Eight

EDWARF

The cool night air wrapped around us as we left the restaurant, the faint hum of the city filling the silence between our footsteps. The scent of her perfume lingered faintly between us, floral and warm, and it tugged at something deep inside me. My hand rested on the small of her back, a subtle gesture, but the way she leaned into it—just slightly—sent a rush of heat through me.

We walked slowly, our steps in sync, the dim streetlights casting soft shadows. I glanced over at her, catching the way the light danced off her hair. She smiled faintly, and I couldn't help but stare, my chest tightening at how effortlessly beautiful she looked in that moment.

I stopped walking, turning toward her without fully realizing what I was doing. She noticed, tilting her head with that soft, curious smile she always seemed to wear—the one that was both an invitation and a challenge.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice low and smooth, cutting through the quiet night.

I stepped closer, my pulse quickening. "I've been absolutely dying to do this."

Her smile faltered, replaced by something softer, more uncertain. Her breath hitched just slightly, and before I could second-guess myself, I leaned in and kissed her.

The world faded around us as her lips met mine, soft and warm and everything I hadn't let myself admit I wanted. She stilled for just a moment, like she was caught off guard, but then she melted into me, her hands lightly clutching my jacket as if to steady herself.

Her lips parted, and I deepened the kiss, letting my hand slide up to cup her cheek. She tasted faintly of the wine we'd shared at dinner, sweet and intoxicating. My other hand settled on her waist, pulling her closer as I tilted my head to angle the kiss just right. She responded instinctively, her body pressing into mine, and the soft sigh that escaped her lips sent a shiver through me.

Her hands drifted higher, curling into the lapels of my jacket, and it felt like she was holding on to me just as tightly as I was to her. I couldn't get enough of her—the way she tasted, the way she fit so perfectly against me, the way her warmth seeped into my skin.

When we finally broke apart, her breath was uneven, her cheeks flushed. Her eyes fluttered open, and the dazed, soft look she gave me made something in my chest tighten painfully. She was stunning.

"Well," I said, letting my thumb brush against her cheekbone, "that exceeded my expectations."

Her lips curved into a small, breathless laugh. "I should hope so."

I chuckled softly, my hand still resting on her waist. "Should I apologize?"

She shook her head, her smile widening. "No. Definitely not."

God, I was screwed. Her smile was devastating—like she knew exactly what she was doing to me. And maybe she did.

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze turning curious. "What changed?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, though I already had an idea.

Her lips quirked, playful but serious all at once. "The first time we met, you couldn't have been colder if you tried. But tonight, you're… kissing me on the street like you're auditioning for the lead in a rom-com."

I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. "I wasn't cold," I protested. "Just… distracted."

Her eyebrow arched. "Distracted? You couldn't even look me in the eye."

"Okay," I admitted, smirking, "maybe I was distracted and… skeptical."

She folded her arms, clearly intrigued. "Skeptical about what?"

"Love. Romance," I said simply, meeting her gaze. "You said it yourself—I looked like someone who hated it."

Her expression softened, and she didn't say anything, waiting for me to continue.

"You weren't wrong," I said quietly. "But… I don't know. Maybe you've changed something. You've been stuck in my head since the first time I saw you, and tonight, I couldn't help but…" I trailed off, running a hand through my hair, feeling more exposed than I liked. "I don't know what it is about you."

Her cheeks flushed a deeper pink, but she didn't look away. "So, I charmed you?"

"Something like that," I replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "And you're not making it easy to think straight."

She laughed softly, her fingers brushing over my chest. "Well, I guess I don't hate this change."

"Good," I murmured, leaning in again. "Because I don't think I'm going back."

This time, the kiss was slower but just as intense. She sighed softly against me, and I felt her completely relax into my touch. My hands tightened around her waist, her warmth anchoring me in a way I hadn't realized I needed.

Her breath hitched as I deepened the kiss, letting my hand slide up her side to cup her jaw. She clutched at my jacket, her fingers curling tightly as though she didn't want to let go.

When we finally broke apart again, she rested her forehead against mine, her breath mingling with mine in the quiet night air.

"This feels dangerous," she whispered, her voice unsteady but full of warmth.

I grinned, letting my thumb trace her bottom lip. "Good. I think you like a little danger."

Her laugh was soft, shaky, but it held something I hadn't heard before—hope. "You're trouble.

"Maybe," I admitted, pressing another kiss to her lips, "but I'm the kind of trouble worth the risk. I can make trouble feel so hot, baby."

And for the first time in years, I felt like I was standing on the edge of something I couldn't control. And I wanted to dive in anyway.

Her laugh lingered in the air, soft and melodic, but it faded as she leaned back slightly to meet my gaze. There was something in her eyes now—hesitation, as though she was weighing the weight of her next words.

"I like trouble," she murmured, her fingers still curled into the lapels of my jacket. "But this… this isn't just trouble, Edward. This is complicated."

I frowned, brushing my thumb over her cheek, unwilling to let her pull back completely. "Why does it have to be complicated?"

She sighed, her gaze dropping briefly to the space between us before flicking back up to mine. "Because I'm not just someone you met at a bar or on a random night out. I'm someone… entangled in your family." She let out a quiet, almost bitter laugh. "I mean, how's this supposed to work? I'm your parents' therapist."

I stiffened slightly, her words hitting like a cold splash of water. "And that's… a problem?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

"It could be," she said softly, her fingers slipping from my jacket. "There are boundaries, Edward. Professional ones. Ethical ones. And if this—" she gestured faintly between us, "—gets out, it could ruin more than just us."

