Posted 2021-05-08: Edited by the stellar Eeyorefan12;

Thank you to Chayasara for answering my question about commas :-)

- Erin

Edward felt decades older than his twenty-seven years when he woke in the morning. His neck ached, though it was a subtle echo of the one in his groin. He tried to roll over, only to fall from the couch directly onto the floor.

At least all the sore spots will balance out, he thought wryly.

The sudden inhalation from across the room told him his inelegant waking had been witnessed. He was glad when his temporary roommate remained otherwise silent. He could only imagine what his brother-in-law, Emmett, would have added in terms of verbal commentary. The man had no filter, even at the best of times.

Avoiding eye contact with Bella, Edward got up as gracefully as he could manage, deciding he needed to use the bathroom before he could contemplate uncuffing her. The backup supervision he'd arranged for would be here any minute.

He washed and dressed quickly. When he returned to the room, his charge was waiting on the edge of the bed, legs tucked underneath her as he'd asked her to do the night before. He decided it was worth the additional precaution to move around to the other side, unlocking the metal handcuffs from behind.

Bella was silent beyond her whispered "Thanks" for the clothes he'd left for her in the bathroom. For modesty's sake, she'd draped the shower curtain around herself again. He would have to figure out how to safely give her enough privacy to shower soon. He'd need to do the same. Maybe he could send Demetri up on a ladder to cover the windows from the outside. It wouldn't bother Edward if the man fell off of it either.

As Bella left the bathroom, a sharp rap at the door garnered Edward's attention, and he cuffed her to the table before he called out, "Come in."

Felix gave a resounding "Bonjourno" in greeting.

Impatient to get to work, Edward nodded curtly in reply. There was a stack of tasks waiting for him, not the least of which was the wrap-up from last night. He also needed to flesh out the details on two potential contracts and give their Italian business partners an update. Their acquisition from the previous night wasn't safe yet, and Edward wouldn't rest easy until it was. God, if this girl had screwed everything up—

Enough, he told himself. He soothed his concerns with the knowledge that Jasper had begun a more thorough check on Bella's identity and was making sure their cover for her absence was airtight. Edward was waiting for those reports, anxious to know if they'd dodged a bullet on this or not. Given that he was personally supervising this potential complication, there wasn't anything more he could do. For now, he would concentrate on work.

Work was a helpfully all-consuming activity: it kept him focused, gave him purpose, and allowed him to somewhat atone for events in his past.

"Felix will be watching you for a few minutes this morning while I go get some things I need," he said to Bella, pulling on his shoes. "He can probably even give you an introductory lesson in Italian. Right, Felix?"

"Si," the man replied, grinning. This toothy display looked more like a leer, and when Edward glanced at Bella, he was surprised to find her tense and rigid in the chair, her eyes on Felix. Perplexed, Edward was about to ask what was troubling her when another knock drew all eyes in the room to the entranceway.

It was Demetri. He had a laptop bag in one hand, which he held out for Edward. "The boss sent this for you. He wanted to save you the walk since he knows you're so busy completing your . . . assignment."

Edward tried to keep his personal feelings from his work, but he didn't like Demetri, and clearly, the feeling was mutual. He thought again about the ladder idea but decided it was a job best left to maintenance. It might be hard to explain to their partners how one of their men had broken his neck falling off a ladder on the Cullens' property.

"Grazie," Edward said evenly, feeling anything but thankful. What he'd wanted to say was: I'm in this mess because of you, asshole.

Demetri chuckled, muttering something under his breath in Italian to Felix as he gave Edward a mock salute and walked away.

Edward's Italian was limited, and he regretted again his decision not to study the language in more depth when he'd had the chance. Although vital for his duties at the time, his fluency in Arabic wasn't much use to him these days, except for one or two of their foreign connections and a brief stint volunteering as an interpreter for a local health clinic.

Since his father had seen fit to send him what he would need this morning, Edward dismissed Felix as well. The man's chuckle was a low rumble as he stepped back into the hall while Edward put the laptop bag on the desk, sighing.

