Penname: Scarlett Play
Title: Window Sills
Rating: M
Summary: AH. When one woman interferes, another woman leaves; and there's no light that can pass through this man's window, because the sun won't shine on him without his wife. An ex will have to be crushed to get that light and warmth back, but Maggie seems damn near indestructible. Written for the Down, Maggie Down contest. O/S.
Disclaimer: You've read Twilight, so you know who Stephenie Meyer's is, right? Okay, I'm not her, so it stands to reason she did not write this rubbish. It's just something I wrote to titillate a fellow author, and friend, to show how much I love her writing! Go, Catastrophia! You rock!
Beta: SunflowerFran
Contest: Down, Maggie, Down
Bella was gone. Edward gripped the window sill with one hand in what was once their shared bedroom, staring out the window, but seeing nothing.
What was she doing? Where was she? Back in Phoenix already?
He could feel his phone, like a fifty pound weight in his pocket. The thing wouldn't ring no matter how much he willed it to.
Did she care at all he was suffering without her?
Nope.
He gripped the bottle of Vodka in his hand; gulped down another large mouthful.
At some point his heart would stop hurting, but he hoped he'd somehow survive until then.
"Edward, the office is calling," Esme announced through his locked bedroom door.
"I don't care," he said, his lips brushing against the bottle. He washed down those gritty words with another swig.
"It's an emergency . . . It's Maggie," Esme called.
"Tell her I'm dead, thanks to her!" he snarled.
He leaned out the window. It would be so easy to jump out of here, run away and go after Bella. Hollywood was nothing compared to her. His dream had been to own his own business, but was the stress worth it?
Not without her it's not, genius. You've wanted somebody to share your life with for so long . . .You had that. But you found a way to destroy it.
He could hear Esme's slow retreat down the hallway.
Edward downed the remaining contents of the bottle in several large gulps.
When the burn raked its way down his throat, he wondered how long it would take for some other guy to flirt with his wife, to ask her out. And how long until she accepted and realized they were kind, fun to be around, and understanding of what a woman her age needed.
"Ahhhhhh!" he yelled and chucked the empty bottle out the window.
The bottle broke in the exact spot Bella liked to hang-out, at the side of the pool.
"Perfect," he gritted through his teeth.
He shuffled over to his dresser and grabbed the second, very full bottle of Grey Goose, and opened it up.
His feet were sloppy, and he'd be fall-over drunk soon enough.
And Bella would what? Be glad to be home? Her home?
Edward left the window open; imagined crawling out of it, finding her and placing his head in her lap after begging forgiveness.
He dragged himself over to the bed, flopped down on top of it. But not without his bottle . . .
"Cheers, Bella. Hope you're happy," he said, his eyes snake-like slits.
.
.
.
"How long has he been there? Two days?" Maggie asked.
"Yeah. He's out. I can hear him snoring from the hallway," her accomplice said.
"Oh, that man . . . No wonder his dad insisted he be an actor. Always so dramatic." Maggie rolled her eyes. "Well, I'll set his world right, you just wait and see." She smiled and swiped on some red lipstick.
"You're not going to physically hurt him, are you?"
Those big brown eyes were ridiculous with all that worry. Maggie sighed.
"No. Why would I do that? I need him," Maggie huffed. "Now get outta my way, before I trample you." Maggie pushed past the stupid body, blocking her path.
She slipped the key in, unlocked his door, and smiled like the fattest cat ever to catch the most delicious canary in existence.
After she shut the door as quietly as she could, she stripped down.
He looked sallow and almost pea-green around face and neck.
She had to fight off retching. Damn her stomach.
He smelled terrible too.
God, this was gonna suck worse than the last time she kissed him and he had smelled like his wife.
She slipped into his bed and tapped on the wall.
Her salvation walked in, camera in hand.
Maggie signaled where they should stand to get the evidence she needed.
She kissed his chest first. Thankfully he was bare-chested. And with the blanket over his lower half, it looked like he was stark naked.
Click.
The camera's flash made a streak of fury run down her spine.
But Edward remained motionless, his breath reeking.
She grimaced then moved his head a little, tilting it back and opening his jaw so it looked like he was in the throes of passion.
She cupped him and kissed his neck.
Click.
