Okay, let's try this again... sorry for the post then pull yesterday! lol Hoping this works and people are able to open it... eek. No faith in FFn right now! But your reviews/reactions make up for it! :3

Peep the new banner from the lovely Lizzie Paige :') Felt like a good time for a new one since these little sweethearts are now working together to solve the case!

next update will be 2/21 to give people time to access this chapter, sobs

Also, please make sure you didn't skip reading any chapters accidentally! FFn has been withholding chapters/alerts, which isn't helpful at all with knowing what's going on! sigh. ty, ily!

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thirty-five
loml (love of my life)
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"When was the last time you were in Forks?" Edward asks as we drive onto the lower level of the Kingston ferry.

"I haven't been back since my family moved in 2006," I reply. "When Jas left for U-Dub, Dad and I also moved to Seattle. It was good for us all to get a fresh start."

He parks and cuts the engine. "Yeah, I haven't been back since we moved, either."

"Right, right. Your family moved two months after Rosalie went missing. Not suspicious at all," I joke because I can do things like that now—address the elephant in the room and dig deeper without having to talk around it.

Edward fights a smile. "That wasn't my choice, by the way."

"Whose was it?"

"My mom's, I guess. The whole Rosalie thing spooked her, and even though she believed I didn't hurt her, I think she was worried the police would end up pinning it on me anyway. I think she felt helpless in a way."

I frown, soaking in this truth he's given me, another piece to the puzzle. I always thought it was strange that his family had suddenly left Forks, and now I know why.

The ferry starts to move into the water, starting our journey.

Exiting the car, we walk through parked vehicles and take the stairwell that leads to the second-floor passenger lounge. We buy weak coffee in small paper cups, and since it's still cold out, we find an empty booth inside that overlooks the Puget Sound and Olympic Mountains.

It's peaceful until a family of seven piles into a large booth near us.

They're a rowdy bunch in a wholesome way, the kids ranging from toddler to teen. It's hard not to stare, but the good thing is they're all too busy in their own world to notice us glancing at them. A couple of the kids are crying, a few are shrieking and fighting, and both parents try to diffuse the chaos.

I catch Edward's eye, and he fights a smile.

"Do you want to move to another table?" I ask quietly, but the other good thing about the family being so rambunctious and oblivious is that we don't have to lower our volume.

Edward shakes his head, removing his hat and sliding it backward. "Not unless you want to move."

"I'm fine, but I figured a man who hates kids wouldn't want to sit next to five of them on a thirty-minute ferry ride."

He gives me a strange, amused look. "I don't hate kids, Bella."

I eye him. "But you said you don't want them."

"Not because I don't like them," he clarifies, which makes things more confusing. "Did you say you don't want kids because you hate them?"

"No, I—" I take a purposeful sip of coffee to avoid answering. "Did you happen to bring that pretend key?" I ask, desperate to lock my lips.

He playfully narrows his eyes. "Nah—I tossed it. The woman I got it from blindsided me, and I couldn't stand to look at the thing anymore."

"She sounds like an awful bitch," I mutter, my cheeks tinged with pink.

Holding my gaze, he says, "She's not. And I'm still waiting for your answer."

"Fine," I reply. "No key. Only truths. But since I'm the one who brought this up, it's only fair that you answer first. Why did you say you don't want kids?"

"Fine," he mimics. "I guess my stance on kids is like your qualms about marriage."

I could try to make the connection myself but say, "My lack of decent caffeine needs you to clarify."

He stares out at the view, then looks back at me. "I think not wanting kids was just something I told myself because I was scared. Because I didn't think I'd ever have that opportunity."

"If you say you don't want it, then you won't long for it," I realize, because fuck—I do that, too. All the time.

He blinks. "Yeah. I never thought about it like that before, but yeah."

"When you say you're scared, you mean scared to be a parent one day or scared of something else?"

"Scared to fuck up. Scared something bad would happen to my nonexistent kids, and I wouldn't be able to protect them. I mean, look at what happened to Rosalie. Life is so fucking fragile and unexpected."

I hum, and even if I understand him, I say, "You're a control freak."

"I don't want to be caught in a situation where I don't know the outcome," he clarifies.

"So, how does that work with you being a surgeon? There are many moving parts, and you don't know how it will turn out."

"Yeah, but I know my limits, and the outcome is based on me and my skills, not someone else. So maybe that helps?"

"Mmhmm. Cocky control freak."

