Happy Saturday, people!

First of all, thank you for all the alerts and reviews.
THANK YOU also for voting in the Twific Fandom Awards. Round two nominations were announced earlier today, and voting starts tomorrow. I won't post voting links here because we know what ffnet does to those. There's a pinned post in my group, LaMomo's Lair, with a list of nominees in Team Momo and a voting link. Go give all those wonderful stories and authors some love.

Usual disclaimer applies - I still don't own any of it. I just like to play with the characters ;-)

Team Momo wouldn't exist without Midnight Cougar and Alice's White Rabbit with their red pens, or without AGoodWitch, Driving Edward, Mel, Maplestyle, and Eternally Addicted who pre-read and tell me if I'm off my rocker or not. They also were nominated in the TFFA so remember to send them some love!

Reminder on chapters: unless indicated, odd-numbered chapters are in EPOV, even-numbered ones are in BPOV. We're back with Edward today.

Chapter 13 - EPOV

She loved me.

High as a kite after that declaration, I couldn't help but dwell on the "we need to talk" part of it in a corner of my brain. She'd tacked it on as a post-scriptum after she'd blurted out her confession in fits and starts while she sat on my kitchen counter wearing nothing but my shirt.

She belonged here. With me. In my home. Suddenly, a pang of longing tore through me. I wanted this every day. I wanted to wake up with her in my arms, in our bed. Asking her to move in with me right now would be premature and possibly detrimental. After all, she'd barely admitted she loved me. We'd been on three dates. I recalled my earlier conversation with Emmett—time. We needed time.

"So, apart from meal kits and fancy sparkling water, is there anything edible in your fridge?" she asked, pointing at the appliance in question.

I rolled my eyes at her wisecrack and hoisted her off the counter. "Let's check out what's left in there, shall we?"

She padded to the fridge and opened it.

Content to let her explore, I stayed behind her and spied over her shoulder with my hand resting on her hip. Saturdays were my usual chosen day for grocery deliveries, but my recent back-and-forth travels to Cornell had thrown my schedule into disarray, and I'd had the standing order paused to avoid wasting food. My mother would have had my hide otherwise. Even at the cusp of forty, I wasn't beyond her fierce reproach. I thought about how she would react to the new development in my life, but Bella interrupted my musings.

"Edward? The eggs still look good. Tater tots, really? Why do you even have tater tots?" she asked with a mischievous smile.

"Stop right there, miss. Before you start saying that they don't pair well with Pellegrino."

She giggled, but shook the bags of frozen tots at me. "I didn't say anything."

"But you thought about it. I like tater tots. They keep for a long time, which helps disorganized, workaholic bachelors like me. It's … comfort food."

At those words, she smiled indulgently. "I love comfort food. You have bacon, and it doesn't smell funky."

"You sure it's still good? I don't even know how long it's been there."

Bella scoffed, but kept pulling items out of my fridge. Most of it was stuff I'd forgotten I had. "Typical bachelor with no pressing budget concerns. This is promising, though," she added, as she checked expiry dates on the packages. "How about a tater tot casserole?"

I leaned against the counter, looking at the ingredients she'd lined up, trying to figure out what she'd concoct. "Sure, but what would that entail?"

"Are you a picky eater, Sparkly?"

With my brow no doubt scrunched up in disbelief, I stared at her. "Sparkly? Did I hear that right?"

"You drink fancy Italian sparkling water, hence Sparkly. There. Perfectly logical."

I burst out laughing. "How many chances do I have that you won't tell Emmett?"

She hip-checked the refrigerator door and turned toward me, flashing a mischievous smile. "Depends. What's it worth to you?"

I stalked closer to her and caged her in with my arms right where she'd leaned against the counter. When I started skimming along the column of her neck with my nose, inhaling the fragrance of her skin, her breath hitched.

