A/N:

Edward and Bella don't cheat on each other in this story. Just wanted to get that out there so you know to look for other reasons.

This chapter is coming to you early because apparently I have no self-control, and I just had to finish it ;) Enjoy!

"I can remember absolutely everything, young man. That's my curse. That's one of the greatest curses ever inflicted on the human race: memory."

- Jedediah

April 17, 2010

Edward

I groan as I lean back into the leather seats and close my eyes. I don't care where the driver takes us, as long as it's far away from here.

Isabella's jolting voice distracts me from my headache-misery when she starts to speak softly.

"If you wanted a prenup, I wouldn't be mad. I promise."

"Stop it, Isabella," I admonish gently, yet firmly. "I will not discuss the end of our marriage before it has yet to even start. Have some faith. You belong with me. We're going to make it."

I won't let them ruin us.

Bella unexpectedly laughs before she quickly contains the involuntary response. I open my eyes and turn to see her biting her lip in restraint.

"What?" I ask with confused amusement. She looks far too adorable in her dress, trying so hard to remain silent.

"Sorry, it's just...you kind of sound like a Taylor Swift song right now."

I nod, allowing the comparison in stride. I'm not ashamed to admit that I know which song she means. I'm not immune to music - or more specifically, my fiancée's music. It takes a little effort to keep a straight face, however, as I lean back to rest again.

"Yeah, well Taylor Swift is a smart young lady. When she's not screwing that John Mayor character, anyway."

I can sense Isabella's grin, even with my eyes closed. She grabs my right hand, running a finger over my knuckles.

"Promise?" she asks nervously. I need no clarification.

"Promise."

July 21, 2010

Edward

I bang on the door loudly enough that any creature in the area will hear - sentient or not.

Deep down, I know this isn't polite. Civilized people call first. But knowing this doesn't halt my actions, and I'm certain that Marcus will understand in view of the circumstances.

The wood surface is pulled away from my fist, and I relax slightly when I am met by a friendly face.

"Edward," he greets amiably, as if I hadn't been about to bust down his door. "I was wondering when you'd come."

I nod, resigned. Of course he would expect me.

He leads me into his office for the first time, and even with my distractions, I notice that it's practically bursting with old world charm. I almost expect him to pull out a cigar as he sits himself down on one of the dark leather chairs; he just looks that sophisticated.

"What brings you today?" Marcus asks casually, barely stressing the last word. He's wondering what finally sent me over the edge.

I take a deep breath, intent on getting everything off my chest. If I'm going to hire him, he needs to know everything.

"The police wanted to interview me this afternoon, and I was too stupid to take my lawyer. When I got there, Mike started to ask all these questions like he thought that I was responsible for Isabella's disappearance. He heard on the news that we were having trouble. I just denied his claims and left.

"Then when I was leaving the building, my friend Peter told me that it was my sister-in-law who told about our marital problems! I can't believe I forgot that Rosalie works for the media. Self-righteous Rosalie, who thinks the world's problems are solved by the free flow of information. She has tons of newscaster friends."

I run my hand through my hair, only vaguely aware that I've started to pace.

The truth can only help, Edward, I'm sure she would say. Her naivety is infuriating - nothing like the cute inexperience that Isabella embodies. I have no idea why Isabella even confides in her.

"So now it looks like Isabella is fine and just taking a break from me, or I look like a murderer, and it's all Rosalie's fault. My own -"

I pause, about to say "flesh and blood," but that does not really apply. Besides, I've always thought of her as more of an evil spawn.

"My own - sister-in-law!" I yell dumbly.

I stop pacing and try to calm down, knowing that I must be scaring him. Then again, he's a private investigator. I'm sure he's seen lots of passionate people.

I make myself sit down in one of his overstuffed arm chairs, but I'm still anything but composed.

"Isabella is probably hurt or passed out somewhere, and these morons are treating this like a big game of Clue," I say more quietly. "They won't try hard enough to find her, or they'll look in all the wrong places."

