Posted 2021-07-07; Beta'd by Eeyorefan12

Edward had dealt with his share of intense working situations while deployed and at home, but he'd never had to do it without respite for such an extended period of time. Nor had he ever had to do so while being constantly surveilled and forced to fake a relationship with someone.

It had only been two weeks, but he was feeling the strain. There was so much to do to get Aro's security programs in shape, and if he could have, he would have done nothing but work around the clock to finish everything and get himself out of there. But he had a far more important task at hand, and the one most affected by his efforts there, whether or not he was successful, was sitting across the small dining alcove from him.

He watched Bella push her hair behind her ear, her feet tucked up under her as she read her book. She'd finished with one of her literary-looking novels and was on to another romance. Her alternation between genres was a steady pattern and she'd quickly worked through all the books she'd brought. Finding it difficult to locate English versions of the books she wanted on Amazon's European websites, and deciding it best to keep their presence in Italy private, he'd had her place a large order on his US account and then Alice had Fedexed it to a location in Amalfi. The smile on Bella's face when the books had arrived had been worth every penny of the extra three hundred forty-three dollars in shipping and courier costs.

Even though their time together kept him from finishing his work as quickly as he'd like, he didn't mind—not really. Bella was smart, and she was funny, too. She knew how to make him laugh, and he didn't do too badly on that front with her either. While he'd been worried about the pressure of being constantly on his guard, he didn't feel that way now. In their scant private moments, it was easy—natural even—to be himself with Bella. Despite their circumstances, there was a calmness about her that drew him in. .

She was also attractive. Really attractive. It wasn't any difficulty to pretend physical interest in her, but it was getting harder to keep his actual sexual interest—and the evidence of said interest—at bay. He smiled, turning away a little to hide his expression. The first time she'd rolled over in the morning and encountered what Emmett referred to as a man's "morning salute," she'd rolled away again, turned a wordless purple, and practically fallen out of the bed while mumbling an apology.

No, no issues with the physical attraction on his part.

However, after the night of the party, he couldn't ignore just how hesitant Bella was in that aspect of their faked relationship. Having witnessed her extreme reaction to even his careful playacting, Edward had wondered more than once if her experiences with her teenage boyfriend had been more formative than she'd wanted to admit. Most guys that age were pretty clueless when it came to sex. When Edward had asked Bella about the guy that first night together in Stockbridge, she'd told him that the situation, whatever it was, had been enough for her dad to get involved. Had this kid badgered her into something she hadn't been ready for? Had someone else, possibly some entitled Harvard asshole, been rough with her in bed? Just the idea of it made him angry. Still, it would explain a lot about her difficulty with convincingly participating in their charade.

Or maybe the problem wasn't her former boyfriends at all, but the fact that she was having to pretend Edward was her current one. Not so many weeks ago, he'd had her in a headlock in an alley. Then he'd kidnapped her and turned her life upside down after promising her that she'd never see him again.

He grimaced slightly. No, perhaps he hadn't properly taken their history into account. She was remarkably level-headed, but what they had done—no, what you did to her, he corrected himself—would have traumatized anyone. He'd been lucky she'd been so cooperative and hadn't tried to report what had happened to her.

Now she was a hostage twice over.

He had to admit to himself that he might be asking too much of her to pretend to be in love with someone who could operate in such a cold-blooded manner. Edward hadn't been expecting to move beyond what they'd already done, but he was worried that what they'd demonstrated so far wasn't enough to persuade their host—or hostess. If he was right about the cause of Bella's struggle to perform in the role thrust upon her, he had some things to figure out. Aro was already watching their every move—not to mention his wife.

God, Sulpicia. When she wasn't eye fucking Edward across the dinner table at every turn, she talked about sex and all things related to it as if she were discussing the weather. Whether or not they were the intended targets of her commentary, Bella had learned to not react quite as obviously to these comments, but her discomfort with the general topic was evident enough.

Edward knew that Aro's remarks were never casual, so when he'd commented the day before that Bella seemed almost "virginal", Edward understood that it hadn't been meant as a compliment. Aro doubted the reality of their relationship.

He gave a small sigh.

"What?" Bella asked, looking up from her book.

Edward forced a smile. "It's nice out. Do you want to go for a walk?"

"Yeah." She unfolded herself, standing and stretching, making her shirt lift and reveal a thin strip of midsection. It was in no way sexual, though the lower half of his body had an alternative opinion.

He looked away. "I'll, uh, go grab a blanket and meet you back here."

