CHAPTER 1

Bella Swan

Outward appearances are always deceiving. For instance, people passing by my quaint bakery might glance in and see a homely young woman sweetly kneading dough. Ha! If only...

I'm neither homely nor sweet. As my knuckles aggressively dig into the powdered dough, I take out my sheer rage caused by:

The ascot wearing man who told me my Turkish delights weren't sweet enough.

The woman who made our line grow out the door while she decided between a mocha or nutella crepe.

And the pimply teens who come everyday to ogle my breasts. But I can't blame them, I do have a nice rack…

Baking is therapeutic. So I tell myself.

I put the dough in the oven to let it rise overnight and wash up in the sink, catching a glimpse of my messy auburn bun and flushed face in the mirror. I can't remember a day where I didn't look like a mess. Correction. Hot mess.

All of sudden a finger comes up and swipes some flour off my cheek. "Gosh, flour is like sand. You can never get it all off."

I turn and face my younger sister, Leah, who slings her backpack over her shoulder. I ask, "Can you lock up when you leave?"

She rolls her eyes and mimics me, "Hey little sis, make sure you have a great class! Don't stay up too late studying. Oh and here's some money for you to buy yourself dinner." I scoff and go to the register, handing her a twenty. But she keeps her hand out and states, "Inflation." I slap a ten down.

"You're such a swindler."

She winks at me, "I learn from the best." I laugh and kiss her cheek. She continues, "Do you have a meeting set up with Ms. Victoria Hale Mormont?" She says her name with a ridiculous air of pomp.

"Yup, tomorrow actually. I still feel like it's a hoax."

"Yeah, I'm sure the governor's daughter would love nothing more than to prank a kind baker."

"Well, joke's on her because I'm not kind."

Leah replies, "You're all bark and no bite."

I sigh as I scan over the list of items I'm baking for her tomorrow to taste: blueberry tart, mango mousse, banana cake, and strawberry turnovers. All fruit themed. "I just hope she likes one thing. Just one, and I'll be at peace."

Leah grabs my face in her hands, smushing my cheeks, and seriously states, "I hate to break it to you Bella Ann Swan, but you're talented beyond your years and definitely going to smash it tomorrow."

I push her away, "Stop trying to make me feel things!"

She continues, "The mango mousse alone is going to give her a mouth-gasm."

"Aren't I paying for you to get a degree in English?"

She shrugs, "All words are made up."

"Go to class missy." As she heads out the door I call out, "Love you to bits!"

She looks over her shoulder, "And pieces!" The door closes.

I take a deep, cleansing, breath. Closing time is my favorite part of the day. With the bakery now empty, I can truly appreciate the beauty of it. The light wood floors, the pale green walls with sketches of pastries scattered about, and a portrait of my mother hung behind the glass display of pastries. It's as though she's watching over all of us, and definitely freaking out about how manic we are.

I pop in my ear buds, sit at a table, and pull out my notebook. I let my mind wander, dreaming up wild ideas: A pistachio baklava with a strawberry drizzle, a three tiered pie with thin layers of raspberries, blueberries, and banana creme, and a pineapple coconut mousse–

I feel someone's presence behind me and go rigid. Leah locked up, at least I think she did, which means someone has broken in. Fuck. As soon as I feel them brush my shoulder, I whip around and try to throw a punch. But the assailant has lightning fast reflexes and immediately pulls my arm behind my back.

I shudder, flashes of my trauma threatening to incapacitate me. NO. I can't let this happen to me. Not again.

I scream and kick him in the ankle. Surprised, he loosens his grip just enough for me to throw another punch that clocks him in the jaw – his very chiseled and smooth jaw. Crap, I think that punch hurt me more than him. He shows no signs of pain as he pins my arms behind my back and pushes me against the wall. He's saying something to me, but I can't hear him over the blaring pop song that's adding an unwanted sexual charge as I feel his large muscular body against mine. He towers over me and I look up to meet his confused green eyes until he spots my earbuds. He gently pulls them out.

