Chapter 18: A Study in Restraint

For the next week, nothing major happened within the organization, a lull Edward had learned to welcome. Constant vigilance took its toll, and the Swans had a way of going quiet when it suited them. But don't be fooled. Business continued as usual, clean and controlled. The lull time gave him and Emmett room to breathe.

But Bella?

Bella was a different storm entirely.

He hadn't expected to see her again so soon, not after the kiss, not after the way he left things. And yet, somehow, he'd been assigned to her security detail. He didn't know what he expected, maybe a glance, a spark, something that said the kiss happened, that she felt it, she treated him like smoke. No nod. No smile. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

She moved through the day like he wasn't there, and it was driving him out of his mind. He wanted to explain himself. God, he needed to. Say something. Anything. But she gave him nothing. No slips. No brushes. No accidents. Just silence, polished and deliberate. As if that kiss never happened. As if he never happened.

But it had.

His dreams reminded him every night. That kiss hadn't been a mistake. He needed to tell her that. And yet she looked through him like he was just another body in a suit. Another one of his dad's people. What cut deeper was how normal she seemed with everyone else. She was still warm, still charming. She laughed with her friends. Lit up rooms got the sunshine. Except for him.

He drove her to her usual art supply store, where she spent nearly an hour choosing brushes and canvas. Nothing. Once, outside the café, he heard it again; her laughter, floating through the glass like a song that used to be his. Not towards him, though.

At night, he drove her home. And she walked away without a word. No look back. No pause.

It was hell.

Once, during dinner at Caius' house, he caught her looking at him. Just briefly. She sat between Charlie and Marcus, swirling wine in a crystal glass, her mouth moving as she discussed something about overseas buyers. She looked radiant, half-lit by the chandelier above her. And then her eyes found his across the room. For a breath, everything else blurred. But then she blinked, and he was invisible again.

On mornings they were alone, he'd offer a soft "Good morning," ask if she wanted to stop for coffee on the way to her gallery. Sometimes, she'd respond without looking up. Other times, she'd meet his eyes, blank. Civil. Empty.

As if nothing had ever happened. As if he hadn't touched her, hadn't kissed her, hadn't whispered her name like a prayer.

Had he done this?

Had she changed her mind about him?

Had his response after it happened shut the door completely?

And then it happened again. Just for a second, while The Boss was mid-sentence, Bella looked at him. Her gaze found his across the room. Something passed between them. A flicker. A memory. A maybe. His heart slammed against his ribs, but he didn't move. Didn't flinch. He'd learned to mask everything. Especially in public when it came to her. Then she blinked, turned back to her father, and the moment evaporated like it hadn't happened at all.

And yet, she dropped her fork when Charlie mentioned Venice. Her fingers trembled just slightly when she poured a second glass of wine. He noticed. Maybe she wasn't unaffected? Or was he seeing things he wanted to?

Edward spent the rest of the evening in silent turmoil. Every time he thought he understood her, she flipped the rules on him. And he was back at square one. But the worst part?

The worst part was overhearing her.

It happened outside the gallery, just before noon. Bella sat in the back seat, the phone pressed to her ear, voice low and amused.

"No, Kate, I don't think a blind date is a good idea."

Edward stood just a few feet away, leaning against the car like he wasn't hanging on every word. His jaw tightened. Of course, Kate would be the one to try to set her up. Why wouldn't she?

"I don't care how charming he is," Bella said, her voice firm now. "I'm not interested."

Edward exhaled slowly, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. The thought of someone else sitting across from her, making her laugh, reaching for her hand, kissing her… It lit something dark in his chest. He had to find a way to have her talk to him.

The tension hit a breaking point on the night of Bella's birthday dinner. He knew through the grapevine that a family dinner was planned at a Michelin-starred restaurant. Only the best for Charlie Swan's daughter.

September 13.

He'd been carrying her gift in his jacket pocket all day, waiting for the right moment. He didn't even know if she'd accept it. But it was the only thing he could give her that felt like the truth. And hopefully, the start of something.

Edward parked just outside, positioning himself where he could see everything through the wide pane of glass. But enough that he would not be seen. The valet didn't question him. Nobody did. And then she stepped into view. It hit him like a blow.

That dress—midnight blue, liquid in the light—clung to her like it had been painted on, the fabric dipping low along her collarbone, hugging the curve of her hips, parting at the thigh. His hands were on that curve. Her hair was swept up, a few rebellious strands falling in soft waves around her neck.

He'd seen her in every light—business, casual, furious, laughing. But this? This was something else. She stepped into the room, he could see all her family and her close friends watching her move like a woman who owned the place. Clapping and kissing her. She was glowing.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, a mix of frustration and longing tightening in his chest. The fact she was pretending that he didn't exist was fucking with him. But he had a gift, a simple one.

Tucked in a slim black box, lined in soft grey velvet, was a set of custom paintbrushes.
Not just any brushes. These were hand-carved, walnut handles, burned along the edge with a single line of text "chaos and color, in balance." Something she once said when describing her art.

Each brush had a different engraving, all small, intimate:

control meets wild,

for when instinct wins,

this one's for fire.

It was everything he couldn't say, in something she could hold. Even if she never spoke to him. Even if she never forgave him for how he left her that night.

The dinner stretched on for hours. Edward sat in the car, hands tight on the wheel, eyes locked on the restaurant's glowing windows. Inside, she was laughing, eating, and having a great time.