Next, she got on top of him and made it look like she was riding him, making sure to be as realistic as possible with her climax-face.
Click, click, click.
"Need more?" the photographer whispered.
Maggie nodded. This had to be believable.
She knew this would seal the deal. With her whole upper body on display, she grabbed one of his hands, cupped it over her breast, angled his head back down and kissed him, making sure her tongue was noticeable.
Click, click, click, click, click.
She ground into him, but of course there was nothing going on with his end of it.
Her body rolled off his, and she held up a finger, signaling she needed one more.
She lay down next to Edward, cuddled into his side, her hand on his chest and asked her helper to put Edward's arm around her so it looked like they were embracing, post-coital.
Once his hand was in place, she faked being asleep with him, in his bed he had once shared with his wife.
"I'm doing this for you—for us," she told Edward.
Her companion at the edge of the bed swallowed and guilt crossed their eyes.
"You can leave now . . . I'm going to wait for him to wake up. Go print those pictures out and leave them for me on the kitchen counter. I'll be down in a little bit," Maggie instructed.
The slowness of their exit pissed her off.
As soon as they were gone, she went to town on what amounted to Edward's corpse—leaving hickies, bite marks, and scratches all over his body.
A few times he acted like he was about to wake, but after seeing the half empty bottle of Vodka on his nightstand, she knew it would take a bullhorn and an ice-cold bucket of water over his head to stir him to life.
When he looked thoroughly worked over like he'd had the time of his life with her, she put her clothes back on and left.
This had to work. No more Ms. Nice Woman. This was her life!
.
.
.
Bella's face was blanketed with nothing but tears as she stared at her inbox. Three of the most horrendous emails sat before her, each one tearing her heart out in different ways.
She re-opened the first one and read it.
Bella,
I'm so soprry. What can I say and d do to get you, back? My life is mnothing without you. I lrove you. Just cuz I didn't' say itt, doesn't mean I didn't think it it or feeel it. Stop hurtimg me and come bavck.
Edwartd
He was drunk. That much was obvious, so the words meant nothing.
The second email was so much worse.
It contained an attachment. A simple black and white sonogram, and Maggie sent it.
"It's only been a month!" Bella cried, gripped her laptop so hard it was shaking. "One month? And he knocked her up!"
She refused to allow her thoughts to believe he'd cheated before she left, though . . .
You know he did! That's why he didn't stop that kiss. He was already sleeping with her!
"No!" she sniffed, wiping at the tears.
She opened the final email, and her gut shrunk at the words.
Bella,
Edward's losing his grip. The company's been neglected by him for weeks now. If he doesn't show up there soon, it'll all be over. That means our jobs. Please, end this now. Either come back, or divorce him so he can move on. You know we all cared about you, but this is wrong. You're hurting everybody, not just him.
Esme
Bella slammed the lid shut of her laptop, stomped out of the room and ran out the door.
Her best friend, Eric would know what to do.
.
.
.
"Edward," Maggie cooed when he appeared down stairs the next day for something to eat.
"Maggie, if you don't leave now, I'm calling the cops, and I won't hesitate to—"
"Good morning to you, too, Mr. Grumpy-pants," she said, smiling. She crossed her legs as she perched atop the barstool. "I have something for you—something to cheer you up."
"You mean your death certificate?" He scowled.
"No, silly. It's better than that," she said, chuckling.
He opened the fridge, ignoring her. His back hunched over, and he was so hung-over, she worried he might fall.
She stepped up behind him and ran her hand down his back, settling at the base of his spine for support.
He shrugged her off and growled. "Don't you dare touch me!" His back stiffened, he stood up straight and slammed the fridge door shut. He turned toward her with a dangerous look of murder in his eyes.
She stepped back, and with the gift under her palm, slapped it up on the metal door of the refrigerator. "It's yours," she said.
She put a magnet over the edge to keep it in place.
He gasped when her hand left, revealing the ultrasound photo.
"Wha . . . ? How? We haven't . . ." his eyes went wide and his hands yanked at his hair as his arms almost swallowed his head up. He stumbled backward, trying to get away from it, and her.
She extended her arm out. "The day after that bitch left, I came to comfort you. You were drunk, and you needed me. Of course I couldn't deny you. You were so sexy with the way you were crying about her, we both forgot protection." She shrugged and lowered her arm when it was apparent he wasn't going to take it.
