Jacob is late. He didn't have much warning, I called him as soon as I watched the video. Compulsively, I open my inbox for the hundredth time today; the subject line of the email is innocuous, 'RE: Draft of 081382 memo attached'. I switch my phone to silent and hit play on the video again. Black and white images flicker across the screen while my memory fills in the audio gaps, crackly laughter and shouts at a raucous party. The low resolution picture is just as disturbing without sound, but it's not only the masked figures in the background. It's the sight of Derrick, unmistakable despite his costume and wasted as usual, that makes me feel like there's a heavy stone in the pit of my stomach.
"What's that you've got?"
I tear my eyes away from the screen. Jacob sits across from me, he's wearing a T-shirt and jeans, hair windswept, a pair of Raybans shielding his eyes from the bright sunshine. Mine are lying forgotten on my kitchen counter, so I squint across the table, the perfect, crystal clear blue sky is a phantasmagoric contrast to my mood. Bryant Park isn't busy at this time of the afternoon. We're tucked between the impressive façade of the Grecian-style public library and a lush line of trees; above our heads, vines climb from one end of the patio to the other. Aside from the occasional honking of a car horn, our little alcove is almost completely sheltered from the city beyond.
Starting the video from the beginning, I push my phone across the table to him. A few seconds later Jacob looks as miserable as I feel. He starts to speak but his voice cracks and he has to try a second time. "Where did you get this?"
"Someone emailed it to me."
"What do you mean?" He tries to open the screen again but my phone has autolocked. I take it back and read out the message that came with the video.
"'Nothing happens by accident to the Swan family.' Jake, do you remember that biking accident when you and Derrick were both in the hospital. He was on all that morphine, and he was joking about someone doing it on purpose -"
Jacob shakes his head. "There's no way. I was there the whole time, there was nothing," he hesitates, "nothing sinister about it. It was just an unlucky crash."
"But you were unconscious for a little bit."
"We were in the middle of nowhere, in the mountains. Anyway, you don't have to look that hard for a conspiracy. Look at what he's wearing."
I hit play and stare down, confused, at the striped polo.
"That's what he died in, Bella," Jacob says gently.
"I don't remember."
"I wouldn't either, but I was the one who ID'd the - I saw him again later," he corrects himself. "That's definitely the same shirt, he and Em had some stupid fight about it. She didn't like it, I guess. It was the only time he wore it."
I sit in silence, unable to say anything, staring once more at the video. The last few hours of Derrick's life. I don't know what it means, the video or the email, I'm caught in a rush of feelings and a flood of memories and can't process anything else. Derrick's wide, laughing mouth dominates the screen and then there's a shaky image of his hands, or it could be someone next to him, crushing a scattering of pills with the bottom of a glass until it's a fine powder. And that's it.
"Hey, Jake," I say softly. "Remember what he was like before that accident?"
"You mean before he got hooked on morphine?" Jacob says. There's a forced quality that belies his uncaring tone, a habit engrained from years of fighting with Derrick about it. "Yeah, I do. He was a nice guy."
He watches me stir my drink, the strawberries bumping into each other, bobbing up and down in the clear liquid. He doesn't try to say anything. A rush of gratitude hits me, knowing that more than anybody, except maybe my parents, he understands.
"How are you doing, Bella?" he says.
I can't meet his eyes. I don't want to go back to the conversation of a few minutes ago. "I've been thinking about joining a club. A rock gym or something."
Jacob looks at me for a long moment, his eyes still dark and very painful. "Getting tired of partying with Lindsay?"
"I haven't been a great friend to her lately, but I can't seem to enjoy any of it," I say regretfully.
"You've been trying to make other people happy your whole life," he says, leaning forward. "I know you did law school partly for your dad. After all the crap, let yourself figure out what you want."
"I like my job."
"Sure, you studied harder than everybody else, and came out with a stellar job that you're parents get to brag about."
I feel the familiar squeeze at his words, in some ways Jacob really doesn't get me at all. He's always going to think it's stupid of me to put so much time into my career. We have different philosophies, he doesn't value working hard, excelling, being responsible, and I don't get how he can spend so much time doing nothing.
"It's not just them, I want a good job. Most people can understand that as a valuable pursuit."
"Doing something you love is too."
"Unlike you, most people have to work in order to have a comfortable lifestyle."
"Jealous?"
