BPOV
I threw some clean underwear and some clothes suitable for the office into my backpack and then collected what I'd need from my bathroom. On top of all that went my wallet, keys and the chargers for my phones.
I took a minute, just one minute, to sit on the edge of my bed and get my head around the fact that I was going to Edward's home. With him. To sleep there. With him in the house.
I looked around my bedroom and said a silent goodbye to it. I'd meant what I said to him earlier. I hated the apartment now. It wasn't a haven, my sanctuary anymore. I didn't want to be there and I didn't want to remember what had happened there.
I felt railroaded and a little pissed off that my anger had been so thoroughly rerouted with a few whispered words and his lips. Oh, his lips.
I pressed my fingers to my own lips and relived that kiss in my head.
I'd been so angry, so wound up I'd been able to hear my own heartbeat in my ears as I'd ranted and raved at him. And I'd meant every word I'd yelled. Every single one. But he'd borne it all.
In fact he didn't react at all except to apologise and to keep trying to make sure that I was alright.
And I was alright. Dad had sent me for self defence lessons and I'd found that even as clumsy as I could be I was pretty good at it.
But then he'd kissed me.
And the whispering between us had happened again and my anger just melted away.
I knew there were still a lot of questions to be asked and answered. I knew I hadn't known him long – hell it had only been a few days – but there was a pull towards him that I felt deeply.
He'd promised to keep me safe and he'd really tried. Hadn't really worked as it turned out, but my anger about that wasn't aimed at him, or even Seth really. I was just angry that Tanya had somehow gotten into my building. I wanted to know how.
For now I was going with Edward. He hadn't insisted. He'd given me the choice of where I wanted to go, he'd listened to my reasoning and he'd offered me the safety of his home for the night. I wanted that, I needed it if I was going to sleep and most of all I wasn't ready to be away from him again.
With a firm nod of my head I deemed I was ready.
I zipped up the bag and took it out into the living room. Edward wasn't there and for a split second I panicked that he'd left without me.
I turned in a tight circle looking around and spotted him out on my balcony, cigarette in one hand, the other gripping his scalp. He looked stressed and worried.
I tapped on the glass door before joining him out there and had to grin when he tried to hide the fact that he was smoking.
"Don't bother hiding it," I laughed as I reached for the still lit stick in his hand. I drew on it deeply, enjoying the calming effect it gave me when I gave in and allowed myself to have one. "You aren't getting this back," I chuckled.
"Fair enough," he chuckled too, though his brow was now creased as he watched me suck on his cigarette. "I've never seen you smoke," he said matter of factly.
"I've never seen you do it either, but I knew you did," I tell him truthfully.
"How?"
"You smelled of it at the fun fair, and of peppermint which is always a dead giveaway," I laughed.
"I've never smelled it on you."
"I haven't had one for ages," I tell him truthfully. "I used to smoke a lot," I shrug.
"Me too but now it's supposed to be only just the one after dinner," he says, sounding a little sad.
"I miss that one too," I smile wistfully at the memory of standing on the balcony in the quiet of the night taking in the last of the sweet nicotine. "How long until Seth comes for us?" I ask as I stub it out on the railing.
"A few minutes. He'll call me when he arrives. He wants you to try and cover the cut on your lip but I don't see how you can," he tells me as he reaches for my chin, holding it gently while he looks at the cut there. "You could put makeup or lipstick over it but I don't know if that's a good idea, might hinder it healing later on."
"I'll keep my head down," I say simply.
"I wish you didn't have to," he said, his thumb stroking my lip softly.
"I know," I tell him honestly. I knew he hated that I'd been hurt. I could hear it in his voice and see it in his eyes.
"Seth needs you to change your clothes," he says softly. I wanted to be offended but I could see Seth's point so I simply nod. "He wants you to walk between us, when we go outside and to the car."
"Okay," I tell him, still mesmerised by his eyes and the stroking of his thumb.
"Are your knuckles busted?" he asks in that low, gentle voice.
"I don't think so," I whisper, "They hurt a bit," I admit.
"I'll hold your other hand when we go outside."
"Okay."
"I like holding your hand."
"I like it too," I say, feeling myself moving in towards him though I didn't remember thinking on why until I'd pressed myself against his chest.
"I want to kiss you," he whispers so lowly I have to strain to hear him properly.
"Why do we whisper?" I ask stupidly.
"Because it's intimate," he says right away. "Let me kiss you," he says, rather than asks and I find myself nodding.
EPOV
I'm more careful with her cut lip this time. The furiousness of our first kiss has given way to a gentler, tenderer kiss this time. She's up against my chest and I can feel the heat of her there.
I slide the hand I'd used to cup her chin and examine her lip around until I'm cupping the back of her neck, tilting her lips up to mine a little.
She tastes of my cigarette and she's warm and soft and utterly divine.
I'm about to be bold and slip my tongue into her mouth when my phone begins to ring.
I pull away slowly, so I don't startle her, and whisper that it's Seth, that I'm sorry for needing to stop before answering the call.
"I'm downstairs, boss," Seth tells me.
"We're coming right down," I tell him and watch as Isabella goes back inside to change her clothing and retrieve her bag.
"Stanley's staying on," he tells me. "With Bella out of the apartment it'll be like open season," he tells me and I have to agree.
