Chapter 4: Dreamland
A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you for all the wonderful reviews. Thank you for all the follows/favorites! Awesome. I wasn't sure if anyone would like this story, but I'm happy to hear your thoughts. Your reviews assure me of your interest.
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of it's characters, that's all Stephenie Myer's department!
"Sometimes I wish I had never met you. Because then I could go to sleep at night not knowing there was someone like you out there." – Good Will Hunting
As I made my way to the address, self-reproach was my constant companion. It was as if I was marching straight into a well-laid snare. The neighborhood's affluence towered over my own standing—gated communities, meticulous landscapes, the air of luxury. Not that it was foreign to me; I once called such extravagance home. However, those chapters of my life had long since closed.
Approaching a grand, winding driveway, I was confronted by a formidable black gate guarding a sprawling estate. My heart caught in my throat, not just at the grandeur but the blatant assertion of dominance it represented. A question gnawed at my resolve—why should I enter his dominion?
My life was no longer beholden to him; I was no mere pawn on his chessboard. He had summoned me for my story, but I was resolved not to relinquish it so readily. A flash of self-awareness struck me—I was foolish to have even come this far. And with that, I ripped up his invitation, scattering its fragments to the wind.
I turned my back on the towering mansion and all it stood for. I would no longer be drawn into games of exploitation and discarded after being used—another casualty in a gilded cage of deception. That life, with all its illusory splendor, belonged to my past. It was nothing more than smoke and mirrors, and I refused to be blinded again.
After that day, my life mostly went back to its usual routine. I made every effort to steer clear of Dr. Cullen and his practice. I conscientiously avoided walking by his clinic and especially shunned the alley where our first encounter had taken place.
A part of me couldn't help but wonder whether he was searching for me, or whether he was seething with anger because I failed to appear in this immaculate home and stumble into his domain. Something within whispered that he was accustomed to bending situations to his will, to dominating every narrative. But I was not the person to grant him such power, especially not over myself.
And yet, he was more than a picturesque cliché—far beyond just a wealthy, strikingly handsome doctor. His world, undoubtedly lavish, was one where he could command the company of any woman he desired. Perhaps that's why I couldn't escape the gnawing thought: he had already forgotten me, relegated me to a mere footnote in his opulent life. What did I possess that was so unique? What truly set me apart in his eyes?
Nothing did.
That's precisely why I chose to leave a few weeks back, so as to deny him the chance to manipulate me and then discard me like a piece of trash. I refused to be another casualty of his callous game. I was sure I wasn't the first or the last woman he would try to control.
I lingered in the shadows as dusk enveloped the city, receiving a mixture of disdainful stares and pitying looks from passersby. They perceived me as just another beggar on the bustling streets of New York, eager for their spare change. However, the reality was quite different—I was indifferent to the act of begging. Everything I owned, meager as it was, I had either found or earned. Though I didn't hold a traditional job, I had developed a method of forging a living by salvaging what others discarded and had established routines to secure food, find shelter, and occasionally obtain medical care.
My existence was far from comfortable, but I was getting by. I never solicited help or sought people's pity.
Yes. There were moments when I contemplated finding employment—perhaps even accepting a part-time position at the flower shop just around the corner from my spot. However, when I entertained the idea of settling into a more conventional life, a chilling thought restrained me: he might discover my whereabouts.
The moment I settled down, I knew he would come to strip me of everything I held dear. Staying under the radar was my way of evading him, and it meant the world to me. He was my ex-fiancé. I had followed my heart, falling for a man I believed loved me in return. However, it became clear that his affections were a ruse to gain access to my father's wealth and business empire.
When my father disinherited me for defying his wishes and rejecting the arranged marriage he had set up—instead choosing to marry the son of his arch-rival—my so-called beloved revealed his true, malicious nature.
He transformed into a beast, and with that, each day turned into an unending nightmare. Relentless in his torment, he would constantly pressure me to reconcile with my father, insisting that I convince him to reinstate me in his will.
With each day I resisted, he bombarded me with emotional abuse, making me feel utterly worthless. His threats escalated to the point where he vowed to end my life should I fail to sway my father. When I declared that marriage between us was an impossibility, he became more possessive, chillingly asserting his ability to track me down wherever I went, claiming ownership over me.
Because of his tyranny, I had lost it all, yet the prospect of groveling for my father's forgiveness was out of the question. Despite my father's kind nature, he had a firm, authoritarian streak and would not hesitate to cast out anyone he perceived as disloyal to our family.
Even his own daughter.
I gazed intently at the Italian restaurant on the opposite side of the street. Though it was an upscale establishment, they were careless with their waste, carelessly discarding large amounts of leftovers. For someone like me, it was a goldmine.
Rummaging through the garbage, I cobbled together a meager meal of stale bread and leftover chicken strips. Um…not as good as other nights. The findings weren't exactly enticing, but they would have to suffice. As I surveyed the area, I pondered if there might be a better spot to forage for sustenance.
However, my pulse raced when my gaze fell upon a man in a black suit—a sight chillingly familiar. I quickly crouched down, hiding myself, as he surveyed the vicinity with a severe expression. It was one of my ex's henchmen. My mind raced—had they located me so quickly?
How?
