Thanks for your patience with this chapter, my lovely readers. It's a long one, so hopefully, that makes up for the delay!
I think a lot of you know exactly who that Federal Agent from the last chapter was ;)
Enjoy!
BPOV
I should call my father.
He left me a message two days ago asking when he can come and visit.
But what should I tell him?
It's not a good time? I'm too busy with work? I made another bad choice involving a man?
So I silence my phone as I walk into the diner for my morning shift and swear that I'll call him this afternoon even though I have no idea what I'll say.
Carmen's is packed even at six a.m. A convention in town brought early-rising Midwesterners who would much rather spend ten dollars on a skillet plate than forty on a breakfast buffet. Almost immediately, I'm juggling coffee and hotcakes, finishing with one table only to greet another.
My slight reprieve is the few moments I spend waiting for the cooks to finish preparing bacon and scrambled eggs. I sigh, wiping my hands on my apron as I count down the hours I have left until I can return to La Bellissima and the lavish penthouse that awaits me. After waking up surrounded by satin sheets with Edward Cullen's protective arm wrapped around my waist, I lack motivation to serve food in a greasy diner and visit my bland apartment.
Edward arrived home sometime in the middle of the night. Although I appreciated the text warning me of his impromptu travel, his excuse of meeting with new talent out in L.A. was weak. At least I knew where he was.
"Order up." A bell rings, breaking me from my thoughts and pulling me into the job I'm begrudgingly participating in. With a smile plastered on my face, I bring two skillets filled with sausage, potatoes, and eggs to a set of men seated at table twelve.
"Two All-Americans," I say, placing the dishes on the tabletop while the older of the two men, dressed in a flannel shirt and a NASCAR hat, holds his coffee mug up in request.
"Thank you, pretty lady." He gives me a grin, which should have me winking back to earn a hefty tip, but all I can muster is a muttered, "No problem."
I sense Carmen's presence before I see her. Head cocked to the side and eyes narrowed, she studies me with unnerving perceptiveness. "All right, what's your deal?"
"I don't have a deal," I say, clearing off a recently departed table.
"Bella, you brushed off a perfect opportunity to earn a big tip. I know how much you're hurting for money. Usually, you would be all over that."
Grimacing, I walk past her, depositing the dirty plates in a bin for our busboy. "I wasn't rude," I argue.
"Not what I'm saying." Carmen follows me, snatching a few rouge dish rags from the counter. "Hold on. Does this have to do with a certain someone who recently visited you at work?"
Heat creeps up my neck and cheeks while I dip my head, trying to hide my blush.
"Mm hm, that's what I thought." She flings the dishrags into a dirty pile as we enter the kitchen and goes to check on an order.
God, I'm being ridiculous. I'm pouting and feeling sorry for myself for being lucky enough to have a job that pays my bills—well, part of my bills, anyway.
Edward can pay your bills.
I pause, taken aback by my decidedly non-feminist thought.
I don't need a man to pay my bills, especially one I just started dating. Sure, Edward has more money than I can comprehend, but who am I to assume he wants to cover my expenses? He is more than generous, allowing me access to the luxury of his hotel and regularly paying for my meals. What kind of strong, independent woman needs more than that?
Me.
I do.
I imagine a beautiful house in the suburbs with a gourmet kitchen. Children play while I wait for my husband to return from work.
When did that become what I wanted?
"You've got a table, daydreamer." Carmen swats my hip with her order pad as she slides by. Smoothing my dress, I try to collect myself.
Besides, Edward Cullen isn't the kind of man to settle down and move to a gated community on a golf course. And I'm a showgirl slash waitress— hardly wife material.
But maybe someday…
"Order up!"
I roll my eyes and chuckle. God knows that day is not today.
oOo
Despite my urge to return to La Bellissima as soon as my shift ends, I still have a pile of laundry at home that can't be ignored. My truck sputters when I try to start it, and my shoulders tense as I give in to sweet-talking the engine, begging it to kick over. I get lucky on my second try, breathing in relief. Mechanic bills would push me over the edge. If I'm late on rent again, I might end up camping on the sidewalk.
