** IMPORTANT NOTE **

I know some of you had issues with FF earlier in the week, either unable to access CHAPTER 3 on Monday or didn't know it had posted at all.

Please make sure you go back to read it before reading this one! If you still can't see it, please PM me and let me know.


Chapter 4

To relax from my pulse-pounding but heavenly (besides the kick in the 'nads) morning convincing Bella she should hear me out, I decide to make use of the hotel pool. Knowing Bella isn't on duty allows me to stop by the bar for a glass of wine; one I select myself from the extensive list. I should probably try to blend in with a Pina Colada or something housed in a coconut, but I've never been one for fruity, girly drinks that taste like a Sandals commercial.

Slathering on my 50+ sunblock, I feel a bit silly in the trunks I bought, even if they are by far the tamest at the pool. Palm trees, surfing penguins, all adorn the men that lay about the chaises with beers in their hand. Should I have ordered a beer (vile) instead? My plaid trunks and I make our way to the pool, dipping a toe in before diving fluidly underwater like Michael Phelps.

I said I don't own trunks, I didn't say I don't enjoy a swim. In my apartment building after hours, I've been known to swim sans swimwear in utter privacy since I assume no one else in the building knows how to pick locks.

Floating down to the bottom of the pool, I let my inhuman ability to hold my breath for an extensive period of time (comes in handy, believe it or not, at work) give me a brief respite from any noise. I watch as legs pass me, taking the occasional glance at a set of boobs as they float above. Pushing off the cement bottom before anyone can become alarmed at my talent, I skyrocket to the surface and break free, before stroking through a lazy lap towards the chair where I left my things.

This isn't so bad, VA-CA-TION. People watching is definitely in my wheelhouse of skills, but doing it just for the heck of it is amusing. Couples disagree a lot, I notice, even when they're supposed to be relaxing and happy. Fascinating. Maybe Bella and I are already halfway to marriage.

The metal of the chair screeches next to me on the cement and a man of about forty (balding and paunchy) leans back with a satisfied groan, his body dripping pool water and I wonder why he hadn't grabbed a towel. "You go ahead, baby. I'm watching." He waves at a somewhat cute blonde child in a pink Minnie Mouse swimsuit as she jumps in, her fingers pinching her nose closed. He drinks his beer so I sip my wine, wondering if I'm supposed to make small talk.

The waitress comes around and he orders another, watching her ass as she walks away. "My wife used to look like that."

I look at the woman holding the toddler in the pool. What the fuck am I supposed to say in return? Looking at your wife, I'd have to disagree? "Mmm." I say, non-committedly, but it's enough for him to see me as a willing audience.

"Here on vacation?"

"Aren't we all?" I smile, raising my glass to him. We return to silence, and the waitress returns with his beer.

"I bet you're here with a girl that looks great in a bikini." Is this man serious? He doesn't even know me. People are very crass. I like them better when I sneak up behind them and strangle them with piano wire.

"Sort of visiting an old friend, actually."

"Oh, well that's a good reason to be here."

I say nothing, just sip my wine and think about Bella freely, still a foreign feeling since I've denied myself of the activity over the years. I learned very quickly that not thinking of her allowed me the freedom to do my job, and also to not make my chest, stomach, head, and every appendage hurt so much.

Bella's image drifts before my eyes, a memory of her in cutoffs much like the ones she had on last night paired with a blue gingham bikini top. She was a vision, holding onto the rail of my mom's jeep as we made our way to the beach for a day of surfing, getting high and making out.

She's dancing in front of me like it was yesterday to the music coming from the portable radio we had, a joint in hand and her skin glowing orange from the small fire we'd made. Her hair was wild, curled from sea salt and sand, and I thought I was going to die, my heart was so full of her.

My thoughts are cut short as the man gets up to help his wife dry off their kid. "Have fun visiting with your friend." I wave goodbye, making a mental note I'll have to go back to that interrupted memory later with my lotion. As pleasant a thought as that is, and as much as I'd like to run up there right now to relive it in private, there's a bigger elephant gnawing at my head caused by what the ass-gawker just said.

Fun.

Seeing her, being near her, experiencing her ire - it's been fun for me, it's been the best feeling I've had since I left her. But has it been for Bella?

Lying to myself has become habit, a way to deal with the way I live. It's a daily occurrence, lying about my name, lying about why I'm travelling, lying to myself that what I do has no moral repercussions (even if the guys I whack deserve it), but can I really pull the wool over my own eyes and talk myself into the idea that Bella is happy to see me? Why the fuck should she be?

The guilt I've quelled for years, the pain inside me all this time is not only for what I lost, but the pain I caused her… I shake my head and take a big swallow, the red wine abruptly bitter in my mouth. She said she wanted me dead. She was humiliated. I did that. Her boyfriend, her soul mate, the person that promised to protect her heart forever, in reality, killed it.

She was going to gut me with a meat cleaver. You don't just pick that weapon as foreplay. Now a branding iron, maybe.

After I've had my fill of the pool (and people), I check with the front desk to see if there are any messages for me. I'm delighted when the girl says yes, but then horrifyingly depressed when the message is from Emmett, so I stuff it in the pocket of my trunks and sulk on my walk to my room.