I'd been successfully off the grid until now. How did he know to look for me here, in New York? Combing through my recent actions for a slip-up, it hit me—the medical check-up. That visit must have triggered an update in my records, inadvertently revealing my location.
Fuck. Why didn't that possibility cross my mind before taking such a risk?
The man cracked his knuckles while surveying the surroundings. I bit my bottom lip and crouched further down. It was unsettling to realize I'd been discovered.
He then proceeded to a black BMW in the parking lot, eased into the driver's seat, and ignited the engine, which roared to life. Through the tinted windows, I couldn't discern his actions, yet an uneasy sensation suggested he was biding his time, waiting for the right moment to strike.
As the sleek black vehicle glided to a stop, a young valet hustled over, tapping lightly on the tinted glass with a deferential smile. With a quiet hum, the window lowered, revealing his steely gaze that seemed to chill the air itself. His voice, a sharp whisper, cut through the bustle of the evening.
"Not now," he murmured, a decisive edge to his tone as he shook his head slowly at the valet, who stepped back, a mixture of confusion and respect on his face.
Without another word, he eased the car back into the flow of traffic, the engine's low growl fading into the night. But the firm set of his jaw and the unresolved tension in his eyes told me one thing: he wasn't fleeing. This was merely a strategic retreat, and I braced myself for the inevitable storm that was sure to follow his return.
"Why don't we dine inside?" came the suggestion, delivered in that familiar, silken tone that always seemed to slide effortlessly through the air.
It was a voice I knew intimately—a voice that, for quite some time now, I had exerted all my energy to evade. My throat tightened as I reluctantly pivoted to face its owner. A rush of unsettling questions clouded my thoughts. Why did it feel as though those I desperately sought to escape possessed some uncanny ability to seek me out with such disconcerting precision?
His gaze swept over my ragged attire and the goosebumps stippling my exposed skin before he gestured gracefully towards the warm glow of the restaurant.
"We'll find more appetizing choices inside," he suggested, his voice a low melody that seemed to scan my very soul.
He was giving me a thorough once-over, lingering with an intensity that sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. As his gaze settled on mine, I felt my expression tighten, a defensive reflex to his scrutiny threatening to surface.
Yet, as I locked onto his stormy gray eyes, a strange dance of emotions twirled within me—defiance mixed with a dose of admiration for his impeccable appearance: the suit that hugged his figure with tailored precision, the dress shirt that whispered secrets with its teasingly undone buttons.
Despite myself, a warm blush spread across my cheeks, betraying my ruffled state. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers nonchalantly, but the gleam of his Rolex still managed to catch the fleeting city lights, announcing his status with understated opulence.
"I'm fine," I managed to assert, my voice carrying a hint of stubbornness, not quite willing to concede to the intriguing disturbance he seemed to stir within me.
He sauntered closer, the smirk playing on his lips growing bolder with every step he took. As he shrugged out of his black jacket, the fabric swirled through the air with a flourish before it settled around my shoulders.
The instinct to cast it off—to prove I was unbreakable, untouched by his charm—wrestled within me. Yet the fabric clung to my skin with a comforting warmth, and the unmistakable scent that wafted up enraptured my senses. Woody, with a hint of spice, it shrouded me in a familiar embrace. I stood frozen, the resistance within me crumbling as his hand found its place on the small of my back.
His breath tickled my ear, his presence enveloping me, "Let me," he spoke with a gentle firmness, guiding me out of the shadow-strewn alleyway towards the restaurant's glowing entrance.
A hesitant step faltered beneath me as my eyes traced over the elegant façade, the gold hues casting a soft light over the patrons dining inside. I felt out of place, a wild thing on the brink of a civilized world I didn't belong to.
"I can't—" My voice broke the spell between us, muffled by the buzz of affluent life just beyond the threshold. "Look at me; I'm a complete mess."
With our connection laid bare in the night, he turned to face me, the light from the restaurant painting his features in a soft glow as he took in my hesitation, my vulnerability.
His eyes locked onto mine, a quiet strength within them. "You're perfect as you are. You belong here with me, now," he reassured with an earnestness that resonated deep within me, "Trust me."
The thought of crossing the threshold was daunting, an aversion seizing me so fierce I nearly bolted. But there, in the looming shadow of the ornate doorway, I knew it might just be the haven I sought.
Somewhere in the steel city maze, I knew that, that man was doggedly trailing my scent. Perhaps hiding myself in the quiet elegance of the indoors would grant me a precious few moments of grace.
As I haltingly entered, carried by a wave of anticipation, the heavy doors swung open with a silent promise of shelter. Inside, the clamor of curious glances clung to my skin. Nervously, my fingers sought started to comb through my tangled hair, a futile attempt to compose myself.
The coat, much too large and evocative of his scent, enveloped me and stood in stark contrast to my ragged attire—a jarring blend of worn jean shorts and holey stockings, salvaged by necessity rather than choice, crowned with the battered black boots unearthed from the debris of discarded lives.
Undeterred, he announced our arrival with a stoic "Table for two," his voice rippling through the silence and commanding immediate attention. I could feel the scrutiny of the hostess, sharp as the winter chill, her gaze flitting from him—a portrait of poise—to me, an unfortunate scribble beside him. I could sense her mind whirring as she tried to piece together the unlikely scene before her.
