:)
31
- somebody that I used to know -
Edward POV
Gianna gets home late Tuesday night.
I'm in bed but working on my laptop, fucking around with my manuscript. Between pausing my relationship with Bella and making major edits to my novel, I haven't gotten a lot of sleep over the last couple of days.
But I'm dealing. I'm waiting. I'm fucking ready.
I hear Gianna moving around downstairs. She doesn't come up right away, but I don't rush to greet her either. Ten minutes later, she walks in with a glass of white wine in her hand.
"Oh, hey," she sighs, setting her glass on the nightstand. She looks and sounds tired.
"Hey."
She immediately strips out of her skirt and blouse, sitting on the bed in her matching underwear. I used to love that about her. That she always had something sexy under her clothes. Now it does nothing for me.
"I figured you'd be asleep," she says, her tits spilling out of her lacy bra. I don't look for long, but she's right there, so it's hard not to.
I look back at the screen. "Nah, I'm working."
"Didn't that deadline pass?" she asks, and she damn well knows the deadline passed because we fought about it before she left. When she told me about her last-minute work trip to San Francisco, I reminded her that we had already agreed the weekend could be spent with me writing and editing. She didn't care. A flight was already booked, and people more important than I am were waiting, so she left.
"I had to get a week's extension, so—" When I start speaking, she looks at her phone. "It was kind of hard to focus on work when I had Seth most of the weekend." I say it sharply, so she'll look up. "Thankfully, my dad took him Saturday afternoon until Sunday morning so I could work."
Yeah, it's un-fucking-fair to make her feel like shit for leaving, especially because of how little I actually worked Saturday night since I was so consumed by Bella. But Gianna doesn't know that. She just knows she inconvenienced me, fucked up my schedule, and changed our plan.
"I'm sorry," Gianna says, setting her phone on the mattress. "That was unfair of me to leave without thinking about how it would affect you."
I blink, stunned to hear that. Her reply doesn't feel like her. It feels rehearsed and phony.
"You knew how it would affect me," I argue, closing my laptop and sliding it to the end of the bed. "We talked about it, and we fought about it."
"You're right," she says, face neutral. "Then I'm sorry for disregarding you and fighting before I left. I was stressed out. I've been getting migraines again and getting nauseous because I'm under too much pressure."
A second apology confuses me even more. "Sometimes it seems like you put the pressure on yourself," I point out. She embraces it. Craves it.
"Maybe I do," she agrees, and I wasn't really expecting that, either. "But that's how I've always operated. This isn't new."
She's not wrong. She's always been fiercely determined and has worked hard. Even if I don't appreciate Gianna's workaholic tendencies and how it affects our lives now, I can admire her drive.
Maybe if she cared a little more about what I do and was more supportive, none of this would be happening. That's where it all went wrong, I think. She had a specific life in mind and a particular idea of me. She doesn't try to hide it either. We used to attend her work functions, and if one of her colleagues would ask what I do, I'd tell them I'm a writer. Gianna always felt the need to step in and tell them what I used to do. The man I used to be as if being an author isn't esteemed enough. As if spending my days writing fiction embarrasses her.
I pointed it out to her, but she denied it. It kept happening, so that's why I stopped being her plus-one to those kinds of things years ago.
So, no, none of this is new. I guess she never changed—I did. I know when we met I was a different person. A corporate douche and a fucking snob. I cared about the wrong things, and I had the wrong goals. But when my mom passed away from cancer, it all clicked. My perspective changed. What the fuck was I doing? Life is short. I should be doing something I love for a living.
That thought process still rings true. Not every day is guaranteed. Am I the asshole for wanting more? For wanting a partner who's present to share my fucking life with? Am I a selfish prick for wanting someone to be proud of me and to take an interest and to fucking love me?
I know the answer to all of that is no—I'm an asshole for cheating. And when all of this comes out, none of my reasons for doing it will matter. Gianna will be the wronged party, but that's fine. I'll be the bad guy, but at least I'll have Bella.
I think about her now.
I hate myself for suggesting we take a step back, but it was the only thing I could do. I knew the lying and sneaking around was affecting her, but I also knew she wouldn't be the one to suggest we cool it.
