Author's Note: This piece hadn't let me sleep a few nights. I needed to kick it on or else… What you will have here is the most devious Edward stalker in the history of fanfiction net. I am sure I will enjoy every single moment of writing it. You are warned: I am a devil and I love to torture readers. LOL
Thanks to Leon McFrenchington for betaing for me again. And please read his latest story The hunter at www. fanfiction. net/s/4765220/1/Hunter (delete the spaces). You won't regret it as it is one of the most perfectly plotten and character constructed stories I have seen on Fanfiction net.
Also if you like this, make sure you check out my other WIP Delectation. Now enjoy.
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The Landlord
By Darynthe
Prologue
I hadn't forgotten the two o'clock appointment. And now I was glad for it.
It was a glorious Saturday of late summer. Light overflowed from every one of the windows and the place looked crispy clean and just like the home anyone with half a brain would want.
I knew, my dad, Charlie, really had his heart set into selling the house as soon as possible; he needed a good price for it, too. So, I had made my best effort, getting up early (ten in the morning) and going into deep cleaning mode.
I was sad to see him go, but I knew that with his declining health, it was better for him to move to Florida. He had gotten a nice transfer as the chief of police to a small town and it made me happy that he would have a new start at his age. He was the most excited I had seen him in my entire twenty years.
The house in question was a nice duplex, with a façade of brownstone, and contained two independent apartments and a basement, plus a lot of space in backyard and gardens. It was a little far from downtown but very close to school.
I had lived in the upper floor for the last two years after finishing high school. I moved up from Phoenix just to spend some time with Charlie and I had gotten into P.S.U., Portland State University. Tuition was reasonable, if not cheap and the best part was not paying rent. Until now.
I cannot deny that the idea of starting to pay for my place made me nervous. I had begun working half time just a couple of months ago and that, together with a full time schooling in Fine Arts, was taking most of my time and energy.
Today's appointment was going to be the first in what I expected to be a long list of visits of potential buyers. The deal was that I had signed a contract with Charlie for my apartment, which meant, by the bylaws of the city, that the new owner could not kick me out unless he had to go into serious renovations. Smart, I thought. The rent was not high, but it wasn't a rip-off either.
I wasn't nervous about strangers seeing my home; my only desire, and I knew it was stupid, was to make a good impression. I had worked on decorating the place with the most exiguous budget of history and I was quite proud of the results. Everything in the walls were paintings I had produced in the outbursts of creativity I often had. Not many had seen them before.
The couch was second hand but looked vintage. The furniture was old cheap wood, but it was the kind of old that was respectable and gave a room character. I had arranged some artisan crafts over the tables, a little work in bamboo in the small old bathroom and small figures gave some impression of avant-garde art lair. Piles of books in the living room seemed carelessly thrown there by a interior designer and gave life to the place. This was 100% Bella Swan.
I heard Charlie open the door. I had an independent entrance and a flight of stairs that led to a small garden, identical to Charlie's, except for the tropical flowers I had grown in spring and my small white flowered bush.
I heard the voices of two men and a woman; I couldn't hear Charlie as it seemed one of the men totally overpowered the conversation.
I stood dutifully by the door, primed my white dress and put a welcoming half smile on my face. The first person to enter was a heavy looking man of about forty who was wearing some kind of headset device, probably a hand-free cell phone set or a radio of some sorts. He was shouting at the top of his lungs how good the neighborhood was and how it was the perfect place to raise a family. So, this was the real state agent my dad had been recommended so warmly.
I greeted him and he turned to me with a smile and said something. I moved away to let him pass through the small pass way and the door that closed over the stairway.
I saw then enter one of the most beautiful women I had seen in my whole life. She was blonde, tall, and slender; she gave off that decadent aura of black and white diva from the gossip section of the newspaper but a little more vulgar.
She was very well made-up and I felt a little silly with my simple summer dress and undone hair. I bit my lip and tried to smile at her. She didn't look my way.