"Mr. Cullen"—his name rolled off her tongue with an almost reverent lilt, "What a pleasure to see you, Mr. Cullen," she cooed, the practiced smile never quite reaching her eyes as they flitted to me again with naked incredulity. The urge to retreat—to dissolve into the golden wallpaper—overwhelmed me, and I sought refuge against him.
I pushed myself into him, feeling out of place, but he was tall and confident.
"Perhaps something... discreet. Outdoors?" she ventured; each word laced with the intent to banish me from view.
But he, my unexpected champion, dispersed her insinuations with an assertive, "Discreet would be nice. But I'm sure you can do better than that," he addressed the hostess, his words cutting through her thinly veiled disdain like a sword of certainty.
The hostess faltered, clearly taken aback, before mustering her courage. "Well, we do have a secluded room on the upper floor. It's more private," she reluctantly offered, a hint of defiance still lingering in her tone.
"Better. We'll take it, thank you," he replied, his voice laced with calm authority that seemed to form a protective barrier around us.
His eyes locked with mine, and in that brief exchange, I found my unexpected champion. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned down, placing a tender kiss upon my hair, as if to seal his silent promise. Then, with a firm yet gentle hand, he drew me in closer to his side, sheltering me from the storm of sneers we left in our wake.
The hostess grabbed two menus. "Yes Mr. Cullen. This way."
A warm grin spread across his face, reaching into his eyes as they met mine. Gently, he pulled me closer, the pressure against the small of my back increasing ever so slightly. There was an intimate certainty in the way he guided me up the opulent stairwell.
My heart thumped erratically against my ribcage, threatening to betray my cool exterior. I averted my gaze, the crowd's curious stares morphing into a hazy sea of colors and shadows. Yet, as much as I attempted to remain undetected, I was acutely aware of the heat from his hand, searing through the fabric of my dress, anchoring me to the present moment.
My eyes lowered, watching the rhythm of his shiny black leather loafers as they ascended with a self-assured cadence that made the world around us fade away.
His warm breath caressed my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. "Eyes up," he whispered, his voice a gentle yet firm command that irresistibly drew my attention to meet his intense stare. "This is just between us. No one else gets a say and what we do is no one's business. None of their opinions matter. Remember that."
I nodded imperceptibly, swallowing the knot of anxiety in my throat. With each confident step he took, I found a little more of my own strength to face the night that lay ahead.
The air was filled with an enticing medley of fragrances coming from the Italian restaurant. A rich blend of garlic, herbs, and freshly baked bread wafted through the atmosphere, surrounding me with its mouthwatering aroma.
The inviting scent of homemade pasta and herbs danced around, Just the thought of the dishes they served elicited an intense longing, making my mouth water in anticipation and my stomach growl.
The moment we slipped into our secluded corner at the restaurant, a gentle exhale escaped my lips. The space was intimate, bathed in a soft, warm light that made the world outside seem miles away. Tables were dotted throughout the area, yet none of them bore guests—our own private oasis, almost as if he called ahead.
An amused smile tugged at my lips. The thought seemed ludicrous, but the aura of exclusivity couldn't be denied.
As Cullen ceremoniously pulled out my chair—a gentle but firm gesture—I sank into the embrace of its velvety cushion. He took his place opposite me, the candlelight flickering across his face. The server, poised with elegance, unfurled the menus in front of us. Then she returned, gracing our table with steamy hand towels and polished silverware.
"Thank you so much," I whispered, my voice a soft breeze that she didn't catch, her attention already captivated by Cullen's magnetism.
"We are honored by your presence, Sir," she said in a melodic voice. He granted the server a signature, confident smirk, the one that both teased and assured.
Cullen lingered over the menu, the soft candlelight casting shadows on his chiseled features. He lowered it just enough to expose a half-smirk, his voice laced with a velvety tone that was both inviting and deliberate.
"Thank you. The prospect of future visits will certainly depend on how this enchanting lady finds her first experience tonight," he said, his gaze flickering between the hostess and me.
The hostess finally turned her attention to me, her previous oversight melting into a warm, apologetic smile. "Yes of course, ma'am. We do hope your evening with us becomes a cherished memory. Is there anything I can bring for the two of you to start? Perhaps a vintage wine or a sparkling aperitif?"
Cullen's silver eyes crinkled at the corners as he peeked over the top of his menu, a playful glint dancing within them. He raised an eyebrow, the gesture loaded with silent conversation just for me.
His eyes seemed to say, 'What will it be, my dear? Indulge in something decadent, perhaps?'
The flickering candlelight cast a softened glow on Cullen's expectant face, making the fine lines around his eyes somehow more pronounced. With my hands nestled anxiously in my lap beneath the table, I mustered the faintest hint of a smile.
"I'll just have water, please," I murmured.
Cullen, perceptive as ever, studied me for a heartbeat, his expression undisturbed by my modest request. I knew I wasn't paying…and as I said, I didn't like charity.
"Make that water for the both of us," he said, the corners of his mouth curling in a private joke. Then he added, "and a bottle of your Chateau Latour Pauillac. It's a special night, after all."
The hostess nodded. "Excellent choice. I'll get that started for you. Your server should be here soon" she said before leaving.
