Hello there! Guess whose back! Lol

Let me start by profusely apologizing for making you all wait months for an update. Instead of breaking into a sad song and dance regarding the reasons why it took me so long, let's just say that it won't happen again and leave it at that. ;)

Once again, thank you to my betas, adt216 and Painjane.

Thank you to my biggest cheerleader, JustPeachy00, who I love and adore endlessly.

Also, thank you to everyone that voted for me at the Fandom Choice Awards. I came third in the best up and coming author category. I'm humbled and extremely appreciative of your love and support.

And to all of you that decided to come back and give this fic another chance, thank you for not giving up on me. You might want to reread the previous chapter/s so we're all on the same page again.

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or any of the characters associated with it.

Summary: Bella Swan is a beautiful, spunky gossip columnist. Edward Cullen is an arrogant, hot New York socialite. When Edward is admitted into rehab, Bella will stop at nothing to get her story. On her journey to get the scoop, she will reveal things about Edward that makes her question her own intentions, as more than the truth gets uncovered.

Chapter 5

Irritability

The early morning silence is pierced by the gloomy cry of a lone wolf.

...

...

...

"Why does he sound like Alan from The Hangover?" I mumble to Mike as we raptly stare after the gurney being pushed past us. Practically the entire patient population has come out to see what the ruckus is about.

"She's my mate!" the guy shouts as men dressed in hospital whites attempt to keep him from pulling against his restraints. Of course, his olive skinned hand is pointing straight at me as red road maps surround his dilated pupils.

I raise my hand slowly to my chest in a 'Moi?' gesture.

I've never been called anyone's mate before. Not in the animalistic or Australian sense of the word.

"Wait until the rest of my wolf pack gets here!" The threat is delivered menacingly as a male nurse attempts to wrestle the crazy dude's shoulders back to the bed. They push through the swinging doors as a last heart-wrenching howl fills the now silent reception area.

I tilt my head in question to Mike. Over the last couple of days, since our heart to heart in the gardens, he has become my buddy, my compadre, my wingman if you will. Mike is cool.

"Heroin." He shrugs, looking as bored as the rest of the patients while everyone slowly disperses to the cafeteria for breakfast. "Sometimes they hallucinate."

Ah, just another day in rehab.

It's strange how quick you conform. I'm a New Yorker. We do everything fast there—especially walking. In here, nothing's done at a rushed pace. You can hear the lazy slide of slippers barely lifting from tile as everyone saunters along.

Everyone apart from Edward, that is.

My eyes don't miss the fact that he stayed behind, casually leaning against the reception desk, softly talking to Heidi—or Bob— as I affectionately call her. A pang of jealously stabs through me as his lips curls into a slow smile. I crane my neck to see her reaction before the doors slide closed behind me, but all I see is her head tilting slightly to the side, and Edward's eyes boring hotly into hers.

Ever since our little meeting in the storage room a couple of nights ago, Edward has made it quite obvious that he's avoiding me. He's been oblivious to my presence, even more so than before.

So, seeing him converse and actually smile at an overly processed bimbo, without any encouragement from her—that I could see—serves a serious blow to my ego.

What a schmuck I am.

"So, you're his mate?" I can hear the smile in Mike's voice, distracting me from my homicidal thoughts.

"Sounds like it." I shrug.

"Never been anyone's mate before," he muses, voicing my earlier thoughts. "Could be if I move Down Under."

I chuckle lightly. I love this kid.

Xoxo

"We're going to play Twenty Questions today," Jane interrupts our soft chatter as she enters the room with a hop in her step. Her smile is bright, and her posture energized. She either got some last night, in which case I'm extremely jealous, or she simply thrives on the awkward situations her prodding and probing cause.

Given her pixie ears, sharp little nose and small frame, I think it's the latter. There's something disturbingly sinister about petite girls.

She rubs her hands together like an animated villain and squints into the group, before reaching into her pants pocket and retrieving a hacky sack.

"When you have the ball, you get to ask one question and throw it to whomever you want to answer it. If the ball is thrown at you, you answer the question asked and then ask a new one, throwing it once again at whomever you wish to answer," she explains with much enthusiasm.

We all groan simultaneously, which is simply ignored.

"Don't be too personal with your questions," she continues matter-of-factly.

"Who decides what's too personal?" Emmett pipes in. My eyes move towards him, and naturally, as they always do, towards the man slouching beside him.

He's brooding. He's bored. He's ignoring me.

So nothing new then.

