Sorry I've been MIA... AGAIN. College is happening soon, and I've been drowning in last minute preparations that I WOULDN'T be drowning in if I weren't such a procrastinator. But oh, well.

Anyway, I wanted to take just a second to thank everyone so far. This is the last Bella chapter, so it's got me nostalgic. Even though we have about three chapters left, it does feel like an ending of sorts. I get nervous when I start naming specific names because I'm so worried I'll leave someone out and feelings will be hurt. So for now, until the very end, I'll just thank all the wonderful ladies that have been so loving and nice to me, giving encouragements and showing me true kindness. Y'all know who you are. oxoxoxoxo

"I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles." -Audrey Hepburn, the bestest

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I stand at the top of the steps, just out of sight, and listen as Edward opens the front door. I hold my breath for a second.

"Edward, man!" a slow male voice calls out—a stranger's voice.

I sway with relief.

"Brady... what are you doing here?"

"Mr. Walters told me how the Cullens' house was being occupied. I thought it'd be your mom and dad, so I wanted to swing by and say hello. But I got you instead! Man, I haven't seen you in like, three years! Dude, you put on a little muscle. Look at this. Fucking Vin Diesel or something."

"Hey, man, I missed you and all. But this really isn't a good time—" Edward starts quickly.

"What? Oh. Wait. You aren't here alone, are you? Who's the girl?"

"Someone my parents don't know about. So I'd appreciate it if you kept it quiet that I was even here the next time you talk to them."

"Done," the guy drawls. "So can I meet her or what? Come on, dude. Tonight's New Year's Eve. You have to take her out somewhere. Let's all hang out. Me and my girl were going to the Sunset Lounge. Come with us."

"I really don't think—"

"You never turn down a party. What's going on? This girl got you flying straight or something? Come on. I haven't seen you in forever!"

"Brady, I really don't think it's a good idea—"

"Why? What's up?"

I hear Edward sigh—a familiar, tired kind of sigh. "I don't know. I just don't think she'd be up for going out tonight. I promised her it'd just be the two of us—"

"That's shit, dude. I know when you're bullshitting me. That much hasn't changed."

"Fine," Edward heaves. "I'll go ask her."

"Cool. I'll wait."

"Jesus Christ. I forgot how fucking annoying you are," Edward says, but I can sense he's smiling a little.

"Uh huh. Just go ask the girl who's got you whipped if you can go out tonight."

Edward snorts, and a moment later he's at the top of the stairs, grabbing my arm, silently hauling me to the bedroom. He shuts the door tightly behind us. "You hear all that?"

I nod.

Edward runs his hands down his face. "Tell me you don't want to go."

"I think we should," I reply, crossing my arms.

"What?"

"If you're so ready to move off and be with me out in the open, let's go."

"That's different."

"How is it different, Edward?"

"He knows me. He knows my mom and dad."

"And you think that if we move somewhere else, you'll magically be cut off from your parents forever? You think they'll never want to visit? You think you'll never speak to them again? What if—years in the future—we get married or something? Then you'll have to tell people you know. This isn't different."

Edward's nostrils flare. His jaw clenches. But he knows I'm right. He's stubborn but he's logical, too.

"Fuck," he finally says, running his hands through his hair. "Get ready to go, then." And with that, he leaves me to myself.

I'm a white, flowy cocktail dress with gold sequins on the shoulders. I'm half pulled up hair and forties-chic curls. I'm playing a part and looking the part, too.

When I walk down the steps, I do it slowly and with practiced sway. I slip back into a different version of myself so easily, and it's comforting, like putting on your favorite pair of stilettos and knowing you look divine.

Edward is tying his tie as I walk down.

And his friend—Brady—glances up at me and never gets the chance to look away.

"Hi," I murmur, my smile just barely curving my lips. I cross the tiles to him, extending my hand gracefully. "I'm Bella."