Once we were alone, I glanced around the empty room and awkwardly swallowed, suddenly aware that I was still gripping Cullen's jacket tightly around me like a comfort blanket. Slowly, I peeled the jacket from my shoulders, and laid it to rest on the chair's spine
"Thank you for the jacket," I said, my eyes meeting his.
His eyes, deep wells of mystery, didn't wander from mine. Instead, they were fixed, brimming with an unspoken curiosity.
"You're welcome," he murmured, his gaze momentarily flickering down to the low-cut white tank top hugging my frame. While there were a few smudges marring its surface, it was, for the most part, well-kept.
The tension in his jaw was palpable as he lifted his gaze to meet mine once more. For someone who was a professional doctor, his lack of subtlety was striking. Or perhaps, this was a demeanor reserved only for interactions with me.
His eyes roamed my face, a gentle curiosity in their depths. "Have you found something you would like to order?" he inquired.
I hesitated, my gaze flicking from the menu to his expectant face. "Why?" My voice was loaded with suspicion. "So I can pile on more to the mountain of debt I owe you?"
His lips curled into a knowing smirk, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Consider this meal a gift," he offered generously.
"A gift?" Skepticism laced my tone. "Why on earth would you do that?"
He leaned back, his arms folding as if he were about to reveal a well-kept secret. "Do you really need to ask why?"
Frustration nipped at my words, "Yes, I do. Because if you haven't noticed, people who look like me... we don't usually get to date people like you."
His smile didn't wane; instead, it grew warmer, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "And who said anything about this being a date?" he teased, arching one eyebrow playfully. "Unless, of course, you're open to the idea?"
The flicker in my gaze must've betrayed my unease. "Look, I'm not pinning it down as a date," I quipped, with a playful attempt to keep things light. "But if a stranger were to glance over right now, they'd be convinced it's exactly that."
There was a sly tilt to his head, an eloquent silence before he spoke. "Didn't I make myself clear on the weight of others' opinions? I'm not one to repeat words well-heard, but for you, I'll make an exception. The labels people might slap onto us, the whispers we might ignite, it's all white noise. This thing between us –it's ours to define. It's whatever we choose it to be."
"And what is exactly is that?" My voice came out sharper than I intended, skeptical eyes searching his, demanding truth.
"Just two people indulging in the pleasure of one another's company over a good meal." His voice was light, tinged with amusement, as if we were discussing something ordinary.
My scoff was immediate, disbelieving. "A meal? Is that what this is?" I couldn't contain the incredulity in my tone. "You're my doctor. This," I gestured to the intimate setting, "is unprofessional, to say the least."
A knowing smile played on his lips, and he leaned in slightly, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Correction, I was your doctor. Your file is in the capable hands of my colleague—strictly professional, I assure you." His smirk turned boyish, almost cheeky. "Though, for the record, Miss Swan, I'm always willing to offer my services for a... personal examination, should you ever have the need."
The words were on the verge of escaping my lips when our waiter appeared at our side as if summoned by the tension between us. With a gesture that seemed too bright for the moment, he flashed a practiced smile and said, "Good evening. My name is Collin and I have the pleasure of serving you tonight." His hands danced with a quiet elegance as he filled our water glasses, a comforting preamble to the unexpected performance he was about to give.
He produced two delicate glasses and placed them before us confidently. As he decanted the wine with a sommelier's flourish, he promised, "This wine is one of our pride's selections; I'm quite sure it'll appeal to your palate. Do give it a taste and let it charm your senses."
Cullen embraced the ritual like a pro, the wine swirling in his glass creating a crimson vortex. He brought the glass to his nose, inhaling its hidden notes, then parted his lips to welcome the first intimate whisper of flavor.
I watched him, my glass untouched. I understood the elaborate dance of wine tasting — the swirl, the sniff, the subtle sip. Yet my heart rebelled against the masquerade of sophistication. My gaze flicked to the Collin, then to Cullen, and in that moment, I chose authenticity over affectation.
Cullen nodded to Collin, and he filled the glasses up the rest of the way, not missing the fact that I hadn't touched mine at all. I took a sip of my water, ignoring the wine. Collin left and returned quickly placing warm bread, butter, oil and vinegar on the table. "Our specials tonight are spada, which is our grilled swordfish, fennel, clam, chorizo vinaigrette, and antara which is our roasted duck breast, quince, turnip, broccoli rabe, and hazelnut drizzle."
Cullen's gaze locked with mine before drifting down to the neglected menu beside me. Collin hovered expectantly, his gaze flicking between us. Silence held, heavy and then shattered by Cullen's easy smile.
He leaned forward, voice tinged with a familiar warmth that made it hard to stay annoyed. "The spaghetti and meatballs sound perfect tonight, don't you agree? We'll have two of those. And let's start with garlic bread for the table, alongside a Caesar salad each," he suggested, his words tingling with a certainty that only Cullen could muster.
Collin nodded, a scripted smile on his face. "Excellent choice," he echoed, gathering the menus with effortless grace. "I'll have your dinner underway momentarily."
As Collin departed, Cullen's smirk was a playful challenge. He raised his glass, the deep red wine reflecting the dim glow of the restaurant's intimate lighting. One, two, three sips, and the taste seemed to dance in his eyes.