"No, I enjoy my job. You're right though, the constant partying with Lindsay isn't something I want to keep up with."
"It's okay to want something better." His face is relaxing into a teasing grin, he gestures at the pristine white stone wall towering behind us. "You want to be treated like a queen, I'll give you a castle."
"Thanks, I always knew I was destined to live in a free public space," I say dryly.
A waiter comes by to ask if we want to order, and Jacob takes a menu.
"Umm I have to get going," I apologize. It's almost dusk, above us the strings of lights have turned on and are shimmering against the blackening sky. "I told Edward I'd meet him."
"Sure, I'll get you a cab."
"Oh, no that's fine," I quickly decline, "I'm just going to the Mandarin Hotel."
"I'm going that way too," he says. "We can walk together."
Edward texts me as we're crossing Columbus Circle. Tied up in a meeting… will be an hour late
I prefer to have a coffee than wait in the Mandarin's lounge, having a drink by myself, so I pause next to a café. "Actually Jacob, I'm going to stop off here."
"Aren't you going to the Mandarin?"
"Edward is running late." I turn toward him, intending to say goodbye, but he tips his head toward the hotel.
"I've got some time. Let's get a drink," he says.
The lobby of the Mandarin is rich granite, tasteful Asian decorations, and a soft glow from the blown-glass chandelier. The atmosphere and the lighting, which I could almost mistake for Edward's own dining room, has so much of his style that I feel like I'm soaking up his cool confidence. Once we're seated at a table in the lounge, Jacob flips open the cocktail menu and scans it before tossing it aside. "I don't want any of these, why don't we get a bottle of wine?" He flags down the waiter and asks to speak to the sommelier.
Sitting back in my chair, I check out the room with interest. There's a strange painting on the wall, a gaudy piece that jumps out from the otherwise subdued surroundings. The cartoon figures should be at odds with the candlelit tables, but instead it's liberating, a nod from the proprietor to the modern and the unconventional.
Jacob is normally a beer-drinking, do it yourself guy so I tend to forget how much he likes this kind of place too. But it's not his air of familiarity in these surroundings that makes me want to watch him chatting with the sommelier. He's at ease with everyone, everywhere. He isn't just confident, he's got a self-sufficient attitude that's as intimidating as it is compelling, and when he listens intently like he's doing now, it's like receiving a favour. It's happening right in front of me, the sommelier has to be twice his age and she's glowing under Jacob's attention like she just passed a test from a favourite teacher.
Coming back to the table with the bottle, she pours a little wine in the glass for Jacob to try. "You taste it for me," he says, sliding the glass towards her.
She looks flustered, she swirls it and lifts the glass but doesn't put it to her lips. She inhales through her nose, taking in the bouquet. "Very nice, sir."
"You can fill it up," he says. He seems completely entertained by the whole charade and I give him a dirty look.
"What was the point in all of that if you're not even going to test it first?" I ask as soon as she's out of earshot.
"If I wasn't going to take her advice, why would I bother asking for it?" he counters. "Anyway, did you try it?"
"Yes." He waits, expectantly, until I say grudgingly, "It's great."
He clinks my glass with his. "And that's because it's not from New York. I will never understand the point in buying local. I guess some people just don't want quality."
"Oh great, another criticism of my trip to Long Island. Do you have a problem with Edward?"
"I don't trust him."
"So now you care who I spend my time with," I say, thinking bitterly of how much I could have used this advice a few months ago with Matt, and how much I don't need it now. His expression doesn't change but his whole body has tensed, our friendly mood evaporating in an instant.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You haven't exactly cared what I've done with my time lately, Jacob."
"Don't put that back on me, you're the one who pushed me away - "
"You don't want to know the truth, everything's always a joke to you, even when there's nothing funny about it." The cutlery in front of me rattles and I realize I'm gripping the tablecloth so tightly, it's starting to bunch up.
"This is what I'm talking about, you won't even let me finish."
"You're deflecting."
"Fine." With supreme sarcasm he says, "How, in your expert opinion, do I avoid the truth?"
"You continue on as if nothing's changed. Except with me, because I'm still sad and it drives you crazy." He starts to say something but I cut him off. "When was the last time we saw each other and you didn't want to fight?"
"Six months ago," he says without hesitation, "before you stopped being my friend."
"No, we stopped being friends when you turned into this angry - this uncaring jerk -"
He grabs my hand.
