Sorry for the delay! Real life is kicking my ass to hell and back.

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Edward makes me sleep in his bed, though he insists that he can take the floor-either in the room or right outside the door. His paranoia would be annoying if I wasn't so desperate for him to be near me.

I tell him that I would feel safest if he was in bed next to me, my voice dropping an octave in an attempt to sound sexy. He lets out one of his signature long-suffering sighs and tosses me one of his t-shirts and a pair of athletic shorts before he shows me where the bathroom is.

There's a new toothbrush in a box on the sink and I'm struck by how clean the bathroom is. Nothing out of place, no gross boy-lives-here beard hair all over the sink.

"Do you have a maid?" I call through the closed door as I tug the shirt over my head.

"No," he says back, his voice muffled. "Why?"

"Just weirdly clean," I tell him, tugging the door open. He's sitting on the bed in a pair of plaid pajama pants and a gray t-shirt, leaning back on his hands.

"No it isn't," he says, his stare lingering on my bare legs.

"The shorts are way too big," I explain with a blush. The shirt is long enough that there's nothing scandalous showing at least.

He swallows hard and gets off the bed, making his way to a pile of blankets on the floor.

"You can sleep up here!" I say, climbing into bed. It's so soft, like I'm sitting on a cloud. I'm already drifting.

"No, I can't," he says softly, flicking the light off. "Goodnight, Bella."

"Goodnight, Edward."

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"Hello?" I call out down the stairs. The morning light is streaming in the front windows and someone is opening and closing cupboards in the kitchen. "Edward?"

There's a clack clack clack of heels across the wood floor of the hallway and then Rosalie Hale is standing at the foot of the stairs, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

And that's when I realize I'm still in Edward's t-shirt and nothing else.

"Good morning," she says. "I was told to bring clothes for you, but was not informed how petite you are. Hopefully these aren't too big." She reaches for a garment bag hanging on the railing.

"What-what are you doing here? Where's Edward?"

"He's already at work. I've been tasked with bringing you in separately so as not to cause a tabloid shirt storm."

"Do you...do that a lot?"

Rosalie smirks and replies, "No, I can't say that I do."

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Rosalie, it turns out, is pretty cool. Her outward appearance is prim and powerful but she curses like a sailor and devours a breakfast sandwich in less than a minute. The clothes she brought are definitely too big, but not overwhelmingly so.

"So...you work for Cheney, right?" Rosalie asks as silence gathers heavily around us while I pick at my own breakfast.

"I do. You're an attorney, right?"

"Yeah, I work a lot on negotiations. Cheney seems like a piece of shit. Is he?"

I stifle my surprised laugh and say, "I mean...yeah. He really is."

Rosalie is parked in the garage, her red BMW has windows tinted so much that I can't even see inside of it.

"I like my privacy," she says, noticing my stare and unlocking the car. "Especially leaving Edward's place, though the media hasn't really figured out that he has this place."

"Really?"

"Edward is fiercely private and obnoxiously sneaky. It took them years to figure out he wasn't living at his parents' place. They still haven't figured out that his apartment in the city isn't his real home base."

"And you don't find that strange?" I pry, trying to figure out just how much she actually knows while we begin to back out of the garage.

She shrugs and replies, "He's always been like that. I think growing up in the spotlight with his parents and then...everything after...made it worse. He's such a hermit, I can never get him to do anything or go anywhere. He always says he already has plans but I am his like, only friend. Until now, I suppose." She throws me a sidelong glance as we make our way through the streets. I immediately turn bright red.

"Spill it," she urges. "What is going on with you two? The first I've ever heard of you was this morning and he would not stop asking me to be nice to you."

"Oh my god," I groan, dropping my head into my hands.

"Stop, it was so cute," she gushes. "He was so concerned I'm surprised he even managed to leave without you this morning."

"We're just friends," I lie. Because while we might not be dating or in love or whatever, friends feels wrong as it rolls off my tongue.

"Mmhmm, whatever. Fine, don't tell me," she concedes as if she is not actually going to drop it at all.

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