Brady's eyes are a little wide. He's surfer-boy cute, but his wealth is so obvious in the tailored, sand-colored suit he wears. He pushes sun-streaked curls from his brown eyes with one hand and shakes mine with the other. "Uh, hey. I'm Brady."

"Lovely to meet you," I say and then look over at Edward.

He's staring at me intently, half in warning, half in curiosity. But beneath all of that is the hot, dark desire that makes my heart rate pick up.

"So you're the girlfriend?" Brady's eyebrows shoot sky-high. Then he glances at Edward and says, "I see why you're whipped."

Edward flips him off.

"How flattering," I say dryly, but with a gentle laugh. Then I glance over at Edward again. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," he replies, finishing up his tie and pulling on his dark jacket. He looks swoon-worthy beautiful and I smile in relief when he offers me his arm.

We walk into dim, gold light and sultry music and rich guests and luxury. Beautiful girls turn to look at Edward and then look away when they see our arms linked.

I am proud relief and heart-pounding joy that he's mine—at least for now, at least for this night.

Brady meets his date at the bar and waves us over. She's tall and thin and exotic and speaks very little English. But the way Brady looks at her is all love and sweetness, and I think that even if the girl was overweight and pimply and frizzy-haired, he'd still be proud to call her his. He's on cloud nine the moment he sees her.

"Siobhan, this is Edward, a friend of mine from college. And this is Bella, his girlfriend." Brady points to each of us.

Siobhan smiles graciously and shakes both of our hands.

"Where'd you two meet?" Edward inquires. He's smiling politely, but his eyes are elsewhere, scanning the room. He's nervous, fidgety.

Being with me like this, with someone he knows, is discomforting, unsettling.

It kind of hurts me.

And it kind of makes sense.

"Overseas. You know how I own that surfboard business? Well, I was over in Australia with the company, and she was there modeling. I saw her on the beach wearing a white bikini—I'll never forget—and I spent the whole day trying to get up the nerve to talk to her. But I finally did. I was kind of a bumbling idiot, but some girls think that's cute, you know? Thank God."

Siobhan laughs lightly and pushes at Brady playfully.

I smile at them.

"Where did you guys meet?" Brady asks, arching his brows.

Edward stiffens suddenly, but his lawyer-calm face never wavers.

But he's a prosecutor. He works with truths and honesty more than not, and I'm the one who finally answers Brady's lingering, dangerous question.

"We met in New York. Edward and I happened to go to the same bar one night for after-dinner drinks, and we hit it off."

My mind is suddenly filled with images of a golden-chic bar and lingering looks. I imagine quiet flirting and suggestive statements and no sense of wrong, of guilt, of fear.

Things would be so different if that's how we'd met.

Edward's eyes find mine, and one look into his dark green eyes makes me realize he's thinking the very same thing.

A few drinks later and Edward is infinitely more relaxed.

He jokes effortlessly with Brady, and the two interact and click with the ease that true friends have.

It's a different side of Edward—to me, at least. I've never seen him with his friends. I've never seen him in lots of ways, in lots of situations. And to think I never will is soul-crushing.

So I just try to enjoy this carefree side of him now, while I have it.

"So, what do you do, Bella?" Brady asks hours later when both him and Edward are a little tipsy.

I've been sipping on the same Mojito for what feels like an eternity, even though I'd love nothing more than to disappear with them into a happy-drunk haze.

But I can't because of questions like these.

My lies have to be sharp and quick, and they won't be if I'm intoxicated.

"I'm an intern for a fashion magazine in the city," I say, the untruth slipping off my tongue silkily.

Edward's low-lidded gaze is on me—I can feel it—but I don't look away from Brady as he nods and grins goofily.

"Oh, that's nice. Really nice. Where'd you graduate from?"

"Pratt."

"Wow. An artsy girl. Would have never thought that would be the type you'd go for, Edward," Brady says, slapping his friend on the back. "You always went for the easy girls with not much upstairs back in the day."