There was a loud burble from Bella's stomach, making his own twinge with guilt. He took in her embarrassed expression, mentally sighing. So wrapped up in himself and work, he hadn't thought about feeding her. Breakfast was the meal he skipped most, but he had no idea what Bella's habits were. And since the cook had Sundays off, it was up to him to take care of this.

"Let's go get some breakfast," he said, unlocking her cuff from the table leg. He briefly considered leaving her hands loose but feeling his groin protest as he bent over, he decided against it, securing them behind her back. He knew the kick had been an accident, but its aftermath reminded him that the girl wasn't some helpless kitten.

Babysitting duty, he grumbled internally. He understood his father's reasons for making him handle this by himself. He just didn't appreciate them at this moment.

At the door, he put a hand on Bella's shoulder. "Hold on," he said, pulling out a bandana.

She jerked her head back a bit at the sight of it.

"Just to cover your eyes. The less you see—"

"The better off I am," she said, finishing his sentence for him in a sardonic tone. "Got it."

He tied the blindfold on gently, making sure it was secure.

"Does it feel okay?" he asked.

"Peachy," she said. Her lips were pressed tightly together.

Her response bothered him, though he knew it shouldn't. Sure, Cullen. Go ahead and expect gratitude from your kidnapping victim. He shook his head, trying to break out of his troubled mood.

He thought again about this whole mess. Holding Bella hostage made him incredibly uneasy—not just because it felt like a betrayal of his values, but because it was necessary to protect their mission. It also eroded the moral high ground on which he'd planted himself when he'd joined his father in this venture.

He wanted to do the right thing for the business, and he wanted to let Bella go home.

Both goals were wildly incompatible.

He sighed aloud this time.

The other problem was that he was used to handling prisoners much more hostile than she was. It was too easy for this to feel normal. It would be easier for him not to care and detain her without regard for anything beyond her most basic needs.

But he didn't want to be that former version of himself ever again. He had fulfilled his commitment and done what was required of him while trying not to lose who he was in the process. That time was over.

Now he walked the uncertain tightrope that stretched between the soldier he'd been and the man he was working to be.

"Uh," he began, considering the most likely options available, "do you have any dietary requirements?" He guided Bella around a corner, sliding his hand down to her elbow.

"Pardon?"

"Do you have any food allergies? Any foods you just can't stand?" He jabbed the call button for the elevator.

She frowned slightly before answering. "No, nothing."

"Nothing?" Most of the women he knew had at least a few things they wouldn't eat. He grasped her elbow again, guiding her into the elevator.

"I'm fine with most things," she said, shrugging. "You know, barring being kidnapped."

He let himself smile at her dark attempt at humor, watching her as they rode down two floors. The shrug she'd made was the most natural gesture he'd seen from her yet, and he noted it with interest. Picking up such cues was still second nature to him.

"Any objection to venison, then?" he asked, testing her claim.

"Nope." Her expression was impassive.

We'll see. His mother handled the food purchasing for their company which, given the large and diverse staff living on-site, gave her a sizable logistical challenge to manage. She tried to buy locally, including from a butcher in town who sold venison provided by local hunters. Edward had spotted some venison sausages in the refrigerator the day before and hoped they'd still be available. He wasn't the best cook but he liked to cook well when he did.

The rest of their short walk to the communal kitchen was silent.

After pulling out a chair at one of the tables, he cuffed Bella to the table leg, leaving her dominant hand free. Then he began pulling down the blinds to the room's expansive windows. His mom, who had been given free rein in designing this one room of the compound, loved a well-lit kitchen which meant there were many windows to cover, including the ones he had to climb onto the countertop to reach. It took him a couple of minutes. When he finally removed Bella's blindfold, she blinked a little as her eyes adjusted and then widened. "I wondered what you were doing. That's a lot of windows . . . um, thanks."

Her gratitude shocked him. She was either being stupidly sarcastic, or the girl had no sense of self-worth. He wasn't sure which applied.

"You'd prefer to eat blind-folded?" he asked.

"No, just—never mind," she mumbled. As if distracting herself, she looked over at the kitchen workspace. "Do you want some—" She cut herself off with a self-deprecatory grimace. "Right. Dumb question."