He's also disturbingly hot, and just like every day after our encounter in the storage room, I'm bombarded by images of his leg pressed between mine, of the foresty smell of his hoody and that look he gave me before rubbing his crotch.

Holy crap... That look.

And then, like an angsty teenage drama, a new image joins the party. One of him smiling at Heidi, leaning over her desk and talking softly to her.

That pretty much douses my sporadic flight of fancy with a good shot of reality.

He's into Bob.

Which is actually a good thing. I don't need my hormones wreaking havoc on my logic. If I'm going to remain professional, it's not going to happen by sulking over losing the fleeting interest of someone I don't actually want.

And I definitely don't want Edward Cullen.

"I'll be the judge of that," Jane replies briskly, which pulls my attention away from my project and back to the matter at hand. "I'll interject, but if the recipient is fine with answering, that's their choice."

"How is Twenty Questions going to help us?"

It's a good question, raised by a girl in the group to whom I have yet to be introduced.

"Well," Jane replies steadily, "apart from the fact that you get to know a little more about the people you're spending time with, I'm hoping that you might see how much you could have in common with a complete stranger, with someone from a different social standing." Her explanation seems reasonable enough. "A lot of our social isolation and need to fill the gaping hole with substances can be based on the fact that we feel alone. That no one will understand. Maybe this exercise will disprove that notion."

"Edward is staring at you again," Mike whispers in my ear, as I contemplate the validity of Jane's statement.

My gaze shoots in his direction, and lo and behold, he is.

Staring.

Right at me.

On second glance though, it would appear as if he's staring right through me.

He's gaze seems faraway, as if he's contemplating something very serious, or quite possibly nothing at all. I'm betting on the 'nothing at all' option. I mean, honestly, how many pressing issues can a rich, spoilt man-boy have?

I frown deeply at him, which doesn't even make him blink; only confirming that although his eyes are on me, they aren't seeing me at all.

I turn my head to Mike and shrug nonchalantly. "Looks like he's daydreaming."

"Maybe he's thinking about being your mate, too." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"Auuuuooooo," I howl so only Mike can hear, causing his cheeks to flame and his chest to rumble in a low chuckle.

Giving him an exaggerated smirk, I turn my attention back to our ringleader.

"I'll start." She turns slowly from one side of the group, to the next, searching for her first victim.

"What's your favourite colour?" And then she throws the hacky sack to Billy.

Billy is the old guy I met on my first day here—the one who scolded me for holding up the lunch line after dropping a slab of tofu on my plate.

I later found out that he lost his wife and kids in a car accident years ago, and since then, he's been drowning his sorrows and depleting his fortune with liquor.

Billy is my constant reminder that there are people here with real problems.

Emmett boos Jane's lame question, earning a few laughs.

"Black," Billy answers flatly, which I find ironic because the colour happens to be his surname, and also sad, because it clearly reflects his mood.

"Very good." Jane nods with a sympathetic smile. I'm guessing we're on the same page. "Now you get to ask."

Billy listlessly tosses the sack to a very pale, very thin girl beside him. Her bony hands clumsily fumble with the ball as she nervously bites her lip and raises her head to await his question.

I think she used to be pretty at some point. It's hard to tell with the red scratches running along her neck and cheeks. Apparently, picking at or scratching skin is a nasty little effect of using crack or meth. She's also severely underweight, her peppercorn eyes hollow, and her brown hair thinning.

I've learned quite a bit in my week in rehab. Mostly from Mike, but Lauren has proved to be quite helpful too, even if it feels like pulling teeth coaxing answers out of her. It's not purely out of curiosity—the information is helping me narrow down the reasons Edward is here. For example: from his physical appearance alone, I know he's not suffering from the same affliction the girl beside Billy is.

"Favourite food?" Billy grumbles, and I have to contain my gasp as the room falls awkwardly quiet.

Seriously? It looks like she hasn't had a proper meal in months.

"Pizza," she answers in a small voice.

My heart aches for her.

She clears her throat and tosses the ball to Emmett.

"Do you have any piercings?" I chuckle at her strange question and the obvious surprise on Emmett's face.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" His surprise morphs into cocky confidence. I roll my eyes and notice Rosalie doing the same. Our little wisp on the other hand, blushes like a new bride.

"That's a question, Emmett. Not an answer," Jane corrects him playfully.

He shrugs with an even wider grin. "I do, but not in a place you can see with my clothes on."