"You smell like us, love. It's intoxicating, sexy, and fucking hot. It makes me want you again," I murmured, thrusting my hips into her center. "But I promised to feed you, so we'll revisit your attempt at blackmail later. I might find some payoff worthy of you."

Was that a little growl I heard from her? Maybe I'd succeeded in frustrating her, but I'd not done myself any favors. My little stunt had left me hard and plenty bothered.

"Fine. Be that way, Sparkly. Now, food."

With that, she changed the subject and explained in great detail what all would go into the tater tot casserole. She put me to work too, judging I wouldn't do irreparable damage whisking eggs, and asked me where she'd find mixing bowls and other kitchen tools.

I gave her a quick run-down of where everything was, and we settled in, standing next to each other at the kitchen island, prepping food and drinking coffee. That had been her one stipulation—first thing, she needed coffee.

"You mentioned we had things to discuss," I said.

She was chopping red onions and replied in between sniffles. "These fuckers always get me. Yes, we do."

Because her tone sounded a tad ominous, my face fell. "Oh. Okay."

"It's nothing catastrophic. But I've never told anyone, and I'm afraid of what you'll think."

What would be so momentous, so impactful, and yet so fraught with implications that she'd never told anyone? Did that "anyone" include my brother and her closest friends? Was she about to reveal something Rosalie and Alice ignored?

"You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to," I hedged. Everything was at her pace.

"I want to, Edward," she retorted. "I trust you, and I want you to trust me in return. I don't see us having a future if there are secrets between us, and there are things in my past … Let's just say they inform the way I've come to see relationships and are the main reason I haven't dated much, or at all, in recent years."

I nodded and gestured to the bowl of whisked eggs. "What am I doing with this next?"

"We're going to build layers in the casserole dish. Now play Tetris with the tater tots for a while and build a bottom layer for me, please, while I check on the bacon and cut it into chunks."

I followed her instructions and waited for her to continue. She pressed the cooked bacon in between layers of paper towels, then started cutting the rashers into smaller pieces as she resumed her tale.

"The last meaningful relationship I had was during undergrad. Mind you, this was before I met Emmett, before I started working at the firm. I'd been in Atlanta for less than a year. A fresh-faced West Coast transplant with almost zero support network in town, I leaned heavily on the people I met in school," Bella explained.

All the while, she studiously mixed eggs with bacon and diced onions, and I wondered if she needed to keep busy to be able to get through these memories. Her tone and her choice of words sounded sinister. None of this shit boded well. At all.

"I've always been a straight A student, but when I transferred to Emory, everything around me became supercharged. The pressure to perform, competitive people all elbowing for a top spot—it was an abrupt change. Pass me the casserole dish, please."

After I did as she asked, she started assembling the casserole—pouring beaten eggs over the layer of tater tots, then she sprinkled heaps of shredded cheese on top of it before sliding the whole thing into the oven.

"This will take about twenty minutes. You good to wait until then?"

"Yes, love. Why don't we get more comfortable?" I beckoned to the sectional in the living room.

She nodded and turned to wash her hands at the kitchen sink. I waited my turn, and when I was done, her hand appeared in my peripheral vision, poised to give me a dishtowel.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said, reflexively leaning her head against my side.

With my hands now dried and free, I reached out and squeezed her shoulder. "I'm here for you. You can tell me anything, or nothing at all. And I'll be here, loving you, at the end of it all."

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice breaking.

I laced my fingers with hers and padded in silence to the living room where I let her choose her seat first. I wanted her to be at ease for this conversation.

She took in the layout of the room—the floor-to-ceiling windows, the gas fireplace in the divider wall with the sleeping quarters, the oddly shaped coffee table made of driftwood and reclaimed metal pipes, and the gray, slouchy sectional Esme had insisted I buy. Bella's gaze darted from me to the farther end of the couch until it lingered on the throw pillows piled in that corner. She parked herself over there, grabbing one pillow that she hugged to her middle as she spoke.

