..::.. Chapter 51 - Welcome Home, Honey ..::..

Garret was patient when he sat outside Sue's shop. I visited for lunch. It's felt like months since I've been there. I brought her favorite, and she squealed when I showed up.

I'm taking my time. I'm purposely showing Edward I must not be in his presence all day. His watchful eyes make for difficult maneuvering when I must get things done. And when I mean things, I mean getting just the right amount of information from Sue and Stephen to make miracles happen.

I make it a habit.

The next day, I called Garret again. I make my rounds around the city on my own and bring Sue lunch a second time. We talk. She tries to get all the juice on this relationship she thinks I've acquired with Edward. Well, it is one. To him, we're … together. I've been in his bed, his business, yet I don't know what we are, exactly.

For now, I play wife. That dinner I mentioned to Garret, I do plan it. Before Edward comes storming after me for ditching him for days, I get Garret to drive me to Edward's penthouse, and he helps me carry all the grocery bags I picked up to place on the marble island.

I pull on an apron and play that picturesque, mid-century homemaker in heels and a dress. A house that isn't mine, but I digress. I'm buttering him up—and also the steak in the pan sizzling on the stove now.

I hear the soft bing of his elevator. My stomach flutters. I stay by the stove, turning the medium rare slab in rosemary and garlic when I hear his footsteps—expensive shoes on marble, rushing. By the sound of it, he's … pissed.

I feel him stop beyond the kitchen bounds, open floor concept to the living room, the fireplace already going. He says nothing.

I poke at the mashed potatoes and chives with a pinky and bring them to my mouth. Perfect. I look back at him.

Definitely pissed.

"Welcome home, honey," I say with a cheeky grin. I wink. I turn with the platted steak still sizzling. "I'll let that sit for a bit before I slice it," I murmur to myself, wiping my hands on a cloth. "Do you want to open the wine?" I ask nonchalantly. "I don't mind which. Your choice." I say over my shoulder.

Instead of aiming for the cellar, he walks up behind me. Minutely. I hold my breath.

When his front barely touches my back, my breath staggers a bit. He looks over my shoulder. The fine wisps of hair on my temple move with his breathing.

I poke at the vegetables searing on the grill; a full professional kitchen for a woman who rarely makes a full dinner. But tonight, I'm the chef.

"Surprise," I manage to say. I dare to look at him with a smile. His eyes on the display of food cooking, then he looks at me. I chance it, I lean in and I actively try to aim for a kiss. No dice. He moves away leaving me cold.

I nod to myself. Shit.

"Hungry?" I ask, trying to push this along. I catch up to him when he comes back with a Chardonnay in hand. I take it, place it down, and quickly tug on his suit jacket to hang in a closet close by. I come back and sit at the table I had set. I thought better of candles and flowers; it would be trying too hard.

He's just watching me from where he stands.

"Jesus. Sit." I insist. "It's just dinner. I wanted to be nice."

He does, but he takes his time, pulling at his tie.

"Trust issues," I say under my breath. I dunk a serving spoon in the porcelain bowl and drop a fluffy dollop of mashed potatoes on his plate. Steak is next as I slide a few stacked slivers on the side of the mound with vegetables. I end it with a sprinkle of sea salt flakes. "Your favorite, right?" I mention. "I do remember your mom making the best dinners, better than my mom's," I say, serving myself.

He hasn't said a word.

When I've had a bite and a swig of wine, which I opened and served myself, I sigh. "Oh, c'mon. It was a joke, honey. I'm just teasing." I murmur, scratching my brow. I gulp a mouthful of my wine again, putting it down with a huff.

"And you think this is funny?" He finally speaks.

I tilt my head a bit and shrug, like sure. "So, only you get to come into my house and cook without permission, but when I do it …" I raise my hands with utensils in place.

"I didn't do it with the intent to get what I want. There's a difference."

I snort loudly. "You seduced me," I say, about that night in my loft. "That was the intent." I take another bite.

"That's not how intent works. To have an intent is to manipulate a result. I already got results the night before. Multiple times. In your bed."

I roll my eyes. He's not wrong.

"If you're mad at me, just say it. Enough with this dance."

"What the fuck were you trying to pull these last few days?" He finally asks.

I sigh. "Nothing, Boss. I was working. Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?"

"And you couldn't inform me?" he asks.

I look at him squarely. "I can't possibly be at your side all day. I was doing some research for the Biers' account."

"Bella, I know every move you make. You don't think I'm informed on your whereabouts every second of the day?"

I shrug. "Good. So, that's settled. I don't need to be with you to work or be micromanaged."

His eyes narrow. "It's the principle. Taking the initiative to call."

I nod. "I get it, but I can't promise you I won't forget to check in on every detail; when I take a piss, when I go for lunch, or when I tug on my bra at that time of day when it really bothers me. It's impossible. I knew you'd be a psycho about it, so I made you dinner, okay? Now eat, or it'll get cold. I didn't slave over this for nothing."

