A/N:

Thanks for your reviews!

I apologize in advance to the Seattle PD... xoxo


"I don't know many people."
"I know too many people. I guess we're both lonely."

- Susan & Kane


December 6, 2009

Bella

I tug on my hat, making sure it covers my ears. Edward is politely looking away, focusing on something imaginary in my foyer. He's dressed in almost all black, with the exception of his gray wool coat. Even completely bundled up, he's just as gorgeous.

I sneak covert glances, still giddy about the fact that he called. After the first week, I was sure he wouldn't.

"So, I was thinking we could walk to the downtown bakery and see some Christmas lights on the way. Mrs. Cope lives above the shop, so it's open late."

I await his reply with shallow breaths. It's not a very exciting plan, but it's the best I could come up with if I don't want to eat at the diner on my day off.

He hesitates for a fraction of a second, and I wonder if he already made plans of his own. Maybe he intended to take me to Port Angeles since there isn't much here.

He smiles easily after the delay, looking no worse for wear, so I don't pursue the thought.

"That sounds good."

I smile back and grab my set of keys from the hook near the door. It wouldn't be very wise to use the eave key in front of him.

"We won't see any lights for a little while, but the stretch about halfway to the diner is pretty impressive," I explain as we walk outside, hoping to fill the silence. I'm glad to see that dusk is still present. We'll be able to see the lights and I'll hopefully spot a stick before I trip on it. This a marvelous time of day, just for that reason alone.

Edward nods and sticks his hands into his coat pockets.

"So, is this what people do in a small town?" He sounds genuinely intrigued, as if Forks is an equation to be worked out.

"I don't know what people do." A blush immediately invades my face at the admittance of such naivety. "This is just what my dad and I did every year."

Sharp twinges of sadness sweep through me as I think of Thanksgiving a week and a half ago, his untouched room... I've definitely got empty nest syndrome, in a reversed kind of way.

"How long has it been?" His voice is soft and hesitant, but not pitying.

"Almost a year," I respond, grateful that he has deducted the gist of the situation on his own.

We walk in silence for half a minute, and I'm really hoping he's not mustering the courage to ask about Charlie.

I nervously glance at Edward, causing our eyes to lock when he catches me. The fact that I can't seem to look away isn't doing great things to my odds of staying upright.

When Edward finally speaks, his unexpected words come out in a rush - as if he's unable to contain them a moment longer.

"I'm sorry that I took so long to call. I was only able to get away from Seattle that one day, and I didn't know if I was supposed to call that soon. If you subscribed to any 'rules,' you know. And I haven't been able to come up here since."

"Rules?" I ask, confused and slightly dazzled by his intense gaze. He looks away.

"Yeah, dating rules, you know? They're similar to all girl rules, I suppose. Like those shoes matching your - or not kissing on the -" He shakes his head dismissively, and I have the pleasure of seeing his rosy cheeks for the first time.

Edward glances at me, surely seeing the fond bewilderment on my face.

"Never mind. I'm just...sorry."

"It's okay," I appease easily. Prolonging his embarrassment wouldn't be very nice, even if it is endearing to watch.

"I don't follow any rules, Edward. Except the law, of course. Police chief's daughter, after all," I smirk. Edward chuckles and takes a deep breath. He's trying to relax, I think.

I have no idea why he's so keyed up. It's just...me.

"So what do you do, anyway?" I ask casually, hoping to bring him to comfortable, familiar territory. Plus, I'm rather curious. I know he must be wealthy if his previous tip is anything to go by. Wealthy and...young.

"I buy struggling companies, fix them up, and then sell them for a profit. Sometimes, I keep them."

Oh. "That probably sounds a lot easier than it actually is," I guess conversationally.

"I suppose. It takes some time, but as long as you have enough start-up money, you're fine. Luckily, that wasn't a problem."

"Trust fund baby?" I ask tactlessly, before I can stop the words. My tone is simply curious, but it still isn't a polite thing to say.

Edward's face is unreadable, and I hurry to correct my mistake.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ask that. Well I did, but I mean..."

Eloquent, Bella.

I take a deep breath, Edward Cullen style, before I try to make more sense.

"I won't think badly of you if you are, as long as you don't think badly of me because I'm not."

There, that sounded good enough. Almost like a business deal...with the gazillionaire.

"Isabella," he says, and I am suddenly aware that I am stationary, with my gaze on the pavement. I look up warily. He doesn't seem mad, but that doesn't mean much. I hardly know him.

"It's okay. I was a 'trust fund baby,' and I don't care that you're not."

I nod, feeling a desperate need to lighten the moment. At this rate, we'll be talking about religion and politics in five minutes, tops.

I look around where we've stopped, hoping for a list of recommended "ice breakers" to miraculously appear. Unfortunately, all I see is a light sprinkling of snow.

Feeling a tug on my sleeve, I quickly bring my attention back to Edward. His hold is tentative as he grips only the quilted fabric. His voice is just as soft.

"You don't do this either, do you?"

I shake my head sheepishly, taking note of the odd disappointment I feel when Edward releases my coat.

I'm still looking at him when pensive lines form across his forehead. He's not thinking about just anything; he seems sad.

Without a thought, my hand reaches up to smooth the creases. I couldn't have stopped the motion even if my shyness wanted me to. His face is too beautiful to be crumpled.

Edward's stare imprisons me when my gloved fingers make contact, bringing me into a smaller, heady reality.

All I can see or feel are burning, emerald eyes.

The need to get much closer.

My palm still against his cheek.

I rub my thumb over the slight stubble on his chin, soothing the skin.

I have not kissed a boy since Jacob Black, and Edward is no boy.

My feet take a half-step backwards without an explicit command to do so, causing my hand to drop. I stare at my fallen fingers with shocked accusation, never having hated my self-preservation instinct more.