"Bella. It's me." Edward? He's changed. His face has matured, his dark brown hair is no longer buzz cut, but wavy and styled to the side. And he's grown a beard, making him look rugged and lethal in that suit.

I stare into his green eyes, remembering how kind and patient he was to me during the aftermath… If he's here that means–

The door opens again. Shit, Leah really didn't lock it.

Double shit. It's my father.

The fight leaves my body. This is bad.

Edward Cullen

Outward appearances are always deceiving. Amongst a sea of suits in a conference room sits CEO Charles Swan who coughs and asks for water as he hobbles to a chair, coming across as a withered old man. But having been his personal bodyguard for five years, I know that behind his elderly mask he's calculating exactly how he needs to act to get these suits to invest, like a snake slowly circling around its prey. The appearance of a grandfather, with the prowess of a python. He's good.

After the deal wraps up we head back to his office where a yellow envelope is in the middle of his desk. He turns to me, "Gretchen must've forgot to give me this earlier." He opens it up.

"You want a coffee boss? I was going to run and grab one while we have some down– What's wrong?"

His face is completely drained of color as he croaks out "He found her." I approach his desk and peer over his shoulder at three photos, all of a striking young woman who's auburn hair and chocolate brown eyes match Charles's. His daughter, Bella. It's been five years but I can still remember her laugh, like bells.

The photos are taken from a distance, outside of what looks like a bakery. In one, she's entering the building, and in the other two, she's inside helping customers. Her brow is furrowed in both, and I know she's annoyed. She doesn't suffer fools and most customers are.

I gently take the photos away from him and ask, "There's not even a note?"

He grabs his phone and dials, "She's not picking up." He tries again, no luck. "Dammit!" He gets up and packs his briefcase, "We need to take the next flight out."

He doesn't need to tell me twice. I'm already searching for flights.

That's how I find myself on a tense six hour flight from New York City to Sacramento, attempting to calm Charles while also recalling what happened five years ago, the very reason I was hired. His daughter had a powerful ex, James Richmond, who hurt her badly, though I don't know the details. There was a danger that he would also target Charles which is when I was brought on. While Bella opted out of having a full-time bodyguard, she did decide to move across the country with her sister. Bella was so hollow then, her beautiful brown eyes dim and shell shocked. I remember helping her pack, and she was so numb through it all, except when she baked me cookies as a thanks. She came alive, grumpily wondering where the baking sheet was, carefully placing chocolate chips, and excitedly handing one to me. I haven't been able to have a cookie ever since. It was perfect. It was home.

She uprooted her entire life to hide, but now he's found her. And Charles needs me to protect her.

Once we land and catch a cab to the bakery, Charles almost collapses in relief at seeing his daughter through the window, writing away in the empty space. But when he gets a call, he tells me to go in.

Appearances are certainly deceiving. I had no idea Bella, a five foot five woman, could go up against me, a six foot four tank. She misses her first punch but manages to land her second which clocks me square in the jaw. But her small fist isn't enough to make me flinch. As I pin her against the wall I get a whiff of sugar and spice. That's when I see that there's flour all over my Gucci suit from her tight little frilly apron. If she wasn't looking at me with a murderous rage I would think that she was cute, especially with the dab of flour on her nose.

Shit! She tries to kick me in the nuts and I hold her harder against the wall, forcefully saying, "Bella, it's me!" But her brown doe eyes only grow bigger, and the rage is replaced with a trembling fear. As she holds her head down, I notice the earbuds. Dammit. I pull them out and repeat, "Bella, it's me." She takes a moment, recognition crossing her face. Goddamn. Her hair has come out of the bun and falls in sexy waves, her face is flushed, and she's put on some weight making her soft in all the right places.

I thought the sight of her father would calm her, but as soon as he enters she shakes like a leaf, body going limp against mine. She stumbles, and I catch her. I speak quietly, "Let me help you sit."

"No." She shakes her head and takes a deep breath before marching to the door and locking it.