I think if it were possible, the girl would dig a hole and climb right into it. The embellished wink accompanying Emmett's confession confirms that he is not referring to something as innocent as nipple piercings.

TMI, buddy.

Emmett throws the hacky sack to Rosalie and asks her a lewd question about her favourite sexual position. Jane objects, but Rosalie shrugs and answers him blandly. I choose not to dwell on the intricate position she attempted to describe. I have a picture brain, and imagining a naked Rosalie twisted like a soft pretzel is enough to cause a nosebleed.

The ball is then thrown to Mike, asking him about his favourite band, and surprisingly for such a young kid, the answer is Led Zeppelin.

I'm impressed.

Mike turns to me and graces me with a big smile before gently placing the little ball in my hand. I return his grin with an encouraging nod.

"Favourite song of all time?"

I grin even wider. Easy.

"Yellow Ledbetter."

"Pearl Jam?"

"Yup."

"Aw, man," Emmett chimes in. "Best guitar intro ever. Good choice, Bella Dwyer."

I shrug and flick my eyes in Edward's direction. He's eyeing me warily. The poor sod knows I'm coming for him. I keep my gaze on his, arching a knowing brow as he swallows notably. I like this—making him sweat a bit. Insert evil laugh.

I toss the ball to him, which he catches one handed with catlike grace, stopping it from flying over his head and into the back of the room. Okay, so I don't have the best aim, which I begrudgingly haee to admit, reduces my current badass 'tude just a notch.

I bet he's thinking I'm going to expose his hide-out, but I have bigger fish to fry than splitting on a dude's spank fort.

"So, Edward," I start slowly, watching his Adams apple bob. I let the silence drag on for a couple more beats.

"Why are you in rehab?"

The room fills with soft murmurs as Edward and I face off. His expression shifts from weary to surprised to faintly amused.

"You don't have to answer that, Edward." I could punch Jane in the face, although I expected she would intervene. It was worth a shot, though.

Edward's reply to Jane is a shrug, which makes me hopeful that he might actually answer my question. Lord knows I need a breakthrough.

"I'm here to rehabilitate, Bella." If you could bottle snootiness, his answering tone would be the best place to ladle that shit.

"That's not a real answer," I complain.

"Your question was vague." He leers, and the victorious glint in his eyes is almost enough to make me stick my tongue out at him.

But I'm a grown ass woman and won't adhere to such childish acts, so I cross my arms over my chest and huff instead.

Motherfucker.

I should have known better. I'm a journalist, for fuck sakes. It's my job to ask the right questions.

I turn facing forward, stewing in my loss and embarrassment when a soft object hits my temple. I yelp in surprise and twist to find Mike bending down to retrieve the hacky sack from the floor.

"What the..."

"Why do you want to know what I'm in for?" To say that I'm surprised at the fact that Edward chose to redirect a question back to me is a gross understatement.

"Is that allowed?" I grumble, rubbing my hand over my injured temple. It doesn't hurt. It's just the sting of the surprise making me reach for it.

"I don't see why not." Jane shrugs and makes a gesture for me to continue.

"I'm just curious," I turn and answer the smug bastard.

"Interesting thing to be curious about," he fires back without missing a beat.

Scared that I might give too much away and blow my cover, I pluck a page from Edward's book...and merely shrug.

Xoxo

It's late when I fall down on my bed, staring straight at the ceiling and ignoring the grinding sound of Lauren's nail file hacking away at her acrylic talons.

Today was exhausting. Not only was I outplayed by Mr. Cullen in the afternoon Q&A session, but my ear is still hot from the verbal scolding I just received from Jasper. As he reminded me, I've been in here a week now and still haven't made any progress.

I'm officially a grade-A loser.

I just don't know how to crack that man. He's aloof and brooding and shut tighter than Barbie's vagina.

I've done the 'Hey, let's be friends thing.' I've done the frilly dress and high heels, which probably would have been more successful if I hadn't fallen over my own feet and flashed my embarrassing panties. I've resorted to rubbing myself on his leg, which in all honesty, wasn't part of the plan, but seemed to have gotten things moving at least. Until he withdrew completely.

Now I'm stuck with the notion that my boss is getting aggravatingly impatient, my target has turned a possible hard-on for me into googly eyes for the receptionist, and worst of all, my two best friends are insisting on making a visit.

I pleaded with Jasper to explain to them that this is work and it wouldn't be appropriate, but apparently they insist.

Yay, me.