Embarrassed, I reluctantly peer up at Edward through my lashes. Fortunately, he doesn't seem too upset with me.

I'm kind of upset with me.

But Edward just holds out his hand.

"Come on, let's go see those lights."


July 21, 2010

Edward

My eyes briefly scan the diner, the patrons, the mousy waitress who probably doesn't even own a pair of Keds. Forks is ordinary without Isabella - likely a reverted form of the ghost town it was before her. Regardless, it still feels like it's the closest I can get to my heart.

I sense the old man's stare as I run a finger over the edge of my coffee mug. I'm certain that it's the same onlooker as last time. But instead of his eyes shining with curiosity, this time they're accusing.

You drove her away.

"Edward?" A familiar, indelicate voice breaks me out of my perceived mindreading. I turn toward the sound impassively. My bear of a brother looks flustered.

"I've been looking all over. The police want to 'interview' you."

"Forks police?" I ask, even though this makes little sense.

"No. They love Bella like their own, but they know they can't do anything. This is Seattle's. Besides, they have, what, two guys now?"

I remain silent, still. Maybe if I ignore him, he'll leave like a confused predator.

"Come on, we should hurry. They think you've skipped town or something."

I can't help but to disagree. I'm in no hurry to see Chief Dickwad. I had to work with him when the activists were going nuts, and it wasn't a pleasant experience.

Regardless, I know Emmett is right. I have to meet with them if I'm planning on getting any peace and quiet in the future.

"You can come back tomorrow. You can even stay at my house," he bargain-pleads.

"Fine," I grumble, slightly annoyed that he thinks he has any say in my plans. I'm not an invalid. And I can stay at Isabella's house if I need to.

I get up regretfully, sliding a five dollar bill beneath the untouched drink.

"Should we call Eric?" Emmett asks as he pushes open the door. The sound the bell makes is almost enough to make me head back to my table.

I sigh. "No, he's probably busy. I'll just listen to what they have to say. I'm sure I can handle them."

Emmett stops advancing toward the lot when he sees my shiny, black chauffeur vehicle parked outside. I can only assume that Riley is still inside. Luckily, with a high of 64, the temperature is lower than average today.

"How long have you been here, Edward?" my brother asks, sounding a little afraid of the answer.

I look up at the sky, trying to determine the time of day without using my wristwatch. I'm sure I look crazy, but it doesn't matter.

I focus my eyes back on Emmett's face, determined to look past the pity there.

"I don't know."


Mike Newton, the current bane of my existence, is a somewhat squishy man who has seen one too many cop shows. His wrinkled shirt has a smattering of what appears to be potato chip crumbs, but further analysis might be needed. Despite his scowling baby face, I know that he's about 35.

He leads me to a dim, dank room comprised of just a desk and an opposing folding chair. The image isn't too far off from CSI, which I'm sure is their goal.

I sit down as he paces behind the metal barrier between us. Internally, I'm rolling my eyes as he waits a full minute to talk.

Suspense. Always build the suspense.

"You didn't tell us that you were having marital problems, Edward," Mike finally accuses. He sounds betrayed, as if I left out juicy information while we were being buddy-buddy on the putting green.

"Doesn't everyone?" I ask in a blasé, rhetorical way. He himself seems to be the type to have a drink or two before coming home to the missus.

"Sure, but not at the level of lawyers and separation. You should have told us that you were looking into divorce. Instead, we heard it on the evening news." He says news like its propaganda bullshit, but he sure seems to put a lot of stock into it.

"Luckily, spineless newscasters are quick to give up 'anonymous' sources," he adds, doing that finger quote thing. I somehow hate him even more.

Mike stops pacing and rests his palms on top of the desk. I wonder if there is actually anything inside of the desk, such as Marilyn Manson CDs used as torture devices. I think I would prefer that to the current conversation.

"Did Isabella sign a prenup, Edward?" Mike digs abruptly, though I'm sure he has already found out. He has his no-nonsense tone on, so I suspect this is the "interrogating" part.

"No," I answer flatly.

"Why not?"

"She offered, but I don't believe in them. I think they're bad luck. A bad omen, if you will."

"So you were willing to lose a pretty penny for the sake of superstition, if it didn't work out?"

I swallow thickly at the thought that our marriage really wasn't working out. Everything that I didn't want to happen, did. Prenup or not.

"I was hoping it wouldn't come to that, but yes."

"So maybe you got bored and didn't want to hand over the money. Maybe you made her disappear?"

"Why would I report her missing if I was the one who made her disappear? Wouldn't I want to keep it hush hush?"

He shrugs, but the movement is just for show.

"People do a lot of weird things. When OJ got off, he wrote a book about how he would have killed his wife. You know, if he really wanted to. Like that was going to ease anyone's worry. Do you consider that behavior normal, Mr. Cullen?"

I stay quiet, recognizing that fucked up question as the trick it is. Mike walks over to the chair and crouches down until he's only a foot from my face.

"That bastard got by with his good looks and money, and I'll be damned if that happens here."

I match his glare with my own. Mike must be delusional. This is Seattle. Our zip code is not 90210.

"I did not kill my wife. You would be better spending your time by actually looking for her like you're supposed to be. I am not going to answer any more of your questions without my lawyer." I shouldn't have said anything at all, but the idiot succeeded in baiting me.

Mike finally stands up, and I'm thankful that I can no longer smell the remnants of his snack time.

"Fine, you're free to go for now." He sounds bored, having just lost his play thing.

I swiftly make my way to the door, intent on punching a tree or a Mike look-a-like as soon as I can get my hands on either.

"Oh and Cullen?" The mischief is back.

I turn around warily, narrowing my eyes at his challenging expression.

"Don't leave town again without telling us."