And recite baseball stats there and back. Or think about Aro, or whatever the fuck it takes not to be completely aroused and frustrated.

Yeah, no issues with attraction, just all the issues that came with attraction—to a woman who seemed to want nothing to do with him.

- 0 -

Bending down to remove her shoe and shake out whatever had lodged itself inside, Bella paused to admire the rather stunning view: the setting sun, the bright spring grass, the distant town, the less distant beach by the ocean—and Edward Cullen's rather handsome . . . profile.

Ass, Swan. You can say it. You're admiring his nicely-toned ass.

Just a little.

Standing up, she continued after him. He'd suggested a walk out to a nice lookout where he promised her he'd leave her alone to read. She supposed it was the sort of thing a couple would do. Probably not so one of them could read, though.

Yeah, definitely not to read. She glanced at the book in her hand, her lips twitching a bit. Thanks to Edward's generosity, with Alice his willing accomplice, she was on romance number—ten?—since she'd arrived, an equal number of much more intellectually challenging books interspersed between the lighter fare. She hadn't had so much time to read for pleasure in a long time, and it was one of the things she took a great deal of delight in. While she was less inclined to admit it, she was also enjoying Edward's company.

He'd been working very hard, she knew, and it had been showing at dinner tonight in the unusually worried set of his features. When he'd asked about going for a walk, she'd readily agreed. She knew he liked being outside, and except for his early morning runs, it seemed he had very little time for that these days.

Poor guy, she thought, and then laughed at herself. How far we've come, she mused, catching up with him on the path, but it felt like something had changed. Was she again feeling sorry for her kidnapper, or was this more about concern for a friend?

A friend. Interesting.

"Does this look good?" Edward turned to her and raised his eyebrows in inquiry.

She nodded. Her requirements were pretty basic: blanket, book, horizontal space? Check, check, and check. One fake but admittedly hot boyfriend? Check and . . . mate.

Huh. Okay, maybe using chess terminology to describe the situation wasn't the wisest option.

He was playing his part pretty darn well. There had been flowers delivered to their room at lunch the other day, marking what the note said was their six week anniversary. She'd had to count back in her head to confirm that yes, it was. She'd been surprised he'd even remembered it, but he was nothing if not thorough. They'd been pretty flowers, too. No one had ever done that for her before and, fakery or no, she'd liked it a lot. He'd seemed to appreciate her thanks as well, smiling with what she could have sworn was almost bashfulness on his part—almost. It was Edward, after all. He was a somewhat quiet man, but he was not a shy one.

As she settled onto her stomach with her book, Edward lay beside her on his back, hands behind his head. Despite his assurance that she was free to read, she felt guilty ignoring him while she did so. Part of her wondered if he wanted to walk some more.

"What're you thinking about?" she asked.

"Not much. It's just nice to be outside—not thinking about all the crap waiting for me."

She nodded, humming in empathy. "You've seemed pretty tense lately."

"Yeah." Another sigh. "It's . . . yeah. How's your book?"

"Oh, okay. Not the best representative of its genre."

Edward craned his neck, peering over at it. "Is that a . . . pirate on the cover?"

"Mm-hmm."

Edward chuckled. "I'm pretty sure Amazon knows by now my account was hijacked."

"Why, because you ordered books?"

He laughed. "Clever, but no. More likely the genre. Probably not a lot of discussion of camera schematics and landscaping layouts on pirate ships." He lifted his chin in the direction of her book.

Bella leveled her gaze at him. She'd damn well earned the right to her frivolous fiction. Even so, she still felt ridiculously insecure about being judged for it—because my God, people were judgemental pricks about anyone reading romance—lighthearted, historical, humorous, or otherwise. Having had to spend more than her fair share of time suffering through stuffy and turgid academic prose, it was a remarkable freedom to be able to read whatever she wanted.

"I'm kidding. It's not the book," Edward said, turning his head back to look at the sky. "It's . . . well, yeah, it's the book. I suppose I didn't expect your literary tastes to run to . . . bad boys, shall we call them?" He lifted his eyebrows.

Her cheeks tightened and warmed. "Don't let it go to your head."

Edward laughed loudly. "Noted." Then he tensed, lifting his head, "Someone's coming."

Right.

He'd warned her before they'd come outside, much like he'd warned her the other night—and at least twice before that. Their lack of physical contact had been commented on. His message had been clear.

