Edward
I do my best to appear presentable, throwing my jeans back on and the first T-shirt I found inside the closet after Bella disappears into her room after another quick kiss.
I lick my lips before I walk inside the kitchen, still tasting Bell on my tongue, my wife dressed in a cream pantsuit, her hair back into a tight ponytail as she leans against the granite countertop.
Once upon a time I would've thought she looked hot as fuck in those tight pants, in those high heels. But now just looking at Renée makes me want to run for the hills. How could I ever have walked into her trap?
Then again, if I hadn't, I would never have met the woman that makes my head spin. I'd never have met Bella Swan. God, just thinking of her perky ass on that vanity, her juicy pussy in my face gets me hard again.
Christ, I really need to finish what we started. Or I'll spontaneously combust. We both might. After that blowjob of the fucking century, Bell deserves the world. And I'm going to give it to her. Hell, I'll give her anything she fucking wants.
"I have a terrible migraine," Renée sighs. She reeks of her signature red wine. The smell makes me sick to my stomach.
"Oh, figured something happened since you're never home early when you say you're gonna be out late." It's out of my mouth before I even know it. This could have been one of the best nights I've had in forever. And here she is, Renée, ruiner of vibes. The proverbial bucket of cold water.
My wife arches a brow and stares me down before she throws her over packed bag on the kitchen counter.
"Do you have to be mean about this?" she asks, pinching the bridge of her nose before she turns her attention to the smartphone in her manicured fingers.
"Mean?" I'm flabbergasted. "Since when is it mean if someone just points out the truth?" I try.
She just rolls her eyes at me. Where Bell's eyes are filled with life and fire, Renée's are just shallow pits of brown, framed by fake, thick eyelash extensions. She's full of fakeness: fake tits and lips, botox and lipo... Renée has got some work done to try and avoid time. I bet she'd look so much better if she tried to age naturally, gracefully. Now she just looks like everyone else you see in magazines or on TV. Generic as fuck. Like just another Kardashian.
Before I turn into a toxic motherfucker, I remember Bell's plan. Our plan.
"I just hate that we don't spend as much time together." It's a lie and it leaves a foul taste in my mouth. But I say it anyway. For Bell.
"You should be really fucking grateful you get to do whatever the fuck you want. Most guys would kill to be in this marriage."
I almost keel over and throw up. Who does she even think she is?
Cold-hearted bitch. I really can't stay here much longer. But I can't leave Bell here to deal with Renée all by herself.
"Hi, Mommy." Bell darts through the room, opening the fridge in her soft-looking, shiny, white robe. I can see the outlines of her hard nipples through the slinky material. She makes my mouth water. It's torture.
"How many applications have you filed out today, Bella?"
So much for the warm welcome. Not even her own flesh and blood gets a proper 'hello'.
I see Bella rolling her eyes as she cracks open a bottle of sparkling water.
"Hi, sweetheart. How was your day?" She mimics her mother's voice. I can't help but laugh at the impression. I realize now how different they look from each other. Whilst Bella is airy and light, her mother is stern and rigid. Apart from the eyes, they don't share any sort of resemblance. "Can't you just be a real fucking mother for once and maybe ask me how I'm doing?"
"I know how you're doing. Not well. You're homeless and jobless and you're an adult living in your childhood bedroom," Renée barks. Bella's posture falters, her shoulders slumping. Poor baby doesn't deserve this. At all.
"You can't keep living here forever, Bella," Renée reminds her. "You need a job."
"Who else would keep daddy company?" she asks sweetly, beaming up at me. I almost choke on my drink.
"Grow up," Renée sneers. "He's not your fucking father."
"I guess that's a good thing," Bell mutters under her breath as she walks past me. She slips me a note. When I read her elegant cursive, my heart thunders wildly.
Come tuck me in, daddy?