Posting this before my spiral takes over and I delete everything! Thanks to Paige, Bee, and May for the help. Too bad my brain is such a little bitch lately.

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forty
illicit affairs
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While Edward's downstairs checking us out of the bed and breakfast, Chelsea calls me.

"Hey," I answer, wedging the phone between my ear and shoulder as I pack.

"Hey, bestie. Quick question," Chelsea prompts. "Why are you and Edward all over my Twitter feed?"

I groan and sit on the lumpy bed. "Fuck."

"Yeah. Fuck," she agrees. "Bella, what the hell is going on?"

"I can explain, but now really isn't the time."

"The hot surgeon you had a meet-cute with is the Edward? The one involved in your cousin's disappearance?" she asks. "How does that work?"

"Yes, but he wasn't involved. Don't listen to that stupid podcast. And don't read that shit on Twitter either."

"Well, I kinda have to," she mutters. "My own best friend isn't spilling the tea, so I have to rely on psychotic podcast fans to fill me in."

"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to leave you in the dark. And at some point, it felt too late to say anything about… everything," I sigh.

"So you and Edward are together?" she asks. "Like a couple?"

"We are," I say softly.

"Well, I guess that's good because some of those weirdos on Twitter ship y'all," she muses. "And I get it, you two look hot together. But I'm still confused."

"Look, I know I owe you a bigger conversation. I promise I'll tell you everything soon. We're about to head back to Seattle, so you don't have to feed Lucy tonight," I say as Edward walks back into the room. He gives me a look like he wants to know who's on the phone, and I mouth, "Chelsea."

"Okay, okay," she agrees. "For the record, I'm not mad. I'm just worried, especially with how much interest this podcast is getting. I got into a few Twitter fights blindly defending you," she admits.

I cringe. "I appreciate that, but it's not worth it."

"It's fine, I can easily take a few anonymous trolls," she says, like the badass she is. "Will I see you before Monday?"

"Probably not. But after work, we can do happy hour, and I'll tell you everything."

"Okay, but you owe me a lot of margaritas."

Smiling softly, I say, "Deal."

We hang up, and Edward gathers our bags.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

"Yes and no. Chelsea saw us on Twitter. And that's crazy because she doesn't even follow or listen to the podcast."

"Fucking wonderful," he mutters.

"Did Judgy Judy give you a refund since we have to leave early?"

"I didn't ask for one. She wouldn't make eye contact with me, which I assumed was because she heard all the noise we made last night… and this morning. Asking for a refund would be an insult," he says with a smug smile.

"Maybe it's good we're leaving. I'm sure we'll be louder tonight," I promise, standing to kiss him.

He grins. "In my bed?"

"You think we'll make it that far?" I taunt. "Although I do want to try out your sheets. What's your thread count?"

"You don't just go around asking men what their thread count is, Bella."

"C'mon." My fingers curl around his shirt, pulling him closer. "You gotta give me something to look forward to."

He sighs, pretending this is a serious topic, then moves his mouth to my ear.

"800, give or take," he murmurs. "They're temperature regulating, too. And get softer with each wash."

"How hard are you right now?" I tease, and he hisses out laughter.

"You're gonna be the death of me."

I smile, pleased, then glance around the attic. "Is it weird that I'm gonna miss this place?"

"Absolutely weird," he agrees, amused.

"Well, what?" I defend. "I had one of the best nights of my life in here. With you."

His gaze softens, but before he can reply, the door creaks open, and we pause. Edward moves closer to open it fully, and I half expect Judy to be eavesdropping, but the hallway is empty.

"I'm gonna take that as a sign that the ghosts want us to get the fuck out of here," I say seriously.

"Yeah, let's get this day over with."

There's a weight in his tone that resonates with the one in my chest, like neither of us wants to leave our bubble to deal with reality. But we do.

It takes all of thirty seconds to drive to the bookstore, which isn't nearly enough time to come up with a plan.

"So, how are we gonna do this?" Edward asks.

"I love that you think this will be a team effort, but I should confront Jessica alone," I insist. "I don't want her to feel like we're attacking her or anything."

"So, you're not going to bust in there and rip the chain off her neck?"

"That would be badass, but no. I'll just talk to her, girl to girl," I say calmly, despite being nervous.