It's not that I don't want to see them. I miss them terribly. If I'm being completely honest, my trepidation stems from my inability to land this story. Tanya and Kate know me as confident—the girl that gets what she wants no matter the price. I haven't achieved jack shit in my time here, and I'm not exactly eager to admit that, or for them to see me like...this. Flailing and desperate.

"What's eating at you?"

I would have been pleasantly surprised at Lauren's concern, if her question didn't sound like an accusation.

"Nothing," I grunt, closing my eyes and sighing heavily.

"Doesn't look like nothing." I think the snide tone of her disbelief just killed a fairy somewhere.

"Oh, yeah?" Struggling to keep the sarcasm from my voice, I turn to my side and offer her a contrived smile. "And what does it look like, oh, great oracle."

She arches an eyebrow without directing her gaze at me. Her sparkly pink lips form a pout as she lightly blows at her nails.

"Looks like you're pissed, actually."

"Mhh..." I murmur half-heartedly and return to my previous position, crossing my legs at the ankles and folding my hands over my stomach. Perfect position for a burial—which I'm most likely heading to career wise.

"I heard about your interesting question in session today."

"Who told?"

"I know someone in your group." When I don't respond, she continues on a sigh. "You know, I'm pretty attuned to your moods."

I laugh for the first time in hours.

"Okay." There's no hiding my scepticism. She's so full of it.

"You can learn a lot about someone by just watching them," she continues, as if I haven't spoken. A classic Lauren move.

"Sure." I have no idea where she's heading with this. Is she admitting to being a creepy stalker? If that's the case, it's going to take more than the possibility of death by nail-file to make me lose any sleep.

"People's actions, and comings and goings can give away a lot."

I frown at the ceiling and eventually turn my head to watch her.

She regards me from the corner of her eye, before turning her attention back to her claws.

Staring through her, much like Edward did in session earlier today, her words echo in my head. What is she hinting to?

And then it hits me.

I need to become a creepy stalker.

It's the only way.

I don't have time to ponder the possibility that Lauren is onto me. The revelation has me jumping from my bed, making Lauren startle and drag a line of purple nail polish over her knuckle.

"Lauren," I exclaim and try to ignore her murderous glare. "You're an angel."

"You're deluded."

"I love you." I laugh, skipping towards the door.

"The feeling is not mutual," she deadpans.

"Aw." I turn and flash a cutesy smile. "I know you care."

"No I don't," she huffs. "Go away."

"Gladly."

And I know exactly where I'm going.

Xoxo

I make my way down the steps, towards the corridor I'm looking for. It's after 10 PM, and I know we're not supposed to be outside our rooms now.

I'm praying that the on-duty security guard is either asleep or texting his girlfriend instead of watching the monitors.

Moving as quietly as I possibly can, I duck into the corridor leading to the reception area and the nurse's office.

I'm just about to veer left when a hand touches my shoulder.

"Shit," I squeal and spin around.

"Where do you think you're going?" Felix asks with a frown digging deeply between his brows.

I attempt to speak, but my throat's too dry so I make a choking sound instead.

"Headache," I groan for effect and point to my temple.

"The nurse's office is straight ahead." He indicates over my shoulder.

"Okay, thanks." I smile tightly and attempt to turn out of his firm grip. I twist my head back and drop my eyes to his hand on my shoulder pointedly in a silent request for him to let me go already.

"There was some commotion a couple of nights ago." He drops his hand but stills me with his leading question. "I thought I saw someone going into the storage room down there." He waves a hand at the exact place I was heading to before he caught me. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

I think, regardless of my answer, he already believes I'm guilty. He's right of course, but there's no way I'm admitting it.

"'Fraid not, sorry." My throat couldn't be any tighter if he circled his hands around it and squeezed.

He considers me for a contemplative second, the beady little pupils of his eyes scanning mine, looking for a crack in my armour.

He finds none as I stare back with steely resolve.

"Alright then." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "To the nurse and then back to your room."

"Of course." I nod, and this time when I turn to leave, he doesn't stop me.

I spin the pudgy nurse on duty the same lie about having a headache. She drops exactly one Tylenol in my hand—big fucking whoop—and has me fill in a plethora of forms.

"To be sure you don't overindulge," she informs me, and then, in a militaristic voice demands that I drink the pill in her presence. To ensure I don't give it to an unauthorized individual, of course.

When I make my way out of her tiny dispensary, the hallway is once again quiet. I walk slowly with my head bent and just before I can talk myself out of it, I turn into the forbidden corridor and stealthily make my way towards the storage room.