"Let go of me." I try to pull away without any success.
"Sorry," he taunts, not loosening his grip. He pins my hand to the table by the wrist. I'm still furious but I can't seem to help my body's reaction as he skims his knuckles across my palm. Picking up the candle, he tips it over his own forearm experimentally; he doesn't flinch when dark wax drips onto his skin but I let out a little sound.
"What are you -"
"There's something I want you to know, but you won't let me tell you." His voice is lower than usual and he's speaking deliberately.
Very carefully he drizzles a fine stream of wax onto my palm. A momentary flash of pain is followed by the pulling sensation of the wax contracting, tugging the skin toward it as it cools. I can't see what he's doing but I stop trying to stop him, my anger has vanished, leaving a well of fascination in its wake. Jacob's grip has loosened on my wrist so that he is cradling it; if it weren't for the sting it would be a gentle gesture.
Jacob sets the candle down. There isn't any melted wax left. "Have to wait," he explains, but doesn't release my hand.
I try to meet his gaze, but I'm afraid of what I might see. Instead I skim over his jaw, the firm muscle in his neck, the shadow of his collarbone emerging from under his shirt. I risk a quick peek at his hand and my heart squeezes at the sight of his covering mine, a painfully familiar ache leftover from so many years of wanting him. My unseeing eyes take in a blur of light and shadow over his shoulder, the mostly-unlit rooftops and the chasm of Central Park far below. Lately it's seemed threatening but right now it looks like an escape, a dark and silent space where I could lose myself.
"Good evening," Edward says from beside me. I jerk my hands out of Jacob's grip, clenching my fist so that Edward won't see my palm. He's breathtaking in a pale grey suit, but it's his expression that captivates me. His green eyes are like chips of ice.
"Hi," I say weakly. "Would you -" I clear my throat and try again, "Come sit next to me."
He scans the table, which I belatedly realize holds only two glasses, and without a glance at Jacob says to me, "Shall we go?"
"Sure, any time." My voice sounds foreign to my ears, cool and calm but not my own. My eyes flicker to Jacob, who is watching us with narrowed eyes. As soon as I look over he slouches back in his chair, an insolent expression on his face. When Edward turns away, Jacob mouths 'obedient'.
"I'll just finish my drink," I say, trying to act nonchalant, and take a quick gulp. Edward doesn't move at all as I set the glass down. There's a drip down the side and I swipe it with my thumb, it leaves a streak along the glass and I feel more self-conscious than ever. Guilt is pressing down like a fist in my chest. I look up at Jacob miserably as he gets to his feet.
"See you later Bella," he says shortly, and without any sign toward Edward he walks out. His entire walk across the room to the elevator is visible which means that he saw Edward coming, and Edward saw us, I don't know for how long.
Edward takes Jaocb's seat, he traps me for a moment with an unfathomable expression. I look down at my hands, uncurling them to take in the messy scrawl. It's only a shade darker than my skin but the letters jump out at me as if they were flashing neon.
I lov
Instinctively I rub at it, trying to smudge the words, but Edward captures my hands in his own and runs his fingertips lightly over the wax. Everything in my body is constricted and my cheeks are flaming red. Finally I gather the courage to look up at him. His eyes scorch into mine and I hold my breath in anticipation as he picks up the candle.
"Actually, I don't like doing other people's half-finished jobs," he says, stopping just before the first drip spills over the edge. My heart sinks. How typical that I can't take five steps without getting into destructive situations with Jacob. I want to show Edward exactly how much I want to be with him, but now I'm afraid it's too late. Impulsively I stand up, walk around the table and press my mouth to his. He doesn't stop me but he doesn't reciprocate either. I run my hands through his hair, kissing him with even more desperate intensity when he doesn't respond. Finally I straighten up, he continues to watch me with an unreadable expression on his face as I stumble back to my side of the table.
I think I'm going to burst into flames of embarrassment when he gets up. Walking right past me he says, "Let's go."
I scramble with my things, I'm in such a hurry that my foot catches on a step and I have to grab the railing. By the time I catch up with him he's already called for the elevator. "I'm sorry, that wasn't the evening you had in -"
He turns toward me, his eyes blazing with I don't know what. "Don't say anything," he says and I fall silent. The mirrored interior of the elevator shows a reflection of me, paler than ever, my red dress garish under the fluorescent lights. Edward is hidden from view and I can't bring myself to turn toward him. I drop my head, and my hair falls like a screen between us. The wax is still caked on my palm, trying to be surreptitious I grip the edge of my dress and start to rub it off but suddenly Edward is crushing my hand in his. The doors ding open, he swipes a key card and with a shock I realize we weren't going to the lobby but to the penthouse.