"Enough about my problems," he says, grinning and shaking his head. "What was your reasoning for not wanting kids?"

"Oh, I'd be an awful mom," I quip. "Not a maternal bone in my body."

He laughs. "I doubt that."

"Why?"

"I don't know." He shrugs. "You're obsessed with your cat. That requires a little maternal instinct."

"Of course, I'm obsessed with her. She's a literal angel princess and deserves all the love," I insist, making him laugh. "I guess my reason for saying I don't want kids is similar to yours. I just never saw it happening to me. Like, the absence of something hurts less if it never existed at all."

"Man. Some half-life we're living, huh?" he says sarcastically.

"Total losers. We should probably go to therapy," I suggest, and he nods in solidarity. "Has anyone from my work contacted you yet about helping with your condo?"

"Yeah. Yesterday."

"Oh." I'm surprised because I haven't heard anything. "Good."

"It was strange because the woman who called basically said everyone else there is incompetent and was urging that I don't stop working with you, her star employee," he recalls, his mouth twitching.

I groan. "Was her name Heidi?"

"Yeah."

"I'm so sorry." I cover my face in embarrassment, laughing awkwardly. "She's my boss. I came clean to her so she knew everything that had happened between us. So she probably thought she was helping me, but I can have someone else contact you."

He hums. "It's fine. I told her I wanted to keep working with you if you're comfortable with it."

Agreeing to keep working with him feels dangerous, but I'll gladly take any extra time with him, so I say, "Yeah, that's fine. I can be professional."

"So, I'm not getting a leopard couch?"

"Why do you sound disappointed?" I tease.

An infectious grin takes over his face. "I don't."

"Uh-huh," I laugh. "I'm gonna have to start looking for furniture myself soon because I'm moving."

"You are?" Edward asks, sipping his coffee and wincing from the taste or lack thereof.

"Yeah. I don't trust Jasper right now and think space for us will be good," I mumble.

"Where are you moving to?"

"No clue. I just decided this days ago. Are there any vacancies in your building?" I joke, making him smile. "Kidding. I doubt I could afford anything there."

"If you just need some time and space from Jasper and don't want to move, you're welcome to stay with me," he offers.

That sounds incredibly unsafe, considering how much I feel for him.

"I appreciate that, but I don't think that's smart," I tell him, my heart pounding. "I think it means something else to me than it does to you, and I just… it doesn't seem very friendly."

His brows furrow, and his mouth opens and closes several times before he speaks.

"I guess I'm not sure how to be just friends with you," he finally says.

I'm not sure how to take that. If I wanted to feed my delusions, I could twist it to mean he still has feelings for me. But if I'm being honest, it likely means he wants to stay friends. I can't even be mad because I'm the one who made that stupid suggestion.

Before I can reply, my phone vibrates on the table with a call from Jasper.

I decline it.

It lights up again with a second call which I also send to voicemail.

"Who's calling?" Edward asks.

"Jas."

He sends a text.

Jasper: Jackson put out a new episode. He's going after you and Edward, and I'm going to fucking kill him.

Edward must see my horrified expression because he says, "What's wrong?"

"Jackson put out a new episode about us," I say, panic rising.

"That motherfucker," he hisses.

Opening Instagram, I find the latest post on the Mysterious Minds profile. There are multiple slides, but the first says Bonus Episode—Accomplices in Murder and Love.

When I swipe to the second slide, it's a picture of Edward and me standing in line at Dick's Drive-In getting burgers after the gala. And we're kissing.

"What the fuck?" I blurt, vibrating with anger.

Edward moves from his side of the booth to sit beside me and look at my screen.

"The asshole is making sure he has a story to tell," he fumes.

I furiously scroll through the last slides, all grainy shots of Edward and me together the night of the gala, likely captured by the person he hired to follow me.

"Let's go back to the car to listen to it," I tell him, suddenly nervous about being in public.

We silently rush back to the vehicle, and once we're inside, I connect to Edward's Bluetooth and play the episode.

For twenty minutes, Jackson and his co-host discuss why Edward and I are now the main suspects.

"It's too much of a coincidence," Jackson says over the speakers. "Why would Isa become romantically involved with the man who was suspected of murdering her cousin?"

"Because he was proved innocent, you dickwad," I say aloud, fuming.

"My new theory is that Edward always had his sights on Isa, even from a young age. Maybe Rosalie realized this, and he lashed out," Jackson boldly—sickly—claims. "It's unclear when the two started a relationship, but we have evidence they're together. We just need to do more digging now and nail down their timeline."