"It's not mine!" His lips trembled.
"It is; you always said you wanted a family someday," she reminded him.
"But not with you! Never with you!" he slammed his back into the counter and then curled in on himself. "Ahhhhhh! Nooooo!" His arms encircled his head.
"I have proof, honey. And if you pretend this isn't happening or try to cover it up, I'll go ahead and end my career by going public with all of this." She maneuvered the photos of them naked in bed together on the counter right next to him. Her hand went to his arm, but he flung it off him.
"I . . . D-don't you want to see?" Her hand flew to her lower abs. "You love me—I know you do. Stop doing this to me, Edward. We've always been great together."
"No, you never needed me—you needed fame. You needed Hollywood and a mirror large enough to fit the reflection of your big head!"
She picked up the most incriminating photo of her riding him, and shook it in his face.
"This is real! This is what we are. That woman—that stupid girl you married—she doesn't exist anymore. We're a family now. And she could never scream as loud as I can, because she doesn't even know what her pu—"
"Shut up!" he screeched and shoved the pictures off the counter. "Don't you ever talk about my wife again!"
"She's not your wife anymore. It's been a month, and where is she? Not here. She doesn't love you . . ." she trailed off, her shoulders sagging.
"But she hasn't . . . there are no divorce papers. I haven't seen her do anything but take time to—"
"To what? Find herself? She's a teenager! It's gonna take her years to figure out who she is, and by then, you probably won't even want her anymore. People change," she waved her hands up and down her body, "I've changed. I never wanted kids before, but now . . . Things are different. I saw what I did to push you away, but I'll never make that mistake again. We can be happy together."
He shook his head. "Leave. Now," he whispered in menacing hiss.
"My next ultrasound is scheduled four weeks from now," she said.
"You think I care?"
His head was lowered and he barely looked up at her through his lashes.
"I know you do," she said, then sashayed out of the room.
.
.
.
"Mom, no, I . . ." Esme rested her forehead on her hand.
"I need more—it's not enough," Mama said.
"I can't . . . I've already pushed this as far as I can. He's gonna figure out what I'm doing."
"He won't. He's grieving his wife leaving him. Get it, or I'm dead." She sucked in a loud breath. "And if you don't—I'll show up at his door!" The line went dead.
Esme tucked her cell phone in her purse, made sure the door to Edward's office was locked, and went back to the computer.
She transferred over five grand.
And then put it under the category of "Studio petty cash."
She logged off, turned off the computer and left, her gut tighter than her fist that was digging her nails into her palm.
Her hand shook as she put the keys into the car door and unlocked it. Trembling legs moved on their own, placing her in her car. She drove overly-cautious because of her jitteriness.
The bank was too bright when she stepped inside.
"May I help you?" the banker asked.
"Yes, I need a cashier's check," Esme said so low, she hoped nobody would hear this.
"Sure thing."
Esme bit her tongue and swallowed down all self-respect—at least, what was left of it.
Four weeks now of skimming off the top to keep her Mom away—the mother she told everyone was dead. The mother whose death she helped fake was now at death's door and begging to live.
Oh, the sweet, horrific irony.
Esme loved Carlisle too much to lose him, and this job was everything to her.
If they knew . . . she'd be out on her ass, and they'd never speak to her again.
.
.
.
"What if he asks for a paternity test?"
Maggie was tucked into his shoulder, dragging her fingers over his sculpted chest. "Get real, Gray. He's not going to do that, and if he does, I'll already have him in the palm of my hand." She propped herself up on her elbow so she could hover over him, looking down at the love of her life. Too bad he was poorer than anybody she knew. Stupid job. Stupid family. Stupid luck she lost her head and got pregnant. This stuntman was struggling to break into the business, but she had faith in him. He was so much hotter than Edward ever was, and he was kinkier than hell. "We need this—we have to have money to exist in the way I'm accustomed. After this baby comes, I won't be working anymore." She licked her bottom lip then kissed him.
"You do what you like, but you're not marrying him. You're mine," he growled, wrestling her onto his chest. He tipped his hips up.
"You think I'm gonna marry you?" she asked, chuckling, pushing on his chest to sit up.