"Okay. If you think that's best, you can go alone. But I'm giving you five minutes before I go in," he says seriously.

"I'm good but not that good. I'm gonna need at least fifteen to work my magic on her."

"Ten," he counters. "I have faith in you. You're pretty convincing when you want to be."

"Fine. I can work with that." We kiss briefly, but before I pull away, he grabs my face and pecks my lips twice more. "You're making it hard to leave," I whisper.

His smile curves against mine. "You're making it hard to let you go." One last peck. "You got this."

I soak up his encouragement and make my way into the bookstore. There's only one other customer here, and Jessica is behind the counter.

She warily watches me as I approach her.

"Hi," I say hesitantly.

"Hi." She regards me. "You look like you're feeling better today."

"I am. I can explain what that was all about, but first, I wanted to say I'm sorry to hear about your mom," I say quietly.

She looks skeptical. "Who told you about my mom?"

"Jane did. Edward and I met up with her today," I admit, then dig deep to find the strength to stroke Jessica's ego. "It's admirable that you came back to take care of your mom. It's not an easy thing to do, but it makes a difference for her to be cared for by someone who loves her."

The guarded look in her eyes fades. "Thank you. It's been awful," she agrees with a heavy sigh. "My son isn't thrilled to be in Forks for his first year of high school, but… he'll get over it. I hope."

"I didn't know you had a son," I say, surprised.

"A daughter, too, but she doesn't mind being here; she enjoys the smaller middle school. We live half an hour north of Seattle, and my son desperately wanted me to let him stay there, but he's fifteen going on thirty, and I couldn't trust him to be alone for however long," she says, slightly amused. She doesn't mention a husband, and I feel weird asking, so I don't. "Anyway. I feel like I owe you an apology."

"Why?"

"I've been thinking about our conversation yesterday, to a crazy degree, and I want to kick myself for being so insensitive about Rosalie. Sometimes I don't think before speaking, and I'm stressed, so I'm sorry."

Her remorse and self-awareness surprise me, but also give me hope that the rest of this conversation will go well. "I know it's a tricky topic, and people don't usually know what to say when it comes to Rosalie, but—"

"Still," she interjects. "No excuse. I feel so far removed from all of that, but it doesn't give me the right to act like my life was affected by it all."

I smile sadly. "Well, thank you."

She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "Yeah."

I eye her necklace. Hesitating, I gear up to start this difficult conversation. I'm less worried about how I'll handle it and more about how Jessica might react.

"I was hoping we could talk about something else," I say. "Something else that has been bothering me since yesterday."

"Okay, sure. What's on your mind?"

"Your necklace."

She watches me. "What about it?"

We hear the door open and close, and I'm half expecting to see Edward walk in eight minutes early, but it's just the lone customer leaving.

"While Edward and I spoke to Jane, we learned that you and Rosalie used to work at the clinic together," I tell her, ripping the bandage. "Why didn't you bring that up yesterday?"

That guarded look is there in her eyes again. "Because it's irrelevant. It's not like Rosalie and I even talked or were friends."

"Okay, sure, but you understand it's weird, right?"

"Why is it weird? We never worked the same shift."

"I'm just gonna be straight with you," I say firmly. "The necklace you're wearing is Rosalie's. I highly doubt she gave it to you, so I'm going to need it back."

Jessica shakes her head and brings her hand up to protect the chain, like I'm going to rip it off her. "It's not Rosalie's. I told you—someone gave it to me. It's mine."

"I don't believe that, though."

"Why not?" she snaps, frustrated. "Just drop it already."

"But I can't. Family is everything to me, and that necklace is one of the only things I have left of her. I feel like with everything going on with your mom, you should understand that on some level." I undo the clasp to remove the chain around my neck, holding it out for Jessica to see. "This is technically Rosalie's necklace. It's a daffodil for her March birthday. The necklace you're wearing is mine, but Rosalie and I switched twenty years ago. The flower on yours is a morning glory for my September birthday."

Jessica takes the chain I'm holding and inspects it. It's hard not to see at first glance how similar they are. They're the same necklace, just with different flowers.