Edward slams his fist on the dash and turns it off.

"No offense, but I barely remembered you," Edward tells me, calmer than he must be feeling.

"No offense taken. You had no reason to—I was ten, and we never interacted. I can't believe him," I mutter. "Sick asshole."

"He's desperate. The story is getting away from him, and he needs something to keep people engaged."

"Fuck him. I'm not gonna sit here and let him do this. Like, we need to do something." I furiously type a comment on his Instagram post, but Edward stops me.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Denying everything. Publicly calling his ass out," I list off. "People need to know he sensationalizes shit for a story."

"Just… wait. I think we should wait."

"For what? For him to further smear our names?"

"No. Of course, I don't want that. But I'm sure responding will thrill him. We need to wait and think about it. Act and not react."

I regard him. "Okay, enlightened one. How are you not pissed?"

"Oh, I fucking am. I'm contacting my lawyer and suing that fucker for defamation. But the difference between us and Jackson is that we know more than him. We know Rosalie was pregnant, but he doesn't. All he has is an anonymous tip he can't use until he proves it's true. So we need to keep doing what we're doing. Don't get sidetracked by his bullshit. That's what he wants."

I know Edward's right. And deep down, I find him taking control of this situation insanely hot.

"Okay," I agree, reaching for Rosalie's necklace, my fingers gliding across the chain for courage. "I'll hold off from publicly castrating him. For now."

"For now," Edward agrees, glancing around the ferry and the parked cars surrounding us. "Now I'm even more convinced he has someone following us to Forks."

I shiver at the thought.

"I'm sorry for dragging you into this," I mumble, dropping my head in my hands. "If I hadn't weaseled my way into your life, Jackson wouldn't be doing this right now."

Edward's fingers brush mine, guiding me to lower my hands so he can look at me. And then he leans over the console, holding my gaze.

"Nothing you did gives him an excuse for how he's handling this," he says, low and firm. "Nothing you did means you deserve this."

I'm not sure I believe him, but I still whisper, "Thank you for being here."

He straightens and presses his lips together in a small, somber smile. "Where else would I be?"

XXX

After the ferry arrives in Kingston, we stop at a gas station to fill up before our two-hour drive to Forks.

I buy too many snacks, and I'm sure I can feel the clerk silently judging me. But when we're back in the car, I realize that maybe she was less judgy about the amount of food and more so because she's a podcast listener and recognized us.

I tell Edward as much, and all he says is, "Fuck 'em."

It's concise, and I admire his confidence. But I'm paranoid and in my head for the rest of the drive.

Half an hour before we arrive in Forks, I message Jane to let her know our ETA and ask for her address.

When she still hasn't replied when we make it into town, we decide to find where we're staying for the weekend.

"Where to?" Edward asks, driving slowly down the main road.

"Anywhere. I don't care."

"Not much to pick from," he says, peering out the windshield. "There are two motels here; both have no vacancy signs."

"Maybe Port Angeles will have something available."

"Maybe."

We drive another minute before we spot a bed and breakfast. There's no illuminated sign, so there's no telling if they have any rooms, but we try anyway.

It's musty when we walk in. Antiquated, and not in a purposeful way.

Edward rings the bell, and I stare at the floral wallpaper and a large oil painting of Jesus.

"I have the same one at home," Edward quips.

"Shut up," I laugh softly.

An older woman walks out, eyeing us suspiciously. I half-worry she's a podcast listener, but maybe I'm on edge now that we know Jackson's spewing lies about us.

"Howdy. Name's Judy," the woman says. "We don't charge hourly."

Rude. Nothing about me screams hooker.

Edward opens his mouth, maybe to defend why we're here and how we don't need a room for only an hour, but I decide to make Judgy Judy feel bad about her remark, so I cuddle up against his side and say, "My husband and I would like a room."

Thankfully, Edward catches on to what I'm doing and slides an arm around my waist. I'm sure it's unnecessary to look like a couple physically, but I don't complain about his warm palm on my hip or how my body tingles from his touch.

"How many nights?" Judy asks, unimpressed by our display.

Edward looks at me, and I say, "Two."

Judy tuts. "Sorry, we got a three-night minimum."

"Then why didn't you say that," I mutter under my breath, offering a tight smile.

"Okay. Three nights it is," Edward agrees, letting go of me to pull out his wallet. "I know you hate my snoring, so do you want one or two rooms, wife?"