I look up from the quasi-oriental rug I've been glaring at. Marcus has not said anything as of yet, and I wonder if that is a bad sign. He silently tucks his dark, shoulder-length hair behind one ear. My friend really is too old to have long hair, but it somehow suits him.

"Can you tell me what happened the last time you saw her? On Saturday night?"

The question throws me. He doesn't want to talk about credit cards, family members or possible locations? That's what the cops did.

I study Marcus curiously, but he just stares back impassively.

My first thought is to tell him off, to say that this has nothing to do with me. But I know that's a lie, and besides...he's on my side.

I nod, swallowing thickly.

July 17, 2010

Bella

I finish rearranging the kitchen appliances, but it's clear that the act has not distracted me well enough. I still can't get the thoughts of tonight out of my head.

The worst part of the meeting might have been when Donald had no qualms about saying Mr. Cullen repeatedly, but insisted on calling me Isabella. As if I no longer had any right to the surname.

I run my fingers over the granite countertop absentmindedly, reverently.

Only Edward is allowed to call me Isabella.

Annoyed at myself and my wandering mind, I decide that I might as well collapse into bed early.

I make my way through the too-wide hall, purposefully keeping my focus away from the mounted frames that line the walls. My bare feet have just started up the stairs when the front door opens, and I am jolted by a clear and confident voice.

"Isabella." It's an announcement of presence and a mild scolding, all wrapped into one.

I turn around to see Edward just feet away. I can tell that he's agitated but calm. He's always calm.

"Why won't you take your share?" he asks quietly, sounding offended. He has not moved from the entryway, and I have barely breathed.

"Are you trying to hurt me? Villainize me? I just don't understand."

"No..." I murmur disbelievingly. How can he think that?

"I didn't earn any of that money, Edward. I didn't buy this house. You should keep it."

"I want you to have it. I'd never be able to live with myself if I left you with nothing."

I glare at him.

"Oh, I get it. Poor Bella, right?" I ask mockingly, my voice picking up volume. My elevated height from the steps must be giving me an added boost of confidence.

"Poor wrong-side-of-the-tracks, diner fucking Bella! Well fuck you, Cullen! I don't want your charity."

I have always tried to hide my swearing and other unladylike traits from him, but there really is no point now. Edward doesn't try to mask the shock on his face as he silently stares at me in wonder. When he finally snaps out of his stupor, he walks over to where I've crumpled myself on the stairs. The polished surface of the stone step is cold against my skin, like most of the house.

"Please just talk to me," he pleads above me. I look down at my buffed fingernails so I can avoid his towering form. I can't stand his soft, gentle tone. I'd rather he yelled at me. He's never yelled at me.

"There's nothing to say," I mumble, my previous strength completely absent. It's a total lie. We could probably write a book with all the things we need to tell each other. But I won't let myself feel guilty. If he really wanted to talk, he would not have hired the intermediaries tonight. "Please just go."

He hesitates, then I stare at his shined, brown leather shoes as he walks to the door. From my low viewpoint, I can see that the sun is still shining when he opens it. It makes me angry. The sun doesn't deserve to shine when my world is falling apart.

Edward's feet have paused at the doorway, waiting. He's still here. I finally force myself to look up. His hair is a mess of auburn, as if a thousand hands have run through it within the last minute.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

My voice refuses to work.

I'm sorry, too, I try to show.

I love you, his eyes say.

I love you more.

Edward shuffles his Italian leather against the hardwood. Emerald irises are still glowing into mine.

Don't ask me to leave.

I already did.

Edward roughly rubs his forehead, blocking his eyes and cutting off our conversation. He lets out a harsh breath before he walks out into the too-bright sunshine.

The door echoes as it shuts, and I run both hands over my arms, fighting chills. I think about turning the heat on, even though it won't help.

Breathing deeply, I grab the banister and pick myself up. It's an act I am used to.

It was wrong to let myself depend on someone. Just plain wrong.

The sounds of the Volvo slowly diminish as I stand, and part of me can't believe that I had the audacity to kick Edward out of his own home. The other part can't let herself care. She's trying to think of options that don't exist. Deep down, I know that there is only one choice. I have to go.