I own nothing.
It was still early when I awoke the next morning, and the very first thing I noticed was that I was alone. Not only in the giant, cushy bed, but in the room also. The bathroom door was slightly open but I knew he was not in there. There was an emptiness to the profound silence around me that left me no doubt.
The pillow beside me was neat. Untouched. Where was he? Why hadn't he returned? Was he okay?
Of course he was. How stupid of me to worry. "He is indestructible, isn't he? Made of granite and steel."
For a while, I lay unmoving in that alien, engulfing bed, where I felt, despite the situation, comfortable and strangely secure. For an instant, I even had the ridiculous impulse to stretch cat-like, relishing the sensation of bare skin flowing over crisp, immaculate sheets. Like I would have done in any ordinary morning in the safety of my own bedroom.
However, this was not my bedroom and, as the memories of the previous night flooded back at me, I was developing serious doubts about the ordinariness of the rising day.
I pushed away the soft white comforter and rose to my feet. I was wearing only the infamous lingerie and a chill swept across my bare arms and legs. I looked around for my clothes, discarded on the floor, only to decide that they were unusable. But tossed askew at the feet of the bed, was the white shirt he had worn last night. He had returned some time during the night after all.
I slipped into it and lifted it to my face, inhaling deeply, greedily. His scent had remained on the fabric. I recognized the faint trace of his cologne, so quiet that it was just barely there, and beneath it, hints of the musky, masculine scent of his skin. That mixture made me dizzy again with wanting him.
I needed it, that solid, silent proof that his presence was not just a figment of my imagination.
The room was spacious, I noticed idly as I made my way into the bathroom, the thick carpet pleasantly soft underfoot. But it was still an unfamiliar, impersonal hotel room and made me feel a wave of yearning after home.
"Soon, perhaps..."
I turned on the bathroom light and the switch clacked stridently in the tiled room. I blinked discomforted at the sudden bright light.
It seemed so quiet without him.
I brushed my teeth, rinsed my mouth, carefully avoided the mirror… I didn't need to look in there to know what I'd see but still, I winced when, unwillingly, I caught sight of my reflection. I looked oddly frail, with pale cheeks and dark circles under my eyes. Strained with my own unsettling thoughts. Unhealthily thin. I shook my head with an indulgent sigh.
"Haven't I done this before? Quite recently, too?" I murmured to my reflection.
I felt...God, I didn't know how I felt. How should I feel? I thought dimly.
Battered. Confused. Misjudged.
Overwhelmed again by his impossibly wondrous personality.
Frustrated, angered and hurt. Terribly in love.
An unbalanced mix of bittersweet sensations. A deep emotional malaise I was incapable of shaking off.
After his inopinate exit, I had stayed awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling through that eerie darkness and thinking, thinking until every recurrent thought twisted and blurred, turning grey and fuzzy. I did not remember falling asleep. I did remember deciding it was plainly exhausting to contemplate all the possible explanations for the appearance of the photo, for the disappearance of the letter and all the reasons one might have to do such things. And that maybe it was best to leave the solving of the mystery to Edward. All I wanted was the things back the way they used to be.
I stepped into the shower, turning it as hot as I could, standing beneath the spray for a long, long time, letting the stinging water ease some of my worries away along with the soreness from my muscles. I was tired of the introspection, of the constant, futile analysis of my feelings. I was tired of feeling them.
I had been sure I wouldn't be able to sleep and still, I did. Despite the emotional exhaustion, despite the worries and the nervousness, despite every unkind thing he had said to me, his presence soothed me. I felt better now that he was here. He cared enough to come here.
He had given me nothing else I could revel in though.
Was he caring enough to take me back?
He had left upset. But so was I. He had said things last night, done things that could not be so easily overlooked. I wondered if he would endeavor to soften my resentment; what a fool indeed I would be if, while offended by wrongful accusation, I could still be worked on by a little good humor. Still, I was aware that my grudge did not mean much. My conscience and scruples were worthless when he took me in his arms, poor, useless chaperons that were vanquished by his first touch.
It was irritating to be so predictable and conscious of it, while I could not even begin to guess what he would do, or say, or think. I had a crazy hope that he'd cooled down though, and come to his senses. That he would turn sweet and tender and we could find again our magical ease. Still, with Edward, you never knew, and little comfort could be found in that hope.