The room is lit only by the lights of Manhattan sprawling below us. He leads me across the enormous living room to the floor-to-ceiling windows, this time I'm too numb to be afraid and I walk right to the edge. Edward stands behind me and presses me against the glass, his fingers twining mine, crushing my palms flat against the window. "Never apologize for what you choose to do."
The wax digs into my skin, the slight discomfort a reminder of what Jacob did. He tugs my dress down, lavishing kisses on my neck, my shoulders and down my back. And I sink into the guilty pleasure of countless daydreams gone by, it's Jacob who's kneeling behind me, slipping his fingers into me, it's Jacob's low sound of satisfaction when he finds me already wet. The glass does nothing to cool my burning skin, I grip it desperately as the first shudder of orgasm catches me by surprise.
My whole body is trembling, I don't know how I'll have the energy to keep standing but somehow heat is coiling again already. He cups my breast, he's trapping me on all sides, his other hand between my legs pushing them apart, his body hard and unrelenting behind me.
"Open your eyes," he demands and I obey without thinking, gasping at the shock of distance below me and I cry out as he enters me. Manhattan seems to spin, the golden glow is all I can see through a haze of arousal. I brace myself against the glass, my heart pounding with fear and excitement as he kisses me, his tongue invading my mouth until I'm consumed by him.
"Say my name," Edward says into my ear as he slows to a hypnotic rhythm. He's stroking me and my whole body is vibrating, the stars behind my lids as bright and golden as the lights below me.
"Edward," I murmur, barely able to speak.
"Say it again." He takes my hand and pins it beside me on the glass.
"Eward," I cry out as he scrapes his fingers over the wax. His fingers dig into my hand and I whimper, it stings as the wax is forced loose. Then my hand is on his mouth and he's kissing me gently, running his tongue along my palm. As if he's claiming me, erasing the mark Jacob left on me. I don't think he'll stop until his touch is the only one that I remember, until he's all that remains in my heart, until he's all that occupies my mind.
The sun will be rising soon, the first dusty glow outlining the tops of the buildings. Edward has piled the blankets and pillows in front of the fire, and we've been lying cocooned on the floor. Even from this vantage point it seems like we can see the whole city, an alien world of floating highrises. I play a private game with myself trying to guess the buildings as I lay wrapped in Edward's arms.
"Why do you want me?" I ask.
He raises his head to stare into my eyes. I want to squeeze mine shut, I feel so needy and insecure asking him, but I have to know, I don't understand why he's here. I force myself to look back at him.
"Are you asking because you don't know why I would want you, or because you don't know if I do want you?" Edward asks.
"I guess I know that you must want me," I concede, at least logically I know it. Edward is looking at me stretched out naked before him. Even though he's seen every inch of me, our conversation of my worth makes my exposure uncomfortable.
"Do you think that the times we met were a coincidence?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know that I went to the gallery because I wanted to see you."
"It crossed my mind, but then you didn't seem to want to talk to me, so I wasn't sure."
"I do know how to get a woman to want me, Bella," Edward says, running his finger from the base of my neck slowly down to my navel. "Why do you think this way when you're so beautiful?"
"It's not like I feel unattractive," I say, a blush beginning to creep up my cheeks. "But the fact is there are plenty of other people who are much more beautiful. Actually when you put it that way, maybe I do know what's making me wonder." I chew on my lip. Edward waits, studying me while I form my thoughts. "You don't share much, which makes me think that we don't have an emotional connection."
"What makes you think I don't open up to you?"
"Because you've told me very little about yourself," I say, taken aback. "And I don't feel comfortable asking you, because I get the sense that you think I'm prying."
"I've told you things that I don't divulge to other people. Now I'm inclined to wonder why we're together, I'd been thinking this whole time that you were very attracted to me."
"Of course I am," I stammer, "how could I not be?"
"And that's how I feel about you. That I want to spend all my time with you is perhaps overkill."
His words make my insides feel like jelly. He lightly grips my hair, meeting my lips in a kiss that steals my breath away.