..::.. Chapter 58 - The Love Birds ..::..

I don't let go. Every waking moment we're touching. I don't know how many days have passed but we're lost in this thick cloud together.

Nothing outside of this exists.

Not the contracts we haven't touched. Not a word with guards outside standing by. Not a soul crosses our path for days.

We cook our meals and everything is domestic. Even the slip of bites I feed him as we share our plates. I'm wiping down the kitchen counter tops as he loads dishes in the washer. I watch from under lashes. A ghost of a grin permanently plastered over his lips. He's in heaven.

I kiss his shoulder blade passing by and I've become a sap along with him. He catches me from around my waist before I walk away, and we're a ball of adolescent love on clean countertops.

His fingers caress the contours of my face and he quietly records it all to memory, seemingly desperate. I'm no different. I'm trying to engrave these core memories in me.

The beach at the tip of this estate is our daily routine. We fuck, we lounge, we drink, we do it all over again.

At night I sit in the library to marvel and read. He always finds me, anywhere I am, solitude doesn't last. I'm sure we've done terrible things in every room in this house.

I find his office, his large desk. He attempts to work, to run an empire as this trip has lasted, unplanned. A phone is wedged between his ear and neck, but I've got his attention. I set down his lunch plate and crawl over to him, over pens and paper clips. One foot on his armrest, another by his head. I pop a slice of fruit I slaved over into his mouth and he's certainly distracted.

"Right," he says over the phone after a good swallow. "I'm forecasting a wet, slippery slope if we go down that route." I bite down on a grin. His eyes zeroed in. I suck in a breath when I'm pulled, butt to the edge. I brace myself as fingers test out forecasted slopes. "But I can't quite put my finger on it," he continues to say. I snort.

He gives me a look.

I run a zipper with fingers over my lips.

He reaches a button on the receiver and hangs up the handheld. I hear this baritone voice fill up the room. Blood drains my face. Eyes wide, I watch Edward's lips descend.

I muffle any sounds, stuffing my dress in my damned mouth as he feasts. Jokes on me.

I whimper and he gives me a warning look. His pink tongue snakes its way over me. I can't look. I watch that phone by my head, I sweat down my neck. His long fingers are white around my thighs. This seems to last for an eternity.

I hear it, through whooshing ears, the words being said to end a conversation. I slap that 'end call' button without his permission. To scream.

This has been our time away. Committing to nonsense and napping between.

I've grown so used to him, every scar and mark on him. I've counted them all. Childhood flashbacks of his hustle in every inch of prickled skin.

I asked him once if he regrets any of it. He quietly watched the sunset.

"What? No one's ever asked you that?" He shook his head.

"Well? Do you?" I settled on him, chest to bare chest as the breeze hit. Brisk at night but enough to cool sun tans.

"It all led us here," he said.

"We're never leaving, are we?"

"Over my dead body."

I laughed.

I watch him now, days later, and maybe he wasn't kidding.

The sun is beaming down, but we're under a shade snoozing because what else is there to do?

Ah, yes.

I turn to face him on our beach bed and kiss him hard. "You're gonna fuck me today, or you're gonna make me beg?" I ask.

Nothing since yesterday. We sleep in that massive room of his. We wake to watch one another.

This bliss is saturated, heavy.

When will we really wake up?

I sigh. "He's tired of me. I'm old and ugly now. That was fast." I tell no one, running fingers down to the ripples of his chest to the V of his hips. I kiss.

He palms my stomach and rubs in exchange. I roll my eyes. That's been his habit for days now. I don't entertain the possible intent. Five kids in his deepest, darkest secrets.

I mount him instead, shutting him up.

I look down at him from where I straddle. I pull off my silk robe, then the bikini top. "We're not going back are we? You were serious."

He takes his eyes away from what's happening below. I move over him to get this started. I'm already dripping.

He grips my hips and flips us. He thrusts hard and he's buried in. I was all words, I'm speechless now.

"Tell me it isn't the worst idea." He fucks hard and I'm breathless. "Tell me," he says, biting my chest. I whimper.

But there's nothing to say. Not when he's drilling the idea into me; wet, weak, and red. He pulls my hair, bites my lips.

"Would you stay?" His eyes black when he comes. His hope soaked with the afterglow. He runs his fingers over my breasts and lays his head there.

I don't answer. This turned whipping cream heavy.

I wasn't prepared for this. To never see Sue or Charlie or all the mess?

"Guards aren't here. They're gone aren't they? We're alone." He pulls out, I sigh, and I'm empty in all ways.

"Answer me tomorrow. Next week. In a month. Never," he says stubbornly.

Days do pass by until an answer comes, but one I wasn't expecting. To my horror it comes in the form of a gun.

Edward is snoozed beside me under my floppy hat. Heat beating down on us. Our afternoon routine in bathing suits, him bare now but for a towel over his lap.

Jenks was right, we're like honeymooners, a pretend fairytale, but this honeymoon halts to an end.

I open my eyes to Carlisle sitting on an ottoman close by, a barrel pointed at me. He cocks it.

"The love birds," he utters.

Edward pulls the hat off his eyes to look. I sit up, my heart in my throat. It's no mistake, Edward's total confusion, but his instinct doesn't falter. He moves in front of me, clutching the towel around him, his sleepy eyes wide with surprise.

"What the fuck is this?" He says to his eldest uncle.

"Still sleeping with the enemy, I see. You stupid boy," he says to him. "Always were." Carlisle throws him a pair of pants.

Edward is quiet. He looks to Carlisle's guards standing by. "Get the fuck off my property," he finally spits. But they don't move.