"I don't care if you took it from her. I'm not mad, and I won't tell anyone about this," I reason. "I just want it back. It's a family heirloom. My grandmother made it, so it's special and—"

"Why would he give me Rosalie's necklace?"

I swallow. "Who?"

The chain falls from her hand onto the counter, as if she no longer wants to touch it, and I pick it up to put it back on.

"I just…" She pauses, staring vacantly at the floor while her fingers absently stroke the morning glory still hanging from her neck. "I know what it looks like, but I didn't steal it from her, okay? I wouldn't do that."

"Then why do you have it?" I ask.

She hesitates, but mumbles, "Someone found it in the backseat of his car and gave it to me."

This little detail makes me pause.

"Rosalie's necklace was in someone's backseat?" I push. "How do you know?"

"Because… I was there when he found it," she admits, still not looking me in the eyes, making it easy to assume they were hooking up in his backseat.

"Was this someone you were dating?" I ask, but Jessica stays quiet like she knows she already said too much. "At least tell me if this was before or after Rosalie went missing."

She ignores me and undoes the morning glory from around her neck, handing it to me. "Take it. I don't want it anymore."

Carefully, I take the necklace from her and put it on, wearing both of them at once.

"Thank you," I say, even if it feels like a strange thing to thank her for.

Her phone rings and she glances at the screen. "It's my son. You should go." She doesn't wait for me to leave before she answers the call. "Hey, bud," she says, disappearing through the door behind the counter. I catch the end of her saying, "Yeah, that's fine" before the door fully closes.

I should go. I should drop the subject, like she said. I should be grateful she gave back what's rightfully mine and leave her alone.

But I can't.

Something doesn't sit right with me, and my mind races to fill in blanks to questions I didn't know existed until now. Like, who was Jessica dating? Was that guy also sleeping with Rosalie? It seems likely since her necklace was in his fucking backseat. And if the answer is yes, then that's likely the person who got her pregnant.

I message Jane, unable to let it go.

Bella: Sorry to bug you again this soon. Do you remember who Jessica was dating when Rosalie disappeared?

It's difficult to imagine Rosalie being low enough to sleep with another girl's boyfriend. Then again, she was cheating on Edward and got pregnant with someone else's baby. I'm learning more and more that I didn't know who she was.

I'm about to leave when my phone vibrates with a reply.

Jane: I don't remember Jessica dating anyone. If she was, it wasn't public knowledge.

Huh.

There's a chance Jessica and Rosalie didn't know they were sleeping with the same guy, then. Why all of the sneaking around and hiding on Jessica's end, though? I can understand why Rosalie was quiet about it, since she was cheating on Edward, but why did Jessica keep this guy's identity a secret?

There's a parallel here that I'm grasping for, and this guy seems to be the common denominator.

According to Jane and Jessica, Rosalie and Jessica didn't hang out with the same crowd, making this mystery guy even more challenging to identify.

But then something hits me.

Jessica and Rosalie weren't friends.

But they were co-workers.

And they both worked for Carlisle.

Cold dread washes over me.

I had a feeling he was part of the equation, but now it all adds up.

"Why are you still here?" I hear Jessica bite, startling me when she returns from the back. "You need to go."

"It was Carlisle," I accuse, believing it in my gut. "You were in his car. He gave you Rosalie's necklace."

Jessica says nothing. She hardly even reacts, which pisses me, and gives me the sudden urge to make her sweat. Maybe it's mean of me to trigger panic in her, but I also don't care. I'm this close, and I refuse to give up.

"This doesn't look good for you," I tell her, grimacing. "I mean, you've had Rosalie's necklace for twenty years. A potential piece of evidence?"

I'm not even sure if it would be considered evidence, nor do I think the police would consider her a suspect, but I must say it convincingly enough because Jessica breaks.

"I didn't kill her," she insists. "I told you, I didn't know it was hers. Carlisle found it and assumed it was mine. When I told him it wasn't, he said it was because he bought it for me," she babbles, panicking.

I can't speak.

I can't.

I'm stunned and silent because I was right. And Jessica's quiet because I don't think she meant to say Carlisle's name aloud.

"So… he found Rosalie's necklace and played it off like it was a gift for you," I slowly summarize, disgusted. "And you believed him."