I miss her mouth and her body and her soft sounds. I remind myself that giving all of that up, for now, will be worth it to have her forever.
I'm stuck in my head when Gianna moves closer and fucking straddles me on the bed.
"What are you doing?" I ask, confused because we're not intimate like this. And she's definitely not this forward.
"I'm making it up to you," she says, seductively staring at me while undoing her bra. "I mean it, okay? I'm sorry for being a bitch."
She shifts closer for a kiss. I don't meet her halfway, but I don't have to because she does all of the work, leaning in and pressing her lips to mine.
She kisses me.
Her mouth moves, lips parting.
I don't close my eyes.
It's not a long kiss, but can't she tell something is off? It's too forced. Too mechanical. There's no passion here. When there is passion, as fucked up as it is, it's because I'm thinking of Bella.
"You're seriously going to stay pissed at me?" she asks, annoyed when I haven't kissed her back.
"I'm not pissed. I'm tired. It's late, and I still have shit to do." She scoffs, and I worry we're about to fight, but I don't have it in me. "How was San Francisco?" I ask neutrally, shifting gears.
She moves off of me and grabs her wine, staying topless.
"Busy, but I got to sneak away to Sacramento to visit with my parents last night," she tells me. "That was nice."
"How are they?" Her parents are great. We talk occasionally, but I haven't seen them since Thanksgiving. We were going to visit them after Napa, but that didn't happen because Gianna ended our trip early.
"They're good. Dad's in the middle of rebuilding the deck, and Mom is micromanaging it all." She smiles genuinely, and it surprises me. That smile is rare nowadays, only reserved for Seth and her parents, I guess. "They're excited about their new grandbaby. They're going to stay with us for a week after Alice gives birth, by the way."
"Are you taking time off?"
She regards me, and I decipher that, no, she's not. It'll be me keeping them occupied while they're here, depending on the timeline and when we split.
"When is your sister due again?" I ask, trying to get my shit in order.
She sips her wine. "God, like, in a month or so? Maybe two. I don't remember. My parents said hi, though, and they asked about your book."
"What about it?"
"Like when it's coming out, what's it about…"
"What'd you say?"
"That I'm a shitty wife and don't know anything about it," she says, laughing dryly.
I can't tell if she's joking or not. "What'd you really say?"
"That's exactly what I said." She actually laughs this time. "They thought I was joking, but I don't know—I'd had a lot to drink. The Cheneys were over, and we were all catching up. You know how dinners with my folks get."
"Oh. Their neighbors were there, too?"
"Yeah." She sips her wine again, holding my gaze. "Ben was there, too."
"As in your college boyfriend, Ben?" I clarify. I think she wants a reaction, but nothing inside of me fires up at hearing this. It's not the same way I feel when I imagine Bella and Jared together. But maybe that's because Bella still belongs to Jared. It's been more than fifteen years since Gianna and Ben were together.
"Yes, that Ben. He was visiting from Chicago, and his sister, Lauren, was at dinner, too. I hadn't seen her in so long, and guess what? She never left Sacramento. Can you imagine?" She visibly shivers, like staying in her hometown would've been the most chilling thing.
"Sacramento is a decent place to live," I tell her.
"Better than Forks that's for sure," she teases. I ignore her jab at my hometown. "Sacramento is fine, but to never leave? Never live somewhere new? It's a bit much. At least one of their children is successful."
She hasn't mentioned Ben in a while, and I wonder if she wants me to bite. "What does he do again?" I ask out of curiosity.
"He's been CFO for some architecture firm for a while."
"That's right." I'm pretty sure I knew that at some point.
I wonder if Gianna's disappointed she chose me instead of him. Wonder if she's curious about how different her life would be. But maybe it's only me who has regrets.
"It's interesting, though. To have such a successful son, while Lauren just teaches elementary school. She barely had any interesting stories to share while we were eating. I honestly felt a little bad for her."
I scoff. "Oh, come the fuck on, Gianna. As if teaching isn't a noble fucking career?"