"You will. I know you want to," he said. He let go of her and tucked his hands behind his head.
"I hate marriage. It's for losers. No—I'll never marry. I don't need it." She laughed. "Besides—your name is so ridiculous."
"Is not," he said, tipping his hips up into her.
"Gray Masterson? No wonder you're not finding any acting roles. Change your name," she said, pointing her finger into his chest. "Who the hell names their son Gray?"
"My mother—and she loves me and you too. Stop arguing with me, and get back down there," he said, shoving her head down.
"You'll get more after tomorrow." She quirked a brow. "Tomorrow I send his wifey-pooh the proof that this baby is his."
He chuckled then wrangled her down so she was flat on top of him. "I love you, you sexy bitch."
"And don't you forget it," she said, scratching her way down his neck, and relaxing into him.
"Say it," he said, shaking her with his arms around her.
"No. You don't deserve it. Not after all that ridiculous marriage talk," she replied.
"Say it, dammit, or I'll plant the seed in Edward's ear myself that he needs to insist on a paternity test!"
"Fine." She brushed her hair over her shoulder. "I love you too, you bastard."
"Sexy bastard," he said, the smile in his voice.
"Sexy bastard with an even more evil-brilliant brain than my own." She giggled, kissed his chest and then slunk her way down his body.
Oh, all right . . . He earned it.
.
.
.
Bella shook and sobbed, the pictures on her computer were nothing short of hell—hell at her door, ready to swallow her up.
Edward really was the father of Maggie's baby.
Her fingers hovered over the button to submit her message to the biggest gossip trash-mag around.
This would end everything, and she could be free.
It would make sure Edward was with Maggie, that he hated Bella, and that he could finally have a baby. He'd have a family and Bella wouldn't be a part of it.
"You can do this . . . Send, goddammit! Give the paps these nasty porno pictures of them together, and the sonogram too," she told herself. Tears gushed, blurring her vision, and her stomach shook. Her throat constricted with each breath, making them stutter.
"Do it! He deserves it!" she cried.
Rap, rap, rap.
You can't! You love him!
She fell off her bed as she staggered over to the door.
"Bella! Open up," Eric called.
She unlocked the door, swung it open and flung herself into his arms.
"What did he do now?" he asked, his voice breaking, filled with concern.
"He . . . he—" she wailed and banged on his chest with her feeble fist.
"Tell me," he insisted.
"Pictures," she said, pointing at the laptop on her bed.
He dragged her over, set her down at the end of the bed, and he sat at the head. She looked away as he gasped and went through each one.
"Is this real? You're sure they're not photo-shopped?" he asked.
"How the hell should I know?" Her hands flew up in the air.
"I'll find out for you. Don't you cry, sugarcup. I'll make sure this is fake, and then you can skewer that bitch for keeping you here and making you miserable." He motioned for her to join him. She didn't even hesitate. He wrapped her in a hug, kissed her head and told her it would all be okay.
"I can't go back, not with her still there," she whimpered.
"I know . . . I know . . . Shhhh . . ." He stroked her hair.
"Can't that woman find another Hollywood guy to bow down and worship her? Why does Edward even want her? She's a twisted, evil, soul-sucking whore!"
"I know that too," he said, chuckling.
"I wish she'd leave on her own," she said.
She was sick of waiting at the front window of her mom's place, hoping Edward would show up. That window sill was covered in her fingerprints as she gripped it and cried for hours on end. And yet, he never came to her. Not once.
Eric nodded but it felt worse.
Maggie would never leave. This was never going to end, and for some insane reason, she had yet to file for divorce.
.
.
.
Esme made up some poor excuse for leaving on the red-eye, and sweet Carlisle believed her.
The second the plane landed, she was in a rental car and racing to the hospital.
Mom's surgery should be done soon. She got the heart donation because she paid her way to the top of the list with the money Esme gave her.
Talk about blood money.
"Is my . . . Is Ruth Lariat out of surgery yet?" Esme asked, out of breath, hiding her cringe. Why did her mom pick that name when she recreated herself? She missed her mom's real name—Esme Laurine Williams.
"Oh, Ruthy's your mom? We love her. She's a hoot," the nurse said at the front desk of the heart patient ward.
