Work has been HELL. Prioritizing that over writing has been eating at my fkn soul. Not to be dramatic or anything.
chapter seven
seen
Edward
I'm in Bella's room.
She makes the bed by shaking out the duvet and laying it on the mattress, even though we're about to get in it.
As I walk around, I inspect things: books on the shelf, art on the wall. I look at a picture of her when she was younger, in gymnastics, holding a small, colorful bouquet.
"Your folks?" I ask, pointing toward the smiling couple standing with her.
She nods and watches me but doesn't say anything.
I pick up a stray, lacy bra from the floor, the black strap dangling from my finger.
A suggestive smile spreads across my lips.
Fighting her smile, she snatches the bra away and shoves it into a drawer.
"Stay here. Don't touch anything," she warns. "I'm gonna go wash my face and change for bed."
I raise my hands in defeat, smirking before she moves into the attached bathroom and shuts the door.
When I'm alone, I have the urge to bolt.
Maybe that's shitty, but I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here. Whenever I'm in a woman's bedroom, I know the drill.
But Bella made it clear nothing will happen tonight. I still want to be here despite that. But I'm at a loss for what to expect.
I hear the bathroom sink running and sit on her bed, but I don't get comfortable because I expect her to come out here and decide she wants me gone. She's been consistently inconsistent with how she feels about me—us, I guess—and I understand. I haven't given her much.
While I wait for her, I check my phone, but there are no calls or texts, just an old picture of my kids on the screen.
I should switch it to another photo because seeing them always deepens the permanent crack in my chest. But I don't have it in me to change it. Somehow, I know that would feel worse.
"Almost done," I hear Bella call out from behind the closed door.
Out of habit, I open my texts and click my wife's name, rereading the last message she sent days ago. Before the fallout.
I don't understand you.
I don't understand myself, either.
Or her, for that fucking matter.
The bathroom door opens, and Bella lingers in the doorway, wearing leggings and an oversized shirt. Her face is scrubbed clean, but she looks pretty like this—undone and relaxed.
She watches me, and I wish I could read her mind. Or maybe it's better that I can't.
Instead of telling me to leave like I expected, she sits on the bed like we do this every fucking night.
"You don't sleep naked?" I tease, a smile playing on my lips.
"Ha ha," she says dryly, fighting a smile. "Not tonight."
She plugs in her phone, switches off the lamp, and lies under the blanket. I put my phone face-down on the nightstand, the dim glow of the screen muted against the surface before it fades to black.
I kick off my Adidas and remove my sweatshirt, leaving my T-shirt and joggers on. When I slide under the blanket, I lie on my side and face her.
We're close enough to touch, but we don't.
"What time do you have to be up tomorrow?" I ask in the dark.
"Um… eight or nine."
"Late day," I remark.
"My first yoga class is at eleven. I work until eight. What time do you have to be up?"
"Six."
"Ouch."
"It's not so bad. I stroll into the office around eight, but I like running before going to work. Helps me clear my head, start my day off right."
"Coffee drinker?"
"No—coffee worshiper," I clarify.
She breathes out a laugh. "Same."
It's quiet. My eyes adjust to the darkness with the help of faint streetlights streaming through her window.
"So, how often do you do this?" she asks.
"Sleep?" I grin. "Every night. I'm not a vampire."
She laughs. "How often do you just sleep in another woman's bed."
"Honest truth?" I ask, repeating the redundant phrase we coined at the bar months ago. She just smiles wider. "What?"
"Nothing."
"What?"
"I like that you remember we said that. Honest truth," she echoes. "It's cute. Anyway, go on."
"Now I forgot what I was going to say."
She gently pushes at my chest. "Shut up, no you didn't."
"Fine," I sigh. "I don't stay the night with anyone else. Ever."
It's the truth. It was a rule. Not that I needed it. I never wanted to stay the night anywhere else.
"So, you always went back home… after?" She keeps it vague, maybe holding back from saying you always went back home to your wife after fucking another woman? I nod, and she looks surprised. "Huh."
"Yeah."
"Weirdly enough, I like knowing we're doing something you've never done before."
Honestly, me too. It's just another way this thing with Bella is different.
"Can I ask you something else?" she wonders.
My chest spikes with hot anxiety. I'm trying to open up more after her accusation on the couch that I dislike talking, but it's complicated.
"That depends on what you want to ask," I tell her.
"What's your wife's name? That's an easy question, right?"
I hesitate. "Rosalie."
"That's a beautiful name," she says.
"She's a beautiful woman."
Something flashes over her face. She looks slighted and a little pissed. I know it's the wrong thing to say. I shouldn't mention my wife's appearance when lying in bed with another woman—especially one who has me as gripped as Bella.