My Chevy rumbles into the parking lot of my complex right as my landlord steps out of the office, showing a prospective tenant the property—a couple of young guys who look to be roommates right out of college. The Las Vegas University T-shirt one has on, and the fraternity cap the other wears gives them away. I half-heartedly wave when the landlord calls my name, then cringe as I overhear, "That's only one of the lovely ladies we have living here." Great, now I'm an apartment selling point.
Balancing my overly full laundry bag on my shoulder, I struggle toward the laundry room. The room with three washers and three dryers— one of which is broken— is a better option than the laundromat four blocks away, but not by much. I'm ready to dance for joy when I find two open washers and quickly separate my lights from my darks. Once I have poured the detergent and started the machines, I sit on the folding chair in the corner and open the single social media app on my phone.
It's been weeks since I checked in on the app. My feed is flooded with posts from old friends. I smile wistfully at the dancer who posted backstage photos from his latest show. I like an announcement from a retired lead saying she's teaching at a well-known studio over the summer. Another girl I trained with in high school posted family photos with her handsome husband and two gorgeous children. My favorite warm-up partner from my studio company just had a gender reveal. I didn't know she was pregnant. It's a boy.
I close my phone, disappointment washing over me. Why does everyone else seem to have their lives together? Even the retired dancers have moved on. They've started families and left the world of ballet behind. Yet I'm stuck, desperate to hold on to a life that once was.
My phone buzzes in my hand.
Where are you? -E
Edward.
Doing laundry. Where are you? -B
Three dots appear and disappear before a call pops up on the screen, my ringer blasting in the small room.
The phone is halfway to my ear, a "hello" poised to fall from the tip of my tongue when Edward's whiskey-smooth voice interrupts me. "You know, I have laundry machines here—multiple, in fact."
"Edward, I am not going to drag my dirty laundry to La Bellissima."
"Hmm, maybe you should bring it over when it's clean and just leave it here."
My pulse double taps as I consider his offer. "That's a bit more drastic than leaving a toothbrush." Which I haven't even done. I keep a spare in my dance bag.
"You can leave one of those here too. You can leave whatever you want," he says, causing my stomach to twirl with nerves and excitement. Am I prepared to elevate our relationship to that level? "I'm calling for a reason. What are you doing this afternoon?"
"Um, laundry?"
"It's twelve-thirty, how long will that take you?"
I check the washer setting which shows another twenty minutes. "Probably until two."
"Perfect. I am meeting with my developer at three at my new property. I want you to come with me." Papers shuffle in the background as Edward speaks, and I picture him behind his desk in his office, the city of Las Vegas sprawled in the background.
"Why do you want me there?" I wonder aloud, although I know better than to question him.
He clears his throat, tone dropping. "Because I do, Bella."
I'm silent momentarily, doing the math to see if I have time to finish my laundry and prepare for tonight's performance before meeting with him.
"Look," he sighs. "I just want to show you the layout and get fresh eyes on the blueprints. If something needs to be changed, it has to happen ASAP."
My lips curl in satisfaction as I realize I have some power over the always-in-control Mr. Cullen. I have the man explaining himself to me, a feat I'm sure few have accomplished.
"Where should I meet you?"
"Come to La Bellissima. The build site is right around the corner."
"Okay."
He lets out a low chuckle accompanied by a "Good girl." I can't promise my panties will remain dry with the sexual undertones that trace his words.
I hang up, biting my lip and wondering how fast I can finish my clothes.
My eyes stay glued to the time counting down on the machines as the wash cycle completes and the driers start. Impatient, I pull my clothes out with fifteen minutes left, leaving a couple of pairs of jeans slightly damp. It's fine. They'll air dry if I hang them over the shower rod in my bathroom.
I forgo folding, leaving the laundry in a pile on my bed—wrinkles be damned. As I hastily shove tights and a change of clothes for after the show into my dance bag, I can't help but remember the old Vera Bradley duffle sitting on a high shelf in my closet.