"You know it's true," she replies defensively, making me look like I'm being too touchy. "Her career is clearly less esteemed than Ben's. I'm just stating the obvious."
"You're being a snob," I say, calling her out.
"Like you're not?"
"I can like nice things and live a certain way, but I don't have to put others down for what they choose to do."
"You're too sensitive sometimes," she huffs and sets her wine down.
We stare at one another, and I try to pinpoint the exact moment I fell out of love with her. But I think it's exactly the same way I fell in love with Bella. It didn't happen all at once. It was over time. Moments of showing true colors and knowing where priorities lie.
"Well, whatever. Lauren is sweet, and she's probably a good teacher because of that. Ben hasn't changed—he's smart but not overly personable or kind. Not like you." She holds my gaze, giving me whiplash. Seconds ago I was too sensitive as if it was a bad thing. Now I'm kind and it's complimentary. "My dad pulled me aside before I left and asked if we were okay."
"Who? You and Ben?" Maybe there is something there. Some small flicker of jealousy that her dad would want to know if she and her ex-boyfriend were on good terms.
"No," Gianna clarifies, looking a little pleased to hear a slight edge in my tone. "My dad was asking about you and me. I think my non-joke about your book didn't go over so well with him, but I told him we're going to start therapy again. He seemed to think it was a good idea. He told me I need to be more present and cherish you. It sounds cheesy, I know, but he had a whole speech. He was a little wine drunk, too, but it was actually really sweet."
I scratch the back of my neck. I've always respected and admired Henry, but his advice is too little too late.
"Interesting," is all I say.
She straddles me again, and it takes everything in me not to instantly move her off of me.
"Did I detect a little jealousy in your tone?" she asks. "Are you envious of Ben?"
"No."
Smirking, she grabs my hand and places it on one of her tits. I don't palm or pinch it like I would've months ago. I drop my hand.
"Not even… a little jealous?" she asks, her hips rolling against me. I ignore her question. "Ben and I did have some time to catch up, just us, after dinner. Do you want to know what we talked about?" she asks, searching my face. Again, seeking a reaction.
"Not really," I tell her honestly. I have Bella. She can have her secret conversations with her ex-boyfriend.
She tells me anyway, still grinding on me. "We talked about you. He's read your first two books. He's a fan, I guess."
"A fan?" I laugh a little, but it's dry. I grab her hips to keep her from moving. "Stop."
"No, really. He rarely reads fiction, but he reads yours. It's a huge compliment. It made me… I don't know. It made me really happy to hear someone I know, who isn't family or our close friends, talk about you like that."
I swallow. "So someone that you respect has to have a high regard for me to make you proud of what I do?"
She looks guilty and lies to my face. "No."
"You know people enjoy my books, right? There are articles about me. I've done podcasts. Book tours. Both novels are New York Times best sellers. But I guess that's not enough, right? Some corporate hot shot douche says he likes my shit, and what—suddenly what I do matters to you?"
She leans forward, so her tits are flush with my bare chest, and our faces are close. "I know you think I'm a bitch, okay? I know that. I'm sorry—books aren't my thing, but you are. I'm going to pay more attention, okay?"
Her expression is apologetic. For the briefest second, I think her words ring true. Maybe she does love me in her own fucked up way. I don't know. I don't see it or feel it enough to make sense of it.
"You're not a bitch," I mutter, but I'm still a little heated from remembering how she's belittled me over the years.
She smiles and sits up. "How hard was that for you to say?"
"I mean… on a scale from one to ten?" I ask, keeping my eyes away from her tits. "You don't wanna know."
She laughs at my honesty and leans forward again, sucking my neck. On the side opposite where Bella's bite is fading.
"Can we fuck?" Gianna whispers, grinding against me again with purpose.
I panic. She never wants to. I don't even remember the last time we did.
"Now?" I ask, swallowing. "You just got back. It's late."
"So? It's been too long. Since our anniversary."
She's still writhing on my lap, grinding hard against the thin cotton of my boxers. I hate that I start to grow hard, but I can't help it. It feels good, but it's merely the friction that's turning me on. Not her. She's not the one I want.