But nothing about this situation is normal. There's no right or wrong way to handle this; I'm trying to be honest.
"And where is your beautiful wife tonight?" she asks, not hiding her annoyance.
She might be at her mom's or a hotel. I know she didn't go far because she took nothing with her, which makes me wonder if she sneaked home during the day when I was at work. I'll check if her suitcase is gone when I return home tomorrow.
"I don't know," I say. "She's not at home and hasn't contacted me since she left."
"Do you think she would care if she knew you were here right now?" Bella wonders.
I think about this. "Do I think she would care that I'm in bed with a beautiful woman?"
She laughs once. "Oh, you're smooth."
"It's the truth," I say honestly. "But no. Unfortunately, I don't think she would."
"Unfortunately?"
"I just… I don't know how to explain it without sounding like the lamest, saddest motherfucker alive."
She makes a face like I'm being hard on myself. "You won't sound like that. Just try to explain it."
I'm unsure how much I should tell her right now, but say, "Most people want the person they love to want some claim over them," I offer vaguely. "Does that make sense?"
Another flicker of something that looks a lot like jealousy flashes over her face. I replay my words in my head and realize I said love. Present tense.
"You feel like she loves you less because she's okay with you fucking other women," Bella clarifies.
I blink. I haven't articulated this to anyone before, let alone admitted it to myself. So, having Bella aptly sum up my words without seeming horrified is a relief.
"Yeah," I agree. "That."
"How long were you two married?"
"Eleven years." Together for thirteen.
"That's a long time."
"It was."
"Are you still in love with her?" she boldly asks.
I'll always love Rosalie, and she'll always be the mother of my babies. I'll always want the best for her and wish things had ended differently.
But the reality is they didn't. Life had other darker, fucked-up plans for us. And we didn't survive the tests we were given after that. Most marriages don't.
As much as I care for her, I also hate her. Hate who she became, who I turned her into. I hate myself, too. I hate us—everything we represent and every vow we lack.
I realize I've been too quiet for too long. Bella's looking at me like she's worried. Like she feels fucking sorry for me or wants to kick my ass.
I rein it in and say, "Maybe we shouldn't talk about this."
"No, I want to. Tell me."
I think about shutting it down and then cave. "I'll always love her, but we fell out of it a while ago."
"Then why'd you stay?"
"We had a beautiful life. That's hard to let go," I confess, and Bella falls quiet again. "Where's your head at?"
"Truthfully? It's going to sound so shitty."
"I don't care."
"Part of me wants to kick you out of my bed. Another part of me wants to climb on top of you and make you forget about her and your beautiful life and whatever is making you so sad," she admits.
My cock stirs a little at the idea because I'd like that a lot. Sex is easy and familiar. Connecting is harder and more complex, but that's what Bella's doing. As much as I want to fuck her, I like that she's creating boundaries and has self-respect. I like that she doesn't give in and makes me work for her.
"Oddly enough, I also feel the urge to comfort you," she adds. "Don't ask why. Just a vibe."
"Mmm. Lots of competing emotions."
"You're a conundrum for sure," she offers. "But if you want to talk more about her or whatever, I'm here. It's definitely more out of curiosity than compassion, though."
"Yeah, I get it. I just… don't know…" I trail off. Some part of me does want to open up. The other, bigger part wants to deflect, run, hide. "I wouldn't know where to start."
"I have so many questions, but I'm curious why she left."
I can give her this. "Because I tried to make some rules. Apparently, she's the only one who can do that."
"Rules like what?"
"Well." I search Bella's face, unsure how all of this will land. "Six months ago, she didn't want me to see or talk to you again. And I wasn't okay with that. Ever since then, we've had ongoing arguments. I wanted a say in who I pursued, and Rosalie wouldn't give me that, so I said I was done with this lifestyle last night. And she said she was done with me."
"Oh." She looks equal parts flattered and confused. "But… she's your wife. I'm nobody."
I'm not sure what to say to that. If that were true, I wouldn't be here right now. But at the risk of coming on stronger than I already fucking have, I say, "We had problems long before you."
She hums. "Why did she leave last night if her stipulation came up six months ago?"
"Yeah, I don't know. We're good at being stuck in our misery, but last night was the final straw," I say truthfully.
Bella cringes. "Wow. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It's not your fault," I say quietly.
This shit isn't sustainable. It was always going to take a toll on me—our marriage—eventually. And yesterday's date didn't help, either. I knew it would be a difficult day, but we didn't stand a chance between her newfound jealousy and a total lack of understanding and raging resentment between us.
"Not to deal with semantics here, but you and I never slept together," Bella points out. "So why would she have a problem with me?"