Charles turns to her, "I tried to call but you weren't picking up. We got on the fastest flight here." She walks past him and into the back. I shrug my shoulders at Charles and follow her into the main kitchen. It's a complete mess with pots and pans scattered about, random notes strewn about, and every spice imaginable randomly placed. But as I scan the area she snaps, "Shut up."

I question, "What?"

"I had to cater a party of 50 brats this morning and then I had to manage a line of indecisive customers because I guess we sell tasty shit. So don't judge the warzone." She gestures to the kitchen as she continues to make a beeline for a cabinet. She opens it and grabs a bottle of vodka and a shot glass.

It's at this point that Charles feels brave enough to intervene, "Sweetheart, I don't know if you should be drinking–"

"Too late." She downs the shot then perches herself on the counter, swinging her legs. "Lay it on me."

For once, his appearance isn't deceiving. As he loosens his tie and pulls up a stool, I see him as a worn down seventy-four year old man who is terrified for his daughter.

"We got photos today. We're not sure who delivered them, but there were three of you here, baking, helping customers, walking in. They were all taken from across the street, on the outside looking in. There was no note, nothing."

I watch her jaw clench, her knuckles turn Swan from gripping the counter, and her eyes become consumed with sheer fright. Her voice is now a whisper, "We were so careful. We changed our names, we kept a low profile, I don't even have social media… How?"

"I have no idea. But we can't take any chances. I'm going to have Edward be your bodyguard. He's been by my side for five years now and I trust him with my life."

She turns her bitter gaze to me, clearly upset that she has to be followed around. But I think she's more upset that she's too scared to argue against this arrangement. I want to reassure her that I'll make this as painless as possible. I say, "I need to keep near, but I won't hover. My presence might stop him from coming close."

She replies, "It won't. And you can't look like a bodyguard." She stands up, getting some fire back into her eyes. "You'll drive away customers if they think this place is dangerous. We're a bakery, we're supposed to be fluffy and sweet." She walks over to the side and grabs an apron, then comes over to me and thrusts it into my hands. It's olive green, but no frills.

"I'll just pretend to be a customer."

"Nope. If you're protecting me, you're going by my rules. Right dad?" She shoots him a saccharine smile.

He shrugs his shoulders, and I look him square in the eye, "I feel betrayed."

"You'll get over it son." He gets up and slaps a hand on my shoulder before turning to his daughter, "Be nice to him Bella. I'll be staying in a hotel nearby for the next couple of days until we get a handle on this and figure out his angle."

I guess, "Money?"

Charles says, "Maybe, hopefully."

But Bella shakes her head and softly replies, "It was never about money." My knuckles turn Swan as a haunted look overcomes her. I don't know what he did, but at this point I'm not sure I could handle the details.

Charles turns to me, "Don't let anything happen to her. If I need to hire someone for the night shift, I will. But I know you're a light sleeper."

"I promise Charles."

BANG, BANG, BANG!

I immediately step in front of Bella as she instinctively clutches my shoulder. The banging is coming from the front door. I say to Charles, "Stay with her."

I carefully make my way to the front – and see a woman who looks like a younger version of Bella banging on the glass and yelling, "Bella, open up!" Leah.

I pop my head back in the kitchen, "It's Leah."

Bella breathes the biggest sigh of relief, "I'm gonna kill that girl." She struts over to the door and unlocks it.

"Thank goodness you unlocked it. I forgot my cell phone."

Bella snaps back, "You also forgot to lock up."

Then Leah sees me, "Oh. Hello there." She eyes me up and down. "Bella, who's your man friend? Wait, aren't you dad's bodyguard?" She raises her eyebrows, but all sense of humor dies when she spots her father. "Oh."

Bella takes a seat, "Yup. James Richmond is in Sacramento." The son of one of the wealthiest families in America, and the most corrupt. Bella bitterly says, "You sure can handle this?"

I take a deep breath and walk up to this fiery woman who I feel an innate desire to protect. "I will be, after you pour me a drink." She smiles, a genuine full-toothed smile. Beautiful.