Edward glares over at him, and Brady slaps a hand over his mouth and mumbles, "Oops," from behind it.

"Oh, really?" I inquire sweetly.

"I was young and stupid," Edward replies, shrugging, and then gives a half-drunk grin.

I roll my eyes and smile.

"Yeah, I know it might be hard to believe now, Bella, but Edward used to be a lot of fun—before he got all lawyer-y and shit. When we first met at Yale, he fucking partied every night."

"What happened?" I ask, playing at being confounded.

Edward pinches my leg beneath our table, making me jump and smile.

"Junior year happened," Brady says thickly, nodding and holding up his drink for a refill. "He put all that teenage angst to use and became a badass. Harnessed all his chaotic energy into something constructive, you know? Dude was always competitive but didn't have any direction. But he was fucking meant to do something for the world. I could sense it, man. I could sense he had potential."

Edward rolls his eyes. "Brady is a strong believer in visions, energy, and all that shit," he murmurs to me.

"Hey!" Brady points and squints drunkenly. "I'm in a good spiritual place. Can you say the same?"

"Look, look," Siobhan—whom I thought was too drunk to even try to speak English anymore—pipes up, tugging on Brady's sleeve.

We all glance out to where she points, and I marvel.

The sun is finally setting, and it streaks the sky in hot-gold colors of orange and pink. The whole skyline is on fire, and the towering skyscrapers of Miami turn to black silhouettes against the last flames of day. Soon, everything will be cool neon and stylish night, but for now, the world is bright and hot and passionate.

Everyone in the swanky lounge stills to watch.

"Let's go closer," Siobhan says, grabbing Brady's arm.

"Okay." He stands up and totters and then glances back at us. "You two coming?"

"We can see from here," Edward murmurs. He's got a hand resting on my knee beneath the table, and as he speaks, his fingers so gently swirl against my skin, making me warm and glow.

"All right," Brady replies, shrugging, and then he takes off with his girlfriend who's comically taller than him. I watch them run to the edge of the lounge—where everyone else has gathered to watch the sunset with baited breath—and I see all the differences between Brady and Siobhan.

She's tall and slim, he's short and stocky. She's sleek, dark red hair and feline eyes and he's unruly curls and California, boy-sweet eyes. But they hold hands as they watch the sunset, and they lean on each other lovingly, and that's all that matters.

I smile gently and reach beneath the table, finding Edward's hand on my knee and lacing our own fingers together.

His thumb rubs small circles, and we sit in silence as the world starts going dark.

I feel his gaze shift to my profile, but I don't look away from the last remnants of the sunlight. I can't.

I'm suddenly so aware that this is our last night here, and my chest aches with the realization. I can hardly breathe when I think of going back to school, of pretending, of seeing my mother, of not having Edward all the time.

I'm almost tempted to take him up on his offer of running away, but then I think of the impossibilities. I think of the consequences of rash decision-making. My whole life is a consequence of that.

Then Edward leans towards me. I feel his lips against my ear. I feel them move and form silent words. "I love you."

It's simple and sudden, but not shocking in the least.

Love is the perfect word for how I feel about Edward. Love is overwhelming, the source of my pain and my happiness. It's consuming, maddening, and sometimes impossible.

But I'm glad to have it.

I'm glad to be here with him, now, and that's all it takes for the worry of tomorrow to fade.

"Whoa! There it is! Stop! Stop right here," Brady shouts to the taxi driver.

The car screeches to a halt, and the man glares in the rearview.

"Sorry," Brady says meekly, Mojito-hazed. He hands the driver a roll of cash that must be too much and then climbs out of the car with the stumbling Siobhan at his side.

Edward and I follow, but we're both steady. Edward's alcohol buzz has already faded somewhat, and mine never was.

"Here it is!" Brady cries victoriously as we stand on the crowded, New Year's Eve streets.