I'm almost there when a hand grabs my elbow and yanks me to the right, nearly lifting me off the ground. I'm about to shout bloody murder, when an arm snakes around my waist and pulls me into a hard chest. His other hand clamps over my mouth before a whimper can escape my lips.

My heart is beating wildly in my chest as panic starts to set in.

"Don't make a sound." The relief I feel when I hear the all too familiar voice grumbling in my ear, makes my knees buckle.

He tightens his grip around my waist to prevent me from falling to my knees.

"I'm letting you go now." His voice has taken on a slightly less threatening quality. "Are you okay to stand?"

I nod vigorously, desperate to have my mouth freed.

Gently, I feel his hand over my mouth slip away, and then his arm around my waist follows. I turn slowly and take a step back, tilting my head back to get a good look at him.

The cape of his hoody pulled over his head really doesn't hide that fact that he's freaking gorgeous. It's his lips, I decide. He has a moist, red ducky mouth, and all I can think about when we're standing this close is sucking on it.

"Stop gaping and start talking." Why does he have to ruin everything?

"I'm not following you," I release on an exasperated grunt.

His humourless chuckle is accompanied by a sceptical arch of his brows.

"I know what it looks like," I huff. "I was actually heading to your little sanctuary when you pulled me into..." I trail off, taking a second to scope out my environment. "Before you yanked me into the phone booth...section...thingy." I wave my arms at our surroundings.

"Why were you heading there?" He still looks unconvinced, but a fraction of the anger has seeped from his stiff posture.

"I needed to speak to you. I was taking a chance."

He doesn't respond, obviously waiting for me to elaborate.

"I want to know how the cameras work." I really, really do, but I'm not telling him why, because the why to that question involves my new stalking strategy, and my new stalking strategy directly involves the beautiful idiot standing in front of me.

His utter disbelief at my request is almost comical.

"And pray tell, why the ever-loving fuck would I tell you that?" The question is delivered on an incredulous laugh.

"I just want a little privacy every once in a while." My reasoning sounds lame, but what else am I going to say. "Not for the same reasons you do, of course, but still." The second that sentence leaves my mouth, I regret uttering it.

Confusion mars his features as he tilts his head to the side. The sliver of pale neck revealed by his motions looks mouth-wateringly soft. I bet he would smell best right there...right in the crook.

"I'm dying to know what my reasons are," he murmurs dryly, those ducky lips slightly pouted in curiosity.

"Um, well, you know?" I shrug.

"I really don't. Please, enlighten me." It's dark, but I can definitely hear the scoff in his voice.

"For, you know, recreational purposes." I tilt my head deliberately to his groin, and then quickly look away before my entire face explodes in mortification.

A choking noise has my gaze snapping up, only to find Edward's head thrown back, chest shaking with silent laughter. I'm sure if we didn't have to be quiet, he would be howling with laughter right now.

The view from where I'm standing is quite enticing. I've never seen him laugh before, and the pure joy of it has my mouth tilting into an involuntary smile.

He finally drops his head and settles his glassy eyes on mine. I check my grin and feign ignorance.

"You think—" he stops to catch his breath and compose himself. "You think that I go in there to masturbate?"

I decide to shrug in answer and silently start humming the star spangled banner, astutely ignoring the havoc his using that word is causing on my hormones, and diligently avoiding his eyes.

"Lady, that's what showers are for." His explanation is not helping me out one damn bit.

I swallow thickly and raise my eyes to see his still filled with laughter. It makes him look younger, even slightly vulnerable.

"Let me get this straight." There is no mistaking the mocking cadence in his voice. "You were on your way to the storage room, thinking that I use it to beat off, and you still decided to pop in?"

"I—uh." Fuck. "I honestly didn't think that far ahead."

"Seems to be a running theme with you."

"I resent that."

"Who cares?"

This is not turning out how I planned.

I sigh heavily and push my hands through my hair in frustration.

"Please, Edward," I practically beg.

He watches me for long, silent moments. It's clear that the cogs are turning in that pretty little head of his, and I'm not convinced that his response is going to be one I want to hear.

"What do I get in return?" Ah, I expected that. I can barter.

"My silence." The expression on his face confirms that I have him by the short and curlies. If he helps me, I keep my silence about his little playroom. If he doesn't, I run to Marcus—which I would never do—but he doesn't know that.

"If you get caught, you don't mention me."

My relief is palpable as my shoulders slump on a heavy sigh.