Pacing, I'm unaccustomed to the idea of having no control over a situation. Even before I chose my occupation, I was most relaxed when I was in charge - a trait that I found Bella mostly liked (in the bedroom, heh), but in our day to day activities, she would do all she could to tame the urge I had. It makes total sense now, of course, something I suppose will come up when we talk. If she doesn't leave me hanging like an ear attached to a lone string of cartilage after it's been used as a compliance tool.

Showering the chlorine off of me, I'm grateful for the luxury of the phone in the bathroom, hanging on the sleek white tiled wall. I keep one eye on it throughout, willing it to buzz with my agenda for the evening. Will she ask to talk to me? Or will she leave a message for the front desk to be in charge of delivering? Frustrated, I grab the Bath and Body Works Tahiti Island Dream body wash (don't judge me) and go to town on myself. Picturing Bella kneeling in front of me, her hair wet with droplets that shine and sparkle as she moves, I come quickly, making sure not to leave evidence of my activities on the glass door.

The scotch in the minibar is inviting, but I grab the bottle of red I'd been drinking by the pool (prompt room service - noted) and head out to the balcony, calming my breathing as I sip and look out over the truly magnificent shades of blue lying open in front of me. Boats pass, jet skis zip by, my keen and trained eyesight allowing me to indulge in watching the people on the water laughing and enjoying the sport.

Finally, the phone rings so I dash to it, then hesitate, not wanting to appear too eager.

"Hello." Super-casual.

"I have a message for a Uri Dick?" Very funny.

"You can give it to me."

"Ms. Swan left a message to meet her at The Smallest Bar on Duval, eight o'clock. Do you need the address?"

With my agreement, she gives it to me before asking if I need anything else. Hanging up, I'm a bit dismayed, hoping for a restaurant which would mean she is planning on spending a bit more time with me than apparently she is. Undeterred, I check my appearance in the mirror, and in a last minute decision, style my hair the way she liked it way back when. Slightly wild, upturned and chaotic from her fingers and rolling around in her bed. She always was a sucker for my hair, like I was for her smile.

Another job hazard of mine is my need to arrive someplace before the other party. So at seven I make my way down Duval towards the address the girl gave me, not paying much attention to the music and people lining the streets as I only have one goal in mind. I make sure I've crossed the street before I get to the establishment so I may survey it and stand in a cigarette store by the magazines so I can look out the window. I can't see much from my vantage point, but it looks like a tiny place. I've noticed a lot of bars here have back patios where you can sit outside, so maybe there's some type of beer garden behind it, loaded with picnic tables and drunks. Not exactly what I had in mind, but I'll take it if this is what will make her comfortable.

After fifteen minutes, I see her coming down the street, a cute little yellow floral dress swinging around her legs, and take that as a positive sign seeing that she isn't wearing a burka. Dashing out, I cross the street and come right up to her before she gets to the bar. "Hello, Bella. You look stunning." And she does, her lips are pink and her hair is tousled.

She jumps a bit at me suddenly looming over her and backs up a smidge. "Edward." Inwardly, I pump my fist when I see her eyes snapping up to my hair, and widen just a tad. Enough that I've noticed. Her breathing stutters as well, and her lips part the tiniest bit.

Got ya.

I reach for her hand slowly; the feel of her skin on my fingers as I guide her hand towards my mouth is heavenly. She doesn't pull away, her eyes follow the path my lips are making towards her knuckles, and her pupils dilate when they finally make contact. I can't help but close my own, savoring the idea that I've got any part of Bella underneath my lips, something I told myself I would never - could never - have again.

It feels like an eternity they rest there, until I feel her hand slipping from me, pulled behind her back like she just got slapped by a nun. "Let's get something straight, Edward. This is not a friendly get-together or God forbid if you think it's a date, but this little meeting is just that. A little meeting. Hence the venue." She turns with a swing of her hips and a swish of her skirt, leaving me on the sidewalk.

As soon as I follow her inside I realize why this is called the Smallest Bar, and why she's calling it a little meeting. I practically bump into her because she's only taken two steps. And that's not because the place is crowded, or she's suddenly faint with the feel of my skin on hers, but because the bar is the size of a studio apartment closet. And I would know, I've had to hide in a few waiting for a mark. I literally reach out and touch both walls as she places her order.

"A daiquiri, please. He's paying." She thumbs towards me and the lady behind the counter starts mixing, filling a real pineapple with the concoction when she's done. So this is how Bella wants to play. She wants to make this as quick as possible, not even wanting the option to sit with me. The bartender asks me what I want and I'm still rolling over how to get Bella out of here that I haven't looked at the drink menu, a small chalkboard on the two foot long counter.

"A scotch. Balblair, please." The lady looks at me like I'm speaking a dead language. Guess I'll have to go a bit more mainstream. "Johnny Walker Blue."

"He'll have one of these." Bella raises her pineapple, and even though I'm sickened by the thought, it's not about the drink after all, so I say nothing and pay the twelve dollars. I follow Bella out onto the street, frowning at my pineapple, and sit next to where she's perched on the cement steps of what looks like a store that only sells flip-flops.