His fingers curled tighter around the wheel—

Buzz.

The burner phone lit up beside him. Emmett.

I covered for you. Again. Don't make me regret it.

Don't make me pull you out myself.

Edward closed his eyes. Exhaled. He hadn't checked in for three days now with the team. Not because he couldn't. Because every time he tried, he felt like a traitor. He unlocked the secure app. The message was already waiting. His handler's voice came through, clipped and cold.

"Either you're undercover… or you're compromised. Which is it?"

Edward stared at the screen, the burner glowing in his hand.

Compromised. He already was.

The bureau was getting nervous. Leads they thought were solid had turned to ash. A supplier drop in Brooklyn had been empty. A flagged phone call traced to an abandoned burner. Even the warehouse Victoria was supposed to use for a trade-off was scrubbed clean two hours before they moved in. Someone was feeding the bureau breadcrumbs, and they were all stale. Sure, they were on the inside, but some things they were not privy to.

He could not focus on this right now because her uncles, their wives, and friends were all celebrating, eating and drinking. Then, they were all getting up to exit the restaurant.

He heard Charlie's voice, booming and affectionate, rise above the others.

"Enjoy your trip, tesoro."

His Italian slurred slightly from wine. "South of France! What a way to celebrate. Have fun with your girls, but don't forget to call your old man."

Edward froze. South of France.

A rush of jealousy punched him in the chest. His hand locked on the wheel hard enough to hurt. The image hit fast and visceral: Bella in a sundress, a bikini, wine in hand, laughing in the sun. A stranger's hand brushing her back. Her lips against someone else's mouth.

He could hardly breathe.

In the meantime, they were friends were laughing, chatting about airport pickups and last-minute packing. The valet stand buzzed as horns blared faintly in the distance. A sleek town car pulled up first. She waved it off with a graceful flick of wrist, too polite to say she didn't want an escort. He remained in the car, hoping none of them see him.

And then he heard her voice: "Devo passare dal mio ufficio per prendere dei documenti."

Edward didn't need a translator."I have to stop by my office to get some documents."

Charlie smiled and kissed her cheek, "Va bene, bella mia."

Her Jeep pulled up next, already waiting; someone must've called it in ahead of time. One of Charlie's guards moved toward the passenger door, but she smiled and shook her head. "I'll be fine."

Edward remained still. Watching. Thinking.

"At least let someone trail …"

"I'm picking up paperwork, Dad. I won't be long."

Charlie waved her off with a chuckle. "Okay, just don't forget your passport this time."

She slid into the Jeep and pulled away, merging into late-night traffic like it was second nature. Edward remained parked across the street. He knew that look. That tone. She was brushing them off because she wanted to be alone.

This was it.

She would be alone in her office. And he... he couldn't let her leave for another country without speaking to her. Not like this.

He didn't know if he'd beg or apologize. Only that silence wasn't enough anymore.

His fingers flexed on the wheel. His pulse roared in his ears. He was done pretending, no more holding back. He wanted more. More than the kiss. More than the job. More than he'd ever planned for. And if chasing her meant burning for it, so be it.

He turned the key and followed.

He couldn't lose her to a misunderstanding. Not without trying.

While driving, his mind was clear for the first time in months. The questions didn't matter anymore. He wanted her.

He spotted her Jeep parked along the curb. He eased past, pulling into a space a little farther down the block. The street was quieter here—industrial, mostly dark, with a few glowing signs from late-night businesses still open. Her sleek and modern gallery building with tall glass panels that reflected the muted city lights. He'd been there multiple times, and he was always amazed by the design. It was beautiful.

Only one row of lights was on inside, casting a faint amber glow across the high ceilings. A "closed" sign hung on the door, but Edward checked the handle and felt a rush of irritation when it turned. Unlocked. She should know better. Doors like that stayed locked, or should have, with bloodlines like hers

He slipped inside silently, letting the door whisper shut behind him. The air smelled like paint and lavender. Clean, but lived in. A low hum echoed from the back, faint music, maybe, and the gentle creak of footsteps overhead. His boots made no sound on the polished concrete floor as he moved along.

The gallery had an open-concept layout. Sculptures stood on raised platforms, bathed in soft accent lighting, while framed sketches lined the exposed brick walls. Bold, abstract canvases leaned against the far corners. Large windows wrapped the far wall, framing a panoramic sweep of the city.

A sliver of light glowed beneath the office door at the end of the hallway. The door was cracked open, just enough to reveal the outline of her figure. She was standing behind her desk, her back half-turned, a soft lamp casting golden light over the room. Her shoulders were bare, the midnight blue dress slipping slightly where the zipper dipped low.

Edward stepped forward slowly. Just as he reached the threshold, her voice broke the silence.

"I figured you'd follow me," she said, without turning around. Her tone was calm.

Edward froze in the doorway. She turned to face him, arms crossed lightly over her chest, expression unreadable but her eyes, her eyes were anything but surprised.

She didn't sound smug. Didn't sound angry. Just sure.

He thought he'd caught her off guard by following. Thought this moment would belong to him, to his confession, his timing. But she had seen it coming.

Of course, she had.

She always did.

A strange mix of shame and awe settled in his chest. She'd read him perfectly, even when he couldn't read himself.

And still, she hadn't slammed the door.

"You left it unlocked," he said finally, voice low.

She lifted a brow. "Did I?"

Another Week, Another Chapter :) What do you think she meant by "Did I?".

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