"Yes, can I see her?" Esme's legs vibrated with nervous energy, making her left foot tap out a steady beat.
"Yeah. It went so well, it only took half the time they estimated. She's in the recovery room, and she's awake. I just checked on her five minutes ago," she said. "But take it easy on her. No jokes. Don't need her laughing so hard she busts her stitches."
"Room?" Esme pointed over her shoulder.
"Two-twenty one," was the answer she got.
Esme coasted down the hall like she was on wheels. Please, let her be okay . . .
She opened the door to find a smiling woman with pink cheeks.
"There's my baby . . . took you long enough," Mom said, patting the side of the bed to encourage her to sit.
"Sorry, but I . . . Well, I'm here now." Mom always hated excuses. So, Esme would keep it to herself.
"Good, that's real good, baby girl. Sit."
Esme hung her head and sat like the obedient daughter she was.
"I've got another bottle for you," her mom said, pointing with her chin at the side-table.
"I can't keep giving those to him," Esme gritted.
"You can, and you will. He needs them. He never got over his addiction, and in order for him to function, you'll keep giving him half doses to keep him afloat. It'll keep him working, keep you employed and keep your fingers in his pocketbook."
"He's going to figure out I'm dosing him," Esme said, refusing to pick that damned bottle up.
"He never figured out I was the one supplying his dad with it—what makes you think he'll figure it out this time? It's never going to come back to you. Maybe he'll blame it on that whore that's after him. Maggie's smart. Listen to her." Mom wiggled her legs like she was ready to jump out of bed and show her the way to hell.
"Mom, I can't!" Esme stood up. "I love Carlisle. We're getting married. I can't keep stringing his brother along like this. He trusts me!"
"Exactly. That's why you can do this indefinitely." Mom blew her a kiss, shooed her away, and Esme left, returning to the airport, with those pills hidden in her luggage.
She sighed and flew home, crying the entire way.
.
.
.
"Sorry, hon, they're real," Eric said, patting her back.
She sniffed and her eyes saw nothing—nothing at all. "They can't be."
"They are."
"I . . . Okay," she said. "It's over. I'm divorcing him."
"Good for you," he agreed.
"I'm delivering the damn papers myself, and I'm going to make him look me in the eye when I throw those nasty pictures of the both of them together in his face!" She stormed into her closet, started packing and for the first time since she'd left him, she used the credit card Edward had given her. Plane ticket was on him. It was the least he could do—pay for her ride when she deserved to watch him squirm.
If he did squirm.
Other than his drunk email, she'd heard nothing more from him.
Bella slammed clothes into the suitcase and was ready to go within a half hour.
"Tell my mom where I went. I can't face her—she'll try to talk me out of this," she said, kissing both his cheeks and leaving before she lost the nerve to do it.
The cab smelled bad on the way to the airport. The air was stale on the plane, and the smog of California almost made her choke as she barely held it together.
She was dropped off at the front gates. Her fingers were all over the place as she tried three times to enter the code.
Finally, on the fourth try, she was able to keep her hand still enough to get the numbers entered.
The gate parted and she made her way up the long driveway and to the garage.
She entered through the side door, set her luggage down and slipped her shoes off, right inside the door.
Her mom told her she should've been doing that the whole time so she could keep his white carpets pristine. Bella had never thought of it—it never crossed her mind, like so many other aspects of being married to a Hollywood mogul.
She tiptoed up the stairs, hoping he wasn't back yet. One more time—to take in what was once hers. That's all she needed; a moment to say goodbye to this life and to him without anybody else around.
She bit her lip and opened their—no, his—bedroom door.
"Mmmm," she heard somebody moan from the bathroom.
Was he in there?
She froze. Oh no!
Backtracking as quick and as quiet as she could, she knocked into his nightstand.
"Maggie? Is that you? He's in here. I've got him knocked out," Esme's voice called.
"What?" Bella cried, and before she knew what she was doing, she flew into that bathroom.
Esme had Edward sitting on the ground, his head tipped over the toilet bowl. He was propped up with some cushions behind him with the seat raised. It was clear, he was unconscious, and there was drug paraphernalia all over the floor at his feet.
"What in the hell?" Bella gasped, and her hands flew over her mouth.
"It's not . . . Everything's fine," Esme said, approaching her with her hands up.