He does eat, stabbing at the steak. He hums, enjoying it, and I know I've shut him up … for now.

"What did Biers say when you met with him again?" he asks. "I'm surprised you went to the Mom & Pop shops on main street. Did you … find what you were looking for?"

Wow, he really does know where I went.

I take a breath. "First of all, this … account is a travesty. The dumbest way to make change when you have a bigger income coming from … God knows where. Do you really need this money from businesses?"

"Next question." He cuts a sliver of meat and slides it through his lips.

My mouth falls open a bit at the blatant dodge. "Fine. Your silly side business is not liked by its victims …"

He talks over me. "Victims."

"...I asked questions. I met with a few. Some say your … workers aren't being fair."

He cuts his eyes to me.

"Now, before you go and begin to order death certificates for these … employees, I ask for you to wait for me to investigate why exactly they are pocketing this change. Maybe you're not paying them enough. I mean, who knows what it could be, right?"

His nostrils flare.

"Also …" I lean in, dabbing a finger onto the rim of my wine glass. "It would be nice to know which petty cash pool I can dip into in case I need to, you know, bribe and win the hearts of your disgruntled employees."

"That, you don't need to worry about," he quickly says; the audacity of me to mention. "You inform me and I take care of them."

I shake my head. "No. I'm not into killing, or maiming, or whatever the hell you guys do. I work clean. Grant me access to that bank we visited. I'll get into my new account to play with and I'll fix it all up for you."

He sucks his teeth, staring, getting the bits he's consumed ravishingly. His plate is now empty, but he stabs the serving plate for seconds.

I pat myself on the back. Best dinner ever.

I bite my lip to not show a whisper of mischief. "Anyway, it's a labyrinth of … a mess. I need time to sort it out." I dismiss, so he doesn't explode.

I stand and pick up the dishes after we eat in silence, his eyes flickering to me every now and then.

He watches now as I load the dishwasher and put away any leftovers. My heels clacking all over the shiny floors as a reminder of this stupid attempt at a joke.

I look up at the clock and I would love to be in my bed this second. I eye my phone to ping Garret when my apron is untied behind me. Edward is there, his shirt already unbuttoned and untucked from his slacks. He slaps the apron onto the countertop when he pulls it from me.

"You want to play wife?" he asks. "Let's go do our marital duties." He grabs my hand and pulls me toward his room.

"Hah … touché." I laugh nervously. "Really—wasn't my intent. Home. Bed. My bed." I tug the opposite way. "I'm … tired, Edward. Blinding headache. Really bloated." I hear him unbuckle his belt with his free hand. We're halfway to his room as I throw excuses—but that sound …

He turns when he's by his bed and kisses me hungrily; I'm his thirds.

"Missionary?" he asks, when I've melted into this fully; fingers in his hair, pulling on him hard. He unzips my dress and bites my neck.

"Hilarious." My eyes roll back.

I instantly lift my arms so he'll pull my clothes off with ease. Fuck if I'm not as disfunctional in all of this, also.

I really do laugh when he carries me over the covers like a bride, before laying me down. A faint smirk over his lips, which soon turns serious. Eyes trained on me, hands running over me, and he settles himself between with ink, dark eyes. He's gentle and deliberate and … this is worse.

I can't look at him. Tonight feels different and I tremble. I flip over him and get this going faster and harder, but Edward has a new intent. He rolls us back to where we were and he holds me in a hug that wraps around me, moving achingly slow, stirring these traitorous, foreign feelings.

Tears slip down my temples through it, and we say nothing but for breaths trickling over skin. Not even when it's midnight and we're both awake do we speak. My back to him. His to mine.

I get up and grab his shirt, then the doorknob.

"Don't you dare leave," he says, before I step out of his room in the dark. I take a breath and I slow down. I pause there and just slow down. Because Edward spoke, not the Boss. It was clear in the firm words, yet he gives me space.

Marble floors are cold, but once I find the fireplace still aflame, I sit in front of it. I just plop there, right in the middle of the carpet in this massive living room.

I cry. I let it all out. In the morning I'll straighten my back, I promise myself. For now, I'm curled up with regret and fatigue.

This is too much, and I don't want it anymore. I let my mother rest in peace with tears and murmurs of love and closure, speaking to the licking flames I stare at.

"I release you," I say. "You can sleep now," I tell her, and let her go. She's gone, and I know how, and why, and that I was there to see it.

Jasper was right; she didn't want this life for me, yet here I am with no way out. Deep inside I know I wouldn't leave if I knew how, because I don't know how to take Edward with me.

That realization strikes me harder than what we just did in his room.

I can't save him. This will end. He'll pay for his sins, so will I, and I'll lose him.

….