I want to laugh at the awkward use of the word wife, but I keep it together. He's smooth with throwing out that snoring reason so Judgy Judy won't wonder why we aren't staying together.

Honestly, I think I'd prefer two rooms so I can cry in peace over how much I want him, but I don't want to be too obvious.

"What do you want, husband?"

"I don't care," Edward says gently. "I want to make sure you're comfortable."

Two rooms are much safer.

Two rooms leave boundaries in place and my heart from feeling too much.

"Two rooms work," I say, and I swear I catch the slightest hint of disappointment on his face.

"We only have one room available," Judy says apologetically, and again, she could've led with that information.

"That's fine. One room with two double beds will have to do," I agree, looking at Edward. "You know how I kick you in my sleep, so."

Judy shakes her head. "One room, one bed."

I want to laugh. Or cry. Or giddily scream while anxiously throwing up.

"Maybe we should check Port Angeles," I suggest.

"Good luck with that. A huge logging conference is going on. Was s'posed to be held in Victoria, but the place got double-booked, so they had to move everything over here. I only have this room available because the person who was gonna stay in it got food poisoning and can't make it. Could barely understand a word he said through all the vomiting."

I blink. "Okay, then. One room is fine."

Edward pays for it, and Judy hands over a key, some tealights, and matches.

"Wind storm is coming later, so just in case we lose power," she says, gesturing toward the candles. "If we can't get it back up and running within two hours, I'll refund you for the night."

Edward and I nod, but when we go to the car to grab our bags, I say, "How many tropes will we be subjected to? One room. One bed. Now we might lose power and will need to get naked and use our body heat to stay warm?"

He laughs, low and gravelly. "Hey, the fake marriage thing was all you, baby."

I know he's teasing, but the tender pet name makes my stomach flip.

"Yeah, 'cause she pissed me off. We don't charge hourly," I mimic, rolling my eyes.

"Yeah, that was shitty of her," he agrees, unlocking his car. "Feel free to use me as a fake husband anytime if it aids in your defense."

"I guess it is the only opportunity I'll experience marriage," I joke, accepting my fate like a champ.

"Maybe so," Edward agrees, grabbing our bags and snacks from the backseat.

I laugh in disbelief. "You're not supposed to agree with me!"

"It's just because you have qualms about marriage," he clarifies. "What did you say that day when we went for a run? Nothing is forever—death, divorce, douchebags?"

I smile because he remembers. "How poetic of me."

"So yeah, I agree with you more because you're scared, not because you wouldn't be able to find someone."

"Right, because I have so many options," I say dryly.

He slams the door shut. "Hey, there's someone for everyone."

The fierce way he looks at me when he says it feels like he's daring me to point out how good we could've been together. Every part of me yearns for him. Because yeah, maybe in another life, I was meant for him.

Instead of crying about it, I say, "Except Judy. I doubt there's someone for her."

Edward laughs, our mutual annoyance for a woman we don't know easing the sexual tension between us.

When we're back inside, Judy walks us up three flights of creaky stairs to our room.

It's the only room on the third floor because it's also the attic.

"Cozy," I say, glancing around the space. There's a bed, a dresser, and a small table with two chairs near the only window in here.

Edward has to stand in the middle of the room, or his head will touch the slanted ceiling.

"The bathroom is on the second floor. Breakfast is at eight. Don't holler if you need anything," Judy says, leaving us alone.

Edward shuts the door behind her and locks it.

"Did she mean holler if we need anything?" I ask him.

"Don't think so," he says, amused. "We don't have to decide until later tonight, but you can take the bed. I can sleep in my car."

A framed photo randomly falls off the wall, and I jump.

"And leave me alone in this haunted attic?" I balk. "I think not."

"True. What are the chances that we die here tonight?"

I laugh and sit on the lumpy bed. "I could take Judy. Easily."

"I didn't mean her; I meant the ghosts." He smiles and takes off his hat, tossing it on the dresser. "But I don't know. Judy seems scrappy."

I scoff, offended. "Um, so am I. Take it back."

"Nah."

I stand and move closer to him.

"Um, yes. Or we're so getting divorced," I tease, poking his chest.

"No, we're not. You're the love of my life," he jokes, but his voice is low and sincere, and he's staring at me with so much intensity that it makes me nervous. "But fine, I take it back. You could easily kick Judy's—and any paranormal entity's—ass."

"See? You'll make a great husband one day," I insist, throat dry and chest achy from how real our fake little game makes me feel.