Tears flooded Bella's eyes, and she shook her head in horror. "No!" she said, muffled by her hands.
"I had to!" Esme said. "She knew, and I needed this job."
Bella's hands dropped and she gripped the door jamb. "You were letting Maggie in?"
"I . . . yes, but—"
Bella ran, tore through the room and called for Sam and the security team as she raced across the lawn.
"Stop, you bitch!" Maggie screamed and sprinted after her.
Bella ran faster.
She tripped and fell, skinned her knee, but managed to scramble back up and ran like Edward's life depended on it.
"Owwwww!" Bella howled as claws raked down the back of her head and then yanked her hair back so hard, she was slammed onto the ground.
Maggie crashed on top of her, a gun pointed at Bella's throat. "Listen up, you miserable little gold-digger. He's mine. I'm carrying his baby. And there's nothing you can do from stopping me."
"I didn't come here to stop you; I came to shove divorce papers up his ass!" Bella kicked her legs. "But now I don't believe you!"
Maggie dug the barrel of the gun into her windpipe. "Believe this—we've been giving him speed again. He needs it, and you were never going to help him get better."
"You what?" Bella flailed under her. Why couldn't she knock this waif off her?
"You heard me." Maggie flung her head to the side to get her hair out of her face. "Yeah, that's right. And Esme's been doing it for me. She's the one that's been leaking stuff about us to the trash-mags. Brilliant, huh? She's always with him—so she sees us together, and I plan the shots ahead of time, so she gets some good pictures." She chuckled.
"Why? Why would she do that?" Bella struggled to speak.
"Because, you worthless little brat—Esme's mom is the one that gave his dad the pills all those years ago. And his dad paid her to disappear, to pretend she died so he could keep his source anonymous and feign innocence to the public. Her mom needed medical help, so Esme was taking his money when he wasn't looking."
Bella stopped fighting. Her face flooded with hot, poisoned tears.
"Get off her, Mags," some guy said with a rough baritone.
"You shouldn't be here, Gray. We weren't ready for you yet," Maggie said.
He ripped her off Bella, but instead of making a break for it, Bella simply lie there, staring at them.
She pulled out her phone and managed to press record, filming them from the side as he yanked her into an embrace, kissed and fondled her.
"Stop it," Maggie said, pushing him away and smiling like she wanted more.
"Why should I?"
Bella made sure to make the phone completely inconspicuous, and she had no idea how much of this she was actually catching, but hopefully she'd at least get their voices.
"I say we kill her now. I've got Sam's gun. I can wipe my prints clean and put it back. He'll touch it and we can say he shot her for breaking and entering," Maggie said.
"You mean Esme can say . . ." he corrected her.
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." Maggie leveled the gun right at Bella's chest. "Bye, bye, little girl. You had a better run than I thought." Maggie snorted and her nostrils flared as bloodlust filled her eyes.
"What. Are. You. Doing?" Esme hollered, running at them.
"Getting rid of the competition. We don't need her anymore," Maggie said.
"You can't shoot her!" Esme's voice said, going up an octave.
"Why not?" Maggie stepped closer to her victim. "This bitch has been nothing but trouble. It was fun to have her around for a little while, making Edward crazy, but she was supposed to drive him back into my arms. She had no idea what she was doing. Amateur." Maggie chuckled.
"No! You can't hurt her," Esme howled and launched herself at Maggie, tackling her to the ground.
Bella scuttled backward, out of the line of fire. Just as she was about to call for help and stop the recording, Sam and several of the security team busted onto the grounds.
Gray was kicking Esme, and Bella screamed as she heard bones breaking and Esme screeched in pain.
The security team swarmed Gray first, taking him into custody and cuffing him.
Whaaaam!
Esme kicked Maggie in the gut, jettisoning her off and up into the air.
Bella had it all recording now, making sure she had every detail in view.
"No! Don't hurt my baby!" Gray bellowed and tried to wrench his wrists out of the cuffs from behind his back. Sam yanked him back and shoved him into Grady's grip.
"Hold him!" Sam demanded. "I'm gonna get that demon bitch, Maggie, and haul her ass straight to prison myself."
Bella's whole heart lit up in flames. It wasn't Edward's. She knew—deep down, her soul told her it wasn't his.
