There will be 30 Chapters, by the way! At the end of Chapter 26, I said there would only be 3 more chapters, and I have no idea why I said that. There's 4. It's already done and written, so I will see y'all tomorrow for the final two installments. I'll be answering the questions I feel will be most asked/relevant at the end of Chapter 29, too, so no worries yet if everything isn't making sense.


CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Days slowly turn into weeks, and then it's drawing close to summer.

Bella will be coming home soon. She thinks she'll be able to slip out most nights and spend time with me because Renee is too concerned with her own life.

We just have to be careful. So careful.

I ask her to go to the Caribbean with me, to make some excuse to her mother about going with Rose. I expect Bella to immediately agree, like she did with the Miami trip.

But late at night, in the middle of one of our secret phone calls, she hesitates.

"That sounds good," she finally says.

I don't ask her why she was reluctant to answer. I know by now she won't tell me unless she wants to. So I don't bother trying.


"Hey, Edward," Heidi says.

"Hey," I reply, giving her a small smile as I put change into the drink machine.

She's a small girl, petite and unintimidating at first, but she's one of the most ruthless lawyers in the building. "How's that mob case going?"

"Which one?" I arch an eyebrow at her as I punch the button for a Coke.

She grins. "The big one."

"Giovanni?" I nod and shrug. "You know how mob cases are. Lots of corruption."

"That's why I'm glad you have the case. You're the only lawyer in this building I trust," she says.

"Besides yourself?" I ask, my lips quirking up.

"Of course." She rolls her eyes.

I bend down and grab my drink. I'm pretty sure she checks me out as I do it. And then I suddenly want to get far, far away from her. I can't even say I'm dating someone.

Fucked up, I think for the thousandth time.

"Hey, listen. Do you wanna get a drink sometime?" Heidi asks, outright and totally unwaveringly.

"Maybe sometime, sure," I reply as nicely as I can. But I'm already backing up.

I'm filled with guilt and discomfort.

And then I think about Bella—of course—but I think about her in college. She's fucking stunning. Gorgeous. And she knows how to move, how to talk. Guys are going to notice.

The idea makes me sick.

And fucking crazy.

What if she gets sick of waiting around?

Heidi stares at me, watching my face with careful, intrusive eyes. Then she smiles, not deterred. "Okay. Sometime, then. I'm holding you to it."

I just force a smile.


I get home late—at two in the morning.

I'm bleary-eyed and tired and irritable. I stumble into my dark apartment, stubbing my toe on a book and cursing loudly. It's not like anyone can hear. My stupid fucking neighbor won't turn down his hang-banging shit long enough for anyone to hear anything.

"Turn it off, motherfucker!" I yell, banging my fist against the wall.

"Fuck you!"

I sigh and kick my shoes off, pulling my tie loose. I manage to make it to my bedroom in the dark, and my unmade bed looks too good to ignore. So I lie down for a second to get rested enough to undress.


I wake sharply to the sound of someone banging on my door.

Groaning, I sit up and look around my half-dark room. The only light comes from the window, from the neon lights outside that blare hazily inside. My view is of nothing but a brick wall, yet somehow that annoying light still seeps through.

The door shudders again.

I glare and stand up. My work clothes are wrinkled, so I go ahead and take them off, sliding into some old basketball shorts and a white T-shirt before I shuffle for the door.

"I'm coming!" I yell and then I realize I don't have to.

My dumbass neighbor finally must have gone to bed because there's nothing but faint street noise and gentle rain filling the air.

I unlock my door and fling it open, expecting Tanya or detectives or someone delivering bad news.

But it's Bella.

She's standing there, rain-soaked and in a plain white sundress. She's holding wedges in her hands, and her hair is wavy, natural. Her big brown, sultry eyes stare up at me with something like panic.

"What's wrong?" I ask immediately, pulling her inside.

She's a little cold, so I find a discarded suit jacket and put it around her shoulders. She practically drowns in it.

"I just needed to, um, see you," she says. It may be the first time I've ever heard her say "um."

It freaks me out a little, to be honest.

"What is it? What's going on? Why aren't you at school?" My mind is whirling, waking up quick.