Edward's hand is on my back, a little too low to be decent for public, and he sighs at Brady and tries to dissuade his friend once more. "Really. Bella and I have to leave tomorrow. I think we should get back to the house—"

"I know what you want to do," Brady mutters, narrowing his eyes playfully. "You're not fooling anyone into thinking you want to get home early to sleep. No. It's fucking New Year's Eve, man! C'mon! At least stay out with us until midnight. We used to have so much fun."

Edward looks down at me in question.

He's going to leave it up to me.

Brady's right. Since we left the lounge, Edward hasn't been exactly subtle in his advances with me. At one point in the cab, Siobhan caught Edward's hand under my dress. I had quickly pushed his hand down, back to my knee, but she had just smiled at me knowingly.

I blame his blatant actions on the alcohol, but it could be something else. Sometimes it feels like something else, like this intense heat that won't dissipate. It's been nagging between us since his confession at the lounge.

I want nothing more than to go back to the house and let him show me how much he loves me.

But Brady is practically pleading with puppy dog, bloodshot eyes. And I feel a little pity.

"It's only just an hour to midnight," I say, giving in.

"All right!" Brady shoots over to the entrance of the club he's taking us. The bouncer takes one look at him and undoes the rope. "This way, my friends," Brady urges, taking hold of Siobhan's arm and pulling her inside the club.

Edward gives me a reproachful look.

I smile and bat my lashes at him playfully. I whisper up to him, "You can fuck me later."

His eyes darken, and he pops me on the ass as I dance away from him, laughing.

The club is neon-chaotic and loud.

Edward yells at Brady over the mindless, techno music. "We aren't really dressed for clubbing!" He motions at the suits they wear and the fancy dresses us girls have on.

"So?" Brady throws his head back and laughs, the black lights making his teeth glow blue.

Edward rolls his eyes.

The rest of the night rolls by in a blur of drinks and dancing. The club is packed full, and then the countdown starts. Everyone yells the numbers out. All of Miami does.

And then it's the New Year, and Edward kisses me.

We stumble into the dark house, laughing and grabbing at each other.

We're both a little drunk. I couldn't resist temptation.

"I've wanted you all night long," Edward whispers against my neck, making me smile and shiver.

His arms wrap around my waist from behind, squeezing me so tight as he leads me to the steps.

I'm a half-hazy mind and an excited heartbeat.

I'm frantically in love.

Edward hoists me up and tosses me over his shoulder when my sluggish pace gets the better of his patience. I laugh, my stomach filled with butterflies.

We finally arrive in our room. The beach outside is moonlit and awe-inspiring. The moon lights us, too, bathing everything in silver-soft illumination.

Edward sits me down, and I slowly drift to the huge windows, staring outside. I hear Edward rustling around behind me, probably removing his tie.

"How do you do that?"

I spin around to face him and lean back against the cool glass, smiling. "Do what?"

Edward's desire-stricken face has shifted slightly, and now he looks a bit more apprehensive. There's a pucker between his brows as he loosens his tie. "Lie. How do you lie so well?"

"What do you mean?" I ask, playing innocent.

"You lied to Brady all night without batting an eyelash. You never once fucked up. I've seen a lot of people lie to me before, and usually, somewhere, they always get sloppy. But not you. You're like one of the professionals."

As he speaks, he draws nearer, his eyes narrowing.

My eyebrows arch slowly. "It wasn't like I could tell Brady the truth, was it?"

"No. It was just how you went about telling him the untruths—you did it perfectly." Edward pulls the tie out from around his neck and tosses it on the bed. But his eyes are still on mine.

And he looks almost suspicious.

I feel myself frown. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"I don't know what I want you to say," he returns, and I see a flash of confliction, confusion—of everything wrong. "Jesus, Bella. There's just so much I don't know about you. I wish you'd just tell me."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

I'm irritation and barely held back frustration.

I'm burning up with the truth, the desire to spill it.

And I'm crushed with the burden of holding it back.

"I can't," I repeat, shaking my head.