I glanced once more in the mirror before exiting the bathroom. There were no answers in its waters. Only a world of sorrow.
I paused for a moment by the bathroom door and stared at the weak early-morning light that pressed against the window, a graying so fragile that it scarcely penetrated beyond the partly drawn curtains. Odd. I did not remember them being drawn. The day seemed to be dark with low, oppressing clouds. A bad omen, perhaps? The thought gave me a chill and I wrapped his shirt closer to myself, stepping further into the still dim bedroom, padding silently, barefoot.
Then I lifted my eyes and there he was.
Dark, ominous, devastatingly handsome. As if thunderstruck, I stood still, instantly mesmerized and stared at him unable to look away, as helpless as a lamb must stare at a lion about to pounce.
His blackened eyes narrowed as he surveyed me from my bare feet to my disheveled hair. A gleam shifted in them as they traveled the length of my body once more, taking the time to look methodically at all of me. His perusal was intentional and I knew he wanted me to be aware of it.
Slowly, so slowly his attention returned to my face. His features revealed even less than last night. His dark, deliberate gaze locked with mine and I was waiting for him to smirk at me in his insufferable, condescending way. Instead, his deep voice sounded both charged and challenging in an intimate way.
"Washing away the effects of a bad night, Isabella?"
It had been indeed a strenuous, terrible night during which most of the battles had been fought in pregnant silences and haunted looks. During which I had been outright pathetic, weak and utterly pitiful... For that, I felt a stab of annoyance with myself.
"The worst." I admitted in a faint murmur.
Despite my umbrage, the sight of him had made my mouth go dry. He was wearing a Dartmouth green dress shirt, which made his eyes look even greener. I hadn't seen that shirt before; it must have been bought recently. The thought of him doing things without me or my knowledge, as simple and mundane as the purchase of a shirt, made me feel a sharp, searing, incandescent pain that weakened me in a split second like a mortal wound. I almost staggered off my feet. That instant realization that his life in all its aspects, even the trivial ones, could go on without me, hurt me more than his antagonistic aloofness, more than his sarcastic manner.
"Where have you been?" I asked in an altered voice, which at the moment I could not entirely handle.
There was an instant's pause before he answered.
"I drove around and thought things over."
He still sounded so damn remote. I clenched my hands into fists, to stop their shaking, determined to hold on to my control. If he could be self-contained, then so could I. I forced my voice to evenness.
"I thought you were intoxicated. That and driving? It doesn't sound like a wise combination... It doesn't sound like you."
"Last night was no ordinary night."
"Indeed, it wasn't..." I thought wryly.
"You returned, though. You've changed your clothes..."
"Yes," he replied quietly. He hadn't given up on being cryptic and that was so freaking tiring and infuriating that I wanted to scream at him, to shake him, to force him out somehow from behind that impenetrable screen he maintained between us.
"Then left again?"
He remained silent, watching me wordlessly, with cold and inscrutable eyes; but as persistent as I can be at times, I asked the question again.
"I went down to order room-service. I didn't want to wake you by using the phone. Breakfast is on its way. I also bought a toothbrush for you."
"I used yours."
"Of course you did."
Apparently amused by my defiance, he gave his answer casually, turning his eyes to the door of the chamber where a soft knock had sounded. Right on cue. He rose from the bed and went to get it. Seconds later, he returned pushing the breakfast cart and I watched him setting the shinny trays onto the round table by the window.
"I thought that was the waiter's job..."
"Well, you're not exactly dressed for company, are you?"
"And whose fault is that? Thank you for destroying my dress, by the way."
Something passed across his features then was quickly gone. Hadn't I known better, I might have believed it was guilt. Or remorse.
"I will buy you another one. Identical, if you desire to hold on to a lasting memento of a memorable evening."
"It is ruined, nevertheless." I pointed out, stubbornly.
"You should consider yourself lucky that the dress is the only thing coming out destroyed from last night, Isabella..." he said sharply through gritted teeth. "And why is it bothering you so much? Did you try to go anywhere?"
I did not reply.
"Well? Did you?"
"No."
"Good. Now, sit down," he said remotely. "You've had a troubled night; you need to replenish your strength. In addition, by looking at you, I'd say you haven't been eating properly lately."