As he rolled over onto his side, slipping his arms around her, she had to give credit where credit was due. He was good at this and—when his lips touched hers, yeah, that too. Now Bella could hear the crunch of feet on the nearby gravel path. One of Edward's hands cupped her head, the other very nearly her ass. She'd learned to relax when this happened—yeah, no Swan, be real—she'd learned to enjoy it. He was an accomplished kisser. He did things with his tongue that made it easy to pretend they were in the throes of romance.

Or in the throes of foreplay.

Pulling back slightly, Edward glanced in the direction of the path. "They've gone."

"Okay," Bella said, exhaling as he moved away, this time not resting on his back but staying on his side. He was watching—vigilant as always.

So much for him relaxing.

Eyeing the cover of her book, Bella let her gaze rest upon the two figures pictured. Yeah, not a qualitative romance. Edward hadn't been wrong—it was a pirate pictured on the cover, said buccaneer holding a woman in an embrace not unlike the one she and Edward had just shared. She looked at the depiction of their kiss, wondering.

"Hoping for pointers?" Edward quipped, grinning and nudging her toe with his.

Chuckling, she shook her head. Still, she was curious. Glancing around she saw that yes, they were alone. She could ask this and pretend boldness or nonchalance. "Okay, I've, um, always wondered about this, so fill me in on tongues and kissing."

Edward clutched his sides in laughter and rolled onto his back.

Right.

"Okay fine, I walked right into that one, Cullen, but seriously. Stop laughing and share your worldly expertise with the Harvard nerd." So much for not looking embarrassed.

Facing her again on his side, Edward had no trace of humor in his voice when he spoke. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, it seems to be a guy initiated-thing, in my experience. Yes?" Jacob had certainly tried it enough, although with none of Edward's finesse and usually despite her obvious discomfort.

The uncomfortable memory that had surfaced on the night of the party had risen again, but this time because Bella had chosen to summon and examine it. Jake had been boorish on occasion, but the night he'd held her down to "mark his territory" with hickeys had been the worst by far. At the time, she'd been too humiliated to even tell anyone about what he'd done but her dad had noticed the bruises on her arms and intervened on his own. Breaking up with Jake then had been the right thing to do, but it was clear to her now that she'd never properly dealt with the trauma of the event. Doing so the last few days had lessened much of her anxiety. It helped to know that Edward was nothing like Jake. Not by a long shot.

Edward shrugged in answer to her question, and the movement drew her back to the present. "Only guys? Not always but . . . sometimes, I guess." He smirked at her. "Is this something you ask all your boyfriends, or just the fake ones?"

She wrinkled her forehead, ignoring his question. "So, why is it a thing, do you think?"

"Are you asking for my personal opinion, or to speak on behalf of my sex? Because if it's the latter, that's a big ask." There was that wicked grin again. The one that often made her forget what she was about to say—or what day it was.

She prodded him in the chest with her book. "Quit making fun of me and answer the damn question."

His grin faded and he appeared to think. Maybe she had appealed to his medically trained side here. "It feels . . . good. The mouth is very sensitive, and I suppose it's a form of intimacy, to be welcomed into someone's body, in any regard."

Okay, maybe she shouldn't have asked this question. Her cheeks felt very hot.

He chuckled. "You're like a Christmas light bulb, Swan. I've seen red, I just need to figure out the setting for green."

"Oh my God," she muttered, smiling in spite of herself. "Yeah, I am. So . . ." she sighed, "if it is, um, why"—she waved her hand between them—"us, here?"

Yes, you do have a degree from Harvard—not that anyone would be able to tell from this conversation.

All traces of humor disappeared from Edward's face. "Does it bother you? Am I—"

She shook her head quickly. "No, I just . . . wondered."

His shoulders relaxed. "It's pretty obvious when people don't, right? It would be . . . noticed."

Of course. How dumb did she have to be? How had she not noticed that before? Or even considered it? All she had to do was picture one of the chaste kisses at the end of a Hallmark Christmas movie and compare it to . . . pretty much any other romantic film. The obvious difference was beyond important here for her and Edward. It was part of the charade.

"Be honest with me," Edward said earnestly. "Would you rather I not kiss you like that?"

Blink blink, Christmas light.

She knew she should assure him that it was okay, that she actually did like it, but she could barely make eye contact. Then she heard the sound of footsteps on the path. Deciding that if there was a God, he had a cruel sense of humor, Bella finally looked up to see Edward's gaze locked onto the source of the sound. Clearly, he was also disquieted by the timing of their audience's arrival, likely because Bella had not yet answered his question. Realizing that doing anything was safer for both of them than just suffering in quiet mortification, she put her hand to the back of Edward's head, lifting herself to bring their lips together.