"If you trust him he stays," I agree verbally.
"I do and he will," is his answer. "I'll be at the door."
Isabella meets me at her front door and I take her backpack, taking note of the roll of her eyes as I do. I wait for her to lock up before we get into the lift.
I squeeze her hand lightly as we exit and as we approach where Seth is waiting she squeezes mine back before letting me go and striding right to Seth.
"I'm so sorry," she tells him earnestly. "I'm sorry I lost my temper with you and I'm sorry I told you to leave. That was unfair of me."
"Please don't let it worry you, Bella," he says with a grin, using the name she'd shouted at him to use earlier. "I've been thrown out of a lot of places," he chuckles. "It never does me any harm to be put back in my place. Now, are we ready?"
"Ready," she says with a firm nod of her head. She comes right back to my side and slips her hand into mine.
I give it a gentle squeeze and we're off, running the gauntlet of the press once again.
I want to shout that there's no story here but it'd be a lie. There were several big stories there right at that moment. Tanya Denali Stoker assaulted my girlfriend. My girlfriend!
I can't help but grin when one reporter asks if Isabella's going to my house with her backpack. I'm pretty sure I've given the game away but there were just as many reporters waiting at my house and it wouldn't take long for them to work out that she wasn't coming out of my residence again tonight.
As expected my grin doesn't go unnoticed and once one has jumped on it, like lemmings, they all do.
Isabella squeezes my hand a little and I squeezed back as we cross the road and head for the car.
And then one of the reporters is running, following us to the car which they've not done before. And then we're running too. Seth has the backdoor open and Isabella is bundled inside safely, leaving me at their mercy for a few seconds while she scoots across.
The flashes from the cameras are blinding, their questions shouted as I duck my head and join Isabella in the safety of the backseat.
"Seatbelts on," Seth shouts from the driver's seat and I only have seconds to do it up before he's pulling away from the curb, leaving the journalists behind in our wake. "Fucking parasites," he hisses under his breath and I can't help but agree.
"Are you alright?" I ask Isabella.
"I'm fine," she replies with a little grin of her own.
"That's a lovely smile," I say softly, my thumb once again tracing the cut on her lip.
"Yours must have been spectacular," she laughs. "Wish I'd have seen it."
"You probably will," I sigh, "in tomorrow's paper."
"Good," she says firmly and I can't help but smile back at her for her bravery and defiance. "I'll cut that one out and keep it too."
"You kept the others too?" I ask, incredulous. I'd assumed she'd hated the pictures that had been printed. She'd said she thought it sweet that I'd kept them, but hadn't commented about her keeping them too.
"I haven't snipped them out and put them in my desk drawer," she giggles, cuffing me on the arm as she does, "but I haven't exactly thrown the newspapers away either."
"I see," I say a little smugly. "We should start a scrapbook," I joke.
She scoffs but doesn't say no.
"I don't even know where you live," she says instead.
"Balmain," I tell her.
"Figures," she scoffs again teasingly. At least I think it's teasingly. I hope it is.
"I think you have the wrong idea about me," I tease back gently. "I'm only pretending to be rich. I do live in Balmain, but not in one of those harbour side mansions I'm afraid."
"Oh that's horrible," she giggles. "I hate it when I attract losers."
Now I know for sure she's teasing. There is a lovely pale rose blush on her cheeks and her eyes are sparkling with devilment. "Oh it really is horrible," I laugh. "It's a tiny crumbling, falling down terrace house with a Hells Angels clubhouse on one side and a halfway house for crack whores on the other. Awful neighbourhood. Murders every other night. Sirens all day."
"But crack on hand," she giggles. She's really laughing now and I find myself edging towards her, wanting to soak her in. "I suppose Seth lives in the outhouse?" she snorts, making Seth chuckle in the front too.
"Not the outhouse," he butts in before I can, "I live in the crack house with the whores. They keep me warm," he chuckles.
"We do have indoor plumbing," I tease with a wag of my finger. "I did tell you I had hot running water remember?"
"Okay," she giggles. "So you've got indoor plumbing, but the rest is a dump, right?"
"A total dump," I agree. "You're going to hate it."
"I bet," she snorts daintily.
BPOV
I knew he was full of shit but it was fun to be laughing with him, and Seth too, instead of whispering about serious things for a change. Actually it was just nice to laugh full stop.
The last few days had been so serious, so full of worry and anger that it felt good to laugh and joke now, even though I knew he was full of shit.
He was loaded and everyone knew it. His house was going to be exactly what he said it wasn't. A mansion with harbour views.
That was proven a few minutes later when Seth reminded us to keep our chins up and our mouths shut as we went through the gates. The journalists would hardly be able to see us through the dark tint on the windows of the car, but even so I could see the logic in being better safe than sorry in the papers tomorrow morning.
I knew which house was Edward's without being told because his was the only one with a contingent of press waiting at the driveway.
I heard him echo Seth's earlier comment about them being parasites but could only mentally agree while I plastered a smile on my face just in case one of the hundred camera flashes managed to get a shot of us through the windows.
Electric gates opened as we approached and I assumed they were remote controlled though I never saw Seth reach for a button. They opened smartly, Seth drove us through them and then I heard them squeak shut behind us, locking the press out and us in.
The house loomed large in front of me as Seth drove up the drive and parked up next to a sports car.