And her heart warmed even more toward Sam. Because of him—she was able to get inside the gates and past all of the security measures. Each time he switched the codes, he'd send her a little text with the new numbers and procedures. He was always eager for her return and hoped she'd forgive his boss.
"No, no! I'm not going back!" Maggie hissed and fought back.
But Sam was huge, and she knew he'd have her in custody in no time.
Esme backed away and put her hands out for one of the team members to cuff her. She was cooperating.
Piiiiishhhhowwwww!
A shot rang out, and Bella jumped. They all gasped as blood splattered everywhere.
Sam cursed and took a step back, revealing Maggie's body, slumped on the ground, the gun a few inches away from her hand and half her head blown off.
"Maaaaags!" Gray howled, and ripped his way toward her, dragging anyone along that tried to stop him.
He dropped to his knees, draped her body with his and convulsed as he wept over her.
"No! I love you! You can't do this!" Gray kicked at anybody that touched him. His caterwauls of agony ripped through Bella, and so much guilt washed over her as she considered how things could have been so different.
If Bella had refused to ever pretend to be Edward's wife in the first place and come here . . .
Edward!
She popped up, ran back to the house and found him tucked in bed.
All of the drug props were gone, and there was no evidence anywhere of what they were about to do to him. More evidence to hold against him.
She ran her hand across his forehead. He was warm, but not feverish.
Her fingers drifted into his hair. "We'll be okay. Won't we . . . ?" she asked the man in the bed.
There was no reply, no movement.
And that's when it all came down on her.
Esme!
Her legs pumped hard as she raced back out to where the security team was, calling for emergency services and help from the police.
Before anybody knew it—
Slllllaaaaap! Slllllaaaaap! Slaaaaap!
Bella was beating Esme bloody. She deserved to be torn to shreds.
"You! This was all you! Your fault!" Bella roared, knocking that devil woman on her ass.
"Get off me!" Esme cried. She rolled from side to side, trying to knock Bella away, but it was useless. Her hands were bound behind her back.
"Are you gonna do something?" one of the guys asked Sam.
"Nah. Bella won't do anything to her she doesn't deserve . . ." Sam stepped back and watched, smiling.
.
.
.
Edward woke up after several hours, disoriented.
"Heaven," he sighed as he saw those gorgeous brown eyes peering into his, hovering over him.
He had to be dead, because she was gone.
"You're right—this right here—heaven." She smiled.
His toes lit on fire and then it raced up his body, landing in his chest. The way she looked at him, the way she breathed even . . . How was she here?
"They were drugging you," she said, as if this answered how his angel appeared.
"They killed me? I ODd?" he asked softly.
Bella chuckled. "No. I'd be in jail if that was case, because then I really would've killed Esme." She held up both her skinned, bloodied knuckles and grinned.
"Esme?" He tried to sit up, but his head spun. He groaned and collapsed back onto the pillows. "Why?"
"It's a long story, and one that goes into your past. Why don't we make up first before I share the nastiness of this whole ordeal?" She leaned over and with the slightest brush, her lips moved over his.
With a moan, he tasted her.
With a shift of her hips, she was on top of him, straddling his waist.
And with a sigh, he managed to pull her under the blankets with him.
"Does this mean you still love me and you'll stay?" His voice cracked with anguish over the thought of her leaving again. "Because if you're going, kill me now. I can't take it, Bella. I died here without you."
"It means, I love you, and I'm staying, but you've gotta let me in."
"I will."
"No more taking out your stress on me." She pinched his arm.
"Ow! Okay."
"And no more yanking me out of parties I attend that my friends from school invite me to."
He frowned. "How about I tell the whole world I love you, you're my wife, and I keep you chained to my side at all these god-awful parties, and I bludgeon any guy that touches you?" He grinned in that wicked way she used to find irresistible.
"You mean it?" Her eyes went wide. "You're really going to announce that we're married."
"I can't stand to ever lose you again. This company means nothing compared to you. I'll tell them this very minute if you promise to stay with me forever."
Her lips crashed down on his, she stole his breath away, and when she was done making him pant, she pulled away.
"Forever, Mr. Cullen. That's all I want . . . Me and Mr. Cullen—forever."
THE END