He pressed her back down against the blanket. If the footsteps were coming closer, she was no longer paying any mind to them, her attention hyperfocused on what Edward's mouth was doing with hers, because Edward was doing things that were much more worthy of notice.

Edward placed barely-there kisses at each corner of her mouth before tracing first her lower lip and then the upper one with his tongue. Instinctively, she opened her mouth and he only briefly hesitated before slipping his tongue inside, stroking hers. His movements seemed choreographed with the motion of his hands at her back. Massaging her through her shirt, he moved his explorations further down her body, sliding a hand past her hip before closing his fingers around the back of her knee.

She may have tensed, then. As if he sensed her discomposure, the pressure behind her knee immediately disappeared, but instead of relief, she found herself disappointed by the loss of his touch.

She was breathing hard when Edward ended the kiss, and if she was reading him right, he looked a little intense, too.

Yes, she now definitely understood why men liked to initiate that—why anyone might. And, she was surprised to admit that she had felt herself responding in a way that was undeniably active.

Edward didn't comment on her expression or participation, but she assumed the latter must have answered his question. He lay back down to stare at the sky again. Though he had teased her, he had a good sense of when to stop, and she was thankful for that awareness now. Jacob hadn't had any such sensitivity. No Jacob was pretty much always a fucking jerk, now that she'd had time to think about it—or an example against which to contrast Edward's far more respectful behavior.

Maybe she shouldn't be so hard on her high school boyfriend, though. They'd both been so young. Maybe Edward had been a jerk when he was a teenager, too. The longer she thought about it, the less likely that seemed. No, Jacob had simply been incredibly self-involved and Edward had voluntarily marched off to become a soldier before he was twenty. Self-involved he was not. She could speculate as to why, but it really didn't matter.

Bella didn't go back to her book. Noticing that Edward's eyes were closed, she remained still, resting her gaze on his profile and musing about the character traits she'd identified. Edward was profoundly perceptive. Again, a trait that was most often associated with a lack of self-centeredness. It was also one that was crucial to his work, present and past, if she understood what it meant to interrogate someone. But it was more than just his ability to read people, it was his kindness and empathy, too. He could just as easily have been a perceptive and self-centered jerk.

She finally picked up her book again, skimming through the undemanding prose, snorting when she came to the start of a love scene.

"What?" Edward asked, clearly still awake. He raised himself up on his elbows and lifted his eyebrows.

"Oh, bad writing," she said.

Edward plucked her book out of her hands.

"Wait, no—!"

He began reading aloud, and given the rising warmth in her face, he might as well have plugged her in and strung her around a holiday tree.

"He thrust his tongue into her mouth with force, making her moan with desire, his strong hands yanking her towards him, pressing her against his hardened manhood"—Edward rolled over onto his side, slapping the blanket—"Jesus, Swan, really?"

She snatched her book back and swatted his hand with it.

"Hey, look," Edward said, grinning unrepentantly, "I found the setting for green." Then he ducked his head and flopped onto his back, covering his face with his arms as she attacked him, laughing at her as she pummeled him ineffectually with her fists. Soon, she found herself giggling so hard at her own pathetic attempts to subdue him that she was out of breath.

"Give up?" she panted, kneeling over him with both hands planted on his chest as he lay on his back, still smiling at her like the damn Cheshire cat.

His face turned suddenly serious and he shook his head. "Never give up, never surrender."

She scowled at him. "What is that, a Marine slogan?"

"Galaxy Quest, actually."

She had to admit it was a lucky shot, but the wince on his face when she planted her elbow in his ribs was totally satisfying.

Later that evening, as they got into bed, Edward scooted over to drape his arm over her.

She held up a finger in warning. "So help me God, if you reference pirates or Christmas lights, I swear I won't be responsible for what I do to you."

Edward's body shook with suppressed laughter. "Aye, Lass," he said in a convincing brogue. "And I'll not be pressin' me manhood anywhere without yer express permission, either. Arrgh."

Then she was shaking too, biting her lip to keep her laughter inside and, ultimately, failing to manage it.

Author's postscript: This is one of my favourite chapters—certainly the one that leaves me giggling the most. I hope you enjoyed it and would love to hear what made you laugh.

Eeyorefan12: That's my boy. ;)

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