It was said so awkwardly, and her blush made her embarrassment so clear, he decided in favor of low self-worth. How did someone attend Harvard who didn't think much of themselves? Another quandary to be mulled over.

"Would you like some coffee?" he asked.

"Yes, please." Her hand twitched as if she meant to push herself up.

Yes, she was a woman used to doing things for herself. And not one who was comfortable being waited on.

With his back turned to her, he picked up the carafe. "How do you like it?"

"With milk and sugar . . . please."

Just like his own. Having coffee the way he wanted it was one of the many luxuries he'd been without in his years overseas.

"Thank you," she murmured, picking up the steaming mug he set in front of her. He wondered if her politeness was instinctive. She certainly didn't owe it to him.

Turning his attention to breakfast, he sifted through the fridge. The cook had left things tidily labeled, including the venison sausages. Setting them to fry in a pan, Edward pulled out a container of spiced, stewed apples, and some eggs. He kept his eyes darting back and forth between his work and the table where Bella sat. She seemed to be studying her cup, a wrinkle growing in her forehead.

Turning off the stove, he let the pan's residual heat do the last bit of cooking, sprinkling a handful of cilantro and parsley over the top of the eggs without even thinking. He was one of the few in his family who liked it, most of them making faces at even its mention. "Crap," he mumbled to himself, looking up to see if she'd heard.

She had, but when their eyes met, she looked away.

Well, she says she eats everything, he thought, and picked up the plates, taking them to the table. Having rolled up his sleeves to work, his forearm tattoo was visible. Bella's gaze tracked to it and he wondered if she knew what the words meant. She didn't react one way or the other, picking up her fork instead.

"Oh, wow," she said after taking a bite of egg.

Good wow, or bad wow? He didn't ask.

He surveyed her features as she ate. Obviously, she liked the food well enough, though the line of worry had returned to her forehead. It wasn't surprising, but seeing the evidence of her stress concerned him. The easier he could make her stay here, the better the chance she could be convinced to return silently to her life and not speak about what she'd seen. Isolate, deceive, release, he reminded himself.

"Would you like anything else?" he asked. He couldn't help thinking he sounded like a fucking waiter talking to a restaurant patron.

"Thank you, no, I'm fine." She'd replied in kind, but it felt odd to him, hearing the words with the clank of a handcuff punctuating her sentence.

Back in the room, he decided it was time to test the young woman's behavior and removed the handcuffs. The likelihood of her being anything but a girl in the wrong place at the wrong time was growing slimmer by the minute, but it was still a possibility. He'd rather assess her reactions now to see what he might be up against. "Let me check your wrists. Have a seat, please." He lifted his chin in the direction of the table and turned his back on her, watching her in the reflection created by the framed print hung in front of him. If she wanted to attack him, her best choices were the candlesticks or the lamp. Pulling what he needed from the kit, he gave her ample opportunity to steal up on him. She remained seated, hands on the table.

When he sat down, he pushed a pad of paper and pen towards her. Another test. Pens were good for stabbing. He had the scar to prove it.

She left both items untouched, watching him watch her.

"I'm assuming you're testing me," she said, clearing her throat.

"Yes."

She sighed. "As much as I don't want to be here, I don't have a chance in hell at physically subduing you, and it doesn't look like you have anything in that kit that I can drug you with, so you're probably okay to leave the handcuffs off."

An honest assessment. "No, you can't overpower me, though you put up a good fight last night."

There was a flash of either anger or resentment across her face—she'd looked away too quickly to tell for sure.

If she had taken offense at his comment, he wondered if she'd misunderstood his intent. "I'm not trying to make light of any of this, Bella." God, he hoped she didn't think he was making fun of her for kicking him accidentally. Tread carefully, he told himself. There was nothing lighthearted about their circumstances.

Holding out his hand for hers, he saw her hesitate before giving it to him. He inspected the cut on her right wrist, which was irritated but bore no signs of infection. He dabbed on more antibiotic ointment but didn't bother with another bandage. There'd be no need to cuff her again for a while.