He met my gaze, a casual shrug lifting his shoulders. "You spent the last ten minutes staring past your menu. No choices, no questions, just silence. I made a call, figured I'd get us started."
When I said nothing, he paused in thought. "However, if you'd like something different, just tell me. I'll fix it when the waiter comes back."
His intentions, good or bad, still irked me, but his willingness to amend his overstep sparked a begrudging appreciation. I guess. I caught his gaze, holding it in a silent battle of wills as I deliberately slowed my speech for emphasis.
"Next time, try a little patience, won't you?" The words left me in a scolding hum before I allowed myself the refuge of a measured sip of wine, the ruby liquid barely distracting me.
The tip of my tongue grazed my lips in what felt like defiance as his eyes, intense and searching, remained locked on mine with hunger.
His gaze flitted from my lips, pausing briefly to take in the contour of my cleavage before it returned, charged with a bold intensity, to lock with my eyes.
A slow, deliberate smile curved on his lips. "Certainly, Miss Swan," he murmured, his voice low and laced with a promise that sent a shiver down my spine. "Next time, your wishes shall be my command."
The was a calm silence between us as I literally broke bread. He observed quietly while I wiped my hands with the warm towel, draped my napkin across my lap, and then skillfully blended the oil and vinegar. I dipped the bread into the mixture and unabashedly took generous bites, savoring each one.
His eyes twinkled with amusement as he noticed my unrestrained enjoyment. He mirrored my actions, tearing his chunk of bread with a carefree grin. "Life's too short for small bites, right?" he said, his voice warm and inviting.
I smiled as I took another substantial bite, wiping away a stray dribble of the mixture with the back of my hand. I was famished. And if he wanted to treat me to a meal, I wasn't about to refuse. It wasn't a date. It was simply him playing god, and me lying low until it was safe to reemerge.
He gently placed a piece of bread into his mouth, savoring it with slow, contemplative chews. My gaze was drawn to his lips, mesmerized by the rhythmic manner in which he relished each bite. His approach did not change when our meals were served. He twirled his spaghetti with expertise, lifting each forkful to his mouth in a deliberate, alluring manner—as if he were exploring and identifying every distinct flavor.
Though I knew how to savor my food just as he did, I consciously chose not to. Consider it a deliberate sign of rebellion. He seemed to notice, yet he remained silent about my less refined way of eating.
We ate in silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. I devoured my meal, which consisted of bread, salad, and pasta, eating until I was so full that I had to lean back to catch my breath. Meanwhile, he maintained an air of posh elegance and sophistication throughout the dinner. And, yes, the wine was amazing.
As the last drops of wine clung to the curve of my glass, I noticed Cullen's keen eyes already on it. Often he refilled both of our glasses, the soft clinking of the bottle against the crystal echoing in the intimate space between us.
Once the plates before us lay barren, save for the stray crumbs that felt like reminders of the culinary journey we just undertook, I leaned back with a contented exhale.
Cullen noticed. "So," he began, his smile casting a warmth that rivaled the candlelight, "How did you like the food?"
I paused, luxuriating in the aftertaste of the exquisite dinner. "It was wonderful," I replied, my voice carrying a note of awed discovery. "This place was like a fable to me. All I've known were the remnants of meals—you know, scrapes. But this? This was a symphony."
Cullen's hand wandered up to his chin, fingers brushing against the stubble as if to anchor himself to the moment. "Hmm," he murmured in thought. "I'm glad your first true taste of this place was with me, across from me. Formal dinners aren't often on my calendar—and when they are, they lose their luster when you dine alone. But tonight..." He paused, looking around as though seeing the restaurant anew through my eyes. "...tonight, it felt special."
My brows pinched together as the question lingered unsaid between us.
How old is he?
"You just happened to come to my rescue tonight, huh?" My voice held a tinge of both skepticism and unintended warmth.
"What do you mean by that?" He tilted his head, a gentle curiosity in his gaze.
"Exactly that. You have a knack for appearing at just the right moments. Not that I'm accusing you of stalking or anything—it's just...peculiar, that's all."
"Huh." His eyes searched mine. "Do you often find yourself in this part of town?"
I stiffened. That was a little too close to home. "Sometimes," I managed to say, not quite a lie, not quite the truth.
He seemed to accept that, giving a subtle nod. "Was someone giving you trouble tonight?"
The unease at that question I felt must have been palpable. "Why do you ask?"
He paused, assessing me over the rim of his glass. "Before I approached you, you seemed... off. Your eyes darted around and you were shivering. You looked... scared."
I bristled. "It wasn't fear. There was just a chill in the air." His lips curved slightly, a silent acknowledgment, as he set his empty wine glass aside.
Curiosity got the better of me, so I ventured cautiously. "This may sound a bit forward, but... could I know your real name?"
The corners of his mouth twitched upwards, betraying his amusement. "You don't know who I am?"
"I'm aware of who you are," I said, meeting his challenging stare with equal force.
He leaned back, a teasing spark in his eye. "Oh, really? Then enlighten me, who am I?"
My arms folded defensively across my chest. "You are New York's most desirable bachelor, a renowned cardiothoracic surgeon with enviable credentials. Owner of the reputable Cullen Clinics, and holding the title of VP at Cullen Holistic Healing Hospital. Quite the list of achievements."