"Your weekender?" I ask Edward with a nod towards the sleek little car.
"Something like that," he chuckled and made to exit the car.
Seth was at my door in seconds and I let him help me with my backpack though it seemed stupid to me. It wasn't like it was heavy.
I followed behind Seth, Edward behind me, and was led around the side of the house.
"Such a dump," I laughed as I got my first look at it.
"I told you," Edward laughed behind me.
"Which side's the crack house?" I asked as we made our way up the half dozen steps to the imposing front doors.
"That side," Seth laughed, pointing behind me to a tall wooden fence, behind which was another equally impressive residence.
"I guess crack whores do alright in Balmain," I whistled going inside as Seth held the door for me. "Jesus Christ," I whispered to myself as I stood in the foyer and looked upwards.
"Bit of a dump," Edward chuckled as he came to my side.
I guessed I hadn't quite whispered. "Sorry," I mumble, "I've never seen anything like this before."
"It's just a house," he shrugs and takes my backpack from Seth. "Take a look around," he gestures first left then right, "The guest rooms are down there," he motions to his left, my right, "Pick whichever one you'd like."
"Not the very front one," Seth pipes up from somewhere unseen. He's holding an open bottle of water when he comes back to the foyer. "The front can be seen from the road," he finishes.
"Good to know, wouldn't want the Hells Angels seeing me in my pyjamas," I tell him with a nod. There'd been enough heavy for one day so I kept things light.
"When you're ready come upstairs. I'm on the right at the top of the stairs, I'm going to get changed real quick, so take your time," Edward tells me.
Seth had already gone by the time I turned around so I figured I'd do as suggested and pick a room to sleep in. I scooped up my backpack and headed down the hall, back towards the front of the house and the direction of the road.
The first room along was large and bright and a little clinical with its plain white walls, stark chrome finished furniture and fittings and a severe black comforter on the bed. It wasn't for me. It'd be like sleeping in a hotel.
Just as Seth had warned the very front room could be seen easily from the road so that one was out and that left just the one in the middle. Piggy in the middle I thought as I pushed open the double doors.
"Please let it be normal," I mumbled to myself in hope.
My luck didn't hold out. The middle room was just as bland as the other two. Plain white walls, chrome furniture and fittings and a plain black comforter. Oh well I thought as I tipped my backpack out onto the end of the bed.
The hall I'd walked down had been entirely made of glass so I knew there were no other rooms opposite, which meant there had to be ensuite bathrooms for the guest rooms.
The first door I tried inside the room was for a closet, opening the second I hit pay dirt.
Claw footed bath, huge shower stall and gleaming glass and chrome fittings everywhere. The shelf above the bath held a dozen thick, white towels and the toilet paper roll had been folded into a point like at a swanky hotel. There was even a little bar of soap in a wrapper on the side of the basin. It was also spotless. Not a speck of dust anywhere that I could see.
The bedroom might not have been inviting at all but the ensuite bathroom was. Sleek and elegant I could deal with in a bathroom.
I longed to lounge in the tub and let the day's worries melt away in some hot water but I knew Edward was waiting for me. Still, I patted that tub and told it we were going to be firm friends as I went out of the room.
EPOV
Nervous was not a strong enough word to describe how I felt having a woman in my house. And not just any woman, Isabella Swan, the most beautiful, beguiling woman I'd ever met. And she was just downstairs choosing a room for herself.
I knew without being told that she'd hate those guest rooms. They were boring and plain and nothing at all like her apartment had been. Her personal space was cosy but bright with colours on the walls. She had photographs instead of landscapes in frames and where I had chrome furniture and straight backed chairs in black leather she had plush sofas and armchairs that made you want to sink into them and read a good book.
I wanted to show her around. I wanted to be with her, to gauge her reactions as she looked around my personal spaces, but I didn't think she was going to like it all that much and I'd feel like a gloating asshole showing her around the house like an estate agent, pointing out its features to her.
So I left her to explore the ground floor on her own and went upstairs to change my clothes and check my messages.
I eyed the jeans and t-shirts Rose had given me for the fun fair but decided against them. They weren't me. I was never comfortable in them and I wanted to be comfortable while Isabella was in my home. I'd once asked her to give me a chance to show her the real me and now was the best chance I'd been presented with to date.
I tore off my workday suit and tie and traded them for a plain pair of slacks and a cream button down. It was as casual as I ever got.
Next I went into my bathroom to remove my contacts. My eyes were red and stinging by the time I got them out so I put in a couple of liquid tear drops and slid on my glasses.
I went back out of my bedroom to the home office next door and switched on my answering machine. There were several work messages and one from Rose reminding me about Friday night dinner with the family. Again.
There was a reminder from Kate that I was due on a conference call at eight with my Western Australian smelter manager and the sales rep from a steel company in Asia that I was currently in talks with to supply stainless steel for medical instruments.
I checked my watch and saw that it had just gone seven so I at least had an hour to enjoy Isabella's company before I had to do a little work.
As soon as I'd sat down behind my desk my personal phone rang, it was my mother.
"What's happened?" she screeched as soon as I answered. "Your father said you needed a consult!"
"Calm down, mom," I said evenly. "I'm fine, it's not for me."
"Then who? Seth? One of the other boys? Oh tell me Mrs Davis is alright?" she begged, in full-on panic mode now.