The breakfast was appealing - omelet with fresh herbs, some wonderful smelling pastries, slices of fresh fruit. He was pouring the coffee and the hot aroma filled the air. I crossed my arms and opened my mouth for a cutting reply but I didn't.
I couldn't.
I wanted to sit down at the same table and share a meal with him.
Also, my stomach rumbled. I was hungry. He took a seat himself and started filling both our plates.
"Sit down and eat with me," he ordered again softly. His voice retained now a gentle yet persuasive tone the effect of which he seemed to be fully conscious. I could not but obey and we ate silently for a while.
I figured it was just as good a time as any to start questioning him.
"Well...have you reached to a conclusion?"
"I expect so. Nocturnal driving always helps me put things into perspective," he replied with the same maddening calm. I waited for him to expand on that but he didn't. He simply made me ask the rest.
"And what might that be?"
His gaze flicked up to me for a moment, cool and assessing and answered with a touch of asperity.
"That I wish to forget as soon as possible about this unexpected... intermission in our life."
"That is such an exhaustive answer, Edward."
He nearly smiled but did not reply.
"You enjoy being incomprehensible, don't you?"
"Judging by your acrimony, Isabella, I think it's about time to clear this uncomfortable air of uncertainty between us."
"I've told you everything I know and everything I feel, Edward. Nothing but the bald truth. Do you want to go trough the story again? It is not exactly comfortable, you know..."
"I know."
"You believe me." I calmly observed, hiding my relief.
"Yes," he said softly, "I do."
I released the breath I had been holding unconsciously.
"I wish you had done it without the terrible show from last night."
"The language of anger is never enjoyable, Isabella..." he sternly replied and his voice took on a raw, tense tone for a moment.
"So I've discovered," I said coolly.
"Your latest actions have prompted me to become more verbally aggressive than I usually am. You were obviously in need... of a reminder of my authority. That is not an excuse, simply an explanation. It's useless to sulk," he continued, apparently impervious to my growing annoyance, "I would do it again if the issue arose. But of course, it won't. Ever.
I do feel sorry though, because a man who does not master himself will never be able to master anything else."
Suddenly he astonished me with a slow, lazy grin. "Least of all a woman stubborn as yourself..." Playfulness went briefly through his voice and he actually chuckled, a dark, deep sound that played across my senses like a wave of pleasure. The same as the strike of the lowest key on a piano resonates throughout a room, the rich sound of his laughter sank through my skin, went all the way to my bones, echoed deep inside my body.
"I'm not in the least stubborn," I said in denial, blowing a stray strand of hair out of my face. My voice came out alarmingly low and smoky. An instantaneous, irrational response to his lighthearted remark. To my dismay, I sounded almost...inviting.
"You always were," he muttered, still amused.
"I am not such thing. And as far as I know, I am my own person; I wasn't aware I needed to be...mastered in any way." I cleared my throat of the huskiness that kept creeping in despite my effort.
A slow, unreadable smile lifted the corners of his mouth again.
"My, Isabella, feeling better already?"
"What makes you think so?"
"Because I get this wild impression that you're flirting with me," he answered with a teasing gleam in his eye.
He had seen right through me, and my transparence annoyed me more than him speculating his insight. Angry heat rose up my neck and bled across my cheeks before he moved his gaze from his plate to my eyes.
"Well, you're mistaken!"
He raised his coffee cup and took a sip. His face became grave and a trifle stern, but his smile was still very sweet.
"I must be or else you wouldn't be giving me this stabbing glare, would you?"
"I am thrilled that you find me humorous."
"Shall we both play the little game of anger, then? Sorry if I don't wiggle my tail around you like a puppy, Isabella. Or my ponytail. Sadly, I don't own one and that's a pity, since you seem to like them..."
"Do you absolutely despise me?" I interrupted him in a snappy tone, annoyed by his ironic and so gratuitous allusion to Jake's hair. Rapidly, his eyes darkened and it seemed to be no indulgence left in them.
"Far from it." he curtly replied. "I am only deeply disappointed with the way you reacted on the issue of the picture, Isabella. And, in spite of all your explanations, still extremely angry for the Mr. Black stunt."
He was on a sudden serious and showed not a smidgen of condescension.
"I feel bad now for leaving home the way I did. As for the Jake stunt, as you call it, I repeat, it was an innocent social interaction. I have nothing to be sorry about."