What if I packed a few things to leave at Edward's? Just some essentials, barely enough to fill an entire drawer.
It's one-fifty. I don't have time to think through my decision as I retrieve the purple paisley bag and shift through the pile on my bed, selecting a few convenient items to have at La Bellissima—extra dance clothes, flared leggings, and a few T-shirts. Getting bolder, I grab a cocktail dress and heels from my closet and a few bikinis from my dresser. Last, I check the top drawer, selecting my nice Victoria's Secret panties and a red corset I bought on a whim years ago. It still has the tags on it.
Before I can argue with myself, I throw both bags over my arms, lock the apartment door, and head to my truck.
I start the sweet talking before turning the ignition. It works, and the engine rumbles to life.
It's two fifteen when I pull into La Bellissima's employee lot. Hastily, I take the first spot I find, not even caring that I'm far too diagonal to be acceptable. I throw open the door and tug at the straps of my duffles, only to get one caught on the gear shift. Irritated, I huff out a curse, lifting the bag at an awkward angle, trying to get it to budge.
"Fighting with inanimate objects?"
I flush but crack a grin as my gaze settles on the tall frame leaning against the truck's bed.
Edward is out of place next to the rusted Chevy. In a designer suit tailored to his frame and leather shoes so perfectly shined I can see my reflection, he's everything class and sophistication—everything I'm not.
"It's stuck," I grumble, giving one last unproductive pull.
He chuckles and moves closer, reaching around me and easily lifting the offending bag. "Seems to cooperate with me."
"Even my luggage listens to you, Mr. Cullen." I close the car door, one bag over my shoulder, while Edward takes the other.
"Yeah, you're the only one that doesn't." His brow cocks as he lifts the strap hanging from his arm. "You brought extra today?"
With my lip trapped between my teeth, I shrug. "I thought I would take your advice for once. I brought some stuff to leave here."
I'm not expecting the hopeful spark in his eyes as his smile overtakes his expression. "Seriously?"
"Um, yeah. I'm here all the time anyway. So…"
His lips are on mine before I can finish. The kiss is chaste a first but wrought with sensual undertones as he sucks my bottom lip between his. "I can't tell you how happy this makes me." His hand splays against my waist as he pulls me close, and his mouth brushes my cheek before he allows me to turn and walk beside him.
I'm brought to reality when I notice a couple of housekeepers gossiping by the stairwell. They avert their stares when my gaze catches theirs.
My skin heats from the awkwardness of being caught, along with the fire Edward stokes deep inside me. I step to the side, putting distance between us. "Um, maybe we should wait until we're somewhere more private."
Edward's brows dip as his jaw ticks. "If I want to kiss my girlfriend, I will, Bella." His tone leaves no room for argument. I lick my lips, the sensation of his mouth lingering on mine.
"It's just… the other dancers, they park here too."
He blinks, then stops, dark jade appraising me. "And why would that matter."
"Well, I mean, only my friend Angela knows about us. The others…"
"Should know."
"Are too nosey." I groan after we talk over each other. "Edward, you don't understand. I'm already the new girl. If they find out I'm sleeping with the boss, they'll think I'm getting better roles because I'm a slut. Not because I earned them."
"Who gives a fuck?" He dismisses my concern and walks toward the entrance, forcing me to hurry after. "You don't need the damn job anyway. Just quit."
"First of all, yes, I do. I can barely pay rent and buy groceries as is. You don't even know how much gas costs, do you?"
"You need a new car. A hybrid."
I scoff as we push through the entrance of the hotel. "Did you not hear me? How on Earth would I afford a new car?"
"You can have one of mine. I think I have an extra Audi I rarely use. We can look in my garage later. You should be parking down there anyway. It's safer."
My mouth hangs open as we trek through the casino toward Edward's private lobby.
A car?
I can't accept something so extravagant.
"Stop thinking so hard," Edward laughs as he swipes his keycard. "Just say thank you and donate that pile of junk you've been driving to charity. I'll get your new keys tonight."