"It's for Isabella," I tell her gently, knowing the relief that it wasn't one of the others would quickly be replaced by her panic that it was her friend.
"What happened?" she asked again. "Where is she?"
"She's with me, here at the house. She was assaulted but she's okay," I tell her.
"Call an ambulance! I'll call the police while you do that! They'll have to move the press along now. Bastards," she hissed, protective as ever and just as pissed off at the press as I was.
"Mom it wasn't the press. Look, I just need to speak to dad if he's there?"
"He's just gone in to surgery, he told me to call you, said you needed the consult. What happened, Edward?" she asked again.
"Tanya got into Isabella's building and they got into a fight," I sigh.
"Oh my god," she moaned and I could imagine her with her hand to her mouth in shock right now.
"She's alright, mom. A cut to her lip and she says her knuckles hurt a bit but I'm pretty sure they aren't broken. I just wanted to touch base with dad, that's all."
The line is silent for far too long.
"Mom? Are you still there?" I ask.
"Yes," she sighs, "I'm here. I want to come over, to help her and you, but the press..." she trails off sadly, knowing full well that if the Cullen contingent arrived en masse that would become the story the next day.
"Yeah," I sigh, "I understand, but I think she really is alright, I just wanted to check. But thank you for offering. I'll tell her you did. But can you just have dad call me when he's done in theatre? I'll be up."
"I bet you will," she giggles.
"Mom!" I hiss.
"Sorry. Sorry," she giggles again but I know she's not sorry at all. "I'm so happy for you baby boy, that's all. She's so lovely and you'll have such pretty..."
"Don't say it, mom," I warn before she can tack 'babies' onto the end of her statement.
"Oh okay, I won't say it then," she says and I can hear the smile in her voice. "I'll have your father call you. And I want to see you tomorrow. Make time," she demands.
I know better than to argue and just say 'yes mom' like a good boy. She'd barge into my office anyway, no matter if I made time for her or not.
We end the call with good wishes on both sides and I turn my attention back to the paperwork on my desk while I wait for Isabella.
That's where I was when she came to find me. Head down over the Asian proposal, a red pen between my teeth and a dozen reports on their financial situation open and strewn about my desk.
"If you need to work I can leave you alone," she said as she came in.
"No, no," I stammered, eager to spend the time with her. "This can all wait. Come on in," I told her as I closed all the reports and shoved them aside.
"This place is pretty impressive," she said as she made her way to the windows at the back of the room. "Not quite the crumbling mess you described," she chuckled.
"You haven't seen the bottom floor yet," I laughed. "Seth lives down there, and sometimes Jared or one of the other boys stays there too if it gets late, and it's a bit of a tip."
"I can imagine what you consider a tip. Let me guess, they leave towels on the floor and dishes in the sink?"
"Something like that," I had to agree.
"You have a housekeeper, right?" she asked.
"Mrs Davis, yes. She's in during the daytime."
"And she does everything for you?" she asked.
There was no point lying, so I didn't. "Almost everything, yes. I'm not here a lot. I'm gone by six in the morning and I'm rarely home before seven at night. That doesn't leave a lot of time for domestic chores."
"How could you be coming to my place for dinner at six if you don't finish work until seven?" she asked as she came away from the windows and joined me at my desk.
"I'm the boss, I leave when I want," I tell her.
"But you just said you don't leave until seven normally," she says, one eyebrow arched.
"I did, didn't I?" I chuckled. "There were a few raised eyebrows as I was leaving this evening."
"I bet," she said softly. "I don't want you to have to take time away from your work for me."
I sit back in my chair and run a hand through my hair. "I don't think you'll be surprised by this, but, these past few days have been the best days I can remember in a very long time. I don't like the media scrutiny, but having something – or someone – to think about other than work has been rather exciting for me."
"Are you bored?" she asks matter of factly and I take a second to think about the question.
"Yes," I admit.
"Lonely?" she asks.
"Yes."
"Are you sleeping with Tanya?"
"God no!" I all but shout. "No. Jeez, no. Is that what she told you?" I see her nod and I blow out a steadying breath over my lip before sitting forwards and staring her in the eye. "I swear to you that I am not sleeping with Tanya, or anybody else, no matter who says that I am."
"But you do know her, right?" she asks and I nod that I do. "Then I don't understand why she said that you were sleeping with her," she says, eyes boring into mine.
"It's complicated," I begin but I know immediately that I've said the wrong thing.
"I think I can follow," she all but hisses and I concede.
"Of course you can," I tell her honestly. "In simple terms Tanya's father Eleazar Denali and my father were at medical school together. Us kids grew up together. Me, Rosie, Tanya and her little sister Irina. Our two families spent summer holidays together and the four of us kids all went to the same schools.
"Tanya's mother died when she was only twelve and my mother sort of took the two girls under her wing I suppose," I tell her sadly. "So we saw a lot of the girls after that. They were always at our house after school and when Eleazar needed to be at the hospital during the night. It was like having two more sisters. At least I thought of them both as sisters," I say on a sigh.
"But Tanya didn't see you like a brother," she sighs too.
