Sheviking - Crossing The Lines PDF

Crossing the Lines
sheviking
Contents
Copyright Information 4
Summary 5
Chapter 1 6
Chapter 2 13
Chapter 3 20
Chapter 4 25
Chapter 5 32
Chapter 6 42
Chapter 7 50
Chapter 8 57
Chapter 9 65
Chapter 10 73
Chapter 11 82
1
Chapter 12 92
Chapter 13 103
Chapter 14 117
Chapter 15 138
Chapter 16 151
Chapter 17 169
Chapter 18 186
Chapter 19 200
Chapter 20 212
Chapter 21 232
Chapter 22 250
Chapter 23 273
Chapter 24 298
Chapter 25 325
Chapter 26 349
2
Chapter 27 374
Chapter 28 397
Chapter 29 418
Chapter 30 433
Chapter 31 446
Chapter 32 466
Chapter 33 484
Chapter 34 509
Chapter 35 540
Chapter 36 559
3
Copyright Information
This ebook was automatically created by FicLab on 30th June

2017, based on content retrieved from https://www.fanfiction.net/s/
9856697/.
The content in this ebook is copyrighted by sheviking or their
authorised agent(s). All rights are reserved unless explicitly stated
otherwise. Please do not share or republish this work without the
express permission of the copyright holder.
If you are the author or copyright holder, and would like fur-
ther information about this ebook, please read the author FAQ at
www.ficlab.com/author-faq.
This story was first published on 18th November 2013, and was last
updated on 30th June 2017.
4
Summary
title: Crossing the Lines

author: sheviking
source: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9856697/
published: 18th November 2013

updated: 30th June 2017
chapters: 36
words: 140 298
status: Complete
rating: Fiction M
tags: Twilight, Fanfiction, Books,
Drama, Hurt, Comfort,
Complete
Description
*ATTENTION! THIS STORY IS BEING TAKEN DOWN ON
JULY 7TH, 2017* Desperate times call for desperate measures. Bella
is starving for a better life for her and her son, and taking her clothes
off in front of a stranger is just the first of many lines she’ll cross.
5
Chapter 1
Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyers.

I had promised myself I wouldn’t start posting this, until
I had all of it pre-written. And yet, here I am. But, there’s
a good reason for it, I promise. First of all, it’s Mauigirl60’s
birthday today! This wouldn’t have been written if it weren’t
for her. Thank you, my friend, for all the late night talks
and helpful suggestions.
Second, thank you so much to everyone who voted for
my stories in the Twific Fandom Awards. The Blizzard and
Amazing both received 3rd place awards! :D
Now, I know a lot of you are thinking, “yeah, a new story
is great and all, but what about your old ones?” All I can
say is, I’m sorry. Those of you who are also writers know
that you cannot force inspiration. Believe me, I’ve tried.
I’ve written and deleted the next Blizzard chapter 3 times
already. It just isn’t working for me at the moment. I’ll keep
trying, I swear. They’ll start talking to me again, eventually.
Right now, this story is screaming at me to be written.
Anyway, about this one: chapters will be short and I’ll do
my best to post once a week. It won’t be a long story, as
far as I have planned. Oh, and it contains smut. So there’s
your warning.
“Mommy, I’m hungry.”
I look up from the help wanted ads and try to smile at my son.
I hope I’m successful. I hope he doesn’t see the anxiety I feel from
hearing his simple request.
6
“Okay, baby. Grilled cheese sandwich?”
Please, say yes.
My sweet boy does exactly that and I’m able to relax just a little
as I rise and begin assembling the stuff I need: dry bread, the last
two slices of the cheese and a stick of butter. The empty cavern of my
fridge stares back at me as I take out the few items and quickly make
Seth a meager dinner. I know it must taste stale but he starts eating
enthusiastically despite this fact.
“What about you, Mommy?”
“I’m not hungry,” I lie.
The truth is that I’m starving, but not just for food. I’m starving
for more than this—for more than this rundown apartment, for more
than this life. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. In high school, I was
the golden girl—the cheerleader, the prom queen, the most popular
student. I was supposed to go to college, graduate and live a wonderful
life without any worries. A positive pregnancy test at the end of my
senior year changed all that. I refused to get rid of “it”, as my religious
parents had demanded. So, while the rest of my high school friends
went on to pursue their educations, my then-boyfriend and I moved
to the city. I was intent on making a good life for my little family.
Now, five years later, my boyfriend is gone and an eviction notice is
hidden underneath the pile of bills on my kitchen table. I think it’s
safe to say I’ve hit rock bottom. I’ve even considered contacting my
parents for help, knowing that they’ll probably hang up on me anyway.
I haven’t talked to them since Seth was born. I had called to let them
know and my mother started crying—not happy tears, but tears of
shame. My father intercepted the call and ended it promptly, telling
me goodbye in a tone that left little room for misinterpretation. I’m
not welcome inside their perfect life, and neither is my bastard son.
I look at my sweet boy, munching on his sandwich, and wonder how
7
anyone could reject him. I’ve never once regretted having him. Not
during the thirty-two hours of labor, not when he cried every night for
two months because of colic, and not even when Mike left six months
ago, never to return. Seth is my whole world and I’ll do anything for
him.
“Finish up, hon,” I say. “You’re spending the night at Mrs. Cope’s.”
His face drops, but he nods. I know he doesn’t want to go, but I
have no choice. I have to find work and there aren’t a lot of options for
me—a twenty-two year old with little job experience and no marketable
skills to speak of. In the bathroom, I put on too much makeup and
tease my long hair before changing. My nice outfits won’t do tonight.
I’ve tried every diner, restaurant and shop I can think of with no luck.
I have to go elsewhere tonight and with a small sigh, I pull out a short,
tight skirt and a low-cut top, pairing the outfit with stilettos. I hide
myself underneath a coat before going back into the kitchen because I
don’t want Seth to see me dressed this way.
Ten minutes later, I knock on Mrs. Cope’s door, which is just down
the hall from our apartment. She’s always home.
“Bella,” she greets me, looking me over with a frown.
“Hi, Mrs. Cope, I have to go out. Would you mind . . .?”
Seth is hiding behind me, clutching the hem of my coat in silent
protest.
“Come on in,” she sighs, reaching out her hand to my son.
“Mommy,” he whispers, looking up at me with wide eyes.
I kneel down as best as I can in my restrictive outfit until I’m at
eye level with him.
“I’m coming back, baby. I promise. It’s just for a few hours.”
He’s terrified of me leaving and no amount of reassurance on my
8
part seems to help. I understand why he’s scared, though. Fucking
Mike and his promise to come back soon—it’s been six months and
Seth’s still waiting; each day his heart breaks a bit more when his
Daddy doesn’t show up. Seth wraps his little arms around my neck
and squeezes until I can hardly breathe.
“Listen,” I whisper. “I love you, baby, and I swear I’m coming back.
I’ll never leave you, not ever.”
“Not ever?”
“Not ever,” I promise, and I mean it with my whole heart. “I’ll be
back before you know it.”
“Okay,” he sniffs.
Mrs. Cope huffs impatiently above us. She’s a no-nonsense kind of
lady and I’m sure she thinks I’m coddling Seth, but I honestly don’t
give a shit what she thinks. I’m grateful for her help, though. Her
apartment smells like stale cigarette smoke and her cat, Buster, scares
Seth, but tonight she’s all we’ve got.
“Come on, young man,” she says, as Seth reluctantly releases me.
“Did you have dinner?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“You have room for dessert? I bought pie. It’s in the kitchen.”
“Yes, please.”
Seth wanders into her hallway, giving me one last look before getting
his dessert.
“Thank you, Mrs. Cope,” I say, hobbling to my feet in those stupid
heels.
She looks me over.
“Where’re you off to?”
9
“I have to get a job. Any job.”
She nods slowly, taking a drag of her cigarette.
“You be careful,” she warns, waving it at me.
“I will. I’ll be back in a few hours. If he falls asleep, don’t wake
him, okay? I’ll just carry him home.”
She closes the door with a small shake of her head. I know she
doesn’t approve, but what else can I do at this point? Steeling myself,
I pull the strap of my nearly-empty purse over my shoulder and walk
out of the building into the night.
Two hours later, I’m walking down the sidewalk, trying to keep
myself from crying. I’m humiliated and defeated. I went to the club. I
crossed that line and ending up taking my clothes off in the manager’s
office. I fucking did it and what did it get me? Nothing!
“You’re not hot enough to dance on stage,” he told me.
My tits are too small—meaning they’re real—and the rest of me
too skinny.
“Quit starving yourself, and maybe we can work something out,”
he said.
I nearly screamed. I’m fucking broke and in order for my child to
eat, I skip meals.
“I’m sorry, baby,” I whisper into the cold night air, blinking back
tears. “I tried.”
I don’t know what to do now. There’s no more money, and there’s
food for maybe two more days. The rent is long overdue, and if we
get kicked out on the street, they’ll take Seth away from me! My
heart grips with fear and I have to stop walking and concentrate on
breathing.
“How much?”
10
I startle and nearly trip as I lose my balance. A dark car has pulled
over and the passenger side window is lowered.
“W-what?”
“How much?”
How much for what?
Then, the proverbial ton of bricks hits me. He thinks I’m a hooker!
Well, I guess I do look like one, sort of. Shit.
“I’m not a—”
“I don’t care,” the voice interrupts. “How. Much?”
“Look!” I say sharply. “I’m not a hooker, okay? I’m just trying to
get home.”
“Three hundred dollars.”
Whoa!
I don’t know the going rate, but I’m pretty sure it’s less than that.
Three hundred dollars! To me, that’s a lot of money. I can almost
taste the food I’d be able to buy with it, feel the heaviness of the
grocery bags in my hands, and practically see the brimming shelves
in my fridge as I put it all in there. And Seth, my darling boy, could
have a real hot breakfast in the morning!
“F-for what?” I ask, stepping closer to the car.
The door opens and I catch a glimpse of a suit sleeve and a large
hand.
I know I shouldn’t do this. It’s dangerous. But I can’t lose Seth!
Quickly, I bury my right hand in my coat pocket, gripping the can of
mace I’d put there earlier as if it’s my lifeline, which I suppose isn’t
an exaggeration in this case.
11
Climbing into the car with my heart in my throat, I don’t know if
I’m about to make a huge mistake, but I have no choice. I’m desperate.
I’m crossing another line.
So, yeah, that happened. It’s a little different from my
usual stuff. Hope you liked it just the same. :)
Now, please help me wish Mauigirl60 a very happy birth-
day!
P.S: In case you hadn’t noticed, My Viking was taken
down by the FFN admins. I have reposted it on two great
sites that you can find on my profile page. If this story, or
any others are removed, I’ll repost them there.
See you next week!
12
Chapter 2

Absolutely overwhelmed by the response to the first chap-
ter of this story. Thank you so much for all your reviews
and PMs! Mauigirl60, thank you so much for all your help
and advice. We’re in this together! ;)
I’m posting this early, because today is a very special day
for someone who’s close to my heart; my beta EdwardsEter-
nal, whose real name is Melanie Moreland. Today, she has
taken a huge step and is becoming a published author! Her
novel Into the Storm is out and you can purchase it on Ama-
zon in either a Kindle version or paperback. Congratula-
tions, my dear friend!
BPOV
The man inside the car is nothing like I expected. He’s good-looking,
in a corporate sort of way, wearing a nice dark suit with a shirt and
tie. His dark hair is neatly styled, he’s clean shaven and I can smell
his cologne from where I’m sitting. It’s nice. He’s a lot older than
me, probably in his early forties. All in all, he doesn’t seem like the
kind of man who’d have to solicit a girl in order to have sex, but then
again, what do I know? I’ve never done anything like this before, so I
really don’t have a clue what type of men solicit prostitutes.
“Close the door,” he says with an air of impatience.
I hesitate. Am I really doing this? I can’t get out if he decides
to lock it. Also, I have to take my hand off the mace in my pocket.
That’s not my only worry, though.
“You’re not a cop, right?” I ask. “You have to tell me if you are.
13
It’s like the law or something.”
“Is it?”
“I . . . think I saw it on a TV show,” I say, feeling stupid.
“I’m not a cop,” he says after a moment. “And you’re obviously
not a hooker.”
“I told you I wasn’t.”
“Do you want to do this or not?” he asks.
I swallow back the tears I feel approaching. I have to do this.
“Yes,” I answer, closing the door. “I need the money.”
He eyes me speculatively for a moment before nodding to himself.
“Yes, you do, don’t you?” he says, steering the car back onto the
road.
We drive for a little while, saying nothing to each other. I keep a
close watch on him, and my hand is back on the mace in my pocket.
Finally, he turns the car into an alley between two large warehouse
buildings and shuts off the engine. Guess this is it.
“So, uh, what do you want?” I ask, glancing over at him.
“I’d like a blow job.”
He says it as if he’d ordered a cup of coffee from a waitress. Still,
I’m relieved. I thought he would’ve demanded a lot more.
“I should get the money first, right?”
Why the hell am I asking him?!
He looks slightly amused as he pulls out his wallet, taking three
one-hundred dollar bills from a large wad of cash and handing them
to me. Jeez, this guy must be loaded! Stuffing them in my purse, I
resist the urge to thank him. I know I’ll have to earn that money now,
14
doing something I’d never, ever imagined doing. I’m a good girl. I’ve
only slept with my high school boyfriend and he hardly ever asked for
this.
“Take off your coat,” the man demands.
I manage to wrestle my way out of it, rubbing my bare arms as the
cool air hits me.
“The top, too.”
For the second time tonight, I find myself showing my nakedness
to a stranger. I look away from him as it comes off.
“Eyes to me,” he directs.
I force myself to meet his gaze. I can’t tell what color his eyes are,
except that they’re light. Blue, maybe?
“You’re a beautiful girl,” he says.
It doesn’t really sound like a compliment to me, but more like he’s
stating a fact.
“Thanks,” I mumble anyway.
“How old are you?” he asks.
“Twenty-two.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Yeah, you look younger, and I’m really not into the whole underage
thing.”
I flinch slightly when he reaches out and runs his large hand up my
arm and then across my chest, fondling my breasts. My nipples have
hardened in the cold and he tugs on both of them, making me gasp.
“C’mere,” he says, pulling me closer.
15
I tense up. We’re face-to-face and he’s looking me over with unmis-
takable desire. I imagine I must appear to him as a deer caught in
the headlights, with my wide-eyed frightened look. He cradles my jaw
and runs his thumb across my mouth, smearing my lipstick.
“None of that shit,” he whispers. “You don’t need it.”
He leans in and I close my eyes, thinking he’ll kiss me. Instead, I
feel his lips against my cheek as they slide across it and reach my ear.
“Now, suck me off like a good girl.”
My heart hammers in my chest as I watch him move his seat back
and undo his pants, his movements slow and deliberate. He doesn’t
take them off, but simply unzips and pulls out his cock. I can’t
help but stare since I’ve only ever seen Mike’s and this man looks
very different from what I’m used to. He’s a lot bigger, and he’s
uncircumcised, the tip already glistening. With a firm hand on my
neck, the man pushes me down and I have just a second to wet my
lips before he’s in my mouth.
I can’t believe I’m doing this!
My lips stretch around his girth and I do my best to calmly breathe
through my nose as he pushes me nearly all the way down. Wrapping
his hand around my hair, he guides my movements as I do my best to
make him come as quickly as possible. Clearly, I’m not doing a very
good job, because it seems like he can go on forever. My jaw starts to
ache, my lower back is protesting at being bent in such a weird angle
and I think I’m drooling all over his fancy dress pants. All the while,
he says nothing but a few low “fucks” and “yeahs”, particularly when
he hits the back of my throat and I gag around him. I guess he likes
that, for some reason.
Suddenly, he presses me down and thrusts his hips up in rapid jerky
movements, pushing his cock farther into my throat. I cough and
16
sputter around him, pulling myself up. Cringing, I feel him coming in
warm thick spurts on the side of my face. As soon as his grip on my
hair loosens, I sit up and start furiously wiping at my cheek, getting
the mess on my hands instead. As I catch my breath, I wonder what
I did wrong. It’s not supposed to nearly suffocate you when you give
a blow job, I do know that. Whenever I did it to Mike, it was part of
foreplay and it was okay. I hope this guy, who’s now fixing his pants,
isn’t mad at me and wants his money back. Realistically, he just paid
three hundred dollars for the shittiest blow job ever, so I’m sure he’s
not too happy right now. I glance over but I can’t read his expression.
He’s running his hands through his hair, looking into space.
“I, uh, I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I haven’t really done that before.”
He looks over at me, his eyes drawn to my naked chest before
settling on my face. When he leans toward me, I press myself against
the door, scared he’ll strike out at me. Instead, he opens the glove
compartment and reaches inside to pull out a box of wet wipes. He
hands me a few that I use to clean off my hands and face.
“Next time, swallow when I come,” he says.
Next time!
My mind is reeling from his casual sounding comment. Quickly, I
pull my top back on and grab my coat, burying my hand in the pocket
just in case he tries something.
“I’ll drive you home,” he says, starting the car. “Where to?”
I tell him my neighborhood and notice his slight frown. Obviously,
he knows it’s in a bad part of town, but he drives me anyway. We
don’t talk on the way there and I tell him to pull over at the market
two blocks from my building that’s open twenty-four hours.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say, undoing my seatbelt.
“Wait.”
17
Shit.
He reaches into his pocket and hands me a card.
“Be at this address tomorrow night at eight.”
I don’t look at it.
“What? Why?”
“I want to see you again,” he says, like it’s really that simple.
“I can’t, sorry.”
I’m halfway out of the car when he speaks again.
“I’ll pay you five hundred dollars.”
And there it is. I turn around to face him again.
“What, uh, what do I have to do for it?” I ask.
His gaze is steely.
“Anything I ask.”
Double shit.
“You . . . won’t hurt me, will you?”
The look in his eyes softens a bit.
“No, I won’t hurt you.”
“This is your place?” I ask, holding up the card.
He nods.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll be there.”
“Good girl.”
What an incredibly weird thing to say.
“Um, good night.”
18
I climb out of the car without looking back and rush into the market,
feeling safer underneath the familiar fluorescent lights. As I move
through the aisles, throwing groceries inside my cart, you’d think I’d
feel bad about what I’ve done tonight, but I don’t. All I can think
about is picking up Seth at Mrs. Cope’s and then waking him with a
huge breakfast in the morning.
For the first time in weeks, I feel myself smiling genuinely.
Who was that, I wonder?
Have a great weekend, everyone, and I’ll see you next
week!
19
Chapter 3
Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

I know this is short, but I figure a lot of you are busy today
anyway. Happy Thanksgiving and Chanukah to those who
celebrate, and happy Thursday to the rest of you. I’m not
American, but I’d still like to say that I’m very thankful this
year. I’m thankful both my kids have gotten their diagnoses
so we can get them help, I’m thankful my mom’s cancer was
discovered as quickly as it was and has now been removed,
and I’m thankful for my husband, who supports me in ev-
erything I do. I’m thankful for Mauigirl60’s friendship and
awesome beta skills (any mistakes are mine. I really should
just leave it alone after she’s looked at it), and last, but not
least, I’m thankful for all of you who are reading right now.
Enjoy!
BPOV
“Mommy, you came back,” Seth mumbles as I gently lift him off
the couch.
“Of course I did, sweet boy,” I whisper, cradling him in my arms.
He smiles and falls asleep again almost immediately, his head on
my shoulder.
“How’d it go?” I ask, turning to Mrs. Cope.
“Just fine. He doesn’t like my cat much, though.”
I nod, glancing at it. It’s watching me with narrowed eyes and then
hisses for no apparent reason. Demon spawn.
20
“Listen, I know it’s a lot to ask, but . . . could you possibly watch
him again tomorrow night? I have someplace I need to be at 8 o’clock.”
Mrs. Cope watches me closely.
“You get a job?”
“Yeah.”
It’s not technically a lie. I’ll be getting paid for whatever I have to
do.
“All right.”
“Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver.”
Mrs. Cope doesn’t pry, thankfully. I’m not sure what I’d tell her
if she decided to ask for more details. Seth is getting heavy in my
arms and I leave quickly, carrying both him and the bags from the
market. After I’ve tucked him in, I put the groceries away and take a
much needed shower. Under the lukewarm spray, I allow myself to cry
for a minute or two, and then force myself to stop. I feel dirty, but I
don’t regret my decision to get into the strange man’s car. I remind
myself that I can feed my son and that’s all that matters. Besides, it
could’ve been a lot worse. The man in the car wasn’t violent or crazy,
and he drove me home afterward. With the 500 dollars I’m getting
tomorrow, I’m well on my way to paying at least part of what I owe
the landlord. Good thing this place is dirt cheap.
I know it won’t be enough to last for a long time, and I need a
steady income. My parents aren’t going to help and neither will Mike’s
parents. I tried calling them several times after he left us, but they’ve
either hung up on me or refused to respond to the many messages
I’ve left, explaining my situation to them. They can’t stand me and I
know they think it’s my fault Mike didn’t go to college. After we told
them I was pregnant, they blamed me, like I had done it on purpose
or something. I thought we were being careful and we used something
21
every time, so it came like a complete shock to the both of us. Mike
mentioned going to a clinic, but I wouldn’t hear of it and he came
around after a little while. Maybe he felt guilty. He was the one who
wanted to have sex and he was pretty relentless about it until I finally
gave in. Two months later, I was pregnant.
My relationship with Mike changed very soon after Seth was born.
He wasn’t exactly an easy baby, always fussing and crying, and I
could tell from early on that Mike regretted his decision of becoming
a father. He was distant and angry most of the time. Still, Seth loves
his father and asks for him often. I don’t know what to tell him. I
don’t know where he is and I have no idea how to go about finding
him. His boss says he simply quit, and I’ve filed a missing person’s
report, but so far there’s been no word from the overworked police of
the city. They have more important things to do than to hunt down
an errant father, who’s not in any danger. He simply doesn’t want us
anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want him either. If he came
back, I wouldn’t be inviting him back into my heart or my bed. The
love we had for each other is long gone. Now, I only need him to be a
father to our son and to help pay the goddamn bills! But, it seems
the only one who’s willing to help me do that is the strange man in
the dark car. Christ, I don’t even know his name!
I throw on my robe and wrap my hair in a towel, check on Seth
who’s fast asleep, and look through my coat, locating the card he
handed me.
E.A. Masen
1011 Evergreen Point Road
Medina, Washington
Damn. He lives way out in the suburbs. It’s going to be a hassle
getting there since I don’t have a car. I know the neighborhood by
reputation only. It’s really swanky and my suspicion that E.A. Masen
22
is loaded was apparently spot on. He probably works here in Seattle
in an office and spends his nights and weekends in suburban bliss.
Must be nice. I wonder if he’s married. I didn’t notice a wedding
ring, but those come off easily, if he even wears one at all. Putting
the card back in my pocket, I push all thoughts of him from my mind.
No need to deal with the reality of him until I have to.
The rest of the night I spend on our lumpy couch watching blurry
TV, too tired to commit to putting a DVD in the ancient player no
one wants to buy. Believe me, I’ve tried. Most of our nicer things
have already been sold off, including all of Mike’s videogames and his
Wii. He left it for Seth, but soon putting food on the table became
more important. I know Seth misses playing, but I think that has
more to do with the fact that it was the only thing he and Mike really
did together.
One day I’ll get a new one and I’ll learn how to play. I promise,
baby.
Next morning I wake up, still on the couch. My back is a bit sore,
but that’s quickly forgotten when I remember what I’m about to do:
Cook my son a big breakfast, for the first time in months. Our kitchen
is small and old, but I keep it tidy and clean so it’s not so bad and
I work fast putting together pancakes, bacon and fruit. I’m making
myself a cup of instant when Seth shuffles in, rubbing his eyes.
“’Morning, sweetheart. You hungry?”
I’m so happy right now.
“You made pancakes and chocolate milk?”
Seth is now wide awake, staring at the small feast on the table.
“Is it my birthday, Mommy?”
I laugh, kneeling down to hug him.
23
“No, silly. You know your birthday isn’t for another couple of
months. Come and eat.”
And he does, probably way too much, but I don’t have the heart to
cut him off. Who knows when we’ll be able to splurge like this again?
And then I realize something. If I can do a good job tonight for E.A.
Masen, he might consider seeing me again, which means more money
for me and Seth. If I can eat like this for a while, I’ll regain my figure
and possibly land the job at the strip club. It’s good money, and while
it’s not the most honorable of professions, it’s legal and steady work.
It’s not the best plan in the world, but at this point it’s all I’ve
got. Looking at my son’s happy smile as he reaches for another piece
of bacon, I know that no matter what E.A Masen wants me to do
tonight, it’ll be worth it.
Yes, it IS Edward! Of course it is. I’m a canon girl all
the way. ;) I know some will be happy and some will be
disappointed because you didn’t like him. Well, that doesn’t
surprise me. This isn’t “Pretty Woman” and they won’t fall
madly in love in three days. It isn’t that kind of story.
As for Edward’s appearance: yes, I know he doesn’t look
exactly like he’s “supposed” to, but I can’t really see a
40 year old businessman with a pea coat and a bouffant
hairstyle. Imagine Robert Pattinson in Cosmopolis (just a
bit older) or DiorRob, and you’ll get the picture. :) He’ll be
in the next chapter, I promise. And It’ll be longer than this
one. Have a lovely day and I’ll see you next week.
24
Chapter 4

Thank you so much for reading and all your lovely reviews.
Reading your thoughts is definitely a highlight of my day
when I can sneak off to the computer. :)
Thank you, Mauigirl60, for all your help and suggestions.
They’re invaluable to me!
Now, who’s ready to go visit E.A Masen? :D
Enjoy!
BPOV
Getting to E.A Masen’s place in Medina is, as I predicted, a real
hassle. I’d dropped Seth off at Mrs. Cope’s in plenty of time, but he
was once again scared of me leaving him and it took a bit of convincing
to get him inside her apartment. Now, I’m running for the bus stop.
I’ll have to transfer at the station downtown and I really hope I make
it. I have a feeling E.A Masen isn’t the kind of man who cares for
tardiness. At all. Half an hour later, I’m frazzled and out of breath,
but at least I’m standing in front of the right bus, which is headed
out of the city in just a few minutes. I shuffle in and the driver asks
where I’m headed.
“Evergreen Port Road,” I tell him.
He looks me up and down.
“Next time, it’ll be a lot easier for you to take one of the employee
shuttles,” he explains. “Less stops on the way there and they’re
cheaper.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize there was such a thing.”
25
“Oh, sure. Can’t expect those fancy folks to refill their own drinks,”
he says with a friendly wink, obviously mistaking me for a maid or
server of some sort.
I’m grateful I decided not to dress as revealing as I had yester-
day. Tonight, I’m simply wearing my nicest jeans with a white top
underneath a jacket. I thank and pay the driver, then head to the
back, not really interested in making any more conversation. After
many stops in the city, it’s a short trip across the Evergreen Point
toll bridge and soon the driver calls out my stop. I step off the bus
and it’s like I’ve entered a new world. Medina is located across Lake
Washington and it’s supposedly a haven for wealthy people, filled
with golf courses, country clubs and, of course, million-dollar homes.
Rows of beachfront property stretch down along the coast as far as
the eye can see, with each house grander than the next. Taking a
deep breath, I start walking, trying to imagine what it must be like
to live here. I can’t. My parents are modest people and the small
town where I grew up didn’t have neighborhoods like this one. For
the last four years, I’ve lived in squalor, basically. Mike worked on
and off at a bike shop, fixing motorcycles, but it was never steady
work. I’ve stayed at home with Seth so I’ve never had an income at
all. I get a bit of assistance from the state, but until they launch an
official investigation to conclude that Mike’s no longer supporting us,
we live off almost nothing at all; hence, the reason for my being here
in Medina on a Saturday night. Suddenly, I realize that daylight is
fading and check my watch.
Fuck, I’m late!
I take off running, probably looking like a madwoman, but I don’t
care. I can’t afford to lose this job, or whatever the hell I should call
it. I just know I need that money! Being mindful of the addresses on
the houses and properties I pass, I reach my destination and turn into
a smaller road, leading down toward the lake. The house I get to looks
26
like three families could live there, rather than just one, and yet it’s
not nearly as excessive as those around it. Located right on the edge
of the lake, its three stories overlook the water and are surrounded by
tall trees; from my uneducated guess, I’d say it was designed by an
architect. I don’t stop to admire it, though, but hurry to the front
door and ring the bell. Moments later, the man from last night opens
it. He’s in a suit again this evening, but he’s loosened his shirt collar
and taken off his tie and jacket. The sleeves of his white shirt are
rolled up, revealing a large, very expensive-looking watch on his left
wrist. In the fading light, I notice that his eyes are more green than
blue, and his dark hair is actually a shade of auburn, that I wouldn’t
expect on a man. He’s very handsome, but obviously displeased. The
frown that’s already on his face deepens as he sees me. I’m panting for
breath, flushed and hunched over, which is definitely not an attractive
look on anyone.
“I’m sorry . . . I’m late,” I manage.
“How did you get here?”
“I, uh, I took the bus and then I ran the rest of the way.”
“I can see that,” he says, pursing his lips. “Why not a cab?”
Is he joking?
“It’s probably three times as much,” I explain.
He doesn’t respond and just stares at me, blocking the entrance
with his tall frame.
“Should I . . . leave?”
“No, come on in.”
He steps aside and holds the door open for me as I enter. The house
is gorgeous on the inside.
“Wow!” I exclaim, turning in a circle to take it all in.
27
E.A Masen is still watching me, so I try to dial down my gawking
at the fancy surroundings and, instead, look down at the polished
hardwood floor, hoping he’ll say something. I feel like shrinking
away when he moves to stand in front of me, placing his index finger
underneath my chin.
“Tell me your name,” he orders, lifting my face up.
“I-Isabella,” I stutter. “But I prefer Bella.”
“I don’t,” he says, and just like that, the discussion is over.
I don’t really mind. We’re on his dime so I guess he can call me
anything he wants.
“Isabella. You’ll refer to me as Mr. Masen or Sir, at all times. Is
that understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” I whisper.
“Good girl.”
He smiles, for the very first time in my presence. I don’t know
much about this Mr. Masen, but obedience is apparently something
he enjoys a great deal. His smile reveals tiny wrinkles at the corners
of his eyes, but they don’t detract from his good looks, quite the
opposite.
“Come with me,” he says, leading me up the winding staircase.
We pass several doors on the first floor before entering a huge
luxurious bathroom.
“I want you to take a shower,” he directs. “Use all the products
I’ve put out and dry your hair afterward. Then, I want you to put
this on and come join me in the kitchen. Understood?”
He points to a pretty floral print dress on a hanger by the door.
“Uh, y-yes, Sir.”
28
“Very good.”
I feel a bit shell-shocked after he’s left. He wants me to shower? I
sniff my armpits, but can’t find anything wrong with the way I smell.
I showered at home right before dropping Seth off so I’m already clean.
What a weirdo. Regardless, I do as I’m told, locking the door to
the bathroom first and removing what little makeup I have on. The
shower is really nice and I actually enjoy it. Mr. Masen has put out
both shampoo and conditioner, expensive salon brands that I could
never afford myself. Turning to the other bottle in the shower, I frown
and try my best to read the label but my high school French isn’t
proficient. I pour some of it in my hand and the texture tells me it’s
some kind of exfoliating body scrub, which I use all over. It smells
like flowers, but I don’t know which kind. After I’ve rinsed myself, I
quickly dry off with a fluffy towel, and wrap a smaller one around my
head. On the table next to the sink, I spot a comb, hair mousse and
a bottle like the French one in the shower, this one labeled, Lait pour
le corps.
Use all the products.
Dropping the towel, I apply the body lotion carefully all over,
wondering why Mr. Masen wants me to do all this in the first place.
It’s creepy.
It rubs the lotion on its skin.
“Stop it!” I whisper to myself, as I start on my hair.
Yes, it’s weird that I have to go through all this preparation, but so
be it. That doesn’t mean Mr. Masen’s a serial killer. He’s probably just
neat and prefers his women really, really clean. After I’ve blow-dried
my hair, I turn to the dress, faced with a dilemma. Mr. Masen hasn’t
provided me with any underwear, so does that mean I should wear
my own or forego them completely? Since my own clothes apparently
aren’t up to his standards, I decide that my inexpensive underwear
29
probably isn’t either and decide to go commando. Hell, I’m here to
have sex with the guy, right? Slipping the dress over my head, I look
at myself in the mirror. I look young and innocent with loose hair
and zero makeup on. Is this what he likes? I guess it could be a lot
worse. At least he’s not dressing me up in black leather and corsets.
Taking a deep breath, I unlock the door and make my way downstairs,
barefoot and barely covered up. I find him in the kitchen, poring over
a stack of papers at the table. I clear my throat softly, but he doesn’t
respond.
“Mr. Masen?”
He looks up, piercing me with his gaze.
“Never interrupt me when I’m working.”
My mouth drops open. God, he’s so rude!
“I’m sorry, Sir,” I say.
He stands and approaches me, looking me over with interest.
“You’re forgiven,” he says. “Did you want to ask me something?”
“Well, yes,” I say. “What . . . should I have done when I came
down here?”
I don’t want to annoy him. I need him to be happy with me, so
he’ll want to see me again.
“You should have waited for me to address you first. You’re here
for me, not the other way around. Tonight, you’re mine to do with as
I please and all you have to do is obey.”
Tears well up in my eyes, though I’m not sure why. He’s telling me
the truth and yet it’s hard to hear.
“None of that now,” he says in a surprisingly gentle voice, tucking
a lock of hair behind my ear.
30
I draw a deep breath, willing myself not to let my emotions get the
best of me. Mr. Masen smiles at me, running his fingers across the
apple of my cheek.
“There’s a good girl,” he whispers. “You ready to let me be in
charge?”
I nod, bracing myself for whatever he might inflict upon me.
“Very good,” he says, nodding. “Isabella, I’d like you to make me
an apple pie.”
What. The. Fuck?
Hah, didn’t see that one coming, did ya? ;)
By the way, Isabella was remembering the movie “Silence
of the Lambs” when she was putting the lotion on. If you’ve
seen it, you know what that’s all about. *Shudder* I promise,
this is not that kind of story either.
So, how does everyone feel about Mr. Masen now?
See you all next week!
31
Chapter 5

Thank you, thank you, thank you! I swear, I’ve never
laughed so much reading reviews before, as I did last week.
You guys are hilarious and I’m so happy you liked the chap-
ter. Thank you for all of your thoughts and prayers regarding
my mom and my kids. We’re doing all right and my mom
is on her second dose of chemo now, but feeling pretty good
all things considered.
Mauigirl60, what can I say? You already know how much
you mean to me. :)
As for some of your questions: I don’t give away plot,
sorry. You’ll just have to go along for the ride on this one.
What I can reveal is that there won’t be any abuse in this
story, so please don’t worry about that. Yes, My Viking was
removed and you can find its new locations by looking at
my profile page. No, I’m very sorry, but I don’t know when
I’ll find the time or inspiration to finish my other stories. I
write them as they come to me.
Okay, enjoy this fairly long chapter. :)
BPOV
“A-an apple pie, Sir?” I stutter.
Is that slang for some sort of sex act?
“Please tell me you know how to bake,” Mr. Masen says, sounding
a bit exasperated.
“Oh, yes, Sir.”
32
I nod eagerly, beyond relieved that he really is just talking about
baked goods.
“Good.” he says, smiling. “Feel free to make yourself at home in
my kitchen. You may begin.”
All righty then.
I rummage through the cupboards and the fridge, gathering bowls,
utensils and ingredients, and ignore the way Mr. Masen watches me.
After a few minutes, he finally takes a seat at the kitchen table again,
and I feel as though I can relax a bit more. His kitchen is every chef’s
dream and I find myself enjoying the task, even under these strange
circumstances. I feel as though I’m auditioning, but I have no clue
what role I’m up for. I thought this guy was just looking for sex, but
it seems I’m here for more than that.
As I begin to make the crust, Mr. Masen stands up and walks over.
I can feel him behind me, observing, and it makes me nervous. I
jump a little as his hands go into my hair, gathering it and wrapping
something around it to sweep it up. He leans down and inhales deeply
against the skin on my now exposed neck.
“Lovely,” he murmurs.
I don’t know if I should respond, so I stand perfectly still, my hands
still buried in the flour mixture.
“Keep working,” he urges.
I do as I’m told, gently mixing the ingredients while he watches
over my shoulder. His warm fingers fiddle with one of the thin straps
of the dress I’m wearing and, suddenly, he pushes it all the way down
to the crook of my elbow, exposing my left breast.
“That’s perfect,” he whispers in my ear. “Just like that.”
I’m mortified. He walks back to his seat and starts working again,
as though nothing is out of the ordinary. Meanwhile, I have no choice
33
but to keep baking, very much aware of the fact that it makes my
breasts jiggle with each move I make. It feels obscene. We’re in the
kitchen, for goodness’ sake! I glance over to where Mr. Masen is sitting
and find him watching me, yet again, while tapping his pen against
his lips. He is such a weirdo!
Sighing inwardly, I remind myself of the money and start peeling
and slicing the apples. After I’ve placed them on top of the crust, I
mix granulated sugar and cinnamon in a small bowl. But before I
sprinkle it over the apple slices, I pause. Not everyone likes cinnamon
in their apple pie. Does Mr. Masen? I don’t want to take a chance
on this. It seems like this pie is important so I can’t risk making
something he won’t enjoy. I look over at him, but he’s not watching
this time.
“M-”
I press my lips together, stopping the sound immediately.
Shit! I shouldn’t interrupt him while he’s working! Did he notice?
I look over again but, thankfully, he’s still bent over his papers.
Picking up the small bowl, I approach the table and stand still next
to his chair, saying nothing. The urge to cover myself is strong, but I
suppress it. For a few minutes, I’m rooted to the spot while he ignores
me. I feel like a tool, standing here with my breast hanging out, and
still I say or do nothing. Finally, he looks up at me, smiling.
“Yes, Isabella?” he says pleasantly.
“Excuse me, Sir. I was wondering if you like cinnamon in your pie?”
I hold the bowl out to show him. You know, in case he doesn’t
know what cinnamon is. God, I’m an idiot.
“Well, let’s see now,” he says, wrapping his long fingers around my
wrist, pulling me closer to him.
34
He opens his mouth and taps the tip of his index finger against his
tongue before dipping it in the bowl and then tasting the sugar and
cinnamon mixture.
“Hmm,” he says, looking up at me. “What do you think?”
Putting more of it on his finger, he pushes it between my parted
lips.
“Suck,” he orders.
I do as I’m told, hollowing out my cheek.
“Well?” he prompts, leaning in to sort of nuzzle my breast.
“I . . . I like cinnamon,” I whisper.
“As do I.”
I gasp as he wraps his lips around my exposed nipple, flicking
across it with his tongue. His eyes meet mine and he grins around my
sensitive flesh as his hands start trailing up the length of my thighs,
slipping underneath the dress. I turn red as his large hands cup my
ass, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“No underwear,” he murmurs after he’s released my nipple. “You
naughty girl.”
He starts exploring underneath the fabric. His touches are slow—
lazy almost—while he watches my face the whole time. My breath
hitches in my throat as a fingertip comes in contact with my most
sensitive place. His touches bear witness to his level of experience.
There’s no fumbling around, he knows what he’s doing.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “You didn’t give me any and I . . . I didn’t
think you’d like the ones I have.”
“You wanted to please me?”
The tip of his finger slides lower, slipping inside me. I nod in
response to his question.
35
“That’s good,” he says. “You really are a sweet girl, aren’t you,
Isabella?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Well, at least I used to be. Now, I don’t know what to call myself.
Mr. Masen removes his hands from me and pulls the other strap
down, which makes the dress fall off me completely. His eyes scan me
from head to toe, pausing on areas that are of particular interest to
him. Blindly, he moves his paperwork aside never taking his eyes off
me. When he suddenly rises, I take a step back, overwhelmed by his
height. Standing naked in front of him while he’s still fully dressed
makes me feel especially vulnerable, and I yelp when he grabs me.
“I won’t hurt you,” he practically croons in my ear. “I’m going to
fuck you right here on this table.”
He kisses the side of my neck and takes my hair down.
“You’ll let me do that, won’t you, Isabella?”
“Y-yes, Sir.”
“Good girl. Turn around and bend over.”
I obey, trembling lightly as I place my upper body on the cool
surface of the table and close my eyes.
“Spread your legs.”
Drawing a deep breath, I move my feet apart, exposing myself to
Mr. Masen.
“Beautiful,” he says softly.
I want to snort but, wisely, I don’t. His hands are back on me again
a second later, touching me in the right place. I suppress a moan when
two fingers slide inside while his thumb moves to rub tight circles,
making me breathe faster.
36
“That’s it,” he says, sounding very pleased. “Get my fingers nice
and wet.”
I sort of hate the fact that my body seems to like what he’s doing. It
makes it a lot harder to remain detached from this. On the other hand,
I’m grateful he hasn’t just plowed into me, which would, undoubtedly,
hurt. A moment later, he stops touching me and I hear him rustling
around, followed by the sound of his zipper. The crackle of the
condom wrapper relaxes me a lot because I have a good inclination
that Mr. Masen’s sexual past is very different from mine.
“You want this, pretty girl?”
He moves the head of his cock up and down the length of my pussy,
caressing my ass with his free hand. I nod my head, a bit puzzled
that he even bothered to ask at all. I’m here for him, just as he said.
“Tell me,” he orders. “I want to hear you say it.”
“I . . . I want it.”
The words are barely out before he grabs my hips and thrusts inside,
making me gasp loudly. He’s very big, stretching me to my limit and
I do my best to relax.
“Fuck, yes!” Mr. Masen breathes. “You’d better hold onto some-
thing.”
Two seconds later, I understand what he means. He fucks me like
he’s trying to move the sturdy table across the kitchen floor and my
arms flail out as I manage to hold onto the edge of it, protecting my
poor thighs from colliding too hard with it. A moment later, he grabs
my hips, pulling me back against him, our skin slapping together each
time my ass meets his front. It’s better this way, it doesn’t hurt.
I cry out, more from surprise than pain, when Mr. Masen pulls
my hair, forcing me up on my elbows. He reaches underneath me,
kneading my breasts, while he leans in to groan in my ear.
37
“So sweet . . . So tight around me. You’re my good girl, right,
Isabella?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Louder!” he commands, fucking me harder and faster.
“Yes, Sir. Yes, Mr. Masen!” I cry.
“Fuck, yes!”
His hands return to my hips, moving my body with his, taking my
body with his.
I’ve never experienced sex like this before—so aggressive and wild.
It scares me a little. Mr. Masen comes with a roar, his body sinking
down on mine as his hips still thrust slowly. I lay down flat on the
surface, feeling his shirt buttons against my naked back.
“Mmm,” he pants, delivering a gentle bite to my shoulder. “So
sweet.”
I lay perfectly still while he recovers, nuzzling my hair and breathing
deeply. I remain still as he gets off me, removing the used condom
and zipping his pants.
“Up you go,” he says, patting my ass.
He turns me around and makes me look up at him.
“You’ve never done that before—been fucked like that.”
It’s not a question. I shake my head, feeling tears pool in my eyes.
“Stop that,” he says firmly, but not unkindly. “No shame, no guilt.
You’re here for me. To please me.”
I nod slowly, drawing a shaky breath.
“And I am,” he adds.
“You’re what, Mr. Masen?”
38
He smiles.
“Pleased.”
I breathe in again, deeply through my nose.
I’ve pleased him. I’ve succeeded.
Unexpected warmth spreads through my chest. He hands me the
dress, helping me slip it back on and then puts my hair back up.
“So, Isabella,” he says, sounding formal. “I believe that’s a ‘yes’ on
the cinnamon query.”
“Yes, Sir.”
What a freaking weirdo!
An hour later, I’ve cleaned up the kitchen and the pie has cooled
off some. Nervously, I serve it to Mr. Masen. He takes a bite and
looks up at me.
“Delicious, Isabella,” he praises.
I can’t help it. I smile big and before I can hide it away, Mr. Masen
returns it, reaching out to touch my hand for a moment. Then, he
tells me I can go home.
“I’ll call you a cab,” he adds.
I’m about to protest, when he holds his hand up.
“Do not disrespect me,” he says. “I will, of course, pay the fare
since I’m the one who’s ordering it.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumble.
“You might want to put your own clothes back on,” he says, dis-
missing me.
I run up to the bathroom and change as quickly as possible, eager
for this night to be over. I look at myself in the mirror. I just let a
virtual stranger fuck the living daylights out of me.
39
Who the hell am I?
Downstairs, Mr. Masen’s back to work and I wait quietly until he
receives a text, telling him that the cab’s arrived. Walking out into
the hall, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a manila envelope,
handing it to me. Again, I resist the urge to thank him. I’ve performed
a job, I’m getting paid and now I can do my best to forget this ever
happened.
“Good night,” I whisper and turn my back to him, wrapping my
fingers around the door handle.
“Isabella, do you cook?”
I close my eyes.
“Yes.”
“I’d like for you to make me dinner on Wednesday night.”
Again, it’s not a question.
“All right.” I nod my head.
“Eyes to me.”
Fuck! I just want to go home now.
I turn to face him, forcing myself to meet his gaze.
“You did everything I asked of you,” he says calmly. “You earned
that money. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Yes, Sir,” I whisper.
“Good girl. Be here at six on Wednesday and take a cab. I’ll pay
the fare when you get here.”
I stare at him. He really wants to see me again. I’ve done it.
“Thank you, Mr. Masen.”
40
“Get home safe, Isabella,” he says, running a finger alongside my
cheek.
I nod and he leads me out to the waiting taxi, where he holds the
door open for me. He hands the driver a bill and tells him to take me
wherever I want to go in the city. Then he goes back inside his nice
house, not looking back.
The cab driver doesn’t try to make conversation, which is a huge
relief. I glance at my watch, surprised that it’s only eleven o’clock,
which means I’ve been at Mr. Masen’s for just three hours. Discreetly,
I open the envelope from him, feeling my mouth drop open in surprise.
Instead of the agreed-upon amount, I count ten—not five—hundred
dollar bills.
One thousand dollars! He paid me one thousand dollars!
I feel dizzy with happiness. And, he wants to see me again. Soon,
I’ll be able to pay off everything I owe and Seth and I will be able
to stay in our apartment. I clutch the envelope to my chest, feeling
the tears drip down on my hands. My hair smells like apple pie and
Mr. Masen’s cologne, a reminder of what I’ve done tonight, but at
that moment, I don’t feel any guilt or shame.
“Hey, you okay, lady?” the driver asks, looking at me with concerned
eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Yes,” I croak. “I think I will be.”
Mr. Masen is a pretty generous guy! :) How do you feel
about him now?
I hope you liked this. I had a blast writing it! And, I
should add that all mistakes are mine, since I can’t stop
adding new stuff to the chapters at the last minute.
See you all next week!
41
Chapter 6

Thank you so much to everyone reading, reviewing and
rec’ing. :)
Thank you to Mauigirl60, for making this so much better.
:)
I’m updating from work today, where I’ll most likely be
stuck until sometime tonight because of exam preparations,
so I figured it was now or wait until tomorrow. I chose now.
:)
Enjoy!
BPOV
Alice is the only person from high school that I still see, which
is a bit strange since I didn’t really talk to her back then. But I’ve
realized it had more to do with my parents not thinking she was ‘good
company’, than any actual dislike on my part. Alice was wild back
then. She partied a lot and became pregnant our junior year, leaving
town to have her baby. We found each other in the city, one year after
Seth was born, both of us in similar circumstances—teenage mothers
with boyfriends who weren’t around a lot. She finally kicked Jasper
out last year, and has been raising her two girls on her own since then.
She’s my only friend in the world.
On Wednesday around noon, Seth and I head on over to the diner
where Alice works. I’m very frugal with the money I’ve made, but
decide to treat us to a hot lunch since I need to ask her about watching
Seth tonight. I can’t keep burdening Mrs. Cope and I know Seth
would much rather stay at Alice’s, if given the choice.
42
Alice looks a bit worn in her hideous pink uniform, but perks up
at the sight of us. After I’ve gotten Seth settled in with an order of
fries and a coloring book, I join her at the counter, which is the most
privacy we can hope for at the moment. It’s on a day like today that
I wish I could afford preschool for Seth.
“So,” Alice starts, pouring me a much-needed cup of coffee. “Heard
from the douche yet?”
I shake my head. As far as I know, Mike could’ve left the country.
Odds are that he hasn’t. My guess is that he’s staying with a woman
somewhere, since I’d already suspected he was seeing someone before
he left. Of course, I don’t say that to anyone—especially not Seth.
“We really know how to pick ’em, huh?” She laughs, but it’s not a
happy sound.
“Yeah.”
We’ve had this conversation before and I don’t feel like having it
again.
“Alice, I need your help.”
“Shoot.”
“Can you watch Seth for me tonight? Can he have dinner at your
place?”
“Um, sure. When are you dropping him off?”
“I have to be somewhere at six, so probably half an hour before
that.”
Alice nods and wipes off the counter.
“You’re not going to ask me where I’m going?” I blurt out after a
few seconds.
Alice gives me a curious look.
43
“Well, no,” she answers slowly, “but it sounds like you really want
to tell me.”
I realize she’s right. I do want to tell her. I know Alice won’t judge
me, she’s not that type. And . . . maybe her acceptance will assuage
the guilt I’m now starting to feel again. Mr. Masen made it sound so
simple: I’m doing a job and getting paid, no shame in that. But it’s
less convincing now that it’s been a few days, and I have no idea what
to expect of my visit at his house tonight.
“I sort of got a job,” I confess. “But . . . it’s not exactly something
to be proud of.”
Alice frowns.
“You’re not in trouble, are you, Bella?”
I shake my head, looking over to check on Seth, who’s happily
eating his greasy lunch, without a care in the world. It makes me
smile.
“No, nothing like that. I’m doing this for Seth. He deserves to be
happy.”
“Of course,” Alice agrees.
“I’m . . . I guess I’m a . . . call girl, or whatever you’d call it,” I
whisper, “but just for one guy.”
Alice’s lips part and she inhales sharply.
“Holy shit!” she whispers. “Of all the things you could have said, I
never would’ve . . . holy shit, Bella!”
“Yeah, I know,” I mumble.
Alice excuses herself to help a customer and returns, pouring herself
a cup of coffee.
“Okay, you need to start from the beginning.”
44
So I do. I tell her everything: the failed audition at the strip club,
getting picked up by Mr. Masen, the botched blow job, the visit at his
house, baking pie for him, and, finally, getting screwed on his kitchen
table before he’d paid me twice what we’d agreed on. Afterward,
Alice’s eyes have widened to near comical proportions.
“And I have to be at his house at six tonight,” I add.
“Yeah,” she says. “I figured.”
She leaves again to help another customer so I check in on Seth,
who’s still happy as a clam, coloring and looking in his comic books.
He’s such a good kid.
“I just have to talk a bit more with Alice and then after lunch we
can go home, okay?”
“Okay, Mommy. Can we watch Cars when we get home?”
“It’s a date.”
He grins and gets back to Spiderman’s adventures, while I make it
back over to the counter. Alice sighs, looking at me.
“You want my opinion?”
I nod.
“I think you’re in way over your head, hon. That guy—well, he
sounds freaking weird.”
I nod again. Mr. Masen definitely has some quirks.
“I mean, it sounds to me like he might be one of those . . .”
She glances around and leans in.
“You know, those S&M guys who like to tie and beat up women.”
“W-what?” I sputter. “He’s never said anything about that!”
45
“Yet,” she says in an ominous sounding voice. “Come on, Bella. He
said he wanted to be in charge, you have to call him Sir, he held you
down and fucked you, and he paid you double.”
“What’s that—”
“To lure you back, of course, to get you hooked on the money so
you’ll let him do more weird stuff. How do you know he doesn’t have
like a dungeon or something in the basement of that house?”
“I-I don’t,” I admit.
I don’t know anything about Mr. Masen except that he likes clean-
liness, punctuality and women who do what he says.
“Look,” Alice sighs. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t keep doing this.
I mean, I know how badly you need the money, so I totally get it. But,
it’s like you said—he’s a good-looking, rich guy. Why is he paying for
sex if it isn’t because he wants something completely weird?”
I don’t have a good answer for her.
“You need to have a talk with him,” she concludes, nodding.
“A talk?”
The thought of me and Mr. Masen having a serious talk is slightly
amusing. I can’t even begin to imagine it.
“I don’t think he’d be up for that.”
“Well, make him. He wants to keep seeing you, right? You have to
find out what his deal is and what he expects of you. Otherwise, you
might actually find yourself handcuffed in that dungeon.”
The thought makes me shiver.
“I really don’t think he has one of those,” I whisper.
“Whatever. You know what I mean. This guy isn’t just in it for a
quickie. You’re cooking for him, parading around half-naked, wearing
46
the clothes he picks out. If it’s not just sex he’s after, you need to
figure out what it is then.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I agree, taking a deep breath.
“Hey, are you scared of him?” Alice asks, placing her hand on top
of mine.
“No. I don’t really get a threatening vibe from him, if that makes
any sense? I wouldn’t have gone with him in the first place if I did.”
Alice nods.
“Just bring your mace and give me the guy’s address when you
drop Seth off this afternoon, okay? So at the very least, I’ll know
where you are.”
“I will. Thanks, Alice.”
“I’m glad you told me.”
“Me, too.”
“So, how long do you think he wants to keep seeing you?” she asks.
I shrug.
“I don’t know. He hasn’t said anything about that. For all I know,
tonight could be the last time I ever see him. It’s not like we’re on a
schedule. I need to get a real job.”
“I’ll keep my eyes out here for anything,” Alice promises. “But it’s
usually late night shifts that open up.”
“Not really an option for me,” I sigh. “Unless they’ll let me put a
cot in the back of the kitchen for Seth to sleep on. Besides, I have no
experience.”
“You’ll find something,” Alice says, but she sounds about as confi-
dent as I feel.
47
“Yeah, maybe the strip club could work out once I gain a bit of
weight. I used to be pretty, you know?”
“Oh, I remember,” Alice chuckles. “The teen dream. And you’re
still pretty. Why else would your Sir pay so much?”
“I make a mean apple pie?”
Alice snorts into her coffee.
“I think it’s your other pie he’s after.”
I roll my eyes.
“Don’t remind me.”
“Was it awful?” she whispers, all traces of humor vanished.
“I don’t know. It was . . . different. You know, sort of rough, I
guess. But it didn’t hurt or anything like that. It just was.”
“Worth the money?”
I look over at Seth and nod.
“Absolutely.”
A few minutes later, I join Seth at the table and try my best to eat
my lunch. However, the thought of having a talk with Mr. Masen is
making me far more nervous than when I was just going over there to
cook and have sex. Still, I know Alice is right. I can’t do that S&M
stuff. There’s no way. He’ll have to find someone else to whip. Now I
just have to figure out how to tell him that.
Yeah, how’s that conversation gonna go?
Anyway, that’s Alice. I couldn’t leave Bella all alone in
the world. That girl needs a friend. Next week is Christmas,
and we’re going to my parents’ house so I probably won’t
get a chance to update until after the 26th. This year, all I
48
wish is for my mom to have a full recovery and my kids to
have a happy time with their grandparents.
Take care of each other and Merry Christmas, Happy
Chanukah, Kwanza, or whichever way you celebrate this
month. :)
49
Chapter 7

I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday. Thank you so
much for all your lovely reviews. They make my day! :)
Thank you to Mauigirl60 for your help and friendship.
Enjoy!
BPOV
Dropping Seth off at Alice’s is a lot easier than expected. She
promises him hot dogs for dinner and says that they can all watch
Cars 2 afterward. Seth is obsessed with Lightning McQueen and
since he doesn’t own the sequel, this is enough to make him happy
about staying there tonight. I feel less guilty about leaving him, and
thank Alice profusely. She gets the card with Mr. Masen’s address and
tells me she’ll expect to hear from me by midnight, or she’ll assume
something went wrong and will contact the police. It’s a pretty good
plan and I feel a lot better knowing someone has my back, so to speak.
Getting to Mr. Masen’s on time is easy, now that I only have to hail
a cab to take me there. As promised, he comes outside the moment
we pull up to pay the driver. He doesn’t turn his attention to me until
the cab has left.
“Good evening, Isabella,” he greets. “You look lovely tonight.”
Okay, so I may have worn my prettiest skirt to get on his good side,
and I’m glad to see that he approves. I wonder if that means I can
skip the shower-and-change routine.
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Come inside.”
50
He leads me through the door, his hand resting on the small of my
back. It’s a strangely affectionate gesture. Of course, the moment
we’re behind the closed door, his hand slides lower, giving my ass
a squeeze before pulling me against his tall frame. Both hands slip
underneath the fabric, skimming my naked thighs.
“Are you going to be a good girl for me tonight?”
“Wait, Mr. Masen . . .”
I take a few steps back, out of his arms.
“Can we please talk about something before we . . . err . . .
start?”
He looks bemused, a slight frown on his face.
“Talk?”
I nod.
“Very well,” he says, motioning for me to join him in the kitchen.
I don’t want to go in there. Right here, by the door, is fine.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather stay here,” I say, taking
another step back.
“Isabella, is something the matter?” he asks, his frown deepening.
“Well, no. I mean, not exactly. Mr. Masen, I don’t have a lot of,
you know, experience with . . . this.”
“That’s not a surprise.”
There’s no judgment in his tone of voice.
“Right. But . . . I have to ask . . . are you . . .”
I can’t get the words out. He’s looking me, his eyebrows raised,
hands buried in his pockets. His stance isn’t threatening, but his
presence sort of is.
51
“Am I what, Isabella?”
“Um . . . that is to say, do you like . . . you know, S & . . . M?”
I squeak out the last syllable and then hold my breath. I can’t
believe I just asked him that!
“What do you know about that?” he asks, taking a step closer.
“Very little,” I whisper. “But . . . it’s about getting tied up and
whipped, right?”
“It can be,” he answers calmly.
“And do you want . . . that?”
“No.”
“No?”
“There was a time when I thought I might be a dominant,” he says,
shrugging his shoulders. “I won’t deny that my inclinations are a bit
different than the norm, but I don’t define my preferences like that.
There are aspects of it that I do enjoy, though.”
I gape at him. He’s so casual about this.
“W-what aspects?” I ask, feeling my eyes tear up. “’Cause the
whole whipping thing—I can’t do that! I’m really grateful that you
paid me all that money, and I do need it, but . . . I’m scared you’ll
hurt me—”
“Isabella, easy,” he soothes, producing a folded handkerchief from
his pocket.
Gently, he dabs my eyes with one hand while the other one runs
down the length of my hair.
“Listen to me,” he says, tilting my head up so I’m forced to look
into his eyes. “I won’t deny that I like submissive women, because I
52
do. And I might find it enjoyable to tie you to my bed before I fuck
you.”
I gasp a little.
“I may even want to spank your pretty little ass sometimes.”
I start to shake my head, but he stops me, holding my chin between
his thumb and index finger.
“But, Isabella, I can promise you: it will be for pleasure, not
punishment.”
“I don’t see the difference,” I admit.
“It’s really very simple,” Mr. Masen says, taking my hand, giving
it a gentle tug.
Obediently, I follow him into the kitchen where he sits me down
before pouring me a glass of water. He stands behind me, gently
kneading my shoulders while I take a sip and I can’t help but notice
his strange affectionate ways, yet again.
“I enjoy the submission part,” he tells me, “but not punishment.
Playrooms and instruments do nothing for me. I don’t want you to
fear me; I want you to show me respect. Doling out pain doesn’t turn
me on—neither does humiliation.”
“What does turn you on?”
I know how it sounds, but I’m not trying to be coy. I genuinely
need to know if this is ever going to work.
“You,” he answers simply. “Cooking for me, doing whatever I tell
you, on your knees with my cock in your pretty mouth, bent over the
table getting fucked, tied to my bed with your ass in the air.”
He pauses as his hands on my shoulders slide down my front,
underneath my open jacket and my top, until they’re cupping my
breasts.
53
“The fact that I can do this whenever you’re here,” he says, tweaking
my nipples. “Knowing that you’re here to please me, that your
every thought is about me and how to make me happy—sexually and
otherwise. That, sweet girl, turns me on.”
“O-oh,” I whisper, not sure what else to say.
“Mmm,” he hums, moving his full hands together underneath my
dress. “You have the sweetest tits. One day, I’d like to slide my cock
in between them and fuck them. What do you say to that, Isabella?”
What do I say? I didn’t even know you could do that!
“If . . . that’s something you’d like,” I manage to say.
“You gonna be my good girl from now on?” he asks.
“Yes, Sir.”
He bends down, his lips touching the shell of my ear.
“You won’t regret it,” he whispers.
Well, that remains to be seen. Knowing that he’s not into hurting
me is reassuring, though.
“So, you don’t have a d-dungeon in the basement?”
His warm breath wafts across my skin as he laughs softly.
“No, Isabella. Nothing like that.”
“Okay.”
He moves to stand in front of me, reaching out his hand. When I
take it, he pulls me up, back into his arms.
“Anything else you’d like to ask me?”
“Are you married?”
It doesn’t matter if he is, but I’d still like to know.
“Not anymore.”
54
I nod my head, feeling a bit relieved. I won’t ask if he has children,
worried that he might turn the question on me if I do. He can never
know about Seth.
“So, Isabella,” he says, releasing me. “Would you like a shower?”
“Not really.”
Oops, that’s probably not how I should put it.
“I, uh, mean, I just showered before coming over here, but if it’s
something you’d like for me to do, I’ll do it, Sir.”
He smiles.
“Good answer. No, that’s quite all right. I wasn’t sure if you had
access to one where you’re staying?”
Does he think I’m homeless and living in a shelter?
“I . . . I have an apartment.”
“That’s good. I’d like for you to wear the outfit I’ve put out in the
bathroom. You remember where it is?”
“Yes, Sir.”
I resist the strange urge to curtsy as I exit the kitchen and hurry
upstairs to change. Once again, there’s no underwear, so I strip
down and run a brush through my hair while I check my barely-there
makeup. The dress is green with white polka dots, very 1950s. I pair
it with the modest kitten heels he’s left me, and look myself over in
the mirror. I guess I’m playing a housewife tonight, which is definitely
the type of woman that Mr. Masen likes.
Submissive.
I know the word, but I can’t really identify with it. I guess it doesn’t
matter, as long as I can do a good job of pretending while I’m here.
When I come back downstairs, Mr. Masen is working at the table and
55
I stand quietly, waiting for him to address me and not the other way
around. I’m nothing if not a fast learner. After a minute, he looks up.
“Wonderful,” he says, standing up and leading me to the kitchen
island. “Now, you said you could cook?”
“Yes, Sir. That is, as long as it’s nothing too fancy.”
“I’m sure you’ll manage. I enjoy a home-cooked meal. Feel free
to make me whatever you’d like,” he says, gesturing toward the
refrigerator.
“Yes, Sir.”
He reaches into a drawer, pulling out a white apron which he ties
around my waist.
“Perfect,” he says, nodding to himself.
As he leaves my side, he winks, giving my ass a playful squeeze.
“I’ll be watching.”
Oh, I have no doubt of that.
So, I hope that cleared up at least one thing about
Mr. Masen. He’s not a Dom, which I hope won’t disappoint.
There are lots of great D/s stories out there but I wanted to
do something a little different with these characters. A few
spankings and a bit of kink does not a Dom make, which
I’m sure at least a few of my more adventurous readers can
attest to. ;)
Thank you so much for reading and finally I’d like to wish
each and every one of you a happy New Year. See you next
week!
56
Chapter 8

Dear all, I hope you’ve all made it happily and safely into
the new year. We spent a quiet evening at home, playing
games and eating good food.
A few things: A lot of you have asked about Mr. Masen’s
age. He’s around 40 years old, or at least, that’s how Bella
describes him upon their first meeting. Also, I know the
chapters are short. That’s the best I can do, and still keep
to a weekly posting schedule. RL continues to be hectic and,
unfortunately, I don’t see that changing anytime soon. As
for an EPOV, which has been requested by a few of you, it
won’t be a part of the main story. I’m not that fond of stories
with multiple POVs anymore and find them a bit repetitive.
Once the story is done, I may write one as an outtake, but I
won’t promise anything. This is Bella’s story and I do believe
at least some of you are enjoying the mystery of Mr. Masen.
:)
Thank you so much for all your reviews. I’m so happy
you’re all aboard with Mr. Masen’s particular brand of kink.
;)
Thank you, Mauigirl60, for making me a better writer in
every way and for helping me whip this story into shape.
Enjoy!
BPOV
Mr. Masen sits back down at his table with his seemingly unending
stack of paperwork, while I begin the task of cooking his dinner. Inside
57
his fridge, there are lots of choices, and I wonder what I should make.
This feels like another test. For a moment, I consider a meatloaf,
which is probably what Donna Reed or June Cleaver would make
for their TV husbands, but decide that might be too clichéd. After
all, I don’t want him to think I’m making a joke out of his 1950s
fetish, strange as it may be. His taste seems old-fashioned so I rule
out anything involving pasta, which is something Seth and I eat a lot
at home. Instead, I decide on a roast chicken with a side of mashed
potatoes, gravy, and peas. I don’t think I can go wrong with that. I
mean, everyone loves chicken, right?
Putting the stuff I need out on the counter, I glance at Mr. Masen
and, unsurprisingly, find him observing me. As our eyes meet, he
smiles and stands up, walking over to stand behind me.
“Looks wonderful,” he comments.
I’m not sure if he’s referring to the ingredients or me in the housewife
get-up.
His hands trail up my bare arms, leaving goose bumps in their wake,
before running back down to my waist and tugging gently on the knot
holding the apron together.
“Someday, I think I’ll tie you to my bed using this,” he whispers,
brushing his lips against the side of my neck.
“Y-yes, Sir,” I whisper, gripping the edge of the counter.
“But not tonight,” he continues, placing soft kisses on my skin.
“We have plenty of time, don’t we, Isabella?”
“Yes, Sir,” I lie.
I know as soon as I’m able to land another job, I’m out of here. I
can’t let him know that, though.
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“I’m going up to my office,” he says. “You’re far too distracting.
It’s on the third floor, first door on the right. Come find me when
everything’s in the oven, hmm?”
“Yes, Mr. Masen.”
He moves away, but a moment later he’s back, pressing his lips
against my cheek.
“Thank you, Isabella,” he whispers.
I watch as he gathers his papers, walks past me into the hallway
and up the stairs. As soon as he’s out of sight, I draw a deep breath.
He makes me nervous. Not anxious per sé, but on edge. I’m thankful
to be alone in the kitchen and work efficiently for the next forty-five
minutes, not having to worry about playing some part. For a little
while, I can simply be myself and enjoy these luxurious surroundings.
Once everything except the chicken is ready, I check my watch
and head upstairs, as I was told. Passing the second floor where the
bathroom I’ve used is located, I continue up to the top of the house,
following the sound of music playing softly. Although I was asked to
come up here, I knock just the same, remembering how Mr. Masen
feels about interruptions.
“Come in,” he says.
I enter, drawing a quick breath.
“Oh, my . . .”
Mr. Masen’s office is breathtaking. Furnished with dark wood, there
are bookshelves lining the walls, and a real working fireplace in front of
a comfy-looking couch. My eyes are drawn to the large floor-to-ceiling
windows that lead onto a balcony overlooking the bay. I can almost
imagine curling up on that couch, sipping tea and reading a good
book on a cold night, while enjoying the warmth of the fireplace.
59
What it must be like to live in a place like this, to have this kind
of money. I don’t think I’m a particularly materialistic person, but
one day, I’d like to not worry where my son’s next meal comes from,
and knowing I have a steady income along with enough to save a little
money each month. Hell, even living paycheck-to-paycheck sounds
good to me at this point. When we’d brought Seth home from the
hospital, I promised myself and him that I’d be able to offer him
more than our old run-down apartment. I’d make a real life for us
where he’d have lots of friends and hobbies, go to a good school, and
have a yard to play in. He’s almost five and has none of those things.
As far as I know, there are only two other kids in the building and
they’re a lot older than Seth so, most days, he’s stuck with me. I
know he doesn’t see it that way and I do my best to come up with fun
activities that also have an element of learning to them. Still, I’d like
for him to get out more—play with other kids. We’d go to a nearby
park sometimes, but a few weeks ago, he picked up a syringe near the
monkey bars and we haven’t been back since. I hate that I can’t take
him anywhere to play without being on guard all the time and that
we live in such a shitty neighborhood. I hate that one day he’ll realize
what a crappy deal he’s been handed in life—no grandparents, a father
who left him, and a mother who can’t properly support him. He’ll
never experience a view like this or a life without financial worries.
“Isabella?”
Instantly, I’m back to reality.
“I’m sorry, Sir.”
Mortified, I realize my face is wet with tears and turn away from
Mr. Masen.
“Come here.”
It’s not a request. I walk toward him at his desk, hoping he’s not
too angry with me. I didn’t mean to get lost inside my head.
60
“Come on,” he beckons, holding out his hand to me.
As soon as I reach him, he pulls me down onto his lap, reaching
into his pocket for one of his handkerchiefs and wipes my tears away.
“Want to tell me what happened just now?” he murmurs.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I was . . . overwhelmed.
It won’t happen again, I promise. I’ve never been in a house like this
before. You have so much.”
“You’ve been having a rough time, haven’t you?”
I look up, meeting his eyes. Slowly, I nod. He nods back.
“You don’t have to worry anymore,” he says.
“Why’s that?”
“You take good care of me, and I’ll take good care of you, Isabella.”
“How do I do that?”
I feel like I’m constantly screwing up, always crying in front of him.
I’m supposed to be here for him, not the other way around.
“I mean, what is it that you want from me, Mr. Masen?”
He settles me more comfortably in his lap, cradling me like I’m a
small child.
“In a word,” he says, “worship.”
“Worship?”
“I don’t merely want you to cook and bake for me, Isabella. I
want you to want to do those things, because you know they bring
me enjoyment. I want you to want to please me. It’s not about just
taking orders from me. I like having you obey—there’s no doubt of
that—but I’d like it even more if you did those things on your own.”
I draw a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. He’s never
revealed so much about his motives before.
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“So . . . treat you as if I worship you?”
“Mmm,” he hums into my hair. “When you’re here with me, I want
that to be your only focus: how to make me happy.”
He tilts my head up. He’s so close; I can feel his breath against my
lips.
“Isabella, tell me the truth. Are you afraid of me?”
His eyes scan my face.
“I know you were the first night in my car, and I don’t blame you.
That was a scary thing you did—going with a stranger like that—but
I know you probably have a very good reason for taking that risk.”
My heart slams against my ribcage.
Seth. Seth was my reason for doing that. Does Mr. Masen know
about him? No. He couldn’t. Could he?
“Easy, easy,” he soothes, holding me a bit tighter. “I don’t care
why you’re doing this. Your reasons are your own.”
I relax a little.
“The money,” he says. “It’s making things better for you?”
I nod my head, unwilling to elaborate.
“Good. That’s good. Now, back to my previous question: are you
afraid of me?”
“Not really,” I whisper.
“That’s a very weak reply,” he says in a stern voice.
“I’m sorry. I . . . I’m not afraid of you, like you’ll beat me up or
kill me.”
“But?” he prompts.
“The stuff you want—the sex stuff . . . it scares me a little, yes.”
62
“Thank you for your honesty,” he says, nodding. “You’re very
inexperienced. How many sexual partners have you had, Isabella?”
My face flames and I really want to tell him it’s none of his business.
But, like it or not, I’m now in a sexual relationship with Mr. Masen
and he’ll probably want to do a lot more than I’ve ever done before. I
realize honesty probably is the best policy, if this strange arrangement
is ever going to work out.
“Two,” I mumble, looking down. “Including you.”
“I see.”
What’s he thinking now?
After a beat he continues.
“Thank you for telling me, Isabella. So can I assume nearly every-
thing will be a first for you, then?”
Mike and I had only had sex a dozen times before I became pregnant
before the nausea began and Mike not wanting to do it when I started
showing. After Seth was born, there wasn’t much going on in the
bedroom except breastfeeding. Later, we fought over money, over
him never being around, and whatever else. Hell, I’m practically the
Virgin Mary.
“Yes,” I admit. “I haven’t really done much of anything. On the
table last time . . . that was . . . adventurous for me.”
“For me, as well.”
I look up to see if he’s joking, but he looks perfectly serious.
“I’d like to do that again sometime,” he whispers.
“Yes, Sir.”
Remembering what he said a minute ago, I add, “I’d like that, as
well, Sir.”
63
He draws me close and I rest my head on his shoulder. A new song
comes on, not what I expected.
“Springsteen?”
“You don’t like him?”
He strokes my hair all the way from the top of my head and down
my back. It feels sort of nice, I have to admit.
“No, I like him. I just imagined you only listening to classical music
or jazz.”
“I’m not that old,” he chuckles.
“No, you’re not,” I agree.
His arms feel good around me, the music is nice and the room so
warm. For a moment, I can almost pretend that everything is fine
and someone else is taking care of me for a change. I close my eyes,
melting into his caress. He doesn’t ask anything of me, no sexual
favors or acting like something I’m not. He just holds me. It doesn’t
feel like I’m worshipping him. It almost feels the other way around.
I don’t understand him at all, and while I still think he’s sort of a
weirdo, I guess I can deal with that.
“Mmm,” Mr. Masen sighs, running his fingers through my hair.
“Sweet girl.”
Yes, I can be his sweet girl. At least, I think I can. For a little
while.
Of course she can! :)
I hope you liked a bit of tenderness between the two of
them to start off the new year. We’ll see how long it takes
for Mr. Masen to return to his kinky ways. ;) See you next
week!
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Chapter 9