Edward coils into the terrifying Boss that he is.

He stands, calmly muscles on his pants—no shame in his state. He takes a few steps toward those men, arms at his sides like he'd take them on one at a time with his bare hands.

Eventually, they move as he tilts his head enough and waits, definitely recording every face to memory for later.

They're out of sight. Carlisle is unstirred. If anything, he smiles when Edward sits at the end of my lounge chair, his shoulders wide, blocking me indefinitely from that deadly aim.

Edward waits, elbows over knees, anger already radiating. His heaven has been interrupted.

Gleefully, Carlisle suggests, "A scenario." He leans enough to look me in the eyes from around his nephew's shoulder.

"A boy and a girl grow up to be soulmates. The boy, so head over heels, the girl, in turn, a mastermind. He doesn't know what hit him before he's gasping for breath. What a fool he is. What a colluding, disingenuous little bitch." He wheezes.

"I was thinking of this little plot all trip. But not nearly as long as it took for us to be completely fooled." He wiggles the gun at me. "You're good. But not nearly as good as you think, sweetheart."

"You're wasting my time," Edward states.

"It seems you've got so much of it, my boy." Carlisle widens his arms in a show. "Settle down, you'll like this one." He assures, putting down the gun.

"We've been bulldozed. The girl is conspiring and I came for a chat. A very lengthy list of accountant names was written and passed on from palm to palm."

My heart stops.

"Stephen Biers nosing through our employee network, making a very conspicuous request."

My stomach drops in tune with the mention of Stephen.

"Isabella, darling, what did you do with all of the accountant names you ordered Stephen to look up?"

I'm mute.

"It's a simple answer, hon," he pushes when time is molasses.

I conjure up, "It is a simple answer. I'm working through the Biers account. You know this."

He frowns a bit. "Hm. That's not what I asked. Have you or have you not been enquiring about our accountants with Stephen Biers?"

I grin. "I've been researching to fulfill the job," I point out. He waits.

"I was familiarizing myself, understanding the full picture. I'm new. The account is new to me, too. I think he and I might have chatted about what he does, yes. Small talk, if you must know."

"Is this why Efraim slipped you a piece of paper that night?"

At that name Edward's head slowly turns, not fully making its way to me, but enough for me to waiver. It shakes me to my core.

I keep still, all the raging nerves wrecking inside. "I'm sorry, what paper?"

The shot splits wicker, missing me by inches. I flinch. Carlisle dips away the gun when he's done. Edward doesn't move an inch.

"You know," he says as a reminder. "The one you slipped under your breast in that dress. Gorgeous, by the way, I especially loved the flush in your cheeks against the olive green. Just before you ran to the restroom to do god knows what with the paper."

Edward definitely looks at me from over his shoulder.

I'm dead. I'm finished. When he said it wouldn't last, this was it. I just don't think he expected this way.

"Right. The paper." I confess. "I recall that, yes. Although, I'd describe it as an emerald green dress more so than olive. The comparison is so … vast." I ridicule.

Edward stands and calmly walks away, essentially exposing me to whatever aims my way. How symbolic.

"So this is how I die? Now? When?" I ask. "I don't know the process."

This is it. My brain jump-starts to those flashes of life before me. Mom, Dad, Sue. But it's terrible how many memories of Edward play so strongly in there. He's young, dark in his rugged T-shirts, and in everything.

My life has just been many versions of the same scenario: Instability, sorrow, and danger.

Why didn't I leave when I could? Jasper's warning whirls like the breeze here. How I knew, in my heart, that paper would follow me like a trail. The moment it was placed in my palm it was done.

"That is not for me to decide but his," Carlisle says about his nephew, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

I look at Edward's back to me. At least these past few weeks have been worth dying for.

I tell him this, aloud.

Edward turns to give me a look. Gorgeous. The sun tan makes him golden against the ocean as his backdrop. He's well rested and looks about as handsome as I've ever remembered. A sight … with dread in his eyes.

I breathe, a slow intake. I look over at Carlisle. "Leave Stephen and Efraim be. They were just … utensils, if you will."

Carlisle laughs. "The only words I'd like from your mouth are answers, not reprimands."

"I can't do that." I plainly say with a shake of my head. Jenks on my mind. And I need time. To think. A plan.

That tears Edward apart it seems. Because he wouldn't turn, raise those fists above his head to let them waiver in a tight weaving of fingers behind his neck if it didn't. Silent devastation.

"Honeymoon over," Carlisle ironically says.

I grin sadly, a nod. "Funny, I thought the same." Edward turns at that. We lock eyes.

Carlisle stands and beckons. Men appear from nowhere despite Edward's demands earlier. He tenses when he sees them rush toward me.

But he says nothing. That's louder than words.

I lift a hand, I stand, but I'm still in a bikini. I grab the robe and slip it on, taking my time.

"I'll be with you in a jiffy," I say walking toward the house. "I'd like to slip into something more comfortable for … the torture sessions." A sweet smile matching Carlisle's. He chuckles.

I turn, but I'm grabbed. I let out all of the panic in a cry.

I struggle. I stumble. I manage to slip away and run. They can't take me like this. Over my dead body.

There's running into the yard, then the terrace. A stampede of shoes behind my bare feet slapping on concrete. I make it to the livingroom and they're at my heels. I see no escaping this when I look at the door. Men stand all around. I see clothes sprawled on the couch—ours from earlier, no self control when we're indulging as we have for weeks alone—I grab a handful. My feet leave the floor and this is done.

I grip that fabric like a lifeline as I'm thrown into a cargo plane.

….