"No, she didn't. But I didn't know that until years later. I promise you that. I need to go back a bit first," I tell her. "There was a running joke between the two families that when we finished university Tanya and I would get married and have Cullen-Denali babies together, forever joining the two families. We all used to joke that Eleazar and Carmen, that's his late wife, really screwed up having two girls because if they'd had a boy Rosie could've married him, an even pair. It was just funny, something we all laughed over. But it was just a joke. Something we all teased each other about over dinners and bbq's at the beach. But I never dated Tanya. I've never slept with her, hell I've never even kissed her."
"Then why did she break into my building, try and slap me around all the while screaming that she wasn't going to let me steal you off her?" she asks, and it's a good question.
"Because," I sigh, "the joke was never a joke to Tanya. I swear I didn't know that she'd taken it seriously. We were just kids, maybe fourteen or fifteen when it first started. It was just a joke. But as we got older she really did start to believe that we would do all those things together. I made the mistake of taking her as my date to one of the hospital benefits when we were still in university and she took that to mean that I was ready to put the plan into action.
"I told her we'd all been joking. Nicely of course. I told her I didn't think of her that way, that I didn't love her and I certainly didn't want to marry her. I told her that I saw her as a sister and that because we were both unattached at the time going to the benefit together was just for convenience. She took it badly. She was convinced that because our families had mentioned it so often, and for so many years, that I was just waiting to finish graduate school and then we'd be together. She'd been treading water waiting for me.
"I never, ever gave her that impression and right up until she confronted me, during dinner at that benefit I might add, I had no idea she'd thought everyone was serious."
"And all this, the press, the pictures, the smack in the mouth, it's all because this fantasy about the two of you is in her head? She believes you and she will marry and have babies together because of a family joke told while you were kids?" she asks.
"I think so, yes," I tell her. "I haven't talked to her in person for years. After that one time, at that benefit dinner, I only ever saw her at big family gatherings. And then I steered clear of her if I could, without seeming rude of course. She stopped going to the benefits and when I went off to post graduate school she dropped out altogether. I always wondered if she only actually went to university because I went, but I've never had the chance to ask her."
"Where is she now, do you know?"
"I don't, no. Seth's been looking for her since Monday evening but he's had no luck as yet."
"He's talked to her father, her sister?"
"Yes. She's nowhere to be found."
"She doesn't want to be found," she mumbled and I had to agree. "Why would she pay someone to write a story about you with another woman? I mean, she wants you for herself, wouldn't getting proof of you with someone else make it worse for her?"
"I agree, to you and me that's exactly how it seems. But Tanya isn't stable. She hasn't been for a long time. I didn't realise just how unstable she was until a few days ago."
"Has she ever tried anything like this before?" she asked astutely and all at once I loved and hated that she was so smart.
"Yes," I say quietly. "Not exactly like this, but close. Four years ago I was out with a woman. She was a sales rep and it wasn't a date. She was representing a company who wanted me to fund a piece of their operation. That bit doesn't matter," I say with a wave of my hand. "The day before the dinner the woman had done an interview for a magazine that was focussing on the local mining market. The story mentioned me and that she was working with me to set up the deal. The deal was a good one and I did buy in. She was flying back to the parent company with the signed contract the next day so she took me out to dinner to hand them over, a sort of a thank you I guess," I shrug.
"Let me guess," Isabella sighs, "the day after your dinner the pictures appeared in the paper?"
"Yes, they did," I tell her. "Only they were grainy and Seth thought they'd been taken on a mobile phone camera rather than by a professional photographer or a journalist. The story was rudimentary too. Just some guff about the deal, very little about me personally, or even about the actual dinner."
"It didn't work," she mumbles and I have to ask what she means. "Well, Tanya's tried to flush you out using the press before and it didn't work. Crude pictures, vague story that's more business than personal. She's upped her game."
"Keep going," I urge her, just like I did with Emmett to get him to expand on his ideas.
"This time its proper photographers, credentialed jounatlists and the stories are appearing in major papers. The story is almost all personal this time, not business because it didn't work last time the story centred on business."
"But to what end?" I ask.
"To flush you out," she shrugs. "Am I right in guessing you won't see her?"
"No, I won't."
"And you won't accept her calls? Emails? Faxes? Carrier pigeons?" she giggles at her own joke and I find it adorable.
"Her calls are blocked, my secretary vets my emails and faxes and I don't think anyone uses carrier pigeons these days, but one of those wouldn't get through the office doors if she did find one," I laugh in response.
"So if she creates a big enough stir, gets a whole lot of bullshit printed, and let's face it you're big news and any story about you is going to sell well, then she has a chance of you meeting with her. She's in hiding now but she must know you're looking for her. She'll stick her head above the bunker only once she's satisfied she'll be able to speak to you personally. Once she's paid enough journalists to take enough pictures and you're sufficiently pissed off. But she'll only come out for you. Not Seth, not one of the others looking for her, you.
"After that it's probably one of two scenarios. Either she figures it would only take one face to face meeting and she can lay out her case, you'll fall at her feet and the family plan's back on, or she wants to discredit you publicly so you'll see her. If she's photographed with you, even once, she can come out in the press herself and say she's the discarded lover that you've treated abominably."
"Christ," I mutter.
"It's just a theory," she shrugs.
"A better one than we've been able to come up with," I tell her proudly. "If it's scenario one she's got no hope and if it's two..." I trail off, unsure how I'd handle scenario two.