With the firm intention of affording her some space, I sat close enough to reach out if she needed me but not in her face—rather, at a polite distance.

"I met Laurent Simmons in one of my classes in my first year at Emory. He subbed for our macroeconomics professor once. At first, I feared I'd bomb the class because the evaluation standards and the workload were way more complex than what I'd been used to in community college back in Washington. But that day, he happened to explain how to manage our workload better, and it allayed my fears."

"Wait, you were in community college first? How did I not know that?"

She shrugged. "I bet it's in my HR paperwork at the firm. Alistair went over my transcripts when they hired me, but by then, I was a junior. I did it because, at first, I wasn't sure I'd make the cut at Emory, and the cost of tuition was prohibitive. So, community college helped me get rid of those pesky gen ed requirements on a budget. I worked fulltime back then too, so … it took me time to have the credits I needed to transfer to Emory. But that's beside the point."

I raised my hand in defense. "Sorry for interrupting you. I'll shut up now." I mimicked zipping my lips.

Bella chuckled and waved me off. "Nah. You're good. We're having a conversation, and we've rarely talked about personal stuff before."

"No, but now we can. All the time. So please, continue."

Her hand reached out for me, and I obliged. As she talked, I stared at our intertwined hands sitting on the throw pillow in her lap.

"I didn't bomb the class, to the point the professor gave me a stellar recommendation for a summer class that would help with my major a lot. I'd stayed in Atlanta because I was trying to get a full-time job and taking summer classes to maximize credits in undergrad. Because Laurent was one of Professor Stephens' grad students, he was the TA for that summer class. I didn't think anything of it, but he seemed to take a shine to me."

Of course, he did. What a slimy bastard. A picture started emerging in my brain, and in the next breath, she confirmed my suspicions.

"After bumping into each other all summer, when the fall semester started, he kinda disappeared. In my second year at Emory, Professor Stephens asked me if I had time to do some busywork for him at the department. I said yes because who says no to Stephens?"

"Nobody who wants to live," I replied with a chuckle. The old curmudgeon had been around in my time as well. I'd taken his macroeconomics class, but hightailed it out of Dodge when it ended. Numbers weren't my thing.

"Around Halloween, I ran into Laurent again. He asked me out for coffee. Coffee is harmless, right? A non-date in the middle of the day, in a place full of other harried students running from class to their part-time jobs."

"So, you went for coffee with your TA?" I tried to keep my tone neutral—I didn't want her to think I was judging her in any way.

"Yes. Former TA. He only taught summer classes. Coffee turned into an entire afternoon where he told me this lofty story of overcoming adversity. How he'd grown up with a single mother, enlisted in the Marines right out of high school for job security, then went to college later on the GI Bill."

One adjective in that entire opening didn't sit well with me—lofty. It didn't convey much confidence that the tale of woe would be true. "Edifying story."

"And designed to reel me in like a rainbow trout. I saw a lot of parallels between his past and mine. My dad was in the military too before he got the job as Chief of Police in Forks. I was older than my peers in college because I couldn't rely on family money to get through school."

"When you describe it like that, yes. There are a lot of similarities."

She sighed. "Laurent and I had a whirlwind romance throughout that winter, but we never went out in public together. Sometimes, he disappeared for days, and when he offered heartfelt excuses that he had research to do for his PhD, I believed him."

"Hang on a minute. What about non-fraternization rules?"

She stared at me for a long moment, then blinked. "Damn, your naked chest is so distracting," she protested, hiding her face behind the throw pillow.

"Do you want me to cover up?"

I'd thrown on clean boxer briefs after getting out of bed, but being too eager to find Bella, that had been the extent of my clothing. She'd not commented on my relative state of undress until now.

"No, but … well, you're distracting, so bear with me."

I nodded, but motioned for her to continue.

She chuckled, then resumed. "By spring, Stephens had roped me into another of his pet projects with the lure of extra credit."