Thank you for your reviews. I can’t tell you what a thrill
it is to read them and listen to your thoughts and theories.
:) Your continued prayers and good thoughts regarding my
mom and my kids is a source of constant support. I’m so
grateful for all of you. 3 (That’s supposed to be a heart)
Mauigirl60 is the reason why the story sounds like it
was written by an American, and not someone who merely
teaches English for a living. Thank you.
Speaking of teaching; I’m going out of town for work next
week so I may not be able to update. We’ll see how it goes.
Now, who’s hungry for some . . . dinner? ;)
Enjoy!
BPOV
The Springsteen song ends, breaking the spell I’m under.
Mr. Masen’s arms, which felt comforting a moment ago, now make
me feel claustrophobic. What am I doing, snuggling up with him?
I’m his goddamned prostitute, and here I am, acting like a clingy
girlfriend in need of comfort. I can’t help but tense up and he notices
immediately.
“Isabella?”
“I’m sorry. I should probably go check on dinner, Sir.”
Mr. Masen tightens his arms around me for a moment and then
lets me go. I climb off his lap, standing next to his chair with my
hands folded in front of me. Now, I feel like a servant again, which is
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exactly how it should be. I wish he hadn’t been so affectionate with
me, and I really wish I hadn’t liked it so much.
“How long until it’s done?” he asks, hitting a button on the laptop
that silences the music in the room.
I need to check on the chicken, which should have been done by
now, and reheat the side dishes.
“Fifteen minutes, Sir,” I say, looking down to avoid his eyes.
“I’d like for you to set the table in the dining room. I’ll expect to
be served in precisely fifteen minutes then.”
His voice is stern and I don’t understand why. My only guess is
that he, too, has realized that I crossed a line, cuddling with him.
“Yes, Sir.”
“You’re excused.”
I practically flee the room; my exposed skin feels chilled all of a
sudden from Mr. Masen’s sudden switch from kind to cold. Rushing
downstairs to the kitchen, I pull the chicken out of the oven and check
it, sighing with relief that it is, in fact, done. I cover it to stay warm,
set the dials on the stove to low and go in search of the dining room,
which I’ve never seen before.
Upon locating it, I find myself, once again, gaping at the beauty
of this house. The room is very large and could host twenty people
for a dinner party, but looks like it’s rarely used at all. I wonder why
Mr. Masen wants to eat in here all by himself instead of sitting in the
kitchen where it’s nice and cozy, but it’s not my place to question
him. I’m merely the hired help. In one of the cabinets, I find what I
assume is the fancy china and wine glasses, and make up a single place
setting at one end of the table. Back in the kitchen, I load the food
into pretty serving dishes and carry them with me, hoping everything
is hot enough. I realize I have nothing to pour into his wine glass,
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but I can’t do much about that before he arrives. In the kitchen, he
has some kind of special refrigerator, or whatever, so I’m sure those
bottles cost more than, well, me. No way am I messing up by opening
the wrong one.
Two minutes later, he arrives as I’m leaning over the table to light
the two tapers I found in the cupboard along with the cloth napkins.
“Perfect timing I see.”
I look over and can’t help but smile at his pleased expression, happy
that he’s seemingly forgotten my clingy embrace upstairs.
“Everything looks and smells wonderful, Isabella,” he praises, walk-
ing over to where I’m standing.
“Thank you, Sir. I do need your opinion, though.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t know much about wine, and I didn’t want to open the
wrong bottle,” I explain. “They look . . . very expensive?”
“They are,” he says, nodding. “That was very thoughtful of you,
Isabella. I’ll go get one.”
I breathe out as he leaves. Everything seems like a test, but at least
it feels as though I’m succeeding some of the time. Mr. Masen returns
with an open bottle of red wine and takes his seat. Then, he looks up
at me, as if he’s waiting for me to do something.
Am I supposed to serve him?
It seems I am, so I start by pouring him some wine before loading
food onto his plate, being very careful not to spill anything. All the
while, he’s watching me, a small smile on his face. He really likes this
whole serving bit.
Weirdo.
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After I’m done, I turn to leave, only to have him pull me back.
“Stay,” he orders, taking the first bite of his dinner.
He hums appreciatively and looks up at me.
“Delicious. You’re a very good cook, sweet girl.”
I flush with pleasure. Another test passed.
“Thank you, S-Sir,” I stutter, feeling his free hand slide up the back
of my leg, underneath the full skirt of the dress. He continues eating
with his left hand, while the right gently kneads my naked ass.
“These potatoes are very good,” he comments, loading another
forkful. “Spread your legs.”
He wouldn’t! Not in here while he’s eating!
I move my feet apart, pressing my lips together to stop from gasping
as his fingers slip between my legs. He starts out slowly, warming me
up, I guess. And it works. His touch is gentle, stroking the sensitive
skin on my inner thighs before moving to part me, and playing me like
a well-loved instrument. For a few minutes he eats in silence, pausing
only to taste his wine. His fingers are now sliding in and out of me,
effortlessly. Every ten seconds or so he pauses, spreading my wetness
around and rubbing my clit. I know it shouldn’t feel good to me, but
I can’t deny that it does. My libido, which has been pretty much
non-existent ever since Seth was born, seems to have been awakened,
and I don’t know how to feel about the fact that it’s happened at the
hands of Mr. Masen. Yes, he’s very handsome and obviously knows
what he’s doing, but he’s so weird and not at all someone I’d imagined
myself feeling attracted to. Wordlessly, he removes his hand and I feel
both relief and a twinge of regret.
I stand still while Mr. Masen moves his now-empty plate to the
side and pushes his chair back, making room for me to stand directly
in front of him, although facing away.
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“Lift your dress up, bend over and present yourself to me,” he
orders in a rough-sounding voice.
Present myself?!
My face burns, but I obey just the same, placing my elbows on the
table while fisting the hem of the dress. Somehow, I feel even more
exposed like this than if I’d been completely naked. This feels so lewd.
“Mmm, so pretty,” Mr. Masen hums, running his hands over my
exposed thighs and ass. “So soft and pale. Spread your legs, Isabella.”
I do as I’m told, cringing a little knowing that Mr. Masen will see
how his touch affects me. He sighs contentedly behind me, his fingers
slipping through the wetness I’ve created before dipping inside me.
“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, turning his fingers so that his
thumb finds my clit.
His left hand kneads my buttocks and I close my eyes, not sure how
to react. What he’s doing to me feels good, but I won’t acknowledge
that to him. I can’t. Suddenly, his left hand is gone and I startle as it
connects with my skin, creating a loud slapping sound.
Fuck, he just spanked me!
For a few seconds, I’m frozen. The only sound in the room is his
harsh breathing behind me. I hardly dare to draw my own breath.
Then, his fingers start moving again, causing me to inhale sharply. I
can’t believe he did that. Well, actually, I can. This is Mr. Masen,
after all. Still, I thought he would have waited to do something like
this and maybe prepared me in advance. Then I realize I wasn’t scared
because I wasn’t expecting it and it didn’t really hurt.
“Such a good girl,” Mr. Masen repeats, bringing his hand down on
my ass again.
I’m ready for it this time and try to focus on his fingers and his
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thumb, which are working me over like I’ve never experienced before.
I try to stop my hips from rocking, but it’s damned near impossible.
“Uh!” I gasp, as he spanks me for the third time, pressing my lips
together immediately, as if that can somehow withdraw the sound I
made.
Mr. Masen, however, must like hearing me a lot, because his fingers
move faster causing me to bury my face against my arms to muffle
my heavy breathing. I can’t remember the last time I felt like this. I
didn’t know I was even able to anymore.
“Mmmf,” I moan, squeezing my eyes shut as he continues to rub
and thrust and slap in perfect harmony.
My hips gyrate, silently begging him for more as his hand connects
with my ass again and again and again.
Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!
I’m so close!
Abruptly, he stops. He turns me around and pushes me to my knees,
reaching behind me to unzip my dress and yanks it down, causing my
breasts to pop out. I tremble as my body is denied what it wants, but
in the back of my mind, I’m glad he stopped when he did. I don’t
want to share something so intimate with him. I’m not ready for him
to see me like that.
Mr. Masen stands, unbuckles and unzips his pants, letting them
drop to the floor. He’s not wearing any underwear, either. I look up
at him, licking my lips nervously. I know what he wants me to do,
but I was so bad at it the last time.
“Open,” he orders, running his thumb across my lips.
Drawing a deep breath, I comply, accepting his thick cock inside
my mouth. He moans, getting a good grip on my hair.
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“Use your tongue,” he instructs, setting an already fast pace, “and
. . . no teeth.”
I do my best, sliding my tongue against him as he thrusts. Suddenly,
he pauses, reaching behind to move his chair while he slips out of my
mouth. Then, he steps out of his pants, places his foot on the seat
and demands my mouth again. He enjoys thrusting a few times and
then stopping to tap his cock against my lips.
“You want this?” he asks.
“Yes, Sir.”
“In your pussy?”
“I . . .”
I don’t know what to say.
“I think you do,” he says, sliding it in between my parted lips.
“I think you want to be fucked so badly. I think you’re very nearly
dripping on my carpet right now.”
I flush, because he’s probably right.
“But you know what, Isabella? You won’t get it, until you beg for
it. Can you do that for me?”
I close my eyes. How can I ask him for that? It’s impossible.
“That’s okay, sweet girl. In time,” he tells me, tightening his hold
on my hair. “Now, look at me.”
He fucks my mouth with vigor, keeping his eyes on my face. When
I gag around him, he tells me to breathe through my nose, which helps
a bit but my eyes still water.
“Fuck!” he gasps. “S-swallow!”
He stills, but pulses wildly at the same time and I try very hard to
obey, but end up coughing a little. Even so, it’s a lot better than last
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time. I keep him in my mouth as he calms down above me and his
hands moves from my hair to my cheeks. His thumbs wipe underneath
my eyes and I look up at him. He has a serene smile on his face.
“Perfect,” he tells me. “You were perfect.”
Kinky enough for y’all? ;) Surprised that Bella was sort
of into it?
Hope you liked the chapter, I definitely liked writing it.
I hope to see you next week, but if I’m too busy with work,
don’t despair. I’ll make it up to you with a longer chapter
the week after, I promise.
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Chapter 10
Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer

Thank you for all your reviews. Glad you liked the kink.
:D Speaking of which, there’s another purge going on so
if FFN removes this story, I’m also posting on TWCS and
Fictionpad.
Thank you to Mauigirl60 for all your help. Despite your
tutelage, I still don’t know how to use semicolons correctly,
and you’re a saint for not yelling at me. :)
Enjoy!
BPOV
Mr. Masen is all smiles as he pulls out of my mouth and starts
putting his clothes back in order. I remain kneeling on the floor,
unsure of what to do. Well, what I really want to do is brush my
teeth—or at least drink something—but I remain where I am until he
finishes dressing.
“Up you go,” he says softly, reaching down to help me to my feet.
I wince as my admittedly bony knees are stretched out and I have
to lean on him a little until the ache in them subsides. I didn’t used
to be this frail, but I’ve lost a lot of muscle tone and endurance since
my cheerleading days. Also, not eating properly to make sure Seth
has never gone hungry has taken a bit of a toll on my health.
“Easy,” Mr. Masen whispers, sitting down with me in his lap.
Gently, he runs his hands across my legs.
“Next time, we’ll get you a pillow, hmm?” he says, massaging my
knees.
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“Thank you, Sir. That would be good.”
“Are you all right?” he asks.
I nod my head, a bit surprised by his question. I’m not sure if he’s
referring to my legs or the blowjob. His concern is sort of nice, though.
His hands trail upward to my bare breasts, brushing his thumbs over
my stiff nipples. I bite back a moan as he gives them both a little tug
before pulling the dress back in place, covering me up. When I dare
to look up at him, he’s wearing a bit of a smirk, obviously quite aware
of the fact that he’s aroused me.
“Are you able to stand now?” he asks.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good. I’d like for you to reheat the food and bring me a fresh
plate and utensils.”
I climb off his lap and do as I’m told. Once the food is hot again,
I serve him another plate, only to have him pull me back onto his
lap, where he settles me comfortably. I stare at him as he loads some
mashed potatoes onto his fork and holds it up to my mouth.
“Open.”
“Sir?”
“I want to feed you,” he says, as though that’s perfectly normal.
Ummm, okay.
I accept it, and he smiles.
“Good girl. You need a bit more meat on your bones.”
“I’m working on it,” I whisper.
He nods, placing the fork on the plate as he reaches for the wine
glass, bringing it to my lips. Truthfully, I don’t like wine at all but
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I take a sip anyway, not able to hide the way my lips pucker as the
sour taste hits my tongue. Mr. Masen laughs, setting down the glass.
“I suppose it’s an acquired taste. You don’t drink, I take it then?”
“No, Sir.”
I went to some parties in high school, but I haven’t had a drink
since becoming pregnant. It was never something I cared much about
back then and I certainly wouldn’t drink while Seth is around, which
is always.
“I don’t drink soda, but I believe there might be some in the fridge
for the cleaning staff and the gardeners,” Mr. Masen says.
“Not even at the movies?” I blurt out. “Err, soda, I mean.”
“The movies?”
He looks surprised.
“Well, I honestly can’t remember the last time I went to a movie.”
He helps me off his lap.
“Go get your soda. Then we can talk some more while you eat.”
Two minutes later, I’m back on his lap, being fed dinner. A tall
glass of Coca-Cola is next to the plate.
“So, do you go to the movies a lot, Isabella?”
I shake my head, swallowing.
“Too expensive,” I elaborate.
While I know Mr. Masen is aware of my financial circumstances,
it still makes me uncomfortable to discuss something like that with
him—or anyone, for that matter.
“Of course,” he says. “That’s a shame. A young girl like you should
enjoy herself.”
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He seems genuinely regretful for me. Slowly, I move my hands from
my lap and run them up his torso, holding him around his neck.
“This is pretty enjoyable,” I say.
He observes me for a moment, the fork paused mid-air between the
plate and my mouth. Then, he smiles.
“That it is.”
I return the smile before taking another bite of food.
“What’s your favorite movie?” I ask, after I’ve swallowed.
His eyebrows go up and his lips purse.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, offering me a drink. “I don’t have
much time for movies anymore.”
“You work a lot.”
He nods.
“Well, if you did have the time, what would you watch?”
“Indiana Jones, probably.”
My mouth drops open. That definitely wasn’t the answer I was
expecting. I thought he’d mention an old black and white film, not
an action movie.
“Seriously? I mean, uh, really, Sir?”
“Hey, I’m a child of the eighties,” he says with a grin. “I grew up
on those movies.”
“So . . . um, how old would that make you?”
“Thirty-nine.”
I observe him a bit more closely than I have before. I thought he
was a little older, but maybe that’s because of how he dresses and
does his hair. I try to imagine him in a t-shirt and jeans with unstyled
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hair, but find that I can’t. Besides, I like that he dresses nicely. He’s
quite . . . sexy.
I realize I’m staring at him and when I meet his eyes, my face heats.
He tilts my head up, holding my chin.
“Not too old to make you blush, pretty girl?” he asks, his green
eyes lit up with amusement.
“No,” I whisper, “not too old, Sir.”
“Good to know.”
He offers me another bite, which I accept. I’m feeling a bit more
comfortable speaking with him now, and he seems very open at the
moment. I don’t want there to be any weirdness between us.
“I’m sorry about earlier. In your office . . . I shouldn’t have.”
“Shouldn’t have what?” he asks. “Sought comfort?”
I nod my head.
“I’m here for you,” I whisper. “Not the other way around. You
said so.”
“I remember,” he says calmly. “I’m also the one who dried your
eyes and held you. Now, what does that tell you?”
“I don’t know.”
He pierces me with his gaze.
“It means that I get what I want. If I want to hold you, I get to. If
I want to comfort you, I get to. If I want to fuck your mouth, I get
to. If I want to feed you dinner, I get to. Don’t be mistaken, Isabella.
Whenever I do something, it’s of my own volition.”
“Y-yes, Sir. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he says. “Be mine.”
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“Yours?”
He nods.
“Surrender to me. Trust me. Let me be in charge. All you have
to do is obey. If I invite you into my arms, don’t pull away like
you did earlier. If I give you pleasure, don’t deny yourself. I want
your tears, your words, your thoughts, your orgasms. I want all of it.
Understand?”
Yes, I understand what he’s saying, but to give him everything
is impossible. There are parts of who I am that simply don’t mesh
with what he wants me to be. I’m a mom first. Always. His fantasy
doesn’t include wiping a runny nose, reading bedtime stories and,
most importantly, always putting Seth before anyone else. Mr. Masen
wants me to put him first and I can do that while I’m here, but it
won’t be the real me he’s getting, so it will never be everything. Of
course, I can’t tell him any of this. It would ruin the fantasy.
“All that, and worship too?” I ask, hoping to lighten the mood.
The corners of his lips twitch.
“Definitely worship, too.”
“I can do that, Sir.”
“I know,” he says, lifting the fork to my lips again. “You’re my
sweet girl.”
An hour later, I’ve cleaned up after dinner and am back in my own
clothes. Mr. Masen leads me to the door, his hand once again resting
on my lower back. After handing me an envelope, he pulls out his
phone and taps at it a few times. He frowns, and then sighs.
“I’ll be traveling so I won’t have time to see you until the same
time next week.”
“Oh. That’s okay, Sir.”
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I’m just happy there will be a next time at all.
“Will you be all right until then?”
His question startles me, but I recover quickly.
“Um, yes, Mr. Masen. I’ll be fine.”
“Good. That’s good.”
He nods. After a moment, he reaches into his pocket again and
hands me another envelope, but this one has writing on it. Bowie
Salon & Spa. I look at it and then up at him.
“Sir?”
“It’s for you,” he says. “A gift card. To enjoy yourself.”
“Oh, thank you. What . . . uh, what would you like me to get
done, Sir?”
Please don’t say waxing, please don’t say waxing!
“That’s entirely up to you,” he answers.
Really?
“Although,” he adds, looking at me. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t cut
off your hair.”
“I won’t,” I promise.
“And . . . clear nail polish.”
I nod.
“And natural-looking eyebrows.”
So not entirely up to me, after all.
“Basically, don’t change a thing. You’re perfect as is, but have an
enjoyable day and relax, all right?”
I know I’m a far cry from perfect, but I can’t help but smile at his
unexpected compliment and generosity.
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“Thank you, Sir. I will.”
He takes a step closer and reaches out to take my hand in his. His
thumb traces over my knuckles a few times before he lifts our joined
hands to his mouth, pressing his lips against my skin for a moment.
“Thank you, Isabella,” he says, “I’ve had a lovely evening.”
His eyes are large and sincere. Looking into them makes my chest
feel funny.
“Me too, Sir.”
“Same time next week then?”
I nod, wordlessly, and he smiles. Outside, the taxi honks its horn
and Mr. Masen leads me through the doorway, still holding my hand.
He pays the cabbie and holds the door open for me as I climb inside.
Leaning down after closing the door, he motions for me to roll down
the window, which I do.
“Yes . . .” I glance at the driver in front, who’s busy fiddling with
his radio. “Sir?”
“I forgot to tell you,” he whispers, leaning in closer. “Next week, I
have every intention of fucking you, which means I will make you beg
for my cock, Isabella. In fact, I look forward to it.”
My mouth drops open. The driver is right there, for Christ’s sake!
Mr. Masen sees my shocked expression and, apparently, takes pity on
me.
“Get home safely, sweet girl,” he says softly.
I regain my wits.
“Have a safe trip, Sir.”
He smiles, straightens himself and taps the roof of the cab twice,
which makes the cabbie start the car. I look behind as we drive off,
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seeing Mr. Masen still standing there, his hands now buried in his
pockets, watching me leave. What will he do now? Go back to his
work? I guess it doesn’t matter, since I’m off the clock, so to speak,
and yet . . .
It must be lonely.
He’s such a strange man. Stern and cold one minute, and then
playful; and, seemingly quite a pervert. There’s also a kindness to him
that I never would’ve expected. He cares for me in his own weird way,
I think. Next week, he’s going to make me beg for him to fuck me
again, and if he does what he did to me tonight, I’ll probably mean it.
I remember his fingers, how they felt inside me. His hand warming
my backside, the rough sound of his voice, and the taste and feel of
his cock in my mouth. The way his eyes fluttered close right before
he came and the sound of his moans, knowing I was the one giving
him pleasure.
I clench my thighs, embarrassed by the dull throbbing sensation
between them. What’s wrong with me? Why do I react like this? It’s
not fucking normal!
Twenty minutes later, I knock softly on Alice’s door. The moment
I see her, looking so familiar and safe, I burst into tears.
“You w-were r-r-right,” I hiccup. “I’m in w-way over my h-head!”
I’d surrender to him in a heartbeat, just sayin’. . . ;)
Thank you for reading. I’ll do my best to get a chapter
written for next week, I promise.
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Chapter 11

Hey, everyone. So sorry I wasn’t able to update last week.
Things have been a bit hectic, but it has paid off in a big
way with a permanent teaching position at the university for
yours truly! :D
Thank you so much for all your messages and reviews. I’m
thrilled you’ve all embraced this story so beautifully.
My mom is doing very well. She’s on her second to last
dose of chemo and her numbers are looking good, so we’re
very hopeful she’ll make a complete recovery. :) My kids are
also doing well. My son is starting a special Autism daycare
on Monday so we’re hoping that will help his development.
All in all, things are pretty good. (I really hope I didn’t jinx
it by saying that) *Knock on wood* Just in case.
Thank you to Mauigirl60, whose help is invaluable. You’re
awesome and you know it. :)
Last chapter ended with Bella showing up at Alice’s door
in tears after a visit at Mr. Masen’s.
Enjoy!
BPOV
Alice pulls me into a fierce hug.
“Oh, my God, Bella,” she whispers. “Did he hurt you? Should I
call the police?”
I shake my head, trying to get my blubbering under control.
“N-no! N-nothing like that. I’m not h-hurt.”
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My best friend holds me at arm’s length, scanning my face.
“Are you sure? You can tell me. He can’t do bad stuff to you. I
don’t care how much he’s paying!”
I compose myself as best I can.
“Yes, I swear.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“I’m—”
I stop and look around the quiet apartment.
“Where’s Seth? Did it go all right?”
“Yeah, he’s just fine. Come see.”
Relieved, I follow Alice to her bedroom where she holds the door
open. Seth and Alice’s two girls, Maria and Lucy, are sprawled across
the king-sized bed, all of them fast asleep. There are pillows and
blankets everywhere and the room looks a complete mess. Alice
shrugs.
“They went a little wild making a fort, and then fell asleep in the
middle of it.”
I smile. I’m so happy he had a good time.
“Now, will you please tell me what’s going on with you? I’m kind
of freaking out here.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry.”
Alice leads me into the kitchen where I sit down at her small table,
resting my head in my hands.
“If this was a movie, I’d be pouring you a stiff drink right about
now,” Alice says. “But, you know I don’t have anything like that, so
this will have to do.”
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She places a pint of ice cream and two spoons on the table and
joins me. I smile at her and watch as she opens it and hands me a
spoon.
“Start talking,” she orders.
“I don’t know where to start.”
“Did you have a talk with him?”
I nod my head.
“He doesn’t have a dungeon or anything like that,” I begin.
“That’s something. So what’s his deal?”
“I don’t know,” I sigh, dipping into the ice cream. “He has this
1950s housewife thing, I guess. He makes me dress up as June Cleaver,
with an apron and everything, and cook dinner for him.”
“Go on,” Alice urges gently.
I start talking. A lot. Before I know it, the ice cream is gone and
Alice is staring at me, her mouth hanging open.
“I . . . liked it, Al, the spanking, the way he touched me, the things
he said. I almost . . . you know.”
She clears her throat.
“Wow.”
“Is there something wrong with me?” I whisper. “I mean, I’m not
supposed to like that, right?”
She’s quiet for a little while.
“Says who?”
I frown.
“Who says you’re not supposed to like it?” she elaborates. “You’re
a woman, Bella. You have feelings too, including horniness.”
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“Horniness?”
I can’t help but laugh.
“Is that even a word?”
Alice grins.
“Whatever. It should be. Listen, if a good-looking man you’re
attracted to touches you like that, it’s normal to have a reaction. I
never thought I’d say this, but the way you described it . . . it
sounded pretty hot.”
“I guess,” I mumble. “I haven’t really felt like that before, never
when I was with someone else.”
I blush, realizing what I’ve just told Alice.
“I think that’s pretty normal,” she says. “You’ve only been with
the douche and I’m guessing he didn’t know much.”
I nod my head, not willing to elaborate on Mike’s poor lovemaking
skills.
“But your Sir, on the other hand,” she says, rubbing her hands
together, “he sounds like a real man!”
I stare at her.
“What? You’re a fan of his now?”
“He doesn’t sound so terrible, Bella,” she says seriously. “He wants
you to get something out of it, too. And you did say that he’s nice to
you.”
“Yeah, he is. I’m not sure why, though. He can still have me
without being nice about it.”
“Maybe he’s just a nice guy?”
“Who likes spanking,” I supply.
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“What if I told you that I used to tie Jas up and make him call me
Ma’am?”
“You didn’t.”
She chuckles.
“No, obviously not—that’s not really my thing. But, would you
stop being my friend if it were true?”
“Of course not.”
“My point is,” Alice says, “that you can’t really judge someone by
what they like in the bedroom. I was worried your guy was into some
really scary stuff, but it doesn’t sound like that from what you’ve
described. You should still be careful, of course . . .”
“But?”
“But, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you enjoying it
when you’re together.”
“So, surrender, like he said?”
“Surrender?” Alice makes a face. “Why are you fighting this so
hard, Bella? I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? You
have good sex with a nice, handsome guy and you’re able to support
yourself and Seth by doing it.”
I sigh, tracing my spoon through the melted ice cream.
“I don’t know. I guess I never thought I’d be a . . . whore.”
“You are not a whore!”
My best friend grabs my shoulders.
“Listen to me,” she says. “You’re doing what you have to. Seth
needs food, clothing and shelter. You’re giving him that. Any good
mom would do the same. I’d do it, too, for my own girls. I think
you’re amazing.”
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I look up, seeing how sincere she is.
“Thank you, Alice,” I whisper. “I don’t know what I’d do without
you.”
She waves her hand, dismissing me. Alice isn’t exactly what you’d
call touchy-feely.
“So, can I ask how much he paid you this time?” she queries.
“Oh, my God!” I groan, reaching for my purse. “I didn’t even
check. How messed up is that?”
Alice doesn’t answer, but waits patiently as I pull out the unmarked
envelope and peer inside.
“Looks like another thousand dollars,” I say, counting the crisp bills
with the tips of my fingers.
“Jeez,” Alice breathes. “He must really like you.”
“He likes the way that I make him feel: strong, powerful, in control
. . .”
She looks at me, eyebrows raised.
“But, yeah,” I amend, “I think he does like me, in his own way.”
“He gave me a gift,” I add, fishing out the marked envelope and
handing it to her.
“Whoa, this is a gift card for five hundred dollars!”
I shake my head lightly. I can’t imagine having that much money
at my disposal to be able to use on something as frivolous as a spa.
“So, are you going to sell it?”
“It’s tempting,” I admit. “But, probably not. It was a gift. Besides,
what if he asks what I had done? I’ve never been to one of those
places before.”
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“Me either.”
“Hey, will you come with me?” I ask. “I’m sure we can both get
something done for that kind of money.”
Alice lights up.
“Really? Oh, my God, I’d love to! Next Saturday? My mom’s
staying the weekend and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind watching Seth,
too.”
I feel a tiny stab inside my chest.
“Your mom?”
Alice nods, reaching for my hand. She knows how I’m feeling. Her
mom didn’t abandon her when she became pregnant. Alice chose to
leave Forks when she got pregnant, moving to the city with Jasper,
who’d already graduated high school. She wasn’t forced to choose
between her baby and her parents like I was. Alice’s mom, Cynthia,
wasn’t thrilled when her oldest daughter got knocked up at seventeen,
but she’s been a part of her life all this time. She often drives here to
spend time with her daughter and granddaughters, especially since
Alice had enough of Jasper’s unfulfilled promises and pipedreams of
making it big as a musician.
“We can ask her about your parents,” Alice says gently. “I’m sure
she sees them around. It is Forks, after all.”
I breathe deeply through my nose, shaking my head.
“No.”
“Okay.”
This is one of the things I love about Alice. She doesn’t push. I give
her hand a squeeze before releasing it. It’s been a long day, filled with
taking care of Seth, visiting Mr. Masen and having a mini-meltdown.
All in all, I’m bone tired.
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“Hey, do you mind if we crash here?” I ask. “I don’t really want to
haul Seth into a cab at this hour.”
Alice smiles and nods, as I had anticipated, and we help each other
make up the couch for me. As I look at her making room for me in her
home, I realize I’ve been a bit selfish as of late. Every conversation
has been about me and my problems. I want to know what’s going
on with her, as well.
“Hey, do you ever hear from Jas?” I ask.
Alice pauses for a moment and hands me a clean sheet.
“Yeah, actually, I do. He’s been coming by to take the girls out for
a while now.”
“Oh. That’s good, right?”
She nods, but doesn’t say anything. I have a feeling she’s still in
love with Jasper, but she won’t admit it. Alice is tough as nails; the
fact that their separation hurts her is obviously a private matter. I
don’t want to push her, either, so I merely offer her a smile of support.
I’ll be here if she wants to talk.
Alice ends up taking Maria’s bed, deciding to leave our kids in her
bedroom, while I make myself comfortable in the living room. I can’t
fall asleep; my thoughts keep going back to Mr. Masen, no matter how
hard I try not to think of him. I wonder if he went to bed already, if
he ever thinks of me when I’m not there, and what he does when I’m
not around. Mostly, though, I think about what to do when I see him
again in a week’s time. I don’t know if I’ll be able to truly release all
my inhibitions and give him everything he wants from me. Will I lose
myself if I do, or is Alice right? Is there really no downside to this
arrangement if I’m able to let go of my own reservations? I toss and
turn for a long time, not coming up with an answer; finally, around 2
am, I manage to drift off to sleep.
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I wake early, feeling the presence of a small warm body next to
mine.
“’Morning, hon,” I mumble, holding Seth closer to me. “You sleep
okay?”
“Lucy kicks,” he grumbles.
“Aw, sorry,” I tell him, stroking his hair. “She doesn’t do it on
purpose. But did you have fun last night?”
“Yeah.”
“So you’d rather stay here than with Mrs. Cope?”
I already know the answer, but smile when I feel him nodding
against my shoulder.
“Mommy?”
“Mmm?”
“Where do you go?”
My eyes snap open and I draw a breath.
“Well, Mommy got a job, see?”
“Like Aunt Alice?”
“Sort of.”
“Why?”
“So I can get money and buy stuff for you, darling.”
“Oh. Cool.”
“It is pretty cool, isn’t it?” I ask, kissing the top of his head. “In
fact, how’d you like to go by the mall on our way home today? I want
to get you a present.”
He jumps up.
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“Really?”
“Really.”
His brilliant smile makes everything worth it. I realize I won’t ever
lose myself. My son will always remind me of my true purpose in
life: to take care of him, to make sure he stays oblivious to economic
hardship, and never has to know what it’s like not to have a full
stomach at the end of the day.
When this is what’s at stake, the decision is as easy as breathing.
I will be whatever Mr. Masen wants me to be. I will do whatever he
wants. I will obey. I will give in. And, I will do my very best to enjoy
my time with him and not feel guilty about it. Because, as much as I
have tried to deny it, and even though it makes little sense to me, the
truth is I’m attracted to him and I like him, as well . . . in my own
way.
I’ll be the first to admit that this was kind of a filler chap-
ter. Unfortunately, they’re sometimes necessary to move
the plot along and I’d like to think I accomplished that here.
There will be more action (and Mr. Masen!) in the next one,
I promise. :)
Stay warm, safe, and have a lovely weekend. See you next
week!
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Chapter 12

Sorry for the delay. The whole family’s been sick in the
past week and I’ve gotten nothing done.
Thank you for every single review and PM. I know I’m
very bad at responding to them, but I do read them and
cherish them dearly.
Thank you to Mauigirl60 for being with me on this journey
and making this infinitely better.
Enjoy!
BPOV
“So, what do you want, hon?” I ask Seth, as we go into the mall,
hand in hand.
“Can I have the Cars 2 DVD?” he asks, looking up at me with a
hopeful expression on his sweet face. “Just like Maria and Lucy?”
“Absolutely. I think that’s a great idea. Come on.”
He’s practically vibrating as we enter the store, his big eyes shining
with excitement; it’s very contagious, making me smile widely, as well.
I can’t remember the last time I was able to get him a gift without
having to be an occasion. I was always able to save up for a small
present for Christmas and his birthday, but this is different. This is a
sign that things are looking up for us.
As Seth is busy looking over the other children’s movies, Cars 2
already cradled against his chest, I scan the sales rack. There, right on
the end is an Indiana Jones boxed set, marked way down. Impulsively,
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I grab it and look it over. I’ve seen some of the movies when I was
younger, but I can’t remember them all that well.
“Great choice.”
I look up at the store employee, who’s smiling at me. He’s young
and tall with long, dark hair, pulled back into a ponytail.
“Oh. Yeah, I dunno,” I mumble. “It’s not really my thing.”
“D’you hear they’re talking about making a fifth one?” he continues.
“I don’t know how they’re gonna pull that off with Ford being so old
and stuff. I mean, Indy in a wheelchair? Come on!”
I laugh along with him, even though he isn’t really funny.
“Hey, you’ve got a great laugh,” he says. “What’s your name?”
“Bella.”
“Let me ring that up for you, beautiful Bella.”
Inwardly sighing, I follow him to the register, motioning for Seth to
come with us. I place both DVDs on the counter and the clerk holds
up Cars 2.
“You want this gift-wrapped?”
I shake my head and he grins.
“A girl who likes action movies and cartoons. That’s my kind of
woman!”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, looking at his nametag. This
‘Jacob’ is way too forward for my liking, flirting with me in front of
my son.
“It’s not for me.”
Obviously.
“It’s for me,” Seth pipes up next to me, stating the obvious.
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Jacob looks down at him, raises his eyebrows, and I realize he’s just
now noticed the small boy at my side.
“Oh,” he says, addressing Seth. “You’ve got a cool big sister, huh?”
Seth makes a face.
“No,” he says.
“I’m his mom.”
Jacob looks at me. His mouth is open.
“Oh! Shit, sorry.”
“Mommy, he said a bad word!”
Seth is looking so smug because he caught a grownup swearing, and
I have to fight not to laugh. Jacob is turning red, fumbling with the
DVDs.
“I’m really sorry,” he says. “It just slipped out. Please, don’t tell
my manager!”
“It’s okay. Really, it happens. Can I just have the movies, please?”
“Yeah, you need this one wrapped?”
He holds up the boxed set.
“You said it’s not your thing,” he reminds me.
It isn’t. It’s Mr. Masen’s. I’m buying Mr. Masen a present. How
did that happen?
“Yeah, thanks.”
Jacob rings up the amount and hands me the bag, which I give to
Seth. Jacob looks at us.
“I’m sorry about before,” he starts rambling. “You’re so young, I
mean, my age, I think. Or younger! And you have a kid. I didn’t
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know. I wouldn’t have flirted if I’d known. I mean, you’re a mom.
That’s just . . .”
I hold up my hand. He doesn’t have to say anything else. I’m a
mom and therefore undesirable to him. Not that I care what this clerk
thinks of me at all. It does, however, solidify my belief that I’ve been
smart in keeping Seth a secret to Mr. Masen. I can’t risk him reacting
in the same way as Jacob. I have to be desirable to him.
I pay the guy and leave the store quickly, with Seth in tow. Normally,
I would have asked if they were hiring, but I’m beyond eager to get
away. I’ve never felt shame about the fact that I’m a young unwed
mother. I’m proud of my son and proud of myself for having him, but
I’m not made of stone. Other people’s reactions do hurt me at times:
guys thinking I’m easy, old people looking at me with pity, or worse,
disdain. I remember the looks I used to get when I was out walking
Seth in the ancient stroller Mike got from somewhere and they gave me
the same feeling of unease that I have now, walking through the mall.
I glance at the groups of young women who are out shopping together,
wearing their pretty clothes, texting on their brand-new phones while
sipping expensive designer iced coffees, seemingly without a care in
the world. I don’t belong with them. I don’t belong here. As though
he can sense my emotions, Seth tugs on my hand.
“Thank you for the movie, Mommy.”
I give him a squeeze in return, feeling better already just by looking
at him. What are iPhones, coffees and shopping compared to the love
I see in my son’s eyes when he looks at me? Absolutely nothing.
“You’re welcome, baby. Let’s go pick up lunch and we can have a
pizza party when we get home, okay?”
Seth whoops and starts pulling me toward the pizzeria. I smile.
Things are definitely looking up for us.
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The following Saturday, I’m in a cab going across the bridge to
Medina, nervously clutching my purse between my hands. I can feel
the hard square object inside against the soft, worn leather.
I can’t believe I brought the boxed set. What was I thinking?
Alice asked me the same thing when we were at the spa and I
showed her the gift I’d bought at the DVD store. I was at a loss for
an answer. I’m sure he already has to have these movies, as he said
they were his favorites. This was so stupid.
Running my fingers through my newly-styled hair, I try to get my
nerves under control. The spa was wonderful and it felt fantastic to
be able to share the experience with Alice, who rarely gets to have fun.
We both had manicures and facials, and I got a haircut, as well. It’s
now layered and only a bit shorter than before. I hope Mr. Masen will
approve. Tonight, I’m wearing a black skirt and a white shirt, which
he may not like, but it’s necessary since I had to convince Alice’s
mom that I’m working as a server. Technically, it isn’t a lie. I will be
serving Mr. Masen tonight, but not in the way I told her when I was
dropping Seth off this afternoon.
My heart beats faster as we drive down the lane to his house. The
moment the cab stops, the door opens and Mr. Masen comes outside,
looking handsome in dark gray pants and a white shirt. I sit still while
he pays the cabbie, and I watch as he walks around to open the door
for me.
“Good evening, Isabella,” he greets me, offering his hand to help
me out of the taxi.
“Good evening, Sir,” I whisper, taking it.
He escorts me inside, and I’m so nervous I can hardly breathe; my
heart feels like it’s going a mile a minute. Tonight, I’m going to beg
him. Tonight, I’m going to let myself enjoy it.
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Tonight, I’m crossing another line.
The moment the door closes behind me, I feel the air changing
around us, becoming somehow charged, making the hair on the back
of my neck stand out and my skin prickle. I turn to face him, unsure
what to expect.
“You look beautiful,” he says, reaching out to touch a lock of my
hair.
“Thanks,” I whisper. “The spa was very nice.”
He nods, giving me a small smile.
“Did, uh, did you have a good trip?” I ask.
“It was productive.”
Then, I run out of things to say and we simply stand there for a
few moments, looking at each other. I’m not sure what he’s waiting
for. Usually, this would be when he orders me to do something, but
tonight he doesn’t. The way he looks at me is unmistakable, so I know
he hasn’t changed his mind about having me here. He wants me and
he knows he can have me. So why doesn’t he command something of
me?
Am . . . am I supposed to do the initiating?
I remember what he told me: that he doesn’t just want me to obey,
but for me to want to serve him. Drawing a deep breath, I drop my
purse and slide my open jacket off to join it on the floor. Slowly, I
undo the buttons of my shirt, revealing my naked skin to him. Usually,
I don’t bother with a bra but I wore one tonight since the shirt is a
bit sheer. Both items join the others on the floor and I drag the skirt
down my hips, taking my underwear with it. I step out of the pile of
clothes, toe off my Converse knock-offs and stand completely naked
in front of him.
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Mr. Masen is still, watching me impassively. I can tell he’s pleased,
though. His eyes sweep across my face and body, and he’s breathing
faster than before. Slowly, I walk to him, stopping right before I touch
him.
“Are you all for me?” he asks.
It’s a weird question. I swallow my nerves.
“Yes, Sir. I’m yours. Your good girl.”
He leans in, his lips brushing against my cheek.
“Are you?” he whispers, “mine?”
“Y-yes, Sir.”
“Prove it.”
I look up, blinking to keep my eyes focused on his. He’s so close.
How can I prove it? I’m standing here naked. Isn’t that enough?
It isn’t and I know it. Tonight, he wants more. Drawing a deep
breath, I stand up on my toes and softly press my lips against his. Our
first kiss. The moment we touch, he exhales and then his hands are
on me, everywhere. His mouth is demanding where mine is yielding.
My body is supple where his is hard. He kisses me like he’s never
kissed anyone before, as if he’s been waiting for it a long time and
now wants to experience it all at once. We move and I feel the wall
against my back.
“Touch me,” he groans.
I scramble to comply, opening his pants with shaky fingers. His
cock is in my hand and he’s hard, so hard. I stroke him, but stop
when I feel his fingers wrapping themselves around my wrist. He lifts
my hand up.
“Lick.”
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I wet my hand and he brings it back, helping me touch him. His
other hand squeezes my breast before moving down to my ass.
“Fuck! Fuck!” he chants, holding me to him, claiming my lips
again.
I feel it everywhere and I acknowledge it. This is lust. I want him.
I want him inside me.
“Ohhh!” He groans against my lips and I feel him coming on our
joined hands and my stomach. His head drops to my shoulder and he
rests there, leaning on me and the wall.
“Oh, sweet girl,” he breathes. “A week is too long. Much too long.”
He’s gone the whole week without coming?
“Haven’t you . . .”
He lifts his head and looks at me, still a bit winded, but with a
serious expression on his slightly flushed face.
“There’s only you, Isabella.”
Oh. I didn’t even think that there could be someone else. But,
of course, there could have been. The fact that there isn’t, though,
pleases me more than it probably should. He lets go of my hand, fixes
his clothes and leaves me in the hall. A minute later, he returns with a
soft rag and cleans off my stomach and fingers without a word. Then,
he hands me my clothes.
Are we done already?
“Was that . . . all, Sir?” I whisper.
“Would you like for there to be more?”
I can’t tell what his reason for asking is. His expression is completely
neutral, which is really frustrating. I never know what he’s thinking
or feeling.
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“Yes,” I admit, being truthful.
He takes the clothes from my hands and drops them on the floor
before pulling me into his arms. I gasp softly as he reaches down to
hitch my leg up. Never looking away from my face, his free hand slides
up my thigh until his fingers are gently probing between my legs.
“You’re wet,” he states.
My face heats up.
“Yes, Sir.”
I moan, gripping his upper arms as his fingers rub tight little circles
on my clit.
“Would you like to stay?” he asks.
“Oh, yes, Sir,” I breathe.
His fingers trail downward and dip inside me, quickly moving in
and out.
“Do you want me to fuck you? Make you come?”
I nod my head.
“Yes, Sir. Yes, please!”
Oh, God. Please, please!
“Then, you’d better stay, Isabella,” he says. “Good girls don’t mind
waiting, do they?”
His fingers are gone and I want to grit my teeth in frustration. He’s
watching me, looking amused.
“No, Sir,” I manage. “I don’t mind.”
“There’s my sweet girl.”
My jaw drops when he brings his fingers to his mouth and cleans
them off.
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“Mmm,” he grins. “Definitely sweet.”
He just sucked . . . and they were inside . . .
“Run upstairs and change,” he chuckles, releasing me and leaning
down to pick up my stuff again.
As he lifts my bag off the floor, something falls out, landing with a
dull thud.
Oh, God.
“What’s this?” Mr. Masen asks, picking up the gift-wrapped item.
He looks serious, all of a sudden.
“It’s . . . for you,” I stammer.
“How did you know I just had a birthday?” he asks, narrowing his
eyes. “Did you check up on me?”
“No! Of course not!”
He watches me, still frowning.
“I’d never do that, Mr. Masen. I swear the thought hasn’t ever
even crossed my mind!”
Until now.
“Then why did you bring me a gift?” he asks, his tone softer.
“It’s nothing. It’s silly. I wanted to thank you for the spa, I guess.
I didn’t know you had a birthday. Well, of course you have a birthday,
but . . . you know what I mean. When . . . when was it?”
“Yesterday.”
“Happy birthday,” I say, a bit weakly. “Did you have fun?”
“I spent most of it on a plane, so no, not particularly.”
“Oh. Wait. Was it your 40th birthday?”
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He nods.
“And you spent it on a plane, alone?”
He shrugs, and it may just be the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. He
spent his 40th birthday all alone, traveling, and for his celebration—or
whatever—he’s chosen to spend it with me, the hired help. Before I
truly realize what I’m doing, I’ve thrown my arms around him, holding
him against me. He hesitates for a moment before sliding his large,
warm hands around my naked back, returning the embrace.
“I’m baking you a cake,” I murmur. “You should have a birthday
cake.”
He doesn’t say anything, but he nods, holding me a bit closer.
Happy birthday, you sweet, handsome weirdo.
Guess what? Today is my birthday, as well. :) Consider
this (fairly long) chapter my gift to you, my darling read-
ers. Have a wonderful week and a lovely Valentine’s Day on
Friday, whichever way you choose to spend it.
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Chapter 13

Thank you for your continued support of the story. I
apologize for the delay, I’ve been sick again. You get the
longest chapter yet as compensation. :)
Mauigirl60 is fantastic and forever forgiving my grammat-
ical errors. :)
Enjoy!
BPOV
Tonight, Mr. Masen doesn’t observe me at a distance. He’s behind
me, looking over my shoulder, distracting me with his wandering
hands. I guess dressing me in only an apron is a particular fantasy
of his, which is how I find myself in his beautiful kitchen making a
chocolate cake, butt-naked except for a few scraps of soft white fabric
covering my front. Maybe I’m getting used to his quirks, because I
didn’t even bat an eyelash when he told me what I’d be wearing.
“Mmm, that smells good,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against
the side of my neck. “Why do you do it like that? Why not just put
it in the pot?”
I look down at the chocolate chips I’m melting in a bowl over a pot
of boiling water, and I draw a blank.
“I actually don’t know. I’ve always done it like this,” I tell him,
stirring slowly.
“Who taught you how to do this?”
My spine stiffens. That’s not a question I want to answer.
“Isabella?”
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“My, uh, my mother, I guess,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders.
His hands are on me, turning me around to face him.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
“Please, Sir. I’d really prefer not to talk about it,” I implore, looking
up at him. “Please.”
His eyes scan my face before he nods once.
“I didn’t realize it was painful for you. I apologize.”
“It’s not . . . painful.”
Yes, it is.
“I just . . . we’re not close anymore. At all.”
“That’s a shame,” Mr. Masen says. “I won’t bring it up again.”
Standing up on my toes, I press a kiss onto his cheek.
“Thank you, Sir,” I whisper before turning around again to face
the kitchen island.
Leaving the melted chocolate to cool off a bit, I start measuring
and mixing the rest of the ingredients carefully.
“How can you remember all that without a recipe?” he asks,
sounding impressed.
I smile to myself. Chocolate cake isn’t only Mr. Masen’s favorite.
It’s Seth’s, as well, and I’ve made this cake lots of times, when we
were doing okay money-wise. Although, I don’t think I’ve never made
it with actual German chocolate before.
“I don’t know,” I say, dipping a clean teaspoon into the chocolate.
“I’ve always liked baking.”
I lick off the spoon, tasting the chocolate and add a bit more sugar
to the other bowl, since this brand is slightly less sweet than what I’m
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used to baking with. I need this cake to be perfect—not just because
Mr. Masen demands perfection, but because I want him to enjoy this.
I’ve never had much money, or lived in a beautiful house like this, but
I’ve never had to spend my birthday alone. No matter where I’ve been
in my life, I’ve been with people who matter to me on that special
day. For some reason, Mr. Masen doesn’t have that in his life; while
I’m a lousy substitute for an actual loved one, I’ll do my best to make
sure he has a nice time tonight, because underneath all the weirdness,
he’s a kind man.
“Don’t I get a taste?”
I look over my shoulder at him, nodding, before dipping the spoon
back into the chocolate and turning to face him.
“Mmm,” he hums, accepting my offering.
“Good?”
He looks me over, smiling.
“Perfection.”
I can’t help it; I blush underneath his gaze and a secret thrill runs
through me, knowing how pleased he is with me. Really, I should
feel ridiculous standing here in just an apron that barely covers my
breasts, but the truth is that I don’t.
“Thank you, Isabella.”
I smile before turning my back—and my naked ass—to him and
continue making the cake. A few minutes later, I have to bend down
to look for a cake pan, something that will put me in a very exposed
position since Mr. Masen is still standing right behind me.
“Sir? I need to get something in the cupboard,” I say.
“I know. I’ve been looking forward to it.”
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Glancing over my shoulder at him, I see his eyes alight with amuse-
ment and something more. Drawing a calming breath, I take a
step back, open the cupboard and lean down. The moment I do,
Mr. Masen’s hands are on my hips, holding me steady.
“Stay still a moment,” he orders, running his hands over my skin.
“I want to enjoy this.”
I let him look at me and touch me for as long as he wants. He
comments on the softness of my skin and whispers how he’d like to
fuck me in this position again. He plays with me until I’m breathing
faster and feeling lightheaded. When he lets me back up, cake pan in
hand, he embraces me from behind for a moment, pressing his erection
against me.
“Did you like that, Isabella?” he asks, caressing the shell of my ear
with his lips. “Exposing yourself to me?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He releases me, keeping his hands on my hips while I finish greasing
the pan and pouring the batter into it, before putting it in the oven. I
clean up while he watches. He doesn’t offer to help, but that doesn’t
surprise me at all. He enjoys watching me while I do this stuff for him.
I don’t get the appeal, but it’s not my place to judge.
“I’m done, Sir,” I tell him, when I’ve finished washing the bowls
and utensils.
“Very good,” he says. “Unfortunately, I have a few calls to make.
You can go upstairs and take a bath, while I make them and order us
some dinner.”
“Really, Sir, I don’t mind cooking,” I begin, remembering how he
said he enjoys a home-cooked meal. “I can easily—”
Wrapping me up in his arms, he cuts me off by pressing his lips
against mine. His kiss is aggressive, his tongue demanding access to
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my mouth. I yield, becoming pliable in his embrace, and let him kiss
the hell out of me. When our lips part, he gives me a stern look, as
he still holds me firmly against his chest.
“Who makes the decisions, Isabella?”
I draw a gasping breath.
“Y-you do, Sir.”
“Who?” he whispers, sliding his right hand underneath the apron
to grab my breast and tweaking my nipple a bit harder than normal.
I hiss, looking up into his eyes.
“You, Mr. Masen. You decide.”
The stinging sensation on my chest is gone, soothed by his wet
tongue, as he quickly unties the knot and moves the apron to the side,
leaning down to suck my nipple into his mouth. He pushes his right
leg in between mine and grabs my ass, grinding me against the hard
muscles of his thigh.
“Oh, oh, God,” I whisper, holding onto him to keep my balance.
His mouth is on mine again and I moan, melting into the kiss while
my lower half ruts against him. I could come like this, I’m sure. Of
course, he won’t let me do that. He ends the kiss, running his thumb
across my lips.
“That’s right,” he says. “I decide.”
I nod, forcing myself not to grind against him anymore, even though
I really want to.
“So when I tell you to relax and take a bath while I order us dinner,
what do you say, Isabella?”
“Thank you, Sir?”
He smiles.
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“You’re welcome, sweet girl.”
He releases me then and tells me to set the timer on the oven. I do
as I’m told, and with a playful swat to my behind, he sends me on
my way.
“Isabella?”
I pause on my way up the stairs, turning to see that Mr. Masen
has followed me into the hall.
“Yes, Sir?”
He climbs the stairs until he’s just one step away and even so, he’s
still a lot taller than me.
“During your bath,” he says, running the backs of his fingers up
my naked thigh, “you may wash your pussy, but don’t make yourself
come. Are we clear?”
Blood rushes to my cheeks. I’m mortified he’d think I might do
that underneath his roof.
“Yes, Sir. We’re clear. I . . . I don’t do that.”
Not anymore.
“You will, for me,” he says simply. “I like to watch.”
I swallow hard. Of all the things he’s asked of me . . . that one
might be the most difficult to do. It’s so private, something that’s
just mine, and I suspect that’s at least part of the appeal for him. He
wants all of me.
“Not tonight, though,” he adds, brushing his fingers against mine
for a moment. “We have time.”
“Yes, Sir,” I breathe out, feeling relieved.
“Go take your bath and then change,” he says. “And don’t wash
your hair; it looks very pretty like this.”
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I nod my head and resist the urge to rush up the stairs. Know-
ing that he’s most likely watching my ascent, I try to walk slowly,
seductively, all the while acutely aware of the fact that I’m completely
naked and on display. Mr. Masen chuckles behind me, the sound
sending shivers up my spine.
“Oh, sweet girl. The things I’d like to do to that ass of yours,” he
murmurs before I hear him walk back downstairs.
In the bathroom, I carefully fold my clothes and place them on
the edge of the sink, before looking at myself in the mirror. I hardly
recognize the girl staring back at me. My hair is tousled, my lips
swollen, my skin carries a slight flush from being touched by Mr. Masen,
and my breasts appear a bit larger with still-hard sensitive nipples.
Basically, I look the way I feel.
Aroused.
Running my hands over my skin, I shiver, remembering our first
embrace of the night. The memory of his fingers caressing me makes
me press my thighs together to quell the sweet ache between them.
It’s been a very long time since I had an orgasm. Mike was never
very knowledgeable and I was never brave enough to guide him, or
take matters into my own hands, so to speak. I do remember a time,
before Seth was born, before Mike and I started dating, when I would
sometime times touch myself at night in the quiet of my parents’ house.
It always felt good but, afterward, I’d be consumed by thoughts of
guilt, feeling dirty. I suppose I have my mother to thank for that.
She’d made certain our talk about the birds and the bees included a
lecture on the wickedness of my flesh and how my virginity was to be
saved for my husband. Obviously, it never took but the feeling of guilt
always lingered whenever I engaged in anything even remotely sexual.
I won’t pretend that I still don’t have mixed feelings about my
arrangement with Mr. Masen, but I made a decision when I came over
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here tonight and I’m sticking to it. I’ll do my very best to please him,
no matter what he asks of me, and I won’t deny myself pleasure—if
he gives it to me.
God, I hope he does.
I fill the tub, add bubbles, and pile my hair up with a hair tie
Mr. Masen left out for me next to the hairbrush. Sinking into the
sweet-smelling warm water, I sigh with pleasure and allow myself
the indulgence of relaxing for a little while. I don’t linger as long
as I would’ve liked, though. I have to get back downstairs and get
the cake out of the oven and I still need to get myself ready. After
washing, drying off and putting on lotion, I turn to the dress I’ll be
wearing. It’s so pretty; a short, black, sleeveless party dress with a
small bow tied around the waist. It looks old; vintage I guess is the
right term. Forgoing underwear, yet again, I slip it on, happy that
it fits my slender frame very well. I can’t zip it all the way up on
my own, but I can’t do too much about that. I gently brush my hair,
restoring the stylist’s work at least somewhat and put on the kitten
heels I wore last time. Turning, I admire myself in the mirror. I look
like I’m going to a party, and I guess in a way I am.
Downstairs in the kitchen, I find Mr. Masen on the phone. I pause
by the door, seeking his approval before entering, listening to the
foreign words coming out of his mouth. He turns and stops talking
for a moment, smiles at the sight of me and motions for me to come
in before continuing his conversation. I have no idea what language
he’s speaking, but I’m definitely impressed. He ends the call after I’ve
taken the cake out of the oven and comes over to me.
“Lovely,” he says. “Turn.”
I do a twirl for him and he helps zip up the dress, looking me over
again.
“Perfect,” he says, holding up his phone. “May I?”
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“Take my picture?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re beautiful,” he tells me.
“You won’t show anyone, will you?”
“I won’t be posting it on Facebook, if that’s what you mean.”
“You’re on Facebook?!”
He laughs like I’m being silly and I guess I am. Somehow, I can’t
imagine Mr. Masen playing Farmville or poking his friends.
If he even has any friends at all?
Holding his phone up again, he snaps a picture of me and then puts
it away.
“No more work tonight,” he says, brushing past me to open his
special wine fridge.
He takes out two bottles and opens the white one with a pop.
Pouring the fizzy liquid into a wine glass, he hands it to me.
“Asti Spumante,” he says, with a bit of an accent, “you’ll like it.”
I’m not so sure. I really don’t care for wine at all. The red one that
he made me taste last time was sour as hell. Mr. Masen pours himself
a glass from the other bottle and I lift mine up.
“Happy birthday, Sir.”
He gazes at me for a moment before touching his glass to mine.
I take a small sip, surprised that the wine is sweet and fruity. You
can hardly taste the alcohol.
“You like it?” he asks.
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I nod my head.
“Good. I brought it back with you in mind,” he tells me.
I can’t help but feel touched by his thoughtfulness and give him a
big smile.
“Is it from . . . France?” I guess.
I know that’s where champagne comes from.
“Italy,” he says. “Have you ever been?”
I shake my head and shrug.
“I’ve never been outside Washington.”
He doesn’t comment, but I can see that he’s a bit shocked by that.
I decide to change the topic.
“Were you in Rome?”
“Yes, and a few days in London, as well.”
“Wow, must be nice,” I say quietly.
Mr. Masen shrugs, taking a sip of his wine.
“Truth be told, it gets old after a while,” he tells me. “Living in
hotel rooms, eating room service, spending most of my time in airports
or on a plane.”
“It sounds lonely,” I whisper.
He looks at me, but doesn’t comment. Instead, he goes to the
stereo on the wall and presses a button. John Lennon’s Imagine starts
playing and Mr. Masen holds out his hand to me, an almost hopeful
expression on his face. I put my glass down and walk to him, placing
my right hand in his and my left on his shoulder.
“Just follow my lead,” he murmurs.
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I smile and follow his steps easily as we start waltzing around the
spacious kitchen.
“You can dance!”
His surprised grin makes my heart flutter. He looks so much younger
right now, untroubled and carefree.
“I can, Sir.”
I took dancing lessons for many years growing up. It was my mom’s
idea of raising a proper lady, I suppose, but I quickly discovered
how much I loved it. I also took ballet and, of course, joined the
cheerleading squad freshman year.
“I never would have guessed,” he tells me.
I suppose he wouldn’t, given my current circumstances, but I wasn’t
always so tragic. I wonder where Mr. Masen thinks I come from. I bet
a comfortable and relatively happy childhood in a small town isn’t his
first thought when he looks at the girl who has to sell her body to
keep herself fed.
“My life wasn’t always like this,” I say, looking up into his eyes. “I
had . . . plans, dreams for the future.”
“Tell me.”
“You know—college, seeing more of the world, a good job.”
Giving my son a good life.
“And now?” he asks.
“Make rent, pay my bills, and put food on the table.”
Why am I telling him all this? Stop!
“I-I’m sorry,” I whisper and stop moving, stepping out of his em-
brace.
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I shouldn’t be saying stuff like that to Mr. Masen. This is his
celebration and I’m ruining it!
“I’m sorry,” I say again, averting my eyes.
“Look at me.”
I obey, drawing a stuttering breath. He doesn’t look angry, but I
can tell his previous levity has dimmed.
“I asked you,” he says. “Don’t apologize for telling me the truth.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Your financial trouble. . .” he begins. “Is that the reason why you
went to that sleazy club the night I picked you up?”
What?!
“You saw me?”
“I followed you outside when you left.”
“Why?”
“I wanted you.”
His tone is factual, his stance unapologetic.
“You didn’t belong there,” he continues. “I saw you: young, and
beautiful, and innocent. That place would have ruined you. I thought
maybe they’d rejected you because you were too young.”
“No,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around my waist. “Too thin.”
He nods.
“I don’t regret my decision,” he says. “I hope you don’t regret
getting into my car?”
I shake my head. Really, his confession changes nothing.
“Can I ask you one thing?”
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He nods.
“Why were you there? The club, I mean.”
“I was looking.”
“For what?”
“You. Only I didn’t know it at that time.”
I don’t know what to say. His words sound almost romantic to my
ears, but I know he probably doesn’t mean them that way.
“I’m very pleased with how this arrangement of ours has turned
out,” he adds, stepping forward to pull me back into his arms.
“You are?”
He leans in, brushing his lips against mine.
“Yes. Aren’t you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Mmm,” he hums, kissing me. “I think you like being my good girl,
Isabella.”
“I do, Sir.”
Jeez, when did my voice become so breathy?
We’re so close and all I want is to launch myself at him. I shiver as
he strokes my naked arms and his lips and tongue caress my neck.
“You’re so sweet,” he whispers. “I can’t wait to really taste you
everywhere.”
Oh, God. Everywhere!
We’re interrupted by the loud ringing of the doorbell and Mr. Masen
lifts his head to smile at me.
“To be continued,” he says.
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“Please, Sir.”
“You already do,” he laughs, giving me a quick kiss. “I’ll get dinner;
you set the table in the dining room.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Oh, and Isabella?”
“Sir?”
“Would you prefer one or two place settings?”
He’s asking me?
I gape at him. This has to be a test, but instead of trying to figure
out what he wants me to say, I search my own feelings. Do I want to
sit next to him, eating at my own place, or sitting in his lap? The first
option doesn’t feel right to me. It’ll be formal, and my relationship
with Mr. Masen is anything but. I like sitting with him. I like his
hands on me. His arms make me feel safe and warm. I like the way
he looks at me when he’s pleased with me.
“One place setting, Sir,” I tell him, nodding.
He smiles at me.
“There’s my good girl.”
Yes, here I am.
Yup. There she is. :) Cake, wine and dancing. Oh, my!
Where will this night lead? ;)
Take care until next time.
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Chapter 14

It’s late at night and I have to get up early in the morning,
so I’ll keep this short and sweet:
Mauigirl60 is amazing and I can’t wait to meet her in
person this summer before I attend the TwiFic Meetup in
Nashville. :)
Dear readers, you are fantastic. Your support overwhelms
me with gratitude. This chapter is super long. Please enjoy!
BPOV
I’m not sure what I’d expected when Mr. Masen said he’d order
us dinner, maybe pizza or Chinese food, which is what Seth and I
usually get at home. It turns out that Mr. Masen’s idea of take-out is
something very different. After setting the table for one and lighting
tapers, I join him in the kitchen; he tells me to put the food in serving
bowls before he heads into the dining room, bringing our wine and
glasses with him. I open the Styrofoam boxes to find what has to be
a dinner from a fancy restaurant: an orange creamy-looking soup for
starters, followed by a rice dish with mushrooms, sautéed vegetables,
some kind of meat with puff pastry around it and a dark red sauce. I
have no idea what any of this stuff is called, but the smell is absolutely
mouthwatering. Carefully transferring the soup to a bowl, I grab a
ladle, soup plate and spoon, and carry them to Mr. Masen, who’s
already seated at the head of the table and smiling at me. I notice
he’s drawn the curtains and put on music, creating a cozy setting in
the large room. The gift I brought him is sitting next to him on the
table.
“May I serve you, Sir?” I ask.
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“You may.”
After placing the plate in front of him, I’m surprised that he doesn’t
eat; instead, he pulls me onto his lap, making sure I’m situated
comfortably before offering me the first taste. I close my eyes, savoring
the flavor—it’s delicious and warm.
“Mmm,” I hum.
“I love watching you eat,” he tells me, smiling as I open my eyes.
“I love eating, so you’re in luck, Sir.”
He grins at me, taking a spoonful for himself.
“It is good,” he agrees.
“I didn’t know upscale restaurants deliver,” I say, accepting the
spoon again.
“They don’t, usually,” he says, “but I’m a very good customer.”
“You go there a lot?”
“All the time. I can’t cook and a man’s gotta eat. It’s a very nice
place.”
I nod my head.
“Maybe I’ll take you there sometime,” he says, lifting my wine glass
to my lips.
He’ll do what now?
Wide-eyed, I drink the bubbly wine, staring at him.
“You want to take me out . . . in public?”
“Why not?”
“Well, you’re you and I’m . . . me. I won’t fit in over there, in
such a fancy place. I’d embarrass you!”
He shakes his head disapprovingly.
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“What you are, Isabella, is a smart, beautiful young woman. Yes,
you’re not used to the finer things in life, obviously, but I don’t see
how you’d ever embarrass me. In fact, I’d be the envy of most men if
I were to have you at my side.”
“Thank you, Sir,” I whisper. “Aren’t you worried what people
might think, though? About us, I mean.”
“Well, I assume they’d think you were my lover, which is true,” he
says, shrugging as he eats some more soup.
Lover? Wow, that’s just . . . wow.
My stupid heart flutters in my chest. I’m his lover? That sounds a
lot better than what I’ve been calling myself in my head since entering
into this arrangement. Does he really think so highly of me? And
why can’t I do the same thing? I don’t think any less of Mr. Masen
for paying me, so shouldn’t I give myself a break?
“You are my lover, aren’t you, sweet girl?” he asks, reaching up to
caress my cheek.
“I’m whatever you want me to be,” I whisper, leaning in until our
noses are touching. “I’m here for you, Mr. Masen, to worship you.”
His lips mold themselves to mine as he kisses me slowly, tightening
his arms around me. When I moan, I feel him smiling, before pulling
away.
“Are you ready for the main course?” he asks, running his hand up
my naked thigh.
I’m not sure if his double entendre is intentional or not.
“Whatever you’d like, Sir,” I say.
He grins in response, lifts me off his lap, and tells me to heat up
the entrée. I carry the dirty dishes out with me and quickly warm up
the rest of the food, before carrying it to the table along with clean
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silverware and a new plate. I have to make take two trips and, again,
Mr. Masen doesn’t offer to help. Instead, he watches with a look of
satisfaction on his handsome face.
We eat in relative silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. The food is
amazing and I can see that Mr. Masen really does love watching me
eat, because I definitely get the biggest share of the portion.
“I can’t wait for dessert,” he tells me afterward in the kitchen while
I’m frosting the cake.
“I’m not sure it’ll do the rest of the menu justice,” I tell him
honestly.
He bought us what has to be a gourmet meal and I’ve made him a
simple chocolate cake.
“You made it for me,” he says, embracing me from behind, “to
please me.”
“Yes,” I admit.
“Then it’ll be perfect,” he whispers, placing soft kisses on the side
of my neck. “You may serve coffee in the living room when you’re
done. Bring a cup and plate for yourself.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl,” he tells me before he leaves.
Thankfully, Mr. Masen’s coffee maker is pretty standard and I’m
able to brew a pot without difficulty. I put everything on a tray and
walk slowly out of the kitchen, realizing I have no idea where the
living room is located.
“Mr. Masen?” I call out. “Where are you?”
“Marco!”
Is he for real?
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I can’t help but grin as I follow the sound down the hall. He’s just
such a weirdo. I never know what to expect from him, but I realize
that’s actually one of the things I like about him. None of his many
personalities are unpleasant. I quite like all of them.
“Polo,” I say softly, entering the living room.
“Very good,” he says, motioning for me to place the tray on the
coffee table.
This room is just as beautiful as the rest of the house, furnished
impeccably to fit Mr. Masen’s masculine taste with dark wood and a
large comfy-looking couch. There’s a huge flat-screen TV mounted
on the wall, throw carpets on the hardwood floors and, next to the
present he’s brought with him, a few newspapers and magazines on
the table. Finally, a room that actually looks somewhat lived in.
“Join me,” he says, sitting down on the couch.
“I need one more thing,” I say.
He nods once, and I hurry into the dining room, bringing one of
the lit tapers with me.
“You didn’t have any birthday candles,” I tell him, as I join him
on the couch. “But, you know—”
I clear my throat.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday,
dear Si-ir,” I sing, drawing out the word.
He laughs in response, eyes lit up as he looks at me.
“Happy birthday to you,” I finish, holding the candle out to him.
“You wanna make a wish?”
“I don’t believe in them,” he says seriously. “I make my own
fortunes.”
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“Oh.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
“You make one,” he says, “on my behalf.”
“Um, okay.”
I wish . . . I wish Mr. Masen will find happiness.
Blowing out the candle, I send it wherever wishes go, hoping it’ll
come true. There’s definitely sadness within the man next to me, but
I don’t know what caused it. I think he might be all alone in the
world, but of course I can’t be sure.
“Thank you, Isabella,” he says, taking the candle from my hand.
“Already, this has been the best birthday I’ve had in years.”
And there’s the sadness.
“Do you have family, Sir?” I whisper.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” he responds, looking straight at me.
I nod my head immediately. He respected my need for privacy earlier
when I mentioned my mom and I won’t push him for information now.
Instead, I cut the cake, serving him a big piece along with a cup of
coffee. He digs right in, humming in approval.
“Wonderful,” he says. “Have some for yourself.”
We eat in silence and I notice his eyes drifting to the gift-wrapped
item more than a few times. Might as well get it over with.
“You . . . can open it, if you’d like,” I say, pushing it closer to him.
“I think I will,” he says calmly.
I can see this spark of excitement in his eyes, though, which he
can’t hide.
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“Just . . . it’s really nothing much,” I warn him, wringing my
hands. “If I’d known it was your birthday, I would’ve gotten something
bet—”
He holds up his hand and I stop talking. Almost like a child would,
he holds up the square box and shakes it to guess what’s inside. Of
course, it doesn’t make a sound, so he proceeds to unwrap it while I
hold my breath. I don’t know why I want him to like it so much. I
just know I do.
“Oh,” he exhales, pushing the wrapping paper away. He runs the
tips of his fingers across the front.
“This is really something, Isabella . . . thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I didn’t know if you already had them?”
“No. I did, once, but I never got around to replacing them. I can’t
believe you bought this for me.”
“You said they were your favorites. It’s not a big deal.”
“It is to me,” he says, smiling faintly.
He looks at the box set again.
“The fourth movie is on here,” he says. “I never found the time to
watch it.”
“Yes. It’s all of them, I think.”
“You haven’t seen them, either?”
I shake my head.
“I think I saw some of the older ones when I was a kid, but definitely
not the newest one.”
“Well, in that case,” he says, smiling widely. “I would like you to
join me for a movie, Isabella.”
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“I’d like that, Sir,” I tell him, honestly. “May I use the bathroom
first?”
He shoots me a wicked grin.
“What would you do if I said no?”
“I’d hold it, Sir.”
He gazes at me for a moment.
“Yes, you would,” he concludes.
I nod my head, maintaining eye contact.
“Of course you may use the bathroom,” he says, smiling. “You
don’t have to ask again.”
Well, that’s a relief.
After a quick bathroom break, I’m back on the couch, watching the
opening credits with Mr. Masen by my side. He’s eating his second
piece of cake, eyes glued to the screen. After a few minutes, he puts
the plate on the coffee table and pours both of us more wine.
“Cheers,” he says, clinking his glass to mine. “Thank you for all
this, Isabella.”
“My pleasure, Sir,” I whisper.
“Your pleasure? Yes, we’ll definitely get to that later.”
I move closer, taking a big sip of wine before putting it on the table.
Mr. Masen looks me over, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue.
“You need it bad, don’t you?” he murmurs, his free hand slipping
underneath the hem of my dress to caress my thighs. “How long has
it been for you, pretty girl?”
“S-since what?” I gasp, feeling his fingers easily locating the place
where I feel the most.
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“Since you came on a cock,” he says roughly, pulling my legs apart
to push a single finger inside me. “Since you were fucked until you
came, screaming.”
“N-never,” I moan, leaning into him, spreading my legs wide open
for him. “I’ve never done that, Sir.”
“Fuck,” he mumbles, lowering his head down to gently bite my
naked shoulder. “I’m going to enjoy this so much.”
“Enjoy what?” I ask, moving around to get him to touch me more.
“Enjoy showing you what it’s like. You’ll be insatiable once you
get a taste, I know it. You’ll be begging for me to fuck you.”
He pushes another finger into my pussy, causing my back to arch.
“Won’t you?” he whispers, licking up my neck, making me groan
with pleasure.
“Yes, Sir!”
Abruptly, he stops touching me, and I want to scream. But instead
of going back to the movie, he turns off the TV and stands up, grabbing
me by the hand.
“C’mon,” he says, practically dragging me from the living room.
“Where are we going?” I finally manage to ask as we reach the
third floor, where I know his office is located.
“To bed,” he answers. “I need more room to do all the things I
wanna do to you.”
“W-what do you mean?” I stutter. “What are you going to do to
me?”
He stops and turns, right outside the door to the room where he’s
headed, and looks me up and down, the heat in his eyes making me
shiver.
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“Whatever I want.”
Just like that, we’re back to the first night I met him and the
giant leap of faith I took, getting into his car. He watches me closely,
gauging my reaction to his words while his hand around my wrist
loosens slightly. I draw a deep breath and remember that this is the
same man who playfully fed me dinner, who brought wine all the way
back from Italy just for me, and who, most of the time, looks at me
and treats me as if I’m precious to him, even calling me his lover.
“Whatever you want, Sir.”
He doesn’t reply, but smiles at me before pulling me inside the
room. I look around, breathing out with relief that it is, in fact, a
regular bedroom and not a place with whips and chains, which it
could’ve been if Mr. Masen had been lying all along.
He turns on the lights, which is a bit weird. We’re going to have
sex so it should be dark.
“Undress,” he orders.
I step out of the heels, enjoying the sensation of the soft carpet
beneath my bare feet for a moment before turning my back to him.
“Will you unzip me, please, Sir?”
He helps me remove the dress and I place it carefully on the bedside
table, now standing naked in front of Mr. Masen.
“Lie down on the bed,” he directs, “on your back, legs spread.”
I do as I’m told, breathing rapidly from both nerves and excitement.
Mr. Masen opens the drawer in the bedside table, pulling out what
looks like one of those sleeping masks I’ve seen people wear in movies.
“Put this on.”
“Why?” I whisper.
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“You’ll feel more,” he says, “and tonight, I want you to feel every-
thing I do to you.”
I slip it on and close my eyes.
“Hold on here,” Mr. Masen says, lifting my arms up and wrapping
my fingers around the edges of the pillow underneath my head. “Don’t
let go, no matter what happens.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I’m restrained by his words only, but vow not to lower my arms,
giving him the control he wants. The bed dips beside me, as he climbs
in next to me.
“It’s beautiful,” he whispers. “Your submission.”
I don’t know what to say about that so I keep quiet. His hands
trail down the length of my body and I arch up in response.
“You’re such a good girl, Isabella. Anything I ask, you do. You’ve
been so patient tonight, letting me delay your pleasure.”
I gasp as his fingers part me, sliding into my pussy without resis-
tance.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he growls, “so needy.”
“Please, Sir,” I breathe, letting my legs fall completely out to the
sides.
I feel his breath against my neck before he trails lingering kisses
down my torso, pausing to suck on my nipples for a moment. All the
while, his fingers fuck me deeply and his thumb moves over my clit,
making my hips lift off the bed to gain more of the delicious friction.
“You have no idea, do you?” he asks from somewhere above me.
“About . . . what?” I pant.
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“How fucking desirable you are,” he tells me. “I’ve been hard all
day, knowing you were coming over tonight—knowing I’d get to do
anything I want with you.”
“Yes, please, you can,” I moan, practically incoherent at this point.
“You’re going to come for me, Isabella. First, on my fingers . . .”
He curls them inside me, touching something that makes me gasp
loudly.
“Then, on my mouth,” he continues, covering my lips with his in a
searing kiss.
“And, finally, you’re going to come on my cock,” he says, pressing
his still-covered erection against my hip. “You’re going to come so
hard for me, sweet girl. Is that clear?”
“T-three times, oh!” I pant, bucking my lower half up, so very close.
“That’s impossible, Sir.”
“We’ll see about that.”
I feel his mouth on my chest again, his tongue flicking over my
nipples while his thumb rubs my clit with purpose. Moments later, I
come. And it’s nothing like I remembered; it’s better—so much better.
My body curves upward; I moan loudly as I clench around his fingers
and then relax down onto the mattress again.
“Thank you, Sir,” I exhale, trying to catch my breath.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he mumbles, kissing his way down my upper
body. “You can do better than that. You can come much harder.”
I don’t know that I can, but I’m afraid to disappoint him by telling
him that what he just did was pretty much the most fulfilling sexual
experience of my life; I doubt it gets much better than that.
“Have you ever had your pussy licked, Isabella?”
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“No,” I admit, suddenly happy about the sleep mask I’m wearing
so I don’t have to look at him while I answer.
“Fuck,” he groans, nipping at my belly. “You’re practically a virgin.”
“I’m not,” I protest softly. “I’ve had sex.”
“You haven’t been fucked properly. You haven’t even had real
foreplay. Whoever he was, he neglected you, so he doesn’t count. I’m
your first.”
I inhale sharply as he spreads my thighs and I feel his mouth on
my pussy, his tongue licking slowly from my entrance to my clit.
“Say it.”
His hands snake up my body and grab my breasts, none too gently
before pulling my nipples.
“You’re my first,” I groan out.
His hands return to their place underneath my ass and he holds
me up slightly, keeping me open wide for him. Knowing that he’s
inspecting me so closely makes me want to cringe and pull away, but
after a few seconds his mouth is on me again, and I forget those
thoughts.
“Mmm,” he hums, zeroing in on my clit with the tip of his tongue.
I can’t accurately describe the sensation, but it’s somehow deeper
than when he used his fingers, more acute. I’m so sensitive now
and squirm around a bit, trying to get away from his very insistent
stimulation of my clit.
“Please, Sir,” I protest weakly.
“Lay still!” he snaps at me, “and don’t you dare move those hands.”
I hadn’t noticed I’d let go of the pillow and quickly grab it again.
“You can come again,” he says, softer now. “I know you can.”
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I don’t get a chance to answer before his mouth is back: licking,
sucking and tasting me, as though he’s ravenous. His hands knead my
ass roughly, adding to all the sensations I’m already experiencing. I
have no idea how much time passes, but after a while the near-painful
sensitivity turns into something else entirely and I find myself pressing
up against his mouth, gasping wildly. Suddenly, I feel something
brushing against a place no one has ever touched before. I realize
Mr. Masen’s right hand has moved ever so slightly, his fingers now
busy spreading my wetness around between my cheeks.
“What—”
The pressure increases, and as I open my mouth to protest the
intrusion, the tip of his finger slips inside and he sucks down on my
clit, hurtling me into a powerful orgasm. Everything clenches, or so it
seems, and I very nearly lose my breath as he continues lapping at
me, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure. The moment he lets go,
my legs flop out to the side and I can’t seem to care at all. Faintly, I
hear Mr. Masen moving around and then the sleep mask is dragged
up and off my face. I squint against the bright overhead lights; soon,
my attention is drawn to Mr. Masen, who has opened his pants and
pushed them down. Fisting his cock, he leans down, dragging the
head up and down the length of my pussy.
“I’m clean and I want to fuck you bare,” he growls. “Are you
covered?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl.”
Resolutely, he lifts my legs up and with a swift thrust, pushes his
cock inside me, making me yelp.
“Fuck,” he groans, grinding against me to get even farther inside.
“You feel good.”
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All I want is to sleep, or at least rest for a little while, but the way
he looks at me lets me know that’s not an option. Surrendering to his
will, I draw a stuttering breath, trying to adjust to his size and the
feeling of being completely filled.
“That’s it,” he says, leaning over me, and staring straight at me
while he begins to thrust. “Let me fuck you. Let me be in charge.”
When he lets go of my legs, I wrap them around his waist; he uses
his hands to caress my breasts, my belly and my hips.
“You’re so beautiful,” he moans, thrusting harder.
His fingers slip between my thighs and touch eagerly.
“And so wet,” he continues. “I knew you’d love a good fucking.”
His harsh words have the opposite effect of what I would’ve expected.
Rather than repel me, they arouse me.
“Don’t you?” he whispers harshly, reaching up to grab my hair,
forcing my head back and exposing my neck.
“Yes, yes, Sir!” I cry.
Satisfied with my answer, he starts massaging my clit and I whimper
in response. I’m so tender, but he feels good inside me so I attempt to
focus on that. I’ve never enjoyed actual sex before. It felt good being
close to Mike and sharing an intimate experience on an emotional
level, when we started going out, but there hadn’t ever been actual
pleasure involved. Until now.
“Oh,” I moan, clenching around Mr. Masen’s very hard cock as he
pushes inside again. “Oh, God!”
“That’s it,” he encourages, thrusting harder. “Take it like a good
girl. Let me feel you come.”
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“Please!” I gasp. “More . . . I . . . it’s . . .”
“Yeah?” he pants. “You need more? More cock?”
He fucks me relentlessly while I writhe beneath him. I feel so small
and vulnerable, completely naked and at his mercy, and yet I somehow
know he won’t harm me.
“Fucking come!” he commands. “I’ll turn you over and spank your
pretty ass if you don’t.”
Arousal surges through me and he notices immediately.
“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he practically taunts.
“Sir, yes, God!”
I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. I need for him to never
stop what he’s doing. I tremble under his hands as he runs them up
my body, cupping my breasts before framing my face. He covers my
body completely, and at the end of each thrust, rotates his hips so
that he presses against me. His face is inches from mine and I can’t
look away.
“Come,” he orders softly. “Let me feel it. You’re so fucking sweet.
Give me this, too.”
He moves his hands to my wrists, pinning me down, fucking me
into the mattress. I can’t move. I’m trapped. I’m his. I’m his. I’m . .
.
I come, screaming, but I don’t think I make a sound. He takes my
body and gives me this feeling in return. And in that moment, it’s so
worth it. I never want it to end. Of course it does, as all good things
do, and I feel him sitting up between my legs. I watch, still breathing
harshly, as he pulls out, jerking his cock twice before he comes on me,
gasping my name.
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“You’re mine now,” he pants, rubbing his still hard cock against
me, spreading his warm come all over my pussy. “You’re mine.”
“Yes,” I agree, sighing as he practically collapses, half his body on
top of me.
He kisses me with surprising tenderness before exhaling deeply and
resting his head on my chest. Acting on instinct, I run my fingers
through his hair and realize my mistake too late.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” I whisper, lifting my arms back up.
“No, don’t stop,” he says. “It feels good.”
Smiling to myself, I stroke his head, messing up his neatly-styled
hairdo. I know I should probably contemplate what transpired here:
my discovery that sex can be utterly mind blowing and the fact that
I want to do it again—very soon—but I’m just so tired. I drift a little
and I think Mr. Masen does, as well. It’s peaceful and quiet.
After a while, he stirs on top of me and climbs off the bed, saying
something about the bathroom. I stretch my body, smiling lazily
at the ceiling. I can’t remember the last time I felt this relaxed.
Mr. Masen returns after a few minutes, holding a wet rag and a small
towel. Obligingly, I spread my legs and let him wash between them,
which he does very gently.
“You’re still so swollen,” he comments, tracing his thumb over my
clit before circling my entrance with what I’m guessing is his index
finger. “And wet,” he adds.
I feel a bit embarrassed that his simple touches are making my
heartbeat faster and causing my body to awaken once more.
“You have the prettiest tits,” he says, leaning down to trace around
the tips of my breasts with his tongue. “And look how they respond.”
It only takes seconds and my nipples are hard, silently begging for
more stimulation.
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“Oh, to be young again,” Mr. Masen says teasingly, tapping my clit
with his fingertip. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to get enough, once
you were properly fucked.”
I blush, feeling a bit like a hussy, but I can’t help it; he’s right.
“Would you like more cock, sweet girl?”
“Yes,” I admit, ignoring the feeling of shame that automatically
creeps up on me when I voice my desire.
“You’ll have to wait a little while,” he says unapologetically.
I understand. He’s forty years old, after all, and while I don’t mind
waiting, time is an issue for me tonight.
“What time is it, Sir?” I ask.
“Why?”
“I have to be home by midnight.”
He smiles.
“Or you’ll turn into a pumpkin?”
“Not exactly,” I say, returning the smile. “It’s just . . . my friend
is expecting me.”
Mr. Masen’s eyes leave my body and snap up to meet mine.
“And what is this friend’s name?” he demands.
“Alice,” I whisper.
“Oh. I see. Why is she expecting you so late?”
I squirm a bit, this time not from horniness, as Alice would call it.
“Well, she’s not, really,” I lie. “But I thought it might be safest
if someone knew where I was and who could call . . . someone, if
something happened to me.”
Mr. Masen stares at me.
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“I won’t hurt you,” he finally says. “I’d never do that.”
“I know,” I whisper. “It just seemed safest for someone to know
where I am.”
He nods.
“I understand. And I’m glad you’re being careful, Isabella. The
world can be a dangerous place.”
He runs his hand down my upper body, tickling my belly until I
smile.
“This Alice . . . does she know about our arrangement?”
“Yes.”
“And?” he asks, looking into my eyes.
“She’s cool. She won’t tell anyone else, I promise.”
“She’s a good friend?”
“The best,” I answer immediately.
He smiles at me.
“I’m glad you have someone in your life you can trust. C’mon,
let’s go downstairs again. You can call your Alice and tell her you’re
spending the night.”
He stands and holds his hand out to me, an expectant look on his
face.
“Spending the night?” I ask, sitting up slowly. “The whole night?”
“Yes, that’s not a problem, is it?”
Actually, it is. If it were just a matter of telling Alice, it would be
fine, but her mother is there, as well, and she thinks I’m out working
as a server. What kind of server stays out the whole goddamned
night?
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“No, it’s fine,” I lie, taking his hand and getting up off the bed.
Mr. Masen purses his lips, giving me a look.
“Isabella, I don’t want to force you to do anything. If you’d rather
not stay the night—”
“Really, it’s okay,” I say, but even I can hear how weak it comes
out.
“If you’re worried about spending the night with me, don’t. I have
a guest bedroom that I’d want you to stay in.”
“Oh. I wouldn’t stay in here with you?” I ask, motioning to his
bed.
“No. I sleep alone,” he says, rather curtly. “Always.”
Weird.
“Well . . . if we’re not sleeping together, would it maybe be all
right if I go home when you go to bed?” I ask, holding my breath.
Please, say yes!
“Yes, I suppose that does make sense,” he agrees. “But until then,
you’re mine, and I like to stay up late on my days off.”
I beam at him.
“Yes, Sir!”
He chuckles, seeing my happy expression.
“I guess you like sleeping in your own bed as much as I do, sweet
girl.”
No, that’s not it at all.
Of course, I don’t say that. I merely keep smiling as he helps me
put the black dress and heels back on and leads me downstairs to
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call Alice, while I pray she’ll be able to convince her mom that it’s
perfectly normal for servers to stay out until the middle of the night.
Well, that happened. :) Hope you enjoyed it.
Take care until next time! :)
137
Chapter 15