"Not a word." I raise my right hand. "Scout's honour."

His reply is an unimpressed snort.

"Besides, I won't get caught."

"Not holding my breath, sweetheart." There is absolutely nothing endearing about the way he uses the endearment.

"This is a dead zone." He twirls his finger around, indicating the shadowy alcove between the corridor and the phone booths we're standing in.

"What's a 'dead zone'?" I'm practically vibrating with excitement.

"A place where none of the cameras reach." I nod to indicate that I understand. I also remember hearing Emmett and Rosalie in the throes of passion in this exact same spot the other night. They have to know the cameras too, which leads me to believe that Edward either told Emmett about it, or it's the other way around.

"There's a few others scattered throughout the building, but I'll have to show them to you 'cause their timing is tricky."

"Will you show me now?"

"No."

Okay then.

"The sleeping quarters and the storage room are the only places without cameras."

"Got it. Camera free zones." Edward regards me blankly for a moment before droning on. I'm such a freaking douche nozzle around this guy.

"The rest of the building has rolling eye cameras—"

"What's that?" I interrupt him.

"Come here." He grabs my sleeve and pulls me, none too gently, to what I assume is the boundary line of the shadows. He drops my sleeve and raises a hand to point to a camera in the far left corner of the corridor.

I see a small black ball turning from side to side inside a bigger white ball.

"The black part is called the eye. This specific cameras' eye turns from side to side."

"You could have just said that to start with," I grumble petulantly, but it's like talking to a brick wall.

"The cameras are all on timers, and whoever installed them weren't very clever about it. If you're facing north," he checks to see if I'm following, "that would be in the direction of the ocean."

I nod, thankful that he elaborated, as I had no effing clue which way north would be. What is it with men and compass directions anyway? How about explaining stuff using beacons, like the ocean in this instance, or turn left when you reach the Wal-Mart on your right.

"All the cameras on the left hand side of the corridor will rotate to their left, and all the cameras on the right will rotate to the right."

"So it's cross-eyed."

"Exactly. They also pause in this position for a few moments, blink, and then rotate again."

"Blink?"

"Yeah, it's an installation error. The blink is when you have to make your move."

He proceeds to explain the counting and the math of the whole thing, and in the end, I feel like it may have been a stretch for me to believe I could pull this off. I'm not much of a techy, and all this seems way too complicated.

"Do you understand?" His expression tells me that he knows I'm lost.

"Yeah, I got it." I shrug. "No problem."

"You're going to get caught."

"No I'm not." I attempt to sound confident, but he's right, I'm so getting caught.

"You're going to have to be shown, aren't you?" He couldn't sound less impressed even if he tried.

"Mebbe..." I grin innocently, hoping that I might charm him into offering his assistance.

"Not happening tonight."

"What? You have other pressing plans?" I mock with a snort.

"I don't know." The dry tone of his voice tells me I walked right into this one. "I might take matters into my own hands, being the sexual deviant you seem to think I am. I'd hate to thwart your already flattering image of me."

I'm floundering like a fish out of water.

"What room are you in?" His question throws me completely. Is he honestly considering coming into my room? To what? Fuck?

"Maybe I gave you the wrong impression—"

"Please stop there before you embarrass yourself," he interrupts my rejection sardonically. "I'm asking so I can come fetch you tomorrow morning and show you the cameras."

I feel myself blush. Although I appreciate that he stopped me, I don't think it really helped much in terms of saving me from embarrassment.

"Room four." I mumble.

"Do you have kitchen duty?"

"Yes, at six," I speak to my feet.

"I'll be there at five. I'll only knock once." He steps forward and presses one long finger under my chin, tilting my head back so I have no other choice but to meet his gaze.

My breath catches in my throat at his proximity, at the mere smell of him.

"Don't make me wait, Bella."

"I won't," I croak.

"If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll make the remainder of your stay here a living hell."

"I won't."

"Just so you know..." He drops his hand and steps back. "I don't trust you."

"I don't exactly trust you either." I can't help but feel offended by his words, even though he is completely right to feel that way. He doesn't know that though, so his doubts are entirely unfounded and harsh in my opinion.

"Then we're on the same page."

"Absolutely."

"Perfect," he quips.

"Great." I smile tartly.

"I know I'm going to regret this," he sighs.

Oh, Edward. You have no idea just how much.

xoxo

Everyone still with me?

Happy Valentine's Day!

With love...

Your Mistress

xoxo