"Well, I'm definitely going to make sure that you will be," he assured me in a neutral, pleasant tone.
"For God's sake, Edward, what will you do? Have me tarred and feathered for something that did not happen?"
Something dark and dangerous flared in his eyes; again, they were no longer glinting in amusement.
"I've never felt that a man's measure was in his ability to enforce respect and obedience but I believe in discipline as a way of resolving some issues in a healthy relationship. You've crossed a certain line of behavior, my dear. The never-drawn line in the sand. You cannot possibly expect to be no consequences," he said in stony determination.
"That's outrageous!"
I found on a sudden his calm, laid back but thoroughly in charge attitude extremely annoying. I often saw him, or heard him, tell people to do things, or force them to make choices they didn't want to make, or apply pressure, or imply what would happen if they didn't do something. It made my heart flutter to see him use power on them. Now, he was using the same kind of power on me. I grew even more irritated and unsettled and I stared at him defiantly, half expecting some explosion of wrath or stinging irony.
"Perhaps as the 'man in charge', you should look within yourself and see where your own actions have goaded me into poor behavior. The problem may be staring right back at you in the mirror!"
"Even if it were so, that would not change the fact that a rebellious woman lacks in maturity." His tone was still cool, but once more with an undercurrent of amusement.
"Now I'm not only foolish and reckless but immature, too?"
"Oh, yes," he said, smiling. "Decidedly you are."
"So, I'm just a nuisance in the end, am I?"
"Were you only that, would I be here?"
"I don't know, Edward, since I, unlike others, don't claim to have ultimate wisdom and knowledge! Tell me, did I spoil your punctilious routine, your millimetric schedule by making necessary for you to come here? Would you like me to apologize for that, too?"
I seemed to be having this incontrollable need to provoke him. Again, the amusement vanished from his face, leaving it tight and hard as he stared at me.
"You have already won yourself a punishment, Isabella, are you deliberately trying to gain another?"
"No."
"Then you'd better get both your tone and attitude in check. My mood has improved since last night but that won't last if you continue in the same key. My temper is still a bit strained."
"I'm only wondering what gives you the right and the authority to decide if, when and how I should get punished. I am not a commodity in your possession, you know."
"Certain reactions of yours from last night have given me a different idea. You weren't so determined to assert your independence then, were you? What say you? Should I kiss you again just to reconfirm that impression?" he suggested with a deceptively silky voice as he was looking at me amused, but with penetrating interest.
The sharp memory of Edward's kiss, his mouth devouring mine, flashed through my mind as a shiver chased down my spine. That frisson of immodest reminiscence creeping along my nerves left me striving for coherent thought. I swallowed to alleviate the sudden dryness of my mouth. Was there really no limit to what this man could make me feel?
"Now we know where we stand," he said with grim satisfaction when the sole reply from my part was only a furious, embarrassed silence.
I placed my fork carefully beside the plate and gathered my courage for a second round. For a more in-depth discussion.
"Maybe we should talk instead about what brought us into this unusual situation... I cannot think of one reason why would I be sent a fake photograph. Did you figure out an explanation..."
He met my gaze steadily. The line of his jaw tightened and he refused the gambit with a shake of his head.
"I will not sit here and dissect possibilities. I will go back home and find out what happened. Simple as that."
"Somebody must have taken the letter, Edward..."
He put down his fork, patted his lips with his napkin and flashed a kind of foreboding smile that turned my spine icy.
"That is precisely the reason why you are to remain here until I discover what the hell had happened at home. That 'somebody's' existence. I've traded my ticket for an earlier flight. The plane is leaving in a few hours."
I stared at him in impotent astonishment, as he too quickly went on.
"You will be staying here, at the hotel. There is no need for us to disturb Ms. Weber any further."
"But..."
He stopped me with his upraised hand.
"When we've finished here, I'll go to her place to fetch your things."
"I hope you do not intend to put up a show of strength for Angela as well!"
"I cast no blame on Ms. Weber, Isabella. On the contrary, I'm very grateful to her for sheltering you." He made a small pause then muttered pensively. "I shall have to thank her."
"Can't I come with you... to see Angela, I mean?"
"There is nothing suitable for you to wear, darling," he answered with a satisfied grin, his bright stare daring me to comment some more on his role in causing that. "Plus, afterwards I intend to have a word with your friend, Mr. Black and your presence wouldn't be quite ... appropriate."