My brain can't catch up. It's stuck between leaving clothes at Edward's and accepting a freaking car. "Thank you?"
"You're welcome." The corners of his lips hitch while his hand traces down my spine, and we enter the elevator. "Now, while I'd love to take you upstairs so you can thank me properly…" His gaze meets mine in the reflection of the elevator door. The heat behind his hooded lids causes my thighs to clench. "We don't have time. Drop off whatever you don't need for the show. My contractor is waiting."
Edward swats my rear as I step forward. With his key card in hand, I hustle through the foyer and drop my Vera Bradley duffle inside his front entry. My breath catches when I turn around, finding him watching me from the lift, leaning his arm against the door to keep it open. He's suave, cool, and charming—dangerous.
My core tightens. I suddenly wish he didn't have a meeting.
"Come on," he chuckles when I get close. Dipping his head to my neck, he whispers, "Later."
It's a promise and a threat.
I can't wait.
oOo
Pharaoh's Temple is the name of Edward's new Casino. He explains the ancient Egyptian theme as one of his men drives us through back streets to the construction site. Edward's latest idea is to showcase rare artifacts in a museum on the property. When I muse over how one would acquire such valuable items, he grins and tells me, "Don't worry about it."
I'm in awe of the sprawling complex when we pull onto the lot. At seventy-eight acres, Pharaoh's Temple even beats La Bellissima.
"We'll have two guest pools and a lazy river. Three waterslides for kids." Edward points to a field of dirt behind the standing structures, the image of his soon-to-be resort taking shape in his mind. "Our events center will cater to everything from company parties and conventions to weddings."
"Is that the entrance?" I ask, pointing to a massive cinder block facade with a wide stairwell leading to an open doorway.
"Yes. They broke ground on the casino first. To the right and left will be guest towers. It will house three thousand eighty-six rooms."
In my imagination, I can picture the grand towers overlooking the pools and a golf course Edward plans to add. Rooms at Pharaoh's Temple will be sought after as much as those at La Bellissima.
"Mr. Cullen, thanks for coming." A man jogs toward us, his blue polo shirt and khakis a mismatch from the hard hat over his shaggy blond hair. "I know you're busy. This will only take a few minutes."
Swirls dance in my stomach as Edward introduces me as his girlfriend again. I doubt I'll ever be used to the term. Quickly, the men are in deep discussion about foundation and structural integrity. I follow them as the contractor shows Edward examples of where he has concerns. Edward asks my opinion twice, but I am so intrigued by the layout of the building that I only shrug and return to studying the wood frames that will soon be entire walls.
"Wait, what's this?" I stop as we pass a particularly spectacular sight. The bones of the theater are impossible to mistake. Elevated rows, which will eventually hold seating, look over a raised platform, soon-to-be stage. With a thrill in my performer's heart, I jog down the aisle to look up at the audience.
"The mezzanine is huge!" I gasp, scanning the second tier and wondering if Edward will reserve a seat in the center the way he has at La Bellissima.
"I'm glad you like it," He says, sauntering toward me. "We spent months debating the size. It seats just over twelve hundred patrons. Not enormous, but enough to hold a headlining act."
"You won't have a variety show like at La Bellissima?" Visions of dancing on the new stage dissipate.
"We are in talks with a Grammy award-winning singer to sign a two-year contract." Edward takes my hand, rubbing his thumb along my knuckles.
I nod, refraining from rolling my eyes. "Right. That's why you went to Los Angeles."
"Exactly."
"Mr. Cullen," the contractor interrupts. "One of my questions for you concerns the seating options here. The original blueprint shows traditional theater seating, but in your designer's plans, she added fabric for booths. We can extend a few rows for dining tables if you would prefer. It would lose about fifty seats, but I thought it was an interesting option."
Edward hums and glances over the rows yet to be completed. "Bella, what do you think?"
I blink in surprise, unprepared to change the space's development. "Well, I mean, if it's not a huge deal to put in booths and tables, I think it would give a nice ambiance. Plus, you can charge more for those seats. I am sure some guests want a more luxurious experience."