I’m back to working on my thesis, since my extension is
coming to an end, so this means less time for writing fun
stuff, unfortunately. :/
Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. Hearing
your thoughts is always a treat and often the highlight of my
day. :)
Thank you to Mauigirl60, whose corrections and sugges-
tions make this worth reading.
Enjoy!
BPOV
“So, when do you think you might be done for the night?” Alice
asks.
“I’m not sure,” I say, as quietly as I can. “He said he likes to stay
up late on his nights off. I’m really sorry about this.”
“Don’t be. I’ll figure out something to tell my mom, but it might
not be necessary. She’s going to bed in a few anyway, so chances are
she won’t know when you get in.”
I breathe out, feeling better.
“How’d it go tonight?” I ask.
“No problems. They had fun. I put Seth in my bed with the girls
like last time, and my mom is taking Maria’s bed, so it looks like we’ll
be sharing the couch.”
“No way! I’ll tell the cab to wait outside and I’ll take Seth home
straight away. Then you can take his place in your bed.”
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“Are you sure?”
“Positive. There’s no point in none of us getting a good night’s
sleep. Mr. Masen pays the cab driver a hundred dollars and that
should be plenty for two trips.”
“Speaking of,” Alice says, “how’s it going over there? He’s still
being nice to you, right?”
I glance through the door to the kitchen where Mr. Masen seems
to be having an altercation with his microwave oven. He opens it,
looks inside, closes it again, and presses several buttons before staring
intently at the display. He must sense my eyes on him, because he
turns his head; when he sees me watching, he grins, throwing his
hands up in defeat. My heart stutters at the sight of his happy boyish
expression and I smile at him, holding up my index finger to signal
that I’m almost done.
“Bella? He is still nice, right?” Alice asks again, sounding con-
cerned.
“Yes,” I answer. “He’s so nice, Alice. I’m . . . I’m actually having
a good time.”
“I’m glad,” she says, and I know she’s being genuine.
“I am, too. I have to go now.”
“Yeah, I’ll see you later. Can you text me once you leave, so I can
let you in?”
“I will. Thank you.”
“No problem. Later.”
“Yeah, later.”
I hang up and walk over to Mr. Masen, who’s leaning against the
kitchen island, and hand him back his phone.
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“Everything all right?” he asks.
“Yeah. I’m yours for the rest of the night.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“I do too, Sir.”
He smiles and turns back to the microwave oven again, opening it
to take out a flat brown package.
“I thought we’d have popcorn with the movie,” he says, “but it’s
not working for some reason. The display is dead.”
The thing looks brand new to me.
“When was the last time you used it?”
“I’ve never tried it until tonight.”
I grab it and move it to the side, reaching for the wire.
“Did you plug it in?”
Before Mr. Masen can reply, I hold the answer in my hand. Quickly,
I plug it into the socket on the wall and the oven comes to life with a
loud beeping sound.
“All fixed,” I say cheerily.
Mr. Masen looks a bit stunned and my heart skips a beat, but not
a good way. I realize that my take-charge attitude, which is how I
normally am at home, isn’t something he’s seen in me before. In fact,
I may have made him feel a bit foolish that he couldn’t figure out the
problem by himself, and that certainly doesn’t fit with how he wants
me to act: submissive and worshipful of him.
“Well done.” Mr. Masen chuckles and leans down to press a soft
kiss on my lips. “I would’ve made a real ass of myself at the store,
saying it was defective.”
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“Oh, it was nothing, Sir,” I say, beaming at him. “Would you like
me to make the popcorn?”
“That would be lovely.”
“How did you happen to have popcorn in the house?” I ask, as I
set the timer and start the oven. “You’ve never used the oven before,
I mean.”
“Oh, that. I have an assistant who takes care of a lot of things,
among those grocery shopping. I don’t know half of what’s in the
cupboards, I’ll admit.”
“An assistant? Is she pretty?”
Fuck. Awkward much?
Mr. Masen laughs.
“Marcus is quite attractive. If that’s your type.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh,” he says, smirking. “Nothing for you to be jealous of,
sweet girl. I already told you: there’s only you.”
My cheeks flame from embarrassment as Mr. Masen pulls me close
again.
“Only you, Isabella,” he murmurs softly, stroking my hair.
The look in his eyes is slightly hypnotic and all I can do is stare up
at him.
“And what about you?” he continues.
“What about me?” I whisper.
“Are you seeing anyone else?”
Immediately, I start to shake my head but he holds me by my chin,
stopping me.
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“I realize I don’t have a say in what you do when you leave here,
so I want you to be honest with me.”
“I swear there’s no one, Sir. Only you. I’m yours completely.”
He closes his eyes for a moment, as though he’s savoring my words,
which I suppose he genuinely is, seeing how his fantasy is all about
being worshipped. However, knowing I’m the only one he’s seeing
makes me happy, as well, but I’d rather not dwell on what that says
about me.
“I’d like for you to keep it that way,” he says, gently running his
fingers across my throat, making me shiver. “Is that too much to
ask?”
I shake my head. It’s not as though I have guys lined up around
the block, and even if I did, I doubt I’d feel much like dating. Making
this promise to Mr. Masen is easy.
“Only you,” I say, “Sir.”
His lips are on mine in the next moment, kissing me with so much
heat that I actually feel my knees going weak, something I’d always
felt was a gross exaggeration in romantic literature, but it turns out
to be a real occurrence in this case.
“Isabella.”
His breath is warm against my mouth as he lifts me up, wrapping
my legs around his waist. I hold onto him as he carries me through
the house and we end up in the living room where we tumble onto the
couch, both laughing. He frames my face with his hands.
“Sweet girl,” he says, now serious again, before reclaiming my
mouth.
His hands fumble with the zipper on my back and I lift up to
help him, eager to rid myself of the dress and being naked again.
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Mr. Masen’s lips trail across my skin as it’s bared to him while he
slowly pulls the fabric off my body.
“Oh, God,” I groan, feeling his hands and his mouth caress my
breasts.
I squirm around to get the dress all the way off and Mr. Masen
chortles, looking up at me.
“Eager?”
“Yes, Sir,” I admit.
“Good,” he says," I don’t think I can wait much longer either."
We kiss again while he somehow manages to open his pants.
“Ready?” he asks.
I let him between my thighs and feel him sliding against me.
“God, you’re so ready,” he moans, lifting my right leg up as high
as it can go. “Tell me why.”
“W-why?” I gasp, as he lines himself up, ready to push inside.
“What makes you so fucking wet?” he growls.
“You do, Sir,” I tell him with perfect honesty. “Please, f-fuck me.”
“There’s my good girl,” he croons, slowly easing his cock inside me.
“So horny for me, aren’t you?”
“Yesss,” I hiss, loving the sensation.
He fucks me slowly, taking his time to watch how I react to him.
Each time he slides in, I moan, eager for him to do it again and again.
Suddenly, he reaches up to grab my right hand and slides it in between
our bodies. Then down. Way down. Embarrassed, I try to pull it
away but his hold on my wrist tightens.
“Don’t,” he commands, lifting himself up to make more room
between us. “You know what I want.”
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I do. He wants me to touch myself. He wants to watch while I do
it.
“Please, Sir.”
“Yes, that’s why you’re here,” he says. “To please Sir.”
He leans down again until we’re nose to nose before thrusting
his cock back inside me, making me gasp against his lips. His eyes
somehow penetrate me even more, if that’s possible.
“So please me,” he adds, continuing a slow sensual rhythm. “Obey
me.”
Pushing aside everything I was ever lectured by my mother, I do
as he says, caressing myself with unsure fingers. Mr. Masen sits up
on his knees, holding onto my hips, his eyes fixed on the place where
we’re connected.
“That’s it,” he croons, picking up his pace a bit. “It feels good,
doesn’t it, Isabella?”
I nod my head, unable to look away from him. The dual sensation
of his powerful deep thrusts combined with my fingertips sliding across
my clit is undoubtedly wonderful, but what’s most amazing to me is
when Mr. Masen glances up to meet my eyes. He smiles at me and
the tenderness in his eyes is rivaled only by the warmth in his tone
when he tells me,
“Good girl. You’re such a good girl.”
Watching his satisfaction makes me feel warm all over and I feel no
shame in exposing myself like this to him. I revel in it, doing this for
him, and I bring my left hand up to fondle my breast, without being
told to do so.
“Yes! You’re so fucking beautiful!” he gasps, his rhythm faltering
before he starts moving at a rapid pace.
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It doesn’t take long before I come, clenching wildly around him
as he stills, groans and sinks down on top of me, breathing heavily
against my skin.
“Oh, God,” I exhale, mostly to myself.
I can’t believe how good that felt and I don’t understand why it’s
so different with Mr. Masen, why I suddenly experience sensations
I’ve only read or heard about from Alice.
“Hmm?” Mr. Masen mumbles, lifting his head to look at me.
“Nothing, Sir. It’s just . . . I didn’t know it could feel like that.”
“Like what?”
His roguish grin tells me that he knows exactly what I mean. He
wants to hear me say it.
“Feel so good,” I tell him. “I . . . really like it, with you.”
“I really like it with you, too,” he says, brushing a soft kiss against
my lips. “Just you wait, pretty girl. Tonight was only the beginning.”
With that promise, he lifts himself off me and fixes his pants before
flopping right back down on the couch next to my feet, exhaling loudly,
while unbuttoning his shirt.
“You’re giving me quite a workout tonight,” he remarks with a grin,
giving my left thigh a playful squeeze.
“Sorry, Sir.” I return the grin, not feeling the least bit sorry.
I sit up and let my eyes drift across his torso, admiring his toned
stomach now visible to me, thanks to his open shirt. But then I
see something that wipes the smile clean off my face: scars. Plural.
They’re raised, jagged, and angry-looking, despite their pale color,
indicating that they’re old. Starting few inches to the left of his belly
button and continuing underneath the shirt, it’s obvious that they’re
not from surgery. They were put there. Inflicted violently. But by
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whom? His parents, maybe? Could that be the reason he doesn’t
want to talk about his family? He could have died from those injuries!
“Oh,” I say softly, covering my mouth with my hands.
Mr. Masen shifts next to me. I tear my eyes away from the scars
and look up at him, seeing that his previously happy expression is
long gone. He doesn’t say anything. With slow deliberate movements,
he buttons back up and sits quietly next to me, staring into space. I
lower my hands.
“Someone hurt you,” I whisper.
“Someone tried,” he corrects, shooting me a glance.
“I’m sorry.” I move a little closer, tentatively placing my hand on
his shoulder.
He gives me a curt nod, clenching his jaw several times. His posture
is rigid.
“You can go put your own clothes on now. We’re done for the
night.”
His dismissal stings, but I’m not sure he actually means it. It’s
obvious he didn’t want me to see what I’ve seen. He’s never really
taken any of his clothes off in front of me, which I always thought was
a bit weird, but now it makes sense.
“I’d like to stay,” I tell him, moving my hand up to caress his hair.
“Watch the movie with you, Sir.”
“Why?” He looks at me. “I’ll pay you the same amount, if that’s
what you’re worried about.”
I have no idea how to respond to that. Does he really think that’s
all I care about? Yes, realistically it probably should be my only
concern, but I know it isn’t.
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“I don’t want our night together to be over yet,” I say. “It’s still
your birthday, sort of. I’d like to spend it with you.”
He examines me closely, and I wonder if he’s trying to figure out
whether or not I’m telling him the truth.
“Besides, it would be a shame to let the popcorn go to waste,” I
add, giving him a small smile.
Finally, the corners of his mouth lift.
“Yes, it would,” he agrees.
My own smile widens, knowing he’ll let me stay for the rest of the
night. The money he pays me is my main motivation for being here,
but I acknowledge that it’s not the only reason. I didn’t have to offer
to bake him a cake, I didn’t have to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to him,
and I certainly didn’t have to buy him a present. I did those things
because I wanted to, of my own volition.
“You really are such a sweet girl, aren’t you, Isabella?”
He’s asked me that before, I think, and I know my answer.
“Yes. Your sweet girl, Mr. Masen.”
I lean in, kissing him on the lips. A spark of tenderness rushes
through me as he responds, reaching up to cup my cheek ever so
gently. He can be gentle and sweet when he wants to be, rough and
demanding at other times. I like both sides of his personality.
“I need a couple of minutes,” he says, giving me another quick peck.
“Run upstairs and put your own clothes back on. Then we’ll watch
the movie.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I head up to the bathroom, grateful for the chance to clean up
after our tryst. Sex without a condom is messier than I had expected,
but I don’t regret agreeing to it. After all, I’m on birth control
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and Mr. Masen has no reason to lie about his health. I’m actually
more surprised that he trusts me so blindly. A callous sort of woman
could make a lot of money in child support off a wealthy man like
Mr. Masen if she tricked him into getting her pregnant. I shake my
head, deciding to take a quick shower before getting back into my
own clothes. Walking downstairs in my shirt and skirt, I feel very
underdressed. That is, until I see Mr. Masen sitting on the couch with
his bare feet up, wearing plaid pajama pants and a gray t-shirt. It
looks like he’s showered as well, his usually so-severely-styled hair now
tousled and still damp. He looks so . . . young, almost.
“There you are,” he says, smiling. “Come join me.”
“Uh, yes, Sir,” I manage, sitting down next to ‘casual, relaxed
Mr. Masen’.
“Here, I brought you a Coke,” he says, handing me a tall glass,
its sides damp with condensation. “Almost like being at the movies,
huh?”
I take the drink, gaping at him.
“Yes. Thank you, Sir.”
It’s such a small gesture, but with so much meaning behind it. He
remembers our talk from last time about how I can’t afford the cinema,
so he’s giving me the experience at home. It’s one of the sweetest
things I’ve ever experienced. I take a sip and place it back on the
table.
“Can I get you anything, Sir?”
He shakes his head, lifting the remote to press the ‘play’ button
before handing me the bowl of popcorn and turning his attention to
the screen. We watch quietly for a while, passing the snack back and
forth. I keep stealing glances at him, marveling at how different he
seems right now. He’s so at ease, like he’s let some of his walls down
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all of a sudden. It makes me a bit nervous, as if I don’t really know
what to expect from him now, or what he expects from me. It’s almost
like we’re usually in costumes: him in his suits and me in the dresses
he picks for me. Now, we’re just . . . us.
“What is it?” he asks suddenly. “You’re fidgeting.”
“Oh, my, uh, feet are a bit cold.”
Well, they are, actually.
He observes me for a moment before nodding.
“C’mere,” he says, lifting his arm in invitation.
I move into the corner of the couch with him and curl my legs
underneath me, liking the feeling of his arm draped around me.
“Better?”
“Much, Sir. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Isabella,” he says, giving me a small squeeze.
We watch the movie like that, all cuddled up with me in his arms.
It’s really nice. I can’t remember the last time someone held me for
a long period of time. Usually, I’m the one doing the holding: when
Seth has a nightmare, is sick, or simply wants a hug. This is nice in a
very different way. I feel safe and cared for in Mr. Masen’s embrace. I
can relax and just be, knowing that Seth is well taken care of by Alice,
and all I have to do is watch the action on screen and try not to fall
asleep, which is difficult feeling so warm and relaxed. At some point,
I must nod off, because suddenly I’m being awakened by Mr. Masen
saying my name and stroking my cheek. I pry my eyes open, looking
into his. I’m still in his arms, heavy and sleepy.
“Is the movie over?” I mumble.
“Mmmhmm.”
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“I’m sorry I missed it. Was it good?”
“Not really,” Mr. Masen chuckles. “There were aliens for some
inexplicable reason.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” I say, frowning.
“Perhaps my expectations were too high.”
“I guess you don’t always get what you wish for—not even on your
birthday.”
Mr. Masen brushes my hair off my forehead, stroking the length of
it down my back.
“Not always,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss me, “but some-
times.”
An hour later, as I’m tucking Seth into his own bed, I’m still
smiling. I haven’t stopped since that kiss. Alice took one look at
me, grinned and whispered that she wants details tomorrow after
her mother leaves. Lovingly stroking Seth’s hair, I feel as though
everything might actually work out for us. I have another thousand
dollars, which means I’ll now be able to pay the rest of what I owe
the landlord and can throw that horrible eviction notice in the trash.
We’re in the clear and I already know more money will be coming
soon, since Mr. Masen asked me to cook dinner for him next week.
“Everything will be fine,” I whisper to my sleeping son. “We’re
going to be okay.”
Thank you for sticking with me. Actual plot development
coming up in the following chapter! :)
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Chapter 16

Sorry, sorry, sorry! Kids, exam preparation at work, the-
sis, marriage counseling, autism workshops. My life is very,
very full. I’ve got a nice long chapter for you, though.
Thank you to all of you for reading and reviewing. You
keep me going! Thank you to Mauigirl60, my beautiful beta,
who I’ll actually be visiting in a month’s time in connection
with the TwiFic Meetup in Nashville! So excited!
Ready for a time jump? Here goes . . .
BPOV
“Hon, start finding the toys you want to bring to Aunt Alice’s,
okay? We have to leave soon.”
“Okay!”
I smile at my reflection as I finish putting on my makeup. Not too
much. Mr. Masen likes me looking natural.
The weeks have flown by. I’ve spent my days with Seth, exploring
the city in new ways. Now that we have money, it opens up new
opportunities for us. We’ve taken bus rides to the good parts of town
to visit parks and playgrounds where I don’t have to worry about
needles in the sandbox. We’ve gone to Ikea and bought a new couch
to replace the old lumpy one, as well as pretty knick-knacks for our
apartment, which is looking more and more like a well-kept home.
We’ve had Alice’s girls over for a slumber party and it felt fantastic
being able to reciprocate, giving her a much-needed night off to do
whatever she wanted. We’ve baked, we’ve had movie nights and we’ve
hung out at the mall. I have even gone on two job interviews, but my
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lack of experience doing anything is holding me back. I still look for
work, but I’m not as desperate as I used to be. I have a backup, after
all: Mr. Masen.
I won’t say that we’ve developed a routine, because I never know
what to expect when I go to his house. Some nights I cook; on others,
he orders in and I only make a dessert for us to enjoy after dinner.
Sometimes he ravishes me the moment I step through the door, and
other times he saves it for the end of the night. We’ve had sex in his
bed, on the couch, on the kitchen table, in the hallway, and on the
stairs. One night, I spent twenty minutes on my hands and knees,
scrubbing his already immaculate floors while he watched. Then, he
pushed up my dress and fucked me from behind, warning me that
I’d better keep on scrubbing unless I wanted a spanking. Smiling to
myself, I slid the brush across the wet floor so it was out of reach,
delighting in his reaction as he called me a naughty girl and thrust
even harder while bringing his hand down on my ass again and again
until I came so hard, I could hardly see straight.
Some nights, he seems to want to take it easy and lets me keep my
own clothes on. On those nights, we’ve watched TV on the couch or
listened to music. He likes rock music—older stuff from decades ago—
and new comedy shows, which makes us both laugh. Other nights,
he goes all out, putting me in vintage dresses, heels, and aprons to
watch me as I cook, serve him, and sit on his lap while I eat my share
of the food. The wine from Italy that I like has become a permanent
staple on the dinner table and there’s always plenty of Coke in the
fridge for me. Some nights when we say goodbye, he presents me with
a gift in addition to the manila envelope: another spa gift card; a
perfume he tells me he bought on his latest trip to Paris; a book he
knows I’ve wanted to read. In return, and to show my appreciation,
I’ve done everything I can think of to please him, and it seems I’m
succeeding very well judging from the satisfied expression on his face
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and the fact that he keeps telling me to come back. He’s still paying
me a thousand dollars a night, which means I’ve now paid what I owe
the apartment manager, even giving him a month’s rent in advance.
It feels so good being on top of things for once and I know I have
Mr. Masen to thank for how well things are going.
I’m putting my shoes on when there’s suddenly a knock at the door.
I’m not expecting anyone, so I stand up on my tiptoes to peer through
the peephole. What I see is enough to make me lose my balance and
stumble backward.
“Isabella, I know you’re in there.”
The voice is slightly muffled, but I’d recognize it anywhere. It’s
a voice of my childhood: the one that scolded me, lectured me, and
reprimanded me at every turn. But it’s also the voice of familiarity,
safety, and everything I once knew. I don’t want to open the door,
but I do it anyway. Just a few inches.
“What do you want?” I blurt out.
“Well, that’s certainly a nice greeting. Are you going to let me in?”
“No . . . Mother.”
Her lips pucker with displeasure as she pulls her coat tighter around
herself.
“This hallway is filthy,” she says, looking around with disdain. “And
cold.”
“Yeah, well, it’s fall,” I reply. “What are you doing here? How’d
you know where I was?”
“I’ve always known where you were, Isabella. Your father has his
ways.”
“Five years,” I whisper. “You’ve known for five years and you never
came by.”
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She doesn’t say anything. She just stands there with her nice warm
coat and superior attitude.
“What. Do. You. Want?”
“I want you to come home.”
I’ve heard the expression ‘jaw-dropping’, but I don’t think I’ve ever
really had it happen to me before.
Come home? Is she fucking kidding me?
I recover quickly.
“No. Absolutely not.”
“I know what’s going on,” she says.
My gut twists with anxiety. Does she know how I make my money?
That I’m a rich man’s . . . whatever it is I am.
“I know Michael is gone and you’re alone now,” she continues.
“I’m not alone,” I hiss. “I have my son. Or did you forget about
him?”
“Of course not.”
“How’d you even find out about Mike?”
“Cynthia Brandon,” she says, wrinkling her nose.
“You’re lying. You wouldn’t be caught dead talking to Alice’s
mom!”
“She talked to me. Yelled at me. In the middle of the supermarket,
no less! She says her daughter is always watching your child until all
hours of the night. Is this true, Isabella?”
“I have to work,” I grit out. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mother. I
have to go.”
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“I’m not leaving,” she says, with an edge to her voice. “This has
gone on long enough. It’s time for you to come home! I won’t have
my daughter out at all hours of the night, doing God knows—”
“Shut up!” I whisper-yell.
I feel a tug on my shirt.
“Mommy, is it time to go to Aunt Alice’s? Why are you shouting?
Who’s that lady?”
“That’s . . . no one, baby. Can you start putting your shoes and
jacket on, please?” I say, blocking my mother’s view of Seth.
“I can watch him for you,” she says.
I gape at her.
“I’m not leaving him with you!”
“Why on earth not?”
“You’re a stranger! He doesn’t know you.”
Also, you wanted me to get rid of him. You abandoned me when I
needed you the most. I fucking hate you!
I don’t say that. I don’t say any of the things I want. I can’t do
that here. Seth is right behind me and we’re running late. Biting my
tongue, I simply say “goodbye” and shut the door in her face before
helping Seth get ready.
She’s still out there when we leave. Her eyes are glued to Seth as I
tug on his hand and hurry down the hall toward the stairs.
“Isabella!” she calls. “Your father . . . he . . . he’s very ill.”
I don’t stop and I don’t reply. Moving on autopilot, I hold my son’s
hand and navigate us through the streets until we reach Alice’s, only
half-listening to his happy, untroubled chatter.
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Inside their apartment, Seth leaves my side, excited to show off his
new toys.
“Bella, are you okay?” Alice asks, as we watch the three kids easily
falling into play. “You look . . . I don’t know, off.”
“Tell me the truth, please,” I whisper, turning to her. “You’d tell
me if you didn’t want to babysit Seth for me anymore, right?”
“What are you talking about? You know I love having him here.
He’s a total buffer. The girls never fight with him around.”
“My mom came by today.”
“Are you serious?”
I nod my head.
“What’d she want?”
I chuckle.
“For me to come home. I guess your mom verbally attacked her
at the store or something, saying that Seth is always here at night
because Mike left us.”
“Oh, my God!” Alice groans. “I told her not to say anything.”
“You’ve talked about me?”
“Well, yeah. But not like you might think, Bella. Honestly. My
mom was over again last weekend, right?”
I nod my head. Mr. Masen was away somewhere so I didn’t see
Alice or Cynthia that time.
“I was saying how it’s so nice having her around, not only to help,
but also that she knows my girls so well. And I guess I might’ve said
a few not-so-nice things about your parents and how they’re scum for
just cutting you off completely, forcing you to work all hours to make
ends meet.”
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She draws a breath.
“Well, my mom agreed, of course, and said she’d like to give your
mom a piece of her mind. I told her not to, but I guess she did it
anyway. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I know your mom means well.”
“So, what happened?” Alice asks. “You said no, right?”
“Of course. She actually offered to watch Seth for me tonight.
She must have lost her mind, thinking I’d leave him with a virtual
stranger!”
“Bitch be cray-cray,” Alice agrees, nodding.
I crack a smile.
“Totes,” I say, making her grin.
“Jeez, what a mess,” I whisper, running my fingers through my
hair. “I don’t think I’ve seen the last of her. If she ever finds out what
I do for a living . . . I’m scared.”
“It’s okay,” Alice says, putting her arm around me.
“It’s not, though. I mean, it’s illegal, what I do. If anyone ever
finds out, I could lose Seth,” I tell her, biting the inside of my cheek
to force my eyes not to well up.
“No one will find out. I won’t tell and you know Mr. Masen won’t,
either.”
Drawing a deep breath through my nose, I do my best to become
all Zen, or whatever the hell it’s called.
“I have to get over there,” I say. “How do I look?”
“Pretty,” Alice says with a sad smile.
I say goodbye to Seth, giving him a big hug before heading out to
find a cab to take me to Medina.
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Three hours later, I’m still holding it together. I play the part to
perfection, wearing a beautiful dress, heels, and even a string of pearls
as I clean up after the—if I do say so myself—delicious meal I cooked
and served. I’ve sent him demure smiles and batted my eyelashes at
him, asked to sit on his lap and called him ‘Sir’ in a slightly breathy
voice. Everything he loves. I don’t think of my mother showing up. I
don’t think of my father’s illness, whatever it might be. I focus solely
on the man next to me, of pleasing him.
“Isabella, is something wrong?” he suddenly asks.
I don’t stop loading the dishwasher.
“No, everything’s fine, Sir.”
“Are you certain?”
“Absolutely.”
I feel him watching me and I force myself to smile as I start the
program and stand up to face him.
“All done,” I say cheerfully.
“You’re very domestic,” he observes. “I like that.”
“You don’t say,” I remark dryly.
He flashes me a grin and pulls me close, trapping me against the
counter as he towers above me.
“Not so timid around me anymore, are you?”
I hold his gaze.
“No, Sir.”
“That’s good,” he says, running a large hand down one side of my
body, outlining my curves.
“Is it?”
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He cocks his head to the side, giving me an inquisitive look.
“I mean, you like me acting submissively,” I explain.
He takes a small step forward, pressing me against the counter
while both his hands roam freely across my body.
“Spread your legs,” he whispers in my ear, nipping lightly at the
lobe.
I moan as he massages my breast and slides one hand up my inner
thigh to caress me with the certainty of an experienced lover.
“You like this, Isabella?”
“Yes,” I breathe, reaching up to hold onto his broad shoulders.
“The things I want to do to you,” he murmurs softly, dipping his
fingers inside me. “To use your sweet body for my pleasure. Would
you like that?”
I nod my head, closing my eyes as I rest my forehead against his
chest, my fingers clawing at the fabric of his shirt while he moves his
fingers faster and faster.
“Should I let you come?” he asks, sweeping his thumb across my
clit. “Or should I deny you? Have you been a good girl?”
His words make me whimper, they feel so good to me, causing me
to spasm around his fingers.
“P-please,” I beg, lifting my left leg up, opening myself to him.
“Fuck me, Sir.”
Next thing I know, Mr. Masen tosses me onto the kitchen island
and stuff goes flying everywhere. I don’t care at all. He reaches behind
me to yank down the zipper of my dress and I quickly push it down
around my waist while he opens his pants with hurried movements.
He doesn’t speak. He lifts my lower half, pulls the dress off me and
holds my legs open, thrusting his cock inside me with a low groan.
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He doesn’t pause. Immediately, he pulls back and then pushes inside
again. Again and again. He takes me with a sense of savagery I’ve only
read about in trashy romance novels, in which the ruggedly handsome
pirate ravishes the barmaid because he simply can’t contain his manly
desires. This is like that, only real. Only better. I writhe on the
hard surface, lifting my hands up above my head, surrendering to him,
letting him do whatever he wants. It feels incredible.
“Fuck,” Mr. Masen pants. “There you are. Look at you. Look at
you.”
His right hand lets go of my hip and glides up my body with a
firm touch, pausing to grab a jiggling breast and pinch the already
stiff nipple. I shiver as he leans over me, his hand moving upward
to grasp my throat in a sign of complete domination as he takes my
body without apology. I open my mouth to speak, though I have no
idea what I’m going to say, but he silences me with his eyes.
“You love this,” he says, emphasizing his point with a sharp thrust.
Involuntarily, I arch my back reveling in the feeling his thick cock
in my pussy, his hand on my throat, his eyes on my face.
“Y-y-yes!” I croak as he continues to pound into me, coming with
an unprecedented intensity that makes me lose my breath and screw
my eyes shut.
Once I’m able to breathe again, I draw deep gulps of air, willing
my heart to slow down its furious pace. Mr. Masen is slumped on
top of me, heaving for air, as well. I bring my limp arms down in a
half-hearted attempt to stroke his hair, even though I feel completely
worn out. After a little while, he raises himself up on his elbows and
looks at me.
“Did you enjoy that, Isabella?”
I nod my head, giving him a tired smile.
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“And you still think you’re only acting submissively?”
“What?” I whisper.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you tonight, why you were
putting on a show earlier. But you and I both know that’s not what
I want. I don’t want you acting. I want the real you. And the real
you craves being dominated. You love getting spanked and you come
so fucking hard when I hold you down. I can’t wait to see how you’ll
react when I tie you up. Be that girl all the time. Please me, but do
it because you want to, the way you usually are around me. Serve me,
sweet girl. Worship me. Do it because you want it as much as I do.”
He leans down, kissing me gently, before removing himself. I listen
as he fixes his clothes and moved around, feeling as though I’ve had a
bucket of ice water thrown in my face. Why would he say something
like that? I sit up on the edge of the island, looking down to avoid
seeing Mr. Masen as I gingerly lift myself down, unsure of what to
do now. Should I get dressed again? Start cleaning up the mess we
made? I wrap my arms around myself, feeling both uncomfortable
and chilled.
“Come here, Isabella.”
Mr. Masen’s voice is soft and soothing, as though he’s speaking to
a skittish animal, which isn’t that far off, I suppose. His outstretched
hand beckons me and part of me wants to run to him and fling myself
into his arms.
“You’re wrong,” I say. “About me.”
“Am I?”
Yes. No. Maybe.
“Come here,” he says again, even softer this time. “You know it’s
the truth, deep down.”
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I don’t know that. What I do know is that he just fucked me to
prove a point. So what has he proven? That he’ll be able do more
weird stuff with me now, since he’s convinced I crave domination?
What does it say about me, about the kind of woman I am? That I
can’t take care of myself? That I need a man to take charge of me,
like my father has always done, turning my mother into a puppet?
That I’m weak? Helpless? Is that how Mr. Masen sees me?
“No.” I shake my head minutely.
“No?”
“No,” I say again, bending down to grab the dress and cover myself
with.
“Isabella—”
“I’d like to call it an early night. Please, Sir?”
I need time to think. Intellectually, I know all of his claims are
accurate: that I react positively to him being dominant; that it turns
me on. Emotionally, however, I’m more confused than ever. I’m scared
about what this means for me. Will I never be able to have normal
sex again and enjoy it? Or will I keep going down this dark path,
ending up hog-tied while being whipped or something? That thought
terrifies me.
“Very well,” Mr. Masen says, although he doesn’t look happy.
I run upstairs as quickly as my legs can carry me, changing back into
my own clothes. I have to get out of here. Too much has happened
today and I feel my control slipping.
“The cab should be here shortly,” he tells me as he hands me the
manila envelope by the door.
I nod my head, not sure what else to say. The silence is deafening
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and for once I wish I’d familiarized myself with the bus schedule
so I could just leave now, instead of having to stand here and wait.
Mr. Masen sighs softly, scrubbing his face with his hands.
“Look, Isabella,” he starts. “I think I owe you an apology.”
I don’t know how to respond, so he continues.
“It’s taken me a long time to figure out what sort of person I am,
and what kinds of things I like. I shouldn’t have said the things I said,
knowing how young and inexperienced you are. But, the truth is, I’m
frustrated.”
“Frustrated?” I whisper. “With me?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You’re everything I want. In fact, I’d
like to make you an offer.”
He draws a deep breath.
“I’m tired of always sending you home at the end of the night, not
knowing where you go or if you’re going to be okay. It’s not enough,
what we have now. I want more. I want all of it.”
I feel as though my head is spinning.
“Isabella, I want you to move in here with me, and make our
arrangement permanent. The money I’ll pay will ensure you won’t
ever want for anything. You’ll have your own room, of course, and
I won’t ask too much of you, I promise. But after getting to know
you, I’m convinced we want the same things, both in regard to sex
and getting along in general. I think, no, I know having you here will
make me a happy man, because I’m—”
A car horn honking right outside interrupts him and the sound
makes me snap out of the state I’m in, forcing me to really look at
the man in front of me, who’s offering me a very good deal: a chance
to be a part of his world, his affluent lifestyle, and never worry about
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money again. His expression is open, hopeful even, as he gazes down
at me.
I feel as though I’ve been punched in the gut. It’s guilt. I’m a
horrible, despicable person, and I realize that I’ve made a liar out
of myself. Every single time I’ve told Mr. Masen that I’m his alone,
I’ve lied. Every time I’ve promised to worship him and put his needs
first, it’s been deception. I’ve done such a good job of it, that I’ve
now convinced him that I’m perfect for him, that I’m able to give him
what he needs, which is someone whose sole mission in life is to please
and take care of him.
But the truth is that I can’t give him that, and I can’t move in here
with him to be his live-in fantasy. I live in the real world. Outside
this lovely house, outside this rich neighborhood, far away from this
beautiful man is a small boy who needs me more. And I will always
put him first. Always. How could I even consider telling Mr. Masen
about Seth and possibly bringing him into an arrangement like that?
There’s no way. And if my mother were to ever find out that I’m
basically a prostitute, there’s no doubt in my mind she’d do everything
in her power to take my son away from my corrupting influence. She’d
find me here eventually and put two and two together. I know she
would. She’d try to steal my son, to use him as a fresh start now
that her only child turned out to be such a miserable failure. I feel as
though I can’t breathe! She’s not getting her hands on my son!
“Say something,” Mr. Masen murmurs.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp, trying to catch my breath. “I’m so sorry.”
“Isabella—”
“I can’t, Mr. Masen! I’ve lied to you. I’m not who you think I am
at all. And this . . .”
I wave my hand around, hyperventilating.
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“I-I can’t do this. I’m so, so sorry!”
Watching his open expression change to one of disbelief and disap-
pointment is heart-breaking. He welcomed me into his home to me
and offered me a place in it, in his life, and I’ve just thrown it back in
his face. Fighting back tears, I scramble to open the door and exit
the house on unsteady legs.
“Wait, Isabella,” he says. “You’ll come back next week, won’t you?”
I walk backward down the stairs, slowly, facing him.
“No,” I whisper. “I never should’ve . . . I’m not what you think I
am.”
“I don’t understand,” he says, following me outside as I reach the
waiting cab.
I look up at him again, tears flowing freely now. He seems so lost
and it’s all my fault. I instilled false hope in him with all my worship,
promises, and adoration. I made him believe I could make him happy,
and in another life, maybe I could have. But in this life . . . it’s
impossible.
“Everything I’ve . . . made you do,” he asks, his voice low and
gritty, his eyes so sad. “Did you hate it? Was it all an act?”
I don’t want to be a liar anymore. I don’t want to hurt him any
more than I already have. I don’t want him to believe he’s forced
me to do anything I didn’t want, when the truth is, I’ve loved every
moment of our time together.
“No,” I sob, as my voice cracks. “N-no, Mr. Masen.”
I jump into the cab.
“Please, just go!” I cry to the puzzled driver.
“Isabella, please wait!”
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I watch how Mr. Masen reaches for the door handle just as the taxi
starts to move and how his usual composed exterior crumbles as he
chases us halfway down the driveway before stopping and putting his
hands on his knees, lowering his head.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I cry, burying my face in my hands.
“Are you okay?” the driver asks. “Should I call the cops or take
you to the ER?”
I shake my head, feeling absolutely hysterical. I’m not okay at all.
None of this is okay. After a few minutes, I’ve calmed down enough
to give the driver my address. I can’t have Seth seeing me like this
right now. Digging out my new pre-owned cell phone, I send Alice a
text, telling her I’m not feeling well, but that I’ll pick Seth up in the
morning and not to worry.
I watch the dark waters as we drive across the bridge, knowing I
probably won’t ever be making this trip again. Because I won’t ever
see Mr. Masen again. The thought brings around a fresh batch of tears
and I cry silently until the driver pulls out in front of my building.
Feeling numb, I climb the stairs, wanting nothing but a hot shower
and to lie in my own bed. I have to figure out where I go from here,
but right now, my head feels fuzzy. Abruptly, I stop dead in my tracks.
The door to my apartment is opened slightly and I know I locked it
behind me when Seth and I left.
Oh, God, no.
With a shaking hand, I push it open, listening carefully for sounds.
There’s nothing. I step into my hallway, already seeing the devastation
in the living room: the coffee table has been knocked over and there
are books scattered everywhere. The DVD rack is empty.
“Oh, no.”
Seth’s movies.
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There’s sudden movement in my peripheral vision and I gasp when a
man comes barging out of my bedroom, a duffle bag over his shoulder.
He’s wearing a ski mask. My heart slams against my rib cage as we
stare at each other.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I whimper. “I have a child.”
“You got money?”
“Y-yes, yes!” I cry, pulling out the envelope and throwing it in his
general direction. “It’s a thousand dollars.”
He picks it up slowly, glances into it before stuffing it into his bag,
only taking his eyes off me for a moment. Without warning, he jumps
forward and slams into me, knocking me down.
Please! No!
He doesn’t stop, but runs out the door and then down the hall.
Stunned, I sit up before jumping to my feet and slamming the door
shut. The lock’s broken so I can only put the chain on it. Feeling a
bit safer, I quickly make it through the apartment with one goal on
my mind: the money I’ve stashed.
Please be there, oh please be there still!
The moment I turn on the lights in the bathroom, I start to cry.
On the floor is the now-empty Tupperware container I’d taped to the
back of the toilet, and it had all the money I’d saved. Now, there’s
nothing left.
What I am going to do?
I’m right back to where I started. Nothing has changed for me,
after all. I promised Seth we’d be okay. I promised him and I’ve failed
him once again. I walk back into the living room and sink down on
the floor, looking around at the ruins of my life. Knick-knacks are
scattered everywhere along with books from my overturned shelf. The
beautiful new couch has been shredded.
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The guys must’ve had a knife with him!
At that moment, I’m so incredibly happy I didn’t go by Alice’s to
take Seth home. My son is safe, but for how long? I can’t take him
back here. We’ve been lucky up until tonight, but this is such a bad
neighborhood and break-ins, muggings and robberies happen all the
time. This will probably happen again and then what? What if it’s
someone violent or on drugs who breaks in the next time? Someone
who isn’t content with stealing money and DVDs, who will see a young
woman and her child as easy victims?
I look down at my hands. They’re shaking.
“Please,” I sob into the quiet of the night. “I can’t do this anymore.
I need help. I need help.”
Wrapping my arms around my body, I rock back and forth as hot
tears stream down my face and my nose becomes runny.
When it starts getting light outside the window, I’ve made a plan. I
clean myself up and pack a bag, knowing I won’t spend another night
here ever again. First, I’ll go to Alice’s to pick up Seth and then . . .
Forks. It’s not what I want, but it’s what I have to do.
I’m crossing another line.
Remember how I said there’d be plot development? Yeah.
Please don’t flounce. It’s not over yet!
Take care of each other until next time.
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Chapter 17

I had an absolute blast at TFMU in Nashville last week
and I was so thrilled to meet some of you in real life. Trip
of a lifetime! :D
Thank you for all for reading and sticking with the story.
I’m so grateful for all of your support.
Thank you to Mauigirl60 for beta’ing this and making it
so much better. :)
Last time, we left off with Bella leaving her apartment
after the break-in, intent on going to Forks to live with her
parents.
Enjoy this long chapter!
BPOV
“Bella, no! You can’t!” Alice exclaims, quickly lowering her voice
to a whisper. “Sorry.”
We’re sitting at her kitchen table, both of us sipping strong coffee.
The kids are still asleep.
“What choice do I have?” I say. “I can’t go back there. I’m scared.”
“No, I agree. But going to your parents’, after everything that’s
happened? They don’t deserve you or Seth back in their lives.”
“I don’t know what else to do. All the money’s gone. I should’ve
hidden it better.”
“Why did you keep it all at home?” Alice asks. “You have a bank
account, right?”
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Sighing, I nod my head.
“I don’t know. It seemed safer, I guess? It sounds ridiculous,
considering what happened, but Mike still has access to the account
and it’s not like I had paychecks to show where I got the money. What
if someone started asking questions? How does an unemployed woman
suddenly get thousands of dollars each month?”
“Yeah, I see your point. It is quite the coincidence, though.”
“What is?” I ask, taking a small sip of coffee.
“That a break-in happens on the same day your mom shows up,”
Alice says, stirring her coffee. “You don’t think . . .”
She gives me a pointed look.
“No! No way. She wouldn’t do that.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod my head.
“She wants Seth. I could see it in her eyes, the way she looked at
him. She wouldn’t ever put him in danger, I’m sure of it, and she
couldn’t have predicted I wouldn’t bring him home with me. They
always wanted a son, you know? I was such a letdown.”
“You were the most popular girl in school,” Alice says softly. “Ev-
eryone wanted to be you.”
“It didn’t matter to them. I tried so hard: getting good grades,
joining the squad, doing sports, being popular. I was miserable most
of the time and they didn’t even care. It was never good enough. I
think . . . I think I only slept with Mike because I knew they wouldn’t
like it. I was supposed to save myself for marriage; going against them
felt good. How fucked up is that? I used Mike. I didn’t really love
him, I don’t think. I mean, I thought I did at the time, but now?”
I sigh, rubbing my tired eyes.
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“I’m not a good person, Al.”
“That’s not true,” she protests. “Why would you even say that?”
“I haven’t told you what happened earlier last night, with
Mr. Masen,” I say quietly. “It’s over between us. The arrangement, I
mean.”
“Oh, Bella.” Alice reaches across the table to put her hand on top
of mine. “What happened? Did he do something?”
I shake my head.
“No, it was me, Al. It was all me. I’ve done nothing but lie to him.
I didn’t mean to hurt him, but I think I really did last night.”
“I think you need to start at the beginning.”
Nodding my head, I do just that, telling her everything that tran-
spired the night before from my arrival and up to leaving Mr. Masen’s.
“It was awful,” I recount. “The look on his face as he ran after the
cab. I did that to him. He’s such a private person and he has issues,
for sure, but he was still willing to give me more of himself. He said
he worried about me or something, and he wanted me to be okay all
the time. I made him care so much and I didn’t mean to. I was just
doing what he wanted.”
“It sounds like you wanted it, too,” Alice observes. “From what
you’ve told me, you also got something out of it.”
“I know, and that scares me. It’s going to sound lame, but I’ve
always thought of myself as a feminist, so how can I enjoy serving him
so much?”
“I don’t know. This is a bit out of my league. I can’t believe he
asked you to move in with him. I mean, how would that even have
worked?”
I don’t know what to tell her and shrug my shoulders.
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“I guess . . . cooking dinner for him every night, having sex with
him. Just . . . being there. He’s lonely.”
My eyes well up at the thought of Mr. Masen being all alone.
“You like him, don’t you?” Alice asks gently.
I nod my head, sniffing.
“Maybe it could work out?” she suggests.
“How? Even if he did accept Seth, how could I subject my son
to that kind of arrangement? Mr. Masen wants all of my time, and
then what about Seth? Would he just stay in one of the rooms while
I prance around in those costumes, getting fucked on every surface
whenever the mood strikes Mr. Masen? What if Seth walked in on
something like that? Me, on my hands and knees, being spanked?”
“Whoa,” Alice says quietly. “Yeah, that would be . . . bad.”
“The fantasy only worked in the first place because Seth wasn’t
around, so I could do all those things without worrying about him
finding out. There’s just no way.”
“If you’d never had Seth, and it was just yourself, do you think you
would have said yes to his offer?”
“If I’d never had Seth, I’d be a college graduate now,” I say. “My
life would be so different. I don’t regret having him, but sometimes I
can’t help but imagine what might’ve happened.”
“I do the same thing,” Alice says. “I’d probably have gone to
community college, working odd jobs on the side to make tuition.”
“Yeah.”
“But would you?” she asks again. “Have said yes to Mr. Masen if
Seth wasn’t in the picture?”
I wipe away a tear.
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“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, I think I would have.”
I don’t know what else to say, so I finish the last of my coffee.
Across from me, my best friend shakes her head, as if to clear it.
“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen,” she says. “You and Seth
will move in here with us.”
“Alice—”
“No, Bella. I know what you’re going to say: that you don’t want
to impose, that I can’t afford it, that this place is too small, and
probably a million other reasons why this isn’t a good idea, but I just
don’t care!”
She grabs my hand, squeezing it tightly.
“You are not going back to Forks to have your mom tell you”I told
you so" and shame you for the choices you’ve made. We’ll work it out
somehow."
“Oh, Al.”
“Don’t you”Oh, Al" me, Isabella Swan," she says sternly. “You’d
do the same for me, and you know it. You’re my best friend, you’re
staying here, and that’s final!”
I’m completely overwhelmed with gratitude, but knowing Alice,
making a grand speech about how she’s the most amazing friend in
the world will only make her uncomfortable. So instead, I nod my
head.
“Okay.”
Alice smiles, standing up to clear the table.
“Now, I want you to go lie down for a while in my bed. I’ll keep the
kids out so you can get a bit of sleep and then we’ll figure everything
out later, all right?”
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I nod again, and as I pass by her on my way to bed, I reach out and
hug her from behind. Alice doesn’t stop rinsing off the mugs we’ve
used, but she leans her head back against mine as I cling to her.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
A few minutes later, lying in Alice’s small cluttered bedroom, I
make a vow that I’ll find a way to pay her back some day. I don’t
want to go to Forks. I was a completely different person back then—I
was no friend to Alice, that’s for sure. I didn’t actively bully her
like some of the other kids did, but I never did anything to stop it,
either. When she became pregnant with Jasper’s baby, everyone had
something to say about it. Jasper was the guy who’d graduated a few
years earlier but still came to all the parties, bringing weed, booze,
and his guitar. He was welcomed because he was sort of cool, but
most people called him a loser behind his back, for never getting into
college and being stuck in Forks working odd jobs around town. Alice
was the wild party girl who drank too much and took off her shirt
while dancing on tables, the one people said who’d had a threesome
with two members of the football team, although no one seemed to
be able to identify the guys.
Their relationship was constantly in motion. They’d fight, then
make up, fight, then make up. And then suddenly, one day during
junior year, there was a rumor flying around that Alice Brandon was
knocked up and that she’d left town in Jasper’s old van the night
before, with Jasper himself behind the wheel. Jessica Stanley even
said she saw Alice’s mom crying as she sent them off. The incident
was the talk of the school for a few days where I listened to my friends
calling Alice a slut, an idiot, and a “total skank loser”. I remember
feeling sorry for her plight, but at the same time wondering why she’d
been so foolish not to use birth control. Little did I know that I’d find
myself in the exact same situation a year later, a victim of the same
heartless gossip. Alice and I had already been through all this when
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we met again here in Seattle, but I still regret never being her friend
in high school, and I will find some way to repay her for everything
she’s done for me. I don’t know how I would’ve survived without her,
especially after Mike left.
Eventually, I drift off to sleep, but not long after, I’m woken by
Seth jumping up on the bed before barreling into me.
“Mommy, you’re back!” he yells.
“Shhh, baby. Not so loud,” I scold gently, while wrapping my arms
around him.
“Come and play,” he begs.
“Why don’t we play the sleeping game,” I suggest, only half-serious.
“Both of us close our eyes and see who can pretend to sleep the
longest?”
“That’s boooring,” he complains, tugging my hand.
Reluctantly, I sit up.
Well, it was worth a shot.
“There’s donuts,” Seth tells me. “Lucy and Maria’s daddy brought
them. I had three!”
Jasper’s here?
“That sounds good, baby,” I say, stifling a yawn as I follow him
out.
In the kitchen, the girls are eating and chattering away, their little
faces sticky from donut glaze. Alice is at the sink, and on a chair sits
an awkward-looking Jasper; he’s all stiff posture, shirt and tie, and
strangely groomed hair. He looks nothing like the red-eyed, lazy guy
I remember from Forks, who always wore ratty band t-shirts and wild
blond curls.
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“Hey, Jas,” I murmur, clearing my hoarse voice.
“Bella, hi, hey. You, uh, nice to see you . . . you,” he says, wiping
his hands on his pants.
Okay, weird.
The girls ask to put on a movie and disappear with Seth in tow,
leaving me alone with their parents. Alice is still fake-cleaning the
mugs she already washed this morning and Jasper just sort of sits
there, wide-eyed and jittery.
“Is there any coffee?” I ask.
Or did Jasper drink it all?
“Oh, sure,” Alice replies, practically pushing me into a chair as she
starts serving me with hurried movements.
Finally, she acknowledges her ex-boyfriend’s presence.
“Thank you for the donuts,” she says, “Bella and I have a lot to do
today, so . . .”
“Right. Right,” Jas says, standing up, fiddling with his tie.
He starts to walk out of the kitchen, but then he stops, turning to
look at my best friend.
“Alice. I know . . . I know I haven’t been perfect, and I’ve made a
lot of mistakes, but I . . . I love you. I’ve never stopped loving you.”
Oh, boy.
“I’ll just . . .” I say, pushing my chair away from the table.
“No, stay, please,” Jasper says. “I want you to hear this, too, Bella,
so Alice knows how serious I am.”
He turns to her again.
“I’ve made you a lot of promises in the past, I know that, but I
swear I’ve changed.”
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Alice crosses her arms, huffing out a breath.
“When you said I had to go, it was one of the best things that’s
ever happened,” he continues. “Because it made me realize that I
don’t ever want to be away from you or the girls. And it made me
want to prove myself to you.”
He takes a step toward her.
“And now I think I’m able to. I’ve made a lot of changes.”
He motions to his suit.
“Really?”
Alice doesn’t sound impressed and I can’t say that I blame her.
I was there for the fallout when she kicked him out, after another
one of his pipedreams of rock ’n roll fame crumbled. Apparently, a
manager had promised to make Jasper a star and all he needed was
every last penny in Alice and Jasper’s joint account. The next day,
the manager had disappeared without a trace and Jasper had to face
the fact that he’d been scammed, leaving his girlfriend and children
practically penniless. Thankfully, Alice’s mother was able to pitch in
for a while so they could make the rent and get by until Alice’s next
paycheck, but Jasper was sent packing and my best friend cried all
night in my arms.
“Really, baby, I swear,” he says, pleading.
“Jas! You can’t just show up like this. I’ve heard it all before and
I’m tired of it. Please, just go,” Alice begs.
“I got a job,” Jasper blurts out, quickly reaching into his pocket."
A real job. At a record label."
He pulls out a few sheets of paper, holding them out toward Alice
with a shaking hand.
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“A record label?” Alice asks, disbelieving. “You’re not telling me
you got a recording contract?”
“No.” He shakes his head, giving her a sad smile. “I’m not good
enough for that. I know that now. But, they hired me as a studio
musician. You know, for when artists come in who don’t have a band
of their own? There’s a bunch of us playing there, really good guys, I
promise.”
Slowly, Alice reaches out and takes the papers from Jas, her eyes
moving across the writing.
“That’s great,” she finally says, handing them back to him. “Con-
gratulations, Jasper.”
She turns her back to him and starts washing the cups next to the
sink for the third time today.
“Alice,” he says softly. “Baby? I . . . I’m so sorry. For everything.
All I ever wanted was to make you proud of me. I can’t promise you
I’ll be perfect, because I’m not, but I meant what I said before: I love
you.”
He reaches into his pocket again, pulling out a small velvet box.
Oh, my God!
Alice still has her back turned, and has no idea what’s about to
happen.
“I have a steady job now,” Jasper continues. “I can take care of
you and the girls. And, more importantly, I want to. You’re all I’ve
ever wanted.”
Hesitantly, he slides the box in front of her, which makes her soapy
hands pause.
“Will you marry me?”
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Alice’s stance is unchanged and I feel as though I can’t breathe,
waiting for her reply. Then I think about how Jasper must be feeling
right about now, and I know I shouldn’t be listening to this, especially
since Alice hasn’t thrown herself into his arms saying, “Yes, yes, a
thousand times, yes!” As stealthily as I possibly can, I stand up
and tiptoe out of the kitchen, leaving the two of them. The kids are
watching the latest Disney movie, whose name I can’t remember, but
from watching Seth’s mesmerized expression, I’m sure I’ll learn it soon
enough. The minutes tick by without any news from the kitchen. My
own problems momentarily forgotten, I’m dying to know what Alice’s
reply was. I like Jasper, I really do, and it’s obvious he loves both
Alice and the girls. He’s stayed in contact, even after being told to
leave, which is more than I can say for Mike, who left of his own
volition, never to be heard from again.
Bastard.
On the other hand, I can understand Alice’s reluctance. Jasper
lost all their money, their security, and left her in a really bad place.
She’s become a lot harder because of what happened, but I don’t
think that’s necessarily a bad thing. If there’s one thing I’ve learned,
it’s that life is unfair; good people don’t always end up on top and
you have to be tough to make it through. It’s a cliché for a reason,
because the realization occurs to many of us. I guess that’s what it
really means to be an adult: worrying about the future.
“Look, Mommy, she can do snow magic!”
Seth’s exclamation penetrates my thoughts and I smile at his ex-
citement. Glancing at the screen, I see two little girls skating inside a
large room, having a great time.
“I see it, baby,” I reply.
My son has no idea that his life is about to change again. He doesn’t
know we’re broke. He doesn’t worry. He’s my greatest accomplishment.
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Somehow, I’ve managed to shield him from everything that’s been
going on and made it possible for him to simply be a kid. I still want
more for him, though. Inside myself, I can feel the hunger gnawing at
me, the hunger for a better life, and for a safe future. I don’t know
how to provide that, especially not now that Jasper’s back. I know
Alice would never retract her offer, but I can’t see all of us living here
together if she does accept his proposal.
Maybe she’ll turn him down.
Immediately, I feel guilty for being so selfish. I want my best friend
to be happy, and I know she still loves Jasper. He’s not indifferent,
like Mike was. He tried his best at being a boyfriend and father and
despite his massive screw-up, he didn’t take the opportunity to rid
himself of responsibility and take off. He’s here now, trying, wearing
that ill-fitting suit, fighting for his family to stay together, because
there’s still love here. I know that for sure.
I hope she says yes.
Even if it means we have to go to Forks and stay with my parents.
Alice deserves her happy ending, and I need to see her get it. I need
to know that good things still happen to good people.
“Bella?”
I look up, seeing Jasper in the doorway.
“Alice wants to talk to you.”
In the kitchen, Alice is now sitting at the table, looking red-eyed
and happy. It’s like she’s been lit up from the inside.
Thank God.
“I said yes,” she tells me, unnecessarily.
“Of course you did,” I say, feeling all choked up as tears well in my
eyes. “B-best wishes.”
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“Oh, Bella!” Alice exclaims, rushing to embrace me. “Please don’t
cry. You’re still staying here with us! We’d never ask you to leave!”
“T-that’s not, I’m not . . .” I blubber, hugging her to me.
“Of course you’re staying,” I hear Jasper say. “Oh, shit, Bella.
Don’t cry. We’ll figure everything out.”
“I’m just so . . . so happy for you guys,” I manage to get out. “I’m
sorry. I’m a mess.”
“It’s okay,” Alice says, rubbing my back. “I told Jas everything.”
I tense up in her arms.
“About the break-in,” she adds quickly.
“I always thought that place was unsafe,” Jasper says, as I release
Alice to wipe my eyes. “Can’t believe Mike let you guys live there.”
“Yeah, well,” I say, not knowing how to respond.
It’s not like anyone here thinks Mike made any good decisions these
past few years.
“So when’s the big day?” I ask, eager to change the topic.
“No freaking clue,” Alice says. “There’s no rush or anything.”
“Right. I’m just happy to be home.”
Jasper’s voice is soft now, as he gazes at Alice.
He loves her so much.
I feel a bit like an intruder in their happy moment.
“I’ll take Seth to the apartment for a little while. You should tell
the girls and celebrate in private.”
Both of them start protesting, but I cut them off. It’s almost noon
now and armed with my pepper spray, I’m not scared of going there. I
know Seth will want some of his toys and I also need to pack up some
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more clothes. This morning, I only managed to throw a few things
in a bag before leaving and there’s lots of stuff there I need now that
Seth and I are moving in here.
“Take a cab,” Jas finally says, handing me some money. “I insist.”
His words remind me of Mr. Masen, making my heart feel heavy.
Half an hour later, driving toward our old neighborhood with my
son next to me, I’m happy to be able to give my new roommates a bit
of privacy. Lord knows they won’t have much of that from now on.
“Are we going home now?” Seth asks, after a few blocks.
“Yes,” I say slowly. “We’re just getting a few things, though. We’re
gonna stay with Aunt Alice for a while.”
“Why?”
“Because . . .”
I don’t know if I should tell him the truth. I don’t want him to be
scared.
“Is it like a slumber party? That’d be awesome!”
Relieved, I smile, giving his hand a small squeeze.
“That’s exactly what it is, hon. You’re going to have so much fun
with Lucy and Maria.”
He grins up at me.
“Can I bring all my toys?”
“We’ll see how much we can fit in the trunk of the cab,” I laugh,
wrapping my arm around him.
He snuggles into my side, and I know I made the right choice in not
telling him the real reason why we’re not going home, or the fact that
we don’t even have a real home at the moment. It’s okay, though.
We’ll be okay, somehow.
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Exiting the cab, I ask the driver to please keep the meter running
for us. This won’t take long.
“C’mon,” I say, helping Seth out onto the sidewalk. “Let’s go pack,
buddy!”
But we don’t go pack. Instead, I freeze on the spot, my heart
jumping into my throat at the impossible sight of him standing there,
right in front of my building, only ten feet away. His back is half-turned
to me, but I know it’s him. I’d recognize that hair color anywhere.
Mr. Masen. Here, in my neighborhood, looking completely out of
place in his wrinkled, but obviously expensive suit.
Oh, God, I have to get away!
My instinct tells me to run, but I can’t move. I watch, terrified, as
he turns and the anguished look on his face turns into relief as our
eyes meet.
“Mommy! Let’s go!” Seth complains, tugging on my hand.
His gaze flickers and settles on my son, who’s trying, unsuccessfully,
to pull me forward. His lips part and his eyes widen and he takes an
unsure step back just as Seth manages to free himself to rush for the
door of the building, tripping right in front of Mr. Masen.
“Seth!”
I run to him, reaching out to help him up but another pair of hands
are faster than mine. I look up, right into Mr. Masen’s face as he lifts
my son to his feet and then immediately lets go of him as though he’s
been burned.
I get it. I do.
“You okay, hon?” I ask, looking Seth over.
“Fine,” he replies, before glancing at Mr. Masen. “Thanks!”
“You’re . . . welcome.”
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All of us stand up and Seth grabs my hand again, tugging it
impatiently.
“Isabella, I . . .”
Mr. Masen’s face is ashen at this point and he looks as though he’d
rather be anywhere but here.
“Please,” I whisper hurriedly. “Just go. It’s okay.”
I allow myself to get lost in his eyes one last time, knowing this is
it. Somehow, I hope he’ll understand what I can’t say out loud.
I’m sorry I lied. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Thank you for everything.
Goodbye.
“Come on,” I tell my son, ushering him inside.
The door slams behind us and I grab the pepper spray in my coat
pocket just in case, as we walk up the stairs. I make it to the apartment
door, before the prickling sensation at the corners of my eyes starts.
Ignoring it, I hold Seth back and look inside to make sure it’s safe
before letting him in. He runs to his room while I shut the door,
putting the chain on it.
“Goodbye, Mr. Masen,” I whisper, drawing a deep breath and
suppressing the urge to start sobbing.
I can’t do that right now. We have about five minutes to pack and
then we have to leave again. Pushing myself away from the wall, I
stop mid-step when there’s a firm knock on the door. Everything
seems to stand still.
It can’t be.
My hand trembles as I take the chain off and open the door.
“M-mr. Masen, Sir?”
My voice cracks and I absolutely that that. But not as much as I
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despise the tears that now refuse to stay put, and instead trickle down
my face for him to see.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
I’m breathless. Incredulous. Why hasn’t he left? I gave him a way
out. He’s seen the truth now, knows who I really am.
“May I come in?”
“Why?”
“I have a proposition for you.”
You didn’t really think I’d just send her off to her parents’
house, did you? ;)
Hope you liked this. I know it was a heavy Alice/Jasper
chapter, but minor characters need love too. And now we
can focus on Bella and Mr. Masen’s proposition. :)
Take care until next time!
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Chapter 18