"Just be fucking honest, Bella! Just tell me! I get enough lying bullshit at my job. You say I don't know anything, so tell me something. Anything, Bella. Just tell me."

"Edward, it's not my secret to tell!"

He runs his hands through his hair. The movement is jerky and all agitation. "What does that even mean?"

"Don't ask me. Don't ask me to tell you things I'm not supposed to. Don't ask me to tell you things that will make you hate me."

Edward stills.

So do I.

His eyes are clouded with disbelief. "Hate you? I'm not going to hate you."

I stare at him flatly, unwaveringly. I tell him the honest, absolute truth when I say, "You would. You'd hate me."

We watch each other for a moment that feels like forever.

And then he's groaning, irritated and angry. He turns away from me, his hands going into his hair again.

I'm a sickened, heavy heartbeat.

"Please don't," I whisper. I run after him and grab on to his arm, trying to spin him to face me, but he won't allow it. "Please, Edward. Don't be upset with me. Not on our last night."

"You're hiding something," he mumbles under his breath. "I'm fucking risking everything, and you're hiding something. Don't you think I deserve to know?"

"Of course I do!" I yell. "But I'm not going to tell you something that will make you think differently of me, that will make you hate me—"

"That's the ironic thing, Bella!" Edward shouts back, turning on me sharply. He's suddenly grabbing my upper arms, shaking me a little. He's holding me too tight, the way I love. "You could tell me you fucking killed someone and it wouldn't matter. Even knowing you're seventeen, even knowing that we shouldn't be together, that we can't—all of that wasn't even enough to keep me from losing every bit of control I had."

He pins me against the wall, making the picture frame next to my head rattle. And then he's towering over me, pretty, angry, in lust and in love, moonlight covered. "You've got me so fucked up."

I stare up at him, my heartbeat everywhere, pulsing beneath every inch of my overheated skin. "Kiss me," I whisper. "It's our last night. I don't want to talk about this on our last night." And when he still doesn't give in, I keep going, my tone shifting from pleading to challenging. "I thought you wanted me. I thought you wanted to fuck me—"

That's what gets him. He's competitive through and through, and he can't resist a challenge.

His hand is suddenly in my hair, pulling back sharply. "Is that what you want?" he asks hotly, dominatingly against my open mouth. "Do you want me to fuck you?"

I smile my answer slowly and bite his bottom lip.

Edward kisses me roughly, his tongue pushing into my mouth, his hands grabbing my hips. We're both angry and passionate and this is how it should be. It's how it always is with us. It's how we both want it.

"Take this off," he mutters against my insistent mouth as he yanks at my dress.

"Why don't you take it off of me yourself?" I return.

His eyes are dark and thrilling. When he looks at me this way, it almost makes me rethink teasing him.

But I am always teasing, even when I know better.

He turns me around, pressing me against the wall, jerking the zipper of my dress down so sharply that it rips. Then the fabric is gone completely, pooled at my feet, and Edward is pulling my hair over my shoulder and kissing, biting, attacking my neck with no restraint.

I smile and shut my eyes, leaning heavily into the wall while he makes his angry marks.

Then he turns me around and pulls me close, our mouths pressing and connecting once more as we walk towards the bed.

My lips tilt up against his as he reaches behind me and squeezes my ass. I unbutton his shirt quickly, and he pulls away long enough to shrug out of it. Then he's grabbing my hips, hoisting me and dropping me onto the bed.

I laugh a little and scoot up the mattress as he unzips his pants and kicks out of them. He reaches out and grabs my ankle, making me smile as he jerks me back down the bed.

I turn as he pulls, landing on my stomach, playfully but not really trying to get away from him.

But he grabs my waist, holding me in place as he crawls on top of me, kissing up my shivering spine. His teeth scrape over my shoulder blades, against the nape of my neck, and my fingers dig into the plush duvet.

"Edward," I whisper, closing my eyes.

He drops his weight against me and makes me moan quietly into the pillows.