"Then that's what we'll do." Edward nods, and his contractor agrees, telling me it's a smart choice.
As the men continue their tour toward the casino, I linger behind, beaming. I'm slightly more in love with the theater I helped design.
After a few more concerns are addressed and rectified, Edward and I depart. The contractor promises to have updated blueprints on Edward's desk tomorrow.
"How much time do you have before the show?" Edward asks as we slide into the backseat of the town car.
Checking my phone, I push my tongue against my teeth. "I have to be there in thirty minutes. We are going over a few numbers before showtime."
His palm rests on my bare knee, his thumb circling the skin below, as he nods and types out a text with his free hand. Brows dipping, he mutters a curse. "I've got to make a call."
I settle into my seat as he lifts his phone to his ear and greets the man who answers on the other end of the line. Soon, he's speaking a Legalese I don't know, but even as his tone hardens and his jaw clenches, his hand does not depart from my leg. His shoulders tense, and his grip tightens from frustration over a permit the state doesn't want to renew.
On the phone, I can hear the man he calls Jasper talking Edward off the ledge, explaining that these difficulties are commonplace. This doesn't alleviate Edward's stress.
"I want to talk to the inspector. The deadline is in two weeks," Edward barks the order, hand shifting to my thigh.
With an urge to calm him, I find myself sliding close enough to feel the heat radiating off his bicep.
"Just get me his number." Edward's head tilts in my direction as I intertwine my fingers with his, resting both our hands over my skin. As Edward listens to Jasper's response, I spread my knees wide enough to encourage further exploration. Moving my hand with his, I drag our fingers closer to the hem of my skirt.
"Yeah, sure. That's good." The intensity falls from Edward's tone as his attention shifts from business to where his pinky finger disappears under my clothes. "Hey, man, let me call you back."
Edward ends his call a split second before his lips massage mine with decadent pressure. I'm beyond grateful that the partition between us and the front seat is up when his hand firmly grasps my center, and he threads fingers through my hair, guiding our kiss as he deepens it.
"Was I not paying you enough attention?" He murmurs against my neck before nipping the sensitive skin.
"You were tense," I explain, breathless. "I wanted to help."
His chest shakes as he laughs, the base of his palm finding my clit and rubbing hard. "You succeeded."
As he reaches for the waistband of my panties and I fumble with the buckle of his belt, the car stops, and the ignition turns off.
"Fuck." Edward uprights immediately, adjusting his clothes and my dress. "We can take this inside." Forest greens and dilated pupils tell me not to argue, even though I have rehearsal in twenty minutes.
The backseat door opens as our driver holds a hand out to assist me from the car. I thank him and accept my dance bag as he pulls it from the trunk.
"I shouldn't need you for the rest of the night, Peter. Thank you." Edward dismisses the man with cool indifference as he takes my arm. Only I notice Edward's insistence on rushing me through his garage.
"I don't have time to go upstairs," I remind him as we enter the elevator and his finger hovers over the button for floor twenty-six.
He grits his teeth as his eyes narrow, sliding toward me. "You should have thought about that before you stuck my hand up your skirt." I'm stupidly disappointed when he selects the lobby button.
"Tonight. I promise," I say, earning a scoff. Waves of arousal pulsate between us as we ride the few floors in silence.
"I'm walking you to the dressing room." Edward's announcement has me nodding and following along with his quick steps through the casino.
At the employee corridors a few yards away, Edward slams the door open, ushering me past with an eager hand at the small of my back. He doesn't break our touch as he guides me toward the theater. I hold my breath when we pass the entrance of the employee garage, then sigh in relief when we arrive at the dressing room without being spotted.
"Okay. Should I meet you upstairs after the show?" I ask, poised to open the dressing room door.
Edward cocks his head while his brows raise, and he gives a devious smirk. "Bellissima, you don't think you can get away with teasing me and not following through, do you?"
My pulse quickens as Edward's hand covers mine, turning the doorknob. His firm chest rests against my breasts as he pushes me backward into the room. I momentarily panic, my eyes darting through the space, searching for any dancers who arrived at rehearsal early.