I watch her mouth as she pulls the alcohol through the straw, glad I got rid of my tension in the shower. We sit in silence for a few minutes, me fake drinking and Bella watching the people as they go by. "So," I start, only to be interrupted by a couple of girls stepping between us to go into the store.

"As I was saying," I begin again, leaning out of the way one more time for tourists. Bella cocks a brow at me, still sipping on her straw and I begin to worry that she'll get drunk, and possibly violent. This isn't how I wanted this to go at all, but I'll have to make do.

"Bella, I know there's a lot to say, a lot you don't know." She continues looking at me, not saying a word. Waiting. Balls in my court all the way and she's not going to help me out here, at all. "First of all, it was never my intention to hurt you. You have to know that."

Two giggling girls say 'excuse me' and walk between us. I'm starting to get frustrated, but I lean out of the way again. Once they've passed, I check the door to make sure no one is imminently about to step out. "Something happened…"

"Sorry, can we get through?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake." I stand and glare at the couple, suddenly in need of uncomfortable footwear at eight-thirty at night. I know the demonic look I've perfected is on my face at the way they cower and apologize, ducking into the store quickly.

Throwing my pineapple into the garbage bin at the curb (I'm an excellent shot, of course), I grab Bella's hand despite her startled protest and begin leading her down the street.

"Let me go!"

"No. I'm not going to sit on a step and try to have a conversation with you between hairy legs and knobby knees." Pulling her with me, she's following even if she's dragging her feet.

"I'll scream!"

Turning towards her in an instant, it's no mistake I press my body against hers, trapping her pineapple between us. "You won't. Because if you do, I'll kiss the ever living fuck out of you, which you'll inevitably enjoy, therefore rendering your protests useless. So if you do not wish for me to stick my tongue far down your throat in public, you'll allow me the courtesy of just ten minutes of your time without interruption."

Never one to be told what to do, Bella opens her mouth. I lean in about to shut it for her (good and proper) when instead of screaming, she sticks that damn straw in her mouth and narrows her eyes. Her lips purse and she sucks, exaggerated cheeks moving in and out at the action. She drinks it all, the slurping sound at the end drawn out and obnoxious until suddenly she pulls her mouth away and grips her forehead. "Motherfucker!"

Bella is rendered incapacitated, doubled over holding her head and I'm laughing, big, loud booming laughs at what she used to describe as 'brain freezes' when she'd drink her blue slushies and vodka too fast. She tosses the pineapple in the vicinity of a trash can so I do my civic duty and throw it away properly, still laughing while she's bent over, vigorously rubbing her forehead with two hands. Normally I'd be a bit upset at the public attention we're getting, but I'm enjoying this too much to care.

She finally stands upright with one eye open and stares daggers at me. "Not my fault," I remind her. "You wanted that horrid drink."

"I needed something to deal with you. I've already had two shots of tequila at home."

Aggravated, I continue walking her down the street. "You really shouldn't put yourself in danger like that."

"Danger? The only danger is being with you. I can handle myself on a whole bottle of tequila, surrounded by frat boys, naked and playing the fiddle in the middle of the street!"

"Colorful image."

"Where are we going?"

"I told you, we need to talk." Leading her towards my hotel wasn't really my intention, but with it looming in front of me I can't think of a better place to have her alone.

"Fine, let's get this over with. You'll be in MY hotel so don't think I don't know all the escape routes, and if I yell 'help' you better bet your bippy I'll have people running to help me."

"Fair enough."

As I start to meander around the pool, I'm surprised when I feel her hand in mine pulling me away from the path we're on. "If we pass the bar, I'll feel the need to help or something. It's my night off."

Nodding my understanding, I tell her where my room is and she winds around the thick trunks of the palm trees alive with the buzz of tree frogs and insects. It's dark, the path lit by little lights next to the paved walkway, no one but us walking on its curvy trail. The air is static electricity mixed with the headiness of her Tahitian perfume, and I gently squeeze the hand she's not let go of.

My stomach tightens when she squeezes back. "Bella." My throat is thick with the salty air and the overwhelming emotion of being with her after all these painful years. She stops. I stop.

Turning slowly, there's sadness in her eyes, and I know I'm the one that put it there. What right do I have to turn up now expecting her to give me one fucking iota of her time? I am an asshole. I hate that Emmett's twat of a wife is right.

My hand moves on its own accord and fingers a curl lying over the exposed collarbone above the sleeveless neckline of her sundress. "You're still so fucking beautiful I physically ache looking at you."

She blinks, her lashes starting to show the start of a watery shimmer. "I was beautiful to you then, too, or so you said."

"You always were. You've always been." I've never stopped loving you.

Not even after I spent what would've been your eighteenth birthday killing my first client with an icepick affectionately called Pokey to the base of his skull.

Now how do you work that into polite conversation?


Huge thanks as always to my GIF-loving pre-reader, LayAtHomeMom, and my favorite person/muse/beta, CarrieZM. Without them I am nothing.

And without you, I am just a bunch of unread words in cyberspace.