"Must you speak to him again?"
The suppressed irritation of his words cut across my question.
"I'm afraid it is rather important. It can't be avoided."
"You were quite transparent last night...I'm sure he understood plenty."
I heard the soft hiss of his breath and a wry smile curved his mouth.
"And how exactly do you consider my last night's behavior to have been?"
"You were rude. That is quite unlike you."
Although his finely molded features were expressionless, I could tell that he was starting to get mad.
"I fail to see how Mr. Black's offended sensibility or welfare are still of interest to you," he said roughly. "He should not be your concern."
"Please, don't be nasty with Jake, Edward. There's no need to be...he truly has no fault..." The faint, involuntary echo of plea in my voice irritated him enough to make him raise his voice again.
"I'll act as I think best and I'll deal with him as I choose!"
He scowled at me, his eyes smoldering; he looked openly angry again.
"But I am glad you trust my judgment so that you feel necessary to advise me..." The biting wit in his tone was like a whip.
"Hold back your pleas or I might get this crazy idea that you are harboring deeper feelings for Mr. Black than your claimed friendship," he warned quietly, and then there was steel in his voice and his expression darkened yet more. "You don't want that idea nestled in my mind."
When he spoke again, there was a vague trace of softness in his voice.
"However, you needn't to worry about him. In the long term, he doesn't very much interest me. I have more...significant things on my mind."
His smile disappeared as he pushed back his chair and got to his feet.
"My intentions are only to make sure that your friend fully comprehends that you are my wife..."
I trembled at the way the word "wife" cut from his lips but unwisely, I pressed him harder, further. I gazed up at him, lifting my chin defiantly.
"And what if he doesn't understand it, Edward?"
He gave me a humorless smile and answered in a very soft, almost gentle tone but a savage glitter lit his eyes for the briefest second. The grim determination in his face chilled me to the core of my being.
"Then I'll hurt him."
I was not to know until much, much later that he had already been to see Jake.
When he had returned, he carried a few shopping bags and my scarce belongings from Angela's. Bearing a backpack while wearing a well-tailored suit was not a particularly happy combination, but somehow he managed to pull it off. Exceptionally.
I had been impatiently waiting for him anxious as a caged cat. The best strategy I could come up with in such short notice was to avoid arguing with him at all costs and sweet-talk my way home. No man, however wise, is able to remain totally immune to a woman's versatile, formidable arsenal of methods. He may see her scheme for what it is, but still be vulnerable to it.
Except that he started talking almost as soon as he entered, destabilizing for the moment my carefully planned ambush.
"Since your phone has been found in bits and pieces in the trash, I suspect you haven't got a new one. It seems modern forms of communication have been bothering you lately. You've resorted to old-fashioned letters instead... I just wonder how poor Mr. Black managed to get in touch with you. By simply showing up at the door? By howling at your window?"
He was speaking offhand, his tone musing in not so well hidden amusement but his eyes gleamed with faint irony.
I sucked in a steadying breath.
"I don't have a cell phone." I stated dryly, ignoring his other remarks. Anger seared me; I was innocent, and I was getting enough of being treated like a persona non grata.
"Didn't think you did either. I've bought one for you. I hope this one will not suffer some misfortunate accident too, because that will make me very unhappy."
He reached inside of one of the bags and retrieved a small box, its content obvious. With swift, precise, efficient movements, as if he were assembling a gun, he began putting the phone together. He activated the pre-paid credit and transferred his contacts to the new phone. Then he memorized the fresh number into his own cell. He even plugged in the charger and made sure it was working properly.
"That's very thoughtful of you..." I muttered ironically.
"No problem concerning you is too small for my personal attention," he quickly parried, his face impassive.
Wordlessly, he handed me a second bag. It was a gift bag, heavy for its dimensions and I peeked inside cautiously. To my surprise, it contained toiletries: shampoo, conditioner, face cream, body lotion. A perfume. All the brands I usually used at home.
It amazed me he knew exactly each product and its manufacturer and I cast him a silent, inquisitive look. He gave his shoulders an elegant shrug and explained simply, almost tenderly.
"You smell differently. I don't like it."