"Wait a minute … What, or better yet, who was that pet project?" That detail jogged my memory. Stephens was a grumpy old guy, but his help salvaged my brother's college career halfway through his MBA.

"Yep. That pet project was one Emmett Cullen, who had a great head for numbers but—"

"Couldn't write essays to save his life. Mom fought the entire time he was in school so he'd have the help he needed. The school board was deathly afraid of her."

"But anyway, helping Emmett kept me busy, and his friendship became a godsend. He included me in his circle of friends, even though I was younger and only in undergrad. But Laurent didn't appreciate that because I wasn't available to him at the drop of a hat like before. It should have been a gigantic red flag—"

"Yes, but hindsight is 20/20. You can't beat yourself up now for what you didn't see then."

She nodded, but then rolled her eyes. "I am trying to stay on task, but you're too damn distracting."

Her comment made me chuckle. "You sure you don't want me to cover up?"

She raised her hands in protest. "No! After all, I have to get used to this, right?"

I decided to tease her a little because I sensed that the tricky part of her story might be around the corner. "Define 'this,' Miss Swan. For the sake of argument."

"Lawyers. You and your damn definitions. Fine—you, bare-chested in my presence. I'm too young for blood pressure spikes, Edward."

"That would be bad. We wouldn't want that," I hedged.

She gave me a withering look, which Emmett would no doubt qualify as a "stink eye." "So?"

"Lucky for you, I have a solution," I replied. "Come here, love," I continued, pulling her closer to me.

She complied, but she wasn't close enough yet. I stretched out on the ottoman extension of my sectional and brought her with me so she was lying against my chest, her legs now tangled with mine.

"There. Now you're no longer distracted. Please, continue."

She grasped my hands in hers, circling them around her waist with a tender squeeze. "Thank you. So, as I was saying, I started spending a lot of time with Emmett and his gang, between our tutoring sessions and whatever events he dragged me to. A social here, a mingle there, a kegger everywhere. Laurent darted in and out of my life with no rhyme or reason. I never questioned his behavior because the first time I tried, it didn't end well."

Those words sounded ominous, and they put me on guard. "'Didn't end well,' how? Please tell me he didn't raise his hand to you, Bella."

She shook her head, and I had to avoid a mouthful of her auburn hair. "No. But he could turn mean on a dime if he was displeased with something. Accusations of infidelity, of 'trading up with rich people,' of being an immature little girl. That's what he hurled at me—poisonous words that hit every single one of my insecurities."

"Oh, sweetheart. I'm sorry. Every single thing he ever said was untrue. You know that, right?"

"I do now because I've grown a spine. He capitalized on my inexperience, on my insecurities. And every time I expressed doubts or concerns because we still weren't going anywhere in public together, he brushed me off. But whenever he flipped a switch and decided to be sweet, he could be really sweet. And I stayed for those moments. Until …"

"How long did it last altogether?"

She turned awkwardly to look at me and pursed her lips, pondering my question. "Let's see. From the start of my sophomore year at Emory, to the middle of my junior year. Ironically, an event for the firm sent it all to hell in a handbasket."

"Firm? You mean …"

"CCM Legal. I'd just taken a part-time job there as a floater secretary. Em had slipped my résumé to Alistair against my wishes."

I chuckled. "You were hired on your own merits, love. Which event was it anyway?"

"It was a cocktail to welcome new hires at a glitzy restaurant downtown. When I told Laurent I wouldn't be available to see him that night because I had a work event, he went ballistic. I was determined to end things, but the man was hard to pin down outside of his scheduled presence in my life, never responded promptly to messages, and … well, that night, the entire point became moot. Big time."

"How so?"

She yawned, and the oven timer rang before she could answer.

"Why don't we eat? I'll also need more coffee for this damn part."

First part of Bella's big reveal. I'm not going to make you wait another week for the second part. It should be up mid-week.
I'm also close to finishing writing the story, so I may be able to speed up posting shortly. Stay tuned.