"We're alone," he mutters, tongue tracing along my clavicle. My lids lower as I tip my head to give him better access. A soft click alerts me to the lock engaging on the door.
"Edward, we can't," I protest half-heartedly because every nerve in my body says we absolutely can.
"Fuck that." His firm grip takes hold of my ass, lifting me until I wrap my legs around his hips. This is a bad idea, one of the worst I've ever had, but with the way he licks along the curve of my neck, I've forgotten why.
"My mirror is over there." I point to the vanity across the room where my hair products sit, waiting for the next show.
With a steady stride, Edward carries me until my glutes hit the wooden tabletop. With my weight supported, his hands venture, one caressing my thigh while the other lifts to my breast, kneading my flesh.
Thick and insistent, Edward's growing erection rubs against my core, causing a whimper to pass through my lips. With a growl, he tugs the hem of my dress up my thighs until he exposes my lacy white panties. Lost in sensation, I widen my legs, giving him access, hoping he'll stoke the fire erupting between them.
"So eager, Bambina," he teases as heat rushes up my chest and my cheeks. "You want me to touch you here?" He strokes his index finger gently across the gusset of my panties, giving the lightest, most maddening hint of pressure.
"Please, Edward!" He has me begging. All concerns about our location are gone. My thoughts are hazy with desperate need.
"Hmm, maybe."
I cry out as he steps away, leaving me exposed. Unable to control myself, I reach out in an attempt to grab him and pull him back to me.
He's quick, his hand gripping my wrist as his eyes darken, and he swallows hard. "Stay where you are." Demanding and authoritative, his words freeze me in my spot, legs wide, chest heaving, and head resting against my mirror.
I wet my lips as his eyes rake over my form. He's dragging in air as fast as I am, just as aroused, just as needy.
"Take off your dress."
The fabric is over my head in an instant. My breasts bared with my lack of a bra. My nipples pebble with the combination of cool air and lust.
"So fucking gorgeous." Edward snaps his belt open as he steps forward, taking his place between my knees while he drags my panties down my legs. His mouth hovers next to my ear as he says, "I can't wait to fuck you."
With a swift thrust, he's inside me, stretching me wide and making me writhe. I take hold of his broad shoulders, using the leverage to rock against him as he bucks his hips, filling me again and again.
"Oh, God, Edward!" I'm moaning like a porn star, angling myself so he's stimulating my clit and the sensitive spot inside me.
"Fuck that's so good," he groans, hands clutching my waist. "I need more. Stand up." I whine as he slips from me and lifts me from the counter. My feet hit the floor as I wobble, lost in desire.
He gives me no time to recover as he turns me to face the mirror, his palm pushing against my upper back and forcing me forward. I catch myself with my hands and look up.
Moisture collects in the apex of my thighs when I see the desire burning through Edward's gaze in the reflection. He's locked in on my pussy, viewing it from behind as his hands massage my cheeks opening me.
I'm mesmerized as he grips his cock and re-enters me inch by inch. I force my eyelids from dropping, unwilling to miss the euphoria that passes through his expression. When his hips are flush against me, he holds still for a moment, savoring the feel. I squirm, too full for comfort yet desperate for more.
With a deep breath, his eyes open and meet my gaze through the mirror. His smirk returns as he pulls out and thrusts forward, my body jerking in response.
"Look at yourself, Bella. It's the best fucking view in Vegas."
As his rhythm increases, I stare at myself in the mirror.
At first, I'm reluctant, embarrassed to see myself in such a raw state. My mussed hair tangles around my head, and my lips part as I breathe. I don't see what he sees.
"God, the way your breasts move. I could watch them for days," Edward pants. With sheepish curiosity, I let my vision dip until I focus on my chest. What I encounter is overwhelming. It's not just how I bounce with each rut of Edward's hips. It's how our thighs brush and the slightest glimpse of how our bodies join. It's fascinatingly erotic.
Our pace increases as my body rolls against his. I climb closer, my straining muscles demanding a release, but the friction isn't enough.
