Last one for today, babes!

I'm on fucking edge. I feel nervous, the way I felt when I brought Persephone home. Alice keeps yapping on an on about how the place is too masculine, scolding me for not letting her go shopping for nice, decorative elements.

She keeps calling Bella 'New York', too. The woman is nuts. I'm glad when Jasper does what I asked him to. He calls her and asks her to spend the night.

The email I sent Bella with her first-class plane ticket remains unanswered. I'm anxious and drown the last bottle of booze in the house, leaning back against the couch, bare back against smooth velvet.

When Alice leaves for the night I tell her to pack for two, because I don't plan to let her witness the things I'll do to my girl. My dick is hard and frustrated, but I don't him. I don't give in, because Bella asked me not to. That was downright the hottest thing ever, to hear her take control like that.

Last night was tough, chasing a guy who punched his girlfriend right into the emergency room. Weekly. I made sure he won't ever lay a finger on anyone. It's good to see there are still good fathers out there.

I take another sip of scotch. It's premium stuff, a bottle I stashed away for later, a later that'll never come now that I plan on making a future with the delicious brunette from Harlem. The liquor worked its magic, and I'm calm and relaxed, delightfully buzzed.

My phone is on my thigh, screen up, waiting. I call her, but she's not answering. I tug my hair, repeatedly until I think my fucking scalp will bruise.

I call her again, same outcome.

Maybe she went to bed ridiculously early to get up well-rested. I sigh and get up, walk through the open doors leading to my balcony.

As I overlook the night sky of Miami Beach, I'm torn between two things: call her again, or call her friend again — the friend who gave me his number when he thought I'd be Bella's sponsor.

I light a cigarette, pretend like there's not already seven in the ashtray. And that's only from three hours ago, as I press dial.

"Yeah?" His voice is scruffy, but it's only ten pm. I doubt he was sleeping.

"Hey, Emmett. It's Masen again." I take a deep drag, enjoy the cooler night air. I've felt overheated all day, which is weird since I love the hot, humid air and it's only November.

"Hey man, did you need Rose again?" He asks.

"Is she there?"

"Just getting out of the shower. Hold on, I'll put her on."

There's silence for a bit until I hear him talk to Rose.

"Masen?" She is not confident like she was this afternoon when I called her. Something's up, I just know it.

"Sorry to disturb you, sweetheart. But have you heard from Bella? She's dodging my calls and emails." I feel like a fucking lovesick puppy. I'm ridiculous.

"I ah— called her this afternoon." She confesses.

"Yeah?" Another deep drag and I almost choke on the smoke when she speaks again.

"I don't know where she is, Masen."

What the actual fuck?!

"What the fuck do you mean?" I raise my voice and Persy barks, calming my temper as her muzzle pushes against my bare shin. I scratch her between the ears, telling her it's okay.

"I— I went up to her place to talk to her, but she was gone. The landlord said she'd left the day before. With luggage." My heart rate skyrockets as the ground threatens to fall beneath my feet. I sink down on the wood tiles on my balcony, ashes falling all over my stomach. I don't care, smoke past the filter before I throw the rest of it over the glass railing.

I'm seconds away from a panic attack. I haven't had one in years. Not since we moved to Miami. It's why I like it so much here. No fuss, no past.

"Masen? Are you there?" I stare at the screen and realize I've gone radio-silence on Rosalie for the past minute.

"Y—yeah." I clear my throat and collect myself.

"Call her, call me if anything changes. I'll fix it." I bark.

"What do you mean?" It's Emmett now, but I hear a muffled sob. She's put me on speaker.

"I'll fucking find her, that's what I mean." I end the call and stare at the white wall in front of me. Persephone rests her head on my lap. It's like she knows. She always knows.

"Fuck!" I yell, my head crashing behind me, against the wall.

Where the fuck is my girl?