"Yeah, so that's the thing. Other than mentioning the night you and I met at the bar, I didn't tell her anything else about you."
Her mouth falls open. "Oh, God. Edward. What?"
"I know."
"So… the phone sex and… the studio?" she asks, and I nod. "How'd she find out?"
"She went through my phone and found your pictures and our texts."
"Shit," Bella exhales, mortified.
That was a bad night.
I hate to admit that seeing Rosalie act jealous made me happy initially because it sparked life back into her. She hadn't reacted that way in a long fucking time. She'd been on autopilot for years. Nothing fazed her. Nothing hurt her. And I understood that because when the worst thing imaginable happens to you, nothing else can touch that pain.
She probably only checked my phone because she'd been pushing me to go out and meet someone, but I wasn't interested.
When she learned more about what I'd done with Bella, she lashed out at me. And that rage felt like love. The problem is that so much shit has happened between us it will never be the same. It was easy to recognize that her jealousy stemmed from a lack of control, not genuine love.
"Why didn't you tell her about me?" Bella whispers. "It's not like she would've been mad, right?"
"It's shitty, but I guess I just wanted you to be for me and not her," I confess.
Her smile is sad. "You are such a red flag."
I groan. "Fuck, I know."
She laughs softly. "It's also the strangest, sweetest thing I've ever heard. I must be fucked up, huh?"
She's not, but I am.
Our conversation stalls, and I think about that truth and how I didn't want to share Bella.
Rosalie always orchestrated everything. From the women I went out with to what I wore when I met them. Beforehand, she'd tell me how many times I could kiss them and precisely what we could and couldn't do.
I let her have that power because I knew I deserved it and thought it would make her happy. I thought it would save our marriage. But it just made everything so much worse.
With Bella, I made my own rules, and it felt fucking good.
I hit on her because I found her attractive, not because Rosalie did. I acted on what I found arousing in the moment, not committing details to memory to later recall for my wife's release. Our conversations flowed naturally and effortlessly; they were never stilted or like I was ticking off boxes on a mental checklist.
And the instant chemistry between Bella and me was something I'd never felt before. I didn't have to fake it. And I didn't have to wear a mask, either. I was unapologetically myself, and that didn't scare her off. If anything, my brutal honesty seemed to intrigue her more.
"So, she found out about me, and then what?" Bella prompts. "You can't stop there."
"After I came clean about everything that happened between you and me, she said I broke our one-and-done rule."
"That's when she said she didn't want you to see or talk to me again?"
"Right. After what happened in the studio, it's not like you and I were talking anyway, so I should've just let it go and agreed with her. But it was more so the principle of it."
"Such a man," Bella laughs, rolling her eyes. "So, when you're with other women, it's just one time."
"Yes. Always. I guess it's to keep things less messy. But to be honest, I never wanted to see anyone a second time, so that was never an issue."
The words until now stay unspoken, but the loaded implication is there.
"So, you don't usually hunt down women," Bella says, scooting closer to me.
"No. I thought I made that clear."
"You did. I just wanted to reconfirm," she says softly. "So, when we have sex—"
"Whoa, what? When we have sex?" I interrupt, grinning. "Are you finally coming around to the idea of sex with me?"
She laughs, covering her face with the blanket before I pull it away. "Stop. Of course, it's when. I don't have that much self-restraint. I'm horny and human. And everything we've done so far has been…"
Under the blanket, I find her hip and squeeze it. "What?
"Like, so fucking hot. So I can only imagine what sex with you would be like."
I exhale a low growl and pull my hand away from her hip. "Yeah. Maybe we shouldn't talk about that."
"That being said, do you think that's it? Like, you need to bang me to feel satisfied, and then we're done?"
"Bella."
"What? I'm not trying to be clingy; I'm just trying to prepare mentally."
"I don't think I'd stand my ground with my wife and call off that lifestyle if I thought sex with you one time was going to satisfy me," I say carefully. "Does that answer your question?"
"Yes," she says, looking pleased. "That more than answers my question."
"Can we sleep now?"
"Did all this talking wear you out?" she teases.
I laugh softly. "My ass will be nonverbal tomorrow."
"No, don't. I like talking to you. You don't give me much, but when you give me breadcrumbs about yourself, I can tell you're being honest, which goes a long way with me," she admits. "It helps me understand who you are."
I expect that urge to be there again.
Deflect, run, hide.
But it's not.
I lean in, but I don't kiss her mouth—I bury my face in her neck, inhaling and exhaling and breathing her in. Her fingers softly brush the hair at the nape of my neck, relaxing me.
She doesn't have to. She could tell me to get the fuck out. After everything, I half expect her to.
Instead, she makes me feel seen, and it's the most dangerous and intoxicating feeling she could've given me tonight.