His unpredictable gestures, his mood swings, his entire mercurial behavior were so disconcerting, so increasingly confusing and they made me feel so angrily vulnerable that I did not know how to react anymore.
He next reached inside his suit jacket and took out his wallet. He opened it and meticulously drew out one, then a second credit card and extended them to me. His eyes were fixing me intently, in a silent, taunting provocation, expecting me to say something, anything in protest, almost inviting me to make an issue of it. I stared blankly at the little plastic slices and with a vague sensation of failure, I took them, just as silent as he was. Fighting his will in that matter would have been pointless.
I thought I saw his firm lips twitching in a triumphant little smile.
He checked his watch and started packing up his case without looking at me. He moved about the room silently, gathering his things. He hadn't quite unpacked and it did not take him long. A few items in the bathroom - fathomless his face. Each move swift and sure. I watched him without a sound, the realization that he was leaving suddenly sinking in. His look swept the room in search for things he might have forgotten and took a brief glance at the shirt I was wearing. His. Bearing his comforting scent. Unconsciously, I clung to it with one unsteady hand, unwilling to give it back to him. He didn't ask for it though and closed his traveling bag. The cold, metallic sound of the zipper added a final, startling note to the quiet.
When the heaviness of silence became unbearable, I finally put the most obvious question, with a considerable effort to prevent the tremor in my voice to be heard; as I spoke, a wave of nervousness and hurt washed through me.
"Why can't I go with you?"
"Because I think it is better this way," he replied severely and his purposely obscure answer inflamed my already precarious state.
"Are you leaving me here as a form of punishment?"
"No," he said curtly. "I'm leaving you here because it is safer. As for your punishment...that is a subject we'll need to discuss at a later date."
"Don't pretend, Edward! This isn't about my safety; this is about you controlling me!"
He only glanced in my direction, his face a cool mask of propriety.
"Then it wouldn't be very smart for me to leave you here, would it? I can think of better ways to control someone than from thousands of miles away."
"I'm sure you'll find the means to do exactly that!"
"I must be a superman, then..."
"I could always come home by myself..." I stubbornly continued.
"For a runaway wife, you are on a sudden very eager to return home, aren't you?"
I drew a deep breath. To hell with my strategy.
"I may still do it!"
"No, you won't," he said evenly.
"Who in hell do you think you are?"
He started carrying his bags to the door and without taking his eye off the task at hand, in a very assured, calm voice, he simply asked:
"Have you forgotten to whom you are talking? Have you by any chance mistaken me for someone else?"
"You can't tell me what to do!"
"I damn well can and will tell you what to do! It is my responsibility to lead our life together and keep it whole. I decided it was best you remained here for now and you will do as you are told."
"I think I'm able to tell for myself when something is best for me, thank you very much!"
"You've lost your choice in the matter the moment you decided that the best for you was to let everything drop, turn tail and run."
"So now I deserve to be treated like an idiot?"
The fine curves of his mouth set in a grim line.
"I did not say that. Nor have I ever thought it, I assure you."
I've never felt so furious with him, so abandoned, and so betrayed as in that moment.
His voice gentled. "I'll be back for you."
"Oh, your magnanimity knows no limits, Edward..."
He stopped dead on the spot and uttered between clenched teeth, in no uncertain terms, in that way that only some men can master: "Listen to me, Isabella!" Green ice would have been warm and soft besides his eyes and his tone thrilled me; of course, I was paying complete attention to him already.
"I usually like the challenge of an argument with you. I can understand the need a woman might have to question or try to test the strength of her man. Even if I find it amusing, I can still understand it and in normal conditions, I would have been more than disposed to take the time and expend the energy necessary to separate you from your dragon. Actually, I would have quite enjoyed it.
But this is not a common circumstance. So if you continue to spit defiance at me like a ruffled kitten, I can only conclude that you really want to test my limits. There is a limit to my indulgence and I'm starting to believe that perhaps you have the ambitious aim to find out what that limit may be. I am perfectly able to put you over my knee and I'll do it quite easily, Isabella, if that's what it takes for you to listen," he said, and for a moment, he looked as if the prospect gave him immense satisfaction. "It is time you understood how determined I am!"
Suddenly, despite his quiet, cold restraint and deceivingly calm demeanor, he felt dangerous, arousing my fear and submission. It was something in him, a strange magnetism that imposed his will without effort, inescapably, forcing me silently into surrender to his predatory, dominating masculine nature.