"We drove for at least two hours last night if the clocks here are reliable," Bella said, breaking the silence in the room. "That puts us in western Massachusetts, Vermont, or heck, if your driver was speeding, New York. I can't hear traffic, and last night it sounded like the garage was underground. I also heard dogs barking. So either you have me buried in a bunker with fake windows, or we're in the middle of nowhere in April. Maybe both. And while it's warm during the daytime, the nights are still damn cold. I don't plan on dying of exposure or being attacked by guard dogs even if I do somehow get out of this place—which is huge, by the way, since you need elevators to get around."

He was glad he'd told Jasper to check into her story as thoroughly as he could because his suspicions were making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

She had more to say. "I'm not whatever the heck you think I am. I am almost—and God, I'm going to fricking kill you if you mess this up—almost a Harvard graduate. I'm not stupid. You said a week?"

"Thereabouts," he said vaguely, eyeing her. Reaching over, he tapped the pad of paper. "Make a list of what you need from your apartment. Don't worry about clothes."

"Why not clothes?" she asked.

"We'll provide them."

"Why?"

Smart, yes. Borderline annoying too. Does she have to question everything?

"Just make the list, please. Be specific about what you need and where to find things."

She scribbled with her right hand as he took her left in his, removing the gauze he'd applied the night before. The small cut was healing nicely. "Probably best to leave these uncovered and dry for today."

"How do you know I live in an apartment?" she asked.

He didn't answer, lifting his chin towards the list to redirect her.

"And how do you plan on getting into my apartment?"

"I have your keys, but my experience is that most landlords don't think poorly of or object to pest control services showing up with their tenant's signature on the requisition."

She looked up from the list. "I don't have pests, and I'd prefer my landlord didn't think that I do."

A fair point. "Fine. We'll have a cleaning service go in."

She went back to writing, her script tidy and detailed.

"There," she said, passing it over.

It was brief. Some toiletries, no medication, a varied list of books—most of them textbooks—and her laptop.

"We can get your things here by later today—but not the laptop."

She scowled in evident frustration.

"What is it you need on your computer?" he asked.

"My course notes," she said, running a hand through her hair, looking worried. "And two papers I'm working on."

"List the files," he said, pushing the pad of paper back to her. He'd talk to Jasper about getting her a laptop to work on without internet access.

"It's all password protected." Her jaw tightened.

Nope, she didn't want to share those with him. He tried not to smile at her stubbornness. "I'm sure it is. List them. We'll have them for you." Knowing Jasper's skillset, Edward was confident his brother-in-law would have remote access to those files within ten minutes of their guys in Boston entering her apartment.

Her expression was dubious.

"Alright. I need to get some work done," he said. "There's bottled water and soft drinks in that mini-fridge in the corner. You can watch TV, although you'll have to listen with headphones, and there are books on the shelf. Just stay away from the windows."

She pushed away from the table and stood up, looking uncertain.

He realized she wasn't sure if he was going to cuff her again. Pretending not to notice, he pulled out his laptop, set it on the table, and opened his email account. The first message he sent was an internal memo to their maintenance guys. He supposed it might appear unusual to have someone climb up three stories and cover up all the windows to this room but the Cullens treated and paid their staff well enough for them to ignore the occasional odd request.

Typing out a message to Jasper, he paused, realizing that his back was to the glass-framed print he'd watched Bella in before. She was still standing in front of him, arms folded, as if deciding where to go, and she was facing the right direction to read the text in the reflection. If she was doing so, it was of no consequence yet; she knew they were investigating her background.

Edward stood up, pulling out the power cord from his bag, plugging it into the wall, and moving his chair to the other side of the table on the pretense of being closer to the outlet. This way, his back would be to the door, which left him feeling uneasy, but it would have to do for now.

Not in hostile territory, he reminded himself. Old habits were hard to break.

While he was doing this, Bella had wandered a few steps away, obviously testing her freedom. When she got to the bookcase, she stretched up on her toes, fingers tracing the titles on the higher shelves. After working her way down to the bottom level, she reached back up, plucking out a black-spined paperback. She walked over to the bed, flopping onto her stomach, and he smiled to himself. The gesture was so Alice-like. The girl, however, was not. She was taller, her face full of focus as she skimmed through the pages. A fast reader. Her posture on the bed caused the back of her borrowed shirt to lift, and the sunlight that was barely peeking through the closed blinds illuminated a strip of skin on her back. It was pale and smooth . . .