"We have a long weekend. And I just couldn't stand being up there by myself." Bella pulls the jacket around her tightly as she slowly drifts through the apartment, her eyes looking over every cluttered space with care. "I knew it would look like this," she remarks softly, in her husky-quiet little voice.

"Are you… are you okay?" I ask her, because something's off.

"I missed my bus. I had to walk three blocks in the rain, and a very nice, but very smelly homeless man attempted to flirt with me. It wasn't a thrilling experience. It's left me a bit shaken."

I shut the door and lock it. My eyes fall to the backs of her pale, smooth legs—the ones that peep out from beneath her short little dress—as she walks through my apartment with comfort and ease, like she belongs.

I imagine if she lived here with me.

I imagine a lot of things.

Bella turns towards me slowly and offers a small, sad smile. All her smiles—her real smiles—are tinged with a bit of sadness. But tonight, there's more. Something about her is shifted, a little more vulnerable.

It's kind of shocking.

But I don't want to scare her off, so I let her come to me.

She walks over a bit hesitantly. Her hands go up and rest on my chest lightly, feeling my heartbeat beneath the thin cotton of my shirt. She stares at my collarbone, biting her lip gently.

"I wish so badly that things were different," she says. "I wish we didn't go in circles. I wish I was older. I wish we'd met at school or in a bar like I told Brady. I wish that I wasn't the way I am."

"There's nothing wrong with the way you are," I say, cupping her cool cheeks in my hands.

She steps closer, resting her head against my chest. The movement is so tender and careful that it almost shakes me. "I want to tell you everything," she says softly.

"Then do it." I run my hands down her damp hair. I press my nose into her crown. She smells like a true girl, like softness and vanilla.

"You'll know soon enough. Just not tonight. One more night of not knowing. That's what I want. Please?"

"So you'll tell me tomorrow?" I ask, pulling away from her just enough to get a good look into her eyes.

She smiles tiredly. "Tomorrow."

I lean in and kiss her nose.

She giggles sweetly.

I pull her to me and kiss her lips this time. She always tastes like strawberries and she always feels so soft, so cool and elegant.

I take my time with her tonight, and she lets me. Every time we're together, I always want to go gentle and slow, to feel closer, deeper, to show her what it could really be like. But she always prefers fast and rough, and she's too persuasive to ever let me have any other way.

But tonight, she goes along with it.

Her hands grip at my arms tightly and her legs wrap around me and she arches her back, her neck. Her eyes close and she makes quiet sounds, her brows pinched, her bottom lip caught carefully between her teeth. She whispers my name over and over. And then she peeps up at me through her lashes so I can barely see how soft her eyes are, and she smiles.

It's the sweetest it's ever been, I guess. She doesn't tease me, and I don't ask her to beg. We just move and come, move and come until we can't anymore, until we have to break for just a few minutes and catch our breath.

Bella rests her head on my chest, listening to my heart pound. She shifts and looks up at me, her sex-tangled hair falling over one bare, warm shoulder. Her eyes are big and pleading, and she looks so fucking real that it's hard to stare at her directly.

"I love you," she tells me in an uncharacteristically rushed breath. "I should have told you earlier. I should have told you when you told me. I should have told you the minute I first felt it, but I didn't. I don't know why."

I reach up and touch her cheek. I watch and marvel as she shuts her eyes and leans fully into my touch, trusting. "It's scary. That's why."

She smiles a little. Her lashes part, and her too old, too haunted eyes stare at me. "It is." And then she dips down, presses hot, quick kisses over my chest and lower, to my tense, twisting stomach.

She makes me lose it even when she's being earnest and gentle.

I grab her carefully, pulling her up my body. I kiss her until she becomes a little desperate. And then I feel her tears splattering on my cheeks, like rain.

"What's wrong?" I plead.

But she won't tell me. She just shakes her head.

I roll her over onto her stomach. She shivers and quakes, knowing what's coming, and I smile, slowly kissing up her spine, feeling the bone and muscle tense beneath each feather-light touch. I graze my teeth over her small shoulder blades, and I ghost my hands over every curve of her, going so slow, making her shake.

Then I push inside her as gently as I ever have, as languidly as I ever have. She moans into the pillows, and I reach up and lace my fingers with hers by her head. She holds on tight, her little hands squeezing as hard as they can with surprising strength and maybe a little desperation.