I took a step back, the cold air rushing in where her warmth had been. "Ruin?" I repeated, the word leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. "You think this is going to ruin things?"

"That's not what I meant," she said quickly, her eyes wide. "I just mean it's… messy. You know it is."

"No," I said firmly, shaking my head. "It's only messy because you're making it messy. What's so wrong with seeing where this goes?"

She stared at me, and for a moment, I saw something flicker in her expression—something that looked a lot like longing. But then she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "Because it's not just about us," she said quietly. "It's about your parents, my career, everything I've worked for. I can't risk that."

Her words twisted something inside me, pulling tight until it felt like I couldn't breathe. "So that's it?" I asked, my voice low and raw. "You're shutting this down before it even starts?"

"I'm trying to be realistic," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "You should understand that."

"Realistic," I repeated bitterly. "Right. Because nothing kills a spark faster than realism."

She flinched at my words, her lips parting like she wanted to say something, but no sound came out. I turned away, running a hand through my hair as frustration boiled under my skin.

"Edward," she said softly, her voice pulling me back.

I stopped but didn't turn around, my jaw tightening as I stared out into the empty street. "You know, I thought maybe you were different," I said finally, my voice cold. "But I guess even you aren't willing to take a chance when it actually matters."

Her silence was deafening, and it only solidified the bitter truth I hadn't wanted to face. Love was dead. Maybe it always had been.

I didn't wait for her to respond. My footsteps echoed down the street, each one heavier than the last. I didn't look back, even though a part of me wanted to.

When I reached the end of the block, I glanced back over my shoulder. Bella was still standing there, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her head tilted down as though she was bracing herself against something only she could feel.

It wasn't enough to make me turn around.


BELLA

I watched him go, the sound of his footsteps fading into the night. My chest felt heavy, a hollow ache settling in where his warmth had been just moments before.

What had I done?

The logical part of me screamed that I'd made the right decision. Boundaries existed for a reason, and crossing them could destroy everything I'd worked for. But the way my body still buzzed from his touch—the way my heart ached as he disappeared into the distance—made me question everything.

I pressed my fingers to my lips, still warm from his kiss, and closed my eyes. For the first time in a long time, I didn't know what to do.

I was Cupid, for God's sake. Bringing people together was supposed to be my specialty, my calling. But when it came to my own heart? I felt as lost and fractured as the couples I tried to help.

And Edward? Edward was the last person I'd ever expected to make me feel this way—like I could come undone with one look, one kiss, one touch. He was frustrating, sharp, and everything I usually avoided.

But he was also… more.

I sighed, gripping my bag tightly as I turned toward my apartment. The night was cold, but it didn't compare to the chill settling in my chest. I had to remind myself why I'd made this choice—why it was necessary. Because the alternative?

The alternative was falling for someone I could never truly have.

The warmth of my apartment did little to shake the cold that had settled in my chest since Edward had walked away. I tossed my bag onto the counter and sank into the couch, letting my head fall back against the cushions. My lips still tingled from his kiss, and I pressed my fingers to them again, trying to ground myself in something real.

I shouldn't have kissed him. I shouldn't have let it get this far.

But the truth I couldn't ignore was that I wanted to. God, did I want to.

Edward Cullen was everything I should avoid: complicated, guarded, and deeply tied to my work. Yet, he had this pull, this way of cutting through my carefully built walls like they weren't even there. It was maddening—and intoxicating.

I exhaled slowly, glancing over at the stack of documents sitting on my kitchen counter. His parents' files. I'd spent hours going through their intake forms, their marriage history, their habits, their struggles. I knew so much about their story, and yet none of it had prepared me for Edward.

And now here I was, teetering on the edge of something I couldn't even begin to define.

There has to be a way, I thought, biting my lip as the idea took shape. His parents had already onboarded as my clients, which meant there was no conflict there. My professional focus was on them—their marriage, their issues. Edward was tangential, an outside party.

And technically… we weren't doing anything wrong.

I grabbed the files off the counter, flipping through the notes I'd scribbled during their first session. Edward's name popped up a few times, mentioned briefly by both his mother and father. He was clearly someone they valued—his opinions, his successes, his disapproval. His influence on their relationship was undeniable.

But that didn't mean my work with his parents would be compromised by whatever was happening between us. Did it?

I sighed, rubbing my temples. The lines felt blurry now, twisting and overlapping in ways that made it hard to tell where my professional boundaries ended and my personal feelings began.

The problem wasn't just the logistics. It was Edward himself.

There was a part of me that wanted to push him away, to write this off as a moment of weakness, an impulsive kiss that meant nothing. But every time I thought about his hands on my waist, the way he looked at me like I was the only person in the world, my resolve wavered.

I wanted this to work.

But at what cost?

My career was everything. I'd worked tirelessly to build my reputation, to create a safe space for people to heal and rebuild. Letting something personal interfere with that could be disastrous—not just for me, but for the people I helped.

And yet, the thought of walking away from Edward felt equally impossible.

I leaned back against the couch, closing my eyes and letting my head fall back. The pull I felt toward him wasn't just physical—it was something deeper, something I couldn't quite put into words.

His kiss had unraveled me, yes, but it was the moments before that—the way he looked at me, the way he listened, the way he let me see glimpses of the man beneath all the walls—that had truly shaken me.

There had to be a way.

Maybe if I set boundaries, kept things compartmentalized…

Maybe if I was honest with him, if we both agreed to keep our relationship separate from my work with his parents…

Maybe.

The thought gave me a flicker of hope, but it was quickly drowned out by the doubts swirling in my head.

Because the truth was, I wasn't sure if I could trust myself not to fall completely.

And with Edward, falling felt inevitable.