"Not tonight," I tell her, hoping I can end this without sparking a fight or suspicion.
Her mouth moves to nibble on my earlobe. "But I want your big cock…"
She doesn't talk like this. Or do this. I grab her by the arms and push her back to her side of the bed, searching her face.
"What are you doing?" I ask, skeptical.
"Trying to make you feel good. Is that alright with you?" She leans over again and kisses me, sliding her hand into my boxers and palming my half-hard cock.
I hate that it feels good.
Hate that I don't stop her right away.
All I can think of is Bella.
Bella, Bella, Bella.
"Don't you ever miss this?" Gianna asks breathlessly, pulling my cock out through the flap.
I'm fully hard now. She's still stroking and starts to move like she's going to settle between my legs and take me into her mouth.
Bella, Bella, Bella.
Bella.
I roughly grab Gianna's wrist and stop her.
I can't do it.
I told Bella I wouldn't.
Yeah, physically I could let this happen and think of Bella the entire time. Morally, I can't. I don't fucking want to. I can't do that to my girl.
Gianna regards me, eyes narrowing.
This isn't like her. I don't know what she's playing at, but it almost makes me think she knows about Bella and she's testing me.
"Not tonight," I say again gruffly, getting up from the bed and tucking myself back into my boxers.
"Jeez, okay." She huffs in annoyance. "If I were the paranoid type, I'd think you're getting it elsewhere."
I stop in place and look at her.
If she asks me about Bella this time—accuses me of something going on—I'll tell her the truth. I will. The last time she asked before we left Napa, I denied everything. But that was before Bella and I had sex. Things are different now. I'm in deeper than I even realized was fucking possible. I've told my brother and his wife about us and have admitted that I love Bella, to myself and others.
So, if Gianna asks me, I'll tell her. Bella will be hurt and might not forgive me for blowing shit up this way, and Gianna will be pissed. But I don't think I have it in me to outright lie.
I wait.
If she suspects, she doesn't inquire. All she says is, "Good thing I'm not insecure or paranoid." She starts to put on her bra. "You know, you really lucked out with me."
I stay stoic, not indulging her, and walk into the bathroom to brush my teeth, waiting to get back into bed until after my erection deflates.
"Edward…" she starts to say, and I'm just tired. I want to sleep. She's fully covered now, and I crawl under the sheets. "I just want us to reconnect, okay? My dad's words hit deep."
"Yeah."
"Can we have a date night this week? You can tell me all about your book. No phones, no distractions. Just us and some alone time?"
Hearing her say this does nothing for me. I feel like shit, but it's true. But this is what I wanted, right? For her to take an interest? I used to, years ago, but not anymore. I know just because she's saying this doesn't mean it will happen. I know these are just words, and actions always speak louder.
But, fuck, why is she doing this now?
Why is she putting in the effort now that I've committed myself to leaving and eventually moving on with Bella? Is it merely because her dad gave her some advice? Or because she was suspicious of my blatant interest in Bella?
Whatever it is, I refuse to believe this is because she wants to save our marriage. It has to be something more. It makes me irrationally upset with her, but I know that frustration is misplaced. I'm mad at myself for not leaving yet. I'm mad at myself because the idea of being intimate with her feels like I'd be cheating on Bella.
"Sure, maybe," I say, leaving our plans tentative. "When did you reschedule our therapy session for?"
"It's a few weeks out."
"What?"
"What's the problem?"
"You said it was this week."
"No, I tried for this week, but she didn't have any openings that worked with my schedule" Gianna eyes me. "What's the rush?"
"No rush. I just… yeah. No rush."
Inside, I'm panicking. Dying. I can't wait for weeks. I can't fucking do it.
She accepts my lie and kisses me. My lips stay slack again. I wonder if she can taste Bella. If she can sense there's something different about my mouth. She pulls back to regard me, and for a second, I think maybe she does.
Instead of questioning me, all she does is press one more lingering kiss to my lips, so I'll kiss her back. And I reluctantly do.
We pull apart, and I swallow back bitterness and resentment. She washes hers down with wine.