Short and sweet this morning, since I’m running late for
an important appointment at the municipality, and with that
in mind please keep your fingers crossed that they’ll finally
grant ABA therapy for our daughter.
Thank you to Mauigirl60 for betaing. I still have a lot
to learn about the English language and American expres-
sions. :) Also thank you to my little team of pre-readers, my
TwiFicMeetUp girls: Dawn, Diane and Veronica! I needed
this chapter to be just right and they made sure it was. :)
Finally, thank you to you for reading, rec’ing and review-
ing. I’m so happy you’re still with me.
Enjoy!
BPOV
Mr. Masen takes a step forward, examining me closer. It’s fairly
dark in the hallway since most of the light bulbs need changing and
the windows haven’t been cleaned in forever.
“Why are you crying?” he asks, reaching out to brush his fingertips
against the apple of my cheek. “Don’t be sad, sweet girl.”
“Please don’t call me that,” I whisper, closing my eyes. “I can’t do
this anymore.”
He sighs, tilting my face upward.
“Isabella, look at me.”
I do as I’m told. He looks tired and worn, just like me.
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“Let me in,” he says. “There are things to discuss.”
I feel like Molly Ringwald in Pretty in Pink. I do not want Mr. Masen
to see where I live, especially not with the state the apartment is in
at the moment. I tidied up as best I could last night after composing
myself, but it’s nothing like what he’s used to.
“What things?” I ask. “What proposition?”
Mr. Masen glances around.
“I’d really rather talk about that in a less public place. I’m sure
you can appreciate why.”
“My son,” I say.
“I can be discreet.”
“How did you even find me?” I demand.
“I tracked down the taxi driver this morning. Told him it was very
important that I find you.”
“And?”
“And when that didn’t work, I paid him.”
He’s unapologetic.
“I had to see you again, Isabella,” he elaborates. “The way you
left—I was worried.”
I draw a deep breath, stepping aside to hold the door open.
“All right, we can go into the kitchen, I guess.”
Mr. Masen walks past me and I close the door, putting the chain
on it again.
“What happened?”
He touches the busted lock, frowning.
“Break-in. Last night,” I respond.
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Pursed lips and flared nostrils. He’s angry, but doesn’t say anything
as he follows me into the kitchen.
“You can . . .” I motion to the kitchen table. “Sit down, if you’d
like. You want . . . coffee?”
I have no idea what I’m doing right now.
“Coffee would be lovely,” he answers, taking a seat.
I take out a jar of instant coffee, spoon some into two mugs, and
put the kettle on to boil, all while he watches in silence. It’s an eerily
familiar scenario for the two of us.
“Can you just start talking, please?” I ask over my shoulder, before
bringing the coffees to the table.
“Very well,” he says, giving my chipped mismatched mugs a long
look before pulling one of them toward him. “I’d like to discuss the
offer I gave you last night. It still stands.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am. This changes nothing.”
“Of course it does,” I protest. “It changes everything!”
“Not for me,” he says firmly.
“I’m a mom,” I say helplessly, wringing my hands.
He takes a sip of the coffee, not even making a face at the bitter
taste of cheap instant although I know he’s used to high-quality French
roast.
“I guess,” he starts. “It’s not a complete surprise to me.”
“It’s not?!”
“You’re very nurturing, caring,” he tells me.
His gaze travels down my body.
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“And you have little white stretch marks around your belly button
and hips. I just thought maybe you’d been heavier at one point.”
“I was,” I whisper. “But only because I was pregnant.”
He looks up at me.
“You must have been a baby yourself.”
“It wasn’t planned,” I admit, taking a seat across from him. “I was
in high school. Seth was born after I graduated.”
“Seth,” he says, almost to himself. “He’s a good-looking boy.”
“He is.”
“Where . . . is his father?”
I sigh, pressing the heel of my hand against my forehead where a
headache is starting to build.
“I don’t know. He’s . . . gone.”
“He left you?!” Mr. Masen hisses. “With a small child to care for?”
Then, his eyes flicker and he exhales before looking at me again.
“You said you needed the money,” he murmurs. “That’s why you
got into my car in the first place. Why you agreed to do anything I
wanted.”
“Everything I do is for my son,” I say. “But . . . I . . .”
No more lies.
“I did like it, being with you,” I continue. “You . . . weren’t wrong
about me, about what you said last night.”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. His eyes are
trained on mine.
“Why did you run away?”
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I feel more tears pressing behind my eyes and inhale deeply through
my nose.
“I was scared,” I croak. “I lied to you this whole time. I can’t ever
be enough for you. Don’t you see that?”
“No,” he says, so very softly. “No, I don’t see that at all, sweet
girl.”
“MOMMY! My movies!” Seth wails from the living room.
Oh, no. I forgot about that.
Before I can get up, he comes running into the kitchen, red-faced
and teary-eyed.
“My movies. They’re gone!”
I put him on my lap, stroking his hair.
“I know, baby. I’m so sorry.”
“Where’d they go?” he asks.
I have no idea how to explain this to him, but I have to try.
“Someone borrowed them,” I say. “Without asking.”
“Who?”
“But you’re not supposed to do that!” he protests.
“That’s right. It wasn’t very nice at all.”
“Will I . . . get them back?”
“I’ll get you new ones,” I promise.
I just don’t know when.
“This sucks,” he mumbles, sniffing loudly. “I was gonna watch them
with Lucy and Maria for the sleepover.”
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“I know,” I sigh. “But you can watch their movies. You liked the
one with the snow magic, right?”
“Yeah,” he admits. “But I like Lightning McQueen better.”
“I do too,” I whisper. “We’ll get him back.”
“Okay,” he sniffs. “I finished packing.”
“Oh, God. The taxi!”
The meter must’ve been running for a good ten minutes by now.
“I, err, sent him off, the driver.”
I narrow my eyes at Mr. Masen.
“Why?”
“I’m happy to drive you anywhere,” he says. “And I needed time
with you.”
I turn to Seth again.
“Can you go play for a little while, hon?”
“Who’s he?” my son asks, now staring unabashedly at Mr. Masen
as he climbs off my lap and walks right over to him. “Who are you?”
Mr. Masen stands, hesitantly reaching his hand out.
“I’m Mr. Masen,” he says. “How do you do?”
Seth giggles.
“Do what?”
“It just means hi,” I explain.
“Oh, I’m Seth.”
He grabs Mr. Masen’s hand.
“Hi! Do you know my mommy?”
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Mr. Masen glances at me, a bit wide-eyed as he eases his hand back
from Seth’s grip. He’s obviously not used to being around kids and if
the situation were different, I would probably find their interaction
hilarious.
“Seth, I need to talk to Mr. Masen. Can you please go play for a
while?”
“But I already put my toys in the bag,” he complains. “I wanna
watch a movie!”
“You can’t, honey.”
Seth makes a face that I know all too well; a tantrum is coming
unless I do something quickly.
“Here,” Mr. Masen says, holding out his phone. “YouTube?”
Oh, thank you.
I pull up a Cars video, showing Seth how to press play.
“Go watch in your room, okay? We won’t be long.”
Tantrum forgotten, Seth beams at Mr. Masen, holding the phone
like it’s a treasure.
“Thanks!”
He scampers off, leaving the two of us alone.
“His movies?” Mr. Masen asks, sitting back down.
“He took them,” I say. “I guess to sell them.”
“He? You saw him?”
“He was here when I got home. Some creep in a ski mask,” I say,
shivering a little at the memory of the stranger from last night.
“You could’ve been hurt! You can’t stay here anymore. This place
. . .”
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He looks around, scrunching up his nose like he smells something
rotten. I see red.
“I know that! I’m not stupid,” I hiss. “I did the best I could. In
case you didn’t notice, I’m fucking broke! My boyfriend left us high
and dry and I couldn’t find a job! I starved myself to feed my son. I
did the best I could!”
I’m almost yelling now.
“How dare you come into my home and judge me? You have no idea
what it’s like to go hungry, to care for a child and feel so desperate
you’ll do anything to make sure he doesn’t end up on the street or in
the goddamned system! I know this place is a dump, I know that!
But it was our home. It’s the only home Seth has ever known, and
now we have to leave. And I’m so fucking scared!”
I draw a shaky breath, choking back a sob. Mr. Masen stares at me
in stunned silence. I’ve never talked to him like that before. I wonder
if anyone has.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “That . . . wasn’t meant for you. My
m-mother.”
I start crying, burying my face in my hands to muffle the sound.
Seth can’t see me like this. I’m so scared of everything: of staying
here; of leaving here; of Mr. Masen realizing what a huge mess I am
and getting the hell away from me; of the future for me and Seth.
I feel his hands on me, lifting me up as though I weigh nothing at
all and then the warmth of his body against mine as he sits down with
me on his lap, wrapping me up in his arms.
“Shhh, sweet girl,” he soothes. “It’s all right. It’s all right now. I’ll
take care of you.”
I get lost in the feeling of being cared for, of being held, for just a
few minutes. I know there are lots of things we need to talk about,
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but I need this so desperately.
“Tighter, please,” I hiccup.
He presses me firmly against him and it feels like heaven being
cocooned in his embrace. After I’ve calmed down, he wipes away my
tears and offers me a handkerchief from his pocket for my runny nose.
Finally, I’m able to open up my eyes and look at him.
“Hi,” I whisper, because I don’t know what else to say.
The side of his mouth twitches and the tiny wrinkles in the corners
of his eyes appear.
“Hi.”
I know what’s coming as he leans down and I welcome it, letting
him kiss me with so much tenderness that it almost takes my breath
away. Then, the mood switches and his lips become demanding. I
moan as he takes control, burying his hand in my hair to tilt my
head and gain better access to my mouth. It only lasts for a few
moments but it’s enough to leave me panting and flushed with my
heart pounding wildly.
“Don’t you see?” he mumbles against my lips, “how good we are
together?”
He kisses me again.
“I want you,” he breathes.
I feel a twinge of panic.
Not here! Not now!
“We should . . . talk,” I manage.
“We should,” he agrees, brushing my hair away from my forehead.
“Are you all right now?”
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“Yes. Will you let me up, please?” I mumble. “I can’t concentrate
with you being this close.”
My admission makes me blush, which amuses him.
“Good to know I’ve still got it,” he jokes.
“I don’t think there was ever any question of that,” I reply as he
slowly helps me to my feet.
Taking a seat across from him, I fold up the used handkerchief and
draw a deep breath, trying to center myself.
“So,” I say.
“So,” he says. “There was the matter of my proposition.”
“Right.”
I sit up straighter, folding my hands on the table. Looks like we’re
getting down to business.
“I want you and Seth to come live with me,” he starts. “Clearly,
you’re not safe here and that’s unacceptable.”
“But—”
“Please, let me finish,” he says, holding up his hand.
Reluctantly, I nod my head.
“You’ll have your own rooms downstairs and I’ll take the top floor.
I’ll pay you handsomely, Isabella, and I meant it when I said you don’t
have to worry about money anymore.”
He gives me an expectant look.
That’s it?
I’m not ungrateful for Mr. Masen’s offer, far from it. But it’s clear
that he hasn’t thought this through at all, which I can’t blame him
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for. After all, he had all of thirty seconds from he saw Seth until he
knocked on my door.
“It’s a very good offer,” I tell him. “But I just don’t see how it
would ever work.”
“What do you mean?”
“With Seth around, I wouldn’t be able to do the things I did for
you before,” I clarify. “The, um, dressing up and having . . . sex . . .
everywhere.”
“When is his bedtime?” Mr. Masen asks.
“Seven-thirty, sometimes eight.”
He nods.
“All right. How about we say our time will be from nine ’til midnight
then? Provided I’m at home, of course. On the nights I’m out of town,
you’re free to do whatever you like. Before nine, I won’t intrude on
your time with your son.”
“That . . . will work,” I say, a bit stunned.
“And there are always the days,” he continues. “I can work from
home a few days a week, if I’d like more time with you on your own.
We’ll see how it goes.”
“During the day? What about Seth?”
“You don’t want him in school? Or is it pre-school at his age?” he
asks.
“Pre-K,” I whisper. “I haven’t been able to afford it.”
“Oh, I’ll take care of that,” Mr. Masen says, like it’s no big deal.
“There are some good places around. My neighbor’s son goes to pre-
school just down the street. You could probably enroll him there if
you want. It’s up to you.”
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Just like that.
“M-mr. Masen,” I sob, clutching his handkerchief. “I . . . I—”
He has no idea what this means to me, how huge this is. To him,
it’s just a phone call and a check in the mail, but to me, this is a
dream come true: A nice place to live; a chance for Seth to make
friends; have what other kids have; and to learn from actual teachers.
It’s everything. Everything.
“Please, no more of that,” he scolds gently.
“I’m s-sorry,” I cry. “This is really overwhelming.”
He gets up and I watch as he finds a glass in the cupboard, pours
me some water and places it in front of me, telling me to drink. I
drain it, wiping my eyes afterward.
“Look,” he says. “Why don’t you and your son come spend the
weekend at my house? See what it’s like.”
“L-like a trial run?”
He smiles.
“Exactly. I’ll be working quite a bit, so you’ll pretty much have the
place to yourself. Then, on Sunday, you can tell me what you want to
do.”
“Why are you doing all of this for me, for us?” I ask.
“Because I want you,” he says simply. “And I want you happy.”
He holds my gaze, not wavering at all.
“O-okay,” I stutter.
“Now, where am I driving the two of you today?” he asks.
“My friend Alice’s, if you don’t mind? I just need a few minutes to
pack some stuff.”
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“Take your time,” he says, sitting back down to drink some more
bad tepid coffee. “And see if you can get my phone back for me.”
He flashes me a smile that makes my chest flutter.
“Yes, Sir,” I murmur, noticing how my choice of words changes his
expression from playful to something else entirely.
“Good girl,” he whispers, straightening himself in the chair.
The look in his eyes makes my fatigued body come alive; my
heartbeat increases and a secret thrill rushes through me. He wants
me. He really does want me, this beautiful man. Even after he’s seen
where I come from, even knowing that I’m a mother.
I find Seth in his room and tell him we’re leaving in a few minutes.
“Mr. Masen needs his phone back,” I add, holding out my hand.
“Aww,” he grumbles. “Okay.”
I take the phone and close down the browser, staring in surprise at
the background picture or whatever it’s called. It’s me, in a beautiful
black party dress.
The picture he took of me the night of his birthday. He didn’t just
keep it; he made sure he’d see it all the time.
My chest flutters again.
“Hon, how would you like to go on a little vacation with me this
weekend?” I ask Seth.
“What’s that, Mommy?” he asks. “Something good?”
“I think it could be,” I answer, feeling cautiously hopeful. “I think
it could be good.”
So, that’s the proposal. How do you think the trial week-
end will go?
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A few of you expressed your feelings concerning something
like this, wanting Bella to get a job and Edward to “court”
her in a more traditional way. That’s not how my story goes
and it was never part of the plan. So, I hope you’ll stick
with me, but if you can’t, that’s okay too.
See you next time! :)
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Chapter 19

This is what happens when characters won’t stick to the
outline; a full chapter before the trial weekend begins. :)
Thank you for all of your reviews. I’m so happy you’re
on board with the direction of the story, unconventional re-
lationship and all.
I have a fabulous beta, Mauigirl60, and a wonderful team
of pre-readers, Dawn, Diane and Veronica, to help me with
this. The story would not be the same without your guidance
and input. Thank you!
Enjoy!
BPOV
I pack up everything of importance: documents, picture albums
and the gifts from Mr. Masen, as well as my clothes. Everything else
will have to wait. I check Seth’s room, grabbing his clothes, as well,
and a picture frame of him and Mike. In the shot, Mike is sitting next
to Seth, who’s giving the camera a brilliant smile, showing off his four
little front teeth. He’s not even a year old. Mike’s head is turned to
the side, a bored look on his face.
You fucking asshole.
The spark of anger I feel takes me by surprise. How did I not see it
back then? His disinterest in his own son, his obvious wish to leave?
Was I that desperate for my dream of a perfect family that I ignored
all the signs? Quickly, I shove the picture into my bag, before I end
up smashing it, sitting down heavily on the edge of Seth’s small bed. I
look around this room, which is full of memories. In the corner sits the
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old rocking chair I used when I’d feed him during the night. I would
look down at his little face and smile to myself, knowing I’d made
the right decision. I’d pace on this floor with him in my arms, doing
my best to soothe him as he cried during his bouts of colic, hoping
he wouldn’t wake up Mike. More than once, I’d fallen asleep on the
floor next to his crib, exhausted from staying up with him through
the night. For years, I’ve sat right in this spot every night and read
him a bedtime story. I have very few memories of Mike in here. This
room hasn’t witnessed fighting or yelling. This space belongs to me
and my son, and I dearly wish I could pack it all up and take it with
me, but I know I can’t. At the door, I turn around to give the room
one more look. I was happy here. Seth was happy here. And now we
have to leave. It’s heartbreaking, and my son doesn’t even know it
yet. How I’ll tell him that we’re not coming home again, I have no
idea, and I know I won’t be having that conversation today. I’m too
raw, too spent.
“’Bye,” I whisper to Seth’s room as I turn off the lights, feeling
equally sad and silly.
It’s just a room, after all. Four walls, a floor and a ceiling. We’ll
find another place to make new happy memories. I’ll make sure of it.
With everything ready to go, I help Seth put on his shoes and jacket,
and bundle myself up, as well. Then, I go to the kitchen, finding him
where I left him.
“Mr. Masen?”
My voice is timid, seeing him absorbed with his phone. He’d gotten
it back and could be working. Looking up, he gives me a warm smile.
“We’re all packed up,” I say.
“Wonderful. Let’s go.”
He takes the heavy bags from me, hoisting them over his shoulder
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with ease.
“After you,” he says, like a perfect gentleman, following me out.
Leaving the apartment unlocked isn’t ideal, but I don’t have much
choice in the matter. I shut the door tightly, hoping nobody will realize
they can walk right in. As we walk down the hallway, I pause in front
of Mrs. Cope’s door, slipping the note I’d written underneath her
door with some difficulty. I probably should just knock, knowing she’s
home as always, but I honestly can’t deal with explaining Mr. Masen
to her. In the note, I tell her about the break-in, urging her to be
careful and also ask her to notify the building’s manager; I also give
her Alice’s address in case the manager needs to reach me to change
the lock, although I won’t be holding my breath on that one.
Once outside, we follow Mr. Masen down the street to where his
car is parked. It’s really nice, a Mercedes, I think. Black and sleek.
Definitely expensive. I remember the only time I’ve been in it, the
first night we met, and marvel at how different everything is now.
“Nice ride,” I comment, for lack of anything better to say.
“Thank you,” Mr. Masen says, putting our bags in the trunk.
He looks at Seth.
“Do you like cars?” he asks, a bit hesitantly.
“Uh-huh.” Seth nods. “Too bad yours isn’t red. That would’ve
been cool.”
He climbs into the backseat, leaving Mr. Masen apparently speech-
less.
“Sorry,” I say. “He, uh, tells it like it is.”
Mr. Masen doesn’t say anything, but I swear he looks amused for a
second. I join Seth in the backseat and make sure he’s safely buckled
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up before putting on my own seatbelt. I give Mr. Masen the address,
which he puts into his GPS, and we’re off.
It’s a short ride to Alice and Jasper’s place, and the only one talking
in the car is Seth. He’s telling Mr. Masen about Maria and Lucy, like
he’s supposed to know who they are. To his credit, Mr. Masen smiles
and nods along with Seth’s prattling like he’s totally interested in why
Maria is cooler than Lucy because she likes Lego better than Barbie,
but Lucy is fine with watching Mater’s Tall Tales so she’s okay, too,
even though she kicked him in her sleep that one time.
Mr. Masen is lucky and finds a spot right outside. Before I’ve
unbuckled Seth, he’s holding the door open for us, even offering me a
hand as I step out into the cold autumn air.
“Thank you,” I whisper, holding onto him for a second longer than
is necessary.
He unloads our bags as I help Seth out, but I’m surprised to see
him carrying them when I turn around.
“Lead the way,” he says, motioning to the apartment building.
“You . . . want to meet my friends?”
“If that’s all right?” he asks.
“Um, sure. It’s just . . . Alice’s boyfriend, he doesn’t know about
you.”
“He’ll find out this weekend anyway, won’t he?”
I nod my head, still feeling uneasy.
“You work for me,” Mr. Masen says calmly. “That’s all he needs to
know.”
“You’re my mommy’s boss?” Seth pipes up. “Thanks for the toys!”
“I didn’t—”
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“I told him I got a job so I could buy stuff for him,” I explain.
“Oh.” Mr. Masen looks at Seth. “You should thank your mother.
She bought them, not me.”
“I did already,” he says. “Right, Mommy?”
“You sure did,” I say, giving him a smile. “Let’s go see what Lucy
and Maria are doing, okay?”
Outside their door, I decide to knock rather than enter, like I
normally would. It doesn’t feel right to barge in when I have someone
with me that they don’t know.
“Here comes the bride!” Alice exclaims, flushed and laughing as
she opens the door. On her head is what looks like a veil made out of
toilet paper. “Come on in Bella, we’re . . .”
She looks behind me. Her eyes widen and her mouth opens and
closes a few times.
“Celebrating,” she finishes, looking at me again. “Is that . . .”
“I’m Mr. Masen,” he says, stepping up next to me, holding out his
hand. “How do you do?”
“That just means hi,” Seth helpfully supplies, before slipping past
her with his toy-stuffed backpack.
“Um, hi?” she says, taking his hand.
“I see best wishes are in order,” he responds, giving her a charming
smile.
“Oh, my God,” she whispers, using her free hand to yank off the
makeshift veil. “Thank you.”
“Babe, what’s the holdup?” Jasper calls over the music playing in
the living room.
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He dances out to join us, wearing a toilet paper bowtie around his
neck.
“Oh!” he says, wrapping his arm around Alice. “Who’s this?”
“This is my boss, Mr. Masen,” I say.
“Hey, man.” Jas reaches out to shake his hand, friendly as always.
“You wanna join us for a drink? We’re having a bit of a celebration
here.”
“Thank you, no. I don’t want to intrude on your happy occasion.
But congratulations.”
He turns to me.
“We should . . .” Alice is already pushing Jasper inside. “Let them
say goodbye. It was nice to meet you!”
“Nice to meet you too,” Mr. Masen says to the door as it slams
shut.
“They, uh, just got engaged,” I needlessly explain.
“I gathered.”
“It’s usually a lot quieter around here,” I say, not sure why I feel
the need to tell him that. “Just Alice and the kids.”
“Oh? Is he stationed somewhere usually?”
“Uh, no. They’ve been apart. Jasper had some . . . problems.”
Mr. Masen’s expression turns serious.
“Legal problems?”
“No, no!” I protest. “Nothing like that. I mean, he was a bit of a
stoner after high school, but he’s a really good guy.”
Shit! Why did I say that?
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Instantly, I feel horrible for blurting out intimate details about
Jasper to a man he doesn’t even know. Mr. Masen looks anything but
placated. In fact, he looks frighteningly upset.
“Drugs,” he practically sneers, “are unacceptable to me, Isabella.
Is he still using? Are you?”
“No! What are you even . . . No! Of course not! I’ve never!”
“Never?” he demands, eyes blazing at me.
“No, never!” I assure him. “Do you really think I’d stay with
my son in a place with drugs?! For goodness’ sake, I don’t even like
wine—well, except the Italian one you have—and Jasper stopped all
that when he found out Alice was pregnant. I swear.”
He holds my gaze for a very long time; I see the anger slowly seeping
out of him before his shoulders drop suddenly, like a deflated balloon,
and he puts my bags on the floor with a dull thump.
“I don’t like drugs,” he says quietly.
“Neither do I.”
He nods once before straightening up to his full height.
What the hell just happened?
“Friday?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, still a bit stunned by his reaction. “We’ll come.”
“Good,” he says, reaching out for me.
I go into his embrace willingly, tilting my face upward when he
cradles my cheek in his hand.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he murmurs, caressing my face. “You
wouldn’t put your child in danger. I apologize.”
“It’s okay.”
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He tightens his arms around me and I snuggle against his soft wool
coat, closing my eyes. My body is so tired, but my spirit is elated. I
smile as he rests his chin on top of my head, exhaling deeply, relaxing
against me.
Feels so nice. I’ll be good to you, Mr. Masen.
Slowly, he pulls away. His face is neutral again, but his eyes are
still warm as he gazes down on me. Then, he reaches into his pocket,
retrieving his wallet.
“Here,” he says, pulling out some bills and handing them to me.
“No,” I protest. “I haven’t earned that.”
He takes my hands, holding them and the money.
“You will not starve yourself again,” he says sternly. “Those days
are over.”
I nod my head, trying to control my emotions.
“Just . . . buy something nice to eat for you and your friends for
dinner tonight,” he adds. “And, take care of yourself and Seth.”
“Okay,” I whisper, taking the bills from him. “Thank you.”
“Friday at four? And take a cab.”
“Okay,” I say again.
He kisses me softly, sweetly, at first. Then, he reaches around me,
crushing my body against his as he lifts me up. I feel my feet dangling
in the air as his tongue touches mine, making me whimper. I cling to
his shoulders, responding eagerly to the kiss, wanting more and more.
“Fuck,” he groans against my lips. “Sweet girl, what are you doing
to me?”
“Don’t . . . know,” I pant.
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Whatever this is, it’s powerful. It’s so unlike any other relationship
I’ve ever had. Mr. Masen isn’t going to pick me up at my parents’
house and introduce himself. He isn’t going to take me to the school
dance. He isn’t going to bring me to the movies for a date and then
spend the whole time trying to cop a feel. He and I aren’t going to
argue about unpaid bills or lack of responsibility. We won’t spend
our nights with our backs turned. In fact, we won’t spend our nights
together at all. But we’ll have three hours together each night before
bed. Mike never set aside so much time for me. By the end, I was
lucky if I saw him three hours total in a whole week.
This is different, but I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing.
Whatever this is, I know I want it. I want him.
Gently, he lets me down. I fist my hands in the lapels of his coat
to steady myself.
“I have to go,” he breathes, obviously as affected as I am. “See you
Friday.”
“See you,” I sigh, as he walks down the stairs.
Oh, my God.
I press my hand against my chest, feeling my heart thundering away.
Definitely powerful.
Inside the apartment, Alice gives me a long look. I can tell she’s
bursting at the seams, wanting to know what happened but, for now,
she focuses on her family. I do the same, making sure Seth is settled
in the girls’ room on a small mattress on the floor and a sleeping bag.
He’s beyond excited to sleep there tonight. Afterward, we join the
celebration in the living room and the day passes quickly in a blur of
laughter, cake, Disney, and dancing.
“Be sure you thank your boss for this,” Jasper says, patting his
stomach.
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It’s late and we’ve just finished the last of the Chinese takeout. The
kids passed out a while ago, after having eaten their fill.
“Yes, that was really nice of him,” Alice agrees, grinning at me.
She turns to Jasper.
“Why don’t you go relax on the couch, baby? Bella and I will clean
up.”
“No.”
He shakes his head, making a few of his previously combed down
curls stick out.
“I’ll do it. You two take a load off.”
He leans over to kiss Alice before he starts clearing the table. She
gives me a look of surprise, but doesn’t hesitate to drag me into the
living room.
“Okay, tell me absolutely everything!” she exclaims, throwing her
hands up in excitement. “What happened? How did he find you? No,
wait. First, can we just talk about how freaking gorgeous he is?”
I chuckle a little, nodding my head.
“I mean, you said he was handsome, but Bella, holy shit!”
“I know. He’s . . . hot.”
She laughs at me.
“Tell me everything!”
Half an hour later, Alice is still listening intently as I finish recount-
ing the day.
“So we’re going over there at four on Friday, and then we’ll see how
it goes,” I finish.
“Wow,” she sighs, falling forward, pretending to swoon. “It’s like a
fairytale.”
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“The X-rated kind,” I add.
“Even better!”
She looks at me, a bit more seriously.
“What do you think will happen?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “But I owe it to Seth to at least give it
a try. What Mr. Masen’s offering, I could never provide that on my
own. I mean, the neighborhood alone is—”
“Forget about Seth for a moment,” Alice interrupts. “Yeah, hard
to do, I know. But try anyway. What do you want, Bella? Because
you know Seth will be fine no matter what school he ends up in. He’s
smart and gets along with everyone he meets. Eventually DSHS will
launch an investigation, realize that Mike isn’t paying Seth’s child
support, and hopefully you’ll get some help. So don’t just do this for
him. You deserve to get what you want too, and if this isn’t the kind
of thing you want, then you have to tell Mr. Masen that and come up
with a new plan.”
“You’re right,” I tell her. “And the truth is . . . I want him, Alice.
He makes me feel . . . I can’t even describe it. I want to make him
happy, to take care of him. I want to be his.”
“Then give it a chance,” she says softly. “I won’t pretend to
understand it fully, but it’s not my life, it’s yours. And I’ve never seen
you happier than when you guys, err, did your thing.”
I take her hand.
“Thank you.”
“Just be careful, okay? And know that you can always come back
and live here if it doesn’t work out. You’re my . . . my best friend,
and I love you. I’m gonna miss seeing you every day!”
“Oh, jeez,” I sniff. “I love you too, you know that.”
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Alice pulls me into one of her rare hugs.
“I haven’t even gone yet,” I mumble. “Nothing’s set in stone. It’s
only a trial weekend.”
Alice pulls back, smiling at me.
“I think we both know it’s a lot more than that.”
Next chapter will feature the trial weekend, I swear. I’ve
already started writing it. :)
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Chapter 20

Longest chapter. Ever. Okay, not ever, but at least for
this story. I was unhappy with it so I kept piling stuff on it
until I was satisfied. You’re welcome. LOL! ;)
A huge thanks to my fabulous beta, Mauigirl60. Seriously,
you wouldn’t want to read this before it’s been through her
capable hands, trust me.
My team of fantastic pre-readers: Diane, Veronica and
Dawn. Thank you for all your comments, girls.
And finally, you my dear readers. Thank you so much
for your support. Not just for my writing but for my life
in general. Unfortunately, we didn’t get the ABA therapy
for my autistic daughter this time around, but we’ll keep on
fighting for it. We’ll be okay. :)
Okay, enjoy this lengthy chapter!
BPOV
Despite Alice’s comment about the coming weekend at Mr. Masen’s
being more than just a trial, I’m committed to treating it like that. I
have to. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s not to get your hopes up
too soon, and if something looks too good to be true, it probably is.
When I told Mike I was keeping our baby and he agreed to leave Forks
with me, I had a vision of our future together as a perfect family. I
wasn’t completely naïve and I knew we’d probably struggle a little,
but in the end we’d be happy with our choices. We wouldn’t end up
like our parents with their disastrous marriages. That was certain.
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Of course, I couldn’t have been more wrong. Sometimes, I still
wonder why he agreed to come with me. Once I defied my parents
and told them I wasn’t having an abortion or giving the baby up for
adoption, staying with them was out of the question. And staying
with Mike’s awful parents was also unimaginable. Maybe he’d just
wanted to get away from them as college was never something he cared
about, and I knew his parents wanted him to go to one of the local
ones. Maybe I’ll never know what made him come with me. I’d like
to believe he loved me once—or at least thought he did—the same
way I thought I loved him.
Regardless, I try my best not to get my hopes up and prepare myself
for the very real possibility that Mr. Masen’s proposition might not
work out, for a number of reasons. What if Seth doesn’t like it there?
What if Mr. Masen realizes he’s not really interested in bringing a
child into his house after all, and calls the whole thing off? What if he
doesn’t respect my time with Seth and gets annoyed about not being
my first priority? What if he meets someone else?
It could happen. He’s handsome and wealthy, kind, and, in his
own way, incredibly sweet. He could meet someone he likes better.
A million girls would probably say yes to what he’s offering. The
thought is sobering, but probably necessary. I can’t go into this with
my eyes closed. I have to be smart about it and keep a level head,
even though my heart flutters whenever I think about him. I know
what that means, but I can’t let it control my judgment.
Still, I can’t help but fantasize about what it will be like, belonging
to him. Alice said she doesn’t fully understand it, and the truth is,
neither do I. I just know I like it. However, I’m not ignorant of the
fact that not everyone will understand why I’m doing this. Why I’m
considering giving myself to a man who wants such an unusual type of
relationship. I do wonder about his past. If he’s ever done something
like this before. He said he once thought he was a Dominant, a concept
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that’s not wholly clear to me. I know I’ll have to ask him about it,
and about his intentions toward me, and, of course, my son. How
long does he see this arrangement of ours lasting? Will it ever evolve
beyond what it is now? There’s so much I don’t know about him,
about his past. It’s scary, but not as scary as not giving him a chance.
I know I want to do this. Therefore I’m going into this, cautiously,
but hopeful.
On Friday, I pack a bag for Seth and myself, equally both nervous
and excited. Alice worked the last shift at the diner last night, so
she’s home with us as I get ready.
“Are you okay?” she asks, as I rifle through my clothes for the
third time, throwing them all on the couch with a frustrated groan.
“I don’t know what to bring,” I tell her. “What the hell do you
wear for a weekend away like this?”
“Just bring what you’d normally wear. If Mr. Masen wants you to
wear something specific, wouldn’t he just buy that for you?”
Thinking of his penchant for dressing me up, I chuckle and nod my
head.
“Good point.”
“You scared?”
“Terrified,” I admit, sitting down among all my clothes.
I look up at her.
“I really want this to work out.”
“Yeah,” she says, plopping down next to me.
We sit there for a while, not talking. I lean over and rest my head
on her shoulder.
“How are things going with you and Jas?” I ask.
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“It’s good. Really good. My mom is actually coming by tonight
after work. She’s taking the kids to Forks for the whole weekend.”
“Wow, that’s nice,” I say, smiling. “You’ll have the whole place to
yourself then.”
“I know. I have to remember to shave my legs, among other things.”
We both giggle.
“I’m so happy for you guys,” I tell her, probably for the hundredth
time since their engagement.
“Thanks,” she says softly. “You’ll call or text me later and let me
know things are going over there, right?”
“Of course.”
“It’s almost three,” she says. “Sir doesn’t like tardiness, does he?”
I look up at her as she flashes me a mischievous grin.
“No,” I chuckle. “He definitely doesn’t. Maybe he’ll spank me for
it later.”
“Isabella!” Alice exclaims, pretending to be shocked.
Both of us laugh as we get up from the couch.
“Here, I’ll help you pack,” she says, lifting up my empty bag. “I
don’t want to be responsible for you being late on your first day. Or
maybe that’s what you were planning all along?”
She winks at me.
“You’re having way too much fun with this,” I accuse.
“I can’t help it!” she grins. “If someone in high school had told me
prim and proper Bella Swan would be into kinky sex, I would have
laughed in their face.”
“Me, too.”
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We settle on a few outfits, and I check on Seth, who’s playing in
the girls’ room. When I come back, Alice hands me the bag.
“Hey,” she says. “You know I’m only playing around, right? I’m
not making fun of you or anything.”
“I know. You wouldn’t do that.”
“The way I see it,” she says, “what people do in the bedroom is
their business and no one else’s.”
“Yeah,” I agree.
“You’ll still totally tell me if you guys do something extra kinky,
though, right?”
“You wish! Go try out some stuff on Jas this weekend and forget
about what I’m doing.”
“I just might,” she says, wagging her eyebrows.
“Freak,” I chuckle, as I pass her.
“Look who’s talking,” she calls after me, making me smile.
I’m beyond lucky to call her my friend.
“When we get to Mr. Masen’s house, I want you to be on your best
behavior, okay?” I tell Seth.
We’ve just crossed the bridge to Medina and we’re almost there.
“What does that mean?” he asks.
I have to smile at my own foolishness. Seth is a great kid and
there’s really no point in my telling him this.
“Nothing, hon,” I say, reaching out to take his little hand in mine.
“You just be yourself.”
“Who else am I gonna be?” he says. “You’re silly, Mommy.”
“Yeah, I know.”
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We arrive at the house at 3:58, and I draw a deep breath, trying
to calm my nerves. We’re not even out of the taxi before Mr. Masen
comes out of the house.
How does he always do that? Is he waiting by the window?
He smiles as he pays the driver, smiles as he unloads our bags, and
smiles as he says hello to Seth.
“Hi,” I whisper, feeling a bit shy.
“Hi,” he says back, gazing down upon me.
“Who lives here?” Seth asks.
“I do,” Mr. Masen says, walking us to the door.
“Just you?”
He looks at me again.
“Yes,” he says. “For now.”
“It sure is a big house. Are you rich?”
“Seth,” I scold gently. “You don’t ask people that.”
“Why not?”
He stares up at me with wide innocent eyes.
“You just don’t ask someone how much money they have. They
might not like it.”
“Oh.”
He turns to Mr. Masen, tilting his head back to look up at him.
“I’m sorry. I have fifteen dollars and seventy-five cents. It’s in my
money jar.”
Mr. Masen glances at me and I nod my head. Thankfully, the thief
didn’t get to Seth’s room before I interrupted him. He took the movies
from the living room, but everything else of Seth’s was untouched.
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“That’s a lot of money,” he says, as we walk inside. “What are you
going to buy with that?”
“It’s a secret.”
“Oh, all right.”
Seth tugs on his sleeve, making Mr. Masen crouch down, to whisper
something to him.
“I see,” he says, nodding to my son.
“You won’t tell, right?”
“Of course not,” Mr. Masen says seriously.
“Hey, don’t I get to hear the secret?” I ask.
“Nuh-uh,” Seth says, shaking his head, grinning at me.
I smile back at him, so happy that he and Mr. Masen are getting
along so well already.
We remove our coats and shoes, and standing on the polished
hardwood floor in my socked feet, with Seth’s old muddy boots in my
hand, the reality of the situation finally dawns on me. I’m bringing a
child into this pristine house!
“Where should I put these?” I ask, holding up the boots. “Do you
have a shoe rack or something?”
Mr. Masen looks around.
“Uh, no. Wait here.”
He walks to the kitchen and returns with a dishtowel, which he
places on the floor next to the door.
“This will have to do for now,” he says. “The coats go in the closet
over there.”
218
Walking with Seth’s hand in mine, Mr. Masen leads us down the
hall, turning left, to a part of the house I’ve never seen before. He
pauses outside the last door, opening it slowly.
“Cool!” Seth breathes.
The room is big, with light blue walls and large windows overlooking
the lake. But that’s not what has my son enthralled. Absolutely
everything is covered with Cars merchandise: a Lightning McQueen
race car bed with sheets to match; red curtains with the same motif;
movie posters on the wall; a throw rug that looks like a racetrack with
little toy cars placed on top. There’s a dresser and a nightstand in
dark wood and a small flat-screen TV on the wall. On a low shelf,
there are more toys and a few books. In a word, it’s perfect.
I can’t believe he did this—that he remembered!
“Do you like it?” Mr. Masen asks Seth.
“This is for me?”
Seth’s eyes are wide with disbelief.
“Just for you.”
My son walks into the room, slowly and unsurely at first. Then, he
turns to look at me. I blink back the tears in my eyes and nod my
head.
“Oh, my gosh!” he yells. “This is so cool! This is so cool!”
I watch as he runs around the room, and jumps on the bed to roll
around in it.
“It’s red!” he exclaims. “A red car!”
Rolling off the bed again, he runs to us, barreling into Mr. Masen.
“Thank you, thank you!” he pants, throwing his arms around
Mr. Masen’s leg.
219
Before Mr. Masen can say anything, Seth runs across the room to
look at the toys.
“So I take it that he likes it,” Mr. Masen says, giving me a smirk.
“It’s perfect,” I whisper.
It’s the kind of room I would have made for Seth, if I’d been able
to afford it. The fact that I couldn’t do it on my own fills me with
regret, which I know is a useless emotion. I’ve done everything I could,
absolutely everything, but I still wish I could have done more.
“There’s even a red car,” I say.
“I’m nothing if not observant.”
“He’s never going to want to leave,” I chuckle.
Mr. Masen raises his eyebrow, nodding in a knowing way.
“You don’t play fair,” I tell him.
“Never said I would,” he replies. “Do you want to see your room?
It’s right next to this.”
Honestly, I wouldn’t care if I had to sleep in the linen closet or on a
mattress next to Seth’s bed. This place is safe, and that’s all I want.
“Yes, please,” I tell him, anyway.
“Seth, I’ll be in the next room, okay?” I call.
“Uh-huh,” he answers, not looking up from his new books and toys.
I shake my head, smiling. Mr. Masen opens the door next to Seth’s
room, motioning for me to go inside.
The room is beautiful, but I expected it to be. Mr. Masen’s house
is exquisitely decorated, after all, and this is no exception. However,
it’s nothing like I imagined. I’m a little stunned by what I see.
“Don’t you like it?”
220
I look up at him. There’s an edge to his voice; anxiousness laces it
ever so slightly.
“I love it,” I say. “It’s so pretty.”
He doesn’t look satisfied.
“But?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I promise. “It’s perfect. But it doesn’t look like you,
really.”
He tilts his head to the side.
“You’re, well, sort of old-fashioned,” I start. “I guess I thought
you’d put me in a room with, like, heavy curtains, and a canopy bed,
and maybe even a vanity, or something. I don’t know, like that would
be your idea of what a woman’s bedroom should look like.”
“Oh.” Finally, he smiles. “Your observation about me isn’t wrong.”
He leads me inside, his hand resting on the small of my back.
“But this is your room, Isabella. Yours alone.”
He turns me to face him.
“Do you really like it? I want you to like it here.”
“I do. I love it.”
I look around again and take in the cream-colored walls, white bed
with a lavender bedspread, a reading nook in the window surrounded
by light floral curtains, a comfy-looking armchair, a dresser, a flat-
screen TV on the wall. It’s feminine and romantic, yet still young.
Like me, I guess.
“Thank you,” I whisper, meeting his eyes. “For all of this. You
don’t know what it means to me. Seth is . . . so happy.”
I sniffle a bit, trying to blink back tears. I know he doesn’t like it
when I cry.
221
“I’m so happy,” I add.
“Mission accomplished then,” Mr. Masen says softly, reaching out
to run the backs of his fingers across my cheek.
My heart skips a beat and it takes all my strength not to get up
on my tiptoes and kiss him. We can’t do that, with Seth in the next
room.
“What now?” I ask.
“Now, I unfortunately have to get ready for drinks and a dinner
meeting in the city.”
“Oh.”
For some reason, I’d thought he would be home with us tonight.
Then I realize how ridiculous the thought is. Mr. Masen is my boss,
not my boyfriend. And he’s already promised not to interfere with
my time with Seth.
“Is there anything you need?” he asks. “There should be plenty to
choose from in the kitchen for your dinner and you’re welcome to use
the living room tonight to watch TV and so on. All I ask is that you
don’t go upstairs to my floor. My office is up there and I’d rather it
remains my domain.”
“Of course,” I say immediately. “We’ll stay downstairs, I promise.”
“I just think it’s for the best. To establish some boundaries.”
“Absolutely,” I say, nodding.
“And it works both ways, of course,” he adds. “I won’t come into
your rooms uninvited, either.”
He reaches into his pocket and hands me a key, as well as a piece
of paper.
“To the house, in case you decide to go out, and the code to the
security system.”
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“Thank you.”
“Anything else you need?”
“I don’t think so.”
Honestly, I have no idea, at this point. I think I need a few minutes
to collect myself.
“All right. You two have a good night.”
He walks to the door before pausing, turning to smile at me.
“I’m very happy you’re here,” he says.
“Me too.”
He gives me a long look before he leaves, and I wonder if that means
he’s actually reluctant to leave. I’d like to think so, because truthfully,
I’m a bit sad to see him go already. I’m not sure what I expected,
though. That he’d want to hang out with Seth and me? Absurd. He’s
a busy man, obviously, and that’s not what this is about. I know that.
It’s an arrangement in which he pays me for my company and sex, and
I get much-needed security for myself and my son in exchange, which
is something I’ve desperately craved for years now. It’s enough. It has
to be enough, and I won’t ruin this because of some fluttery feeling in
my chest. I will, however, do whatever I can to take good care of my
sweet Sir, who’s already been so incredibly generous toward us.
Seth and I stay in for the night. After a quick text to Alice, I set
him up at the kitchen table with coloring books while I cook us a
simple dinner of spaghetti and meatballs with carrot sticks. There are
lots of other options like Mr. Masen said, but I don’t feel comfortable
using any of the expensive cuts of meat from his freezer. Besides, this
is gourmet compared to some of the other things we’ve had to eat in
the days before I first met Mr. Masen. For dessert, we simply have a
fruit salad, and even that’s a luxury for us since fresh vegetables and
fruit are pricy and therefore we didn’t get them nearly enough.
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Afterward, it’s bath time, which is usually Seth’s least favorite
thing. But the downstairs bathroom, which I assume is ours, has a
tub and, suddenly, my son is excited to get cleaned up. The bubbles
definitely are a hit and I have to insist he gets out when his skin starts
to prune.
“You wanna watch a movie?” I ask after helping him into his
pajamas, giving my phone a quick glance.
Only 6:30. Plenty of time until 9.
“What are we gonna watch?” he asks. “My movies—”
“I know, hon,” I say, lifting him up with some difficulty. “Let’s see
what we can find, okay?”
“Okay.”
He nuzzles my neck and I hug him tighter to me. He’s not a baby
anymore and these moments will become less frequent; I make sure
to soak it up while I still can, carrying him into the living room even
though he’s perfectly capable of walking himself.
“Whoa, big TV!” he breathes out, as I put him down on the couch.
“I know. Let’s see if Mommy can figure out how to turn it on,” I
tell him, fiddling with the remote.
It takes a little while, but finally I’m able to access Netflix and go
the kids’ section.
“Pick one,” I say, handing him the remote.
Seth looks like he’s in a trance, staring at the rows of movie covers.
“Can we watch all of those?”
“Not tonight,” I laugh, kissing the top of his head. “Use those
arrows to move up and down, and then press the big button to start
when you find one you like, okay?”
224
He nods eagerly, testing it out.
“I’ll go get us some snacks.”
Back in the kitchen, I look out the window at the streetlights and
the neighbor’s house, with its friendly-looking lit windows. The only
sound is the low hum of the microwave oven behind me as it makes
popcorn for our movie. It’s peaceful here. Quiet. Secure.
It could be like this for Seth every night: a healthy meal; a warm
bath; cuddle time on the couch and then a good night’s sleep in a race
car bed.
And for me: no worries about money; no yelling; no sirens outside
my window; no crying myself to sleep. Instead, I get to spend time
with Seth at the beginning of the night, and Mr. Masen at the end of
the night.
The best of both worlds, almost.
Smiling to myself, I shake the popcorn into a bowl and join my son
for a movie.
At five minutes to nine, I’m in my room, drying my hair. Seth is
fast asleep next door and I’m almost ready for Mr. Masen. I’ve put
on my nicest pajamas since I don’t own any lingerie and I hope that’s
okay. I really want to make him happy tonight. With my hair done, I
open the door to my room, and sit down on the bed.
I’m ready.
Half an hour later, I’m still ready, but there’s no sign of Mr. Masen.
I check on Seth, who’s still out cold, and tiptoe through the house,
which is dark and quiet. Taking a deep breath, I venture upstairs but
find that his office and bedroom are empty. He’s not back from his
dinner.
When do those kinds of things end anyway?
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I have no idea, since Seth and I eat very early, around six o’clock,
and I’ve never been to a real restaurant, unless you count The Lodge
in Forks. But Mr. Masen said he was going to the city for drinks
and dinner, so does that mean he has drinks first or last? He could
be only on appetizers at this point, I guess. Feeling a bit dejected,
I head back downstairs to the kitchen, where I make myself some
more popcorn and grab a soda before going back to my room. My TV
has Netflix also, as it turns out, and I can’t help but smile again at
Mr. Masen’s thoughtfulness. I wish he were here so I could show him
my appreciation, but I know he’s busy, so I decide to watch a movie
while I wait for him.
Slipping underneath the covers I can’t help but sigh with pleasure, as
I get comfortable. The bed is amazing and the sheets are unbelievably
soft. I choose a romantic comedy I haven’t seen before and nibble
at the popcorn, but soon my eyelids start getting heavy. I sit up
straighter, forcing myself to pay attention to the movie, but it’s
impossible. Spending the last couple of nights on Alice and Jasper’s
lumpy couch means I haven’t slept through and now I’m tired. So
very tired.
“Sweet girl . . .”
I feel something brush against my forehead and struggle to open
my eyes.
“Shh, sleep.”
“But . . . Sir.”
“It’s okay. I didn’t know I’d be this late. Sleep, Isabella.”
“Wanted to show you,” I mumble. “I’m yours.”
“I know,” he whispers. “My beautiful girl.”
I lean into his hand as he caresses my face and I go under again,
smiling.
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The next thing I know, it’s morning and Seth is worming his
way underneath the covers to snuggle with me. I blink against the
brightness of my room, and look around. The TV is off and there’s
not a trace of my snacks from last night. Which means . . . It wasn’t
a dream. Mr. Masen came for me last night, but I’d fallen asleep!
Oh, no! Why didn’t he wake me up?
God, what a disappointment it must have been for him, coming
home to find me snoring away with popcorn grease on my face! I have
to make it up to him. Right now!
“Let’s go make some breakfast,” I say, tickling Seth.
After a quick trip to the bathroom, we head into the kitchen and I
quickly find everything I need. Placing him on a chair by the kitchen
island, Seth helps me whisk eggs and make pancake batter. Afterward,
I teach him how to flip the pancakes using the spatula.
“Good job, baby,” I praise, as he carefully lifts it onto the plate
next to the pan.
“It’s okay, Mommy?”
“Perfect,” I tell him.
He grins proudly.
“You wanna make another one?”
“Uh-huh!”
I help him distribute the batter and hand him the spatula again,
glancing up to check the time. I startle a little, seeing Mr. Masen
by the door to the kitchen, watching us. He’s wearing a strange
expression, one I haven’t seen before. He’s frowning slightly, but
there’s also wistfulness about him.
“Good morning, Mr. Masen,” I say.
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His eyes snap to mine.
“Good morning, Isabella.”
“Would you like to join us?”
I motion to the set table. He looks at it and then back to us. For a
split-second, I think he’ll say yes. Then, he takes a small step back,
shaking his head.
“Thank you, no,” he says. “I’ll take my breakfast in the dining
room. Would you mind bringing in the paper, also?”
“Of course.”
Is he unhappy with me?
“Good morning, Seth,” he says.
“’Morning, Mr. Masen!” Seth says, waving. “I’m making pancakes!”
Mr. Masen smiles and nods before retreating. Hurrying, I run
outside to get the paper before I assemble a tray for him, and while
the coffee is brewing, I set Seth up with his own plate at the table.
In the dining room, Mr. Masen is already seated at the head of the
table, dressed impeccably in another suit.
Is he working today? It’s Saturday.
“Thank you,” he says, giving me a smile as I set the tray down and
pour him a cup of coffee. “This is just lovely.”
“You’re not upset with me then?” I ask, folding my hands to keep
myself from wringing them.
“Not at all.”
“I, uh, I didn’t mean to fall asleep last night,” I mumble.
“You were tired,” he says simply. “And I was late, unable to reach
you. Which reminds me, I should probably have your phone number
and you mine.”
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I nod in agreement.
“We’ll work it out all out as we proceed,” he says with confidence.
“So you do want . . . to proceed?”
“Of course,” he says immediately. “I’m very happy you’re here.
The both of you.”
But then why didn’t he want to eat with us?
“What are your plans for today?” he asks, digging into his food.
“I’m not sure,” I admit.
“You should go shopping,” he says. “I noticed that Seth needs new
boots. It’ll be cold out soon. Get whatever the two of you need.”
He reaches into his pocket and takes out his wallet.
“Sir, I don’t feel comfortable-” I start.
He silences me with a stern look.
“Isabella,” he sighs. “I thought we already went over this. Let me
take care of you. I want to.”
“I know, but . . . you’ve already given us so much.”
“Not as much as you’ve given me.”
He reaches out to take my hand.
“I’m not good with . . . sentiment,” he says. “But trust me when
I tell you that you coming here to stay makes me very happy.”
He looks up at me.
“Truly happy.”
“Me, too,” I whisper. “I want to be yours.”
He smiles, stroking my knuckles with his thumb.
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“You are mine. And making sure you have everything you’ve been
denied before brings me immense pleasure. So let me.”
“All right.” I nod my head. “Thank you, Sir.”
He gives my hand a light squeeze before letting go, and hands me a
black credit card.
“I can drop you off at the mall on my way to work,” he says. “Get
anything you want: clothes, shoes, toys.”
“Thank you,” I say again. “Will you be working all day?”
“Probably,” he says, sighing.
“But you’ll be home for dinner?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
I beam at him and he smiles in return before he turns serious again.
“In the future,” he starts. “I’d ask you to dress before starting
breakfast.”
“You don’t like my pajamas?” I ask.
“I like them very much,” he replies. “You look soft . . . and warm.
It makes me want to . . .”
He shakes his head lightly.
“Well, no matter. I’d just prefer a less casual atmosphere.”
“Oh.”
What does that mean?
“Seth, too?” I ask.
“No, that’s fine. It’s . . . you,” he replies, looking me up and down.
“Between nine and midnight, I can act on my desires, but now . . .”
“I think I understand. You don’t want to . . . cross the line?”
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“Exactly.”
“I’ll go get dressed,” I tell him.
“Make sure you have some breakfast first,” he says. “This is
delicious.”
I flush with pleasure.
I leave him to his food and his paper, and join Seth in the kitchen.
He’s excited about our trip to the mall, and so am I. I’ve never done
much shopping for underwear and stuff like that, but I’m going to
make sure I look beautiful for Mr. Masen tonight. I’m going to show
him how much I want him. How much I need him. How he makes me
feel sexy and desirable. How I’ll do anything to please him. Basically,
I’m going to do everything a good girl isn’t supposed to do. The
thought sends a thrill through me. I can’t wait.
So that was the trial weekend, part 1. It probably didn’t
turn out like some of you thought, with all of them hanging
out like one big happy family. It seems both Bella and Ed-
ward are determined to keep a professional distance. *Nods*
Yeah, nothing could go wrong with that plan. :D Anyway,
I’ll try my best to get the next chapter out quickly, but since
I’m back at work now, my spare time is limited. Ugh.
Btw, you can catch me on Facebook as SJ Hooks, if you
want to keep up with my writing progress or just cyber stalk
me.
See you next time and take care of each other!
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Chapter 21

Happy hump day!
I’m very sorry for the delay. I write when I can, and some
months that’s not very often, unfortunately.
Huge thank you to my beta, Mauigirl60, for correcting my
mistakes and answering all of my questions. (Any mistakes
are mine, since I can’t stop adding stuff here and there at
the last second, when I should just leave it)
Thank you to my pre-readers Diane, Veronica and Dawn,
my personal cheerleaders.
And, finally, thank you to everyone who is reading this. I
love hearing your thoughts and theories. And thank you for
accepting Mr. Masen’s particular brand of kink. He won’t
change, I promise. ;)
Enjoy!
BPOV
The local mall in Medina is pretty much similar to the one in the city
where Seth and I usually go. When you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them
all, I guess. Still, being here while knowing that I can buy anything
we need, is both amazing and a bit surreal. For so long, I’ve worried
about money and, in one fell swoop, Mr. Masen has removed that
worry with the debit card he lent me for today’s shopping excursion.
We don’t go too crazy, but I do get Seth new winter boots, a coat and
a pair of gloves with a cute little matching hat. As for me, I also get a
new winter coat—a black woolen one like Mr. Masen’s—and a pair of
sensible calf-length boots with a warm lining. A trip to H&M results
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in several more items for my son’s winter wardrobe: pants; sweaters;
and a Lightning McQueen hoodie. By then, Seth is getting bored with
clothes shopping, as expected, so we take a break and eat lunch at
the food court. While we’re eating, I receive a text from Mr. Masen
who took my phone number this morning before dropping us off on
his way to work.
Isabella, I will be home for dinner at 7.
Before I can respond, he writes again.
I hope you and Seth are enjoying your day.
I smile as I reply.
Thank you, Sir. Dinner will be served promptly at 7. I hope you’re
having a good day, also.
Not as good as my night will be, I’m sure. See you at 7.
I smile wider, putting my phone down.
After we’ve finished our lunch, we go to a toy store where Seth gets
several picture books and a few toys. He’s ecstatic. So am I. Being
able to buy all this without the familiar pang of fear knowing that I’d
gone over budget is beyond liberating. I can’t stop smiling.
We bring it all to the next store and I set Seth up on a chair close
to the changing rooms, telling him that we’ll get ice cream afterward
if he stays there and looks at his books without making a fuss. I know
I probably shouldn’t bribe him, but I need a bit of time to myself; as
I look around the high-end lingerie shop, I know I have my work cut
out for me. Who knew there were so many choices?
“May I help you?”
I look at the stylish middle-aged salesperson, giving her a grateful
smile.
“Yes, please.”
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“What do you need? Something for your boyfriend, perhaps?”
Deciding to play along, I nod.
“What does he like? Any favorite styles or colors?” she inquires.
“Well, he’s a bit older than me,” I admit. “Pretty traditional, I
guess.”
She smiles.
“My husband is fifteen years my senior so I know what you mean.
Let’s see what we can find.”
Almost an hour later, Seth is looking tired in his chair and I’m
ready to head home. I pay the very nice saleslady, feeling happy with
my purchases. I can’t wait for tonight to show Mr. Masen what I’ve
bought.
“Here you go,” the saleslady says, handing me the bag and
Mr. Masen’s debit card. “Thank you, and have a good day,
Ms. Swan.”
“T-thanks,” I stutter. “I’m sorry, did I, uh, tell you my name?”
“No, but it’s imprinted on your card,” she says.
I look down at the black card in my hand. Across the front in
muted silver it reads Isabella Marie Swan. I can’t believe I didn’t
notice earlier.
“Is there a problem?” she asks gently.
“No,” I say brightly, plastering a fake smile on. “I only recently got
this one, so I’d forgotten.”
“Ah, okay,” she responds. “Well, you have a great day.”
“Thanks, you too.”
The moment I turn around and walk away, the smile washes off my
face. I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.
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How did he get my full name? I never told him. I know I didn’t!
“Mommy, can we go now?” Seth complains, tugging at my sleeve.
“Of course.”
My voice sounds hollow.
“Do I still get ice cream?” he asks, a bit more hesitantly. “Mommy?”
I force myself to snap out of it.
“Of course you do,” I say, bending down to kiss him. “You did such
a good job waiting for me.”
He grins proudly and even helps me pick up some of the bags before
we leave for Ben & Jerry’s. I can’t enjoy the treat, though, and while
Seth is going to town on two scoops of Chocolate Fudge Brownie, I
sit quietly next to him, feeling strange.
He checked up on me. After he got so upset thinking I’d done that
very same thing to him when I bought him a birthday present. Why
would he do that? I thought he trusted me. What did he find out?
Obviously, nothing that would have changed his mind about me, or I
wouldn’t be sitting here right now surrounded by shopping bags, about
to return to his home to which I have a key and the security code.
But still . . . it feels like a betrayal. There are things I don’t want
him to know and I thought he accepted that, just like I’ve accepted
that he has secrets of his own that I don’t pry about. Like the strange
scars on his stomach, or the whereabouts of his family, or his even
his ex-wife. I would never look into those things about him. Hell, I
don’t even know his first name, except that it starts with an E. But I
trusted him. I trusted him enough to bring my son into his house.
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur. Back at the house, Seth
plays with his toys while I start preparing tonight’s meal. Mr. Masen
expects dinner at seven sharp and I’ll serve it to him, because that’s
part of the arrangement, but I won’t let this go. I deserve to know
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why he felt the need to look into my personal information, what I
could have possibly done to arouse his suspicion all of a sudden, and
how on earth he found out who I am. I know I haven’t given him any
information to speak of, except my first name and my age, but there
must be hundreds of Isabellas in the city. It’s not like he could look
me up somewhere with just that information—or could he?
As 7 o’clock approaches, I feel myself becoming more and more
anxious. I make a light meal for Seth, home fries and a two-egg cheese
omelet, knowing he probably won’t like the roast I’ve prepared for
Mr. Masen, never having had one before. Seth isn’t picky, but it
takes him a while to get used to different foods. I’m not able to eat.
I couldn’t possibly. My stomach is in knots and I’m snappier with
Seth than usual, finally apologizing to him and setting him up in his
room with a movie to keep him occupied while I’m serving dinner. At
ten to seven, I hear the door open in the hall, and hold my breath.
He doesn’t seek me out. At seven precisely, I enter the dining room,
seeing him at the head of the table, wearing a smile on his face.
“Hello,” he says. “Something certainly smells good. What have
you made for me, sweet girl?”
I place the roast in front of him.
“Looks wonderful,” he comments.
“Excuse me, I’ll just get the sides,” I say, hurrying back into the
kitchen.
Fuck!
I’m not good with confrontation. I have no idea how to start this
conversation, but I have to. I have to know how he found my name
and the reason why. I bring the potatoes, gravy, and carrots with me,
telling myself not to become emotional when I talk with him. I don’t
want to lose my temper. Despite what he’s done, I need this job and
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it hasn’t changed how I feel about him. I still care about him, but he
has to understand that there are lines that he can’t just cross without
reciprocating in kind.
“Wonderful,” Mr. Masen says, as I carve out some meat for him
and serve the sides to his plate.
He reaches out to hold my hand.
“I could get used to coming home to this.”
For the first time since he came home, I look into his eyes.
How could you not trust me? I trusted you.
“Isabella? Is something the matter?”
“I . . . uh, I have a question about the card you gave me this
morning.”
“Didn’t it work?” he asks. “Did you forget the PIN?”
“No, it worked just fine. T-thank you for everything. Seth has
never had brand-new boots before.”
“I’m glad he has them now.”
“Yeah, it’s just . . . I, um, I thought it was your card.”
I look at him.
“No, the card is yours.”
“Right. I saw that. But . . . how? I never gave you my full name.”
“It was nothing,” he says simply, shrugging. “Once I got your
address from the cab driver, it was easy enough to find out your name
also. I know a guy.”
“Oh,” I whisper.
No wonder my mother was able to find me, as well. I’ve never
actually done anything to hide my whereabouts and I’m starting to
237
wonder if that was a mistake on my part. I don’t know anything about
Mr. Masen and now he probably knows everything about me. All my
secrets revealed to him because he can pay someone to find out. A
guy. What guy? A criminal?
Does he know that I was never even married and that Seth was
born out of wedlock? Does he know that I had to sell most of my stuff
to make ends meet? Does he know that I’m literally qualified to do
nothing, and get rejected at every single job interview? Does he know
about my parents? About my father being sick? The thought that he
might know more about that than I do, makes me fume on the inside.
“What else did your guy find out?” I ask, unable to hide the edge
to my voice. “My GPA? My preferred method of birth control? My
parents’ whereabouts?”
“No, of course not,” Mr. Masen says, looking affronted. “Why are
you so upset?”
And then it happens—I let my emotions get the best of me. I
feel like a bottle of soda that’s been shaken and the second the lid is
unscrewed, it all comes pouring out.
“Why? Are you serious? You let some guy—some stranger—look
into my private information! And, meanwhile, I don’t know shit about
you!”
“Don’t swear!” he snaps, now wearing a stern expression.
“It’s not fair!” I yell. “I trusted you! I trusted you with my body,
my well-being, and my son. I’ve never asked anything about you
because I know you prefer it that way. And then you check up on me?
And you act like it’s no big deal that you know everything about me
while I know nothing about you. Why would you do that to me?”
“Isabella, you will stop this childish tantrum immediately,”
Mr. Masen hisses at me.
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I inhale sharply through my nose, pressing my lips together. I can’t
stop myself from giving him a look of pure defiance. Who the hell
does he think he is?
“Listen to me very carefully,” he starts, staring right back at me.
Our stare-off only lasts a few seconds before my eyes start to flicker
and I end up looking down at the table instead.
Damn it.
“The only information I wanted was your full name,” Mr. Masen
continues in a strong voice. “I did not ask for anything else because,
frankly, it’s none of my business. I only want to know what you choose
to share with me. The rest is irrelevant. I swear that your name is all
I know.”
I glance up at him. He looks angry, but I can’t find any signs of
deception on his face.
Is he really telling me the truth?
“Why didn’t you just ask me?” I mumble, my feelings of anger
fading fast.
“I forgot about it,” he says, more calmly. “I was going to when we
said our goodbyes at your friend, Alice’s, place, but I was distracted.”
I remember why. The kiss.
“I remembered after I’d left, but since I didn’t have your number and
didn’t want to bother you and your friends during their celebration,
I asked an employee of mine, who happens to be a former police
officer, to find your name for me so I could add you to one of my bank
accounts. I didn’t want to wait. I wanted everything ready for when
you arrived yesterday.”
He draws a breath, shaking his head.
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“Believe it or not, I hoped the debit card in your name would
be a good surprise, something that would make you happy; a way
of showing you that I trust you and that I do want to provide for
you—and for your son. Obviously, I was mistaken.”
“Sir—” I start.
“Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I’d like to enjoy my dinner before
it gets cold,” he says, effectively dismissing me as he starts cutting
his meat with choppy movements.
I open and close my mouth several times, thinking of how I might
apologize to him, hoping he’ll look up at me again, giving me an
opening. But he doesn’t. He ignores me.
“Sir?”
His eyes never leave his plate.
“Not now. I’m hungry and I’m tired. Leave me, please.”
Finally, I slink back out into the kitchen, feeling awful. I screamed
at him and I did behave childishly. What the hell is wrong with
me? Throwing his generosity back into his face like that. He wanted
everything to be ready for me and my son, and it is: Seth’s beautiful
room; my beautiful room; the debit card. He must have been so busy,
being able to set all that up in a matter of days, because he wanted
us to feel welcomed here. And I repaid him by acting like a brat.
Now what?
Has this changed his mind? Tomorrow is the end of the trial
weekend and, so far, I haven’t done a thing to show him how much I
want to be here. How happy I am. How grateful. Nothing has gone
as planned, and I wouldn’t blame Mr. Masen if he’s reconsidering his
offer at this very moment. The thought makes my stomach turn. Will
we be sent back to Alice’s tomorrow with no invitation to ever return
again?
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I cry silently while I clean up the kitchen. Then, I go into Seth’s
room, seeing him in his cozy racecar bed, surrounded by his toys,
already asleep on top of the covers. He’s happy here. Safe.
I can’t give up. Seth deserves this kind of life. And Mr. Masen
deserves to be happy. Can I give him that? I hope so. I want to try.
I ease Seth out of his clothes and put his pajamas on with some
difficulty. Washing and brushing his teeth will have to wait until
tomorrow morning. Tonight, I want to do something special for
Mr. Masen. Not just because I’ve screwed up big time, but because I
want to see him smile again. I want to be his sweet girl.
Half an hour later, I peek into the dining room. It’s empty.
Mr. Masen’s plate has been abandoned and it looks like he barely
touched the food I prepared for him. I feel sick. All he wanted was
a home-cooked meal and I’ve ruined his appetite with my outburst.
Did he leave? I haven’t heard the car or the front door, so I have to
assume he’s upstairs right now. I look at the clock on the wall. It’s
only 8, which means it’s an hour until our time together was supposed
to start. I don’t think he’ll come for me, though. No, I’ll have to go
to him.
A little more than an hour later, I’m pacing nervously in my room.
It’s past 9 o’clock and there’s no sign of Mr. Masen, which means I
was right in assuming he wouldn’t be seeking me out tonight. Now I
can only hope he’ll want to see me at all.
I check on Seth one last time, thankful to find him sleeping peace-
fully, before heading upstairs, into Mr. Masen’s part of the house. I
shiver as I ascend, feeling my skin pebble, but continue on as bravely
as I can. Outside the closed door to his study, I swallow down my
nerves along with a few deep lungfuls of air, before knocking lightly
on the door.
Please, please, please.
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For a few seconds, I feel as though everything is hanging in the
balance. If Mr. Masen rejects me now, I don’t know what I’ll do. I
don’t know how I’ll ever forgive myself for having ruined this for both
my son and myself. I have to fix this.
“Come in.”
Thank God!
I enter, noticing how my hand is shaking on the doorknob as I
push on it to close it behind me. Mr. Masen sits at his desk, typing
on his laptop, not acknowledging my presence at all. The room is
warm thanks to the lit fireplace, but it does little to relax me. Finally,
Mr. Masen looks up at me, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. I
feel naked underneath his gaze and it’s not that far off, actually. I’m
wearing pale blue cotton and lace; a nightie I picked up today, hoping
he would approve of it. Judging by the way his eyes have darkened,
I’d say I’ve succeeded in that feat, but that doesn’t mean he’s forgiven
me. It means that he still wants me, so that’s something.
Slowly, I approach him, walking around his desk. He pushes his
chair back, turning it to face me. Drawing a calming breath, I fall to
my knees in front of him, looking up at him.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “Please, let me show you.”
He reaches his hand out, tracing over the thin strap on my shoulder.
“Show me what?”
“Show you that I . . .”
I search for the right words to convey what I want to express. Not
what I think he wants to hear, but how I truly feel.
“I want to worship you,” I finish.
He inhales deeply, his eyes burning into mine with an unexpected
intensity.
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“And how do you propose you do that?” he asks, pulling the strap
down as far as it can go, exposing me to him, just like the first night
I baked him that pie.
“Let me be your sweet girl,” I say. “I want to . . . to suck your
cock.”
He scrutinizes me, and for a second I think he’ll say no. That he’ll
tell me I don’t have to do that to prove anything to him, and that we
should talk instead, like this were a romantic movie featuring a sweet,
sensitive male lead. But this is Mr. Masen, and while he can be both
sweet and sensitive, this is not one of those moments.
“You didn’t say please,” he tells me, his eyes glinting with something
dark and a bit dangerous.
I shiver as he cups my naked breast in his large hand, massaging it
none too gently, before pulling my nipple.
“Please, S-sir,” I manage, my breath catching in my throat. “May
I?”
He smiles.
“You may.”
Feeling half-dizzy with relief, he leans back in his chair as I pull
myself up on my knees and open his belt and pants, pulling his cock
out. He feels like steel in my hand. I lick my lips before taking him
in as far as I can, enjoying the sound of his deep groan as I swirl
my tongue around the head on my way back up. His hands stroke
my shoulders and upper arms before he reaches down to once again
massage my breast.
“Eyes to me,” he orders.
I obey, aware of how I must look: half-naked; on my knees; my lips
stretching around his girth. My body warms at the image I’ve just
created in my mind.
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“You like this, don’t you?” Mr. Masen asks.
My gaze flickers.
“Don’t become shy now,” he says. “I can tell you like it. Keep
going.”
I do, while I watch him watching me.
“You know how I can tell? Your body gives you away. Your pretty
tits are flushed and your nipples are straining, begging to be touched.
Like this.”
He rolls it between two fingers, causing me inhale through my nose
as the feeling travels downward and makes me clench.
“Mmm, you enjoyed that,” he concludes with a knowing smile. “Is
your pussy wet, Isabella?”
My face flushes.
“I bet it is. Tell me, are you wearing anything underneath that
little slip of a nightgown?”
Slowly, I shake my head.
“Fuuck,” he hisses. “You naughty girl. Touch yourself.”
I do as I’m told, running my fingers over my wet, hot skin, moaning
around him.
“That’s it,” he encourages. “Play with that beautiful pussy.”
He grabs a fistful of my hair, guiding my mouth down on him again.
“If you come first, I’ll fuck you. But if I come first . . .”
He gives me a vicious smile.
“You don’t get to come at all tonight.”
I whimper a little, unable to help myself. Touching myself like this
in front of him is not easy for me. It goes against absolutely everything
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I’ve been taught and I know that’s why he’s asking for it—to see how
far I’ll go for him.
“You’re such a good girl,” he whispers, caressing my hollowed-out
cheeks. “That’s it. Rub your clit. Feels good, doesn’t it?”
I moan in response.
“But you want more,” he says, sounding slightly out of breath.
“You want more, don’t you, Isabella?”
I nod, increasing the pace of both my bopping head and my fingers.
“You . . . ah, fuck,” he groans. “You wanna be fucked?”
“Mmm . . . mmm,” I respond, aware of how my hips are rocking,
how I’m lewdly humping my own hand. “Mmmmm!”
It happens so quickly, I barely have time to register my orgasm,
before Mr. Masen lifts me up and practically tosses me onto his desk
face-down. He rips up my nightie, spreads my legs and fills me with a
hard thrust that makes me yelp. I’m gasping for breath, still acutely
sensitive but he doesn’t give me a break. He fucks me hard, grabbing
my hips to keep me in place as I cry out each time his hips slap against
my ass.
“Good girl, good girl,” he pants behind me. “Take that cock. So
fucking beautiful!”
Suddenly, his finger is there, stroking insistently. I tense up and he
slows his pace considerably.
“Let me. I won’t hurt you.”
I do my best to relax as he presses on, finally penetrating me. It
hurts a little.
“Here you go,” he coos, reaching his other hand around to my front
to touch me.
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Moaning, I unclench around his finger as I focus on the other
sensations.
“There’s my sweet girl,” he praises, taking me with slow, deep
thrusts. “Just enjoy this. Fuck, you’re so wet right now. I knew you’d
love this.”
“Oh, please,” I groan, gripping the edge of his desk.
“Tell me you love it,” he commands.
“I . . . do, Sir.”
He presses against my front and starts moving his finger in and
out of me, timing it with the thrusts of his hips. I never would have
thought I’d like this, him doing something so lewd, but I do. God
help me, I do.
“Ahh, feels good. Sir, I, please,” I babble. “So good!”
It doesn’t take long before I come again, the feeling of his stroking
fingers and his thick cock making me scream out in abandon. He
follows immediately after, nearly collapsing on top of me as both of
us gasp for breath. I had no idea. No idea it could be this good.
“Mmm,” he hums, inhaling deeply against my skin before giving
me a gentle bite. “Perfect.”
After he’s recovered, Mr. Masen lifts himself off me, telling me
to stay. I hear him leaving the room, and a few minutes later he
returns, cleaning me with a warm wet towel. I stay where I am until
he comes back again, still completely exposed to him, but it doesn’t
really bother me anymore. Gently, he helps me off his desk, putting
the straps of my nightgown back in place before smoothing it down
around me. I can’t help but avoid his eyes, feeling a bit shy after what
just happened.
“Darling girl,” he whispers, tilting my head up to examine my face.
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He must like what he sees, because he smiles at me. I return it,
feeling light on the inside.
“I have a surprise for you downstairs, Sir.”
His eyebrows lift and his smile widens.
“Lead the way then.”
“Would it be all right if I just run down first and put something
else on?” I ask. “I, uh, I’d rather not have Seth seeing me like this if
he wakes up.”
Mr. Masen nods.
“Of course.”
Quickly, I head downstairs. I go to the bathroom before changing
into my pajamas and looking in on Seth, who is still asleep. Then, I
run into the living room to make sure everything is ready.
Mr. Masen is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, looking
me up and down as I approach.
“I know it’s not as sexy,” I apologize.
“On the contrary,” he says with a grin. “I could certainly see myself
undoing those buttons to cop a feel.”
He steps closer, pulling me against his chest before grabbing my
ass with both hands. All traces of humor are gone from his face.
“Or open that drawstring before reaching inside to feel how wet
you are for me. How ready you are for my cock.”
“Sir,” I breathe, fisting his shirt in my hands.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers against my lips. “And so fucking
sexy.”
“So are you.”
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He kisses me gently, sliding his tongue against mine.
“We should fight more often, if this is what happens afterward,” he
says.
“Please, no. I’m so sorry for everything I said earlier.”
“We should talk about that. But not tonight, all right? Tomorrow.”
“Have you forgiven me?” I whisper.
“Of course I have,” he tells me, leaning down to press his lips against
mine again. “How could I not?”
I hold my hand out to him, and he takes it, lacing our fingers as I
lead him toward the living room. I’ve lit candles in there, and on the
table, I’ve set up coffee and a treat. On the TV, the DVD preview
menu for the first Indiana Jones movie is playing. Mr. Masen takes it
all in, wearing a soft, mildly-stunned expression.
“You baked me a pie?”
“Of course I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought you’d be pleased,” I answer truthfully.
“I am.”
He turns to me, pulling me into his arms.
“I’m so very pleased,” he whispers, caressing my face.
My heart skips a beat and I smile big. After another kiss, we settle
in on the couch and I serve Mr. Masen a big piece of the apple pie.
He starts the movie, looking at me with tender eyes.
“This is perfect,” he says. “Thank you.”
“Thank you,” I say. “For everything. For being my Sir.”
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He smiles, pulling me closer before offering me a bite of his pie.
“Sweet girl,” he says reverently, pressing his lips against my hair
before focusing on the movie again.
I snuggle against him, feeling safe and cared for. Mr. Masen is
right—this feels perfect.
Again, sorry for the delay. Hopefully, this long chapter
made up for it.
My pre-readers wanted to slap Bella in the beginning
of this chapter, but they understand why she reacted so
strongly to the debit card. She’s still waiting for the other
shoe to drop. Hopefully, her talk with Mr. Masen in the
next chapter will put some of her fears to rest. :)
Until next time, take care!
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Chapter 22