"No, that's not…" She trails off, and I see the very moment in her eyes when she realizes that's exactly what happened.

It almost makes me feel bad for her, and I dial back my harshness because Carlisle was the adult in power, and she was influenced and manipulated by him.

"Did you know he was sleeping with Rosalie, too?" I risk asking. "Was he sleeping with anyone else?"

"No and no. And I doubt he was even with Rosalie. I don't know how he would've found the time. And he loved me. Not her."

I fight hard not to roll my eyes. "Carlisle was cheating on his wife with you. He's still married. He's certainly not loyal, and especially not to you."

"You don't get it. No one does. And he is loyal—he's sticking out his marriage while Esme is sick. He could've left her long ago, but he made a vow, in sickness and in health, and he's seeing that through."

It sounds rehearsed, like some bullshit he's fed her for years, and I scoff at how badly—and how long—she's been gaslit by him.

"You heard Edward yesterday—Esme isn't sick right now," I remind her. "And that's beside the point. If he wasn't sleeping with Rosalie, how does that explain her necklace being in his backseat?"

"He… I don't know," she fumbles. "He probably gave her a ride home from the clinic one day."

"And the chain just flew off her neck? Don't be stupid."

"It's jewelry, not a pair of underwear," she clarifies like I'm the idiot. Like it proves nothing.

"If he was sleeping with you, why not her, too? What's one more seventeen-year-old? And you both worked for him, but you said y'all never worked the same shift," I point out. "That's convenient, don't you think?"

"It's a crazy thing to suggest, and I think you need to leave." She walks around the counter and starts to usher me out, but I keep my feet planted.

"No. We need to go to the police," I blurt.

From Jessica's hardened expression, I immediately know it's the wrong thing to say, and I want to slap myself for suggesting it.

"What?" she snaps. "Why?"

"Because Rosalie's gone," I stress. "And she was pregnant, which could mean it was his and gives him a motive to get rid of her."

"She was—what? Pregnant?" Jessica pales, shaking her head. "No, what you're saying doesn't add up. Carlisle wouldn't kill her."

"Then where is she, Jessica? Because right now, all signs point to him getting rid of her to save his reputation because he got her pregnant."

"Carlisle loves kids, and he's a wonderful father," she defends, glaring at me. "He wouldn't hurt her just because she was pregnant. Especially with his fucking child."

"A wonderful father to whom?" I snap. "Edward?" Jessica's eyes grow steely, and she holds her chin a bit higher. "Why are you hellbent on defending Carlisle? He's a bad man. He brainwashed and groomed you. He's—"

"The father of my children, so you need to watch your mouth."

My jaw drops.

I don't know what to do. Scream? Laugh? Shake her so violently that her brain knocks around in her thick skull and she can finally see how fucked up all of this is?

"You're making baseless claims against a man who doesn't deserve it," she says, calmer now. "I'm not going to the police. That's ridiculous. I just want all of this to go away. You got your necklace back, so you need to leave and stop disrupting my life. Now."

She grabs my elbow, and I yank out of her grip.

"Does Esme know about any of this?" I urge.

"No, and she's not going to. I'll deny everything."

"For what? To continue living a life where you and your children are a secret?"

Her face crumples like she's about to cry, but doesn't. "I can't talk about this anymore. I had a shitty night and a worse day."

"I've had a shitty twenty years," I counter, one-upping her. "All of this is huge and could help us find answers about Rosalie after all this time. I just need your help."

"I owe you nothing. And I'm not about to get caught up in this entire mess."

"You were sleeping with a married man and had his children," I fire back. "You're already in this mess whether you like it or not. So please," I beg, my anger twisted up with fear because we're so close but need just a little more proof. "Please."

My begging does nothing for her. She tries ushering me toward the door, and this time I let her. But before she opens it, I try one last time. One last plea for Rosalie's sake. For my own heart.

"It could've been you," I say boldly, willing my voice not to quiver. "You could've been the one he got pregnant and decided to get rid of. It could be your family suffering without answers. It could be your mother who succumbed to pain and took her own life."

Jessica swallows hard, and tears fill her eyes. For a second, I think I finally got through to her.

But then her expression hardens again, cool and cruel.

"But it wasn't me," she says, opening the door and pushing me out.