"Edward," she says, still crying, her voice muffled by the sheets.

I move deliberately and thoughtfully, kissing her neck.

Tonight, she doesn't ask me to fuck her.

And I know something isn't right. I'm not blind, but I also know there's no way in hell she's going to tell me. So instead of harping on about it, I accept it and enjoy her while I've got her, what little part of her I have.

I realize neither one of us has given everything to the other—because we can't. Not yet, anyway.

Maybe one day.


Bella hugs me as close to her as possible.

I'm on top of her, barely able to hold my weight from her, still moving inside her—slow and tired but unwilling to give up just yet.

She won't even let me get far enough away to prop myself up so she can at least breathe.

"You make me crazy," she whispers into my ear, her voice lyrical, melodic, beautiful and dark. "I know you don't think you do, but it's true. You made me crazy the first day I saw you."

I smile and bite her earlobe gently.

"I keep secrets from you," she says shakily, and I feel her fingernails digging into my back. I feel her legs tightening around me. I feel her breathing pick up.

I push into her a little faster, a little deeper.

"I don't want to, but I have to. But I do love you. You have to know," she says, almost frantically. Her back arches a little and her fingernails scrape. "Oh God, Edward."

My whole body burns with fatigue, but I keep moving, summoning a little more energy until she comes and I hear her sweet pants and moans in my ear: against my neck and shoulder.

As she's coming down, I smile and whisper to her, "I know, Bella. I know you do."


I wake up to an empty bed and a note on the pillow next to mine.

It simply says:

I love you, I love you, I love you.


"Morning, Tanya," I say, smiling at her as I walk towards my office.

She glares dully. "You're in a suspiciously good mood."

I shrug and grin.

"Too bad it's about to be ruined."

My grin is suddenly gone, just like that, replaced with a frown. I freeze with my hand resting on the doorknob to my office. "Why?"

"FBI." She nods towards the door.

"Fuck," I sigh and don't delay the inevitable. I walk inside, finding a red headed woman and a tall, blond man waiting for me inside. They're stiff and cold, and I plaster on a smile. "Good morning."

The woman with the fiery curls and the sly mouth smiles back. "Good morning, Mr. Cullen."

I shut the door behind me and walk to my desk, putting my briefcase down and taking a seat. "I'm guessing you're here about the Giovanni case."

The woman glances to her partner with a slightly dangerous smile.

The man simply stares at me with blackly amused, intent eyes.

"Ah, no." The woman straightens her pencil skirt and says, "My name is Agent Victoria Weiss. This is Agent James Fields. We're here regarding a different case, actually."

"Well, have a seat," I say, motioning.

Only Agent Weiss takes me up on the offer. Agent Fields instead drifts over to the bookcases, perusing my collection.

"I have to say that I'm not exactly thrilled to see you," I murmur. "In past experience, the feds always seem to fuck around with me—and my case."

"Rest at ease, Mr. Cullen. We won't be bothering one of your cases. We just need to know some information." Agent Weiss's smile is slow and knife-like.

"Regarding?" I question, bored with the theatrics already.

"A Miss Renee and Bella Swan."

At first, I laugh. Because that's fucking ridiculous. And then, when Agent Weiss just stares, I have to ask, "What?"

Victoria bends and ruffles around in her briefcase. She pulls out a packed manila folder and rests it in her lap, like a prize. "When was the last time you were in contact with Renee Swan?"

"What? I don't know. Months ago. We broke up." I frown. My heart is starting to pound too fast. "What is this regarding, Agent Weiss?"

"When was the last time you spoke to Bella Swan?"

"I'm not answering another fucking question until you tell me what this is about," I snap.

"It's classified."

"Oh my God," I mutter, rolling my eyes. "That's such bullshit."

"Not very articulate for a lawyer." Victoria is smiling a little.

"Well, I'm not in a fucking courtroom right now, am I?" My gaze snaps over to Agent Fields, hoping for a little less attitude, but he's hardly paying attention. "Come on. Why the hell do you want to know anything about Renee and Bella?"

"When was the last time you spoke to Bella, Mr. Cullen?"

"I don't have to answer your questions, regardless of what you think," I say. "I'm aware of the law."