"I'm sorry if that is not a mutually satisfactory decision, but you will stay here," he said firmly, and that was that.
Oddly, I felt a sort of reluctant pleasure. Because he would not put up with any nonsense from me - however much I pushed him. He knew who he was. He had no problem reminding me and I liked that he did.
He was my husband. Whatever he said, I knew that I was owned.
A few seconds of silence passed by when we just stared at each other.
"You do realize that you're obtaining my obedience with the cost of my resentment, don't you?" I weakly inquired.
"I think I can manage your resentment for the time being, Isabella, very much unlike the prospect of you being put in any danger by the person playing games with us. When you'll have given up on being stubborn and seen things from this perspective, you're going to be more understanding about this whole situation, I'm sure."
There was a light tap at the door and moving with negligent, almost casual grace, Edward went to open it. It was the bellhop for his luggage. Edward passed him his bag and laptop case without allowing him to enter and tipped him in advance. When the boy was gone, he sat on the bed and refastened his shoelaces.
His tone had changed again.
"I must confess that I have never even entertained the thought that you might be seeing other men during my absences..."
He came lithely to his feet in a single fluid movement, stepping towards me, so close that I could smell the good wool of his suit, the tantalizing whiff of his cologne. He looked at me intensely and brief irony shone in those eyes like green ice.
"...and facing that inconceivable reality has been a very, very unpleasant revelation for which I was quite unprepared." The bright amusement in his eyes had been swiftly replaced by a hard, opaque stare as he continued. "So, for now, I want no more surprises, Isabella. I doubt it's necessary to underline that seeing Mr. Black again is not an option." The calm voice was both patient and warning. "Or any other man."
"What are going to do, Edward, forbid me to leave the hotel?" I asked with a residue of bitterness.
"The thought did cross my mind, yeah... Don't tempt me into acting on it!"
His beautiful lips formed a smile, inches away from a kiss and he traced a cold fingertip over my cheekbone, suggestively. His voice lowered to a whisper, making me think of a scrap of black velvet, sliding over a luxuriously polished mahogany bed poster. All soft grace, though the words could easily be construed as a lead-in to a threat. One last warning that there were consequences to provoking him and contravening his will.
"Never defy me again!"
As he spoke, he let his hand drop and brushed mine so gently I barely felt it, yet an erotic frisson of awareness skated over the inflamed endings of my nerves, adding to my distress. It wasn't fair that such a simple gesture could make me catch my breath.
"Well...good bye for now."
A cold despair was creeping inside my soul, filling me, thrusting aside anger and discontentment. Behind my stiff façade, I was very needy of reassurance and his dry words were not soothing at all my galloping anxiety. I wanted him to hold me, to promise me that everything would be fine.
He placed his coat on his arm, took a step aside to pass by me and hastened out with firm stride and grim, determined purpose. His steps were soundless.
I stayed perfectly still as he walked past me to the door.
This was not some cruel farce after all.
He was leaving.
Really leaving.
Again.
On a sudden, I could not speak, I could not draw breath.
What if he had lied to me?
What if he had lied about returning for me just...to edulcorate a harsh reality? Just to avoid a scene?
I heard the door opening.
What if the agonizing emotional distance he kept between us was a sign?
What if he was leaving me for good?
I made a pitiful, unsuccessful effort not to look after him. I turned around just in time to see him stepping out.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Panic welled in me, smothering me.
He was leaving me and he did not care about it.
He was washing his hands of me.
A shriek of distress sounded in my throat.
For what seemed an eternity I just stood paralyzed, frozen, inert in bleak desolation.
I couldn't bear just to stay there like a marionette and watch him going away.
Staring at the door won't bring him back.
The thought gave me sudden strength.
I ran to the door.
I reached for the door handle.
I stepped into the hallway.
As I looked on, it was as if time stood still.
"Edward," I whispered softly, choked with anguish.
He paused, though he did not turn around. That long corridor seemed to narrow and stretch itself towards infinity, Edward just a gloom shadow in the middle of it.
"Edward," I called after him, louder, almost pleading now.
I took another step towards him, as weak and feeble as a wounded creature.
I was in despair, clutching at a last forlorn hope.
He half turned and watched me without a gesture and without any decipherable expression. His stern face, as of late hard to read, was now frozen like marble. He looked like a statue, unmoving, unfeeling.