Hey, everyone. Finally, I was able to finish this chapter.
Thank you for sticking with this story even though I take a
long time between updates. RL is, as usual, very busy, and
some weeks I have no time to write at all.
Thank you to my beta and my pre-readers for your help!
:)
Enjoy!
BPOV
The next morning I wake early. It’s Sunday, the end of our trial
weekend, which hasn’t gone according to plan, and I’m a bit worried
what might come out of our talk today. I know he enjoyed himself
last night, after we made up, but I’m also certain he has questions for
me after witnessing my reaction to the debit card, and the fact that
he sought information about me. I need to talk to him about that.
We have to establish some boundaries. I don’t want to be caught off
guard like that ever again. As per our agreement, I change out of
my sleepwear and into a pair of jeans and a sweater before leaving
my room and checking in on Seth. He’s still asleep, tangled up in
his Lightning McQueen bedding, and I tiptoe out of his room again,
deciding to let him sleep in. Tonight, he’s back to sharing a room with
Alice’s girls, and I’m sure they’ll keep each other up way past their
bedtime. The arrangement isn’t ideal, but I don’t have anywhere else
to take him if Mr. Masen doesn’t ask us to come back here. I’m not
sure of anything in regard to that. This was a trial, and I know Seth
has had a great “vacation” here, but has Mr. Masen liked having us
over? I’ve fallen asleep instead of waiting for him, yelled at him, and
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acted like a brat. He said he forgave me for my behavior yesterday
and I believe him, but I also can’t help but wonder if he’s realized that
there’s a stark difference between the person I am with him alone and
the person I am during the day. I can’t be a submissive, complacent
girl around my son. For him, I’m strong and willful. That’s how we’ve
gotten through everything.
Half an hour later, Seth joins me in the kitchen as I’m cooking
breakfast, and he helps me set the table for two. I know Mr. Masen
won’t be joining us, but I’ve made enough so that I can serve him in
the dining room when he wakes up.
“This tastes good, Mommy!” Seth exclaims with his mouth full,
eating his oatmeal with maple syrup and berries with gusto.
“Thanks, baby,” I reply, taking a sip of coffee. “When we’ve cleaned
up, I think we should go for a walk. What do you say?”
Seth groans a little, but nods anyway. He’s not big on the cold, and
neither am I, but we’ve been inside the whole weekend and a little
fresh air would do us some good.
“Good morning.”
I look up, seeing Mr. Masen at the door, dressed very casually in
a sweatshirt and jeans. His hair isn’t styled severely, and he looks
relaxed.
“’Morning, Mr. Masen!” Seth waves his spoon excitedly, sending a
spray of oatmeal across the table.
Immediately, he slinks down in his chair, eyes averted.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” he hiccups.
“It’s okay, hon,” I soothe, pulling him into my lap. “It’s just a little
mess, no big deal.”
As I cradle him, I glance up at Mr. Masen, who’s wearing a startled
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expression. Then, he walks to the kitchen sink and returns with a rag,
cleaning up the oatmeal.
“See?” he says. “All gone.”
Seth lifts his head and Mr. Masen smiles at him. My heart flutters
in my chest.
“All gone,” Seth echoes, jumping back into his seat and continues
eating as if nothing has happened.
I watch as Mr. Masen rinses out the rag. I want to jump into his
arms and kiss him. I want to thank him so much for not yelling, which
is what Seth expected him to do, because that’s what his father would
have done. I tried my best to shield my son from Mike’s outbursts,
but sometimes it was impossible. Seth is a little clumsy at times, just
like I was as a kid, falling over his own feet and knocking over glasses.
Mike couldn’t stand that.
I rise and check on the rest of the food.
“I’m off to the gym,” Mr. Masen announces.
“Oh, no breakfast?” I ask.
“Save me some for when I get back?”
“Of course. Um, when will that be? Seth and I, we were going to
take a walk, see the neighborhood,” I explain.
Mr. Masen smiles.
“Good. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” He lowers his voice a
little. “And then perhaps we could have our talk?”
My stomach flips.
“Of course,” I say again.
“Don’t worry,” he whispers, sneaking a glance at Seth who’s occu-
pied eating, before brushing his fingers against mine for a moment.
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“It’s a good talk, Isabella. I promise.”
I look up at him.
“It is?”
“Yes.”
And with that one word, he puts my fears to rest. I give him a
relieved smile.
“I’d better get going. With all this delicious food I’ll be eating from
now on, I can’t skip the gym—ever.”
“I’m sure you can find ways of working it off between nine and
midnight,” I whisper, feeling my face flame.
Mr. Masen lets out a surprised laugh, brushing my fingers again.
“I’m sure I can.”
Seth and I finish up our breakfast and after cleaning up the kitchen,
we head out. It’s getting cold outside, and I’m thankful for our new
coats and boots as we walk down the long driveway, hand in hand.
There are lots of people out and about today, and we pass several
couples walking their dogs, and families who have also ventured out
into the cool autumn morning. We find a playground about half a
mile from Mr. Masen’s house and Seth asks if he can go play. After a
few minutes, we’re joined by a couple and their little boy. The woman
is a gorgeous blonde with piercing blue eyes and the man is tall and
broad, with a well-trimmed beard. They could be movie stars with
their impeccable clothing and hair, and I feel a little self-conscious,
but very thankful that Mr. Masen got me this new coat so I don’t look
completely like Little Orphan Annie next to the glamorous couple.
“Mama, can I play with him?” their son asks, pointing to Seth.
The woman turns and looks at me, wearing an open, friendly
expression.
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“Yes, of course,” I manage.
“Go ahead,” she tells her son.
He runs straight up to Seth and asks if he wants to play. He has
a little wagon with him that’s filled with toys, and soon we parents
are completely forgotten as they run around the monkey bars, waving
little plastic swords, their shouting and laughter echoing through the
air. I smile at the sight of Seth, playing with the boy. He hardly ever
gets to do stuff like this.
Half an hour passes before the blonde woman calls to her son, “J.R.,
we have to get home!”
The boy complains a little, but after a minute or two he gathers
up his stuff, leaving the playground with his parents, who give me a
polite nod as they go. Seth’s cheeks are flushed from the cold, but
he’s grinning happily when he comes over.
“Ready to head back?” I ask.
He nods, putting his little hand in mine. We trail behind the
beautiful couple and JR until we head down Mr. Masen’s driveway
toward the house. As we’re about to go in, I hear a shout.
“Hey! Hey, Seth!”
Looking toward the house next door, I see the boy, J.R., and his
parents about to go inside.
Seth waves eagerly at the boy.
“Look, Mommy! J.R. lives right there!”
The couple looks at me and Seth, regarding us with curious expres-
sions. They’re Mr. Masen’s neighbors.
Shit. Now they’re probably wondering who the hell I am.
They’re still staring as I usher Seth inside and quickly close the
front door behind us, shielding us from their scrutiny. This isn’t good.
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Who am I to him? If we end up staying here permanently, I’ll have to
come up with some sort of explanation when people ask why I’m living
in his house with my son. I wonder if Mr. Masen has even considered
this? He seems pretty impulsive, after all, at least when it comes to
me. It didn’t take him more than two minutes, after realizing I’m a
mom, to ask us to come live with him.
I need a legitimate reason for staying here if someone asks, especially
if my mother somehow ends up tracking us down. Like she said, my
father has his ways. He’s a retired police officer and now the mayor
of Forks. Or, is he still? I remember her telling me that he’s sick. I
shiver a little, even in my warm coat, and decide not to think of it
anymore. He threw me out when I needed him the most, and she
didn’t do a thing to stop him. So why should I care about either of
them?
I still do, though, no matter how much I wish I could be indifferent
toward them. But, I can’t dwell on them right now. First, I need to
get Seth settled in with something to occupy him and then get ready
for Mr. Masen’s return and our talk.
Half an hour later, I’ve cooked some more breakfast, since oatmeal
really doesn’t keep after it’s gone cold, and made some sausages and
eggs, as well. I’m sure Mr. Masen will be hungry after his trip to the
gym. Seth is in his room with coloring books and a movie, so I know
he won’t need anything for a little while.
Mr. Masen catches me in the kitchen as I’m making coffee, looking
refreshed and handsome in slacks and a pullover, his hair still slightly
damp.
“Seth?” he inquires as he enters.
“In his room,” I reply. “Where would you like to eat?”
“Here’s fine,” he says, motioning to the kitchen table.
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I serve him breakfast and coffee, and clean up while he eats. I smile
as I retrieve his empty plate, happy that he liked the food I prepared
for him.
“Thank you,” he tells me, touching my hand for a moment. “Please,
join me when you’re ready.”
I nod mutely, clearing away his plate before bringing my own mug
to the table and refilling his at the same time.
“Thank you,” he says again. “You’re very thoughtful, Isabella.”
“I try.”
His eyes are warm as he gazes at me.
“You succeed, sweet girl.”
I don’t know what to say, so I end up simply smiling at him.
“So,” he begins, straightening in his seat. “I’d like to thank you for
coming over this weekend. I’ve had a lovely time.”
“Me, too. I’m sorry it didn’t go exactly as planned.”
He waves his hand, taking a sip of his coffee.
“It went just fine.”
Does he really think that? Even with my yelling at him yesterday?
“How has it been for you?” he asks, regarding me over the rim of
his mug.
“Good,” I reply. “You’ve made us feel really welcomed here.”
“Because you are,” he says simply.
“And have you thought beyond this weekend?” he inquires, cupping
the mug between his hands.
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He looks casual, but there’s something about the look in his eyes
as he watches me. Uncertainty, maybe?
I draw a deep breath, nodding. I know what I want. I want to be
his. To stay here with him, and make him happy, and thereby give my
son a safe place to call home. I don’t want to be hungry anymore, or
afraid of the future. I want to relax, for the first time since Seth was
born, and not worry all the time. I want to be Mr. Masen’s sweet girl.
“Yes, I have. And I . . . I want to be yours,” I whisper.
Across from me, Mr. Masen’s shoulders drop and he exhales slowly
as a smile spreads across his handsome face.
“You’ll come and live here?”
“If you want us to.”
“I do,” he says without hesitation.
“There’s just one thing, though,” I say hesitantly.
“What is it?”
“I . . . I want a contract,” I whisper.
Mr. Masen’s mouth opens as he inhales, sitting up a little straighter
again.
“A contract?” he asks, frowning a little. “Isabella, I’m not asking
you to stay here as my . . . submissive. That’s not what I want from
you. If that’s—”
“No!” I gasp.
“No?”
“That’s not what I meant at all. I didn’t even know . . . they have
contracts for that?”
“Yes,” he answers calmly.
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“Oh. I just meant, like a work contract. If people ask.”
“People?”
“Your, uh, your neighbors saw me and Seth go inside earlier,” I
admit. “Aren’t you worried what they’ll think? What everyone will
think?”
He shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee.
“No.”
No?
“One of the perks of becoming older, Isabella, is that you care a lot
less about what other people think of you.”
“But,” he adds, giving me a smile, “if it will make you feel better,
we can certainly make a contract of your employment here. Did you
have something specific in mind?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble. “Maybe I’m your housekeeper?”
“Sure, that works,” he replies. “On paper, at least.”
“Only on paper?”
“Well, I already have a cleaning service and a laundry service, so I
don’t need you to do any of that. Cooking will be plenty.”
He gives me an expectant look, and I realize we’re now negotiating
the terms of our staying here. It’s not like I’m dying to clean this huge
house on my own, so it’s sort of nice he has other people for that.
“I’d like to do your laundry,” I tell him.
“My suits go to the dry cleaner.”
“Your underwear and socks then, and your casual clothes, like jeans
and t-shirts.”
“You want to wash my underwear?” he asks, with a grin. “Fold
my socks?”
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“Yes, Sir.”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. All humor has
vanished from his features.
“Why do I find that so fucking hot?” he whispers.
He reaches out and takes my right hand, tracing a circle in my palm.
Even this slight contact makes my heart jump and my breathing speed
up.
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“You feel it too, don’t you?” he asks. “When I touch you?”
“Yes, Sir,” I breathe. “I’m not sure I understand it.”
“Attraction, desire, longing,” he murmurs, running his finger up
the inside of my forearm, making my skin contract underneath his
touch. “You want my hands on you. You like how it makes you feel
when I take control over you. When I dominate you.”
“But . . .” I close my eyes for a moment, trying to regain my wits.
“You don’t want a submissive.”
“No, I don’t,” he says softly. “I don’t want you to act according
to the rules of a contract. I don’t want to control every aspect of
your life, and subsequently punish you when you fail to meet those
rules. When you’re on your own or with your son, that’s your time.
I’d never presume to tell you how to act or dress. You don’t need a
list of written rule to be what I want.”
“What do you want then?” I manage.
“Just you, being yourself. You’re naturally submissive, Isabella.”
I begin to pull my arm back, about to protest.
“That’s not a bad thing,” he says in a firm voice, holding my hand
in his.
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“But . . .”
I don’t even know what to say. How can it not be a bad thing to
be submissive? I don’t want to be weak.
“It doesn’t define every aspect of who you are,” he continues. “It
just means you like it when your partner takes control during sex.
That you like taking care of your partner and giving up your will to
him.”
“Only to you,” I whisper. “My ex—I didn’t like it when he tried
telling me what to do.”
Mr. Masen makes a face, curling his lips in obvious disgust.
“He didn’t treat you well, did he?”
I shake my head.
“Then how could you possibly trust him enough to ever let him see
the real you?” he asks, giving my hand a squeeze. “Why would you
ever bestow the gift of your submission to someone so unworthy?”
I shrug my shoulders. Mr. Masen lifts my hand, holding it between
both of his as he looks deeply into my eyes.
“Isabella. I’m honored that you’ve shown me that side of you. That
you’ve chosen me.”
“I’ve chosen you?” I whisper. “But, you picked me up, you paid
me.”
“I did,” he agrees. “But do you truly believe we’d be having this
conversation right now, if I’d sensed you were faking it this whole time
and only slept with me for the money? Do you think I’d continue to
fuck a woman who hated it whenever I touched her?”
“No,” I say with certainty. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“You chose me,” he says again.
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“I guess I did.”
He smiles, lifting my hand to brush his lips against my knuckles,
making me shiver in the process.
“Thank you,” he whispers, placing a firm kiss on the back of my
hand, before releasing it.
I blush furiously, taking a gulp of my now-lukewarm coffee. My
heart is going into overdrive and I do my best to hide how much his
words have affected me.
“So, uh, how do we do this?” I finally ask. “You’ll hire me as a
housekeeper, but what about the, uh, rest? What do you expect of
me?”
“For you to trust me,” he says seriously. “I know you’re inexperi-
enced, and I’ll always remember that. Tell me, is there anything we’ve
done that you haven’t enjoyed?”
I shake my head. I’ve more than enjoyed everything.
“If I ever want to go beyond what we’ve done, I’ll check in with you
first. I won’t ever do anything more without your strict permission.
How does that sound?”
“Good, Sir,” I say, feeling relieved.
I truly have enjoyed everything, but going beyond some of what
we’ve done so far is a daunting thought.
“Do you trust me, Isabella?”
“I . . . really want to, Sir,” I say, honestly.
The corners of his mouth turn down ever so slightly. He’s displeased.
I can’t help that, though. He wants the truth from me.
“I’ve been taking care of myself and Seth for a really long time.
Even before I got pregnant, I felt like I only had myself to rely on,” I
explain. “I don’t trust people, easily.”
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I motion around his beautiful kitchen.
“You offer me all of this, and it just seems way too good to be
true, like a fairytale or something. That’s why I freaked out on you
yesterday with the card. I thought you’d been lying all along and I
felt like an idiot for letting my guard down. Seth only has me! I’m
the only one in the world who cares about his well-being, and I need
to be so careful all the time, and I hate that I can’t just be happy
for everything you’ve given us and everything you’re offering. I really,
really want to be yours and trust you completely, and I swear I’m
trying, Mr. Masen!”
I haven’t noticed that my eyes have teared up until Mr. Masen
reaches into his pocket and hands me one of his handkerchiefs—a
familiar scenario for us now, considering how often he’s seen me cry
in such a short time.
“I’m sorry,” I sniff, wiping my eyes and nose.
“Don’t be sorry,” he says. “Thank you for being so honest. That’s
the most important thing. Everything else we’ll figure out along the
way, as long as we’re open with each other.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It is,” he says. “I want this to work.”
He draws a deep breath.
“The truth is, Isabella, that I’m tired of coming home to an empty
house at the end of the day.”
“But . . . why this sort of, err, arrangement?” I dare to ask. “I
mean, why not just get a girlfriend?”
“I don’t think I’d have much to offer in a romantic relationship,”
he says matter-of-factly.
His words make me frown. Not much to offer? He’s generous and
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kind, sexy and rich. From where I’m sitting, Mr. Masen is the whole
package.
“You don’t agree?”
“No, Sir. I don’t understand why you’d say that. I think you’d
make a great boyfriend.”
He purses his lips, taking a long pause.
“I work all the time. I’m sure you must have noticed that.”
I nod.
“I’m at the office 50-60 hours a week, and that’s just when I’m in
the city. I travel a lot too. I don’t have time to . . . date. And even
if I did, I’d have a hard time finding a woman who’s willing to put up
with my schedule, as well as . . .”
He folds his hands on the table, hesitating.
“I like things a certain way, and I know my preferences aren’t
exactly conventional. I want a woman who will cater to my needs,
sexual and otherwise, without complaint. More so, I want a woman
who wants to do that, to take care of me. And she’d have to be okay
with my schedule. The last thing I need is to feel guilty for not being
around when I’m working.”
He takes a sip of his coffee, which must be pretty cold by now.
“Maybe that makes me selfish. But that’s what I want. I’ve worked
very hard to get where I am today, and I don’t want to compromise.”
He looks straight at me.
“With you, I believe I can have exactly what I’ve always wanted.”
Taking my hand in his, he continues, “You’ll be here when I come
home, you’ll cook for me, serve me, dress up for me if I tell you to.
When I take control, you’ll love it. When I fuck you the way I want,
you’ll beg for more. Does that sound like something you’ll want?”
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His words are harsh, but his expression is open and unguarded, and
the way his thumb caresses my hand is gentle. He’s so contradictory.
“Are you trying to scare me away?” I whisper.
“No,” he murmurs. “But I do want you to understand what you’re
saying yes to. You said this was like a fairytale. I assure you it’s not.
I’ll be away a lot, working, but when I’m here, I expect you to be
available to me between nine and midnight, as well as during the day
when your son isn’t around.”
I nod silently.
“Do you really want this?” he asks.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Even though it means no dating or relationships?”
I snort indelicately.
“Who’d wanna date me? I’m a penniless, single mother on the
verge of homelessness.”
Mr. Masen gives me a chastising look.
“I have no interest in dating,” I tell him. “All I care about is my
son’s well-being. I’m grateful you’ve accepted him so easily.”
“Being a mother actually makes you more appealing to me.”
What?
“You have someone you care about,” he explains. “You won’t miss
me when I’m not around.”
Yes, I probably will.
“Your son will keep you grounded, to remember why you’re doing
this. That’s good for the both of us, knowing your motivation for
being here. None of us will mistake this for . . . something else.”
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“Right.”
My voice sounds a little strangled to my ears. Mistake this for .
. . love? Is that what he was going to say? He’s correct, of course.
This isn’t love. This is a business arrangement in which he gets to
live out his fantasies and has sex available to him, and I get comfort
and security for me and Seth. I look down at my hand engulfed in his.
But why all the tenderness then? Why comfort me when I’ve cried,
why the lingering looks, why the sweet words?
“Be mine?”
I look at his hopeful expression and find myself completely confused
by him. He basically just said I’m to be his hired sex partner, and
not to confuse this for something more than that, but he treats me
as though I’m precious to him. I’m going to be his . . . well, his sex
slave, yet I’ve never felt so safe before.
“I’ll have to talk to Seth first,” I tell him. “If he doesn’t want to
live here . . .”
“Of course,” Mr. Masen says without hesitation.
“I think he’d probably like to stay here, though,” I say. “He played
with your neighbor’s son earlier at the playground, and he loves his
room.”
“So if he wants to live here, you will?”
I nod my head and he gives me a big smile.
“You won’t regret this, Isabella. I’ll give you everything you’ve been
deprived of in exchange. Have you thought about your payment?”
I haven’t and, truthfully, I don’t like thinking of it at all—of me,
taking money from Mr. Masen for having sex with him.
“Just what you’d pay any other housekeeper,” I say firmly.
Mr. Masen looks puzzled.
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“I’d be asking more of you, so you should be compensated,” he
insists.
I pull my hand out of his hold, sitting up straight.
“I don’t want to be compensated for having sex with you.”
“Isabella—”
“No. I won’t be your hired whore.”
“Please don’t call yourself that,” he says, sounding regretful.
“But that’s what I’d be, wouldn’t I?”
“I’ve never judged you for taking my money,” he says quietly.
“And I’ve never judged you for paying me,” I say. “But I don’t
want that anymore.”
Mr. Masen looks like he’s about to protest, so I continue.
“That doesn’t mean I don’t understand what this is: a business
arrangement and nothing else. You don’t have to worry about me, I
get it.”
“I see,” Mr. Masen says, folding his hands once more.
My words sting, because I know—for me—they’re not true. I feel
something for him, but I’ll have to suppress whatever it is from now
on. He’s made it quite clear that this shouldn’t be mistaken for more
than what it is, and I feel like an idiot for daring to even think for a
second it could be. No. This has to be about sex and nothing more.
I won’t let myself feel anything. The sex will still be good, I’m sure,
and Mr. Masen won’t know the difference.
“If I were your submissive, you wouldn’t be paying me, would you?”
I ask.
“No, I suppose not.”
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“So you won’t pay me for being available to you between nine and
midnight.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Very well,” Mr. Masen says. “I’ll come up with a salary and draw
up a contract.”
“Good.” I give him a nod. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go have a talk
with Seth.”
Mr. Masen stands as I rise, looking as though he wants to say
something. I wait a beat, but he doesn’t speak. I turn and walk
away, feeling my heart plummet. This talk of ours didn’t turn out at
all how I’d hoped it would. Everything between us was so cold, so
business-like, all of a sudden.
What happened? Did I say something wrong?
I wrack my brain but I can’t think of anything to explain
Mr. Masen’s sudden distance.
Maybe it’s better like this, knowing what to expect.
Laundry, cooking and sex. Nothing more. This is not a fairytale.
I go into Seth’s room and join him on the bed, where he’s watching
a movie. He snuggles up in my arms and for a while, neither of us
says anything. Soaking up his affection and warmth, I feel stronger. I
know this is the right decision. Seth has a chance for a real life here:
friends and school, and a mother who makes a steady income.
“Hon,” I murmur, pausing the cartoon. “Do you like it here at
Mr. Masen’s?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“How would you like for us to live here all the time?”
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Seth tilts his head back, looking up at me.
“All the time?”
I nod my head.
“Mr. Masen has asked us to move in here so Mommy can be his
housekeeper.”
“What’s a housekeeper?”
“Well, I’ll cook and do laundry. Stuff like that.”
“Like a Mommy.”
I smile at him.
“Yes, like a Mommy, I suppose.”
“What about Daddy?” Seth asks quietly. “Is he gonna live here
too?”
Oh, God.
I hold him tighter to me, tucking his head underneath my chin.
“No, honey. Daddy isn’t going to live with us. Not anymore.”
“Never again?”
His voice is so small.
“No, baby.”
“Good.”
I suck in a breath. Seth sits up and turns to face me.
“I don’t like Daddy. He’s mean and he yells, and he makes you cry.
I hate him! I hope he never comes back! Never, ever!”
I stare at my son, from his clenched little fists to the fierce look
in his eyes, and suddenly it all makes sense. Every time Seth asked
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about Mike, it wasn’t because he missed him. It was because he was
worried he’d come back.
“Is that bad of me?” he asks, biting his lip. “Do you want him to
come back, Mommy?”
“No,” I whisper, answering both of his questions before pulling him
back into my arms.
“It’s just you and me now,” I tell him.
“And Mr. Masen.”
“And Mr. Masen,” I agree.
Except, not really. He’s not a part of our family and he never will
be. He’s my boss and nothing more, because that’s how he wants it
to be.
Seth snuggles deeper into my embrace, handing me the remote to
start his movie again as though we’ve never had the conversation we
just did.
He hates Mike. He hates his own father.
Why didn’t I end things with Mike sooner? Why didn’t I stand up
to him when he yelled? I didn’t protect the little boy in my arms. He
remembers everything. How many times has he heard me cry?
I watch the rest of the movie without seeing the images on the
screen. Seth falls asleep before it’s over, but I keep holding him anyway.
Slowly, I lay him down and turn off the TV before tiptoeing out of his
room. The moment I step outside, I bend over and cover my mouth
before the first sob rips through me.
What have I done? I didn’t protect him.
I remember all the times we’d argue, and Mike would yell at me
that I got pregnant on purpose, that he never wanted ‘the kid’ in the
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first place. I imagine Seth in his room, covering his ears, trying to
keep the hurtful words out.
Does he know?
“Isabella?”
I stand up, wiping my eyes quickly.
“Sorry, I’m gonna lie down for a little while,” I rush out. “We’ll go
as soon as Seth wakes up.”
Mr. Masen approaches slowly.
“Go? Go where?”
“To Alice’s, of course.”
I take a deep breath.
“If you’d please make the contract for the 1st of the month, we’ll
come back then.”
“What’s wrong?” he asks, cupping my face in his hands. “Why are
you crying?”
His touch feels so good and I want nothing more than to launch
myself into his embrace and have him take away the pain.
“It’s n-nothing,” I stutter.
“Darling girl,” he murmurs, leaning down to press his lips against
mine. “Don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.”
He pulls me to him, lifting me up until we’re nose to nose. I stare
at him through blurry eyes.
“Please, let me go,” I manage.
“Never,” he says, in a much too meaningful way, leaning in to kiss
me again.
“No,” I protest, pushing on his broad chest.
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He pulls back, slowing placing my feet back on the ground.
“You can’t have it both ways,” I tell him, sniffing loudly as I take
a step back. “You can’t tell me this is just a business agreement, and
then act like you care about me two seconds later.”
Mr. Masen averts his eyes.
“I do care about you.”
“Then why did you say all that stuff in the kitchen?”
“Because . . . because that’s how I need it to be.”
He takes a careful step toward me, reaching for my hands.
“It doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, or about your son. I want
to provide for the two of you, give you a new start. Is that so wrong?”
“No.”
“All I ask in return is your devotion,” he says, lacing our fingers.
“I’m not asking for more than that.”
But you should. If you’d only ask me.
I look at the man in front of me. Why he feels like he has nothing
to offer, other than money and sex, I don’t understand. I wish there
was more here, but this is how he wants it. So I won’t bring it up
again. Instead, I’ll show him in everything I do, how much I care for
him and hopefully one day he’ll get it, that he is worthy of more.
“All right,” I whisper, gazing into his eyes. “I’ll be devoted to you .
. . Sir.”
Thank you for reading!
I’m working on the final chapter of my Master thesis,
which is due in a couple of months, and my first book is
being published on March 18th (details on my profile page),
so I’ll have my hands full. Just be patient with me a little
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longer and I promise my schedule should clear up a lot come
summer! Yay!
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Chapter 23
Hey, everyone. A lot has happened since my last update.

The short version is that I’m now happily divorced and living
with my kids in a cute little house of my own. The ex and I
are on friendly terms. It’s all good.
Last month I went to the US to attend the Twific Meetup
in Philadelphia and also meet with my publisher in New
York. It’s been an amazing summer already!
Thank you so much to my beta, Mauigirl60, for invaluable
help in writing this chapter and hours of fun Facebook con-
versation. You make it all so much better! (And I don’t just
mean the chapter).
Also thank you to my team of prereaders, Veronica, Diane
and Dawn, who were my roommates in the States, and the
best friends a girl could ask for. I love you!
I hope you’ll enjoy this chapter.
BPOV
From the last chapter: “All right,” I whisper, gazing into his eyes.
“I’ll be devoted to you . . . Sir.”
Mr. Masen leans in, brushing his lips against mine before kissing me
properly. Soon, my hands are gripping his shoulders and he’s crushing
me against his body as his tongue caresses mine, making my knees
weak.
“Please, don’t go tonight,” he pants in between kisses. “Stay, stay
with me.”
“My-my apartment,” I stutter, tilting my head back as Mr. Masen
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pulls my hair to gain access to my neck. “I have to . . . oh, God . . .
pack up what’s left. Find storage.”
“I’ll handle it.” His teeth drag across my sensitive flesh, making me
shiver. “Let me take care of it.”
“Okay,” I agree, gasping softly as he slips his thigh between my
legs, pressing against me. “I. . . I have to go sometime. To Alice’s. I
have stuff there, too.”
“Sometime,” he says, settling his hands on my ass. “But not now.
Tonight, you’re mine.”
I’m always yours.
I don’t get a chance to speak those words as Mr. Masen kisses me
again, moving his right hand to my front to open my jeans.
“I want you.”
His voice is raw with need and I feel exactly like he does. But I’m
still coherent enough to remember where we are. Drawing a deep
breath, I cover his hand and stop him.
“Seth’s sleeping ten feet away.”
Mr. Masen slumps against me, still breathing heavily.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
I won’t apologize for putting an end to this. Seth can never know
what’s going on when he’s not around, and making out by his door is
asking for trouble. Mr. Masen lifts his head and I examine his face
for signs of irritation. I don’t find any.
“I can’t control myself around you,” he says, smiling. “You have
no idea.”
“I think I have some idea,” I reply, resting the side of my face
against his chest, listening to his heart as it returns to its normal rate.
“I just don’t want him to see something I don’t know how to explain.”
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Mr. Masen’s arms tighten around me.
“I don’t want that, either.”
I look up at him.
“Maybe I should get a baby monitor.”
His brows draw together.
“It’s a device for—”
“I know what a baby monitor is, Isabella.”
His words are clipped and his expression hard.
“I’m sorry,” I say, even though I don’t really know what I’m apolo-
gizing for.
After a few seconds, his frown disappears.
“It’s fine. I’ll go out and get one this afternoon, how about that?
Is there anything else you need?”
“I don’t think so.”
He leans in, pressing his lips against my forehead.
“Are you tired?” he asks softly. “You said you wanted to lie down.”
“No, I was upset.”
“Doesn’t Seth want to stay here?”
“No, he does. That’s not it, I promise.”
He rubs soothing circles on my back.
“Anything I can do to help?”
His voice is so sincere. For a second, I consider telling him everything
about Mike and what Seth said about him, but decide against it. If
I start confiding in Mr. Masen, it will make it even harder to think
of him as just my boss, which is a ridiculous thought on its own,
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I’ll admit, since I don’t really think of him as just my boss anyway.
There’s no way I could do that.
“No, thanks, I’m okay now.”
“All right. Let’s go back into the kitchen. There are still a few
things we should discuss.”
There is? I thought we were done.
I nod, following him as he walks in there and takes his seat again.
“Would you like more coffee, Sir?”
He smiles, but declines.
“Thank you, but I probably shouldn’t.”
“Tea?”
“Really, it’s fine. Sit down, sweet girl.”
I take my seat across from him.
“Is there anything from your apartment that you need here?” he
asks.
I shake my head. I took everything of importance when Mr. Masen
drove us to Alice’s apartment earlier this week.
“Good. I’ll find storage and hire movers. Write down the name
of your landlord before I leave for work tomorrow, and I’ll see about
getting your deposit back.”
Wow.
“Just like that? You really think that’s possible?”
Mr. Masen nods.
“Despite the . . . condition of the building, you kept it up nicely as
far as I could tell. If he wants to keep the deposit, he’ll have to prove
that you’ve damaged what he intends to repair.”
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“Thank you, Sir. That’s . . . thank you so much.”
He waves it off, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his phone. After
a few seconds of swiping his finger back and forth across the screen,
he focuses on me again.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he starts, “but I took the liberty of making
an appointment for you and Seth at the school down the street.”
School!
The subject of Seth attending pre-K has come up before, and now
it looks as though it could actually happen.
“I don’t mind at all,” I say, beaming at him. “When?”
“Tomorrow morning at 10.”
“Wow, that’s soon.”
Mr. Masen gives me a wry smile.
“I don’t play fair, remember?”
I grin back at him, loving how lighthearted he can be at times. Seth
is going to go to school, just like any other kid. It’s everything I’ve
ever wanted for him and now, it might be possible.
“Do you know how much the tuition is?” I ask.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Sir, I—”
He holds up his hand, leveling me with his eyes.
“Don’t fight me on this, Isabella. The school is expensive. There’s
no way you’d be able to afford it on a regular housekeeper’s salary. I
want you and your son taken care of. It’s as simple as that. So let
me.”
“I was just going to say thank you,” I whisper.
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He quirks an eyebrow at me.
“Okay,” I admit. “I was going to ask if my salary was enough to
cover it. I don’t want anything for myself, just for Seth to be able to
attend. I’m more than happy to pay for at least part of the tuition
myself, but . . .”
He wants to take care of us. For some reason, he seems to enjoy
doing that.
“Thank you, Sir,” I continue. “You have no idea what this means
to me, to us. I’ll . . . do anything you ask of me.”
He regards me closely, a gleam in his eyes.
“Be careful about making promises like that, Isabella.”
“You won’t hurt me,” I state with confidence.
“No,” he agrees. “But I will push your limits and I’ll use you as I
see fit. For my pleasure.”
He reaches out to take my hand.
“And yours,” he adds softly.
“I know.”
Even though everything we’ve done has been orchestrated by him,
and has been about fulfilling his fantasies, they’ve been eye-opening
experiences for me; I think I’ve gotten just as much out of them as he
has. It’s not a conventional relationship by any means, but it does
seem to work for us.
“Speaking of which,” he says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on
the table. “I’d like to retain the babysitting services of your friend,
Alice. Once a week, your son will spend the evening at her place.”
He pauses for a moment, giving my hand a gentle squeeze.
“That is, if it’s agreeable to you.”
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“Oh. Okay. He likes spending time over there and I’m sure Alice
won’t mind.”
“I will, of course, compensate her,” Mr. Masen says sounding very
businesslike.
I shake my head, smiling at him.
“You really don’t have to. I think she’d feel weird taking money
to watch Seth. Just like I’d feel weird getting paid to watch her girls.
We’re best friends. We help each other out.”
He considers that for a moment before nodding. I’m not sure he
really gets it, though. Does he have any friends at all? Someone
who would help him without getting paid for it? He seems so used
to simply throwing money around to get what he wants: the fancy
restaurant in the city that sent dinner here even though they don’t
deliver; the movers for my apartment; Alice; . . . even me. He all but
insisted that I be compensated for sleeping with him.
“You’ll make the arrangements then?” he asks.
“Of course. Can I ask why, though?”
“I want you for myself,” he says. “One night a week where I can
do anything I want to, where I don’t have to wait until 9 o’clock to
have you, where I can make you scream.”
“O-oh,” I stutter.
“Do you like that idea, Isabella? Of me being in control of you?”
He lifts our joined hands up, pressing a kiss onto the back of mine.
“You dressing up for me and serving me? Letting me fuck you right
here on this table before dinner just because I feel like it? Or maybe
having you naked on your knees next to me as I eat, waiting for me
to finish so you can be dessert?”
Oh, my God.
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Blood rushes to my face.
“Yes, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he teases.
I would, but what does that say about me?
“Does that . . .”
“What?” he asks.
“Do you think it makes me a . . . a bad mother, for wanting that?”
He lowers my hand, but keeps it in his.
“No,” he says in a firm voice.
He looks down, rubbing his thumb across the spot he just kissed.
“When was the last time you did something for yourself?”
“I, uh, I went to that spa.”
“Because I asked you to. If I hadn’t given you that gift card, would
you have ever gone by yourself?”
“No way. It’s so expensive. I could buy a month’s worth of groceries
with that money.”
He looks up again.
“You could never be a bad mother, Isabella. You’re entirely selfless,
you live for your son, even I can see that after just a weekend in your
company.”
I nod my head.
“Do you want a night alone with me once a week?” he asks.
“Yes,” I whisper, trying not to feel guilty about it.
“Then it’s non-negotiable,” he states. “End of story.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He smiles at me.
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“There’s my sweet girl.”
After that, the negotiations are done and Mr. Masen goes up to his
study, asking to be served dinner at 7 o’clock, as usual. I check on
Seth and make a call to Alice.
“You want me to what?” she asks, after our initial greetings. “Find
a dictionary?”
“Yes,” I say, closing the door to my room before sitting down on
the bed. “Or, tell me, what does the word, devotion, mean to you?”
“This is really random, Bella,” she chuckles. “What’s going on over
there?”
“Please, just look it up.”
“Okay, hang on.”
I listen to her shuffling around on the other end of the line.
“Here’s what the online dictionary says: Profound dedication,
earnest attachment to a person or cause, an assignment or appro-
priation to any purpose or cause.”
“Oh.”
Dedication. Attachment. An assignment. Nothing about feelings
at all. My heart feels heavy as disappointment settles on me. It
doesn’t make sense, and yet it does. He wants my dedication and my
attachment, meaning I should be eager to serve him and loyal. But
merely seeing it as an assignment? I don’t think I can do that. And
he himself said he didn’t want me to pretend. He wants me to really
worship him, not just act like I do because that’s part of the job.
“Bella, what’s going on?” Alice asks. “Please tell me.”
“He said, Mr. Masen that is, that he wants devotion from me. But
what does that mean? I know what it means, but what does it mean,
you know?” I ramble. “He said he wasn’t asking me for anything else,
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so what does that mean? The way he looks at me, the things he says,
I don’t know! It’s supposed to be a job, right? But he wants more
than that. He’s not satisfied unless I give him everything! And I want
to, Alice, I really do.”
I draw a deep breath, falling backward on the bed with the phone
pressed to my ear.
“Wow.”
“What?” I ask.
“You really like him, don’t you? Maybe even . . .”
“Yes,” I whisper.
I could spend hours denying it, listing all the reasons why it’s absurd
and ridiculous to assume that, but what’s the point? I know the truth
and so does Alice. I’m falling for Mr. Masen.
“He can’t know,” I sigh. “He already said something about not
wanting me to mistake our arrangement for something else, as he put
it.”
“Maybe . . . maybe you should end it?”
“No,” I breathe out. “I can’t do that, Al. And it’s not just about
the money and school or Seth. I want to be here with him.”
“But what if he can’t give you what you want? Is it enough, what
you have now?”
“No,” I admit. “But life isn’t a fairytale.”
“You deserve to be with someone who loves you.”
“So does Mr. Masen.”
“Bella.”
“He’s so good, Alice, so good to us. We have a chance here, a real
chance. Seth is happy.”
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“But what about you?” she asks gently.
“I’m happy too. Really, I am. I feel safe with him. I feel like, I can
just be, you know? Be his.”
“Yeah, I get that. I totally do. It’s not like I’m a diehard romantic,
even with everything that’s happened with Jasper and me, lately. It’s
just . . . you’ve always been the one to believe in these sorts of things,
love conquering all and whatnot.”
I sigh.
“Yeah, well, look how that turned out for me. I thought I loved
Mike and that we’d live happily ever after as a perfect family.”
I get up off the bed, walking to the window to look out at the lake.
“There are no perfect families.”
“No shit,” Alice agrees.
“But as long as there’s love . . . it doesn’t have to look the way
you thought it would.”
“Yeah. I see what you’re saying. And you know I’m one hundred
percent supportive of you.”
“Thank you. That reminds me, could we come up with some sort of
arrangement where Seth spends one night a week with you? Mr. Masen
asked for alone time.”
“Sure. Nights aren’t really a problem anymore now that Jasper’s
back.”
“Thank you.”
“So, what are you going to do on those nights?” she asks in a
teasing tone.
“I have no idea,” I chuckle. “And that’s pretty exciting. How’s
your alone weekend with Jas going, by the way?”
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Alice laughs.
“I’m exhausted!”
I grin into the receiver, reminding myself to offer to take the girls
off her hands the next time Mr. Masen goes out of town. I like hearing
her this happy.
The night passes easily. We have a nice dinner—Seth and I in the
kitchen, and Mr. Masen in the dining room. Then bath time, bedtime
story and before I know it, it’s nine o’clock and I’m ready to head
up to Mr. Masen’s part of the house. Tonight, I’m wearing a simple
cotton robe and underneath a soft, pale pink nightgown with lace trim.
My heart pounds with excitement as I knock on the door to his office
and wait for him to allow me entry.
“Come in.”
As usual, he’s sitting at his desk engrossed in something on his
computer screen as I enter and walk toward him. Without hesitation,
I slide the robe off and kneel next to his office chair, keeping my eyes
on the floor. I don’t know much about submission, but I do know him
and how much he enjoyed it when I knelt before him last night. For a
few minutes I listen to the sounds of the keys tapping on his laptop
mixed in with the music softly playing in the background, doing my
best to breathe calmly and steadily.
“Good evening, Isabella.”
I look up.
“Good evening, Sir.”
He swivels the chair around to face me before leaning down, gently
pressing his lips against mine. When he pulls back, I raise up on my
knees and attempt to deepen the kiss. He chuckles softly, reaching up
his hand to cup my cheek as he sits back into his chair, out of reach. I
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feel a bit disappointed, but lean into his touch as he caresses my face,
smiling at me.
“Please put your robe back on,” he says, “and make some tea.”
Tea?!
He wants tea? Here I am, showered, shaved and dressed for sex,
and he wants tea?
“Now, Isabella.”
I stand, suppressing a sigh.
“No pouting,” he admonishes. “Unless you want a spanking?”
I blanch, but remain unmoving.
“Well? Do you?” he asks, looking amused.
Well, yeah, kind of.
My thought startles me. Maybe he’s right about me, that I’m
naturally submissive, because the thought of being across his lap with
my ass in the air, the heavy thud of his hand slapping against my skin
is . . . not unpleasant.
“No, Sir,” I whisper.
“Beautiful little liar,” he chuckles. “Be a good girl and make that
tea.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He reaches into his desk drawer, handing me a black monitor.
“Put this in your son’s room. We’ll be able to hear if he wakes up.”
“Thank you.”
I put my robe back on and head back downstairs to the kitchen
where I put water on before going to Seth’s room. Having the monitor
in there while I’m upstairs is a great comfort to me, and I’m grateful
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that Mr. Masen bought it for us. It will ease my worry about Seth
finding out what really goes on after his bedtime.
I put the pot, a mug, milk and sugar, and a slice of leftover pie on
a tray and carefully carry everything back upstairs, wondering what
we’re doing tonight. Was he maybe serious about having me kneeling
next to him while he has his tea? That’s not too bad, I suppose. I
can do that.
“Just put it on the coffee table, please,” Mr. Masen says, as I
re-enter his study.
I do as I’m told, noticing that he’s lit a fire while I was gone. The
room looks even more inviting and warm now. Mr. Masen comes over
to me, motioning to the couch.
“Have a seat, Isabella.”
I sit down on the edge, and look up at him.
What are we doing?
Leaning down, he lifts my legs up, turning me sideways so I’m
reclined against the side and then grabs a pillow which he places
behind my back, so I’m even more comfortable. I watch in stunned
silence as he pours tea into the mug and turns to me.
“You take sugar, right?”
He’s serving me?
I nod. He smiles and adds sugar before placing it on the table,
within my reach. Then, he goes to his desk again, takes something
out of a drawer and comes back to me. All the while, I stare at him
like a moron.
“This is for you.”
He places a tablet in my lap. An iPad. I’ve never had one, but I
know how they work, sort of, since Alice’s girls have one.
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“For me?” I ask.
“I got one for Seth too,” he says with a shrug, like it’s no big deal.
“You decide when he should have it.”
“I-I, Mr. Masen—”
I’m completely overwhelmed.
“T-thank you,” I manage after several stuttering breaths.
“You’re welcome.”
“What, uh, what do you want me to use it for?” I ask.
“Whatever you like. There are games on there, books too. I have
some headphones if you want to watch something. Just . . . enjoy
yourself.”
He hands me the tea, grinning at my obvious stunned expression.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper. “This is your time. Don’t you
want me to . . . you know, do something for you?”
“This is what I want,” he says in a firm voice. “You’re still here to
serve me. But . . . I wanted you to know . . .”
He shifts his weight, burying his hands in his pockets as he shrugs,
seemingly at a loss for words.
“I know,” I whisper. “I’m happy to be here too.”
He nods once and the corners of his mouth lift up.
“Enjoy your tea,” he says, before he returns to his desk.
I stare down at the treasure in my hands. Games and movies don’t
interest me that much. Books, however—I used to love reading. It was
hard finding a quiet time for it at the apartment, and I don’t think
I’ve actually finished a book since before Seth was born. I quickly
open the internet browser and go to Amazon.
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“Mr. Masen?”
He looks up.
“Can I . . . can I buy a book, please?”
“You can buy all the books you want, sweet girl. Just add your
card to your account.”
I beam at him and catch the sound of him laughing softly as I jump
off the couch and sprint downstairs to find the card he gave me.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m scrolling through Amazon, ready to buy
something, but have absolutely no clue what to get. I take a sip of
the tea and as I place it back on the table, I glance over at Mr. Masen,
who’s still working with a small smile on his handsome face. The sight
of him sends a rush of warmth through my chest.
He likes having me here.
Even when I’m just sitting here, doing nothing much of anything,
it gives him enjoyment. Is it the certainty that he can command
me to do sexual things at a metaphorical, or even literal snap of his
fingers? Or is it knowing that he provided me with this enjoyment and
relaxation? I don’t really get it. The sex is one thing, I understand
that. And even when he dresses me up, I get that, too, him wanting
something pretty to look at. But this? I don’t even know if we’re “on
the clock”, so to speak, or if this is like a night off.
I reach for the mug again and as I take another sip, I realize
something. This is exactly what I wished for the first night I came up
here and saw his study: to curl up by the fire with a cup of tea and a
book on a cold night. Back then, I never thought this would happen,
and I remember crying because Seth would never know what it was
like to live in a house like this, to feel safe and protected. All of that
has come true, thanks to Mr. Masen. Tonight is a cold night and here
I am, enjoying the warmth of the fire. And downstairs Seth is sleeping
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peacefully in a quiet neighborhood, with a full stomach, and even
about to start at a very good school. I owe everything to Mr. Masen.
He has literally made my dreams come true. Now, I want to make
his come true. I will be the best, whatever the heck I am, and do
everything in my power to please him. But I need more information
to do that.
Turning my attention back to Amazon, I sneak a glance at him
again, and then type in the word ‘submissive’.
Oh, wow. Holy shit.
So many titles. And some of the covers are simply . . . well, verging
on pornographic. I meant to find a text book or something, but soon
I find myself engrossed in a short story instead. No real background
story. A scene, as I learn it’s called, between Master and submissive.
The words dance before my eyes:
Whipping
Kneel
Good girl
Vibrator
Nipple clamps
Spanking bench
Harder
“Isabella? What are you reading, you naughty girl?”
Oh, fuck!
My heart feels as though it’s trying to pound its way through my
chest as I turn my head toward his voice. Mr. Masen’s still at his desk,
but now his attention is on me.
“Sir, I-I . . . um, what do you mean?”
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Discreetly, I click the button on the front of the iPad to close down
the Kindle app.
“Secrets, Isabella? Lies?”
His expression is serious and I find myself tensing up as he stands
and approaches me.
Oh, no, no, no!
“I’m sorry!” My voice is a strangled plea.
Mr. Masen stops abruptly, holding up his hands.
“I’d never hurt you.”
“I . . . know.”
Slowly, he moves to sit on the other end of the couch, reaching for
my ankles. I uncurl my legs, letting him put his hands on my feet,
which he starts to caress with a gentle touch.
“I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I know,” I say again. “I wasn’t really. My father used to—”
I clamp my lips together, drawing a deep breath.
“I mean, he didn’t beat me up,” I clarify. “When I was bad, when
I told a lie, he’d hit my hands with a ruler.”
“He didn’t spank you?”
“No, thank God. I mean, that would make what we do . . . really
awkward.”
Mr. Masen chuckles, nodding his head before turning serious again.
“Mine hit me. He was a mean son of a bitch.”
He runs his thumbs across the soles of my feet. It feels incredible.
“Well, that’s not fair, actually,” he continues. “My grandmother
was a very sweet lady, as far as I remember.”
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It’s the first time he’s ever shared anything about his family and I
wait for him to continue. He doesn’t, but that’s okay.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Thanks, it’s okay. It was a long time ago”
“My gran is sweet too, and she makes the best peanut butter
cookies,” I share, for lack of anything better to say.
“Hmm, I like cookies.”
I smile at him, not surprised at all.
“Do you see her often?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“I don’t see anyone from my family,” I whisper.
Mr. Masen gives me a sad smile, shrugging his shoulders.
“Me either.”
He continues massaging my feet; I practically melt into the softness
of the couch, closing my eyes.
“So, will you tell me what you were reading?” he asks after a while.
“It was a . . . a dirty story,” I admit.
“I gathered as much. I know what you look like when you’re turned
on.”
I open my eyes to look at him.
“It’s okay,” he says. “What was it about?”
“A, um, a scene. Between a Master and his submissive. It was very
. . . descriptive.”
“I can imagine,” he laughs softly. “I don’t have to ask if you liked
it.”
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I shake my head, feeling a little embarrassed.
“I was trying to learn more about this sort of thing. There’s so
much I don’t know.”
“You can always ask me. I’d enjoy talking with you about that
particular topic.”
He grins at me, lifting my foot up before placing a kiss on it. Then,
his mouth moves lower and he delivers a gentle bite to my big toe.
The sensation sends a jolt of electricity through my body.
“You have a thing for feet?” I ask, shifting slightly.
“I have a thing for you,” he replies.
Good answer.
His hands slide up my naked legs, slipping underneath the hem of
the robe.
“Everything about you. Right now I want what you offered to me
earlier. Take off your robe.”
I place the iPad on the table and do as he says, revealing myself to
him.
“I love this color on you,” he murmurs. “You look deceptively
innocent like this.”
“You’re not completely innocent, though. Are you?”
“No, Sir.”
His hands slip farther up, skimming across my hips.
“No underwear again,” he says, shaking his head in mock disap-
proval. “And I bet you’re so fucking wet right now, too.”
I nod my head.
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“Show me those pretty tits of yours,” he commands. “Pull it down.”
Slowly, I obey, dragging the straps down until both my breasts are
bared.
“Good girl.”
His voice is husky and his touch firm as he leans closer to run his
large hands across my chest, pausing to massage my breasts. I arch
up into his hands, moaning as he tweaks my nipples.
“Did this happen in your story, Isabella?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He crawls on top of me, hovering above me on his hands and knees.
I feel small and vulnerable underneath his strong body, but even that
turns me on—the thought that I’m completely at his mercy.
“And this,” he whispers before leaning down to flick his tongue
against my straining nipples. “Did this happen?”
I want nothing more than to grab him and hold his mouth against
my breasts, but I know I can’t do that. He grins down at me, obviously
noticing my frustration with his fleeting caresses.
“And what happened next? Did the Master go down on his sub?”
His fingers trail downward, across the fabric covering my stomach.
“No,” I whisper truthfully. “He used a, um, a vibrator on her.”
Mr. Masen’s grin turns into a salacious smirk.
“And did the submissive enjoy that?”
I nod my head, doing my best not to tilt my hips upward as his
fingers move over my pubic mound.
Please touch me!
“And how about you, pretty girl? Would you enjoy that? If I
fucked you with a vibrator?”
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He strokes my labia, purposely avoiding my clit.
“I-I thought you didn’t like . . . toys?”
He said so, right? No toys and playrooms.
“Well,” he says slowly, “a man can change his mind, can’t he?”
His fingers are suddenly exactly where I need them, rubbing fast
circles over my swollen flesh. My mouth drops open as I inhale sharply.
“You’d let me do that, wouldn’t you, Isabella? Fuck you with a
toy?”
I nod my head, digging my nails into the fabric of the couch, crying
out as he pushes two fingers deep inside me.
“You dirty girl,” Mr. Masen breathes. “So wet. I could fuck you
right now.”
“Yes, please, you can, anything you want, please,” I babble.
Quickly, he stops touching me and pulls the nightgown all the way
off me. I watch, breathless, as he reaches to unzip his pants, pulling
his cock out. Something flashes across his face and he stops for a
moment, holding still above me. His eyes search mine and he keeps
my gaze as he reaches for the top button of his shirt, unbuttons it,
and then continues until it’s hanging open.
Oh, my God.
Hesitantly, yet with a determined look on his face, he shrugs the
shirt off and tosses it on the floor. He stands, toes his shoes off and
removes his pants and socks, standing naked in front of me for the
first time.
“You’re beautiful,” I whisper, meaning every word.
The healed wounds on his stomach don’t bother me at all. His
body is perfect. Strong, lean and powerful. He’s showing me all of
him.
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His gaze softens as he leans over me, spreading my legs to drape
them around his waist.
“You’re the beautiful one.”
He fucks me slowly, never looking away from my face. I moan
and writhe beneath him, half-dizzy with the pleasure of having his
completely naked body against mine, his thick cock hitting all of the
right places inside me. I need him closer. Unsure if I’m allowed, I
place my hands on his broad shoulders, lifting my head up toward
his. Immediately, his mouth is on mine, kissing me as though he’s
desperate for my touch. Maybe he is. It feels like that.
None of us speak anymore. After a while, he speeds up, thrusting
harder and deeper as his hand slips between us. I cling to him as I
come, clenching wildly around him, gasping when he orgasms moments
later, his mouth still fused to mine. Afterward, he moves off me and
for a second, my heart sinks. But instead of leaving, he turns me onto
my side, facing the fireplace and squeezes in behind me, draping his
right arm around my waist to keep me from falling off as I rest my
head on his left one.
“I should clean up,” I whisper.
“No, stay.”
“I’ll make a mess on your couch.”
He tightens his hold on me.
“Fuck it. It’s worth it.”
I can’t help but smile, knowing that he enjoys the closeness as much
as I do.
For a while, I enjoy the quiet, closing my eyes and listening to
Mr. Masen’s breathing and the crackling noises of the fireplace. I
could get used to this. But surely not every night will be like this.
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“Mr. Masen?”
“Hmm?”
He sounds sleepy.
“Will you really use a vibrator on me?”
He laughs softly.
“Yes, with your permission, of course. I think we’d both enjoy
that.”
“I think so, too. But does that mean . . .”
“What?”
“Have you changed your mind about the playroom, as well?” I
whisper.
“No. I don’t want you as my contractual submissive. That was
never what I wanted.”
“But you have experience?”
“Yes. It wasn’t for me, though. This is what I want.”
“Okay.”
He moves up to lean on his elbow, turning me onto my back.
“I mean it,” he says, brushing my hair off my forehead.
“I know. I want this, too.”
He smiles at me.
“Do you want to finish your tea, read another book?”
“I’m good right here.”
He leans down to kiss me, stroking his tongue against mine as his
hand caresses my hair.
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“Thank you, Mr. Masen.”
He draws a breath, reaching up his hand to cup my cheek.
This feels nothing like a business arrangement.
“Edward,” he says softly.
“Edward?” I whisper.
“When we’re like this . . . you may call me Edward.”
I nod my head, closing my eyes when he leans down to kiss me
again.
I love you, Edward.
Finally, she knows his first name. :)
I hope you liked it.
If you’re interested in checking out my books, you can find
links on my profile page, or just search for SJ Hooks (that’s
me!) on Amazon/B&N/iBooks and so on.
Until next time, take care and enjoy your summer.
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Chapter 24

Hey, all. Since last time I’ve handed in my thesis, gotten
my Master’s degree, signed a new work contract at the uni-
versity, published The Absolute Novels as a paperback, and
started a second Bachelor’s degree. I like to keep busy. :)
Thank you to my team of pre-readers: Veronica, Dawn
and Diane for your thoughts and comments. 3 Also, a huge
thank you and welcome to my new beta, ChayaSara, for
including me in her impressive list of authors (and putting
my name on the Beta shirt!)
Anyway, I’d apologize for being so late with this, but it’s
getting sort of redundant. My schedule is hectic. Writing
is my time off from everyday life, and trust me when I say
that I do it as much as I’m able to. Thanks for sticking with
me!
BPOV
“Good morning, Isabella.”
“Good morning, Mr. Masen.”
“I’ll be in the dining room,” he tells me, giving me a quick once
over and a smile before he leaves the doorway to the kitchen.
On the outside, nothing has changed. He’s my boss and I’m his
employee.
This morning I woke up in my bed with no memory of having left
Mr. Masen’s office last night, realizing he must have carried me there
after I fell asleep in his arms after he fucked me a second time.
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No. Made love to me?
That’s what it felt like. Even though he rolled me onto my stomach
and took me from behind, it still felt so intimate - the sweet words
he whispered in my ear, the way his hands skimmed across my body,
how me made sure I came twice before he did. Afterward, he held
me tightly, caressing my hair and my back as I lay on top of him,
exhausted but so happy and content with his naked body against mine.
It’s different now, not from the realization that I love him, because
I think I’ve known that for a while. The acknowledgement of my
feelings, however, changes everything. I’m just not sure if it’s for the
better or the worse. Last night he shared more of himself with me
than he ever has before, and it gives me hope. A fool’s hope, perhaps,
but hope nonetheless.
I bring the paper in and put it on the tray with the rest of his
breakfast before carrying it into the dining room. Mr. Masen is seated
at the head of the table, as usual, watching me as I enter.
“You look lovely today,” he comments, looking me up and down
again.
I’ve dressed up a bit for the school interview, wearing a pretty,
white top with some lace on the collar and fitted dark jeans, as well
as put on a little makeup and styled my hair.
He tugs on the hem of the apron I have on over my clothes, as I
start serving him.
“Nice touch.”
I can’t contain my smile, knowing how much he likes seeing me
looking domestic.
“Where’s Seth this morning?” he inquires.
299
“I let him sleep in since we don’t have to be there until ten.”
“Good.”
He reaches for me, pulling me into his lap, and before I can protest,
his lips are on mine, and his large hands are cupping my face. I
surrender to the kiss, but I don’t relax completely, my ears straining
as I listen for any indication that Seth might be up and around.
Mr. Masen pulls back.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s just . . . you know.”
I nod my head in the direction of the hall. He frowns, letting go of
me.
“I apologize. Our agreement was nine to midnight. It won’t happen
again.”
“No!” I exclaim, much too loudly. “I mean, that’s not it. I . . . I
liked it, kissing you ‘good morning’ and all.”
Appeased, he smiles.
“So did I.”
Feeling bold, I lower my voice.
“Tomorrow morning I could, maybe, set my alarm early and sneak
into your room?”
As quickly as it appeared, the smile washes off his face. He pierces
me with his gaze.
“You’re not to come into my room when I’m asleep, Isabella. Not
for any reason.”
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’m sorry, it was just . . . never mind.”
I climb off his lap, quickly unloading the tray as I avoid his eyes.
His rejection makes my throat constrict, but I do my best to breathe
300
through it. Will it always be one step forward and two steps back
with us?
“Isabella.”
I force myself to look at him, startled at how tired he suddenly
appears. Slowly, he reaches out his hand, placing it on the table, palm
up. An offering. I don’t have to think about it; I place my hand in
his.
“It was a very sweet suggestion,” he says softly, “but I don’t share
a bed with anyone for a good reason.”
Breathing deeply, he continues.
“You’ve seen my healed wounds.”
“What happened?” I whisper.
“I was stabbed. In my sleep.”
His voice is monotone; his eyes are fixed on our joined hands.
Stabbed! Someone tried to kill him!
“I’m . . . I’m so sorry,” I whisper, feeling tears well up in my eyes.
Is that why he’s like this? Because someone he trusted tried to end
his life? Is that why he keeps me at a distance? I understand why,
but I also know that this might be something he’ll never be able to
move past.
When I first met him, I thought he was a weirdo. Then I accepted
his sometimes-strange demands, his need for control, thinking it was
a quirk of his. But now I realize that it’s much more than that. He’s
damaged. Someone damaged him - badly. Could it be his father?
Last night he said his father was a mean son of a bitch who beat him.
Oh God, did his own father try to kill him?
“I’m so sorry.” I repeat myself, not knowing what else to say.
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One of my tears lands on our joined hands, and he startles, looking
up at me. Quickly, I wipe my wet cheeks with my other hand, trying
to get myself under control.
“Is it too much?”
His pained whisper is heartbreaking. I shake my head, pressing my
lips together as I breathe deeply through my nose. No, it’s not too
much. I love him, and I’m sure he cares about me too, as much as he
can. He’s good to me, good to Seth. That’s what really matters in
the end.
“I hog the covers anyway,” I say, trying for a smile as I shrug my
shoulders. “And I have perpetually cold feet.”
His tension disappears, the line between his eyes easing away as his
face relaxes.
“I’ll get you a heated blanket.”
“Thank you, sweet girl,” he says, tightening his hand around mine
for a second before letting go.
Somehow, I manage to return to the kitchen and continue work-
ing until it’s time to get Seth up. What I really want is to sit on
Mr. Masen’s lap and ask him about his painful past as well as share
mine with him. But I realize that I have to take things slowly with
him, and let him initiate any intimacy that isn’t sexual. Seth joins me
for breakfast about half an hour later, excited for the visit at school.
Then, Mr. Masen appears at the door.
“Good morning, Seth.”
My son grins, giving him a wave.
“Hi, Mr. Masen! Guess what? Me and Mommy are going to live
here. Like, all the time!”
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I stifle a laugh at my son’s innocence and his belief that this is
news.
“I know.” Mr. Masen chuckles, smiling at my son. “Your mother
told me.”
“And I’m going to school today,” Seth continues, bouncing up and
down in his seat.
Mr. Masen remains passive, his eyes dart to mine for a second
before he looks at Seth again.
“No way!” he suddenly exclaims, looking very surprised. “Are you
big enough for that?”
“Uh-huh!” Seth nods eagerly. “I’m almost five. It’s my birthday
soon, right, Mommy?”
“That’s right,” I chime in, “in two weeks.”
“See,” he says, “I’ll be five in two weeks.”
Mr. Masen nods.
“Are you going to have a big party then?”
Seth’s face falls a little.
“I . . . I don’t know . . .”
“Of course you’ll have a party, honey,” I tell him. “We can go to
Aunt Alice’s.”
“You can have it here if you want.”
I look at Mr. Masen.
“Really?”
“Of course. Whatever you want. Use your card; invite your friends.”
“Would you like that?” I ask Seth. “A party here?”
He deliberates for a second, scrunching up his little nose.
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“My Daddy isn’t coming, is he?”
My stomach drops as I’m reminded of our conversation last night
in his room.
“No, hon,” I whisper.
Seth looks pleased at hearing this.
“Then I’d like a party here.”
I don’t know what to say. I should talk to my son about this some
more, explain about Mike having left us, but now doesn’t seem like
the right time.
“It’s settled, then,” Mr. Masen says, effectively changing the topic.
“You can even get a Lightning McQueen cake if you want.”
“Cool.” Seth breathes out the word. “You’ll come too, right,
Mr. Masen? To my party?”
He stares up at Mr. Masen with bright, excited eyes.
Oh, shit.
“I, uh . . .”
Mr. Masen looks taken aback.
“Don’t you want it to be just for your friends?” he asks quietly.
“You’re my friend,” Seth says, like that’s obvious even though they
just met a few days ago.
“All right. Thank you. I’ll come,” Mr. Masen finally answers,
sounding very formal.
Seth just smiles and digs into his food again. I’m not sure how I
feel about this. On one hand, I’m happy that Seth likes Mr. Masen
enough to want him there for his birthday. On the other, I’m not sure
it’s a good thing if my son becomes attached. It’s one thing for me to
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fall for Mr. Masen, but it’s quite another if Seth does. If this doesn’t
work out . . .
“Isabella, will you come with me for a moment?”
I try to gauge his emotions but come up empty. His face is com-
pletely neutral.
“Of course. I’ll be right back,” I tell Seth as I follow Mr. Masen
out of the kitchen and into the hallway.
There, he opens a door I haven’t noticed before and leads me into
the garage. He must want to talk in private about what just transpired
in the kitchen.
“You don’t have to come,” I murmur. “I mean, it’s not . . . you
know.”
I have no idea what I’m trying to say. He turns to look at me,
wearing a slight frown.
“You’d rather I didn’t.”
It’s not a question.
“No, it’s not about me.”
“Do you think Seth invited me out of obligation, then?”
I can’t help it. I snort out a laugh, immediately covering my mouth
with my hands.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh at you.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t look upset.
“I said something funny?”
“Well, yes. Seth is four. He doesn’t understand the concept of
obligation. He only does what he wants.”
“Oh.” Mr. Masen ponders this for a bit. “So it would hurt his
feelings if I didn’t show up?”
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“Very much,” I admit.
“All right, then. I’ll come,” he says resolutely. “What does he
want?”
“You can give him the iPad you mentioned last night.”
He shakes his head.
“That’s yours to give.”
“Are you sure? It’s a great gift. He’ll love it.”
“Which is exactly why you should give it to him, Isabella.”
He smiles at me, hesitating for a moment before reaching out to
tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear. The tips of his fingers linger
against my skin as they trail down my neck, making me shiver.
“Thank you,” I manage. “I’ll think of something, okay?”
“Okay.”
He reaches into his pocket and hands me a set of car keys, sweeping
his arm towards a very nice-looking gray car next to his black one.
Whoa. Holy shit.
“Y-you didn’t buy me a car . . .” I exhale, trying to get my
bearings.
Mr. Masen chuckles.
“No, sweet girl. This is my second car. I only use it when the BMW
is at the shop. You may borrow it until you can afford your own.”
“My own car?” I whisper.
“You do have a license, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes. I . . . I haven’t used it in a while, but I’m a good driver.”
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“Wonderful. Once you’ve saved enough for your own, I’ll be happy
to help you pick out one. Until then, you can use this one for driving
Seth to and from school and running errands like grocery shopping.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling a bit overwhelmed. “You’d really help
me pick out a car?”
“Of course. I know it sounds like something out of the 1950s, but
you’ll probably get a better deal if a man accompanies you.”
“Well, you know more about that era than I do,” I tease gently.
He grins in response.
“Good point. It is the truth, though.”
“Yeah, I guess so. Wow, my own car.”
He watches me, looking pleased.
“It would mean a lot to you, wouldn’t it? Buying it yourself, rather
than having me simply give you one.”
I nod my head.
“I respect that,” he says, “Despite my . . . preferences, I do like
your independence very much, sweet girl. At least some of the time.”
He gives me a wink, telling me he’s only half-serious.
“I like being yours,” I tell him truthfully, gazing up at him. “I like
it very much, Sir.”
“As do I,” he murmurs, stepping closer to me. “I like knowing that
you belong to me. That you’re mine.”
He backs me up against the wall, leaning in to whisper in my ear.
“But even more than that, the fact that you want this as much as
I do, Isabella, that you get wet at the sound of my voice when I tell
you to kneel, to worship me; that you bend to my will, gladly; that
you enjoy it when I take charge of you. It’s . . .”
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“It-it’s what?” I stutter, feeling my heart hammering in chest.
“It’s everything.”
His lips trace the column of my neck, breathing warm air against
my skin. My eyes flutter closed.
God, I can’t wait for tonight.
“I’m off to work soon, but we’ll continue this later.”
I open my eyes, blinking as I look up at him. He smirks at me.
“Have a good day, Isabella.”
“You too, Sir,” I tell him, willing my body to calm down.
He reaches out to caress my face, his thumb tracing across my lips
before he turns and walks away, seemingly unaffected.
Wow.
Drawing a deep breath, I follow him out of the garage and watch
as he goes upstairs, his long legs taking two steps at a time with
ease, while I stumble into the kitchen and sit down with Seth. A few
minutes later, Mr. Masen comes back and hands me a note with the
school’s information; we’re meeting a woman named Irina Aliyeva at
10:00 at the registration office.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “What would you like for dinner?”
He smiles.
“Whatever you feel like cooking.”
“I want hot dogs!” Seth volunteers.
Mr. Masen chuckles.
“Hot dogs for him, whatever you feel like making for me.”
I nod my head, returning the smile.
“Have a good day at school, Seth. Learn a lot,” he says.
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“I’m going to a meeting,” Seth says, sounding awfully precocious
all of a sudden.
Mr. Masen grins, holding up his hands.
“My mistake. Have a good meeting, young Mister Swan.”
My son turns to me.
“What does that mean, Mommy?”
“It’s like your grown-up name,” I explain.
Seth looks very happy hearing that, grinning around his toast as he
takes another bite. I stand and indicate with a subtle head tilt that
Mr. Masen should follow me to the kitchen island.
“His name is actually Newton,” I admit, “after his father.”
Mr. Masen purses his lips.
“Would you like to change that?”
I chose to give Seth Mike’s last name at the hospital. At the time it
seemed like the natural thing to do, but looking back with the clarity
of hindsight, I can see that it was to get Mike more interested in his
infant son since he’d done his best to ignore my pregnancy, never
coming with me for ultrasounds and doctor’s appointments. Obviously,
it didn’t work, and Mike was never a good father.
“Yes, very much,” I tell Mr. Masen.
He nods slowly.
“And custody?”
“I, uh, I don’t know, actually. We were . . . never married. I don’t
know how it works.”
“And then he just left?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “It’s been almost a year now. I don’t know
where he is.”
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Mr. Masen takes a deep breath, angling his body toward mine.
“Do you miss him?”
“Not even a little bit,” I say without hesitation.
He looks relieved.
“What about Seth?”
I shake my head.
“He really wasn’t . . . I mean, I guess some people just shouldn’t
have kids.”
“That’s very true,” Mr. Masen responds, his voice grave. “Some
people . . .”
I wait for him to continue, but instead he draws a breath and steps
away from me.
“Have a good day,” he says. “You have my number if you need
anything, and I’ll see you tonight.”
“Tonight,” I echo, as he leaves the kitchen.
An hour later, I take Seth out to the garage to head to the school.
As I open the car door, I smile at the sight of a brand-new booster
seat in the back, meant for my son. I didn’t ask Mr. Masen to buy one;
he did it on his own. Having someone else care about Seth’s safety
is like a warm blanket around my shoulders, a feeling of security and
comfort for the first time in what feels like forever.
After strapping Seth in, I take a few minutes to try to familiarize
myself with the car before pressing the button to open the garage
door. It works like a charm, and I pull out slowly, marveling at the
fact that I’m behind the wheel again after so many years.
“Wow, you can drive, Mommy!” Seth says, sounding impressed.
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I grin in response, reaching my arm back so he can slap my hand.
I make sure to close the garage again before putting the address into
the GPS, and then we’re off. Traffic is light and we make it to the
school in plenty of time for me to gawk at the large three-story house,
which is the main building.
Straightening Seth’s clothes and mine, I take his hand and we walk
inside. The receptionist takes my name and tells us that Ms. Aliyeva’s
schedule has been delayed fifteen minutes but that we’re welcome to
look around while we wait. Walking down the halls, I feel slightly
stunned. This looks nothing like the school I attended in Forks. The
place practically screams money with its huge classrooms, matching
furniture, and expensive equipment. There’s an honest-to-God ballet
studio. And a music room. Little kids like Seth are playing classical
music in there, and it sounds good! They have computer science,
cooking classes, and an art studio. Still reeling, I return to the
reception area, and we’re escorted into the office of Irina Aliyeva, who
is seated behind a large desk. She’s in her forties, probably, with
carefully pinned blonde hair, a fitted suit, and perfectly made-up face
underneath her silver-framed glasses. Immediately, I feel underdressed
and shabby, cringing inwardly at the difference between her manicured
fingernails and my bitten-down ones as she reaches out to shake my
hand.
She looks me up and down, frowning for a second before her face
relaxes.
“I’m Irina Aliyeva,” she says with a hint of an accent, “the director
of the school. I was expecting Mrs. Swan, Miss . . ?”
“I’m Isabella Swan.”
“Oh, I see. You are Seth’s sister?”
Oh, God. How young do I look?
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“No, I’m Seth’s mother.”
Her eyebrows peek out over the top of her glasses, showing her
surprise at hearing this.
“Oh, I apologize. My mistake. Will Mr. Swan be joining us today?”
Already, I’m starting to sweat. This is not going well.
“Um, Seth’s father is . . . not in the picture anymore. It’s just the
two of us.”
Ms. Aliyeva nods once before turning her attention to Seth who’s
hiding behind me.
“Hello, Seth,” she says in a friendly tone.
“Hi,” he whispers, peeking his head out to look at her.
“I have some toys over there,” she says, pointing to the corner of
her office. “Would you like to go play with them while I talk with
your mother?”
Seth looks up at me.
“It’s okay,” I assure him, smiling as he lets go of my hand to explore
the stuff laid out on a small table.
Ms. Aliyeva is all business as we sit down at her desk, opening her
laptop and finding forms before looking at me again.
“Now, you’d like for Seth to enroll in our pre-K class, I understand?”
“Yes, very much so.”
She taps on her laptop, frowning.
“I see that a space has been opened for him specifically, so he can
start whenever it’s convenient for you.”
For him, specifically? What did Mr. Masen do to make sure of
that?
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“After the first month’s tuition has been paid, of course,” she adds.
“Of course,” I say, trying to match the confidence in her voice.
“That won’t be a problem.”
“Which programs would you like for him to attend?”
“Programs?”
“We offer a wide selection of programs outside of the daily curricu-
lum,” she says with a hint of pride. “How many languages does Seth
speak?”
“Um, just English.”
“No language classes?”
“He’s only four,” I remind her.
“Our language program begins at 12 months. Most of our students
here speak at least one second language, some two.”
“Oh.”
“Other extra-curricular activities he’s attended before? Music?
Art? Sports?”
“No,” I whisper, feeling three feet tall.
“What about math skills?” she asks after tapping more on her
keyboard.
“Well, he can count to thirty. He can add a little. We’ve just been
doing it for fun. And practicing the alphabet. Stuff like that.”
“No reading yet?”
“No.”
The interview continues like that for a while, and by the end I’m
fighting tears. Ms. Aliyeva isn’t harsh or unkind, but the more she
talks, the more I want to run out of here and never come back. How
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is Seth ever going to fit in here? He’s not familiar with solving math
problems, and he doesn’t play any instruments, sculpt, or read books
that don’t have pictures in them.
“Have you thought of colleges yet? After Seth begins first grade
next year, his schedule can be made specifically to –”
“Look, Ms. Aliyeva,” I interrupt, “I really haven’t planned that far
ahead. This opportunity came out of nowhere, and it’s completely
new to me.”
“Where did Seth go before?” she asks.
“He was at home with me. No classes, no programs.”
“And may I ask about your educational background?”
I clench my fists and bite back what I really want to say.
“High school,” I answer.
She nods her head and taps more.
“Well, I would certainly recommend that Seth begin here as soon
as possible,” she says. “He’ll be behind the other children already, and
we want him to catch up as much as possible before starting school
next year. Should I sign him up for the full-time program?”
“What does that mean?” I ask, feeling tired.
“It’s from seven to seven. The parents who work in the city prefer
it.”
“Seven a.m. to seven p.m.?” I shake my head. “I’d never see him.”
Drawing a breath, I do my best to sound assertive.
“I work in the area, so I won’t be needing full-time.”
“That’s, of course, up to you.”
She hands me the papers on her desk.
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“Why don’t you take these home with you and fill them out, look
over our programs, and decide what you want for your son’s future.”
“All I want is for my son to be happy,” I say, unable to keep
the venom out of my voice. “I’m not convinced that speaking three
languages or being a math savant is the key to that, Ms. Aliyeva.”
She nods again, unaffected by the tone of my voice.
Robot lady.
“C’mon, Seth,” I say, standing up, clutching the paperwork in my
hand.
“Be sure to get back to us soon,” Ms. Aliyeva says. “This is a very
popular school, and the spot won’t be available for long – regardless
of your employer’s insistence.”
I nod my head, forcing out a “thank you” before we leave. We get
to the car; I strap Seth in and drive off. I make it out of the parking
lot before I have to pull over to the side of the road. Gripping the
steering wheel, I watch my knuckles turn white and breathe deeply in
through my nose and out through my mouth.
“Mommy, are you okay?”
“I’m fine, hon,” I respond, even though I’m not.
I feel like shit. Seth and I, we don’t fit into this world of fancy
schools and overly ambitious parents. And worst of all, I have to tell
this to Mr. Masen who may already have given them money just to
get a spot for Seth.
Instead of going home, we drive to the mall. I treat us to lunch in
the food court and try to forget about the meeting. Seth enjoys the
day, and after a while, so do I. On the way back, we make a stop for
grocery shopping. It’s so different now that I have the card Mr. Masen
gave me. I don’t have to look at all the prices, trying to calculate the
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total in my head before going to the register, and for once, I don’t feel
a rush of anxiety as the checkout girl rings up the total. I know I can
pay. How can I disappoint Mr. Masen and tell him I don’t like the
school he secured for us after everything he’s done, after everything
he’s still doing for us?
Back home, I unload the groceries and make Seth a snack.
“How’d you like the school?” I ask.
“S’okay,” he says with a shrug. “The band was kind of cool.”
“The music class?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What about everything else?”
This morning he was so excited about going.
“Seth? Didn’t you like it?” I ask, sitting down with him.
He looks up at me.
“Yeah, only . . .”
“Only what?”
“That’s not where Lucy and Maria go to school, is it?”
“Oh,” I say softly. “I’m sorry, honey. I should’ve known you’d think
that. No, they don’t go there.”
“I won’t know anyone there.”
“I think JR goes there,” I tell him, remembering what Mr. Masen
said. “The boy next door.”
Seth lights up.
“That’s cool! Do you think he’ll come to my birthday party?”
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“I’m sure he’d like that,” I say, smiling as his excitement rubs off
on me. “We’ll make invitations, and you can put it in his mailbox.
How about that?”
“Yeah,” Seth says, grinning. “Can we make them now?”
“Tomorrow,” I promise. “We’ll go get some cardboard, stickers,
glitter pens – make them pretty.”
“Pretty’s for girls, Mommy!” Seth says, making a face.
“Well, I’m a girl,” I laugh. “So it’s probably best if you decide what
goes on them.”
“Definitely,” Seth agrees. “Can I go watch TV now?”
“Okay.”
I kiss the top of his head, stealing a quick cuddle before he squirms
away and runs to his room. Already he’s so different compared to
the scared, clingy boy I used to drop off at Mrs. Cope’s whenever I’d
go look for a job. He’s happy, which means whatever I’m doing now
is working, and any doubt I might have had about moving in here
vanishes into thin air at the realization. Looking around, I smile. We
do belong here, Seth and I, because this is where Mr. Masen is.
Late in the afternoon, I receive a text from him:
Isabella,
Something has come up at work. I won’t make dinner tonight.
Quickly, I write him back, asking if I should save him a plate.
No, thank you, he responds. I’ll eat here, and I won’t be home until
late.
A few seconds later:
Have a good night.
You too, Sir, I type.
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Sighing, I stop cooking the meal I’d planned for him. He did warn
me that he works a lot, and that includes weeknights. I end up having
hot dogs with Seth in the kitchen, and we spend the night playing
with his toys before I put him to bed. There’s no sign of Mr. Masen
at nine o’clock, and I feel both a bit disappointed and concerned for
him, working so many hours in a day. He’ll be tired when he gets
home, but he won’t be coming home to an empty house anymore. I’ll
be here for him.
Around 11, I hear him come in from the garage. Just as I’d hoped,
he doesn’t go upstairs but joins me in the kitchen instead. I look up
from my e-book, giving him a smile. He’s leaning on the doorframe,
tie loosened, hair a bit messy, suit slightly wrinkled. He looks tired
but returns the smile.
“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” he says.
“I wanted to.”
Standing up, I approach him slowly, hoping he’ll appreciate the
sight of me. I’ve made myself pretty for him, wearing a dress and
heels, and curling my hair at the ends.
“Let me take care of you,” I whisper, running my hands down his
front before standing up on my tiptoes to kiss him.
He reciprocates immediately, holding me close, moaning softly as I
caress his tongue with mine.
“I could get used to this,” he murmurs. “Coming home to you.”
Pulling back, he regards me cautiously, a line worrying the space
between his eyebrows as though he’s scared he’s said too much. Doesn’t
he know? I’m so his.
“Good,” I tell him. “Come with me.”
He takes my hands and follows me into the living room. I’ve lit a
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fire and made a tray. Mr. Masen sits down on the couch, groaning
softly as he leans back.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell him, rushing back into the kitchen.
When I return to the living room, he’s reclined and his eyes are
closed.
“Tea and cookies,” I say softly, sitting down next to him to pour
him a cup. “I made the peanut butter ones we talked about last
night.”
He watches me serve him, the look in his eyes warm and appreciative.
“Thank you, sweet girl. How was your day? The school?”
I draw a breath, shaking my head.
“Let’s not talk about that now. I’d rather hear about yours.”
“Isabella.”
His voice is still soft, but there’s a hint of severity to it. I’m not
getting out of this.
“It was great, just like you said,” I begin, “but I’m not sure if it’s
the right place for Seth. I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“You’ve already paid.”
“No, I haven’t.”
I look at him.
“I merely requested that a spot should be made available.”
“And you can just do that?”
The corners of his eyes crinkle with amusement.
“Yes, Isabella, I can.”
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There’s no arrogance about the way he says it. It’s merely a
statement. He’s used to getting what he wants, I realize. After all,
I’ve seen him in action. He wanted me and here I am, completely his,
and happily so.
“So why don’t you think it’s the right place for Seth? I looked into
it myself. It’s the best around.”
He takes a sip of his tea and reaches for a cookie, all the while
watching me. I wring my hands, feeling nervous.
“It’s my fault,” I admit, looking down. “He’s behind the other kids.
I kept him home with me, and I don’t think I’ve done enough to . . .
to prepare him for school.”
I draw a shaky breath.
“You should have heard the director. She made it sound like all
the kids there are geniuses or something. They’re all reading and
doing math, painting and playing instruments. She said most of the
students already speak foreign languages, and they’re there all day!
I’d never get to see Seth if he’s there from seven to seven! She . . .
she made me feel like I was a bad mother because Seth hasn’t gone to
day care, and I only went to high school and-”
“She what?”
Mr. Masen’s voice is controlled but angry. I dare a glance at his
face, which is clouded with emotion.
“Listen to me,” he says. “You’re a good mother. Hell, you’re a
great mother! You don’t need me to tell you that, do you?”
I shake my head. I know I’ve done the best within my limited
options.
“Good. No more of that ever again. Do you hear me, Isabella?”
“Yes, Sir.”
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“You can’t help your previous circumstances,” he says in a softer
tone of voice. “Seth is a good kid. Smart. He’d catch up in no time
over there. But none of that matters if you don’t think the place is
right for him.”
“It doesn’t? Don’t you want him to go there?”
“I want him to go to school, yes,” he says. “I don’t care which one
he actually goes to. That’s for you to decide. I just mentioned the
one you went to today because it’s the closest, and it comes highly
recommended.”
Taking my hand, he runs his thumb across my knuckles.
“You choose whichever school you like, and I’ll make it happen. All
right?”
“All right. Thank you.”
“As for how long he’s there . . . you don’t like the seven to seven
schedule?”
I shake my head.
“I get why working parents have to do it like that, but I’d really
like to have him home before dinner if that’s okay with you.”
“Of course. Like I said, I won’t interfere with your time together.”
He smiles at me, taking another bite of his cookie.
“This is delicious. Won’t you join me?”
I pour myself a cup, and we sit in silence for a little while, drinking
tea and eating cookies, watching the fire. I relax against the cushions,
sighing softly.
“I don’t know what to do,” I confess. “I didn’t exactly go to a
school like that.”
Mr. Masen has leaned back as well and is watching me with interest.
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“I grew up in a small town,” I continue. “Went to a little, public
school. No extra programs besides sports. I don’t know anything
about sculpting or painting; I played the recorder, very badly, and my
high school French is pretty rusty.”
He smiles at me.
“I grew up in England. Boarding school, very strict. All boys. I
played the violin, horribly, and I speak six languages.”
“Boarding school?” I whisper.
“From age seven to eighteen.” His voice is monotone.
“But your parents . . .”
He shrugs his shoulders.
“I was happy to get away from home. It was better.”
He closes his eyes again, and I watch him in silence, waves of pity
and compassion washing over me. The more I learn about him, the
more I feel for him. What a horrible childhood it must have been to
prefer a strict boarding school to home. With an abusive father, an
absent mother, and the violence that his scars reveal, the kindness he
shows me and my son is all the more amazing.
Placing my cup on the table, I move over to him and lift my right
leg over his body so that I’m straddling him. He opens his eyes,
surprised.
“It’s almost midnight,” he says, referring to our nightly agreement.
“I don’t care,” I whisper, leaning in to brush my lips against his.
“Let me worship you.”
The hungry look in his eyes is all the permission I need. I kiss my
way across his warm skin, opening buttons and moving fabric until I’m
kneeling between his parted legs, taking him into my mouth, enjoying
the sounds of his moans and sighs.
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“Look at me.”
I lift my eyes to him, my lips stretched around him, and feel nothing
but desire as he reaches down to stroke my hair.
“You’re so beautiful. Undress for me.”
Standing, I quickly take off my dress, revealing my lack of underwear.
He takes my hand, surprising me as he helps me into position above
him. I’ve never been on top before.
“Sir, I-”
“Edward,” he whispers, applying gentle pressure on my hips until I
lower myself onto him.
I stop talking and merely feel. His lips and hands caress my face
and body as I move, a bit clumsily at first, but soon the pleasure
makes me forget about technique. I lean back, moaning as he dips his
head and teases my nipples, his strong hands on my ass, helping my
movements, bringing me to a powerful climax that builds and builds.
This is making love. This is what it feels like.
“Edward, oh, Edward.”
I hear myself chanting his name as I resurface. He’s reclined,
watching me with an intensity that’s almost too much to take, his fast
breaths making his lips part. Gently, he cups my cheek before pulling
me down and kissing me, humming in pleasure.
I love you, Edward.
After a few seconds, I move my hips, stopping abruptly at the sound
of the hiss he lets out.
“Did you?” I wonder out loud.
He chuckles, running his hands up and down my back.
“You didn’t notice?”
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“No,” I admit, feeling myself blush, hiding my face in the crook of
his neck.
“You were a bit preoccupied.” He laughs softly. “So fucking hot
seeing you like that.”
“Really?” I whisper. “Even though I was . . . on top?”
He strokes my hair, kissing my temple.
“You took care of me.”
“Yes.”
Our breathing slows and I close my eyes, wrapping my arms and
legs around him tightly. I never want to let go. Eventually, though, I
have to. He lifts me off him and helps me put my dress back on before
putting his own clothes back into place. We clear the table in silence,
and he walks me to my door, lifting my hand to his lips.
“Thank you for tonight, Isabella,” he says.
His words are formal, but his eyes are warm. I know he felt it too.
“Sleep well, Sir,” I tell him, his parting smile making my heart
stutter.
I know he felt it too.
Super tired tonight, so I’ll just say thanks for reading and
link to the Red-Eyed Edward Contest that’s going on right
now. Yours truly has a story submitted! My first Vampward,
if you can believe that! Check it out. :)
www . fanfiction u / 6933009 / RedEyedEdward (you have
to remove the spaces. FFN is weird about external links)
Until next time!
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Chapter 25