"If its two you let Emmett and Seth handle it professionally," she tells me firmly. "If she's doing this for her own gain, for her five minutes of fame at your expense, then you need to meet with her father and tell him what she's doing and why. You tell him he reels her in or the full weight of the Cullen Enterprises Public Relations team will spell out in newstype what she's about."
BPOV
I sat back, pleased that he seemed lost for words.
I finally had some answers. I didn't like a lot of them, but at least I now had some idea of why I'd been dragged into this mess.
And as I sat there and looked at him I came to realise that Tanya Denali Stoker might have done me an enormous favour. I'd never have had a chance to get to know the real Edward Cullen without her paying that original journalist to take pictures of us.
Edward sat back in his chair and raked his hand through his hair again. He did that when he was stressed and I was sorry that he was, he didn't deserve any of this either.
The longer I looked at him the more questions popped into my head.
"Why are you wearing glasses?" I asked without thinking.
I'm about to apologise for the stupid question when he begins to grin. "So I can see," he chuckles, the worry lines on his brow gone now.
"Do you not see well without them then? It's just I haven't seen you wearing them since I met you."
"I have contacts but I hate them. They dry out my eyes so as soon as I get home at night I take them out," he shrugs.
"If you hate them why do you use them?"
"Vanity," he grimaces.
The answer doesn't sit right with me. He doesn't seem vain. Not to me. And then I get it.
"Yours or Emmett's?" I ask.
"Mine or Emmett's what?" he asks back.
"Your vanity or Emmett's?" I ask seriously.
"Emmett's," he sighs a little sadly.
"And the jeans and trainers?"
"Emmett's, but a little bit of Rosalie too."
"Are you comfortable being who everyone wants you to be?" I ask.
"No," his answer is instant and emphatic.
"The suit, the crisp white shirt and tie and the leather shoes, that's you when you're comfortable?" I ask.
"Yeah," he sighs like being comfortable is a fault not a right.
"And at home? Here? Which version is the real you here?" I ask.
"This," he says softly, motioning to himself. "This is the real me. I went to private schools where it was compulsory to wear slacks and a tie, blazers in winter too. They were all very strict and I never deviated from the rules. I found I liked it, actually. It became normal for me; especially once I started the business, because I rarely did anything but work so I always wore work clothes. The habit stuck," he grimaces.
We were really getting somewhere, on a bit of a roll, and I wanted the answers to my questions while I had the chance. I never knew when the next distraction would arrive.
"I saw you at the fun fair, when you were waiting to get up on the stage. You were nervous, you looked scared. Why?" I asked brutally.
"Because it was all fake," he hisses unexpectedly.
Rather than being shocked at that I was rather pleased with his answer. He at least knew what the real version of himself was even if nobody else did.
"What you said on stage was that fake too? A line fed to you by Emmett to help with your image? Were the promises you made to those people fake?" I ask.
"All true, I swear," he says earnestly and I believed him. "What you heard was real. I do want that smelter and the workshops to succeed and I'll do everything I promised to do to make that happen up there. But what you saw of me was fake, the me that you saw was the me that Emmett thinks the Equity Steel people needed to see."
"You stuttered," I said matter of factly.
"I do that when I'm uncomfortable," he admits. "Childhood thing."
"You don't stammer with me."
"You don't make me uncomfortable," he grins cockily.
"Good to know," I grin back. "Can I ask you something else about the fair?"
"Sure."
"At the shooting gallery, was that the real you?"
"God I hope not," he sighs, running his hand through his hair again. "I was out of my depth there. I'm not good in crowds and I was playing a part. Trying to look like I fit in, like I was normal. When you laughed at me..." he trailed off.
"When I laughed at you, you got self conscious," I finish for him and he nods at my assessment. "You don't like to lose and those kids were better at it than you."
"I'm so sorry I spoke to you the way I did. I want to say I'm not a control freak but I am. A little bit," he grins. "At work I need to be."
"And at home?" I ask.
"Until today there was no demarcation line between work and home."
"You work here a lot too?"
"Until tonight, yes," he grins.
"When I came in you were working," I counter.
"And in forty-two minutes I have a conference call to sit in on but until then I'm officially off the clock," he says looking down at his watch. "Shall we find something to eat?" he asks, changing the subject from heavy to light quite craftily.
"I was going to cook for you," I tell him sadly.
I watch him get up from his desk and slip his phone into his pocket before he comes around to where I'm sitting. He reaches down, holding his hand out for me and I don't hesitate to put mine into his. "Let me take care of you tonight. You can cook for me another time, alright?" he asks.
"Fine," I mumble as I get to my feet.
He chuckles lowly and deeply, making my heart skip and my skin tingle where our hands are joined. "I can cook you know," he grins as we make our way downstairs.
EPOV
I couldn't cook and I wanted to take back what I'd said immediately, but it was out there and I knew she'd heard me because she'd mumbled something about me being able to do everything under her breath.
I should've said I could microwave someone else's cooking competently. Or that I could stick a premade tray of well, anything, into the oven successfully. I could pour boiling water into a cup of noodles, I could make a decent cup of coffee and I could effectively make toast too.
I should've told her the truth but I didn't because I wanted her to like me. I wanted her to think I was a good guy and if I was honest with myself I wanted her to think I was brilliant, at everything. I wasn't and I knew it. I didn't want her to know it.