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. What the hell? He was clearly missing his morning workout. Turning his attention back to his computer, he saw the message from Jasper, who had already had a productive morning—unlike Edward, who hadn't even finished his first email. The girl's fake travel details were mostly taken care of, and Jasper would have the rest of it in place by the end of the day. His notes on Bella's life were detailed; if she was undercover, it was deep, and there was no indication anyone was directing her actions. His conclusion: I think you've picked up a college kid, Edward. I suggest you handle her appropriately.

Good. He had no interest in further traumatizing her by leaving her handcuffed here in the room. He would continue to carefully manage what she did and didn't see. She could still cause a lot of trouble for them, even unintentionally.

As it was, Edward planned on letting her think they traded internationally in weapons and ammunition. Simple enough stuff with a high enough value for it to be plausible. He expected she would know something of such weaponry with a cop for a father.

It would work—so long as she hadn't seen the labels on the boxes. Of course, he had no way to determine that.

Setting aside this rather substantial problem, he decided to attend to matters more practical and familial. Trying to look casual, he got up and wandered to the open suitcase where he'd placed Bella's dress the night before. He quickly checked the label before returning to his desk and pulling out his phone. He texted his little sister, Alice: I need you to go shopping.

The reply was instantaneous: Who is this really and how did you get Edward's phone?!

You're a riot, he typed back. Women's clothes, size six, for a week in a warm climate. He thought about it for a moment. And a few things for a cool spring.

Where are you going and who is she?

He smiled at his phone as he typed. Nowhere and none of your beeswax. And some shoes, please. I'll get you the size.

Thinking about how Bella had run a bit awkwardly—even in flats—the night before, and knowing his sister's penchant for shoes, he added, No heels.

Bummer, she wrote back.

Have fun. Love you.

You too, Boo. Dad won't say anything about why you're not home.

Me either. He threw in a smiley face.

I'll bet she's pretty.

When he glanced up, Bella was watching him. Her eyes snapped back to her book, a florid blush creeping up her face. Had she seen him smiling at his phone? Probably.

The cover they were establishing for Bella included her winning a spur-of-the-moment-vacation. To explain her not returning home the previous night, all expenses, including a new wardrobe, were included. Having two sisters and having lived briefly with a former girlfriend, Edward knew more than he needed to about what would likely be on Alice's list. Still, there were a couple of items he knew to be essential for this week that he hadn't mentioned yet, and they were definitely not appropriate to borrow.

He cleared his throat so Bella would look his way. "I've sent someone to buy you some clothes. What kind of underwear do you prefer?" he asked her, trying his best to sound disinterested. "Bikinis? Briefs?" He couldn't bring himself to ask about thongs.

Very quickly, her face was solid red. "Briefs," she murmured, dropping her gaze back to the page in front of her.

"Cotton?" he guessed.

"Mm-hmm."

"Shoe size?"

"Seven."

"Bras?"

How she could get any redder, he didn't know but she seemed to be managing it.

"Underwire. 30B."

He typed this information into the phone while watching her surreptitiously. Except for her panic-driven actions in the alley, he'd already established she was modest in her behavior. He thought of the plain undergarments she'd set on the vanity the night before and amended his message to Alice: nothing adventurous or too fancy.

No Victoria's Secret?

He rolled his eyes even though Alice couldn't see him. Definitely not.

Alice responded with a pouty emoji.

When he looked back up, Bella was still staring at the book, her body stiff with what was probably mortification. He hadn't seen her turn a page for at least a minute.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I'm not trying to embarrass you—"

"Okay," she said, sounding like it was anything but that. She didn't look up. "I'm just not used to discussing my underwear with my kidnappers. Boundaries, you know?"

She sounded so earnest as she said it that it took him a moment to catch the humor in her droll remark. He couldn't help chuckling. "Fair enough. I'll try to respect those, uh, boundaries."

"Great," she said, pushing her hair behind her ear. It might have been wishful thinking on his part, but he could have sworn there was a ghost of a smirk on her face.

DISCLAIMER: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.