"Edward," I plead, head lifting as my back arches. "Touch me!"
Sweat glistens on Edward's brow as his hand travels from my waist, caressing my skin until his dexterous fingers find my aching clit.
Driving into me, his final thrusts are frenzied and wild. My fingers curl into the wood of my dressing table as I work to keep my figure taut.
I'm at the final precipice when he meets me with a feral demand. "Come now, Bella."
And I do.
I strangle on a wanton cry as every bit of control passes from me to Edward. He owns my body, giving me unhindered bliss with a single command. I clench and pulse as he roars above me, driving into me one final time, spilling his release. His arm wraps around my waist as I struggle to hold myself upright, and we revel in the aftershocks of ecstasy.
I gasp for air as he strokes my lower back, his mumbled praises foggy in my mind.
"You're so fucking perfect, Bella. I'll never get tired of this gorgeous pussy, you know that? If I can, I'll fill you every day for the rest of my life."
On shaky legs, I lift my torso, Edward sliding from me with the movement. My inner thighs glisten, and my chest is pink due to the flush of exertion. I look thoroughly fucked.
As I blink, my surroundings come back to me. I'm in the dressing room, and I have rehearsal very soon. I glance at the clock on the wall, and my mouth falls open. I have less than two minutes to get myself cleaned up, pulled together, and back here to change.
"Shit. Edward, you've got to go. The other dancers are supposed to be here now." Grasping my dress from the chair next to us, I throw it over my head while Edward tucks himself into his slacks and zips his fly.
"You look beautiful like this." He grins, ignoring my panic and reaching out to cup my neck. He dips his head, kissing me and easing his tongue through my lips.
I give in to him because how can I not? But I freeze when voices echo through the hallway outside. "Edward." Pushing my hands against his abdomen, I step out of reach, my eyes wide and my chest pounding.
"What the hell?" At any other time, the scowl on his face would warn me of impending punishment, but at the moment, my fear of being caught pushes his displeasure out of my mind.
My breath catches as the doorknob rattles, and a muffled voice asks, "Why is this locked?"
"Oh, God." My hands tug at my hair as I search the room for an escape, or a hiding place, for any way to avoid the dancers poised to catch me with the owner of La Bellissima.
"Bella, relax," Edward laughs, hand lifting to free my fists from tearing at my hair. "They're going to find out eventually. It might as well be now."
"Edward, you don't understand—" My argument dies on my lips as he adjusts his sleeves, grins, and moves toward the doorway. "Do not open that door!"
Incessant knocking sounds through the room, followed by, "Open the door. We know someone is in there. We can hear you."
I close my eyes as Edward turns the lock and cracks the door. Nothing can help me now.
"Oh, um, Mr. Cullen?" It's Rachel. I recognize her voice.
"I apologize." Edward is smooth and relaxed, the opposite of what I'm projecting. "I didn't mean to keep you from rehearsal."
"No, it's fine. You're always welcome down here!" Oh, God, no. Jessica. "We noticed you at the show recently. I hope you like it. I know we always dance better when you're in the audience." I can picture the animated wink that punctuates her flirtations.
Edward chuckles as his phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and checks his texts, releasing a grunt at whatever information has come through. "Please excuse me, ladies. I have business to attend to."
My body trembles as he opens the door, exposing the entire room. Rachel spots me first, mouth dropping open as she takes in my disheveled appearance. She has to elbow Jessica to stop her ogling of Edward and draw her attention to me. Muttering under my breath, I beg to be swallowed by a sudden sinkhole.
"Bella, I'll have dinner sent up after the show. I shouldn't be too late. The sly smirk on Edward's face gives me the urge to kick him in the balls, but really, that would punish me, too.
Once Edward turns the corner, my nervous gaze settles on Jessica and Rachel. My teeth abuse my lower lip while I wait for the barrage of questions I know are coming.
"Holy crap!" Jessica squeals as Rachel asks, "The flowers?"