The obstinate vacuity of his features made the blood drain from my head. I thought I might faint.
Something alarmed him, my voice, my faltering steps, the agony in my eyes.
He let his coat falling on the floor and reached me in two long strides, his arm sliding around my waist, pulling me briefly, with a tangible stiff reluctance, into the support of his body.
Encouraged by his gesture, which, despite his vague air of discomfiture I took as a small concession, I broke into a frantic, imploring whisper.
"If you're going to leave me, make love to me once more, Edward. Please... Just one more time," I feverishly pleaded, my voice becoming thick with tears.
The moment I had said this I flushed, ashamed of myself, of my folly. Where had the bold, foolish words come from? It was too late to call them back; I held my breath, waiting for him to push me away from him, to laugh and turn my pitiable plea into the cruelest kind of joke.
"No one is leaving anyone here...," he said steadily beneath his breath.
Perhaps he sensed that any unkind or contemptuous remark from him at that moment would have irremediably ripped me apart into millions of pieces.
But there was a new, caressing, soothing undertone in his deep, rich voice. I reached up with my shaking hand and dared gently, hesitantly to touch with my fingertips his forehead, the blade of his cheekbone.
"Please, Edward... I don't know how much longer I can resist without you...please don't leave me here..." My breathless rush trailed off and I released a sob.
With a lightning-swift gesture he captured my hand, held it to his cheek for a heartbeat and hungrily inhaled at the inside of my wrist. A rawness spilled into his eyes, of need and words and things remained unsaid. He made a deep-throated sound and with one firm motion, brought me colliding with his hard body, almost knocking the breath from me.
He crushed me against him, tightly, his hand sliding down the small of my back and intently molding my hips to his. A shudder passed through my spine and I inhaled sharply with a sudden apprehension. He was allowing me to feel his erection; even more, he was making sure that I felt it without any doubt. A silent, primeval, purely male form of reassurance.
He smiled a little knowingly smile, perfectly aware of the startling effects of his action, and looked at me so intensely that my head swam. Only then he lowered his head and took my mouth, in a way that told me that he too, was hungry for me.
He gave himself freely, held nothing back and I reveled in his taste, as the coolness of his lips rapidly became warm, then hard and hot. I all but whimpered into his mouth, squirming hungrily against him, trying to lift myself enough so that I could cradle the hard ridge of his manhood between my legs.
Weakness flooded my limbs, a sensual, highly erotic weakness that threatened to steal even my ability to breathe. The marrow seemed to be melting inside my bones and a maelstrom of delightful sensations overtook me. Animosity, doubt, the stinging of being excluded were all forgotten. It was such rapture in that kiss, in that embrace that it was pain. I simply adored him.
Ripping his mouth from mine, he buried his face in the curve of my throat. His breath burned my skin, heavy. "No," he whispered lifting his head and the word brushed my cheek like a kiss. "I won't take you with me this time." It was as if he were reaffirming his decision to himself. As if the spoken words would keep his resolve strong. "But I'll be back before you know it. That's a promise. I'll try not to make you wait too long," he assured me repeatedly with tender warmth.
What choice did I have except to believe him?
His hands pressed again against my back, squeezing me tight, squeezing the breath out of me, then, disappointingly, they fell away.
"Now...as much as I liked your state of undressing, I am more than unwilling to share such an exquisite view with anyone else. Return to the room," he said quietly though despite the soft words, it wasn't a request, but a demand.
"Another second, please..." I protested feverishly and clung to him with the despair of the damned. Like a mad woman.
"You must let me go, love... Making me miss my flight will not help the matters at all. Go inside. Now." His tone changed to brisk command, the words close by my ear. "I'll stay here until you've entered."
I seemed to have lost the will to move and only with extreme reluctance and out of the fear of appearing obsessed and clingy I obeyed. I let go of him and instantly felt horribly bereft.
Nothing was strong enough to divert him from his quest.
I couldn't utter farewell words. I didn't trust my voice not to break into helpless sobs. I nodded instead and gave him a parody of a smile. Then turned and stepped away on shaky legs.
I felt his eyes on me but I didn't dare to look back at him; without doubt, as promised, he didn't turn and go to the elevators until he'd heard the door close.
Thank you for reading.