A genuine grin now danced on his lips, and it was all I could do not to let my guard down. "Interesting. You've gathered all that and yet, my name escapes you?"
I felt a blush creep up my cheeks. "It's not like I had a folder at my disposal. It's different for you; you've seen my medical records. Know my age, my history. So, how about some fairness here?"
His laughter was soft, like the clink of fine crystal. "Fair is fair," he conceded. "The name is Edward. Edward Masen Cullen. And since we're on the topic of age..." His eyes held a twinkle of mischief. "I'm 44. I suspect that's the detail you were most curious about."
A gentle smile danced upon my lips as the truth dawned on me—he only had two whole decades on me.
God. And why, oh why, did every fiber of his being have to exude such raw, sexy charm? He fucked like a god, with the stamina of a beast.
But something about it was unsettling. He had to have noticed the years that separated us, before I did, hadn't he? He chose me. My stomach churned.
His eyes narrowed, searching my face. "You've gone quiet. Why are you looking at me like that?" His voice carried a warmth tempered with concern.
I blinked away my thoughts, offering him a disarming shrug. "Oh, it's nothing much. Just…lost in thoughts."
"Thoughts about my age?" he prodded gently, his tone laced with a hint of humor. "Are you wrestling with the idea that I might be too old for you?"
A flush warmed my cheeks as I averted my gaze. "No, it's not that. I'm just... processing, that's all," I stammered, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I mean, I knew there was a difference."
His eyebrow quirked up playfully. "But perhaps you hadn't quite fathomed a whole twenty years?" he teased, his voice softening. "Tell me, does it unsettle you?"
I swallowed, caught in the earnestness of his gaze. "No. Not at all. It's just... you don't carry your years like others. You have a... a timeless air about you." My voice trailed off before I could finish my thought with 'for a man your age.'
A rich, heartfelt laugh escaped him, melting away the tension. "Ah, there's no need for flattery or to spare my feelings, Isabella," Edward reassured me, his eyes alight with mirth. "I'm well aware of the age gap between us. And for the record, it doesn't trouble me in the slightest."
A heat rose to my cheeks. "It doesn't bother me either," I declared, holding his gaze.
His smile unfolded slowly. "Good," he said, his thumb tracing soft circles around the rim of his wine glass. God. Those fingers. I moved as I felt a pulse between my legs. I remembered those fingers inside me. He was professional, but still, it felt good. He wasn't even trying to bring me pleasure, so what would it be like if he actually wanted to?
"Isabella?"
His voice broke my trance. "Huh?" I said.
"I asked how you are feeling overall. Last time we talked, you were under the weather with that terrible cold. How are you now? I hope the advice in my note proved helpful."
The memory of his handwritten care instructions brought a warmth to the cold corners of my discomfort. "Oh. Yes, the pills you suggested—they worked wonders," I replied, managing a feeble smile.
Cradling the cool glass of water, I took a careful sip, seeking a momentary refuge in the soothing sensation it provided. Anything to cool down the thoughts in my head.
His eyes searched my face as he leaned in slightly, "My card...you received it then?" A hesitant nod was all I could muster. His brows knitted together, a soft hint of disappointment in his tone. "And yet, you chose to forgo my invitation?"
The question hung between us as the guilt washed over me. "I…I didn't think it was appropriate."
"Appropriate? After everything that's happened between us, you question the appropriateness of a formal invitation?" His voice was laced with incredulity, a brow arching in challenge.
She crossed my arms. "Your house just seemed...too personal. It's one thing to meet in neutral territory, but your home?"
A smirk flickered briefly across his features as he leaned in, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Fascinating, Isabella. I never said that the address was my home. But, since you're the one who dared to venture there, tell me—what spooked you at the eleventh hour?"
My gaze dropped. I guess I walked into that one. "Well. Exactly that—it was your home. I wasn't ready for that. Also, you kept asking for my story. I have no intention of letting you unwrap my history like some sort of tragic gift. So, yes, I walked away."
Observing me closely, he leaned back with an almost imperceptible nod, the grin on his face widening as he said softly, "I see. You know, I can't decide if you're setting boundaries or building walls."
"Boundaries," I seethed. "I don't need to keep people out with walls."
"Yet you use 'boundaries' to keep my home at bay?" His words were pointed, a dance around the tension between us.
A sharp breath in, and I reinforced my stance, "I wasn't comfortable there, okay?" My voice was a combination of defiance and vulnerability.
"Hmm." He leaned back, a cunning glint in his eye. "In that case, there is still the small matter of a debt, one that remains unpaid."
I met his gaze, resolute. "I intend to repay you. You have my word."
"Oh, I have no doubt about that. I always collect on debts owed me." His lips curved into an enigmatic smile, one that didn't quite reach the coldness of his eyes.
Just then, our waiter, Collin, broke into the scene with seamless congeniality. "How are we doing this evening?" He beamed at us, oblivious to the undercurrents. "Did you enjoy your meal?" I nodded, the ghost of a smile sketched on my lips, Edward's words still echoing within me.
"The food was outstanding," Edward reassured, with a flawless show of contentment.