He's the one teasing now: pressing his so-apparent hardness against my bottom and reaching a hand beneath me, between my legs, and resting it there, unmoving.

"Edward," I say.

I'm panted breath and a hot-cold body.

I'm desirous and desired and on the edge of pleading.

Which is what he wants. He tells me so after a soft kiss to my shoulder blade. He tells me with a whispered breath against my ear and a deceptively low voice. "I want to hear you beg," he says.

I bite my lip to keep him from his satisfaction.

"Do you want this?" he asks softly, kissing my earlobe with feather-light lips. "Do you want my cock?"

He keeps shifting, teasing, driving me to the point of dizzied madness.

And I finally have no choice but to say yes.

He pushed in so slow, and now he moves with just as much languidness.

"Please," I say in his ear. "Please go faster."

"No," he replies stubbornly, and I can feel a shiver roll through his body as he pushes so deep. Maybe I'm the one who shivered. Nothing can be certain when we're this close.

I'm hazy thoughts and lost pride because I keep begging.

"Edward," I plead.

"No," he insists, his elbows on either side of my head, his body moving over mine, his thrusts so measured and maddening.

I open my eyes and stare up into his strained, determined, pleasured face. I can't help but lift and bite his bottom lip. He gives me a Hollywood-perfect half smile back, and I watch as a bead of sweat gathers on the tip of his nose.

I love his strength, the way the muscles in his arms are taught and unwavering, the way he can move like this with seemingly endless stamina.

But I don't love his pace.

"Edward," I try again, breathlessly. I scrape my nails all the way down his back, digging hard, the way he likes it.

He shudders and thrusts roughly against me before stilling, groaning into my neck.

"Go faster," I say.

His groan turns louder, irritable, and he grabs my hips and rolls until he's lying on his back and I'm on top. "Go as fast as you want, baby," he says.

I smile and move over him, lifting and falling quickly, but it's not really what I wanted. It's not the same as him being on top of me, of making him lose control—that's the part I love best.

Edward kind of moans and props back onto his elbows, his brow crinkling. His eyes fall from mine to the place where I take him in, over and over, and he bites down hard on his bottom lip.

"Fuck," he says and falls back against the bed, his hands fisting the sheets, his stomach tensing.

He's getting close, so I slow way, way down until he's groaning in dissatisfaction.

Smiling, I put my lips close to his and ask with fake innocence, "Am I going too slow?"

Edward grins back dangerously, and my world shifts. Edward is back on top, ramming inside, all force and loss of control, all quick, rough, delirious movement.

My toes curl, and I cry out for him.

"Is this fast enough?" he asks against my ear, his breathing coming in pants and shuddering exhales. "Is this what you want?"

"Yes," I breathe, my eyes squeezing shut, color dancing in the darkness. "Don't stop." My body shivers and shakes, and the heavy tingling in my stomach grows stronger, tighter, with each rough movement and push and shove. Until finally, I come, and it takes my breath and I scrape my nails down his back again in my haze of beautiful, pure pleasure.

"Fuck," Edward whispers against my skin—against my neck where he has his face hidden. He's shaking, absolutely shaking, and his fingers dig into my hips sharply, bruising my skin. And then he moans, low and raw-sounding, as if pained. I feel him stiffen and tremble, feel his quivering stomach against mine.

And I smile.

Tomorrow is when this will end, when this movie-perfect life will be over.

But tonight, I'm the old starlet who got her man. I'm victorious and overflowing happiness.

I'm An Affair to Remember love.

I'm Marilyn confidence and Audrey grace.

I'm old glam and true happiness, and that's all that ever really matters.

Bye, bye Bella. Now we're switching to Edward. Still thinking there will be 3 chapters left. So we're in the home stretch. Thank you to all the beautiful readers! Y'all are the best. If I've lost someone's question in the reviews, feel free to message me. Or message me if you just feel like talking! I love hearing people's thoughts, so go for it (;