"It's you." Jessica rushes forward, her bags forgotten by her feet. "You're the reason he's coming to the shows."
Rachel retrieves Jessica's discarded purse and duffle and deposits them at her table. "The bouquet, he sent it to you, didn't he?" A hint of jealousy laces her tone, and for a moment, I feel bad about letting her believe that Edward could be her mystery admirer.
"Oh, my God! You had sex with him!" At my mirror, Jessica rights bottles and pins, everything Edward and I knocked to the floor during our tryst. "Is he good? That's a stupid question. Of course, he's good in bed. Or, on a dressing room countertop." She pats the wood surface with a wide grin, then frowns and wipes her hand against her jeans.
Recovering from the sting to her ego, Rachel rests a hip against the accessory table. "How did you even meet him?"
"Uh…" I choke on my words as my initial encounter with Edward plays through my mind. "He was in the employee hallways. I ran into him."
"You must have made a serious impression," Jessica says before pursing her lips. "So tell me, are the rumors true?"
"What rumors?"
She scoffs and side-eyes Rachel, who cocks a brow in my direction. "Is he huge?" Her hands lift to measure the length of what I assume she considers a huge penis. I nearly laugh out loud. I don't think she's been with many impressive men.
"I'm not answering that." My face warming, I riffle through my bag and find the practice wear I need to change into. A few other dancers filter in, calling out their hellos.
"Bella, come on, you have to let us live vicariously through you," Jessica whines.
A blond with overly plumped lips passes by, asking, "Why do we want to live vicariously through Bella?"
Three more girls filter in just in time to hear Jessica's exuberant announcement. "Bella's fucking Edward Cullen."
I groan and drop my head, trying to shield myself with my hair. Murmurs of "Holy shit" and one "No wonder she gets the good roles" have me wondering if I can just feign illness and hightail it home.
Jessica's talking about penis size again while the blond next to her eyeballs me like I'm nothing special. Rachel chimes in with, "Come on, Bella, we aren't going to tell anyone," and more dancers accumulate around us, getting in on the exciting gossip.
I'm two seconds away from screaming and sprinting to the safety of Edward's penthouse when the ringing of my phone interrupts the endless questioning.
"That's me!" I rip through my bag, haphazardly dropping my shoes and tights on the ground until I have the object in hand. "It's my dad, I have to take this." I don't wait as I rush from the room and up the stairs. I answer and tell my father to hold on until I make it to the safety of the backstage area.
Leaning against the barre behind the backdrop, I try to catch my breath. "Hey, Dad. What's up?"
"Well, you're a hard person to get a hold of. Did you know that?" My father's gruff teasing instantly sobers me, and I remember why I wasn't answering his calls.
"I'm sorry," I mumble, one eye squeezing shut, not ready to navigate this conversation.
"No matter." A ringing sounds in the background, and my father tells me to wait a second before dismissing the caller on his desk line. "Sorry about that. Crime doesn't take time off for personal calls," he chuckles.
I weakly laugh as I smooth wild strands of hair out of my face. "You're an important guy."
"Important enough to call back?"
Ouch. "Dad, really, I'm sorry. Things are crazy with the show and the diner." And the relentless boyfriend.
"I'm just messing with you, Bells. I keep calling because I've got lots of paid time off stacked up, and I decided to take a few days."
"Oh?" I swallow hard.
"I was thinking about taking a trip out to the desert. I hear a town called Las Vegas is a tourist hot spot."
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
"Dad, I don't know how much time I'll have—"
"Don't worry about me, Bells. I'll keep myself busy while you're at work. Just carve out a little time for your old man, okay? Hey, maybe I'll even come to your show?"
"Dad, wait—"
A knock sounds on his office door. "Gonna have to cut this short. We've got an undercover I'm trying to get a judge to sign off on. I'll text you the dates for my trip. Love you, Bells."
"But—"
The line goes dead, and my body goes numb.
Fuck.
A/N: Uh oh...
Things are about to pick up, and the good news is that nineteen is already in the final stages of editing, so the wait won't be crazy long for that one!
Until next time :)