"That's great to hear!" Collin replied with professional cheer, refreshing my glass and clearing the used dishes away. "May I tempt you with one of our decadent desserts?"
Edward's gaze flicked to me, his playful warning clear as he mime-zipped his lips.
A reluctant laugh escaped me, and I shook my head. "I think I'll pass."
"But might you allow me the chance to tempt you?" Collin pressed, offering me a teasing, knowing smile. From behind him, he produced a dessert menu, laying it gently on the table. "You strike me as a chocolate lover," he suggested, his eyes boldly sweeping over me in appraisal. His eyes dipped a little low before he quickly brought them up to meet mine again.
Edward's demeanor shifted instantaneously, the air around us grew colder, heavier. "She's declined," he interjected, his voice hard as steel, his protective gaze a piercing warning shot at Collin. "We'll take the check. Now."
Collin, sensing the change, stumbled over his apology. "I—I'm so sorry, Mr. Cullen. I meant no—"
"The check," Edward commanded, with uncompromising authority, "Now."
Collin retreated, flustered, juggling the unwanted menu and our remnants of dinner. His departure left an awkward silence, which I tried to smooth.
"I wasn't offended by his comments," I whispered, attempting to dispel the sudden chill.
Edward's jaw clenched. "It wasn't about his words. It's about how he behaved—it was disrespectful," he explained, his eyes still reflecting a storm. "A waiter should maintain professionalism ... and keep his eyes where they belong."
He had caught the waiter that quick? It had taken me a moment to register the subtle way his gaze lingered a touch too long on my cleavage. But such attention was something I had become accustomed to. The manner in which I dressed often invited curious stares and overt ogling.
No one had ever stood up for me like that before. No man had ever shown me the kindness he did—not even my ex during the best of times.
My ex was not one to cause a commotion. In truth, when he showed his true self, it was often to blame me—either for attracting too much attention or for not dressing up sufficiently. Suppressing a smile, I reveled in the comfort of having someone in my corner for a change.
As Collin approached with the check in hand, there was a quiet tension that settled over the table. Edward's fingers deftly retrieved a sleek black card from his wallet, sliding it into the billfold without so much as a glance.
"Thank you, Sir," Collin's voice cut through the silence, a faint tremor betraying his attempt at professionalism as he reached to reclaim the billfold. "I'll return shortly with your receipt," he added, before briskly retreating.
I turned to Edward, my voice laced with sincere gratitude, "Thank you. Truly. Dinner was— it was wonderful."
He offered a nonchalant shrug, his gaze catching mine with an unfathomable depth. "The pleasure was mine. Small price to pay for your company."
Despite myself, I could feel a warm blush igniting my cheeks, an all too familiar sign of my discomfort with his praise. "Why do you keep doing that? Complimenting me. Trying to make me feel special. Like flattery."
His eyebrow arched, a playful spark in his eye. "Flattery? I'm merely stating facts. And as for making you feel special—I believe you underestimate yourself."
Eyes downcast, I murmured, more to myself than to him, "Compared to someone like you, I'm hardly the star of the evening. At least that's how it seems."
With a quiet intensity, Edward leaned in, "Perhaps in time, you'll see yourself through my eyes."
Before I could respond, Collin returned, breaking the charged moment as he gently placed the billfold back on the table. "Your receipt, Sir," he announced, his voice steady now. "And may I offer my apologies once again for earlier. The misunderstanding I caused."
Casting a glance laden with compassion towards Collin, I nodded quietly, turning my attention to Edward. I silently urged him, through a hopeful look, to be generous with the tip. Collin had shown us nothing but kindness, his earlier misstep notwithstanding. And truth be told, the meal and the service were both impeccable.
Edward caught the subtle shift in my expression, understanding the unspoken words between us. He withdrew a thick roll of bills, peeling off several crisp hundred-dollar notes. With a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of his earlier bitterness away with it, he placed them on the table.
"Let's put this unpleasantness to rest, shall we?" His voice, a blend of resignation and newfound calm, washed over the tension like a balm.
Collin's eyes widened as Edward deftly folded the wad of cash and extended it towards him. "For your exceptional service," Edward said, a gentle firmness in his tone that left no room for argument.
Collin's gaze flicked between the offering and Edward's steady eyes before he accepted the gesture with a grateful nod. "Thank you, Sir. I mean, Mr. Cullen. And Miss," he stuttered slightly, turning towards me with a clumsy yet sincere bow. "It was an honor to attend to both of you this evening. I do hope you'll grace us with your presence again soon."
With a smile that reached his eyes, Collin retreated leaving a pocket of stillness around us. I couldn't help but let a genuine smile dance across my lips, touched by Edward's graceful resolution of conflict.
He mirrored my smile with one of his own, eyes softening, as he rose from his seat. "Shall we?"
With a nod, I took his offered hand, feeling the warmth from his touch spreading through me. As we stood together, Edward draped his jacket over my shoulders with a care that spoke of quiet protection.
The small of my back felt the gentle pressure of his hand guiding me, a silent reassurance of his presence. We left the restaurant in much the same manner as we had entered – united, harmonious. And this time I walked with confidence and my head held higher.
As Edward guided me toward a sleek black Mercedes, it quickly became apparent that he wouldn't be behind the wheel this time. A man in a crisp black suit stood by the car, his presence imposing. Upon our arrival, he offered a curt nod and a formal, "Sir."