Hi, everyone. Here’s a nice long chapter for you to start
off the week.
Thank you to my beta, Chayasara, for all of your help and
the grammar lessons. Not only do they improve my writing,
but they make me a better teacher!
Thank you to my pre-readers for your helpful suggestions
and the girls on Facebook for keeping me sane.
And finally thank you to all of you who are still reading. I
know I don’t update as often as most writers, but I promise
to finish my stories, no matter how long it takes to get there.
:)
BPOV
“Are you tired, Mommy?”
“Just a bit, hon,” I mumble, suppressing another yawn. “I’m just
going to lie down for a minute, okay?”
“Okay.”
He settles in next to me, eyes glued to his TV. We’re on his bed,
watching a movie on Netflix. Mr. Masen won’t be home for dinner
tonight, so there’s not a lot to do today. I sink back into the pillows
as I hug my son to me.
It’s amazing how much can happen in a couple of months. I used
to be destitute, close to homelessness, and without an answer to any
of my problems. I worried about Seth’s future, about my future, and
how we’d ever survive. I look around my son’s room and smile. We’re
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settled. It’s been two weeks since Seth and I moved in, and everything
is wonderful. Seth started school last week. I was very hesitant after
the awful meeting with Ms. Aliyeva, but after a talk with Mr. Masen
and then Alice, I decided to give it a chance. Alice made the very
good point that Ms. Aliyeva is the director and not actually one of
Seth’s teachers and that I should meet with them before making any
decisions. So I went over there again and had a talk with Diane, the
woman who runs the pre-K class. I was dreading it, thinking I’d meet
another cool, businesslike lady, but instead I had a great meeting with
a kind, maternal, and very skilled teacher. She assured me that I
could set up Seth’s schedule so that it would be to both his and my
liking and that she would do everything in her power to make sure
that Seth would be happy to go there. So, I gave it a shot.
In the mornings, I pack an afternoon snack for Seth since lunch
is included in the program, and then we have breakfast together in
the kitchen. After Mr. Masen leaves for work, I drive Seth to school
and drop him off, my heart nearly bursting with happiness as I watch
him being greeted by his new classmates. It’s everything I’ve always
wanted for him. Then I have the whole morning and most of the
afternoon to myself, which is very strange, but I keep busy. I handle
all of the grocery shopping and meal planning, do the laundry, and
make sure the house is kept in order. The cleaning crew was here this
week, and they’re very nice. We mostly kept out of each other’s way,
though, and it seems like they saw me as an authority figure of sorts
even though I’m an employee just as they are. I’m the housekeeper.
Mr. Masen drew up a contract and I signed without hesitation. My
salary isn’t much, but I don’t pay rent, and he insists that I buy all
of the food for me and Seth using the card he gave me, so all I really
have to pay for myself is stuff like clothes and shoes. It’s more than
enough for me to start saving up. Mr. Masen handled that, too, in his
own efficient way. All it took was a signature from me, and he closed
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my old account and made a new one at his bank in my name. My
salary is transferred there automatically, and I’m the only one who
can access it. The days of worrying about Mike taking my money are
gone.
We’ve officially moved in here, and already it feels like home. Our
names are on the mailbox, and I’ve received my first letter: the state of
Washington has finally started its investigation of Mike’s abandonment.
I’m not sure what this means exactly, but I hope it will lead to my
getting full custody of Seth soon if they can’t track him down. And
even if they do find him, I doubt he’d put up much of a fight. I mean,
why would he after leaving the way he did? The only downside to
our new permanent address is that my mom might come looking for
us, but it’s been weeks since the night of the break-in, and I haven’t
heard anything from her. Mostly, I think about my father and wonder
if he’s aware of my mom’s attempt at making contact. Would be even
want to see me again? Do I want to see him? Sighing, I hold Seth
a little closer, breathing in the smell of his hair. I don’t know what
I’ll do if my mother shows up again, and it’s not something I want to
dwell on. Instead, I close my eyes and allow myself to rest for a little
while, happy that it’s Friday afternoon and that I get to spend my
weekend with the two wonderful men in my life – Seth and Edward.
I sit up with a start, realizing that I’m alone on the bed. There’s
now a blanket covering me, and the TV’s off. Seth is nowhere to be
seen. I must have fallen asleep.
Damn it.
“Seth?”
I get off the bed and start walking through the house, knowing Seth
will be somewhere inside. If he tried to leave, the alarm on the door
would’ve gone off. In the empty kitchen, I glance at the clock, wincing
as I see that it’s nearly 6. I’ve slept for more than two hours and am
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now way behind schedule. In the hallway, I pause for a second when I
notice Mr. Masen’s coat on the hanger.
What’s he doing home?
I hurry up the stairs to his part of the house, a place I’m only
supposed to go upon invitation. Seth knows he’s not allowed up there
and that he shouldn’t disturb Mr. Masen when he’s working. I hear
voices through the partially opened door to his office.
“. . . like going to school?”
“Oh, sure,” Mr. Masen says.
“Really?” Seth sounds like he doesn’t believe him. “Even math?”
“Well, maybe like is too strong of a word,” he chuckles. “I’m good
with numbers now, though. You’ll be too, I’m sure.”
“Is this right?” Seth asks.
“Let me see. Hmm . . . Hang on. Okay, I have two paper clips
here, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And here’s three more. If I put them together, two plus these
three, how many do I have?”
Seth whispers too softly for me to hear.
“Five.”
“That’s it. So two plus three equals . . .”
“Five!”
“Exactly. Good job! Write that on your worksheet.”
“Mr. Masen?”
“Hmm?”
“I think I like math.”
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“Good.”
I tiptoe a few steps forward, peering inside. Mr. Masen is seated at
his desk, typing on his computer. On the other side of the desk, Seth
is kneeling on a chair, bent over his schoolbooks. The scene before
me is completely unremarkable – a grownup helping a child with his
homework – yet it brings tears to my eyes, seeing the two of them
together like this. Seth picks up some paper clips, hesitating for a
moment before putting four in one pile and then adding three.
“Four plus three is . . . seven,” he says, looking at Mr. Masen for
confirmation.
“That’s exactly right.”
Seth’s smile is as bright as the sun as he scribbles it down, but
what makes my heart gallop is the warmth in Mr. Masen’s gaze as he
watches my son before returning to his own work.
Stop this. You should stop this now.
I retreat, barely holding it together.
Don’t make a big deal of this! Don’t! Act normally.
I head downstairs to my bedroom and find my phone. There’s a
text from Mr. Masen from ninety minutes ago, telling me that his
meeting got canceled and that he’s coming home for dinner after all.
Drawing a deep breath, I go into the kitchen and start looking through
the freezer for something for Mr. Masen. I start defrosting some steaks
and start on Seth’s and my dinner as well, knowing my son’s probably
starving by now. Mr. Masen usually takes his dinner at seven o’clock,
so at least I can make that almost on time.
I can’t get the image out of my mind of the two of them together,
of how sweet Mr. Masen was with him, how interested in helping him.
It’s the complete opposite of how Mike used to be around Seth. I
know I should march up there and get Seth. I know that. But I don’t
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want to. I don’t want to. I want the two of them together, I want all
three of us together.
“Hi, Mommy!”
I look up, smiling at my son as he barrels into the kitchen, taking
a seat at the table. Mr. Masen follows a few seconds later.
“Hello.”
“Hello, sir.”
“We were just upstairs,” he says, walking over to me. “I hope that’s
all right?”
“Of course. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
He waves it off, leaning a bit closer to me.
“I kept you up late last night.”
My cheeks heat up, and he gives me a knowing smile.
“I remember, sir.”
“I didn’t want to disturb you,” he whispers. “You’re very pretty
when you sleep.”
The shyness I feel upon hearing his compliment makes no sense.
This man has seen every inch of my naked body, and yet knowing
that he covered me up and took care of my son to let me sleep feels a
lot more intimate than anything we’ve done in his bedroom. It shows
how much he cares. I know better than to comment on that, though.
“Thank you. It was a nice nap, I’m a bit behind now, though,” I
admit. “But your dinner shouldn’t be much later than you like.”
I motion to the food that’s almost done.
“This is for Seth and me.”
“I’m hungry. What’s for dinner?” Seth asks from his seat.
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“Tomato soup and grilled cheese.”
“Oh, yum! That’s the best! Don’t you think so, Mr. Masen?”
“Well, it’s been a while,” he says, smiling at Seth.
“I’m making steak for you,” I interject, knowing he likes that.
“Don’t you like grilled cheese?” Seth asks, disbelieving. “Mommy
makes the best, like, ever.”
Mr. Masen looks at me.
“Does she now?”
Seth jumps off his chair, and the next thing I know, he’s pulling
Mr. Masen by the hand toward the kitchen table.
“Eat with us.”
“Seth, I’m sure Mr. Masen would rather –”
“Is there enough?”
What?
He takes a seat next to Seth, looking at bit uncertain and out of
place in his fine suit.
“Of-of course,” I manage. “Seth, help me set the table.”
My son jumps to the task, and soon everything’s ready. There’s
an awkward moment when I don’t know if I should stand and serve
Mr. Masen like I always do, but he grabs Seth’s bowl and ladles the
piping hot soup into it before reaching for mine. As I take my seat,
he glances at me, smiling.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
His fingers brush against mine for a second as he hands me my bowl,
and it makes my insides flutter so much I can hardly concentrate on
the task of eating.
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“You have to dunk the sandwich,” Seth instructs Mr. Masen.
“That’s the best part.”
“Just using my fingers?”
I can’t tell if he’s being serious, but Seth laughs at him, dunking
his own grilled cheese into the soup before shoving half of it into his
mouth.
“All right; here goes.”
I stifle a chuckle, seeing how gingerly Mr. Masen holds his sandwich
compared to Seth as he too dips it before taking a bite.
“Mmm, it is good.”
“See? I told you.”
Seth grins at the both of us.
“Not how you usually eat soup?” I ask, smiling.
“Ah, no. But it really is good,” he assures me before taking another
bite.
We eat in comfortable silence. It’s so nice. The kitchen’s warm and
cozy, and Mr. Masen refills our bowls and drinking glasses as though
we’ve done this a hundred times before. But we haven’t. This is the
first time he’s sat down to dinner with us. If someone were to look in
through the window they’d think we were . . .
A family.
The pang of longing I get is so palpable that it takes my breath
away for a second, and I do my best to hide my emotions by having a
drink of my water.
Get your head out of the clouds.
“So, are you excited about your birthday tomorrow?” Mr. Masen
asks.
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“Uh-huh! JR from school is coming, and Maria and Lucy! And
there’s gonna be balloons and presents and everything!”
“Their parents will be here too,” I add. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“It’s fine. Do you need help with anything?”
“No, thank you. They won’t be here until two, so there’s plenty of
time to get everything together. We won’t bother you if you need to
work before the party.”
“I’m going into the city for a little tomorrow morning anyway.”
“Work?”
“Just some things to do at my office, but I can pick that cake up
my way back. I insist.”
“What cake?” Seth asks. “Am I really getting a Lightning McQueen
cake?”
We both smile at him.
“You’ll have to wait and see,” I say, giving him a wink. “Now, eat
up.”
Later that night after his bath, Seth and I bake cookies for tomorrow.
He’s beyond excited, and I am too. I’m happy it’ll be a small party
and that he didn’t want to invite his whole class, so I can have a little
time with Alice, who I haven’t seen in nearly two weeks. We’ve talked
on the phone, of course, but it’s not the same as seeing her. That’s
pretty much the only downside to having moved to Medina: the fact
that I can’t see my friend as much as I’d like. Still, it’s a relatively
small sacrifice considering what I’m getting in return, and I know
Alice understands.
After Seth is asleep, I get myself ready for the rest of the evening.
Halfway up the stairs with the baby monitor in hand, I meet Mr. Masen
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who’s coming downstairs. He smiles at me, tugging on the bow holding
my robe together.
“What are you wearing for me tonight, sweet girl?”
I untie it slowly, letting the robe fall off my shoulders as I reveal
myself to him. The slight darkening of his eyes as well as his tongue
wetting his lower lip tell me he’s pleased with what he sees. I’ll admit
that I spend a ridiculous amount of money on lingerie and underwear,
but Mr. Masen never seems to care how much I charge on his card.
“Fuck,” he whispers, yanking the robe off me entirely before wrap-
ping his arms around me.
His kiss is greedy and his hands roam all over me, caressing my
body through the thin fabric of the camisole and hipster set I have on.
It’s neither particularly revealing nor overtly seductive, but I know
his taste by now. He prefers me in soft cotton and lace, or nothing at
all, looking sweet rather than sexy with my makeup minimal and my
hair loose.
“How am I supposed to take things slowly with you?” he asks,
lifting me and wrapping my legs around his hips. “How am I supposed
to let you rest tonight when you look like every fantasy I’ve ever had?”
Tilting my head to the side with a firm grip on my hair, he pushes
me up against the wall and attacks my neck with kisses.
“I don’t want rest,” I moan, pressing myself against him. “I just
want you.”
We barely make it to his bedroom before his pants are down and
my underwear is pushed aside. It’s heated and frantic, lasting only a
few minutes before both of us are trembling and panting, clinging to
each other.
“Oh, wow,” I murmur afterward.
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Mr. Masen hums against my skin, kissing his way across my chest
as he puts my camisole back in place before moving to lie beside me.
“I really did mean to give you a break tonight,” he says, resting his
head in his hand.
I turn to face him.
“I never want a break from you, from this.”
He gazes down upon me for a long time before leaning over to kiss
me.
“I know what you mean,” he whispers against my lips.
In that moment, I wish I could tell him how I feel. Instead I wrap
my arms around him, warmth blossoming in my chest as I feel him
respond to me, holding me tightly against his much larger frame and
pressing a kiss into my hair.
Never let me go, Edward.
And he doesn’t. Holding my hand, we walk downstairs to the
kitchen where I put a tray together with him behind me, kissing my
neck and stroking my back, making it difficult for me to focus on
making tea. In the living room, he starts a fire before sitting down
next to me and handing me the remote.
“You decide.”
“Really?”
He nods, pouring tea for the both of us.
“Really, anything you want to watch. What sort of movies do you
like?”
“Not horror or tragedies,” I admit, browsing through all of the
choices. “I like a happy ending.”
Mr. Masen laughs through his nose, pulling me into his lap.
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“I know you do,” he says with a grin, sliding his right hand under-
neath my robe. “Several of them, in fact.”
“Um, yes?” I shrug.
He chuckles, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. You’re so innocent sometimes.”
“Innocent?”
“It’s a euphemism — for orgasms.”
“Oh.” I smile at him. “I guess I still have some stuff to learn.”
“And I can’t wait to teach you,” he says, dipping me down and
kissing me thoroughly. “But for tonight, let’s watch a movie.”
“As you wish, sir,” I reply with a sly grin, knowing how much he
enjoys it when I say things like that.
He chuckles in response, turning his attention to the TV screen, but
he doesn’t let me up from his lap as I pick out something to watch.
Throughout the movie he caresses me, hands me tea and snacks, and
holds me close. He never lets go of me.
“Wow, Bella.” Alice lets out a low whistle. “This place is huge.”
Smiling, I let her and Jasper in. Lucy and Maria have already run
off with Seth, who was dying to show off his room and his toys to
them.
“So, your boss really didn’t mind us coming over like this?” Jasper
asks, taking off Alice’s coat before bending down to get the girls’ stuff
that’s scattered all over the floor.
“Nah, he’s at work. But he’ll be here in a little while, I think. He’s
picking up Seth’s cake on his way home, and he’ll be at the party.”
Jasper watches me for a second or two. Then he turns around to
hang everything up.
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“That was nice of him.”
“Show me your room,” Alice says. “Babe, will you put the presents
in the kitchen?”
“It’s just over there.” I point in the right direction as Alice drags
me off. “There’s drinks set up already.”
“What was that about?” I ask as we turn the corner.
She sighs, shaking her head.
“It’s just Jasper. He started talking back home about how you live
here now and how Mr. Masen is paying for Seth’s school and stuff.”
I frown.
“I mean, he’s super happy for you!” she assures me.
“But?”
“Nothing. I’m just a little worried he might start to catch on,” she
whispers. “Your whole face lights up when you talk about him, you
know.”
“Oh.”
“And I don’t think it’s standard that the boss attends his employee’s
kid’s birthday party,” she adds.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Seth asked him to come. He was so
excited, and I didn’t want to . . .”
“I know.” She gives me a quick hug. “I get it. I totally do. You
look so happy.”
“I am,” I whisper. “I don’t know what it is, Alice, but . . .”
“But what?”
“It feels like things have changed between us. I can’t explain it.
He’s . . . different somehow. Or maybe I’m the one who’s changed. I
don’t know. It just feels like . . .”
337
I’m too afraid to say the word out loud, this unspoken thing between
him and me, scared that I’ll ruin it by giving it a name.
“It just feels like something else now. Something better.” I know
my words aren’t adequate, but it’s all I have for now.
Alice smiles at me, taking my hand.
“Show me your room.”
An hour later, everyone is here. JR from next door came with his
parents, Rosalie and Emmett McCarty. I learn that Rosalie is a former
model turned stay-at-home mom and that Emmett is a director, doing
mostly music videos. I simply introduce myself as Seth’s mom and
thank both of them for coming.
Seth and I have set everything up in the kitchen, which is big
enough for this small gathering. Using the dining room felt too formal,
and that’s the last thing I wanted for today. This isn’t Seth’s first
birthday party — I’ve always made sure I was able to throw him one
— but it’s the first one where I don’t have to fake smiles and ignore
Mike’s lack of enthusiasm, the first one where I have a big present for
Seth, and the first one where I’ve had someone to help me. Mr. Masen
kept his promise and brought back the cake I ordered, which might
not seem like a big deal, but to me it is. Having someone that I can
depend on besides Alice is definitely still a novelty, and I can’t stop
smiling as I watch everyone who has come here gathered at the table
to celebrate my son, eating the snacks I’ve put out. There’s one seat
left, next to Mr. Masen, and he smiles at me as I take it.
“This is delicious,” Rosalie says, reaching for another mini-pizza.
“Did you really make all of this yourself, Bella?”
I smile at her compliment.
“I did. Seth helped.”
“Isabella’s a great cook,” Mr. Masen says.
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“We should get a cook too,” Emmett chimes in, nudging Rosalie.
“Hey, I cook,” she protests with a grin. “Sometimes. Well, I try.”
“I can teach you,” I volunteer. “I mean, if you’d like.”
“Really? That would be awesome!”
Her smile is genuine. It would be great to have a friend in the
neighborhood.
“Just let me know,” I say, putting some food on my own plate.
Everyone digs in. It’s perfect.
“So, do you want cake or presents first?” I ask Seth after a little
while.
“Presents!” he answers predictably.
While he opens everything, I take a lot of pictures of both him and
everyone around the table, feeling almost dizzy with happiness. This
is what a birthday is supposed to be like — friends, good food, and
my son’s dazzling smile as he tears into the paper of his gifts with
wild enthusiasm. When he sees the iPad, he stares at me for a second
before running around the table to throw his arms around me.
“Happy birthday, honey,” I whisper, blinking back tears as I scoop
him up to sit on my lap.
“I love you, Mommy,” he whispers back, burrowing his little face
into the crook of my neck.
Of course it’s impossible to hold back tears then, and I laugh and
apologize at the same time, gratefully accepting from Mr. Masen a
handkerchief to dab my eyes.
“Can we go play with it now?” Seth asks eagerly after a few seconds
of cuddling.
The other kids are already on their feet.
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“After we’ve had cake.”
“I have something for you, too,” Mr. Masen says, reaching into his
inner pocket.
He hands a thick envelope to Seth. I wonder what it could be. I’ve
given a few suggestions to Mr. Masen for a present, but none of them
would fit into an envelope. Carefully, I help Seth open it, watching as
he pulls out . . .
What? No way!
“Fireworks! And a castle! And there’s Mickey Mouse,” Seth says,
pointing at the cover of the colorful brochure in his hand. “Where is
this?”
“It’s, uh, it’s . . .”
“It’s a trip to Disneyland in California,” Mr. Masen says. “Have
you ever been there?”
“Disneyland?” Seth sounds breathless. “N-no.”
“We’re going to Disneyland?” I finally find my voice.
“Disneyland is awesome!” JR exclaims. “We’ve been there two
whole times!”
I find the plane tickets. Why are there so many of them? I scan the
names on them, one at a time. There’s me, Seth . . . Alice, Jasper,
Lucy, Maria! I stare at Mr. Masen.
“All of us?” I whisper. “We’re all going?”
He merely nods, smiling. I look at Alice and Jasper.
“What?” Alice says from across the table.
“You’re coming too. It’s . . . it’s for all of us! You, me, Jasper,
and the kids.”
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“What?” The table erupts in chatter and excited shrieks as everyone
seems to catch on simultaneously.
It’s complete mayhem. All three kids yell and scream, jumping up
and down, and JR joins them for the hell of it. Alice and Jasper are
on their feet, flabbergasted and laughing, JR’s parents are trying to
calm their son to no avail.
“Thanks, man!” Jasper is flustered as he comes over to shake
Mr. Masen’s hand. “I don’t even know what to say! I can’t believe
this!”
“Thank you so much!” Alice exclaims, grabbing his other hand.
“You have no idea how much this means to us, to the kids.”
Mr. Masen clears his throat, obviously a bit out of his element,
taking a step back.
“Well, I didn’t think it would be right for Seth’s friends not to go
too. Call it an early wedding present.”
He nods once before taking his seat again, glancing in my direction.
“Thank you,” I mouth.
The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles at me, and in the next
moment, they widen as Seth barrels into him, nearly knocking him off
his seat.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Seth chants, throwing his
arms around Mr. Masen’s neck before hugging him.
Mr. Masen hesitates for a moment, his eyes meeting mine, before
he gently pats Seth on the back, lowering his gaze.
God, I love them both so much.
After a few seconds, Mr. Masen lifts Seth off him and places him
on the floor, handling him so delicately as though he might break. I
pull him into my lap, giving him a cuddle as I look over the tickets
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again. There are six of them. Mr. Masen isn’t coming with us. I’m
not surprised by this at all, but I wish he were, just the same.
“It’s for Thanksgiving weekend,” Mr. Masen says, fixing his tie. “I
hope that won’t interfere with anyone’s plans.”
“My mom will understand,” Alice says immediately.
“You won’t need me for the holidays?” I ask Mr. Masen quietly.
“I’ll be traveling,” he says. “No Thanksgiving in Europe, so . . .”
“Business again?” JR’s dad asks.
“As always. I’ll be away for a couple of weeks this time, unfortu-
nately.”
He glances in my direction for a second.
A couple of weeks?
“But you’ll be back for the party at the club, right?” Rosalie asks
with a smile. “I hope you’re not trying to get out of the auction I told
you about.”
“The bachelor’s auction?” Emmett chuckles. “Leave the guy alone,
Rosie. I’m sure he can find his own dates.”
What dates?
“It’s for charity,” she says with a smile. “And Edward’s the most
eligible bachelor in the neighborhood. You can’t blame a girl for
trying.”
Mr. Masen laughs softly.
“While I appreciate the compliment, I’ll settle for writing you a
check. Holiday parties aren’t really my thing anyway.”
“You know that,” Emmett says. “Edward’s house is the only one
on the block without decorations come Christmas. He’s our resident
Scrooge.”
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His tone is light and teasing, and I get the feeling they’ve talked
about this before.
“Maybe you can bring a little holiday cheer to the house,” he says,
directed at me.
I simply smile and shrug.
“Can we have cake now?” Seth asks.
“Absolutely!”
I get the cake from the fridge, hoping it tastes as good as it looks.
They really made it look like Lightning McQueen, and I know Seth
will love it. Lighting the five little candles, I carry it to the table,
feeling a bit in the spotlight as I start to sing “Happy Birthday To
You”. Thankfully, everyone joins in – even Seth, his eyes alight with
excitement as I place the car-shaped cake in front of him. I smile at
Alice who’s already aimed her phone at Seth, ready to snap a picture.
“Okay, make a wish, hon.”
He closes his eyes, draws a deep breath, and blows out all the
candles in one go. Everyone applauds.
“What’d you wish for?” Lucy asks.
“It won’t come t-” I start.
“I wish Mr. Masen would be my daddy!”
No. Oh, no, no, no.
My gaze darts from Seth’s happy grin to Alice’s wide eyes. Yes, he
really just said that. I didn’t imagine it.
Holy fuck.
The kitchen is completely quiet. I can see Mr. Masen out of the
corner of my eye, but I don’t dare look in his direction. Oh, God!
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“That’s dumb!” Maria’s outburst echoes off the walls. “You can
only have one daddy!”
“Nuh-uh!” JR protests. “Jeremy at school has two daddies! Right,
Mom?”
“Oh, uh, that’s right,” Rosalie confirms.
“See!” JR is triumphant. “And you can have two mommies too.”
The kids all start talking about two daddies and mommies, but the
adults are silent. Dead silent. I’m pretty much dying inside.
“Rosalie, how far along are you?” Alice asks, referring to the visible
baby bump she’s sporting.
“Almost seven months,” she replies, placing her hand on her stom-
ach. “I’m getting so big.”
Emmett puts his hand on top of hers, giving her a loving look.
“I think you look great,” Alice says. “God, I was such a whale
when I was expecting.”
“You were not,” Jasper protests. “More like a really cute manatee.”
All of them laugh as Alice pretends to choke Jasper, and then
tension evaporates, the talk flowing easily around the subject of babies
and pregnancy. I recover, cutting the cake, and handing everyone a
slice. Except, the seat next to me is now empty.
After cake and coffee I step outside, drawing deep breaths. Every-
thing is okay. Everything is okay.
“Hey, Bella.”
I look over to see Jasper, lighting a cigarette.
“My only vice now, I swear,” he says with a grimace.
I wave my hand.
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“So, good party,” he says, watching me closely.
“Disaster is more like it,” I mumble.
“He’s not just your boss, is he?”
I sigh softly. I don’t know what he is.
“Hey, I’m not judging. He seems like a great guy.”
“But?”
“Nothing. I just don’t really get it. Why are you working for him?
Why aren’t you just, you know, his girlfriend?”
I look at him, taking in his open expression. No, he isn’t judging
me. I can tell.
“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “It’s complicated. I don’t think
he’s ready for that.”
Jasper nods his head, pensive.
“It took me a long time,” he says, “getting to where I am now. I
didn’t appreciate what I had, and it kills me to think of how much I
missed out on.”
He stubs out his cigarette and bends down to collect the butt.
“Hey, I think you’re great,” he says. “You were there for Alice when
she needed a friend the most, and God knows you’ve been through
enough shit already.”
“Yeah.”
“I guess what you have to figure out is if he’s worth it. If he’s good
enough for you and Seth to wait around for? I mean, I’m pretty much
the luckiest bastard in the world that Alice decided to wait for me to
get my head out of my ass.”
“I’m glad you did. Get your head out of your ass, I mean.”
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He grins at me, smoothing back his wild curls.
“I meant what I said, Bella. You’re great. And you should be with
someone who appreciates you, who wants to give you everything. And
I don’t mean this fancy house and all the stuff that comes with it.”
I nod my head.
“Thanks, Jas.”
He pats my shoulder.
“Let’s get back and make sure the kids haven’t trashed the place.”
“There’s a good chance,” I reply, smiling.
“C’mon.”
Hours later, all evidence of the party has been cleared away, and
everything is back to normal. At least on the outside. It’s a little
before 9 o’clock, and Seth is fast asleep. It’s time for me to start my
time with Mr. Masen. Only tonight, I’m trembling with nerves. I
haven’t seen or heard from him since he left the party, but I know he’s
home. His car is in the driveway. I go through the routine of making
myself ready, but I don’t know what to expect when I reach the top
of the steps and knock on his office door. Will he pretend it never
happened? Will he want to have a serious talk about boundaries and
lines and how we’ve both been crossing them left and right lately?
Will he confess his love for me and Seth, asking me to be his girlfriend
instead of his employee?
Yeah, right.
As I approach his office I can hear music from the inside, louder
than usual. I don’t know the song, but it’s definitely rock — guitars,
heavy drum beats, a man singing slurred words.
Here goes.
I knock, wait, then knock again.
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“Mr. Masen?”
Finally, the volume of the music is lowered, and I watch as the door
opens slowly. He looks the same as always, except not really. His eyes
are red-rimmed, his eyelids hooded; his face is ashen, and he smells
like alcohol.
“Yes?” he asks.
“It’s, uh, nine o’clock, Sir.”
“Is it?”
“You missed dinner.”
I hold out the tray I’ve brought with me.
“Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”
“Please, you should eat something.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” he snaps, the severity in his voice
forcing me to take a step back.
Palming his forehead, he exhales slowly, closing his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I don’t need anything. Please, leave me.”
He looks at me, his eyes sweeping over my face, my body, and the
tray I’m holding. Then, he shakes his head again.
“If . . . this is about what Seth said, I’ll . . . talk to him.”
I had planned on doing that anyway tomorrow.
“Kids say the darndest things. Heh, that was a funny show.” He
laughs, holding onto the door.
“Show?”
“You’re s-so young,” he slurs, frowning. “I forget sometimes. But
you’re so fucking young. You don’t know . . . just leave me, I don’t
want anything.”
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“I just want to be with you,” I whisper, unable to stop myself.
He reaches out, stroking the backs of his fingers across the apple of
my cheek.
“You’re so sweet,” he murmurs. “And him. I don’t . . .”
He pulls his hand back and closes the door, locking it with a soft
click before the music starts blaring again. Carefully, I place the
tray outside his door before I walk back downstairs fighting tears, the
tortured-sounding words of the song still echoing in my head.
“I know someday you’ll have a beautiful life,
I know you’ll be a star in somebody else’s sky,
But why, why, why can’t it be, can’t it be mine¿‘
The song Edward is listening to is called Black by Pearl
Jam.
I hope you enjoyed the chapter and all the sweet moments
before things kind of went south there at the end. I’ll try
and update again as soon as I can. In the meantime, check
out my story Mate, which won the 1st place public vote in
the Red-Eyed Edward contest. I expanded it to a two-shot
and it’s complete (*gasp* I know!). You can find it on my
profile. (After you leave me a review, of course) ;)
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Chapter 26

Thank you so much to my pre-readers Veronica, Diane and
Dawn. I can’t wait to see you again in October. Counting
the days until the four horsemen will be reunited, LOL! ;)
And ChayaSara, my lovely beta. Your support and guid-
ance is priceless. I so look forward to visiting with you in
October and staying up late chatting and drinking wine by
your pool. That’s the stuff dreams are made of in my book!
The girls on Facebook and my wonderful WC author
friends on Skype really helped speed this along. Thank you!
Finally, thank YOU, yes, you who’s reading this right now,
for sticking with me and giving me someone to tell my story
to.
Enjoy!
BPOV
Sunday morning is cold and gray—a fitting setting for my mood.
Normally, I’d be excited for the day to come, knowing that Mr. Masen
doesn’t have to work, but after what happened last night, I’m dreading
having to face him. His rejection still stings, and I’m concerned about
him as well as what this might mean for our arrangement. I also have
to talk to Seth about what happened at his birthday party and the
wish he made. After dressing, I go through the usual morning routine
of waking up Seth and having him help me make breakfast. There’s
no sign of Mr. Masen, so we sit down at the table without him. It’s
nearly noon by the time he comes downstairs. I’m in the kitchen
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trying out a new dinner recipe when he enters, holding the tray I left
for him last night. It’s still full.
“Good, er, morning,” he murmurs, glancing at the clock.
“Hello, sir.”
He looks like he always does as though last night never happened.
“I’ll just put this here,” he says, placing the tray next to the sink.
“All right.”
I don’t know what to say to him, if I should even bring it up or
just pretend like it never happened.
“Would you like something to eat?” I finally ask him.
“Thank you, that would be nice. Anything’s fine.”
I nod, turning the burners off before heading to the fridge to get
some lunchmeats for a sandwich. When I turn back around, he’s
watching me, still standing there with his hands buried in his pockets.
“Sir?”
He takes a step back and then another.
“I’ll be in the dining room.”
I watch as he retreats, letting out a shuddering sigh. This is how it
is now, then? After assembling a new tray for him, I carry it into the
dining room where he’s seated at the table as usual. I quickly serve
him, pouring some cold water before giving the little serving bowl
containing two painkillers a small push toward him.
“Thank you,” he says softly, fishing them out and swallowing them.
He groans, moving his head from side to side a few times.
“I’m sorry about last night.”
“Th-that’s okay,” I stutter, surprised that he’s addressing it at all.
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“No, it isn’t.”
He looks up at me.
“From now on, you shouldn’t come upstairs unless you’re invited.”
He holds my gaze, as if he’s expecting me to object.
“I won’t,” I whisper.
“Thank you. Would you please bring in the mail if you’re not too
busy? I forgot about it yesterday.”
“Of course. Do you need anything else?”
“No. I’m going out for dinner tonight, and I won’t be home until
late.”
I nod, hoping my face doesn’t show how hurt I am.
“Have a good day, sir,” I say quietly before leaving the dining room.
I feel his eyes on me as I exit, and I don’t know if the sigh I think
I hear is just a figment of my imagination. On my way to collect
the mail, I see Rosalie, Emmett, and JR in their driveway, getting
out of their car, all of them laughing and talking. They’re a family;
we’re not. Rosalie waves at me, and I wave back, faking a smile as
I go to the mailbox. Among all of Mr. Masen’s mail, there’s a letter
addressed to me, and for a moment my heart stops as I recognize the
familiar handwriting listing my old address. It’s from my mother, and
it’s been forwarded here. She doesn’t know we’ve moved. Yet.
Back in the kitchen, I open it with slightly trembling hands. What
could she possibly want? To have me come home? Inside the blue
envelope, there’s a letter and a card. “Happy 5th Birthday” it reads
above the picture of a cartoon boy on a bike.
Oh my god.
It’s for Seth, but I open it. Inside it simply says, “Happy birthday,
Seth. Grandma and Grandpa.” There’s a crisp fifty-dollar bill too.
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It’s a completely appropriate but also non-distinctive gift and card,
highlighting that they know absolutely nothing about my son.
That was their choice, I remind myself, glancing over my shoulder
to make sure I’m still alone before opening the letter.
Dear Isabella,
I don’t know how to begin this letter. I realize saying how sorry I
am will sound hollow and most likely dishonest to you, but it’s still
important that I say it. I miss you. I’ve been missing you. You’re my
little girl. Isabella, we made a mistake, a horrible mistake. Please, I
hope you’ll let me apologize to you. Things have been very difficult for
you because of us. I realize that now, and we didn’t do right by you.
Your father misses you too. He’s not well.
I hope you’ll go with Seth and buy him a present with the money
I’ve included. You don’t have to tell him it’s from us. If you need
anything, please let me know. I’m so sorry.
Love,
Mom.
My eyes are dry, but I feel as though someone is squeezing my heart.
They want to help? Well, too little, too late! What does she expect
from me? That I’ll just forgive and forget? She’s been missing me?
She’s got some fucked up way of showing me that, practically kicking
me out when I was pregnant and scared to death and then completely
abandoning me and my newborn baby, leaving us to fend for ourselves
with a less than dependable asshole for a breadwinner! Fuck her! Fuck
them! Fuck all of them! I finally lose the battle against the tears, and
they start pouring out of me as I cover my mouth to avoid making
any noise.
Stop this. Seth can’t see you like this!
I force myself to stop, drawing a ragged breath as I wipe my eyes,
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my chest still contracting painfully with the need to sob. I stare at the
letter and the card in my hand. What do I do? Can I ever contemplate
talking to them again, let alone letting them back into my life, into
Seth’s life? I just don’t know. Even with everything that’s happened,
I know in my heart that I still love them even though I probably
shouldn’t. Could they really have changed? I glance out toward the
hallway, which leads up to Mr. Masen’s part of the house. Do people
ever change? Well, I have. I’m not the scared, naïve girl I once was.
Or am I? Was it stupid of me to think there might ever be something
more between Edward and me, something beyond this arrangement of
ours? Until yesterday I thought there might be, but today . . . I just
don’t know. I never meant to fall in love with him, but I know that I
have. And I also know that I’ve made a mistake in not discouraging
his relationship with Seth. It’s one thing to have my feelings hurt, but
it’s not fair to my son.
“Hon? There’s something we should talk about.”
I walk into his room and sit down on the bed. He leaves his toys
and jumps up to join me, a big smile on his face.
Oh God.
“It’s about that wish you made yesterday at your party, about your
wanting Mr. Masen to be your dad.”
He nods.
“Honey, I’m afraid that won’t happen,” I say softly, feeling abso-
lutely awful.
“Why not?”
“Because . . . that’s not how it works. I’m sorry.”
“How do I get a new daddy, then?” he asks, looking upset.
I don’t know what to tell him—that if I were to meet someone and
we’d get married, he’d be Seth’s new father? But I already know that
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won’t happen anytime soon, and I don’t want him to always long for
something unattainable.
“Maybe some day,” I say, “if I get married to someone. But that
might not happen, sweetheart.”
“Can’t you just ask Mr. Masen to marry you?”
“Mr. Masen is just my boss. We’re not . . . we’re not in love. I
know we live in the same house, but he’s not a part of this family.”
“Oh,” he says quietly.
“But you have me,” I tell him, pulling him into my lap. “And
you’re my favorite person in the whole wide world.”
“I am?”
“Of course!” I tickle him to make him smile. “And you have Aunt
Alice and Uncle Jasper, and all your friends.”
He smiles, cuddling closer.
“And . . .”
I draw a deep breath before pulling the birthday card out of my
back pocket. God, I hope I’m not about to make a giant mistake.
“You have a grandfather and grandmother.”
He looks up at me.
“I do? Like Lucy and Maria?”
“Sort of. But they live far away, you see.”
“Oh.”
“They sent you a card for your birthday,” I say, handing it to him.
“And money for a present. If you’d like, we can go buy one tomorrow
after school.”
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He nods eagerly, opening the card, his eyes scanning the cursive
writing even though he can’t read yet.
“My mom wrote that,” I tell him.
“You have a mommy?”
“I do. Her name is Renée. And my dad’s name is Charles.”
“How come they don’t visit? Like Maria and Lucy’s grandma?”
Oh boy.
“We were mad at each other for a long time.”
“What about?”
“I don’t even remember anymore. Isn’t that silly?”
Of course I remember, and while I strive to be honest with my son,
I know this is something he never needs to find out.
“That is silly,” he says, making a face. “So can they come visit?”
“Maybe. Someday.”
“Okay. What are we gonna do today?”
And just like that, the conversation’s over. I’ve always heard it said
that kids are resilient, but it amazes me how I’ve been able to raise
such a good kid who’s so carefree and happy all the time.
“How about we go next door for a visit?” I suggest. “To see JR
and his mom?”
I can’t hang around here, waiting for Mr. Masen, hoping he’ll throw
a few crumbs of affection my way. I won’t. If he wants me, he knows
where to find me.
“Let’s go!” Seth says, pulling me off the bed, eager to visit his
friend.
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Rosalie is delighted to see us. The kids quickly scamper off to play,
and in her kitchen, we start her first lesson out of many to come,
drinking coffee and chatting about everything and nothing while we
cook lunch together. It’s wonderful to have made a new friend.
“Thank you so much,” I say to Alice after we’ve set up a makeshift
bed for Seth in her girls’ room.
“Still the same, huh?” she says, giving me a sympathetic smile as
we sit down at her kitchen table.
I sigh, nodding my head. It’s been almost two weeks since Seth’s
birthday party, and on paper I do everything according to my employee
contract. I take care of the grocery shopping. I do laundry, light
cleaning, and I cook Mr. Masen’s breakfast as well as serve him dinner
at seven o’clock on the nights when he’s home. But that’s it. Every
night at nine, I’m ready for him. I don’t go up to his part of the
house anymore, but I still hold out hope that he’ll come for me even
though he never does. I spend my nights in my room, either reading
or watching TV, and he’s mostly upstairs doing God knows what. At
least he’s not drinking anymore—as far as I know that was a one-time
thing—but he remains just as distant. He’s not mean to Seth or
me. He doesn’t raise his voice or make outrageous demands. He’s
courteous, polite, and professional. And I can’t stand it.
I’ve also been thinking a lot about my parents—about the card and
the money they sent Seth for his birthday. I haven’t made contact
yet, but I did program my mom’s number into my phone, and that
has to be enough for now.
“So what’s the plan for tonight?” Alice inquires, pouring the both
of us a cup of coffee.
“Cook dinner for him, dress up, try to . . . I guess try to recreate
a typical night for us, the way it was before we moved in.”
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Alice nods.
“Going back to square one?”
“Pretty much. We can’t go on like this, Al. I refuse to believe he’s
happy with the way things are going now. He didn’t hire me because
he actually needed a housekeeper. He did it because he wanted me,
but—”
I have to pause to take a deep breath, getting my emotions under
control.
“But what if he doesn’t want me anymore?”
It comes out sounding just as pitiful as I feel.
“Impossible,” Alice says. “I saw how he was looking at you at Seth’s
party. I can’t say anything about how he feels, but there’s no doubt
he wants to bang you like a Salvation Army drum.”
I snort out a laugh, nearly choking on my coffee.
“Alice!”
“Well, he does,” she says with a shrug.
“I just don’t know anymore. He never touches me. What Seth said
at the party, it spooked him.”
“Well, I guess I can’t blame him for that.”
“Yeah, I know. Everything was going so well before that . . .
but it’s my fault that it happened. I did nothing to stop Seth from
becoming attached.”
“How’s he doing now?”
“He’s okay. I’ve explained it to him as best I can, and we’re not
even home that much anymore. We’ve been spending a lot of time
next door, so he hasn’t had a lot of opportunities to see Mr. Masen
anyway.”
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“Maybe that’s for the best.”
“Yeah. Are you guys ready for Disneyland?”
“Oh, man!” Alice grins. “So ready. Did you know there’s a kid’s
club with supervision so we can actually go out one night, just the
three of us?”
“That does sound amazing.”
“Right? I’m bringing a dress. I can’t remember the last time I went
to a restaurant that didn’t have crayons and placemats you can draw
on!”
I laugh at her enthusiasm. It’s going to be a great trip, and it’s
just three days away. Mr. Masen is leaving for Europe tomorrow, and
tonight is the last night we’ll be in the house together before his trip,
which is why I arranged for Alice to babysit. He has no idea, but I
know he’ll be home. I’m hoping . . . I don’t know. Maybe if he
remembers how it was between us before Seth’s birthday party, we can
start over somehow. I know he felt something for me then. I couldn’t
have imagined it.
“Are you nervous about tonight?” Alice asks, and I realize I’ve
drifted off.
“A little,” I admit. “I want him to want me—the way he used to. I
miss him touching me, kissing me . . .”
“Fucking you?” Alice whispers, wagging her eyebrows.
I grin.
“Yeah, that too. I think we both need this night.”
“Go get him, then. I’ll watch Seth and everything will be great.”
“I hope so.”
Back home, I prep dinner before going into my room. I don’t
reemerge until nearly two hours later, bathed, shaved and groomed.
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I’m wearing the green polka dot dress he put me in the first night I
cooked him dinner. My hair is curled and styled. There are kitten
heels on my feet, and I have on a pearl necklace to complete the outfit.
I know he’ll like this, and I like it too, looking like this for him. I
remember that night very well, how he bent me over the dining room
table and touched me, spanked me, and asked me if I wanted him to
fuck me. Back then I was still too shy, too unsure of myself and what
I liked to say yes. I’m not anymore. I want him—badly.
I start making a pie crust, remembering to put on a white apron
first, not only to keep my dress clean but also because I know about
Mr. Masen’s affinity for seeing me like that. As I’m slicing the apples,
I feel him behind me and look over my shoulder. He’s leaning against
the doorframe, his gaze traveling up my body slowly until his eyes
reach mine. I don’t even have to act. His piercing look makes me
lower mine, recognizing his authority over me. Once upon a time, I
would have fought against my natural instincts, but Mr. Masen has
helped me realize that my submissive nature toward him doesn’t make
me weak. It just means I like having him take charge, and there’s
nothing wrong with that. I’m plenty strong in other areas.
“Good evening, sir,” I murmur.
“What, uh, what’s all this?” he asks.
“I’m making you dinner . . . and dessert.”
I return to the apples, shivering lightly as I feel him approach me.
“Where’s Seth?”
“At Alice and Jasper’s. Per your request, I’ve asked her to babysit.
Seth is spending the night over there.”
He lets out his breath, and it tickles the back of my neck, making
me hyperaware of his proximity.
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“So it’s . . . j-just the two of us,” I stutter, as I feel him gently
tugging on a lock of my hair to watch the curl spring back into place.
“All right,” he says softly. “You can set up two place settings in
the living room, and I expect to eat at seven.”
“Yes, sir.”
I close my eyes, drawing deep breaths after he leaves. Two place
settings mean I won’t be sitting in his lap, eating off his plate, but
it’s better than nothing. He could have said no completely and had
me eat in the kitchen, after all.
At seven o’clock sharp, I serve Mr. Masen before taking my seat to
his right, and we start eating—in complete silence. I feel him glancing
at me several times, and I struggle to come up with anything to say.
“Delicious as always,” he comments after a little while, taking a sip
of wine.
“Thank you.”
God, this is so awkward!
I barely touch my food, the torturous silence making me lose my
appetite entirely. Mr. Masen doesn’t eat much either, and the meal
is over quickly. He stays seated as I carry the dirty dishes into the
kitchen.
“Dessert?” I ask, trying for a smile when I return. “I baked pie.”
He looks up at me, shaking his head, and my heart plummets. This
was so stupid of me. I feel ridiculous in my dress and apron and have
to swallow hard to keep from bursting into tears. What the hell was I
thinking?
“If that’ll be all then, sir,” I whisper, reaching across the table for
his wine glass, willing my hand to stop shaking.
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I startle, gasping softly as his hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist.
He tugs it, forcing me to place my other elbow on the tablecloth to
keep my balance. He’s on his feet and behind me before I can react,
his hand that held my wrist now on my shoulder, pushing me down
so that I’m bent over the table completely.
“Is this what you want?” he whispers, placing his other hand on
my hip before pushing his very prominent erection against me.
I’m still too stunned to speak, overwhelmed by this show of posses-
sion on his part, the way he’s holding me down, slowly rutting against
me.
“Hmm?” He skims the side of my body, giving my breast a firm
squeeze. “Is this what you want, Isabella? Is this what you need?”
“Y-yes . . . sir.”
“Lift up your skirt.”
It’s just like the first time when he asked me to present myself to
him after dinner. I reach down and pull it up, fisting the material as I
lean on the table again. Mr. Masen sighs behind me, the tips of his
fingers caressing my naked skin.
“Close your eyes.”
I exhale, doing as I’m told and trying my best to relax.
“So pretty,” he murmurs, stroking my hair and turning my head to
the side. “Suck.”
His thumb pushes past my parted lips at the same time as his other
hand delivers a firm smack on my backside. He does it again, a little
harder this time. My face heats up as I hear myself moan, long and
low, sucking eagerly on his thumb.
“Yes, you like that,” he says.
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His fingers part me, finding me wet and ready even though he’s
barely touched me, and he penetrates me with two long fingers, making
me moan again.
“There’s a good girl,” he croons, moving his thumb in and out
slowly. “You like something in your mouth, don’t you?”
I can’t very well answer him, but it’s evident that I do from how
easily his fingers are gliding. It feels so good having him touch me,
and I know I’ll come if he continues.
“Do you want this?” he asks, pressing himself against my hip as he
removes his thumb from my mouth.
“Yes.” I gasp as he spanks me again.
“Where do you want it, pretty girl?”
“Any-anywhere,” I moan, clenching around his fingers. “Anywhere
you want, sir. Please, make me—”
His fingers are gone, and he pulls my upper body up, holding me
against him from behind, his mouth at my ear.
“Well then,” he chuckles, nipping at my earlobe, “you’d better clean
the kitchen fast.”
He tugs on the apron I’m wearing.
“I want you in my room, naked. And bring this. I have plans for
you tonight.”
He walks away, leaving me gasping, and I have to lean on the table
for a few seconds to get my bearings.
I’ve never cleaned up faster in my whole life.
As I approach the top of the stairs, naked with the apron in my
hand, I pause to take a few deep breaths. He has plans for me tonight?
What might those entail? And what does the apron have to do with
it? Only one way to find out.
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I knock on his bedroom door, and the moment he lets me inside,
he slips the sleeping mask over my eyes, guiding me into the room.
There’s music softly playing in the background, and the room is warm
and fragrant. I wonder if he lit candles in here, which is definitely a
first.
“Stay,” he orders.
I do as I’m told, trying to control my breathing as I sense him
circling me.
“You’ve denied me,” he says.
What?
“Denied me what’s mine.”
His fingertips brush against my lips, and then he starts touching
me, caressing my breasts, squeezing my buttocks, cupping my sex. It
feels proprietary, and I revel in his firm caresses, the way he’s taking
ownership of me. I want to be his again. I never stopped.
“N-no, sir. I was . . . I was always ready for you, but . . . but
you never came for me. You said I wasn’t allowed upstairs unless you
invited me.”
Silence. I’ve spent the last two weeks in limbo, each night going to
bed, worrying that he’d lost interest. Could it really have been the
same for him? I let out a shuddering breath as unshed tears gather
beneath my closed lids and I have to press my lips together not to
whimper. I gasp as he grasps my shoulders, removing the mask.
“What’s wrong?” He sounds alarmed. “Isabella?”
“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” I croak, keeping my eyes on his chest. “I
thought . . . I was afraid you didn’t . . . anymore. I mean, you
haven’t . . .”
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I don’t get a chance to say anything else because he lifts my chin,
capturing my lips in a searing kiss that makes my knees go weak.
“It’s my mistake,” he murmurs. “I . . . wasn’t myself that night. I
never meant for you to believe I didn’t want you.”
He caresses my cheek.
“Do you want this?” he asks.
“Yes. I just want things to go back to the way they were,” I tell
him.
He gazes down upon me.
“The way things were?”
I nod.
“Being my sweet girl?” he asks slowly. “Like before . . . everything
else?”
Relieved, I smile. I want nothing more than to go back to the way
things were before Seth’s party.
“Yes, sir.”
He frowns for a second and exhales through his nose before nodding
and taking me in his arms. He leans in, pressing his lips against mine,
but before I can deepen the kiss he pulls back, and I watch as his
expression changes into something else—something a lot sterner that
commands obedience. I recognize that look, and feeling my body react
to it startles me a little—the rush of heat underneath my skin, the
way I lower my eyes immediately. God, he really does own me.
“Let’s get this back on,” he says, slipping the mask back over my
head. “On the bed. Now.”
He leads me there, holding on to my hand as I crawl on top of the
mattress, lying down on my back. Slowly, he pulls the apron out of
my hand.
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“Remember what I said I wanted to do to you, using this?”
The apron . . . oh!
“You . . . you wanted to tie me to your bed,” I whisper.
“That’s right.”
He doesn’t do it though. Instead, he waits for me to lift my arms
above my head, silently giving him permission.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, tying my right wrist.
He asked me that once before, and I said that I wanted to. Now,
my answer is different.
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Good girl.”
I feel him tying my other wrist, and as I tug on my bindings, I
realize I can’t lower my arms. I’m trapped now. His.
“How does it make you feel?” he asks, “knowing that I’m in control,
that I can do anything I want to you . . . and you’re powerless to
stop me?”
He runs his hands down my torso, palming my bare breasts as I
arch up into his touch.
“I get to use this sweet body any way I want,” he adds, pinching
my nipples.
“It’s . . . it’s a little scary,” I admit, barely holding back a moan
as he tugs on them, forcing my back to arch even further.
“But?” he prompts.
“It excites me too. So much.”
“I can tell. And you don’t have to worry. If I do anything you don’t
like tonight, just say the word, and I’ll stop.”
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“You mean a safeword?” I whisper.
The sound of his deep chuckle makes me blush as he gently massages
my breasts.
“Have you been reading more naughty stories, sweet girl?”
“Sometimes. Is that . . . okay?”
“Of course.” His hands glide over my naked skin. “But I’d never
take you to a place where you’d need a safe word. Just tell me to stop,
and I will.”
“I don’t think I’d ever tell you to do that.”
“No, I don’t imagine you would,” he chuckles. “But you have to if
I do something you don’t enjoy. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“Good. Because I plan on pushing your limits tonight.”
“Y-you do?”
Gently, he spreads my legs.
“Yes, Isabella, I do. Tonight, I’m going to play with you.”
His fingers tickle my inner thighs before moving upward, making
me gasp.
“I’m going to make you come so many times, you’ll beg me for
mercy.”
His voice is low and gravelly as he pushes two fingers inside me,
testing my readiness.
“Please, sir.” I’m already panting for breath.
“Let’s begin. Remember our conversation about vibrators?”
Oh my god!
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Hours later, I’m a hot, sweaty, and sticky mess. My skin is covered
in massage oil; my ass is sore from repeated spankings, and I’m
practically delirious from more orgasms than I’ve been able to keep
track of. I’m on my front, struggling to stay up on my knees as my legs
shake from fatigue. My hands are still tied, and I’m spread open for
Mr. Masen who’s behind me, taking me with slow, unhurried thrusts.
Each time he pushes in, his pelvis bumps the toy he gently coaxed
into me, sending jolts of pleasure up my spine. I moan loudly as he
grinds against me, gripping my hips.
“You like that? How about this?”
I gasp as he starts pulling the toy out, only to push it back inside
me, timing it with his thrusts as he does it again. Groaning, I can’t
stop my hips from moving with him, silently encouraging him.
“Yeah, you love this, don’t you? You love when I fuck you like this.”
His free hand caresses me, lifting up my hair to blow cool air across
my damp skin, his tender action a stark contrast to his dirty words.
The truth is, I do love it. By the time Mr. Masen brought out that
particular toy, I was half-delirious from his teasing of my body, and I
heard myself begging for it, for him to lubricate me and work it inside
me, all the while stimulating me with the vibrator.
“Dirty, pretty, perfect girl,” he moans, taking me harder. “Fuck . .
. so good.”
I revel in this, the decadence, the sheer overpowering lust I feel.
Mr. Masen never makes me feel ashamed when we’re together like this.
Somehow, even now, doing this, he makes me feel cherished.
“I want you to come again,” he tells me, his hand slipping down
between my legs. “Come on my cock.”
I bury my face in the pillow for a second, letting out a low whine as
he starts rubbing me. I’m so sensitive, I’m not sure I can. Of course,
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he doesn’t accept that.
“Do it,” he commands, “or I’ll spank your ass and flip you over to
use your mouth again . . . And then it’s the vibrator again.”
I can’t take any more orgasms from that thing. They’re too intense,
and then I really will be begging for mercy.
“Y-yes, sir,” I pant.
“You’re my sweet girl.” He grunts, fucking me harder still, his
fingers sliding across my slick skin with ease. “You look so good tied
to my bed. Maybe I’ll . . . keep you like this . . . so I can fuck you
whenever I want.”
“Oh god.”
“Would you like that? Being my little sex slave?”
I nod my head, feeling that familiar tightening in my belly, gasping
for breath as he absolutely pummels me, causing me to scream out
until I come. For a few moments, it’s as though I’ve lost consciousness,
and I’m only barely aware of Mr. Masen grunting and groaning as
he pushes me into the mattress, finishing inside me. He rolls off me,
giving me room to breathe, but his hands continue caressing me, gently
stroking my tired body.
“You were perfect,” he whispers in my ear. “Thank you.”
I mumble my own thanks, slowly coming back to the surface as he
unties my hands and pulls out the toy before leaving the bed. I drift.
“C’mon,” he murmurs, turning me over on my back. “Let’s get you
taken care of.”
I’m as weak as a newborn kitten as he carries me into his bathroom,
lowering me into the filled tub, and I sigh as the warm fragrant water
envelops me. Kneeling next to the tub, he gently bathes me and cares
for me, placing a rolled up towel behind my head.
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“Stay,” he orders, leaning down to kiss my lips before he leaves.
My body feels boneless and completely satisfied, and I can’t stop
smiling. All of that worry was for nothing. After a while, Mr. Masen
comes back, now dressed in a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt, his
wet hair slicked back, with some of my clothes in his hands. He must
have used one of the other bathrooms.
“Up you go,” he says, helping me out of the tub before rubbing me
down.
I stand still, letting him fuss over me, moaning softly as he rubs
lotion on my sore backside before covering the rest of my body in it
and dressing me in one of my nightgowns. He even combs out my hair,
being careful with tangles, a look of concentration on his handsome
face. I’ve never felt so cared for in my whole life.
“Sleep now?” he asks, wrapping his arms around me and kissing
me.
“Whatever you want, sir.”
He grins, stroking my cheek.
“Perhaps a movie, then?”
I nod, giving him a smile, knowing he won’t mind if I fall asleep in
his arms as I have before.
“Let me clean up in there first,” I offer, nodding my head toward
his bedroom.
“I’ll do it,” he says. “The toys need sterilizing, and I know how.”
“Oh.” My face heats up. “Of-of course.”
“You really were perfect.” He leans in, brushing my lips with his.
“I’d like some new sheets for the bed, though.”
I nod, drawing a deep breath as he leaves. It doesn’t take more than
a few minutes to clean up the bathroom, but Mr. Masen is already
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gone by the time I go back into his bedroom. Smiling, I notice that
he’s stripped the bed of the dirty sheets so it’s easy for me to re-make
it. I grab the apron off the floor and lift it toward the bedside table,
my arm stopping abruptly as I look at it.
What? No.
On the bedside table, leaning against the lamp, is an all too
familiar-looking manila envelope. I’m sure it wasn’t there before
when Mr. Masen helped me out of the bed because I looked over, my
curiosity getting the best of me, wanting to sneak a peek at the toys
he’d used. But it’s there now, waiting for me. I take a step back and
then another, unable to take my eyes off of it.
No. No, he wouldn’t do this.
My stomach rolls, and I have to lean on the wall for a few seconds.
Not after everything we just did. It has to be a mistake.
I find him in the kitchen by the sink with his back turned to me,
but he hears me enter and turns to smile at me. It washes clean off
his face in seconds.
“Isabella? Is everything all right?”
“Th-the envelope,” I manage, holding it out to him.
He approaches slowly, taking it from my hands.
“Is it not enough?”
I stare at him. This is really happening.
“Enough?” My voice has a hint of hysteria to it, even to my ears.
“Enough? I didn’t look inside!”
He eyebrows draw together, creating a deep crease between his
eyes—I recognize it as his worry line.
“Please . . .” He holds it out. “Take it.”
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It’s as though my right arm works independently from the rest of
me, and I watch as it slaps the envelope out of his hand, causing it to
skate across the well-waxed floor. Mr. Masen looks stunned.
“I. Don’t. Wan’t. Your. Money.”
The tone of my voice is startling to my ears. I never knew I could
sound like that. I never knew I could feel like this. He made me feel
like this.
“You still think of me as a whore,” I whisper, turning on my heel
and sprinting toward my room.
I slam the door shut and lock it, standing in the deafening silence
that follows, unable to move as everything crashes down around me.
All of this, this beautiful room he gave me, the employment contract I
signed, all of the tenderness he showed me—it’s all a lie. I’m nothing
but a whore to him. Nothing has changed. Nothing!
“Isabella.”
There’s a light knock at the door.
“Isabella, please open up.”
I finally find my voice.
“No!”
“Please?”
He sounds so solemn, so sad. Unable to help myself, I unlock the
door, opening it to him. He looks tired, anguished. Did I do that to
him?
“Why?” I whisper.
“I thought it was what you wanted.”
I stare at him.
“How could you think that?”
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“You said . . . you wanted things to go back to the way they were
before.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Regardless, it’s better this way.” He interrupts me, running his
right hand through his hair. In his left, he’s holding the envelope.
“Less complicated.”
He nods.
“Everything you let me do to you tonight, you should be compen-
sated for that.”
Now I don’t want to slap the envelope out of his hand. I want to
slap him.
“Excuse me, but I didn’t let you do anything to me!” I half-yell.
“I did all of that stuff with you because I wanted to, because it felt
fucking good! The only thing you’ve done to me that I didn’t love . .
. was when you handed me that goddamn envelope!”
We stare at each other, me breathing heavily, him as calm as ever.
“Don’t you get it?” I whisper. “Don’t you understand anything?”
He sighs softly, taking a step back before lowering his eyes.
“I’ll see you when I get back from my trip.”
He takes another step back, his gaze on the floor.
“I hope you and Seth have a good time in California. Use your card
as much as you’d like.”
With that, he turns and starts walking away.
“I-I regret it now,” I tell him, unable to keep the venom out of my
voice.
He stops, keeping his back to me.
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“What?”
“Trusting you. You said I wouldn’t regret it—but I do.”
His broad shoulders move up and down as he draws a deep breath
and lets it out. Then he buries his hands in his pockets and slowly
walks away.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I am so not an angst
person, but it had to be done to move the plot along. Trust?
Already started working on the next chapter. Leave me
a review? At least the smut was good, right? LOL! By the
way, FFN’s reviews are malfunctioning right now, so even
though they aren’t showing up after you post, I’m hoping
they will once they fix this problem.
Until next time!
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Chapter 27