I lowered my eyes and waited for the next person to make his entrance.
Then I saw him.
My first impression was that of seeing the character of a romantic book--the kind that is incredibly handsome and tragically torn either by destiny or choice. His face had high cheekbones, the planes on it were the ideal of harmony of old artists. His lips however, while soft sensuous, held a masculine smirk to them.
His eyes were shaped like almonds under thick eyebrows. The color was dark. It was something that struck me, as I thought, with such bronze bedroom hair and his pale, romantic complexion, it would have been logically to expect hazel or even a washed green. The darkness of his eyes gave him such strength that I was sure that such a man must be real bored of women. Because women would be jumping at him at every corner. Out of his teacup or from the small compartment in his car.
Okay, crazy thoughts indeed. But he was the most attractive man I had seen and I hated the idea to make it obvious to him that he affected me at all. I would be then like any other girl who crossed his way. I rearranged my face with indifferent cordiality and just then realized that he hadn't noticed me at all.
He walked lazily behind the sex bomb and gave a good round stare to the living room.
The headset man was speaking again, and so fast I could barely make whatever he was saying. I saw the couple exchanging knowing looks and I knew instantly they didn't think much of the place.
"Mr. Cullen, you should come and examine the floors; they are excellent wood, and see how much light we have here."
The younger man then turned to examine the window and the door that was beside it and was temptingly ajar and gave to the balcony where I had hung recently a hammock and laid plush cushions and a red, inviting and warm throw.
They opened the door and went out. Charlie had come unnoticed and smiled at me nervously.
The real estate agent was chatting with Charlie and had noticed my paintings. He was saying that with time I could get to be real good. I smiled forcefully for the 'compliment.'
Then it happened. He came into the room again and couldn't help but notice me. His eyes seemed to go a little wider as he stopped cold for a second. I saw a frown appear on his face as if he had found a malfunctioning item in the house. A mocking smile got into its place after a few seconds.
I lost my breath. He was devastating. I wondered how he could do that. Of course, I realized he must have been fully aware of the power of his presence.
Charlie made the fast and informal introductions, the kind you do to people you won't see ever again.
He didn't extend his hand.
"Bella?" he said in a soft baritone tone that held just the tiniest hint of sarcasm.
I nodded and didn't say a word.
"Edward" he continued flatly. The man held my gaze for a second longer than good manners demanded.
"You are an artist?"
"I am studying art, that is all." I replied without giving him time to finish.
"You need to have more pride in what you do." I opened my eyes at his sheer contempt for what was due in properties between two strangers. I hated when people patronized me.
"Are you living alone here or…?" He raised one eyebrown in unspoken conspirancy. I had a fleeting feeling that he was making a private joke, as if he thought that by no means I could live with anyone. That infuriated me immediately.
Charlie saved him from a cold retort, he said: "No, she has no roommate and if you purchase the house you won't have to worry about noisy parties. Bella hardly ever brings anyone, except for her boyfriend Mike."
That got him silent for a moment. Then he turned away, apparently bored.
"Can we see the other rooms Edward?" asked the woman, and Charlie took them to my studio.
It was a small rectangular room, painted in dark red. I had an old computer, the type to which you have to give plenty of "percussive maintenance" to keep working. I had there my paintings, books and another couch.
They examined then the kitchen, which was unremarkable in itself with the peeling linoleum and old appliances. However, its great French doors opened to the backyard and beyond towards an empty field filled of industrial gigantic reels. After that, a stadium stood in the horizon, far away.
That, in practical terms, meant no neighbors. Having so much privacy was a blessing and a luxury not many could afford in a city as big as Portland.
I saw them then get to my most private and sacred place, the bedroom. The place nobody entered ever. It wasn't a big, but I knew how to make space work in my favor. I had gotten an extra grand king size bed and dressed it in a white fluffy comforter. The presence of such a bold and luxurious object in the otherwise small bedroom made it look bigger and assertive.
