory grin off of his face. He can’t be serious. Her ego won’t let him be serious.

“I never said anything about spending the night,” she counters, falling back on innuendo once more as she approaches. “An hour or two is all I need. As I recall, you can accomplish quite a lot in that time frame.”

His perma-grin is maddening. It’s almost a simper. “Some other time,” he says, sounding somewhat dismissive. “But not tonight. I’m sorry.”

Except that he clearly is not. She cannot disguise her incredulity now. Where is the Edward Cullen she knew? The one who was more than agreeable, even eager, to have a little fun at the end of the evening? She knows there is no guarantee of sex at the culmination of a Renaissance Escorts date, but it’s an implied and understood part of the agreement that if she wants it, she will get it.

And she wants it. She has always wanted it from him. She wanted it the first time she saw him, and every time after that. She wants it now. Why doesn’t he?

“What’s the problem, Edward?” she coos, unable to give up just yet. She runs her hand along the fine gabardine of his jacket, over the lapels, smoothing his thin silk tie. “You didn’t book someone else after me, did you?”

“No, of course not. It has nothing to do with you. I’m afraid I have to cut the evening short for personal reasons.”

“Personal reasons,” she echoes, wondering what on earth they could be. What a pathetic liar he is. Her stare is in danger of becoming a glare as she looks up at him. She is going to wipe that goddamned polite grin from his face if it’s the last thing she does.

Her hand has reached his jaw now, already sandpapery to the touch though he started out the evening clean-shaven. Fuck, is that ever a turn-on. She knows she’s about to become very undignified very soon. She catches the scent of him now, slight hints of soap lingering over musky male warmth; and she is afraid she’s not above begging.

“I have a couple of personal issues of my own right now,” she whispers, lifting her lips closer to his. “Needs, you might call them. I’m pretty sure you can take care of them before you turn into a pumpkin,” she teases. Her other hand is wandering south, hovering around his waist, waiting for the signal to keep going. She has him backed against the open door now, the glow from the car’s interior lighting her way.

“As tempting as that is . . .” He pauses to clasp her face firmly in one hand, impeding its progress toward his, “I have to decline.”

“Decline?” She bursts into peals of champagne-fueled laughter, wrenching her face from his grasp. “I’m not a maxed-out credit card, for fuck’s sake. What’s gotten into you? You’ve never declined anything from me before. Not my kisses . . .” she plants her lips on his jaw, “not my blow jobs. . .” she slides her hand down over his crotch, “and certainly not my open legs.”

She rubs her hand along the fabric-covered outline of his dick, willing it to harden. She’s astonished, even insulted, that its response is half-hearted at best.

“What’s with you?” she asks again, feeling an angry indignation rising in her chest. She continues to stroke his face and his sex, sure that he will cave one place or the other. “Where’s the Edward Cullen who liked to have a little fun? A lot of fun, as I recall. Nasty fun,” she murmurs, giving his chin a little bite. “Come on. You can’t tell me your other clients let you ass-fuck them like I do. And I know you. You love nothing more than to give me a good anal pounding. And you know I love it, too. Go ahead - give it to me. Right here in the back of the car. Or bent over the hood, if that gets you off.”

Though his lips resemble a sneer, his dick isn’t nearly so put off. She delights in the slight thickening she feels, and she drops her other hand down to work at his zipper. She thrills to the sound of its metal teeth releasing. Her hands are at the waistband of his cotton briefs, fingers curling in his happy trail, and she knows she is almost there.

And then his hands are on her wrists, gripping tight, pulling her hands away from the prize. Effortlessly he wrenches her arms behind her own back, pinning them in place and pulling her closer. She lets out a tiny shriek of excitement at his roughness, only too happy to press her body against his. Her head lolls back, lips parted, waiting for his kiss.

Instead, she receives only more placating words.

“Leslie,” he begins, in that achingly low, seductive tone of his. “Make no mistake. You are a gorgeous, sexy woman, and I am incredibly flattered that you want me. But it’s not going to happen this time. Not tonight.”

Her pride utterly stripped away, the truth finally hits her.

“Not ever,” she says, her stunned eyes challenging him to refute her.

His silence is all the confirmation she needs.

Silence is their stifling companion during the drive to her high-rise. It retreats at last when Edward asks if he can walk her to her door.

“Don’t bother,” she whispers as she opens the car door and steps out. She turns back and looks him dead in the eyes, making no effort to hide her humiliation and anger.

“Good-bye, Edward,” she says before slamming the door shut.

He watches until she is safely in the building before leaving.

He knows he has just lost his first client.

# # # # # # # # # #

11:22 p.m.

Bella has finally given up and showered.

She has also done her homework, listened to some depressing music, and written another poem that she deems too sappy and mundane to possibly express what she is really feeling. Which, at present, can be distilled down to a single word.

Melancholy.

She figures she might as well go to bed now.

She pulls clean pajamas out of her dresser, throws them on the bed and looks at them. The bottoms are covered in cartoon illustrations of coffee cups, grinders and beans, interspersed with the words “java,” “latte,” “espresso” and the like.

Not exactly sleep-inducing, she thinks wryly.

Edward’s dirty clothes are laid out neatly over her plastic blow-up chair in the corner. She knows she should throw them in her laundry basket and wash them before she returns them to him. She wants to do none of the above.

11:27 p.m.

The java p.j.’s are back in the dresser. Bella is snuggled under the bed covers in Edward’s clothes instead. She wonders if there’s something wrong with her. All she knows is that the melancholy ache subsides a little every time she inhales his scent.

11:44 p.m.

She has fallen into that drowsy state between wakefulness and sleep when the musical cadence of her cell phone brings her back to consciousness. She picks it up from the nightstand and warm tingles surge through her when she sees who is on the other end.

“Edward,” she says, more groggily and less sexily than she was aiming for.

“Did I wake you?” he asks, his voice wrapping around her like velvet ribbons.

“No,” she lies. “Where are you?”

“In my bed,” he replies. “Missing you.”

“You’re home?” she asks in surprise.

“Yeah. Early night.”

She wonders if those words mean what she hopes they do.

“That’s unusual,” she replies, fishing for her answer.

“Not always. Tonight was pretty uneventful.”

And now he has lied, too. But he’s given her the truth she needed to hear.

“Mine was uneventful, too. Homework, mostly. A little writing.”

“More poetry?”

She snorts softly. “If you can call it that.”

“I don’t care what you call it. It’s great. You have a talent for putting words together in a powerful way.”

“Thanks. It’s nothing like your talent for putting musical notes together. But I try.”

“I’m trying again, too.” She thinks she detects something different in his tone - anticipation, almost excitement - as he continues. “Things are changing, Bella. For the better. I can feel it.”

“Yeah? You think so?”

He can hear the wistfulness in her voice, and it cuts him deep, as only she can.

“I know so.”

He sounds adamant. She’s never heard him sound so sure before, and she smiles, feeling her melancholy dissipate like fog under the sun’s rays.

“I believe you,” she says.

She always says that, when most girls in her position wouldn’t trust him as far as they could throw him. The way she gives her trust so freely makes him all the more desperate to earn it.

“I know you have an early class tomorrow,” he says regretfully. “I’ll let you get some sleep. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I can’t believe you remember my class schedule,” she says with a surprised laugh.

“I told you. When it comes to you, I pay attention.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve got my full attention, too. I’m glad you called. I always want to hear your voice.”

“Then I’ll call you again tomorrow.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” he says.

You have no idea how much I promise you, he thinks as he hangs up the phone.