Thank you to my prereader team and Chaya Sara, my
lovely and insightful beta.
And thank you to you, dear reader, for the wonderful
reviews. I’m not good with responding, but I read each and
every one of them and cherish them more than you know.
See you at the bottom.
BPOV
“Isn’t this amazing?” Alice exclaims besides me as we walk toward
our hotel.
Seth is squeezing my hand, a look of pure joy on his little face as
he takes in our surroundings. We landed just a few hours ago and
took the shuttle here to the resort. We’re at Disneyland.
After everything that went down between Mr. Masen and me, I
considered cancelling the trip—for about half a second. If it were
something for just me that Mr. Masen had bought, I would have
given it back immediately, but it wasn’t. Cancelling would have only
resulted in two disappointed adults and three heartbroken children,
and I couldn’t do that to them. It’s not their fault things fell apart.
Inside at the reception desk, I give my name to the woman behind
the counter, and she types it into her computer.
“Oh my!” she exclaims with a smile. “You’re in the Pirates of the
Caribbean suite!”
“Uh, okay.”
I look at Alice, who shrugs.
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“Well, you are certainly in for an adventure,” the lady continues,
waving to someone behind me. “We’ll bring up your bags if you’ll just
sign here, please.”
I sign for the room, or suite, I suppose, and watch as two uniformed
bellhops appear, intent on carrying our luggage.
“How many keycards will you be needing?”
“Three, please?”
I don’t know why it comes out sounding like a question. I’m a bit
out of my element here, having never stayed at a hotel before.
“Enjoy your stay, Ms. Swan. And if there’s anything you need,
please don’t hesitate to ask!” She leans a bit closer, lowering her voice.
“We’ve been instructed to take excellent care of you and your party.”
“Oh, thank you,” I say, feeling flustered.
Has Mr. Masen been in contact with the hotel? And more impor-
tantly, when did he do that? Before or after that awful night?
We follow the uniformed men and the receptionist, who has now
left her colleague in charge, into an elevator and ride all the way to the
top, the kids already shrieking with excitement. As the receptionist
opens the doors to where we’ll be staying for the weekend, my jaw
drops in astonishment at the sight before me.
“This is one of our deluxe suites,” the lady explains as she ushers
us inside and immediately begins showing us around.
We walk through room after room of complete opulence and luxury,
all of it pirate-themed with what looks like actual artifacts from the
movies and old pictures on the walls. It’s as if we’ve been transported
into another world. The kids are pretty much losing their minds over
it, pressing their noses up against the panoramic windows to look out
over the park, commenting on how this is the coolest house ever, and
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arguing over who gets which beds. I feel as though my feet aren’t
touching the ground, stunned into silence.
“And here’s the dining room,” the receptionist says, making a
sweeping motion with her hand. “Not to worry. Everything’s been
taken care of, and we’ll bring you your Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow
afternoon at two o’clock.”
She looks at me, but I have no idea what to say.
“Thank you,” Alice tells her. “We really appreciate it.”
I sit down on one of the couches, clutching my hands in my lap
while Alice and the receptionist continue to talk in the background.
Everything is spinning, and I slump forward, pressing my forehead to
my knees. Next thing I know, Alice is beside me, helping me up into
a sitting position again. We’re alone in the suite.
“Where’s . . . where’s Seth?” I ask, trying to wet my dry lips.
Alice presses an open bottle of water into my hands, telling me to
drink. It’s only then I notice that my hands are shaking so much I
can barely hold onto the bottle, and she helps it to my lips. Next, she
tears the wrapper off a candy bar and breaks off little pieces that she
feeds me.
“He’s downstairs with Jasper and the girls, having a snack.” She
pushes another bite past my lips. “Christ, Bella, you scared me!
I thought you were going to faint. When’s the last time you ate
something?”
“On the . . . plane?”
“No. You made sure Seth ate, but you didn’t. What’s going on?
It’s like you’ve been on autopilot ever since we picked you up this
morning.”
I try to think back, but it’s all hazy in my mind. I can barely
remember the flight here. Or what Seth and I did yesterday.
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Fuck.
“I’m losing it,” I whisper. “Over him, Alice. He . . . broke me. He
did.”
“What happened?” she asks gently. “I take it the dinner didn’t go
as planned?”
“Yes and no. I got exactly what I wanted: for things to go back to
how they were before.”
I drink some more water, then take a deep breath before I tell her
everything, leaving out no details.
“Why?” she whispers, shaking her head. “Why would he do that?
Even if he did misunderstand what you meant initially . . . why
would he say it’s better like that?”
“I don’t know.” I sigh, finishing off the bottle. “To push me away
by making me feel like a whore? If that’s what he was going for . . .
I’d say he succeeded.”
“Shit. And that’s how you left it?”
I nod.
“Until this.” I sweep my hand in front of me, imitating the reception-
ist. “What the hell does this mean? This is crazy! It’s Thanksgiving
weekend. I can’t even imagine how much he would’ve had to pay for
all of this. Why would he do this?”
I look at Alice for an answer, but she looks just as confused as I
feel.
“To apologize?” I ask anyway. “To show off how much money he
can spend? I don’t even know if renting us this beautiful suite was
the plan all along or if he arranged all of this after that night. I don’t
. . . I don’t understand him at all.”
Blinking back tears, I continue.
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“He can be so amazing when he wants to be—caring, sweet, and
sensitive. You should’ve seen him helping Seth with his homework,
how patient and encouraging he was. Or when all three of us had
dinner together, how natural it felt having him there . . . I didn’t
mean to fall in love with him. It just happened. But now I wish I
hadn’t.”
I let out a shuddering breath.
“What should I do, Alice?”
She’s silent for a few seconds, but I can see that she’s thinking
hard.
“A part of me wants to tell you to pack your stuff, grab Seth, and
move out,” she says. “This situation, the way it is now, isn’t good
for you—for any of you. But it also makes me sad because . . . you
really were so happy before Seth’s party. All three of you were.”
I nod slowly.
“Right now it seems like neither of you knows what to expect from
each other because you don’t know what the other person wants out
of your arrangement, or whatever we should call it.”
“That’s true. For a while it did seem like he wanted more from me
than just sex. I mean, we spent some nights just sort of . . . hanging
out. I’d read in front of the fireplace while he worked, or we’d watch
TV. Sometimes, he’d just hold me, sort of playing with my hair or
stroking my back while we talked. It was so nice. I felt like he wanted
me—and not just my body.”
“And that’s why you got so upset when he tried to pay you,” she
says, drawing her own accurate conclusion.
“Yeah. In the beginning when he still paid me every time I went
to his house, he never made me feel cheap because then, it didn’t
mean more to me. But all of that changed. After the trial weekend, I
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told him I didn’t want payment for the sex, and he agreed. Then we
moved in, and everything was so wonderful. I loved getting closer to
him, and he never treated me like an employee when we were alone at
night. I-I fell more and more in love with him, and I was so sure he
was developing feelings too. When he gave me that envelope . . . it
was like nothing had changed for him at all. And it hurt so fucking
much!”
I shake my head, getting my emotions back under control.
“I think you need to have an honest talk with him,” Alice says.
“Just like you had in the beginning, remember—when we both thought
he might be into really scary sex stuff? You asked him what it was he
wanted from you, and he told you.”
“I remember. To worship him.”
“Maybe it’s time to ask him again. And also time to tell him what
it is you want.”
“But what if he tells me he just wants sex from me,” I ask, “if I
tell him I want a real relationship, and he says no?”
Alice gives me a sad smile, taking my hand in hers.
“I think you already know.” She looks down for a moment. “When
I finally ended things with Jasper last year, you know what actually
made me do it?”
I shake my head. They’d been fighting a lot about his spending
their money irresponsibly and refusing to take a job if it meant giving
up on his music. She’d kick him out, but he’d come back a few days
later, and they’d make up. Things would be good for a while, and
then it would happen all over again.
“It was something my mom said,” she continues. “She just asked
me, does he make you smile more or cry more? It was so simple. Did
he make me happy, or did he make me sad most of the time? And
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the answer was clear. I love Jasper, and he makes me smile all the
time . . . but if that ever changes, and he starts making me cry again
. . . then it won’t work between us.”
She grabs my other hand, holding them both in a tight grip.
“Life is too short to be unhappy all the time, Bella. Does he make
you smile, or does he make you cry? It really is that simple.”
I stare at her, awed. She’s right.
“I can’t be his plaything anymore,” I whisper. “It . . . it hurts too
much. Before Seth’s party, he made me smile. If we can get back to
that place, I know I’ll be happy, and I’m sure I can make him happy
too. But if we can’t . . . if he only wants my body . . . I can’t do
that anymore.”
I draw a deep breath.
“But I can’t just leave either, can I? There’s Seth to consider. He’s
so happy at school and with his new friends. I’d hate to take him
away from all of that! God, I’ve made such a mess of things.” I glance
at Alice. “I never should have moved us there, should I?”
She doesn’t answer, but I can tell from the look on her face that
she agrees.
“I’m such an idiot,” I whisper. “I really thought . . . but now I
feel trapped.”
“Bella.” Alice strokes my hands with her thumbs. “You’re not an
idiot. You were given an amazing opportunity for you and Seth, and
you took it. Most people would have done the same.”
“I guess so,” I admit.
“What do you think will happen when he comes back from his trip?
I mean, do you think he’ll demand sex?”
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I shake my head. He never asked me for that after the birthday
party. I had to initiate it.
“Then wait for a little while,” she advises. “Let things calm down.
Seth can finish the term in his class. And when you feel ready for it .
. . you’ll have the talk with Mr. Masen.”
It’s a good plan.
“What if he says he only wants my body, Alice? What if I tell him
. . . how I feel and he . . . dismisses me?”
“If that happens, you’ll move back in with us,” Alice says in a calm
voice. “One of us is always home at night with the girls, so you could
actually apply for a night shift at the diner—or any place that’s open
twenty-four seven really. It would increase your chances of finding a
job. It would suck if you had to take Seth out of his school, but the
one my kids go to isn’t half bad, you know.”
I smile at her.
“You’re right. He’d like going with Lucy and Maria.”
“Just wait and see a while. No matter what happens with him,
you’re going to be all right. I promise.”
I pull her into a hug, holding her tightly against me.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you for being my best friend.”
“Thank you for being mine,” she murmurs. “And my maid of honor
too, right?”
I laugh, sniffing back tears.
“Of course!”
We release each other, and I’m surprised to see Alice discreetly
wiping underneath her eyes before giving me a smile.
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“Phew,” she says, taking a deep breath. “That was some heavy
stuff. Anything else you haven’t told me about?”
“Actually . . . yes.” I make a face. “I got a letter from my mom.”
“What? When?”
“Seth’s birthday. Well, a letter for me and a card for him, wishing
him a happy birthday and containing money for a present. She said
she was sorry for everything and that she misses me.”
Alice raises her eyebrows.
“Wow, talk about a one-eighty. Did she tell you to come back home
again?”
“No, nothing like that. She offered to help if I needed it. I don’t
really know what to think of it, to be honest. Do you think people
ever really change?”
Alice purses her lips, a pensive look on her face.
“Well, Jasper did. But only because he realized how much he stood
to lose. Do you think your mom has realized the same after all this
time?”
“Maybe. But it could also be . . . I don’t know . . . maybe
because my dad is sick? I’m not sure what’s wrong with him or how
serious it even is, but since I’ve found out, I can’t really stop thinking
about it.”
“Do you want me to ask my mom?” she asks gently. “She might
know something. Forks is tiny, and your dad’s the mayor.”
“Maybe. I had considered calling my mother,” I admit. “I’ve had
her number on my phone ever since the birthday. I just don’t know if
I should.”
“I can’t make that decision for you. If you do call her, just please
be careful. I don’t want you to get your hopes up if it turns out they
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haven’t changed at all.”
“I will.”
We’re silent for a minute or two, enjoying the quiet.
“Anything else going on?” Alice asks, giving me a smile.
“Isn’t that enough?” I chuckle. “I don’t think I could take anything
else right now.”
“So let’s just forget about everything for a little while,” she sug-
gests, standing and pulling me to my feet as well. “We’re in fucking
Disneyland! Let’s find the kids and Jasper, get some food in you, and
then have some fun! We deserve that, right?”
I draw a deep breath, nodding my head.
“That sounds like a plan.”
For the rest of the day, I manage to push away everything that’s
going on and simply enjoy the vacation. The next day, we have a
fantastic turkey dinner around the large dining room table, and I
realize just how lucky I am to have not only my darling son but also
the best friends I could ask for. I can’t help but think of Mr. Masen,
all alone and halfway around the world in Europe somewhere with no
one to celebrate this day with. It must be such a lonely time of year for
him, and it’s no wonder he never decorates his house. But regardless
of what’s going on between the two of us, he won’t be alone this year.
Christmas is my favorite season and Seth’s too. Maybe I could take
Emmett’s advice and bring some holiday cheer to Mr. Masen’s house,
show him that he doesn’t have to be alone. I remember how he said
to me that he was tired of coming home to an empty house at the end
of the day, and even though he did hurt my feelings, I want to believe
he didn’t do it to be cruel. After everything he’s done for me and
Seth, all of the kindness and generosity he’s bestowed on us, could
I maybe give him the benefit of the doubt? I want to. More than
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anything, I want to be with him, to love him, and have him love me
and my son in return. I want to show him what it’s like to have people
waiting for him when he gets home from his trip. Feeling inspired, I
give Rosalie a call, wishing her and her family a happy Thanksgiving
before asking if she’d like to go shopping for Christmas decorations
when we get back from our trip. We make a plan, and once again I
dare to feel cautiously hopeful. With everything settled, surrounded
by the people I love, I find the strength to make an important phone
call, one I’ve been dreading and putting off since Seth’s birthday—a
call to my parents.
That night in the privacy of my room, while the others are watching
a movie, I pull up my mother’s number, drawing deep breaths to calm
my nerves. We haven’t spoken since the night she came to my old
apartment, demanding that I come home. We didn’t exactly leave
things on good terms.
I wonder what they’re doing right now, if they have their friends
from church over as well as our extended family for Thanksgiving—just
like when I still lived at home. I press “dial” and clutch the phone
in my sweaty palm, listening to it ring and ring for a long time. My
heart jumps when there’s finally an answer.
“Hello?”
“Hi . . . hi, Mom.”
Silence.
“Isabella.” She breathes out my name as though she’s relieved to
hear from me.
“Yes, it’s me.”
There’s a strange squeaking noise on her end along with heavy
breaths.
Is she . . . crying?
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“I’m so glad you called,” she says in a garbled voice. “Are you all
right?”
“Uh, yes, I’m fine. How . . . are you?”
“How’s Seth doing? Did you get our card?”
“I did. Thank you. We went and bought LEGOs for him the next
day.”
I hesitate for a second.
“I have a picture of him playing with them here on my phone. I
can . . . send it to you?”
“Really? Oh, that would be wonderful. Your father . . . would
want to see that.”
She’s quiet again for a few seconds, sniffing softly.
“Mom? How’s Dad?” I whisper.
“He’s . . . not well,” she whimpers, clearing her voice. “But he’s
strong.”
“I remember,” I murmur, flexing my free hand as I recall how he’d
hit it whenever I misbehaved as a child.
My feelings about my father, about both my parents, are more than
a little complicated. I’m still angry with both of them for how they
reacted when I became pregnant and how they raised me. But none
of that is something I want to get into now.
“Would you . . .”
“Would I what?” I ask.
“Consider coming home? For a visit,” she adds quickly.
I steel myself, preparing for the worst.
“I can’t right now.”
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I expect a scathing remark, a reprimand, but it never comes.
“All right . . . I-I understand.”
“It’s just that I got a job, Mom. A really good job.”
“That’s wonderful.”
It sounds like she actually means it.
“And I don’t know how much my boss will need me. He travels
a lot,” I explain. “But . . . maybe between Christmas and New
Year’s?”
“Really?”
Her voice is so filled with hope, I can hardly stand it. What
happened to her to evoke this change? I desperately want to believe
it’s genuine.
“Really,” I say. “I’ll check with him and get back to you.”
“Thank you,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry for everything. I . . .
I wasn’t a good mother. I see that now, and I don’t expect you to
forgive me for how I treated you.”
I draw a deep breath. I’m not ready to forgive and forget, but
hearing those words means a lot to me.
“Thank you for saying that.”
I hear Seth calling me in the distance.
“I have to go now, Mom. Seth needs me.”
“Of course. I have to get back too.”
“Do you have people over?” I ask.
“No, not this year. Happy Thanksgiving, Isabella.”
“Happy Thanksgiving.”
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She hangs up, and I take a few seconds before joining Seth and the
others again. I’m happy I made the call and send her the picture of
Seth before putting my phone on mute. It feels like I made the right
decision, but now I’m even more nervous about what’s really going
on. No guests on Thanksgiving? My father must be worse off than
she let on; I’m sure of it.
The rest of the holiday goes by smoothly, and everyone has a great
time, but I’m also looking forward to getting back. I don’t like the
way I left things with Mr. Masen, so up in the air. I consider calling
him but decide against it. I can’t imagine having an honest talk about
our future over the phone. It’ll have to wait until he gets home from
his trip, and at least I have almost a week to prepare myself.
After Thanksgiving weekend Seth goes back to school, and I resume
my routine of taking care of the house and almost daily visits with
Rosalie next door. She’s become a good friend in such a short time
and is making progress in the kitchen—something both she and her
husband are happy about. I’m grateful for their help, too, as all of
us go out shopping, and Emmett helps me decorate the house on the
outside, putting up twinkling lights around the windows and even in
the bushes. It looks beautiful at night, and I hope Mr. Masen will
like the surprise when gets home sometime this weekend. Seth and
I buy a small Christmas tree that we set up outside the front door.
It’ll shed all of its needles if we bring it inside, but we put lights on
it, too, so it’s looking festive. Inside, I place red poinsettias in the
kitchen window, and we hang up a few decorations around the house
plus arrange red votive candles on the kitchen and living room tables.
I don’t want it to be too much but enough so that Mr. Masen gets
a feeling of Christmas on his return. I don’t know if it’ll make a
difference to him, but for the first time, this place actually looks like
a home and not just a house.
The following Friday night, Seth and I are baking cookies when I
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notice him coughing more than once. I feel his forehead, frowning.
“You okay, hon?”
“Uh-huh.”
He looks up at me with glazed eyes, his cheeks flushed.
“Oh, sweetie, I think you’re getting sick,” I say, picking him up.
“Let’s get you to bed.”
“But the cookies,” he protests weakly, resting his head on my
shoulder as I carry him off.
“We’ll make them later. Christmas is weeks away. There’s lots of
time.”
“’Kay.”
As the night passes, Seth’s fever climbs steadily until it reaches
101.5. It’s not alarming, but I don’t leave his side for more than a few
minutes as I get him juice and cold cloths for his forehead. He’s been
sick before, but it’s always awful to see him like that, and I can’t help
but fuss over him—especially since his cough is only getting worse.
He drifts off into an uneasy sleep around eleven, and I go into the
kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets, hoping to find something
for his cough and possibly a painkiller that’s safe for kids. I come up
empty and curse myself for not being prepared. I really don’t want
to have to drive to a twenty-four-hour pharmacy with my son at this
time of night, but if he gets worse, I won’t have a choice.
I’m making myself some coffee when I suddenly hear the front door
slam, making my heart jump into my throat. Seconds later, I’m face
to face with Mr. Masen, jaw clenched, face flushed, and a murderous
glare in his eyes. He’s livid.
“What the fuck . . . did you do to my house?” he demands,
throwing out his right arm.
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Oh shit.
I try to quell the panic I feel, but my throat constricts painfully,
making words impossible.
“You had no right. No right!” he exclaims.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry.” I gasp, gripping the kitchen counter behind
me.
“I want it gone. All of it. It’s bad enough I can’t go anywhere
without seeing all of that shit everywhere,” he continues, pacing back
and forth, still pinning me with his gaze. “Do you hear me, Isabella?”
I nod quickly, fighting tears.
“Stop looking at me like that!” he yells, making me jump.
I lower my head, sniffing loudly.
“Jesus . . . fuck,” he whispers.
“I’m sorry. I-I thought . . .”
“I don’t pay you to fucking think,” he snaps.
I inhale sharply, raising my head again as anger surges through me.
My gaze meets his, and I hold it. After a few seconds his shoulders
drop, and the hard look in his eyes fades somewhat.
“I’ll take it all down tomorrow,” I say as calmly as I can.
“Now.”
His voice is softer than before, but it’s still a command.
“No.”
My voice, on the other hand, is filled with venom.
“All we did was try to make a nice homecoming for you. Message
received. But right now I have to take care of Seth. He’s sick.”
Mr. Masen’s eyes widen, and his posture tenses.
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“What’s wrong with him? Where is he?”
Before I can answer, he turns on his heel, heading out of the kitchen
in long strides. I catch up to him as he stops abruptly just inside
Seth’s room, staring at him. Seth coughs, letting out a low whine, and
I brush past Mr. Masen to attend to my son. I help him sit up, and he
drinks a little before his eyes flutter closed. I press my lips against his
forehead, relieved that his fever doesn’t appear higher than the last
time I checked. I’ll take his temperature in half an hour, though, to be
on the safe side. Stroking his damp hair, I ease him back against the
pillows before grabbing the cloth from his bedside table, which needs
cooling down again. Mr. Masen is still by the door, rooted to the spot
as I walk past him on my way to the bathroom. I wring out the cloth
and go back to Seth, placing it on his forehead. He whimpers but
stays asleep. I turn my head. He’s still just standing there, his hand
curled tightly around the door handle. As Seth coughs behind me, I
see Mr. Masen grimace before making his face neutral again.
“He needs to go to the hospital.”
I shake my head slowly, but he’s already approaching the bed where
he leans down and gently scoops Seth up into his arms.
“Wait!” I whisper-yell, putting my hand on his arm. “What do you
think you’re doing?”
“We’re going to the hospital. Now.”
“No! Are you crazy?” I exclaim. “It’s only a light fever and a
cough. They’d just send me home and tell me he needs rest and fluids.
And they’d still charge me!”
“We’ll see about that,” he mutters, walking around me with Seth
still sleeping in his embrace.
I jog next to them out into the garage, trying to reason with
Mr. Masen, but it falls on deaf ears. He places Seth in the booster
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seat and tells me to strap him in. He returns after a minute, holding
Seth’s duvet, which he hands to me.
“Let’s go.”
He turns for the driver’s side door.
“Stop!”
He looks back at me.
“This isn’t necessary,” I insist.
“Yes, it is,” he says, getting into the car without another word.
I strap myself in next to my son, tucking the duvet around him. I
don’t want to sit up front with Mr. Masen anyway when he’s like this.
I watch him silently as he opens the garage door and backs out. This
is so not necessary! We drive in silence. Mr. Masen’s shoulders are
tense, and his movements choppy as he steers the car through nearly
empty streets. We reach the hospital, and I barely have time to get
out of the car before he’s unstrapped Seth, whom he eases into my
arms before marching us into the emergency room, his hand firm on
my lower back. What happens next is mortifying. Mr. Masen makes
what can only be described as a scene: barking out orders to the
befuddled staff, demanding a doctor attend to my son at once. They
ask him to sit down, to be calm, but it just has the opposite effect. I
send apologetic looks to them, clutching Seth to me. He’s awake now,
but just barely, and lets out a cough.
“Can’t you hear that?” Mr. Masen yells at the nurses, motioning
to Seth. “He’s sick! Fix him!”
Finally, a doctor arrives, an older man with a calm demeanor. He
takes one look at Mr. Masen and orders him to settle down at once,
or he’ll call security.
“Try it,” Mr. Masen growls.
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Everyone around us looks tense, on alert. Holding Seth with one
arm, I place my free hand on Mr. Masen’s arm, feeling him flinch.
“Stop,” I say firmly. “Sit down!”
His gaze instantly meets mine.
“You’re not helping,” I continue. “They’ll kick us out. Let the
doctor look at Seth. Please.”
His jaw ticks several times before he backs away, taking a seat near
the wall. I turn to the doctor, explaining Seth’s symptoms. He nods
and leads us to a room where he examines my son and concludes what
I already suspected. Seth has the flu. I’m to watch his temperature,
give him cough syrup, fluids, and make sure he rests. I can also
give him children’s painkillers to lower his fever so he can get some
uninterrupted sleep. The doctor hands me a note to take to the
pharmacy, giving me a look of concern.
“Is it safe for you to go home?” he asks, his eyes shifting to the
door for a moment.
I gape at him before his meaning resonates with me.
“Yes.” I nod my head. “Yes. Absolutely. He’d never . . . He was
just concerned about Seth.”
My words soften my heart. He really was so concerned about Seth,
much more so than Mike ever was.
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. I can handle him.”
The doctor chuckles, leading us back out. Mr. Masen jumps to his
feet, his face a picture of anxiety.
“Don’t worry, Mr. . .?”
“Masen,” he supplies rather curtly.
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“Mr. Masen,” the doctor continues, “your son is going to be just
fine. I’ve given your wife instructions on how to take care of him.”
He gives me a smile before leaving. I hardly dare look at Mr. Masen.
After a few seconds he goes to the front desk, and I see him talking
to the receptionist before coming back to us. His face is stony.
“I have to go to the pharmacy,” I tell him, shifting Seth in my arms.
Mr. Masen takes him from me, and we get the things on the list
from the doctor. The car ride home is silent and tense, and Mr. Masen
goes upstairs without saying a word to me. After I’ve given Seth some
cough syrup and painkillers, I put on my pajamas and curl up in a
chair at the end of his bed, feeling exhausted and emotionally raw. I
have no idea what happens next, but I know it’ll be nearly impossible
to go back to the way things were after tonight. I don’t want that
anyway. I want more. But I don’t think I’ll ever get it.
I startle awake at some point, feeling confused as I stretch my body.
I’m lying down. Lifting my head, I look around and find myself on the
floor next to Seth’s bed, my mattress underneath me and my duvet
covering me.
Did Mr. Masen . . .?
I sit up and immediately notice him. He’s in the chair now, asleep,
still in his suit from last night. I glance at my son, who’s sleeping
peacefully, before getting up. Mr. Masen’s neck is bent at a weird
angle, and I know he’ll be sore from that tomorrow.
“Mr. Masen?” I whisper, approaching him.
He doesn’t move at all except for the rise and fall of his chest. I
watch his face, open and unguarded, and my heart clenches. He stayed
up to watch over us.
“Edward?” I murmur softly.
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Unable to stop myself, I brush my fingers across his cheek, the
slight stubble tickling me. A second later, he’s on his feet, turning the
chair over and pushing me away. Hard. I land on my ass, my lack of
breath the only thing stopping me from crying out. I gasp, staring up
at him. He’s against the wall, breathing hard, his eyes wide. They
dart to mine for a second before he pushes himself forward and storms
out of Seth’s room. I get my bearings and climb to my feet, wincing.
I think I hurt my tailbone. Seth is still asleep and thankfully didn’t
see what just happened. I feel his forehead, which is a little warm but
nothing compared to last night.
“Thank god,” I whisper, limping out of the room.
I find Mr. Masen in the kitchen. He’s at the sink, clutching the
edges of the countertop, still breathing heavily. At my approach he
whirls around, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His face
is ashen and glistening with perspiration.
“I’m sorry,” I croak.
He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Are you hurt?” he asks.
“No. Not really, I mean.”
He opens his eyes again but doesn’t look at me. Silence stretches,
uncomfortable and charged.
“Seth is . . . a little better,” I try, hoping to lighten the moment.
“I can’t do this,” he whispers, clenching his fists at his sides.
“D-do what?” I ask even though I know.
“This!” he whisper-yells, making a sweeping motion with his arm.
“I can’t do this again!”
Again?
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“D-do what again?” I stutter.
He ignores my question.
“Edward, what do you mean ‘again’?”
Instead of acknowledging me, he grabs the poinsettia in the window,
crushing its petals in his fist before tossing it on the floor.
“I don’t . . . I don’t want this! I can’t have this! This isn’t what
I wanted,” he sneers, finally looking at me. His eyes are cold. “This
playing house bullshit!”
He gazes at me like he’s silently daring me to disagree.
“You’re a liar!” I blurt out, taking the bait. “This is exactly what
you wanted from day one. You wanted to play house. To pretend.
You wanted us to move in here with you. I didn’t imagine that!”
I walk over to him and look up into his face.
“You want me. You want us.”
I don’t know if I’m trying to convince him or myself. Mr. Masen
stares at me for a long time, his eyebrows drawn together and his lips
curled. It’s a look of derision. He opens his mouth to speak several
times, but nothing comes out. I can tell how he’s trying to conjure up
something to tell me, to dismiss my statement, but for some reason,
he can’t. Startling me, he grabs ahold of me, pressing his lips against
mine, kissing me with abandon and desperation. He pulls back slowly,
still cupping my face in his hands.
“I can’t do this,” he says, his voice raw. “I’m sorry, Isabella.”
Every trace of animosity and anger is gone. All that’s left is sadness
and resignation.
It ends with a whimper.
My lips tremble, and my eyes flood with tears. I resist the urge
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to clutch my chest to make sure my heart is still there, that it’s still
beating.
“I-I don’t know what . . . what to do,” I whisper, feeling at sea.
I’ve always had a plan. Always. Even when my parents asked me
to leave, even when things were at their worst with Mike, even after
he left me destitute and scared, I always had a plan, a way of coping,
of moving on, a hope for happiness in the future. But right now I
can’t even find the strength to pull away from his touch, to turn away
with just a shred of dignity intact.
“I’m sorry,” he says brokenly, his thumbs brushing my cheeks once
before he pulls away. “I never meant . . . it’s my fault. This is all my
fault.”
I want to disagree with him, to tell him I’ve acted just as irrespon-
sibly as he to enter into this sort of arrangement, that I’ve been a fool
to fall in love with him, to think I could ever change him, but I can’t
get a single word past my lips. All I can do is watch as he retreats,
walking out of the kitchen and out of my life.
Two weeks later, I receive an urgent phone call from my mother
and the next day Seth and I board a bus heading northwest. We’re
going to Forks. The future I dreamed of for myself and my son is gone,
and it’s finally time to face my past.
So, yeah. No pitchforks, please! There is a plan, I swear.
Next chapter will be out within the next two weeks.
That’s a promise. Just a few more to go. I’m eager to press
‘complete’ on this story and get back to The Blizzard and
My Viking (available on Fictionpad and TWCS, btw).
Thank you for reading.
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Chapter 28

Hey, guys.
This chapter just plain sucked to write. Those of you who
are friends with me on Facebook know why. Thankfully, I
have my wonderful pre-readers, Veronica, Dawn, and Diane,
and my fantastic writing partner on Skype, Christine AKA
GeekChic12, and last but definitely not least, my talented
and supportive beta Chayasara. This chapter was so difficult
but all of you helped me through it. Thank you!
Big AN at the bottom. You should read it. Good info
there.
Enjoy!
BPOV
What do you do when everything you’ve hoped for turns out to
have been an impossible dream all along? When you can’t see a happy
ending for yourself anymore? When you realize that you’ve fallen in
love with a man who isn’t merely unwilling to love you back as you
thought but actually unable to?
Me? I took care of my son, making sure he got better as soon as
possible so I could leave Mr. Masen’s house and head to Alice and
Jasper’s. I couldn’t stay there a moment longer than I had to. I saw
Mr. Masen three times during the two days it took Seth to recover.
The first time, I found him with an anxious look on his face outside
Seth’s room, watching my son sleep with. He excused himself quickly
and went back upstairs when he noticed me. The second time was in
the kitchen when I was making breakfast the following morning. He
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stopped abruptly inside the door, staring at me for a long moment
before backing away. I left him a plate of food when I was done in the
kitchen, knowing he was hungry and that he doesn’t cook at all. The
last time was right before we moved out. Everything was packed up
in Jasper’s car outside and Seth already strapped in. I went into the
room that used to be mine, placing every gift I ever received on the
bed. A part of me wanted to keep it all—the books, perfumes, the
iPad, and clothes, every token of his generosity and affection toward
me. But I knew I needed a clean break. He stood behind me in the
door as I turned around, hands in his pockets, hair uncombed, and
already looking a bit scruffy, a lost look in his eyes and dark shadows
beneath them.
Who will take care of you now?
I approached him slowly, feeling no anger whatsoever, only sorrow
for both him and myself. I believed him when he said he was sorry. I
believed he had the best of intentions. Maybe I was still naïve. Maybe
I should hate him, but I simply didn’t. I grieved.
“Where will you go?” he asked.
“Jasper and Alice’s.”
He nodded.
“Will you be all right?”
I looked up into his face, swallowing back tears.
“Will you?” I whispered.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached for my hand, lifting it up as
he stroked my knuckles with his thumb before pressing his lips against
my skin for just a second.
“Goodbye,” he murmured, hesitating for a second before continuing.
“I left something for you on the kitchen table. Please don’t argue. Just
take it.”
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He let go of my hand and turned around, walking away with fast
steps.
“Goodbye,” I whispered, pressing my lips together to keep from
crying.
On the kitchen table I found an envelope, similar to the one that
started all of this, similar to the one that ended all of this. I folded
it and put it into my jacket pocket. That night, in Alice’s kitchen I
opened it and found that Seth’s tuition had been paid for the next six
months so he could finish pre-k, as well as a bus service to get him
there and back again every day. There was also a severance package
for me including three months’ salary and medical insurance for the
both of us for the next year. It was overwhelming, and I finally broke
down and cried in Alice’s arms, allowing myself to feel the full extent
of what I’d lost, what was never really mine to begin with.
I honored Mr. Masen’s last request to me and accepted the contents
of the envelope. I didn’t want to be an economic burden on Alice and
Jasper, and this gave me at least a little time to figure out what to do
next, to look for a job.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that life can be relentless, and
two weeks after leaving Mr. Masen’s house I find myself on a bus going
to Forks.
I sigh, looking out the window at the passing landscape. Seth is next
to me, playing a game on his iPad. Even though Mr. Masen bought it,
it was a birthday gift from me, and I didn’t consider returning it. Seth
was upset when I told him we were moving out, and I felt awful for
being the source of his unhappiness. But in true form, he bounced back
in a matter of days, enjoying the experience of having pseudo-siblings
as all six of us made ourselves as comfortable as possible in such a
small amount of space.
“Are we there yet?” Seth asks, shifting in his seat.
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“Soon,” I tell him, feeling a twinge of anxiety in the pit of my
stomach. “Lucy and Maria’s grandma is picking us up at the station,
and then you’re going to stay at her house for a little bit this afternoon.”
“Okay.”
I gaze down at him and smile. Half a year ago that message would’ve
made him scared. At least one good thing has come out of all of this.
Turning my face toward the window again, I see the sign “The City of
Forks Welcomes You” on the side of the road and have to draw a deep
breath that does absolutely nothing to slow down the frantic beating
of my heart.
Alice’s mom Cynthia is already there when we arrive, giving both
of us warm smiles. Seth knows her from his sleepovers with Lucy and
Maria, and I’m so grateful she’s willing to look after him for a few
hours. I have to do this alone. We drive to her house, and I watch
with gratitude as she starts fixing Seth a snack and finds some of the
toys and books that her grandkids usually play with on their visits.
“You can borrow my car if you want,” she offers. “Or would you
like something to eat first?”
“Thanks, I’m not really hungry.” I give her a smile even though my
face feels oddly numb. “I think I’ll just walk over there.”
She nods, pouring Seth a glass of chocolate milk before turning to
me again, a look of concern on her face.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” I whisper. “My mom was . . . vague.”
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” she says. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
I welcome her arms around me as she embraces me, patting my
back, her warm, soft body the closest thing to maternal affection I’ve
felt in years. It’s enough to bring tears to my eyes. I do my best to
blink them away as she releases me, rubbing my arms.
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“Take as long as you need,” she says. “You and Seth can sleep here
if . . .”
“Thank you.” I sniff, pulling myself together.
“Hon, I’m going now,” I call to Seth, who’s engrossed in a huge pile
of various toys. “I’ll be back before dinnertime.”
“Uh-huh. ’Bye!”
I can’t help but laugh. Cynthia walks me to the door, her hand on
my shoulder.
“You remember the way there?”
“I don’t think I’d ever forget that,” I murmur, pulling up the hood
on my raincoat as I step into the light drizzle. “I’ll be back later.”
“We’ll be here.”
Walking through once familiar streets, I keep my head down. I
don’t want to face anyone else. Seeing my mother and father is just
about all I can handle, and I’m not even sure I can actually handle
that. But I have to. My mom made it pretty clear on the phone that
time was of the essence. In my mind, my father is a tall, strong, and
intimidating figure. It’s difficult to imagine him sick at all. Growing
up, I knew my parents were different from those of my friends from
school. They had me late in life, having been unable to conceive
for years and desperately wanting a son for some reason. Instead
they got me, and they pushed me toward academic, athletic, and
social accomplishments with the highest expectations. I never felt
good enough for them. When I became pregnant during my senior
year, it threw a huge wrench in their plans for me. They wanted me
to attend an Ivy League university and excel, join a fancy sorority
to form connections with daughters of upper-class families, and of
course date an eligible young man with a bright future. My father
was a small-town mayor with big political aspirations. An unwed,
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pregnant, teenage daughter didn’t fit into that scheme, and my parents
gave me the choice of quietly terminating the pregnancy—a beyond
hypocritical suggestion considering their religious background— or
going away when I started to show and then give the baby up for
adoption, like something straight out of the 1950s. I chose neither
and somehow managed to persuade Mike to leave town with me after
graduation. I was done being a pawn in my father’s game. I thought
they’d accept things after Seth was born, their love for a grandchild
overshadowing their disappointment, but I was wrong. I’ve been wrong
about so many things in my short life, but having Seth was right—the
best thing I ever did. And I won’t let my parents near him unless I’m
sure they’ve changed, illness or no illness.
The house looks exactly as I remember, but the woman who spots
me through the kitchen window as I walk up the pathway and rushes
to the door doesn’t. I stare at my mother. She looks disheveled and
frazzled, her hair unstyled with gray roots showing near her scalp.
How long has she been dyeing her hair?
She’s wearing a housecoat. I didn’t even know she owned one. She
was always impeccably dressed when I lived at home. It’s only been a
few months since I saw her last, but she looks older. Much older.
“Isabella!” she exclaims, her hand fluttering to her hair. “I didn’t
think . . . I-I’m so happy to see you.”
“Hey, Mom,” I say softly, approaching her with a little caution.
She reaches for me but pulls her arms back immediately, holding
out her hand instead, her eyes questioning me. I take it in mine, and
we stand there on the porch for a few seconds, just staring at each
other. It’s nothing like the warmth I felt when Cynthia hugged me,
but it’s a start.
“I didn’t think you’d come until tomorrow,” she says, referring to
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the fact that it’s only Thursday. “Your boss didn’t mind letting you
go?”
I examine her face carefully for a few seconds. Her expression is
open and honest.
“No, he didn’t mind,” I murmur.
He let go of me. I wonder if he’ll find a new girl to worship him.
He easily could. Someone who wouldn’t be so stupid to fall in love,
who would happily be the plaything of a handsome, rich, older man
in exchange for money, gifts, and amazing sex to boot. The thought
makes me nauseated and I do my best to push it away.
“Come inside,” my mom urges, letting go of my hand. “Seth isn’t
with you?”
“He’s at Alice’s mom’s,” I tell her.
She looks disappointed, the corners of her mouth turning down.
“He’s never seen a sick person before,” I continue. “I didn’t know .
. . what to expect . . . here.”
What to expect from you.
“How long are you staying?” she asks as I remove my jacket and
boots.
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “Where’s Dad?”
“Upstairs. The nurse is with him right now. I was making coffee.
Do you . . . drink coffee?”
I nod.
“I had to. I started drinking it when Seth kept me up all night
screaming from colic for three months straight, and I was so exhausted
I thought I’d lose my mind, and no one was there to help me.”
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My words are harsh, and I didn’t intend to say that much. But now
it’s out there, floating in the air between us. The accusation. The
anger I feel.
My mom’s eyes dart around the room, focusing on anything but
me. The awkwardness is palpable.
“You, uh, were the same,” she finally says. “The colic, I mean.”
She finally looks at me.
“I wish I would have acted differently—helped you.”
I give her a nod.
“So do I.”
More silence follows. I’m not sorry I said what I said even if I
didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I don’t want her to think I’ve
forgiven or forgotten anything just because I showed up here. They
let me down so completely, and being a mother myself, I can’t imagine
ever doing that to Seth.
“I’d like that coffee, please,” I say, a bit softer. “We were up early.”
My mom smiles, obviously relieved, and leads me into the kitchen
where I take a seat at the table. The place looks the same except for
one thing.
“No Christmas decorations?” I ask, watching my mom pour coffee
for the both of us.
“No,” she simply says, bringing over the cups before sitting down
across from me.
We sip our coffee in silence, both of us stealing glances at each other,
unable to think of anything to say. Thankfully, we’re interrupted a
few minutes later when a woman in a nurse’s uniform comes into the
kitchen, informing my mother that my father is done. Done with
what, I don’t know.
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“Would you like to see him?” my mom asks me.
“All right,” I say, sounding a lot more confident than I feel.
She leads me upstairs to their bedroom, pausing outside the door. I
glance down the hall to my room, a bit overwhelmed by the onslaught
of memories that wash over me.
“He’s changed a lot,” she says to me, a wary look in her eyes.
I nod, trying to prepare myself as she opens the door. The first
thing I notice is the smell, disinfectants and sickness rolled into one.
It’s dim in there, the curtains only open part of the way. Their old
bed is gone, replaced by a single and a hospital bed next to it. The
man in the latter bed is unfamiliar to my eyes, and I barely hold back
a gasp. His hair is patchy, gray and brown mixed together, and his
cheeks are hollow. His eyes are closed and his thin lips parted. He’s so
gaunt and his skin is sallow. The bedside table is littered with medical
supplies like tape, gauze, and various pill bottles. There’s a chair next
to his bed, and I approach slowly, taking a seat at the edge of it.
“Charles,” my mom says, walking to the other side of the bed.
She raises the head of the bed by pressing a button and arranges
the pillow behind his head. His eyes flutter open, looking at my mom.
“Isabella’s here,” she whispers, turning his face toward me.
He blinks, his eyes focusing on me, and we stare at each other. I
don’t know what I expected to feel when I finally saw him again after
all these years, but it wasn’t this—an overwhelming sense of sadness
and pity.
“H-hi, Daddy,” I say softly.
He closes his eyes and his face scrunches up into a pained grimace,
his lips trembling slightly as a sob escapes him. When he looks at me
again, his eyes are wet, his hand closest to me moving toward me. I
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don’t think about it. I just reach out and take it into mine, feeling
the papery skin and fragile bones underneath.
“Is . . . bella,” he rasps, tightening his hold on my hand, his eyes
pleading with me.
“I’m here,” I whisper, leaning forward.
“So . . .” he starts, drawing out the word along with a ragged
breath. “I’m sorr—”
A weak cough stops him from continuing, and after it’s over, he
looks exhausted, fighting to keep his gaze on me.
Oh God. He’s dying.
An unexpected feeling of grief sweeps over me, and I can’t hold
back my tears anymore. I feel no anger or resentment toward this
man whatsoever. It’s simply not there.
“I forgive you, Daddy,” I blurt out.
His eyes flicker and well up again before he closes them.
“Sleep,” I whisper, stroking his hand with my thumb. “I’ll be here
when you wake up.”
I watch his face as his features relax and become peaceful, the
sound of his breathing the only indication that he is still alive. When
I finally tear my eyes away, I notice that my mom has left the room.
I sit with him while he sleeps, never letting go of his hand. After a
while, my mom comes in, carrying coffee and a plate of cookies that
she sets down on the table next to me.
“Can he have that?” I ask.
“No, it’s for you,” she replies. “I thought you might need a pick-
me-up.”
I look up at her, surprised at her thoughtfulness.
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“Thank you.”
“That was a wonderful thing you did,” she murmurs.
I don’t know what to say in response, so I take the cup and blow
on the hot liquid. I didn’t think it would be so easy to let go of all of
the negative feelings I’ve harbored. I haven’t forgotten the past, but I
also know I won’t gain anything from denying him this last wish. I
want him to go in peace, and this way he can.
“How long does he have?” I whisper, taking a sip.
“Days. Maybe a week or two according to the doctors.”
I glance up at my mom, seeing her blinking back tears.
“There’s nothing they can do?” I ask even though I already know
the answer.
She shakes her head.
“It’s terminal. They offered us a bed in a hospice, but . . . I
brought him home. H-he should die in his own home.”
Her voice cracks, and she walks out of the room. I set down the
coffee cup and let go of my father’s hand. He’s still fast asleep, clearly
heavily medicated. My mom is downstairs in the kitchen, cooking up
a storm, bowls, pots and cutting boards everywhere. She looks up
when I come in, quickly wiping underneath her eyes as she plasters on
a fake smile.
“I hope Seth likes meatloaf,” she says.
“He does. Mom—”
“I’m making chocolate chip cookies for dessert. He’s not allergic to
anything, is he?”
“No.” I walk over to her, stilling her frantic movements by placing
my hands on top of hers. “Mom, are you all right?”
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“Yes, yes, I’m fine. You will bring him over for dinner, won’t you?”
she asks, obviously deflecting. “Your father would love to see him.”
“Okay,” I say, sighing softly.
My mother keeps cooking, and I go upstairs to watch over my father.
Half an hour later the nurse from before comes back, and I leave her
to do whatever it is that she does.
“I’m going over to Cynthia’s,” I tell my mom, who’s still busy in
the kitchen.
She nods.
“Can I . . . maybe invite her over for dinner?” I ask hesitantly.
My mom’s head snaps up.
“She’s been watching Seth all afternoon. I’m not sure if she’s even
had time to cook for herself.”
“I . . . I don’t know.” Her hand goes straight to her hair, trying to
smooth it.
“She’s not going to care how you look, Mom. She’s really nice.”
“I’ve never really spoken with her—except that time in the grocery
store.”
I remember. Alice told me how Cynthia confronted my mom about
not helping me out with Seth, which is what made her come to my
apartment just before we moved in with Mr. Masen, demanding that
we come home.
“She cares about me,” I say, by way of explanation.
“I know. She was there for you when I wasn’t. I know that.”
She draws a breath.
“Yes, she can come if she wants.”
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“Thank you,” I say softly. “She really is nice. And Alice . . . I
don’t know what I would’ve done without her. I’m going to be her
maid of honor, you know.”
My mom nods, giving me a small smile.
“I won’t be long.”
I walk back toward Cynthia’s house, trying to sort out my conflicting
emotions. I’m relieved that my mom really does seem to have changed
but at the same time heartbroken that it had to come to this, for
my father to be on his deathbed for it to happen. I’m also nervous
about bringing Seth over there, of how he might react to seeing his
grandfather like that. We’ve never talked about death, and I’m not
even sure Seth understands the concept. I’m not very religious, and
I’ve never spoken with Seth about it beyond explaining in simple
terms that we celebrate Christmas because a man named Jesus was
born, and some people believe his father created the world. The idea
of heaven is so abstract to my mind. I never imagined I’d have to
have this talk with my son so soon, and I honestly don’t feel ready
for it at all. I realize that I could just keep Seth away, that my father
and mother have done nothing in the past to deserve having him in
their lives, but they’ve both apologized now, which is huge. I’ve never
once heard either of them admit they’ve been wrong about anything.
That has to count for something. And I’m exhausted from holding on
to my feelings of anger toward them. It feels good to have let it all
go. I know I won’t ever go back to how it was with them dictating
everything I do, and I’m hoping we can start over somehow. My mom
seems willing to try.
If Cynthia is surprised by the dinner invitation, she doesn’t show it.
We drive over there with Seth safely strapped into his car seat, and
I’m grateful she’s with me, knowing she’s completely on my side in all
of this. My mom greets us at the door as we enter.
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“Thank you for the invitation, Renée,” Cynthia says, giving her a
firm handshake. “I’ve had my hands full with this guy.”
She smiles at Seth, who’s fumbling with his zipper. I kneel down
and help him with it.
“Hon, this is my mom,” I say. “Remember I told you about her
and my dad?”
Seth looks up at my mom.
“Hi,” he whispers.
“Hi, Seth.” My mom’s voice sounds a bit scratchy. “I’m your . . .
grandmother.”
Seth looks at me for confirmation, and I nod, giving him a smile.
“Lucy and Maria call her Nana,” he says, pointing to Cynthia.
“And she’s their grandmother.”
“That’s right,” Cynthia says.
Seth looks back up at my mom.
“Y-you can call me Nana,” my mom says, “if you want.”
“Okay,” my son says with a grin, apparently happy to have that
settled. “Nana.”
He reaches out his little hand, and my mom takes it in hers.
“How do you do?” he asks. “That means hi.”
Cynthia and my mom laugh, but I can’t join in their merriment.
“That’s what Mr. Masen said,” he continues, much to my regret.
“Who’s Mr. Masen?” my mother asks.
Oh, God.
“My boss,” I say, standing up as I begin to usher Seth into the
kitchen, hoping to distract him.
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I don’t want my mom to know I don’t have a job anymore. We
may have started over, but I don’t want her to know how desperate
my circumstances will be if I’m not able to find a job within the next
couple of months. Not showing any sign of weakness in front of her is
like second nature to me, and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to let go of
that.
We sit down to dinner, and I’m once again grateful for Cynthia’s
presence. She effortlessly comes up with neutral topics of conversation
like what’s going on around town and, of course, her excitement that
her daughter is getting married. It’s actually a nice dinner, which I
didn’t expect at all. Seth attacks the meatloaf with his usual healthy
appetite, making my mother smile from across the table.
“How come you don’t have a Christmas tree?” he asks her suddenly.
“You need one so you can get presents.”
“Oh.” My mom’s smile turns sad. “I don’t think I’ll be celebrating
Christmas this year.”
“No Christmas?” Seth is shocked.
“Remember how I told you my dad, your grandfather, is sick, hon?”
I ask him. “That’s why. They usually have Christmas together, but
this year they can’t really.”
I glance at my mom. Her eyes are wet, and Cynthia reaches over
to place her hand on top of hers.
“But . . .”
Seth suddenly lights up.
“You can have Christmas with us, Nana!” he exclaims. “Mommy
makes the best dinner then. And there’s presents and candy, and we
sing songs and watch Muppet’s Christmas Carol!”
He turns to me.
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“Right, Mommy? Nana can have Christmas with us, right?”
My son has such a good heart. I can’t possibly say no.
“Of course she can,” I say, looking over at my mom. “We’ll have
Christmas here this year.”
“Yay!”
Seth goes back to his dinner, unaware of my mom holding back
tears across the table, now clutching Cynthia’s hand.
“Excuse me,” she says, getting up. “I’d better check on Charles.”
I breathe out once she’s left the kitchen. Cynthia gives me a
reassuring smile.
“I think it’s a wonderful idea. Alice, Jasper, and the kids are coming
up for the holidays, so we’ll be close by, all of us.”
That makes me feel a lot better. I’m still a bit wary of all of this.
“Will you stay here tonight or . . . ?” she asks.
“I’d like to stay at your place if that’s okay. This is all a little . . .
overwhelming.”
“I can imagine. You stay as long as you need to.”
“Thank you, not just for that, but for coming over here with me.
I’m . . . I’m worried about her.”
“I am too. We should talk later,” Cynthia says, glancing at Seth.
I nod. He doesn’t look like he’s paying attention to us, but I’ve
been wrong before. Mom comes back after a few minutes, appearing
composed again, and we finish dinner with more small talk. Afterward,
I take Seth into the living room for a little talk.
“Now, hon, I don’t want you to be scared, okay?”
He nods.
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“Your grandfather is very sick, so he’ll be in bed the whole time
we’re here. And he probably won’t be able to talk a lot.”
“Can’t you make him better, Mommy?” he asks. “Like when I was
sick?”
My chest constricts painfully.
“I’m so sorry, baby, I wish I could. But . . . he isn’t going to get
better.”
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
“But . . . what will happen then?” Seth asks.
I sigh softly, pulling him into my lap. I don’t want to lie to him.
“One day soon he’ll . . . he’ll just fall asleep. And he won’t wake
up again.”
“Will he still dream?”
“You could say that. A lot of people think that . . . that when
that happens . . . you go to a place called Heaven. And it’s beautiful
there and peaceful. Your Nana believes that.”
“But why is she so sad, then,” he asks, pouting his lips, “if he’s
going to that place?”
“Because she’ll miss him,” I whisper. “Even though he’s going to
such a nice place, she has to stay here without him. Understand?”
He nods, looking thoughtful.
“I think I should give Nana a hug, then.”
I smile through tears.
“I think she’d like that a lot, sweetheart.”
I follow him into the kitchen where he runs right up to my mom,
tugging on her shirt until she kneels down, a puzzled look on her face.
He throws his arms around her neck.
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“Don’t be sad, Nana,” he says. “Don’t be sad.”
I watch as my mom’s walls crumble, finally, and she starts crying
openly, hugging Seth to her. My legs move as if on their own, and I
find myself kneeling next to them, feeling my mom embrace me too,
sobbing against my shoulder.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, over and over again. “I’m so sorry for
everything.”
Cynthia extracts Seth and picks him up, carrying him out of the
room while I, too, start to cry, the last remnants of animosity I’ve
harbored toward her, escaping through my tears.
“I forgive you, Mom,” I tell her. “I didn’t do it on purpose, but it
was the best thing I ever did, bringing Seth into the world.”
“It is. It is,” she agrees, pulling back to look at me. “I’m . . . so
proud of you, Isabella, of the woman you’ve become. I can’t take any
sort of credit for it. It was all you.”
I stare at her, a feeling of warmth washing over me.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
We hug again before helping each other off the floor, wiping our
eyes. I look at her as she collects herself. We’ll never be able to
go back and change our past relationship, but for the first time, I
dare to believe we might have a future one. And Seth could have a
grandparent in his life.
“Will you really stay for Christmas?” she asks quietly.
I nod.
“Then we have to get a tree,” she says, giving me a smile, “so I
have a place to put your presents.”
I smile back.
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“That sounds great.”
The next few weeks fly by as we help my mom get the house ready
for Christmas. We spend the first night at Cynthia’s house before
unofficially moving into my old room, which is as I left it more than
five years ago. The bed is big enough for both me and my son, and
it feels right being here, watching him interact with my mom, who
seems determined to make up for lost time by spoiling him rotten
with attention and treats. I let her, loving every second of it.
Seth also meets my father, who unfortunately grows weaker every
day, losing his ability to speak a few days later. Seth doesn’t seem to
mind though. He seems comforted by the thought of his grandfather
going to Heaven, and more than once, I find him sitting next to my
father’s bed, telling him about his school, his friends, and things he
has seen on TV. My father watches my son for as long as he can keep
his eyes open, falling asleep with a small smile on his face. I often sit
with him at night, giving my mom a break. I hold his hand and read
to him to fill the silence or sing hymns I still remember from church
services as a child. He squeezes my hand as I tell him goodnight, every
day with less strength, and I know he doesn’t have long. It’s more
than a week until Christmas, and although the doctor has said most
dying people usually hold on until after the holidays, I don’t think
he’ll be able to make it that long.
“I love you, Daddy,” I whisper, leaning in to press my lips to his
forehead.
Pulling back, I gaze into his eyes, seeing his love for me there. It’s
not something I ever remember having seen before, but now it’s there,
strong and unwavering. He grimaces in pain suddenly. Even the
morphine drip next to the bed can’t take it away anymore. Watching
him in so much agony and being helpless to ease his suffering is
devastating.
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“It’s okay to let go,” I croak, as tears fill my eyes. “We’ll see each
other again. And in the meantime, me, Seth, and Mom, we’ll take
care of each other. I promise.”
He gives me the slightest of nods. It’s barely visible, but it’s there.
He understands.
“I’ll go get Mom, okay? I’ll be right back.”
My father falls asleep that night, never to open his eyes again. His
one hand is in mine, the other one in my mother’s. It’s peaceful and
quiet and how it should be. He dies, surrounded by his loved ones,
forever dreaming, according to my son. I think he’s right.
RIP Charles Swan. We hardly knew ye.
Like I said, this chapter sucked for me, and I know this
happened fast, but I needed it like that. I couldn’t drag it
out, and for the sake of the plot it had to happen.
Anyway, for some happy news, I just returned home from
Scotland on Monday where I attended RARE in Edinburgh
and stayed with my friend Lesley (you can find her and her
stories on here as Lel2768). It was a great trip and I met so
many fantastic people, readers and writers alike. Love you,
girls!
Also, in case you missed it, I posted my entry for the
Twilight Diversity contest entry, “Love in Resistance” a few
days ago. It’s on my profile both here and on TWCS. You’ll
like it, I promise.
Lastly, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, despite its sad
content. I do also think it was a hopeful one, at least for the
possibility of Bella reconnecting with her mom. I know some
of you really don’t trust Renée and think she’s up to no good
with some elaborate scheme up her sleeve, but sometimes
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people just plain suck and then life hits them over the head
and they realize what jerks they’ve been. That’s really just
what’s going on here. No big plot twist with her trying to
kidnap Seth, Charlie needing a kidney, or whatever else has
been suggested (although I love your creativity!)
I’ll try my very best to get the next chapter out ASAP.
I am going on holiday with my daughter in a week’s time
and I hope I’ll be able to write it before then since I already
know she won’t give me a moment to myself. It’s gonna be
awesome! LOL!
Take care and please leave me a review to let me know
what you thought of the chapter. I did get it to you before
two weeks as I’d promised. ;)
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Chapter 29

A new chapter already? What?! ;) Can you tell I’m on
my summer break?
Thank you to my beta Chayasara for all of your amazing
help. Sorry about the commas (that I’ll probably always
suck at) and also the use of “stuff” and “things”.
Thank you to my lovely prereaders, and this time also a
special thank you to my friend Rebekah, who lent me her
expertise about funerals, since we do things differently here
in my country.
Finally, thank you to all of you who left me reviews, shar-
ing your thoughts about the last chapter. I’m so sorry for
those of you who have experienced the death of a close rel-
ative or friend, and I hope you were able to enjoy the chap-
ter nonetheless. This one ends on a much happier note, I
promise.
BPOV
My father is cremated three days later. I make the decision to
wait to bury his ashes until after Christmas, because it seems both
appropriate and practical since I’m also hoping it’ll give my mom a
little time to recover. She’s not doing well at all, staying in bed most
days and declining all visitors as well as most of the meals I bring her.
I now find myself having to face parents of former classmates, distant
and not so distant relatives in addition to townspeople I haven’t seen
in years, receiving condolences, flowers, and casseroles in abundance.
While all of it is appreciated, it also leaves me exhausted. I’ve only just
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rejoined this family, and having this huge responsibility thrust upon
me is more than a little overwhelming. Thankfully, Cynthia and Alice
visit frequently, and between the three of us, we manage to hold off
visitors for the time being. I wonder if I should be sadder—devastated
like my Mom is, and I feel guilty for being able to go on, all the while
knowing that it’s important that I do so. Seth needs me, and while he,
too, was sad that his grandfather passed away, he’s all wrapped up in
the excitement of Christmas now, which is how it should be after all.
We decorate the house, and I do my best not to think of the last time
Seth and I did that and the disastrous results that followed. In fact, I
try not to think of the past at all, instead focusing on the present and
the future. We can’t stay here forever, and I need to make sure my
mom will be all right once we go back to Seattle.
“Mom? Can I talk to you?”
I approach her bed slowly. Dad’s hospital bed has been removed,
so now it’s just hers that’s left in the bedroom. She shifts, cracking
open her eyes to look at me before pulling the covers up around her
shoulders.
“What is it?” she asks, not unkindly.
I take a seat on the edge of her bed.
“We made hot chocolate and cookies. And we’re about to watch A
Christmas Carol. It’s a tradition. We always do that on the night of
the 24th.”
“That’s nice.”
“Will you please come down and watch with us?”
“I’m tired.”
“I know you are.” I take a breath. “But it’s Christmas, and your
grandson wants to spend it with you.”
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She stares into space.
“Mom, please. There are things that need taking care of, things
I can’t do on my own . . . like Dad’s memorial service. And . . . I
mean, Seth and I have to go home at some point.”
“I know,” she whispers, her lips trembling.
“Talk to me.” I know I’m practically begging, but she’s got to deal
with the changes.
“I’m . . . scared,” she finally admits, moving up into a sitting
position. “I’m not like you, Isabella.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, grateful that she’s opening up.
“You’re so strong, so capable. I’ve never been on my own before.”
She looks at me.
“I went from my parent’s house to college, where I lived in a sorority
house, and then your father and I were married right after graduation.
I don’t know anything! He took care of all of the finances and taxes,
the payments and loans over the years. I . . . I don’t even have a
credit card. Your father managed all of that, and now I don’t know
what to do.”
I draw a deep breath. I know my mother is grieving, and therefore,
I choose not to tell her that the only reason I’m so strong and capable,
as she put it, is because I had no choice in the matter. I had a baby—a
tiny little person who depended on me for absolutely everything. All
the while she and my father didn’t lift a finger to help me. But I also
know how my father was back in the day, very much adhering to the
old saying of a man being the king of his castle. To put it plainly, my
mother was a doormat, not that I would ever dream of saying that to
her.
“I know it’s hard,” I whisper, “but I know you can do this. And
you’re not alone, Mom. You have me and Cynthia and all of your
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friends around town. You should see how many flowers and cards
of condolence you’ve received. Please come downstairs with us and
celebrate Christmas.”
I hold out my hand to her, pulling out the big guns, so to speak,
and add:
“Seth will think you’re getting sick, too, if you don’t get out of this
bed. You don’t want that, do you?”
It’s a cheap shot. I know that, but it is rooted in the truth, and I
can’t let her lie up here wasting away.
“All right,” she says, throwing the covers off, “but I’m not changing
out of my pajamas.”
“Perfect,” I respond, trying not to sound smug. “Slumber party it
is. I’ll go put mine on.”
My mom mumbles something behind me as I leave, making me grin.
If making her mad is what it takes to get her going again, so be it.
She joins us in the living room, and Seth sends her one of his
megawatt smiles.
“Come sit with me, Nana!”
She takes a seat on the couch next to him, and I hand her a hot
chocolate with extra whipped cream on top, giving her what I hope
is a warning look not to reject it. She needs to start taking care of
herself, or she’ll make herself sick, and I won’t have it. Thankfully,
she takes it and sips slowly, looking around the room.
“The tree looks beautiful,” she says quietly.
“It does,” I agree.
“Do you . . . need help with anything for tomorrow?”
“Everything’s bought and prepped,” I reply. “But I’d love some
help with the actual cooking.”
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She gives me a small smile.
“Will you go to church with me?”
“Of course.”
“C’mon, start the movie,” Seth says, bouncing up and down. “Don’t
you think it’s great, Nana?”
“I’ve never seen it,” she tells him, earning her a shocked look.
“Let’s get started, then.” I chuckle, pressing “play.”
Seth is all over the place as we watch the movie, laughing loudly,
hiding his face when the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come appears,
all the while assuring my mom that ghosts aren’t real and not to be
scared and singing along completely off-key. It’s perfect. My mom
livens up, thanks to his antics, and actually laughs along with him
a few times. She finishes her hot chocolate and eats some cookies,
complimenting me on them in between bites. After the movie is over,
I flip through the channels, stopping on It’s a Wonderful Life at her
request. Seth quickly falls asleep, bored with the black and white
images and the lack of Muppets, his head in my mom’s lap. She gently
strokes his hair with one hand and reaches for mine with the other.
We sit quietly and watch like that, the room illuminated by the TV,
the twinkle lights on the tree, and the candles I lit earlier. I look at
my son’s relaxed features and the small smile on my mother’s face
as she continues to caress his hair, and for the first time in a long
while, I feel at peace. I lean my head on my mom’s shoulder, and she
gives my hand a squeeze. Tomorrow, we’ll celebrate Christmas as a
family. We’ll open presents and go visit at Cynthia’s, attend church,
and eat dinner together. My son and I will spend the day, surrounded
by family and friends for the first time ever, and the thought fills me
with happiness. But even in the midst of the joy I feel, my thoughts
stray, and I get an image of Mr. Masen sitting in his big empty house,
completely alone for the holidays, and I have to blink back tears.
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It was his choice to end things. This is what he wanted. You need
to focus on your family now, on making good choices for the future.
No more fairy tales!
I turn my attention back to the movie and force myself not to think
of him anymore, and it works too. I don’t think of him as we celebrate
the holidays, and I don’t think of him as my mom and I plan my
father’s interment at the cemetery and the memorial service afterward.
I make sure Seth has a great Christmas and isn’t affected by the sad
events that follow it, arranging his time so he can spend the first part
of the day with Cynthia and her grandkids instead of going to the
cemetery. I don’t want him to think of his grandfather in that way,
in a hole in the ground. That’s the part of death he doesn’t need to
know yet, and I know I’ll want to stop myself from crying if he’s there.
Alice and Jasper go with me and my mom, and once more, I’m so
grateful to have them in my life, to have their support.
We inter my father on a gray and rainy Wednesday between Christ-
mas and New Year’s. To shield us from the rain, the funeral home
has set up a white tent around the plot, but it’s nowhere near big
enough to hold the large number of people who have shown up to pay
their respects, and I know we’ll have a full house afterward at the
wake. The priest speaks for a while, but I’m unable to pay attention
to him. I stare at my father’s urn, which has been placed inside a
vault, both of which are going into the ground. I take my mother’s
hand as we go up to it side by side, each of us holding something for
him to be buried with. My mom holds his wedding band, her hand
shaking so much that I have to place the ring inside the vault for
her so she doesn’t accidentally drop it into the hole in the ground. I
kneel down—conscious of the fact that I’ll dirty my stockings but not
caring—and touch the urn that holds his remains.
“Seth made you this,” I whisper.
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I slide the folded-up drawing into the vault, not bothering to hold
back the tears that flow steadily.
“You never saw him as a baby, but Alice gave me a copy of this
picture. It’s me and him, right after he was born.”
I look at the image in my hand, of me giving the camera a tired
smile, holding a tiny bundle in my arms. I put the picture in there
too, brushing my fingers one more time over the smooth surface of
the urn.
“Rest now, Daddy.”
I stand back up.
“Do you want to say something?” I ask my mother quietly, wiping
underneath my eyes.
She shakes her head, hooking her arm with mine.
“We’ve already said our goodbyes.”
“Okay.”
We step backward and turn to take our seats again, and my gaze
drifts over the faces of the many people standing outside the tent,
most of them holding black umbrellas. For a second, I think I catch a
glimpse of an all too familiar face at the back and stop in my tracks,
my heart skipping a beat. My mother tugs gently on my arm, and I
look toward her for a second. I refocus, frantically scanning the crowd,
but all I see are townspeople looking back at me.
Wishful thinking.
Feeling numb, I take my seat and watch as the vault is lowered
into the ground. The priest speaks again, throwing dirt into the hole
before it’s covered completely. Next to me, my mom starts to sob,
and I put my arm around her, sharing in her grief.
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I’m in a sea of people, shaking more hands than I can keep track of.
We’re outside the tent, the sounds of the rain hitting the umbrellas,
almost drowning out the murmurs of condolences that I receive as we
slowly make our way across the cemetery. I mumble my thanks again
and again as one hand after another takes my outstretched one.
“Isabella . . . I’m so sorry.”
I startle, staring at the large hand holding mine ever so gently,
stroking the back of it just once with his thumb in an all too familiar
fashion. I raise my head, only to see him already turning, shouldering
his way through the crowd as his hand slips from mine. He’s gone
from my sight seconds later, breaking my heart all over again.
Please don’t go.
I want to scream it out loud, run after him, and throw myself at his
feet, beg him to stay—to love me—but naturally, I don’t. Stony-faced,
I walk through the throngs of mourners with my mother at my side
until we reach the car. I help her inside and go to the driver’s side,
looking up again. He’s there, about ten yards down the street, next
to his car, facing me. His suit and coat are pristine, but his face is
worn, and his eyes tired. He looks like he’s the one who’s lost someone
today, not me. We stare at each other for a long moment before he
slowly raises his hand. I mimic him, feeling the rain running into my
sleeve and down my arm, chilling me to the bone. Then he turns and
gets into his car, driving down the street and turning right, heading
out of town.
Goodbye.
I swallow my urge to break down in the street and instead get into
the car, giving my mom a glance. Her eyes are closed, head leaned
back in exhaustion. She didn’t see what just happened, thankfully.
How did he know?
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Rosalie. That has to be it. I called her briefly on Christmas, telling
her that I had to quit and that my father’s death was the reason. I
didn’t like lying to her, but telling her the truth wasn’t an option
either. I’ll miss her and our newfound friendship. I’ll miss a lot of
things from my old life.
“Ready to head home?” I ask quietly.
“No,” my mom whispers.
“Neither am I.”
She turns her head and looks at me, giving me a tired smile.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“So am I, Mom.”
I hold her hand as I drive us back to my childhood home, not sure
how to face the rest of the day and even less certain of what the
future will hold for me and for her. She’ll have to learn how to live
without her partner in life, and I’ll have to learn how to live without
the only man I’ve ever wanted to truly share mine with. But at least
we have each other now. And Seth. Darling Seth, my ray of sunshine
on even the cloudiest of days. He makes the time afterward bearable
for the both of us as we focus our attentions on him, bonding as a
family as we celebrate New Year’s with Cynthia, Alice, Jasper, and
the kids. My mom hasn’t mentioned anything about my leaving or the
fact that I’ve been here for weeks now without being at my supposed
job. Maybe it hasn’t occurred to her to wonder, or maybe she knows
the truth. At this point I don’t really care, and if she asks, I’ll be
honest and tell her I’m looking for a new one, that the old one simply
didn’t work out. We have to go back to Seattle soon, if I want Seth
to stay in school, that is. Alice and her family left already, but I’ve
lingered here, helping my mom with getting her new life started, all
the while postponing my own. We sort through all of my father’s
426
things, deciding what to keep and what to throw away, and order her
a new bedroom set since she got rid of their old double bed when he
got sick. I also go with her to Port Angeles, regarding my father’s will.
The lawyer is a severe-looking, middle-aged man, and it’s obvious my
mom is intimidated by him from the way she rounds her shoulders
and lets him take charge of the conversation. As expected, the house
and the cars will go to my mother, as well as the life insurance my
father had taken out. It’s a lot of money, which means she’ll be taken
care of in the future—a huge relief since she’s never actually had a
job outside of her home.
My mom clears her throat, speaking in a soft voice.
“I want Isabella to have my husband’s car.”
The lawyer nods while I gape at her.
“You need a car,” she says to me. “And I don’t need two. Please
take it.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. “I’ll take good care of it, I promise.”
“I know you will.”
She turns to the lawyer again.
“I also wanted to, uh . . . is it possible to give Isabella some of the
insurance money . . . for school if she wants to go someday?”
My mouth actually drops open, but before I can respond, the lawyer
does.
“This is besides the college fund?” he asks. “Because we’re already
talking about a considerable amount of money.”
“What college fund?” both my mother and I ask at the same time.
The lawyer looks between the two of us, shuffling his papers.
“Mrs. Swan, you are aware that your late husband set up a college
fund for Isabella, aren’t you?”
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I stare at my mom, who looks just as shocked as I feel.
“But that was . . . so long ago.”
“Yes,” the lawyer says, glancing though his papers, “it was set up
right after Isabella was born.”
“And it’s still . . . er, valid?” I ask, barely able to get the words
out.
“Yes. It’s available to you as long as you agree to a few stipulations.
All I need is a signature.”
Holy shit!
I feel faint.
“W-what stipulations?” I ask.
“The money must be used for tuition, books, housing, and household
expenses only.” He looks at me over the rim of his glasses, giving me
a stern look. “Not to go partying or shopping.”
I snort out a laugh before I can contain myself.
“Isabella wouldn’t do that,” my mom says firmly. “She has a 3.8
grade point average, but more importantly, she’s a responsible young
woman and a wonderful mother to her son.”
She gives me a look filled with pride that warms me all over.
“I’m so happy Charles kept the fund for you. It was always meant
for you— if you want it.”
I’m speechless for a few seconds. The ramifications of this are
life-changing, to say the least. I draw a deep breath.
“So . . . as long as the money is spent on tuition and the other
things you mentioned . . . I can decide how to do that . . . how
much goes where and so on?”
The lawyer nods and I smile, turning to my mom again.
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“I know you wanted me to go to an Ivy League university,” I say,
“but I don’t think that’s for me. I’d never see Seth.”
“I understand,” my mom says. “I just want you to be happy.”
“You know what would make me really happy? To share this with
Alice. I want her to go to school with me. I don’t think I would’ve
made it without her, Mom. She saved me.”
My mother’s eyes well up, and she nods her approval. I feel like
dancing around the room. I feel like screaming and shouting for joy.
I’ve wanted for so long to do something for Alice, and now I can. I
know she wants to go to college, but I also know that she’d never
prioritize herself over her family, having already chosen to start saving
for her daughters to study. But now she can go too. We both can!
“How much money are we talking about?” I ask carefully.
“I don’t know,” my mom admits. “Some months he’d put a thousand
dollars in, some a little less. But he always did it, every month.”
The lawyer clears his throat.
“With the added interest since you graduated high school, it comes
to”— he glances at the papers again—“$192,400.”
I gasp so hard that I almost choke, my mother having to pat me
on the back as I cough loudly, tearing up not just because of the lack
of air.
“This is . . . I can’t even—”
I start crying, sobbing actually. This changes everything. I’ve been
so scared. So scared. But never again. With my mom at my side,
stroking my back as I cry, I feel safe and loved. There are no strings
attached to this money. I’m in control of my own life for the first time
ever, and it’s both exhilarating and terrifying.
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“Thank you. Thank you.” I hiccup, trying to compose myself,
remembering that we’re in a stranger’s office.
After I’ve calmed down, we sign the paperwork and head back
to Forks, silent most of the way. In the kitchen at home, my mom
makes us coffee, and we sit quietly, each of us contemplating what has
transpired on this day.
“I suppose you’ll go back to Seattle, then?” my mom asks quietly.
There’s no anger or resentment in her eyes but rather a wistful
sadness about the smile she sends me.
“I understand,” she continues. “But I will miss you both terribly
when you go.”
“I’ll miss you, too, and so will Seth. But we won’t be far away, and
with dad’s car, we can come and visit all the time. Maybe . . . you
can come and visit us, too?”
“Of course I will,” she says immediately. “And when you start
school again, I could help you with Seth. Maybe he could spend a
weekend up here every once in a while?”
“I think he’d love that. No, I know he would.”
My mom smiles, reaching across the table to take my hand.
“What are you going to study, then?” she asks.
I let out a happy laugh.
“I don’t know. It’s . . . I never thought I’d be able to go to school
at all. But maybe . . . I don’t know, maybe culinary school?”
She nods for me to continue.
“I love cooking, and especially baking. When I think back . . . you
and me here in this kitchen. Those were the happiest times for me,
and Dad always made such a fuss over it when I’d made something,
remember?”
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She smiles through tears.
“I’ll have to look into it more before I decide, of course. The work
hours are probably brutal if you work in a bakery, but maybe someday
I could work as a caterer or something. I’d really like that, I think—
making people happy with my cooking and baking. And I should take
some classes in marketing and finance, too, if I’m going to run my
own business one day.”
I cup my cheeks, shaking my head.
“Wow. This is really incredible. Thank you, Mom.”
“No matter what you do, I’ll be proud of you, Isabella. But I would
really feel a lot better about sending you back to the big city if you’d
consider getting a new apartment in a better neighborhood.”
I don’t tell her that we’ve already moved out and are currently
living with Alice and Jasper. I simply promise her that I will get on
that first thing. A new apartment for a new life.
Seth and I drive home to Seattle the next day, a visit with my mom
already set up in two weeks, which makes me feel less guilty about
leaving—that and the fact that Cynthia has promised to look in on her
often. The drive back is drastically different from the on that brought
us here here. I’m in my own car, an old, reliable Mercedes that my
father took excellent care of, which means it runs like a dream, and I
can see Seth in the mirror, grinning happily in his excitement to get
back home to Lucy and Maria as well as his friends at school. I’m
grinning, too, because in just a few hours, I get to tell my best friend
that we’re both going to start looking at college classes this spring.
And then I can start looking for a nice place to live, a real home for
me and my son. I can’t wait to get everything set up and have my
own place again with my own furniture. My furniture . . .
“Oh, shit,” I whisper.
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“What’d you say, Mommy?”
“Er, nothing. Do you want to listen to some music? I’ll find
something you like.”
While I turn on the radio, I draw a deep breath to settle the rush of
nerves that just went through me when I realized . . . Mr. Masen put
all of my belongings into storage when I moved in with him. Every
single piece of furniture and kitchenware I own, not to mention my
appliances, are somewhere only he knows, and I’ll need them back
when I move into my own place. Which means . . . I’ll have to make
contact with him sooner or later.
For now, though, I choose later. It’s time to get my life together,
and I know Alice and Jasper won’t mind if we stay there for a few more
weeks while everything settles down. Besides, with how my heart still
flutters at the very thought of contacting him, I think it’s definitely
better to wait a while until my feelings aren’t so raw and exposed.
When I do see him again, I want to be the one in control—for the first
time ever.
Good plan, Bella.
Good plan? Or should she just go on an IKEA shopping
spree and get all new stuff?
I’m going on holiday to Mallorca on Saturday with my
family, and I probably won’t get a chance to write for the
next week or so, but I’ll hurry with the next chapter as much
as I can. I hope you liked this one, and the fact that things
are finally starting to look up for Bella and Seth.
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Chapter 30