Luckily Seth was in the kitchen when we got there and he did know how to cook. He knew how to do it but he never did.
I had no idea what it was he was making but it smelled good and he looked like he knew what he was doing so I happily did as he advised and sat on one of the high stools that butted up to the kitchen counter.
I mouthed thank you to him when I thought I could do it without Isabella seeing and he gave me a nod in reply.
The conversation while he put together the meal centred on Tanya and Isabella's theories about her. Seth was impressed and I knew it because he smiled at her a lot. Seth wasn't a smiler. Seth also wasn't a talker but there he was, chatting away with Isabella as if they'd known each other for a lifetime.
He announced the meal was ready and asked us to go into the dining room.
I knew he was trying to impress her then because we never ate in the dining room. We usually just sat at the counter and when that was even too much bother we stood in the kitchen and wolfed down whatever Mrs Davis had left for us.
He'd set the table which made me balk. There was music playing overhead and the lights had been dimmed. When he came back from the kitchen with a bottle of red I nearly choked on my first forkful of pasta.
Over the meal we three talked about how long Seth had worked for me and about what a horrible boss I was. We laughed about his addiction to celebrity gossip magazines and ribbed each other about our shared loved of all things sweet.
Seth asked questions of her that I knew for a fact he already knew the answers to and I figured it was all for my benefit. He couldn't, in good conscience anyway, divulge to me what he'd found out about her when he'd checked her out so this was his way of giving that information to me without breeching her privacy.
Isabella asked questions about my business and about how I was going to attempt to turn Equity around. I asked questions about how she'd come to be a party planner. Seth asked about her family and then we talked for a little while about her father's career as a police officer.
They swapped stories about self defence classes and techniques and at one point Seth even offered to show her his scar collection. I was about to protest when Isabella did it for me, saying she was impressed enough with the description and didn't need to see them.
We learned that Jasper and Alice were to be married soon and that her soon to be sister in law was a force to be reckoned with. We all laughed as she described the bickering that went on in kitchens at functions and how all of it would be forgotten as soon as the function was over and the next needed planning.
When the alarm on my phone went off I cursed it knowing that our jovial meal had to come to an end. I excused myself from the table by announcing I had just five minutes to prepare before my conference call.
"I'll be around half an hour," I tell Isabella sadly.
"That's okay," she tells me. "I've got a date with your tub anyway."
"I see," I grin, "well I hope it is a gentleman and that you enjoy it."
As I leave the room and head for the stairs I hear Seth insisting she go off and enjoy her bath while he cleared the table.
He was a rat!
Seth never cooked. Seth never set the table and Seth never, ever cleaned. Ever. I hadn't been kidding when I'd told Isabella that his rooms downstairs were a tip. They were. He never made the bed, citing that he was just going to mess it up again anyway. He never put his dishes in the dishwasher saying he'd just rinse them and use them again later. He never picked up towels, or dirty clothing or mugs!
He was trying to impress my girlfriend and I was actually...what was I? I thought to myself as I went into my home office.
I thought I might be jealous. I'd never been jealous of anyone in my entire life. Not friends or family and never, ever about a girl. But there I was feeling monstrously jealous of a man who was essentially both my brother and best friend because he was trying to appear domestic in front of my girlfriend!
It defied logic.
The phone console on my desk ringing took my attention away from Isabella, and Seth the dirty rat, and I was forced to focus on work.
BPOV
I filled that tub to the brim with steaming hot water and closed my eyes as I soaked. It was blissful and with my sore knuckles submerged the heat did its thing and soothed them a little.
I soaked for twenty minutes, eager to be out of the tub and ready to rejoin Edward once his call was complete. I towel dried my hair and pulled it back into a ponytail before slipping on my pyjamas. I'd opted for plain grey leggings and a matching oversized t-shirt that had, for some reason, a woolly sheep on the front. It was so old the caption had long since worn off.
With comfy clothes on and a fuzzy head from the steam and hot water I was feeling the effects of the earlier adrenalin rush. My limbs felt heavy and I could've quite happily crawled into the big bed and slept until dawn, but I wanted to spend more time with Edward more than I wanted sleep. So I waited until exactly eight thirty and then I made my way back upstairs to his office.
He was still on his call when I got there. I was going to turn back around and go back to the guest room when he excused himself from the call for a moment.
"I won't be much longer," he told me while he held his hand over the mouthpiece. "My sitting room is just next door," he said, motioning further down the hall. "You're welcome to use it, I'll try and be quick."
"Don't hurry," I told him quietly so as not to be overheard on his call, "Do what you need to do."
I pointed in the direction of the hall to let him know I'd take up his offer to use his sitting room and as I left the office I heard him return to his call.
I'd never known anyone who had a private sitting room before so I'd tried to keep my surprise at his statement off my face. But as I made my way out the door and through the double doors next to the office I let that surprise free.
"Holy shit," I whistled as I got my first look at Edward Cullen's personal space.
The size of the room I was now standing in didn't surprise me. The rest of the house was enormous too. It was how the space was arranged that got to me.
I'd expected to walk through the doors and into a living room even though he'd called it a sitting room, but I hadn't. I'd walked into his bedroom, that just happened to have a sitting room within it.