"James," Edward acknowledged with a brief tilt of his head. With a practiced hand, James opened the door to the back seat, and Edward gestured towards the open space with a nod. Flickers of doubt crossed my mind—should I climb into this car again? But when my gaze caught the watchful stare of my ex's henchman, scanning the surroundings with eagle eyes I decided to take my chanced with Edward.
In a flurry of movement, I dipped low and slipped into the haven of the Mercedes' interior. Edward's eyes followed my hurried actions, and for a heartbeat, he seemed to search for the ghost of my fear, seeking the unseen danger.
He found no answers and instead, gracefully joined me in the back seat as James quietly shut the door behind us. The driver settled in his seat, the engine humming to life, his voice laced with formality, "Where to, Sir?"
Edward's eyes weren't on James; they were on me when he asked, "Where can I drop you off?" His voice was soft, a gentle nudge.
Not at my station wagon. The embarrassment would be too much.
After a moment of hesitation, "can we head towards Central Park?" My voice was quiet, uncertain.
There was a silent exchange in the rearview mirror, a shared understanding as James met Edward's eyes. With a subtle nod from Edward, the confirmation was granted, and with the soft click of the doors locking, we were cocooned in the safety of movement.
The car's heater began to chase away the winter's chill, and I found myself lost in the cityscape whisking by through the tinted glass, each building and passerby a blur.
"Excuse me a moment," Edward interjected, his refined timbre breaking the silence. He extracted his cell phone and a sleek laptop from the hidden compartment of his seat. "I have a few urgent messages and emails to attend to."
"Of course," I murmured, more to myself than to him. The excuse to gaze out the window, to watch the city lights dance and twinkle in the darkness was welcome. It was indeed a small luxury to be sheltered from the biting cold as I quietly stole this moment of peace within the chaotic world.
Edward's fingers typed across his laptop keyboard with a gentle urgency, the soft clicks mingling with the murmur of his phone conversations. Although his words were indistinct, there was something soothing about the timbre of his voice as it filled the confines of the car.
A brief lull in his flurry of activity came when James, his eyes fixed on the congested road ahead, called out with a respectful firmness. "Sir, it appears there's been an incident up ahead. The traffic's grown rather dense. It may delay our arrival at Central Park, though I assure you I've chosen the most expedient detour available."
Edward ceased typing, casting a grateful nod in James's direction. "Your diligence is appreciated, James. Keep me updated, please," he replied, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly in acknowledgment of his driver's expertise.
I couldn't help but seek out Edward's gray eyes, searching for some sign of agitation or stress. Instead, his gaze met mine with a spark of warmth, offering a silent solace. "Not to worry," he spoke softly, a reassuring cadence in his voice. "James is exceptional at navigation. We'll be at Central Park before you know it."
No sooner had the words passed his lips than Edward's phone chirped. He lifted the device with a practiced grace, his tone hushed but laced with authority as he discussed medical jargon—vitals, possible surgical interventions, care plans.
My gaze returned to the window as I watched the world outside blur past. The wine was affecting me more than I had intended, and I realized I had consumed more than I'd planned. It didn't help that Edward kept topping off my glass, to the extent that it was unclear who had drunk more.
Glancing at the passing scenery, it was evident we were nowhere near Central Park. James must have chosen a route far out of our way to circumvent the traffic. When I turned to look at Edward, he was still deeply focused on his work. It seemed like a good time to close my eyes for a bit. With my head starting to spin, I thought a little rest might do me good.
I tilted my head back and reclined against the soft leather, the comforting scent of Edward's jacket enveloping me. Its plush interior wrapped around me like a blanket. Drifting in and out of consciousness, I acknowledged the surprising weakness and exhaustion overwhelming my body, a result of indulging in too much wine after having abstaining for so long.
I knew I shouldn't have indulged so much.
Suddenly, I felt the warmth of Edward's arms encircle my midsection, gently shifting me along the leather seat. I passively allowed the movement, finding myself subsequently repositioned so that my head rested on his strong, warm thighs.
Despite understanding his intentions, I offered no resistance, seduced by the comfort and warmth of his embrace. His fragrance intensified as I reclined against the fabric of his suit. Edward draped his jacket over me once more before resuming a phone conversation that carried a stern tone, signaling his disapproval of certain medical decisions. Even as his voice took on an edge, his hand tenderly stroked my hair, offering me a soothing touch amid the tenseness of the call.
I felt like a purring cat. But I didn't want him to stop.
I refused to let this perfect moment slip away—I was determined to hold on. This was the night I felt valued, truly seen as a person worth caring for.
Tomorrow the sun would rise, and I would once again face the harsh reality of life on the streets. I would fade into the background, like I always did. But in the moment, I felt cherished. And I wasn't letting it go until the ride was over.
I tightened my grip on the fabric of his suit pants, closing my eyes. He would wake me upon our arrival. I could close my eyes and rest.
Edward is working his magic. But is it real? Or just more smoke and mirrors? Either way...it's nice to dream a little, right? Please offer your thoughts. Reviews are great. I would love to hear from my readers. Thank you. I'll see ya'll on the next update. Stay safe out there.
xoxo- Swirlingtorments