"Are you?" Victoria smirks. She digs in her briefcase again, producing a little recorder. She places it on the desk and hits a button.

My own voice fills the air.

"I miss you. I miss fucking you every night like in Miami."

And then Bella's recorded voice says, "I miss you, too. So much."

My stomach drops. My skin tingles. My eyes go blind, yet I see my entire career, my entire reputation, going down the drain.

"That was recorded a few days ago, I believe," Victoria murmurs, nodding.

"She's the legal age of consent," I quote, my voice dull.

"Yes, but it wouldn't look very good if those tapes got out, would it? A twenty-eight-year-old lawyer and a seventeen-year-old, ex girlfriend's daughter?"

"Are you blackmailing me?" My disbelief and fury make themselves known in my tone. "Because if you weren't aware, that's against the law."

"Yes, and so is fraud."

I glance up to the man who hasn't spoken during the entire visit.

Agent Fields drifts over with a strange sort of delight. He grabs the manila folder from Victoria and arches his brows at me. "We aren't interested in ruining your reputation over your little indiscretion with a teenager. In fact, I can't really blame you. She knows what she's doing."

My heart is pounding, and with each beat, I think, over and over, This can't be happening.

"What do you mean?" I demand.

"Her real name is Marie Higginbotham," James remarks and tosses down a glossy picture from his folder.

It's of Bella, except she's blonde with short hair and big glasses.

"Her mother's real name is Renee Higginbotham, formerly Dwyer." He drops a picture of Renee, except she's different, too—almost unrecognizable.

I can't think.

I can't think anything except, This isn't real.

"Renee married a Charles Higginbotham in 1993. A little while later came Marie. A little while later came regret. Renee was poor. She wanted more than a small-town life. She soon began to have an affair with a wealthy local doctor. When he died—under very mysterious circumstances—his children were shocked to find all their father's money was left to Renee."

"What the hell is this?" I mutter, almost too low to hear. I can't stop looking at the picture of Bella, of Bella looking nothing like Bella.

"Suspicion of Phil Garner's death fell solely on Renee after she tried to withdraw all the money he'd left. The assets were then, of course, frozen."

"Now comes the interesting part," Victoria murmurs with a small smile.

James nods. "Charles Higginbotham was, at that time, one of Forks, Washington's finest. He knew they were getting close to pinning the murder on Renee, and he told her to skip town—presumably because he loved her. And Renee, being the manipulator she was, took the young Marie with her, as sort of a bargaining chip. So if Charles ever rethought his decision to let his wife run, he wouldn't turn her in because Marie would then be implicated, too."

"This is… this is crazy," I say, and then I kind of laugh. I'm shaking my head. I'm certain this isn't real. My hands shake as I push my hair out of my eyes and stare up at James. "This isn't true."

James doesn't even blink. He keeps going. "Over the years, Renee and Marie pulled off hundreds of small cons to keep afloat. No one ever expected the sweet-talking woman with the young child to be a con artist."

My stomach twists.

James throws more pictures down, pictures of Bella when she was young, tucked by her mother's side. Some of the pictures are grainy from security cameras, others are from newspapers. Each one has Renee and Bella looking entirely different.

"Renee wanted that perfect life, though. So she decided to con an older man on his deathbed into falling in love. It worked the first time and she collected all the money. So she kept doing it, over and over.

"She's smart," James admits, smiling down at the pictures spread over my desk. "I'll give her that. Throughout all these years, even with a little kid in her way, she's stayed just ahead of us catching her."

"Her case has been cold for over two years now," Victoria says. "We thought either she'd died or she'd attempted to go straight."

"But we were just looking for the wrong MO," James finishes. "Renee graduated from conning old men out of their life savings and went on to illegal art dealings, instead."

"Makes more money and there's less of an emotional attachment," Victoria adds, wrinkling her nose with a nod.

"Renee stayed clean for all of two months before we saw her dealings pick back up in a museum." James sighs and shakes his head. "And now, they're gone again."

"What?"

My voice doesn't sound like my own.

It sounds far away, hollow.

James grins, enjoying the moment a bit too much. "Yes, Mr. Cullen. Your ex girlfriend and your current one have disappeared. Just like they always do."


oxoxoxo