Its doors were open, another imposing pair with big, brass hardware but I suddenly wasn't all that interested to see what his DVD collection contained.
I moved past the sitting room and went to look out through the floor to ceiling windows at the harbour lights. Two whole walls housed gigantic glass panes, their drapes held back by more big, brass hardware.
The view was spectacular. I could see clear across the harbour to the bridge and beyond that the lights of the actual city. On a clearer night I wagered you could see clear across to Luna Park.
The room itself was as stunning as the view. A huge black lacquered bed dominated the room as it jutted out from the only wall that wasn't taken up with windows. Its cabinets on either side held a pair of chrome footed lamps but other than that the room was bare.
I figured that you didn't need furniture in your bedroom when you had a sitting room inside it. So the lack of a dresser or even a chair or small table wasn't a total surprise.
My curiosity got the better of me then and I wondered where his bathroom and closet were because I couldn't see any other doors other than the ones to the sitting room. A quick walk around the space proved me right. No doors meant no ensuite bathroom and no closet, which didn't make sense. The guest rooms had ensuite bathrooms and definitely had closets, though the one in mine was empty.
Worried that Edward would finish his call and find me snooping I went into the sitting room.
The long black leather sofa sat squarely opposite two bright red armchairs though they didn't look at all inviting. They looked cold and hard and there wasn't a cushion or throw rug in sight.
There were shelves along one wall that held books, DVD's and an impressive music collection but there was nothing else that could be thought of as personal in or on any surface. No pictures. No photographs. No magazines or even the newspaper.
I had candles and knickknacks everywhere but this room was devoid of any adornment at all, personal or otherwise.
I picked up a remote control and pointed it at the TV that was mounted on the wall and had to hope that it was the right one, there were four of them, and I'd chosen at random.
The TV didn't come on when I pressed the power button but music came from somewhere. Whatever it was that was playing was soft and gentle so I decided to give the television and its mindless programming a miss and let the music play out, wherever it was coming from. And I couldn't see where.
I took down several books off the shelf and curled up in the corner of the sofa to wait. I got through the blurb on the back of the first one and two pages into the next when sleep overtook me.
EPOV
Fresh from her bath she'd been fresh faced and bright eyed. She'd also looked so adorable in her grey pyjamas with the sheep on the front I wanted to end my call and leap across the desk at her.
What I'd do once I'd gotten to her I tried to put out of my mind, but the compulsion was there.
Instead, and more appropriately, I'd asked her to wait for me in my sitting room while I finished the call. It had gone well and I'd negotiated a good price. The call ended with both sides of the deal happy.
I was tidying up my reports when my father called. I'd explained how Isabella had sustained her injury and he'd advised me to keep an eye on it and ask her frequently if she was in pain. If by tomorrow morning, after a good night's sleep, her knuckles were swollen, red or aching I needed to make sure she saw her doctor.
There was amusement in his voice as we spoke, not unlike the amusement that had been in my mother's voice earlier, but dad was more subtle than mom. He wished me a pleasant evening, reminded me again that I was expected at dinner on Friday and then I'd rung off before he could get too far into his 'be a gentleman' talk.
I checked in with Seth very briefly and he assured me that the property was locked up tight with all the alarms on and active. We arranged that when Isabella was sleeping I'd find him and we'd talk.
I turned off the ringers on my phones, turned off the lights and locked the office door behind me.
I didn't expect to find her curled up and fast asleep, a novel resting on her chest with her thumb marking the page. I also didn't expect her to appear even lovelier than she normally was to me. But she was.
And she was cold. She'd tucked her feet up into the hems of her sleep pants and she was curled into the side of the sofa seeking either comfort or warmth. I knew she'd find neither on that particular sofa. It was built to look fashionable, not be comfortable.
And that posed a dilemma.
If I woke her she'd go to the guest room. If I left her there she'd get a crick in her neck or back.
I solved the problem by racing into my bedroom and retrieving the comforter from my bed as well as four pillows. I slid one of the pillows very carefully under her head and put one more of them on the floor beside her, for later if she woke and needed it. I spread the comforter out over her, tucking it in slightly along the length of her as I went. I put the other two pillows on the other end of the sofa and pulled the comforter to its full length.
I ran back into my room and slid open the concealed door for my bathroom. I scrubbed my teeth, made quick work of my clothing and pulled on some plain black sleep pants and an old t-shirt.
I left my watch, phones and my wallet on the bedside table and took the copies of my emails that Kate made and packed into my briefcase for home with me back to the sitting room.
I was careful not to jostle her as I slid onto the other end of the sofa and even more careful not to wake her as I pulled a share of the covers up for myself.
As soon as I had found a comfortable position she slipped her feet out of the hems of her pants and put them onto my calves, making me shiver at the coldness of them.
I couldn't help but smile as she turned on her side and got more settled in her sleep.
I hadn't meant to sleep. I still had work to do and a talk to be had with Seth, but sleep I did.
A comfortable, unconscious sort of sleep where no sound or movement would wake me fully.
And when I did wake, with the sun streaming in through the high overhead windows, effectively blinding me, I woke with a start because wrapped around me was a warm, soft body with long, dark hair. Most of which was in my mouth.
A/N: I should have said that this was finished, all written and ready to go, right from the off. Sorry. I forgot.
Thanks for reading.
Please review.