I felt a wave of triumph as I saw Edward, check out the painting of running horses I had put up in an attempt to create a balancing counterpoint in the middle of the wall. There was another huge object by it, an exuberant peace lily that was full in flower.
The red flowers that were over the threshold of the small window made the white of the room focus in on that corner. And all the light… I knew how he felt. He must have wanted to lay in bed, wrap himself in the throw with a good book and just enjoy the afternoon by himself. I had worked for this effect and I am happy to see blondie look mildly impressed, while he looked so thoughtful and serious. He spent a lot of time inspecting my possessions, opened my walk-in closet and got inside, I thought for a moment I saw him touching the sleeve of a jacket, but my eyes must have deceived me. Then he noticeably spent few seconds checking out for cracks in the ceiling.
His eyes turned to me every now and then. And every time, I felt the air stop right in the middle of my throat. I must have blushed just for lack of oxygen if nothing else.
It was such a distracting bizarre feeling of intimacy. Having this stranger go over my stuff with such a personal carefulness, which was most inappropriate for a simple house tour. I was starting to feel a little naked.
I decided I needed to stop being the stupid, shy girl I have always been and try to be normal. I didn't want to hurt Charlie, seeming unfriendly.
I approached the girl and asked: "How do you like the place?"
She turned to me, shocked by the question, but answered with that air of dumb bragging that always makes me smile when I hear it. "My fiancé was really thinking of something bigger."
I heard the fiancé-in-question snort. I wondered why.
So. He was taken. As if it hadn't been obvious from the moment I saw her. She didn't look like the sister of anyone.
I didn't fancy him anyway. And I was glad Mr-I-am-going-to-spawn-many-gorgeous- babies-so-need-a bigger-house wasn't going to get the place. Fortunately, I had enough in my dish as things stood. I didn't need to add on top a crush on a married –or almost as bad, a committed man. And how unsavory then it would be to give money to that man on a monthly basis.
That is life, bitch.
The visit was soon over and left me very drained and unsettled.
Charlie went down with the group to show them the basement and then they were going to check out the roof. I closed the door and decided I would draw the curtains and take a shower. I was feeling almost dirty.
My mood wasn't good.
As days went by, I found myself in some fantasy land in an utterly unconscious manner.
It was like I was walking from the bus stop and I was thinking of his eyes and how intense they had been. I played the game of what if… what if he was interested in me… what it would be like to be in the place of that girl… but my dreams didn't take me to forbidden places. Every time it even went close to it, I felt a rush of guilty pleasure and it took me off the reverie instantly.
I even tried to draw his portrait from memory. It was quite futile. The results weren't good as my hands overstated the parts of his face that made the most acute impression. His eyes looked huge and almost threatening, but yet laughing in mock. His mouth was too sensuous and half opened in casual smirk.
And then, a week later, Charlie ran up the stairs and banged the door, I opened a little started to find him smiling widely like a ten year old.
"Bella, I sold it! And it just took one visit! Can you believe it!"
He hugged me and flew me into the air like when I was five. I laughed and begged him to let me down.
"What do you mean you sold it. Nobody has come to visit again."
"But, of course they did. Mr. Edward Cullen called Joe and told him he would take it immediately. His bank transferred the down payment already."
I froze and shook my head in disbelief.
"I thought they weren't interested. They said…"
"I know, I thought the same thing too, but guess Alan got them thinking the house would gain value in time. I am glad they didn't check the pipes." He laughed.
"Bella, it is done. I will be able to go to Florida next week. I am going to need your help packing from tomorrow on. Come on, don't look so mortified. I will come visit soon. You will be okay. I got a good price so I will be able to fly here at least twice this year or you can come down ." Charlie was ecstatic and I smiled widely, trying not to damp his mood.
So, that is how it started. The most intense and crazy period of my life. I don't think anyone would believe me if I told them how Edward Cullen had carefully and insidiously made his way into my life with the cold and totally unrelenting plan of taking it over.
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