Surprise!
You can thank my team for this early update! My writ-
ing partner, GeekChic12. My beta, Chayasara. And my
prereaders Dawn, Veronica, and Diane. I would be nothing
without all of you. Thank you!
I had a lovely holiday with my family last week—thank
you for all of your greetings. This chapter is a bit shorter
than normal, but since I start work again on Monday (booo!)
I wanted to get this out before the madness begins.
Enjoy!
BPOV
“How are you doing?” Alice asks, drawing me into a hug. “How’s
your mom?”
I embrace her, watching over her shoulder as Seth runs off to play
with Lucy and Maria.
“I’m okay,” I respond, giving her a squeeze before letting go. “Mom’s
. . . a bit better, I think. She’s been seeing your mom a lot, actually.
I think they’re becoming good friends.”
Alice smiles, helping me out of my coat before leading me into the
kitchen where we sit down.
“Is Jasper at work?” I ask, taking the coffee she offers me.
“Yep. He’ll be back later. I thought he was supposed to pick you
guys up at the bus station this afternoon.”
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“He was, but . . . my mom gave me my dad’s car.”
“Really? That’s awesome!”
“It is. We went to Port Angeles yesterday to hear about the will
and everything, and then she said she wanted me to have it.”
Alice nods, taking a sip of her own coffee.
“It turns out my dad set up a college fund for me when I was
born,” I continue, unable to contain my smile, “and it’s a lot of money,
actually.”
“No way! Bella, that’s fantastic!”
“It is,” I agree. “But that’s not all.”
“You got a car plus college. What, did they buy you a deluxe
apartment in the sky too?” she sings, ending with a laugh.
“Not quite,” I reply, smiling. “There were some stipulations in
regard to how I can spend the money, but now that I’ve signed the
papers, I get to decide how it’s spent, so I’m going to start looking
for an apartment soon.”
“You know you can stay here for as long as you want, right? I
mean, you don’t have to rush out of here or anything.”
“Thank you,” I say softly. “Alice, I don’t know what I would’ve
done without you. If I hadn’t met you after we moved here . . . I
can’t imagine my life without you in it. You’re my best friend in the
whole world.”
“And you’re mine,” she says immediately. “I’m so happy things are
finally looking up for you and Seth even though it sucks that you had
to lose your dad to get this opportunity.”
“Yeah, I know. I wish things could have been different, but I’m
really glad my dad got to meet Seth before . . . and that my mom
wants to be a grandmother to him now.”
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I draw a breath.
“Anyway, about the college tuition . . . Like I said, it’s a lot of
money, and the only thing that would make me happier than enrolling
in classes is if you’d do it too.”
Alice gives me a wistful smile.
“I don’t think that’s in the cards for me. Between me and Jas,
we’re doing okay, but . . . it’ll be some years until there’s enough
money for that sort of thing.”
“No, you misunderstand me. I want to share the fund with you.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but I quickly continue.
“And please don’t say no. My dad left me enough for the both of
us, and my mom already agreed we should do this together. I want
you to have this opportunity too. You’ve taken care of me so much
these last few years and, I want to do this for you. Please let me.”
“Bella . . .” Alice stares at me, seemingly at a loss for words.
“Please?” I whisper. “All you have to do is say yes. And you’ll
make me really, really happy.”
Her eyes water and she looks down, blinking rapidly.
“Yes,” she says softly. “Oh my God.”
I beam at her, my insides fluttering with excitement.
“Oh my God,” she says again, her whole face lit up with a huge
grin. “Bella!”
Both of us stand, throwing our arms around each other.
“Thank you!” she says, squeezing me tightly. “I can’t believe it!”
“I couldn’t either, but it’s the real deal.”
“College!” She laughs. “Fucking college!”
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I pull back, nodding eagerly.
“College. For both of us.”
We take our seats again, both of us still grinning like loons.
“What do you want to study?” I ask.
“Nursing,” she says without hesitation. “I’ve been dreaming about
that for a while now. I just never imagined I’d be able to do it until
the kids were much older.”
“That’s perfect. You’re a natural caretaker.”
“Thanks,” she says softly. “What about you?”
“Something with food, I think. I’d love to become a caterer or
maybe open up my own bakery one day once I’ve saved enough.”
“I could see that,” she says with a nod. “You’re great in the kitchen.
You could also teach, you know? Like you did with, um, Rosalie,
right?”
“Yeah. I really loved doing that. I’m going to miss it.”
“You’re not seeing her anymore?”
I shrug.
“I mean, I want to, but . . . she lives . . .”
“Next to him.” Alice supplies the obvious conclusion. “I get it, but
she’s still your friend. That doesn’t have to change, does it?”
“No, I guess not,” I mumble. “Besides . . . I’ll have to see him
again eventually.”
Alice raises her eyebrows, giving me a look.
“He has all of my belongings in storage somewhere,” I explain.
“Once I get a new apartment, I’ll need them, won’t I?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Or not. You could just buy new stuff though.”
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“I could,” I admit, “but . . . that seems really wasteful.”
“Or I could just contact him. Ask him for you.”
I nod slowly, pressing my lips together.
“But you don’t want me to,” she says with a knowing smile. “C’mon,
Bella. You’re an open book. You don’t actually have to see him again.
You want to. Am I right?”
“No,” I mutter.
Alice snorts.
“Fine. Yes. You’re right. Does that make me pathetic?”
“No!” she says immediately. “I get it. You love him.”
“I do,” I whisper. “I really do, Alice.”
Blowing out a breath, I continue.
“He came to my dad’s funeral.”
“He did?”
“I only saw him for a few moments, and we didn’t talk, but he
came. I think Rosalie must’ve told him. He held my hand, and he
said he was sorry.”
“Wow.”
“He looked awful,” I go on, remembering how haggard his face was,
“like he’d been through hell and back. I’m worried about him.”
“You never really told me what happened that night—when he
kicked you out.”
“He didn’t . . . I mean, not exactly.”
“What happened, then?” she asks gently.
We’re interrupted by the kids, who come running into the kitchen,
wanting snacks. After they’re set up with juice boxes and cookies in
437
the living room, I recount the events of the night Mr. Masen came
home, his strange reaction to the Christmas decorations, his behavior
at the hospital, and finally what happened when I woke up on the
floor in the middle of the night.
“Holy fuck,” Alice whispers, shaking her head slowly. “What . . .
why . . . I don’t even know what to say!”
“I know. He’s . . . really damaged—much more so than I ever
thought. I think . . . something awful happened to him. I think he
had a family . . . once.”
“A family?” Alice asks, wide-eyed. “You mean . . .”
“Yeah. I think he had kids.”
We both sit in silence for a while. Across from me, my best friend
shivers.
“God,” she says softly, “I can’t even imagine . . . I think I’d die if
I lost Lucy and Maria. How do you keep going after something like
that?”
I sigh, absentmindedly rubbing my hand across my chest as if to
ease the constricting feeling within.
“You close yourself off emotionally, and instead of a relationship,
you hire a girl to sleep with you and tend to your needs, only to have
her fall in love with you even though that’s not something you can
ever return?”
Alice gives me a sad smile.
“Do you really believe that?” she asks. “That he can’t ever return
your feelings?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure he’d even let himself try.”
“Maybe I should contact him, after all,” she suggests.
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“I know the smart thing would be to let you do that, but . . . I
want to see him, make sure he’s okay.” I laugh a little, shaking my
head. “I guess I really am a masochist.”
Alice snorts, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“But maybe you could go with me?” I ask. “In case I need you?”
“Of course. Just say when.”
“Not right now. I need to get it together a bit more first.”
“That makes sense.”
She hesitates for a second.
“Bella, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“If you could get him back . . . would you want to? I mean, after
everything that has happened?”
I draw a deep breath, letting it out again.
“I don’t know. I really don’t. He hurt me, but I don’t think he
meant to. Still . . . things would have to change a lot. I couldn’t go
back to the way it was before with him calling all the shots and it just
being about sex. I . . . deserve more.”
“You do. I’m glad you’ve realized that.”
“Right now, though, I want to focus on me, on getting my life back
together.”
Alice smiles.
“So what’s the plan?”
I smile back.
“We start looking at classes for the spring semester.”
“Deal!”
439
The next couple of weeks are filled with a strange mixture of both
hectic excitement and moments of melancholy. Alice applies for the
Certified Nurse Assistant program part-time since she still needs to
work a little on the side to make the household budget work. I offer
to help her with that, but she refuses, insisting that I just pay for her
tuition and books since I’ll need a much larger portion of the college
fund, being a sole provider. It makes sense.
I’ve started looking for an apartment, too, sticking to nice neigh-
borhoods close to where Alice and Jasper live, which definitely ups
the price of rent compared to what I’m used to.
I decide to enroll in business school first, wanting to know more
about the financial aspects of running a business before deciding on
a career for the future. I just know I like to cook and bake, and I’m
pretty good at it, but that hardly seems like enough to start a business
of my own. I have to be smart about this. An added perk of doing
this first rather than culinary school, is that Alice and I will be close
to each other on campus, so neither of us will be completely on our
own when we venture into the world of higher education, which is a
bit daunting so many years after high school.
In contrast to all of these positive developments is the grief I feel
for my father and worry for my mother, combined with moments of
sheer longing for Mr. Masen. Regardless of what I’ve told myself and
Alice, of what I know is sensible and smart, I miss him, and some
nights I can’t stop myself from crying when I know everyone else is
asleep. I think of how he gazed tenderly into my eyes, how he smiled
at me, how safe and cared for I felt in his warm embrace, how sweet
he was with my son. And then I feel anger. Because he’s the one
who did all of those things and a million others, which ultimately is
what made me fall in love with him. He did so little to discourage my
feelings, even telling me not to fake anything with him but to give him
everything. Only in the end, he didn’t want everything. He didn’t
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want my love.
I should hate him. I should.
On February 1st I sign a lease for an apartment located in the
eastern part of Seattle, a neighborhood called Madrona. At eight
hundred square feet, it’s a bit on the small side with just one bedroom,
which means I’ll be sleeping in the living room on a pullout couch. I
don’t mind though. It’s clean and comfortable with a dining space in
the kitchen and built-in closets plus hardwood floors. Compared to
our old place, it’s a palace. Instead of a noisy, broken-down apartment
building in the middle of the city, we’re now the proud renters of the
top floor of a quaint townhouse. The owners, Alistair and Garrett,
seem friendly and down-to-earth. They live downstairs and didn’t
mind renting to someone with a kid. They’ve been married since it
was made legal in this state, which means they’re about to celebrate
their fourth anniversary on Valentine’s Day. We should be moved in
by then. All I need now is my furniture.
“Shit, I don’t know if I can do this, Alice.”
I blow out a breath, staring at my reflection in the mirror as well
as Alice’s, who’s standing behind me.
“You can.” Her words reassure me as she moves a few of my curls
around my shoulders. “I’ll be with you. And you look great.”
“I look like an idiot.”
I frown at the conservative dress and jacket I’m wearing. It’s not
my style at all, but I didn’t feel right showing up at his office in jeans
and a sweater. Last night, we sat down at the computer to find out
where he works.
“I can’t believe you don’t know,” Alice said.
“We never talked about his job. Or anything about his personal
life, really.”
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“You were never tempted to . . . I don’t know, look him up?”
“After the huge tantrum I threw when I thought he’d looked into
my personal information? No way.”
“Yeah, okay. But weren’t you even a little curious?”
I chuckled, rolling my eyes at her.
“Are you kidding me? Of course I was. I am. But . . . it didn’t
really matter. I felt safe with him, and that was the most important
thing.”
“And now?”
“I don’t know how safe I’d feel with him. Not that he’d ever hurt
me or Seth physically. But emotionally . . . I don’t know if I’d be
able to trust him again. I’m angry with him, Alice. I wasn’t initially,
but the more I’ve thought about it . . . everything he said and did . .
. it was like he wanted me to fall in love with him.”
“And then when you did . . .”
“Yeah. He couldn’t handle it—or rather, he couldn’t handle us. I
don’t know if he ever realized I was in love with him. Not that it
matters. I don’t think that would’ve changed anything for him if he
knew. Love isn’t a cure-all.”
I shook my head.
“I sound so jaded, don’t I?”
“That’s understandable. You haven’t exactly had the best luck
with men. Your dad, Mike, and now Mr. Masen.”
“Great. Abandonment issues 101.”
“You’re gonna be okay.”
She wrapped her arm around me, facing the computer.
“Let’s start Googling. It’s time.”
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“Just his work info,” I said, warning Alice. “I don’t want to know
anything else. Nothing good can come from knowing. It’d only suck
me in deeper.”
“Agreed.”
We’d found out Mr. Masen has his own company located downtown.
He’s an auditor and, apparently, a really, really good one, working all
over the world for big companies. All of his travel makes sense as well
as his endless stacks of paperwork. It all makes sense. Checking other
companies for errors in their financial paperwork wouldn’t exactly
make you popular upon arrival and would be a good way of avoiding
emotional connections in your work life. If only he’d been this diligent
about his home life.
The truth is, I’m not just angry with him but also myself. I never
should’ve moved Seth and me in with him. It was one thing to
compromise myself emotionally, but I never should’ve done that to
my son, and I regret it deeply. I let myself believe in the fairy tale.
“A beautiful idiot, then,” Alice says, bringing me out of my thoughts
as she pinches my ass.
“Hey!” I grin at her in the mirror.
She grins back, ushering me toward the door where I put on my only
pair of heels. Thirty minutes later, we’re downtown in the financial
district, parking my car outside a huge office building. Inside the
lobby, we go to the desk and ask for Masen Consulting Services. It’s
on the 7th floor, and I draw several calming breaths as we enter the
elevator.
“You know what you’re going to say?” Alice asks.
I nod. I’ve already rehearsed the words in my head—a calm ex-
planation that I no longer need the storage and would like to get my
belongings immediately. Beyond that, I don’t think there’s much else
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to say. I really just want to look him in the eyes, to make sure that
he’s all right, and he can see that I’m all right too. Then I think I’ll
be able to move on. God, I hope so.
There’s a young man sitting behind the desk in the waiting area,
talking on the phone. He gives me a brief smile and looks me up and
down as he holds up his finger indicating that he’s almost done. This
must be Mr. Masen’s assistant, but I don’t remember what he said
his name was. It was so long ago he told me, the night we celebrated
his birthday. The memory is bittersweet.
“How can I help you?” the assistant asks, looking between Alice
and me before settling his gaze on my face.
“Is, uh, Mr. Masen available?” I ask.
“He’s in a meeting right now, but he should be done soon. If I can
just take your names, please?”
“Isabella Swan,” I say, watching as he scribbles it down before
glancing at Alice.
“It’s just me,” I add. “She’s, uh . . .”
Here for moral support.
“My ride.”
“All right, Miss Swan?”
I nod.
“Miss Swan and ‘my ride,’ may I take your coats?” He smiles at
his own teasing. “You can wait right over there.”
He motions to the chairs.
“Thank you.”
Alice and I sit down, me right on the edge of my seat. I’m so
nervous, I feel like I might vomit. Alice sends me a warm smile, and I
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inhale deeply through my nose, trying to center myself. Five minutes
pass with me staring at the door to his office, which is located behind
the assistant’s desk. Whenever I glance in his direction, he smiles at
me, and I feel forced to return it, acting as though everything is fine. I
nearly jump out of my seat as the door opens, but it’s not Mr. Masen
who comes out. It’s a woman. A beautiful forty-something woman in
a blouse, skirt, and heels, carrying a briefcase. She turns in the door,
her profile to me, and says something I can’t hear, smiling.
She’s smiling at him. Who is she?
I turn my head to look at Alice. She’s also watching the woman
closely.
“Who’s that?” she whispers. “A client?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble.
The woman closes the door to his office behind her. The assistant
is already on his feet, helping her into her coat. As she turns our way,
she sends me a polite smile before talking to the young man.
“Same time next week,” I hear her say to him.
He enters it into his computer, and then she walks past us on
clicking heels as my stomach churns.
Same time next week? For what?
Oh, the drama llama just rode in.
I hope you liked this. Should Bella just turn around and
make a quick escape, or do what she came here to do? Sorry
for the lack of Edward in this one. I miss him too, if that’s
any consolation.
See you next week! (Hopefully. I will do my very best!)
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Chapter 31
Disclaimer:
I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.
Thank you to my beta, Chayasara, for editing this at
record speed. You always seem to know exactly what I’m
trying to say, fixing my sometimes jumbled words to make
perfect sense after they’ve been through your capable hands.
Thank you to my prereaders, Diane, Veronica, and Dawn,
my cheerleaders and confidantes, and my writing partner,
Geekchic12, who makes me write a million times faster, even
though we spend just as much time talking about our kids
and everything else going on in our lives.
Finally, thank you to all of you who are reading. It’s
always such a joy to read your reviews and your different
thoughts on the recent chapters.
Enjoy!
BPOV
It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter who she is.
I’m lying to myself. Of course it matters. I want to believe she was
here on an innocuous errand, but considering how I met Mr. Masen
in the first place with him soliciting me on the street . . .
No, he wouldn’t. Not here at his place of business! Pull yourself
together!
I calm slightly, seeing the idiocy of my thoughts. The woman who
just left isn’t Mr. Masen’s type at all. I am. He was always very vocal
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about telling me how desirable he found me, and I look nothing like
her.
But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t found someone else who looks like
you. She could be at his house right now, waiting for him, baking him
pie.
“Bella?”
I turn to Alice, realizing that I’m clutching the edge of my seat as
though I’m scared of falling off.
“You all right?” she asks softly, a look of concern on her face.
“I’m really not,” I say. “But I have to do this. I have to get it over
with.”
“Okay. I call ice cream and Pitch Perfect tonight.”
“How about booze and Thelma & Louise?” I whisper, only half-
kidding.
Alice laughs and I can’t help but join her, drawing the attention of
the assistant who gives us a curious look.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
My nerves are frayed, making me feel pretty unhinged.
“Never apologize for that beautiful laugh,” he replies, giving me a
wink before turning to his phone.
“Wow, flirty,” Alice whispers, nudging me.
“Tell me about it.”
The assistant presses a few buttons, clearing his throat.
“Mr. Masen—”
He pauses, listening.
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“Yes, sir, I do remember . . . I cancelled them all, but . . . you
have a walk-in . . . A Miss Swan here to see you.”
He sits up a bit straighter.
“Miss Isabella Swan, yes.” He glances at me. “She’s here now . . .
should I . . . yes, sir!”
He hangs up, quickly rolling his neck while I still watch with bated
breath. I guess I’m not the only one who finds Mr. Masen intimidating.
“Miss Swan? He’ll see you now.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, taking a few seconds to find my balance
in the heels after sitting for a while.
“You want me to come in with you?” Alice asks.
“No, thanks.” I send her a smile. “Just knowing you’re out here is
enough.”
I square my shoulders and walk past the desk, careful not to brush
up against the young man who opens the door to Mr. Masen’s office
as I approach. I take a step inside, my eyes sweeping across the room,
but I can’t focus on anything besides the man behind the desk. It’s
been weeks and weeks since I saw him, but now that I’m facing him,
it’s as if no time has passed at all, my stupid heart fluttering at the
sight of him. I quickly lower my eyes.
Will my heart ever stop doing that in his presence? It won’t matter.
You won’t see him anymore after today.
The thought is sobering and unwelcome, but that doesn’t make it
any less true.
“Would you like anything to drink?” the assistant asks behind me.
“No, thanks,” I murmur. “I’m not staying long.”
I hear the door closing behind me, and my nerves make me flinch
at the sound, knowing I’m alone with him.
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“Isabella,” he says.
I sense him standing up and draw a quick breath, mustering up
the courage to look directly at him. He looks better than he did at
the funeral, but there are still shadows underneath is eyes, and I’m
pretty sure he’s lost a bit of weight too, his jawline and cheekbones
appearing even sharper than before.
“Please don’t get up. I won’t take much of your time.”
My gaze meets his, and for a few seconds, we just stare at each
other.
“You look beautiful,” he whispers.
“Oh, uh, th-thank you,” I stutter, not expecting the compliment.
“And thank you for coming to the funeral.”
He nods once, moving slowly around the desk toward me.
Oh god.
“I just came by because . . . because I n-need . . .”
“What do you need?” he whispers, stepping right into my personal
space, which forces me to tilt my head back to look up at him.
He’s so close, and he smells so good.
I should’ve brought Alice in with me!
“What do you need?” he asks again, brushing his fingertips across
the apple of my cheek, letting them linger on my chin.
I stare up into his eyes, helplessly drawn to him, unconsciously
wetting my lips as my heart thunders away. I shiver as he brushes his
thumb over my lower lip, his gaze leaving mine to follow the movement.
Stop this! What the hell are you doing?
“F-furniture,” I sputter, stepping around him and backing out of
his immediate presence.
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“Pardon?” He turns, looking at me with raised eyebrows.
“I-I didn’t come here to . . . to do whatever you just tried to do!”
I exclaim, feeling my anger building. “You can’t . . . what are you
doing? You ended this!”
He buries his hands in his pockets and at least has the decency to
look guilty.
“Yes, I did.”
“Right. So . . . we’re not . . . touching like that. That’s not why
I came.”
He sighs softly, nodding his head.
“What is it you need, Isabella?”
“My furniture, please. I don’t need the storage anymore.”
“Oh.” He frowns. “You’re not at your friends’ anymore?”
“No.”
He gives me an expectant look, but I don’t want to tell him anything
else. I just want to get out of here before I start either crying, yelling,
or kissing him. And quite possibly all three.
“So if you’ll just tell me where everything is . . . I’ll have it picked
up as soon as possible,” I say, sounding a lot calmer than I feel.
“Do you need any help moving?”
What?
“No, thanks. Just the info, please.”
Please, just let me get out of here!
He watches me for a few seconds before he retreats behind his desk
and sits down, motioning to the chair on the other side. I take a seat,
clutching my hands in my lap while he rummages through his top
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drawer. He pulls out an envelope and hands it to me. It has my name
written on the front in his elegant cursive.
“The lease is paid out for the rest of the year, so if you don’t want
to take it all now . . .”
“Thanks. That won’t be necessary, though,” I tell him, standing
up.
“You don’t have to . . . would you . . . like coffee?” he asks. “Or
lunch. I can have Marcus—”
I shake my head, backing away.
“Thank you. I’m . . . fine.”
I’m not fine at all. What is he doing? Why is he doing this?
“Alice is waiting for me,” I add as I reach the door. “Goodbye,
Mr. Masen.”
I turn with my hand on the doorknob, hesitating.
“I hope you’ll . . . be happy. I really do,” I say, opening the door
and stepping out.
The assistant, Marcus, jumps out of his chair to fetch our coats,
and Alice approaches, her eyes scanning me. I give her a quick smile
and turn when the assistant holds out my open coat for me to slip my
arms in.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
“No problem,” he replies with a smile. “So . . . I thought I’d ask .
. . would you like to go to dinner sometime?”
He’s asking me out?
“That’s . . . really nice of you. But I can’t. I’m sorry.”
His face falls a little.
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“Oh, you’re already seeing someone?”
It’s easier to just lie.
“Uh, yeah, I am.”
“Should’ve guessed,” he says. “But nothing ventured, right?”
“Right.”
I give him a smile, which I guess he takes as encouragement.
“Do you want my number any—”
“Marcus! How about you hand Ms. Brandon her coat and then get
back to work.” Mr. Masen barks right behind me.
Oh, shit!
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
Marcus helps Alice into her coat and slinks back behind his desk. I
can feel Mr. Masen’s eyes on me, but I don’t dare turn around to face
him. Alice’s gaze flickers to the space behind me, and she nods to him
before taking my hand. I follow her as we walk out of the office, my
heart still in my throat.
“Holy fuck,” she whispers as we step into the elevator. “Talk about
tense.”
I let my chin drop to my chest, blowing out a deep breath.
“You don’t know the half of it,” I murmur. “I think . . . in his
office . . . he wanted to kiss me.”
“What?”
“It was so weird,” I say, feeling the need to confess everything to
Alice. “He asked me all of these questions, if I needed help moving,
and he offered me lunch. It was like he didn’t want me to go.”
I look at Alice.
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“What am I supposed to do with all of that?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t really change anything, does it?”
“No, you’re right.”
We get out to the car, and I hand Alice the envelope.
“This is great,” she says. “It’s what you came for. Now we can
start moving you in tomorrow!”
So far we’ve painted the place and moved in a couple of new pieces
of furniture, like a pullout couch for the living room, as well as a new
TV. Alistair and Garrett have been invaluable, helping me carry the
heavy things and hanging up new lamps.
“Tomorrow,” I say, trying for a smile. “Will you check where the
storage space is?”
I look up at the building for a second as I steer the car into the
street. It’s surreal knowing that I’m never going to see him again.
“Ice cream tonight sounds good,” I say, waiting for a response.
Alice is flipping through a small stack of papers in her lap, an
intense look on her face.
“Alice?”
“Did you look at these?” she asks.
“No. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she assures me quickly, “but you should be probably
pull over somewhere. You’re going to want to see this.”
Sitting in a little café just down the street from Mr. Masen’s office,
we pore over the papers while our coffee is sitting untouched at the
edge of the table.
“I can’t believe he did this!” I say for the third time.
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“I know. It looks like you just have to fill in a few things, and then
sign the papers. The envelopes are even stamped and addressed.”
Mr. Masen has prepared a petition for me, asking to receive sole
custody of Seth, citing Mike’s abandonment as the reason. If they
can’t find him to serve the papers . . . well, then I think it means I
win without a court case. There’s also a form to change Seth’s last
name to Swan instead of Newton. Mr. Masen once asked me about
Seth’s father, and I told him I wanted sole custody, but it was never
mentioned again.
“This is amazing,” I whisper. “Why would he do this, Alice? I just
don’t get it.”
“He still cares about you,” she says softly. “I thought he was going
to kill his assistant when he asked you out.”
“God.”
I bury my face in my hands. He was jealous. Just like I was jealous
of that woman who left his office even though I do realize now that she
was probably just there on business. It’s pretty clear that he hasn’t
moved on, and the thought shouldn’t please me at all. I meant what
I said to him – I want him to be happy. It’s hard letting go when I
know he hasn’t.
“What should I do?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she replies, sighing. “I really don’t, Bella.”
“It would be so much easier if he were just a complete jerk, but
he’s not—at all. He’s so good, so kind.”
“Yeah,” Alice says softly. “Do you want to head home?”
I nod, and we leave it at that.
“This is really nice of you, Bella!”
I smile at Garrett before turning back to my chopping board.
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“I don’t mind at all. I love cooking.”
“Alistair’s going to be so surprised when he gets home tonight.”
We’re downstairs in Alistair and Garret’s kitchen where I’m helping
him cook dinner. Actually, I’m cooking and he’s drinking wine, keeping
me entertained.
“He does all of the cooking. I’m terrible.” Garrett continues. “I’m
sure he thinks we’re just ordering in tonight since he had to work.”
“I’m sure you’re not,” I say diplomatically. “I could teach you.”
“Nah. I’m really more of a trophy husband,” he says jokingly, lifting
the wine bottle to pour me another glass.
“No more for me, please. Seth will be home soon.”
“You and the little guy have big plans for tonight?”
“Oh, yeah. Homemade pizza and The Little Mermaid. He let me
pick it out for our date since it’s Valentine’s Day and all.”
“Nice. You know, Ali and I wouldn’t mind watching him sometime
if you ever want to go out on a grown-up date some night.”
“Thanks. I’m not really dating right now, though.”
“Bad breakup?” He holds up his hand before I can answer. “Sorry,
was that too personal? I know you’ve only just moved in, but . . . I
feel like we’re friends already.”
I beam at him, touching my nearly empty glass to his.
“I feel the same say. You and Alistair have been so great.”
I drink the rest of my wine.
“Yeah, bad breakup,” I tell him. “I’m not really over it.”
“I’m sorry. That sucks. Was it Seth’s dad?”
I shake my head.
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“He ran off over a year ago. I just sent in papers last week, filing
for sole custody. Honestly, I kind of hope they don’t find him so I can
get this done quickly. Seth never even talks about him anymore, so . .
.”
I draw a breath.
“I have horrible luck with men anyway—well, romantically speaking
at least. I think I’m pretty lucky in the housemate department.”
Garrett grins at me, stretching his arms above his head.
“I should really grab a shower at some point. I stink.”
“I wasn’t going to say it.” I tease him, looking over his admirable
physique. “Go. I’ll finish prepping this so you can throw it in the
oven before Alistair gets home.”
“You’re the best,” he says, jumping off his stool.
Garrett is supposedly writing his thesis on French philosophers, but
it seems like he spends more time working out and lounging around
the house. Alistair’s a lawyer and a few years older than Garrett.
They seem like polar opposites on the outside, one being a fun-loving
slacker and the other a workaholic with a Type A personality. They’re
very happy, though. I sensed that the moment I met them. Garret
has already told me that they want kids and are looking into both
adoption and surrogacy. Tonight’s their fourth anniversary, and I
jumped at the chance to cook for them when Garrett asked. Usually
they’d go out on a night like this, but since Alistair had to work
late, much to his regret, they decided on a night in. I know the meal
I’m prepping won’t be as good as anything they could get at a fancy
restaurant, but I hope they’ll enjoy it anyway—a small thank you for
making me and Seth feel so welcome in their house.
As I’m cleaning up, the doorbell rings. Seth isn’t due for another
hour, depending on traffic between the school and here, but I open
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the door anyway, seeing how Garrett is still in the bathroom. I blink
in surprise when I see a familiar young man outside my door.
“Marcus?”
“Hello, Miss Swan.”
“Hello. What, uh, what can I do for you?”
“I’m not here to ask you out again,” he says quickly. “I’m here on
business. For Mr. Masen.”
“O-oh,” I stutter.
He turns toward the driveway, and it’s only just now I notice the
U-Haul truck parked there.
“Um, what’s in there?” I ask.
Alice, Jasper, and I have already gotten everything out of storage,
and with the help of Garrett and Alistair, it took no time at all to get
everything moved in.
“It’s your furniture,” Marcus says.
“What? I already got my furniture.”
“Hey, what’s up?” Garrett says behind me in his usual cheerful
tone. “Oh, you got more to move in?”
“No, it’s . . . a mistake, I think.”
“No mistake,” Marcus insists. “A queen, and, uh, a kid’s bed that
looks like a car, plus some other cartoon stuff?”
“Oh,” I whisper, feeling shell-shocked. “I see.”
“Well, let’s get them in before we freeze to death,” Garrett says,
clapping his hands together. “I’ll just grab my coat and shoes. Hang
on.”
I finally get my bearings. Part of me wants to say no to of it, but I
know Seth will be over the moon, getting it all back.
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“Look, uh, tell Mr. Masen thank you for me. I’ll just take the
racecar bed, please. And the kids’ stuff.”
“You don’t want the queen?”
“No, that’s okay. I already have a bed.”
Really, the one Mr. Masen got me is more comfortable, but the
pullout couch is practical so I can still have company over. Garrett
and Marcus insist on carrying everything in themselves, leaving me
feeling like a damsel in distress as I watch them quickly set everything
up and carry out the cheap, used bed I got for Seth and loading it
into the U-Haul. Marcus says he’ll get rid of it for me, no problem.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “My son will love this. Please, tell
Mr. Masen I really appreciate it, and also thank him for the paperwork.
He’ll know what you mean.”
“I will. Have a nice Valentine’s Day, Miss Swan.”
“You too.”
Thankfully, Garrett doesn’t ask where the things came from, and I
spend the next hour setting everything up before Seth comes home.
When I’m done, his room looks almost the same as the one he had at
Mr. Masen’s house, which is both good and bad, for obvious reasons.
I know he’ll love it, though.
While I wait by the window for Seth’s bus, I call my mom, wishing
her a happy Valentine’s Day. I’d been worried about how she would
handle this day, but she sounds better than I had expected. I know
this holiday was never one she and my dad really celebrated beyond
his buying her flowers, but still. As it turns out, she’s going to Port
Angeles with Cynthia and two other girlfriends to have dinner at a
Mexican restaurant—which is very exotic for my mom. She actually
sounds excited although not as excited as she is to have me and Seth
come up for the weekend tomorrow afternoon after both of us are
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done with school. I spot Seth’s bus and tell my mom goodbye before
walking out to fetch him.
“Hey, Mommy!” he yells, sprinting toward me, his schoolbag bounc-
ing on his back with each step. “Look! Look what I’ve got for you.”
He runs into my waiting arms, giving me a quick hug before pulling
away and thrusting his little hand toward me.
“Happy Valentime’s Day,” he says with a huge grin, handing me a
card.
I don’t correct him. His way sounds so much cuter.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby. Is that really for me?”
“Uh-huh. I made it myself!”
“It’s so pretty. Did you draw that heart on the front?”
He nods eagerly as I open it.
“To Mommy from Seth. Happy Valentine’s Day,” I read out loud.
“Ms. Daniel wrote that for me,” he says, referring to his teacher,
Diane, “but I wrote my own name!”
That’s pretty easy to tell, but I act surprised anyway.
“You did? That’s awesome! Thank you so much, honey. I love it!
I’m gonna hang it on the fridge so that everyone who comes to visit
will see it.”
Seth beams at me.
“Do you want to come inside and help me make the pizza dough
for tonight?”
He nods, grabbing my hand as we walk into our new home together.
“And there’s a surprise for you in your room,” I add, not at all
shocked when he lets go of my hand to run ahead of me.
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As I listen to his shrieks of excitement when I come up the stairs to
our apartment, I smile. Mr. Masen has made my son very happy this
day, and I’ll always be grateful for that, regardless of how we ended
things between us.
“Can we watch another one?” Seth asks, yawning as the credits for
The Little Mermaid roll across the screen.
“Sorry, buddy. We both have school tomorrow, so we should
probably get ready for bed, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, okay. We’re still going to Nana’s after school, right?”
“Yep. The whole weekend.”
“Awesome.”
After I’ve read him a story and tucked him in, I convert the couch
into a bed and curl up with one of the books for my Economics 101
course. I’ve just started the chapter on supply and demand when I
hear the doorbell ringing downstairs. A few seconds later, the sounds
of loud voices travel upstairs, followed by an insistent knocking on my
door. I jump out of bed and run to it just as it opens, and two tall
figures burst through.
“You know this guy, Bella?” Garrett asks, taking a protective
stance.
“Yes,” I whisper, staring at Mr. Masen, who looks agitated and
disheveled as he tries to push past Garrett.
“Hey, cool it, man,” Garrett says. “You asked to see her, and here
she is. But I’m not leaving until she says it’s okay.”
Mr. Masen’s lips curl into a sneer as the two of them size each other
up.
“Stop that,” I snap at him. “What are you doing here?”
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“Tell your boyfriend here to leave, and I’ll tell you,” he says, never
taking his eyes off my housemate.
“Boyfriend?” Garrett laughs. “Yeah, that’s not . . . Bella, do you
want me to throw this idiot out of here?”
“No. No, it’s okay. Go back downstairs. Alistair will probably be
home soon. I’ll handle this.”
I send him what I hope is a reassuring smile.
“Thanks, though.”
“Anytime.”
He throws Mr. Masen a warning look before retreating, leaving the
door open.
“What the hell?” I ask him, shaking my head.
Mr. Masen tugs at his jacket and runs his hands through his hair.
“So . . . he’s not your boyfriend?” he asks, his eyes darting to
mine for a second. “My assistant said . . .”
“No!”
I grit my teeth.
“But even if he were . . . it’s none of your business! You come
bursting into my home like . . . Look, you need to leave. I can’t
do—”
“I want you back.”
I inhale sharply, my stomach doing that flip like when an elevator
suddenly drops. I shake my head back and forth, walking backwards
away from him.
“No. No, I can’t do this again. You can’t just . . . barge in here
and . . . and make demands like that. No. That’s not how it works.”
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“Isabella, I—”
“Hey, Mr. Masen!”
Oh, no.
Seth looks lit up from the inside as he runs to Mr. Masen, throwing
his arms around his legs.
“Hi, Seth.”
Mr. Masen runs his large hand over Seth’s rumpled hair. The sight
of it makes my insides feel all jumbled and my throat raw.
“Seth, you should be in bed,” I say as calmly as I can. “Big day
tomorrow, remember?”
“We’re going to visit my Nana,” Seth announces. “And look, I
made Mommy a card for Valentime’s Day.”
He pulls Mr. Masen over to the fridge, showing off his card.
“That’s very good.”
“Did you get Mommy a card?” my son asks, tilting his head back
to look up at him. “You’re s’posed to do that today. Or flowers.”
“Oh, I didn’t think of that,” Mr. Masen says. “I’ll remember that
for next time. I promise.”
Seth’s smile is radiant, but my stomach feels as though it’s filled
with acid.
“Back to bed with you,” I say. “Mr. Masen is leaving. Say good-
night.”
“Okay,” Seth grumbles. “Goodnight.”
He makes a show of walking into his room at a glacial pace before
closing the door just as slowly. He leaves it a few inches open, and I
can still see him standing right there.
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“To bed,” I say firmly.
The door finally closes all the way, and I drop my head into my
hands for a few seconds.
“You can’t say stuff like that to him.”
“What do you mean?” Mr. Masen asks, approaching me slowly.
“Promising him a next time,” I bite out. “That little boy has had
enough disappointments to last him a lifetime, and at least some of
them are my fault. But no more. We’re in a good place, and things
have only just settled down. So you need to leave now.”
“Please.” I gasp as his hands gently cup my cheeks. “I know . . . I
know how badly I fucked up, Isabella. I know I hurt you.”
His left hand still cradles my cheek as he moves his right down the
length of my hair, settling on my waist. I stare hard at the buttons of
his shirt, willing myself not to yield.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his breath tickling my forehead before his
lips brush over the same spot. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt
you. I thought . . . I thought I could . . .”
“Mommy, I’m thirsty!”
“Jeez.”
I take a step back, running my hand across my face.
“In a minute, Seth.”
I turn to him again.
“Look, Mr. Masen—”
“Edward,” he says immediately. “No more ‘Sir,’ no more
‘Mr. Masen.’ Just . . . Edward.”
“Edward.” I look up at him. “I can’t do this with you right now.”
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“But . . . later then?” he asks. “Please, Isabella.”
“Okay.” I nod my head, trying to buy time so I can think clearly.
“Okay. We can . . . try to talk.”
“Okay.” His shoulders drop, and the line between his eyes eases
away. “We’ll talk.”
“Mommy! I also have to pee!”
I chuckle, knowing all of my son’s sudden, pressing needs are most
likely excuses to get back out here.
“I should . . .” I point my thumb over my shoulder toward Seth’s
room.
“Yes, I’ll go. But . . . we’ll talk?”
I nod, following him to the door.
“May I . . .” He takes a small step toward me, his gaze trained on
my mouth.
Quickly, I step up on my toes, giving him a peck on the cheek. I
can’t have him kissing me tonight. As far as I’m concerned, nothing
has been resolved besides the fact that we’ll talk soon. I’m not ready
to throw caution to the wind, and I doubt I will be for some time to
come. Still, I can’t deny the tiny ember of hope that has sparked in
my chest. I’m such a fool for him.
“Goodnight, Edward,” I say softly.
“Goodnight.”
He stops halfway down the stairs, looking back up at me.
“Please apologize to your roommate for me?”
I nod.
“And . . . I really like your new place.”
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“Thank you.”
“We’ll talk?”
“Yes, I promise.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he says softly.
“You too.”
“Mommy! I have to tell you something really important!” Seth
yells from his room.
I tear my eyes away from . . . Edward and go to my help my son
with his dehydration, bathroom needs, and philosophical thoughts.
Inside of me the ember of hope burns and smolders. Later, I fall into
an easy and deep sleep for the first time in months, waking up with a
smile on my face. It’s a new day.
So not a fairytale reunion, but at least they’re talking
again. It’s a start.
I’m going out of town for some work-related stuff and I
also have my kids next week, but I’ll try my best to get a
new chapter written ASAP.
Have a lovely weekend!
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Chapter 32

It’s Friday! Check me out making good on my update
schedule.
Thank you to my brilliant team: Chayasara, Veronica, Di-
ane, Dawn, and GeekChic12. Your contributions and sup-
port are so appreciated. I couldn’t do this without you.
And today a special thanks to Lynette, for your fabulous
video review on Facebook. Gurl. Guuuurl! This one’s for
you! :D
BPOV
“Nana!”
Seth runs up the steps to my mom’s house and into her waiting
arms. I wave at her as I unload the car, happy to finally be here. It’s
our second visit since Christmas, and she’s looking even better this
time with a healthy glow to her skin and newly dyed hair.
“Do you need help?” she calls.
“I’ve got it.”
Once inside, she hugs the both of us and takes us into the kitchen
where the table is already set for dinner.
“You made good time getting here,” she says, carrying several dishes
to the table.
“Yeah, hardly any traffic after we got out of the city. And dad’s
car is running great.”
She smiles at me.
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“How’s school going, Seth?”
“Good! I can write my name now. Oh, wait!”
He runs out into the hallway and comes back a few seconds later,
carrying his bag, already tugging at the zipper.
“I made a Valentime’s Day card for mommy, and here’s yours,
Nana.”
He pulls it out of the bag and hands it to her. I sit back and smile
as my mom gushes over it, hanging it on her fridge, just like I did
with mine.
“Let’s eat,” she says, bringing her hands together.
Seth carefully studies the way mom and I do it and folds his own
hands. He and I smile at each other as my mom says grace. It’s not
something we do at home, but it makes my mom happy, so we join in
here.
“Any plans for this weekend?” she asks after dinner while I’m
helping her do the dishes.
“Not really.” I shrug. “Why?”
“I was talking to the Crowleys at church on Sunday. Tyler’s home
for the weekend too.”
She gives me a quick glance.
No way.
“Mom, whatever you’re thinking . . . no.”
“It would just be a casual dinner, and I could watch Seth for you.
He’s a very nice young man.”
“I’m sure he is. He was pretty nice when we went to school together.
But I’m not interested.” I hold her gaze when she looks over at me
again. I am not backing down.
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“All right.” She sighs, turning back to the sink. “I suppose I’ll give
his mother a call.”
“You do that.”
I put my arm around her, giving her a small squeeze.
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it.”
“I just don’t want you to be alone in the city,” she says.
“I know. And I’m not. I have Seth and my two housemates, Garrett
and Alistair.”
She stares at me, eyes wide.
“You’re living with two men?”
Oh, boy. I didn’t tell her that part yet, did I?
“Okay, about that, Mom. Please, just remember that it’s 2016, and
not everyone is as conservative as you.”
“I’m not that conservative,” she answers with a huff.
“All right. Yes, I’m renting an apartment in a really nice house in
a really nice neighborhood, and the owners are a nice, married couple,
who also happen to be men.”
Her eyes dart back and forth as she processes this information,
pursing her lips.
“You like living there?” she finally asks. “And Seth?”
“Very much. They’ve been nothing but friendly and helpful.”
“Well, okay, then”—She continues washing dishes—“as long as
you’re happy.”
I smile widely as I take the soapy glass she hands me and wipe it
off.
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“Thanks, Mom. We’re all moved in now, so you can come visit any
time you want.”
“I’d like that. See where you live.”
“Any time,” I say again. “Let’s finish up here, and then, how about
a rousing game of Candyland before Seth gets too tired?”
She chuckles, nodding her head.
“Sounds good. I’m really glad you’re here, Isabella, that you let
me into your lives.”
She blinks a couple of time, her eyes on the glass in her hands. I
put my arm around her again and give her another squeeze.
“Me too, Mom.”
The following afternoon, I get an unexpected text.
Can I see you?
It’s him. I’ve been so busy with Seth and mom that I haven’t had
much time to think at all.
Hi. I’m at my mom’s house. We won’t be back until tomorrow
afternoon.
His reply is instant.
I figured. Can you get away for a little while? I’m parked at the
diner.
My heart jumps in my chest.
You’re here? In Forks?
Yes.
“Oh my god,” I whisper to myself.
Meet with Edward right now? I didn’t see that coming, and I can’t
believe he drove all the way here!
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Is everything all right? I ask.
Yes. I just couldn’t wait.
He texts again immediately.
But I will if I have to. It’s up to you.
“Mom? Can you watch Seth for a little while?” I call out. She’s in
the living room with him.
“I already am,” she replies, rather cheekily.
I grin, walking in there. The two of them are curled up on the
couch, watching some kids’ show on TV.
“Is it okay if I go out for a little bit?” I ask.
“Mmmhmm,” she hums. “Where are you off to?”
“Oh, uh, just a drive . . . to clear my head.”
To clear my head? I’m such a bad liar.
She looks at me, and I do my best to remind myself that I’m an
adult, and I don’t have to tell her everything.
“Okay, drive carefully,” she says, cautioning me.
“I will. I’ll be back before dinner.”
“’Bye, Mommy,” Seth says, eyes glued to the screen.
“’Bye, you two.”
I text Edward back, asking him to meet me down the road from the
diner. It’s not that I don’t want to be seen with him, but Forks is a
really small town, and word would undoubtedly get back to my mom
if I went into the diner with him. In the bathroom, I quickly brush
my hair and put on just a touch of makeup since I hadn’t bothered
after my shower this morning. I didn’t exactly think I’d be seeing him
470
today! I didn’t bring any nice clothes, so the jeans and black fitted
sweater I’m already wearing will have to do.
God, why am I so nervous? We’re just going to talk.
But that’s exactly it—we haven’t ever really talked. Not like this,
at least. I inhale through my nose and let my breath out slowly. I can
do this.
I spot his car easily enough, parked in a rest area, and pull up
behind it. Both of us get out at the same time, and we stare at each
other for a few seconds.
“Yours or mine?” he asks, giving me a tentative smile.
“Yours is probably warmer,” I say, returning the smile before walking
over to the passenger side.
He hurries around his car, opening the door for me to slip inside.
It is warm, and I unbutton my coat, trying to relax as he joins me.
“Do you want to drive somewhere,” he asks me, “or just stay here?”
“Someone might see us here,” I say, looking around. “Um, I know
where we can go.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re parked again, looking out over the
water. Edward exhales, turning the engine off but leaving the radio
and the heat on.
“It’s nice here,” he says quietly. “Did you come here a lot before?”
I laugh through my nose, and he turns his head to look at me.
“What is it?”
“This is, um, the local make-out spot.”
“I see.” He chuckles. “And you brought me here. Interesting.”
My gaze meets his, and I blush even though that obviously wasn’t
why I asked him to drive us here.
471
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, reaching out to run the backs
of his fingers across my cheek. “I should’ve told you that more often.
Every day.”
“You told me enough,” I murmur, looking down.
He leans back again, shifting around in his seat a little.
“So a make-out spot, huh? I thought that was just something you
saw in the movies.”
“I guess it’s a cliché for a reason. Nothing like that near your high
school?”
“Maybe.” He grins at me. “I wouldn’t exactly know, it being an all
boys school.”
“Oh. Right.” I shake my head at my foolishness.
We sit in silence for a few seconds. I don’t know what to say to
him, where to begin.
“I almost forgot.”
He reaches into the back seat and produces a tote bag. I watch as
he pulls out a silver thermos and a travel mug, handing me the latter.
“Would you like some hot chocolate?”
“Uh, yes, please.”
He pours it carefully, finding a matching mug for himself afterward
before putting the thermos away again.
“It’s still so warm,” I comment, blowing on the steaming liquid.
“You didn’t bring this all the way from home, did you?”
He shakes his head.
“Bought it on the way here, hoping I’d get to see you.”
“Why did you come here?” I ask. “I mean, not that I’m not glad
you did, but I’d already promised we’d talk.”
472
“I was”—he draws a quick breath—“I was worried you might change
your mind. I guess I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
“I haven’t. We should talk.”
He nods, taking a sip of the chocolate. I do the same. Neither of
us says anything.
“This is a little weird,” I finally say. “We’ve never really . . . done
this.”
“I know. I like being here with you, though.”
He looks out over the water again.
“It’s peaceful,” he adds.
I lean my head on the seat, studying his profile. He’s a beautiful
man. Beautiful, but flawed. I never dreamed I’d find myself in this
situation with him, drinking hot chocolate at the beach in wintertime,
with so many unspoken things between us. It’s a million miles from
where we started.
“That night when you picked me up on the street . . .”
He turns his head to look at me.
“Was that the first time you’d done that?”
Why did I ask him that? Do I really want to know?
“No,” he says simply. “No, it wasn’t.”
He places his mug in the cup holder.
“I’ve done a lot of things I’m not particularly proud of. I won’t try
to deny that. I’ll do my best to . . . to be honest with you even if
you might not like the truth. I want you to know who I am.”
He gazes at me, his eyes a bit wider than usual as he scans my face
before visibly relaxing. I wonder if he thought his confession would
scare me off.
473
“What is it you want, Edward?”
“I want you back.”
“You said that, but . . . how? How do you see this going?”
“I’m not sure,” he admits. “This is very unfamiliar territory for
me. What I did with you—our arrangement . . . that was the closest
thing I’ve had to an actual connection with another person . . . for a
very long time.”
“I-I can’t go back to the way it was,” I say immediately.
“I know.” He reaches out, carefully brushing his fingers over mine,
still clutching the travel mug. “I don’t want that, either. Not anymore.”
“What changed?” I whisper.
“Nothing. And everything.”
He lowers his gaze, taking the mug from me before holding my hand
in his.
“I knew how I . . . how I felt about you,” he murmurs. “That’s
not new. But I did my best to ignore it, treating it . . . treating you
like it was just about the arrangement. I don’t think I always did a
very good job at that, though.”
My heart feels like it’s swelled up to double its size, making it hard
for me to draw breath properly.
“It was like you wanted me to . . . to feel for you,” I whisper.
“I did. God, I did.” His voice has a rough edge to it, sending
pleasant shivers up my spine. I still want him just as much as ever.
“I wanted you so much . . . it scared me shitless. The thought that
I might actually get you, it thrilled me and it terrified me.”
“Why?”
His head snaps up, and he pins me with his gaze.
474
“Because I could lose you again. I’m not easy to live with on a
good day, and in case you hadn’t noticed . . . I’m pretty fucked up,
Isabella.”
He leans closer. So close I can smell him and sense the heat coming
off his body.
“But it was like you never saw any of that. You accepted my ways
so easily, indulged in my kinks so willingly, embraced it all so openly.
I never thought I’d get to have . . . that I’d feel . . .”
His nose bumps against mine, and I startle at the contact, my eyes
fluttering closed. I’m breathing just as hard as he is.
“You pulled the rug out from under my feet,” he says, exhaling
against my lips, “and I fell . . . I fell so hard.”
Oh my god!
His hand lets go of mine, traveling up my arm to settle on the back
of my neck, tilting my head back.
“You feel this too, don’t you?” he asks.
I can’t suppress a moan as he sucks my lower lip into his mouth,
grazing it with his teeth before letting go.
“You have no idea”—his voice is raw, a harsh whisper—“how it
feels to cherish you so much . . . but at the same time want to do
such completely fucking filthy things to you. You think we’ve done a
lot now? It’s nothing compared to the things I’ve fantasized about
since meeting you, all of the positions I want to put you in, all of the
ways I want to use your body and have you worship me as I worship
you in return.”
“Oh my God.” I whimper at his words, clutching the thick material
of his coat between my trembling hands.
475
My body is a live wire of burning desire. I want everything he says.
All of it and even more.
“And knowing that you want all of that too? Look at me.”
I draw an unsteady breath, opening my eyes and blinking rapidly
to focus. He strokes the apple of my cheek with his thumb, and the
intense look in his eyes softens.
“You feel it too, don’t you?” he asks again.
I nod.
“I don’t think our mutual attraction was ever the issue,” I manage
to say, inhaling deeply through my nose to will my body back under
control.
He smiles, brushing his nose against mine before pulling back, giving
me some much needed space.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I got carried away.”
“No.” I shake my head. “It wasn’t just you. None of it.”
“I, uh, I could use some air,” he says, nodding toward the beach.
“It’s freezing outside,” I say, protesting softly.
“That’s the point.” He chuckles. “I think we need to cool off.”
We really do. Or we’ll end up naked right here in this car. God, I
want that.
“Let’s go,” I say.
We walk by the shore, close together but not touching.
“You never told me what changed for you,” I say, “at least not all
of it before we were, uh, distracted.”
“Right. I don’t really know where to start.”
476
“Things were going really well for us. And then . . . Seth’s
birthday.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” he says quickly. “His wish . . . for a split
second after he’d said it, I felt happy. But the very next moment, it
was replaced with . . . just complete fucking panic.”
He shakes his head, wetting his lips.
“I shouldn’t have pulled away from you—from him. I know I hurt
the both of you, and I also know you had no idea why I did that.”
“Will you tell me?” I whisper.
His gaze moves out over the water.
“Yes.”
He looks at me again, his brow furrowed, highlighting the stress
line between his eyes.
“But can I ask for something?”
“Of course.”
“Let me tell you at my own pace. It’s not exactly . . . a feel-good
sort of story. And it’s not something I’ve talked about at all until
recently.”
I nod.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
We start walking again.
“Can we talk about Valentine’s Day?” I ask.
He glances at me, giving me a hint of a smile. I take it as a yes.
“What happened? After I went to your office, I didn’t think I’d
ever see you again.”
“You would have although probably not as soon.”
477
“I would?”
“I’m getting some help. With my . . . issues. I have a therapist.
I’d talked to her about you, about wanting you back, but she advised
me to wait . . . give you some space. Obviously, I didn’t listen.”
He chuckles, shaking his head.
“I’m in for an earful the next time she comes by.”
Same time next week. She’s his therapist.
Now I feel even more like an idiot for being jealous.
“What made you come by, then, if she advised against it?” I ask.
“My assistant. I heard what you said when he asked you out, that
you were already seeing someone.”
“I lied.”
He nods, continuing.
“I was with clients all day on Valentine’s Day, and I’d sent Marcus
home hours before I was done. But he called me early that night and
told me you’d only taken Seth’s stuff and that he still had your bed
in the back of the truck and asked what he should do with it. I asked
him why you wouldn’t take it, and he said you already had a bed.
Couple that with him telling me you were living with a young man,
and, well . . . I knew I couldn’t afford to wait any longer.”
“So you were just going to barge in and—”
“And steal you away from your new boyfriend, yes.”
“You’re crazy.” I can’t help but laugh. “How exactly were you
planning on doing that?”
He turns serious, burying his hands in pockets.
“Let’s head back,” he says, changing direction. “You’re getting cold
out here.”
478
What?
I do my best to keep up with his brisk pace until we’re at the car
again, and he’s opening the door for me. Inside, it’s nice and warm,
the radio still playing softly. He’s quiet, tapping on the steering wheel,
seemingly lost in thought.
“What’s wrong?” I finally ask. “Did I . . . do something?”
With a deep breath, he turns to me, shaking his head.
“You didn’t do anything.”
“What is it? We were talking and then . . . not. I just asked
you—”
“How I was going to steal you away from your new boyfriend.” He
finishes for me.
“Yes, I don’t understand . . .” I shrug my shoulders.
“I was going to make you a better offer.”
I stare at him, not comprehending.
“Isabella, I was . . . I was going to ask you to marry me.”
There’s a whooshing sound—my breath leaving my body, followed
by white noise. I blink. And then I blink again.
“W-what?” It comes out of me in a whisper.
“Hey, are you all right? Isabella? You’re white as a sheet.”
Edward gathers up my hands, bringing them to his mouth and
rubbing them gently as he exhales at the same time.
“God, you’re so cold,” he murmurs. “C’mere.”
And then I’m in his arms with my face buried in the crook of his
neck. It’s so familiar, and I can’t help but melt into him as he rubs
479
my arms and my back through my coat. Next thing I know, I start
sobbing, and I have no idea why.
“Hey, hey,” he says softly, rocking me back and forth, “it’s okay.
Everything’s okay.”
After I calm back down, he brushes away all of my tears and kisses
my forehead.
“I’m sorry,” I croak, clearing my throat as I move back into my
own seat.
“Well, that’s not exactly the reaction you’re hoping for when you
mention marriage to a girl, but . . . you know.”
He smiles at me, only it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“You were going to ask me to marry you?”
He nods.
“Obviously, I hadn’t thought it through. But, yes, that was the
plan.”
“Oh my god,” I whisper. “Why would you . . .?”
“I want you in my life,” he says. “I want you, Isabella. And I was
afraid I’d lost my chance.”
“You haven’t. Edward, you haven’t.” I take his hand in mine.
“There’s no one else, and you don’t have to propose marriage to have
me in your life. That’s so not necessary, and we are definitely not
ready for anything like that.”
“I know,” he murmurs, playing with my fingers. “Realistically, I
know that. All I can hope for is a chance. To do things differently
this time.”
He draws a breath.
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“I know I don’t deserve it, but I still want it. Will you give me a
chance?”
He lifts his eyes to mine.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I do want that. To start over.”
His smile is radiant, crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“Thank you.” He exhales, giving my hand a squeeze.
“Despite what almost happened earlier, I want us to take it slow,”
I say. “I’m not ready to just . . . pick up where we left off before
Seth’s birthday.”
He nods slowly, watching me.
“We’re not moving back in, and we have to leave Seth out of this—
for now, at least. I don’t want him getting his hopes up if this doesn’t
work out between us.”
“All right. That makes sense.”
I smile at him.
“You’re being very . . . accommodating,” I say.
He grins.
“And you’re being very . . . commanding. Quite a change of pace
for us.”
“You don’t seem to mind,” I tell him, sharing my observation.
“I don’t. Truly. I’m taking my cues from you this time around.”
He leans closer, caressing the side of my face.
“I meant what I said. I want to do things differently with you.
Talking with my shrink . . .” He chuckles. “I realized some things.
I didn’t consider your feelings before. It was easier to just convince
myself you were only in it for the money—even when you said you
481
didn’t want payment for the sex. I screwed it all up between us, trying
to do it my way.”
He tilts his head to the side, watching me closely.
“What do you want, Isabella? What do you need from me?”
“Just you,” I whisper, blinking back a rush of fresh tears. “You
said you’re hard to live with, that you’re fucked up. Well, you’re not.
Not to me, at least. I didn’t indulge you.”
He raises his eyebrows, his gaze warm.
“I loved doing everything you asked: dressing up, cooking, serving
you, the, uh, spankings, and all the other things we did. You were
right about me all along. I feel it whenever you look at me, whenever
you touch me. We . . . fit together.”
“We do,” he says in a gentle voice.
“I want to know you,” I say, continuing, “and for you to know me.
I want . . . a real relationship down the line.”
He nods.
“But we do need to take the time to get there and start over.”
“Just tell me what to do,” he whispers.
“Ask me out on a first date.”
His answering smile sends my heart into overdrive, its frantic flutters
fanning the tiny ember of hope that sparked on Valentine’s Day into
a roaring inferno, melting away my doubt and cynicism. I know I
still have to be careful, that we have a long way to go and a lot to
talk about, but finally it feels like we’re headed in the right direction.
Together.
Progress! No marriage just yet, though. LOL! What was
he thinking?
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As I’m sure you can sense the story is winding down with
just a few more chapters to go. I’m not a fan of dragging
it out once the major conflict has been resolved, and I’m
really excited to get back to working on The Blizzard and
My Viking once I hit complete on this one.
See you next week!
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Chapter 33

Hey, everyone. Chapter 33! And it’s a long one. Remem-
ber when I said this wouldn’t be a long story? *Snort*
Updating early since I’m going to Copenhagen to visit
friends this weekend. :)
Thank you to my team! There is no I in team, but there
is an L in love. I would be nothing without Chayasara,
GeekChic12, Veronica, Diane, and Dawn.
And thank you to you for reading, reviewing, and sticking
with me!
Enjoy!
BPOV
“I don’t know about this dress. Do I look okay?”
Alice nods at me, watching me with an amused look on her face as
I fly around the apartment, pretty much beside myself.
“You look fantastic,” she says. “Really, Bella. Do you know where
he’s taking you?”
“He just said a restaurant.”
“Then you can’t go wrong with a little black dress.”
“I’ve never been on date like this before. God, I’m so nervous, I
might throw up!”
“I don’t blame you,” she says, taking a seat on my pullout couch.
“This is kind of a big deal.”
“It’s a huge deal.”
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I shake my shoulders, trying to calm myself before flopping down
next to her.
“When’s he picking you up?”
I glance at my watch.
“Half an hour. It’s probably better if you and Seth leave before
then.”
“You haven’t told him what you’re doing tonight, right?”
“God, no. He didn’t ask. I think he was too excited about a
sleepover at your place to even think of that.”
“Think you’ll invite him up here afterward?”
“No,” I say firmly.
Alice raises an eyebrow at me.
“Definitely not. We’re taking it slowly.”
“Apart from the whole almost-proposal.” She lets out a giddy laugh.
“He wanted you to marry him. It’s just . . . Gah!”
“I know. It is pretty surreal to think one day he might actually ask
me, if everything works out.”
I draw a breath.
“But that’s a big ‘if.’ We haven’t been out yet. What do we even
talk about on a first date after everything we’ve been through? Was
it like this for you and Jasper when he came back?”
“Not really. But that was a totally different situation. We’d been
in a relationship before, and we have kids together.”
“True.”
“Just treat it like you would a normal first date. I mean, even after
everything, you don’t really know that much about each other.”
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“Again, true.”
I chew on my lower lip.
“I’m just nervous. This is what I wanted, but now I’m scared it’s
too good to be true. I guess I’m just waiting for the other shoe to
drop or something.”
“I think it says a lot for him that he’s getting help. And that he’s
apologized, of course.”
“Yeah. I really want this to work out, Alice.”
I hope I don’t look as anxious as I feel.
“I do too,” she says softly. “And I’ll do my part.”
She stands, pulling me off the couch.
“Let me get Seth out of here so you’re ready when Mr. Masen gets
here.”
“Edward. It’s just Edward now,” I say, unable to contain my smile.
“Just Edward.” She grins at me. “Man, you’ve got it bad.”
“Don’t I know it. Why do you think I’m not inviting him up
tonight? I don’t trust myself!”
Laughing, we go and help Seth pack his bag, and a few minutes
later, I wave them off before running back upstairs to fuss over my
dress again.
The doorbell ringing downstairs stops my pacing as my heart jumps
into my throat.
He’s here!
As I descend, male voices reach my ears.
" . . . apologize for what happened on Valentine’s Day."
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“Hey, man, we’ve all been there,” I hear Garrett say. “Just treat
her right, you hear?”
They come into view, and both of them look up at me.
“Oh, yoo-hoo, Bella. There’s a gentleman caller for you,” Garrett
says in a fake southern accent, batting his eyelashes. “A tall drink o’
water if I ever saw one! Oh, my!”
He fans himself, cracking up. I can’t help but laugh at his antics.
“And this is why he couldn’t possibly be my boyfriend,” I say,
turning my attention to Edward.
He’s in a dark suit, as usual, with a crisp white shirt and a charcoal
gray tie underneath and a black wool coat on top. The circles under-
neath his eyes have disappeared, and his cheeks are flushed, giving
his skin a healthy glow. He looks me up and down, from my curled
hair to the heels on my feet, and pauses to admire my dress. It’s
slinkier and more revealing in the cleavage area than anything else
I’ve owned before or anything he’s ever put me in. I’ve slowly but
steadily been gaining weight ever since I first met him and was able
to eat properly again, and it definitely shows in my curves. I’m not
so waifish anymore, and I like it. Judging by Edward’s blatant ogling,
he likes it too.
“You look beautiful,” he says, reaching out to help me down the
last two steps.
“So do you. I mean, handsome. You look very handsome.” I
stumble over my words, feeling all aflutter and stupid in his presence
as I give him a shy smile.
“Oh my gawd.” Garrett sighs. “Okay, I need to go call my husband.
You kids have a good time.”
He wags his finger at Edward. “Be sure to have her home by
midnight, young man.”
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“Okay, bye!” I say, narrowing my eyes at him and giving him a
look that usually works on my son.
It doesn’t work on Garrett. He just sends me a dazzling smile
before sauntering away. Obviously, his work here is done.
“Uh, he has a husband?” Edward asks.
I nod.
“Well, don’t I feel like an ass now.” He gives me a sheepish smile.
“You couldn’t have known. They live down here, and Seth and I
are upstairs.”
“I brought you these,” he says, bringing his left hand out from
behind his back.
He hands me a bouquet of lilac roses.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “I’ve never seen them that color before.”
“Everyone buys red ones. I wanted them to be, uh, special, I guess,”
he says, fidgeting a little. “Do you like them?”
It dawns on me then—he’s nervous too!
“I love them. They’re so pretty. I’ve never gotten flowers before.”
“Never?”
“Well, I got a corsage for junior prom,” I tell him, “but I’m pretty
sure my date’s mom picked it out and told him to give it to me.”
Edward chuckles.
“Well, I had it on good authority from a very clever little boy that
you’re supposed to bring flowers.”
I smile, remembering what Seth said to him on Valentine’s Day.
“Let me put them in water. I’ll just be a minute.”
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I hurry up the stairs, as much as I can in heels, and head for the
kitchen. I know I have a vase somewhere. Carefully, I place the
bouquet on the counter and start searching. I’m standing up on my
toes, reaching for the glass vase on the stop shelf when I sense him
behind me. He murmurs my name and places one hand on my waist
as his other fetches the vase easily enough, thanks to his being so
much taller than I. He puts it next to the flowers, his other hand still
touching me as he lightly presses his front to my back. I’m frozen, my
arm still stretched above me, overwhelmed by his closeness. I inhale a
shaky breath as he leans in farther to bury his face in my hair before
nuzzling my neck.
“God, you smell so good.” His voice is husky, sending little jolts of
pleasure up and down my spine.
“And this dress . . .” He trails off, bringing his other hand up to
my raised one, caressing the length of my arm with the tips of his
fingers, which causes my skin to contract beneath his touch.
He presses his lips against my neck and my naked shoulder, gripping
me tighter with his strong hands, now fully pressing himself against
me. I can feel how I affect him and can’t help but moan. It’s been
months since he’s touched me like this, and my body craves it like it
craves oxygen.
“Edward, oh god.” I whimper, as he nips at my earlobe, his breath
hot in my ear.
Abruptly, he pulls back, uttering a low curse. I turn, still trembling,
my hormones screaming at me to launch myself at him.
“Fuck, don’t look at me like that, Isabella,” he says, still breathing
harshly.
“You started it,” I murmur, feeling juvenile.
He grins, shaking his head.
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“You did. When you decided to put that dress on.”
“I can change,” I offer.
“Don’t you dare.”
We stand a few feet apart, staring at each other. It’s obvious what
we’re both thinking of, and it has absolutely nothing to do with taking
things slowly.
“I’ll just wait for you downstairs,” he finally says, although it sounds
like a question.
He really is taking his cues from me. Now I want him even more.
Damn it!
“That’s probably best.”
I send him a sheepish smile, and he walks away, giving the both of
us an opportunity to calm down.
What was I thinking? That he’d bend me over, pull up my dress,
and push my underwear to the side, taking me right here on my
kitchen counter? A quick, hard, frantic fuck.
God. Yes.
“Jesus,” I whisper to myself, shaking my head, “get yourself under
control.”
After putting the roses in water and briefly considering sticking my
head in the freezer to cool off, I head back downstairs. Edward is by
the door, and he helps me into my coat, wordlessly. Outside, the air is
cold and most welcome, and I draw a deep breath as we start walking
toward his car.
“I apologize,” Edward says softly next to me.
I stop and look up at him as he continues.
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“I really did hear you when you said you wanted us to take things
slowly—and I agree.”
“But it’s not going to be easy,” I say, stating the obvious.
“It’s not. I’m used to . . . getting what I want when I want it.”
He’s unapologetic.
“I know that. I mean, that’s kind of why you hired me in the first
place, isn’t it?”
He nods.
“I want you,” he says. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I laid eyes
on you in that club. I followed you outside, knowing you were desperate,
knowing I’d be able to get what I wanted from you. Thinking of that
first night now . . . it makes me feel like utter shit. I took advantage
of your situation. I wish . . . I would’ve done it differently.”
I stare at him, a bit stunned by his confession.
“You wouldn’t have picked me up?”
“No, I probably would have. I wasn’t ready for anything like what
we’re doing now, but I could have been . . . nicer about it. Maybe . .
. I don’t know, taken you out to eat and then to a nice hotel. Not
the way it happened in my car.”
He makes a face.
“You didn’t like it at all. I could see that afterward. I mean, I
didn’t expect you to enjoy it, but you really didn’t like it, and when
you said you hadn’t ever done that before . . . fuck. I didn’t realize
how inexperienced you were until after the fact.”
He reaches out to touch my fingers with his—such a shy gesture,
considering the topic of conversation. I take the silent invitation and
hold his hand.
491
“I’m just sorry,” he says, shrugging.
“You’re right, I didn’t like it that first night in your car, but you
didn’t make me do anything I didn’t agree to. I made that decision
myself, and I own up to it. But as far as I’m concerned, that’s in the
past now, and I think we should move on from that.”
He gives me a small smile.
“And take things slowly.”
“Yes—even though it will be really hard,” I say.
His eyes spark with humor.
“Pun intended?”
I snort out a laugh, quickly covering my mouth in embarrassment.
He grabs it so he’s holding both of mine in his, looking down on me
with warmth in his gaze.
“I like making you laugh,” he says softly.
Smiling, I remember Alice’s helpful question.
Does he make you laugh or cry?
“I like it too.”
“C’mon. Let’s go to dinner,” he says, letting go of my left hand
but holding my right one as we walk to the car together.
He drives us to a restaurant downtown, still holding my hand while
using the other one to steer the car. On the way, he asks about
Seth’s school, how he’s doing, and how my mom is faring. It’s really
nice—normal even. We walk inside and hand over our coats, and we
get seated right away even though I can see there are a lot of people
waiting for a table. Edward is well known here, the headwaiter, or
maître d’, I suppose, makes a big deal out of him coming with a date,
complimenting me excessively. Edward chuckles as I blush, resting his
492
hand on my lower back as we’re escorted to the table. It might be my
imagination, but it feels like a lot of people are staring at us as we
take our seats, the maître d’ holding out my chair for me and even
placing a napkin on my lap. Nervously, I pick up the menu, looking
around the room, and sure enough, a lot of people are stealing glances
at us.
“Do you know everyone here?” I ask, feeling a little uncomfortable.
“No. Some of them probably know me, though. Or know of me, at
least.”
“Oh. How?”
He gives me a smile.
“You really haven’t ever looked me up,” he says, looking pleased.
“No, of course not. I said I wouldn’t.”
“There was an article a few months back”—he waves his hand
dismissively— “most eligible bachelors in the city or something like
that. I made the list.”
“Oh.” I glace around again. “To the top of the list?”
He shrugs.
“I don’t care about that. But it was good publicity for my business,
so . . .”
He leans forward, whispering.
“But most likely all of the men here are staring at you, wishing you
were with them.”
“Yeah, sure.” I laugh softly. I don’t care about any other men, just
the one in front of me.
A waiter appears, asking if we’d like wine. Edward looks at me.
“Isabella?”
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“Er, sure. Nothing too sour, please.”
“A glass of Muscato for the lady and the 2007 Sassicaia for me.”
“The Muscato is really more suited for desserts,” the waiter says
apologetically.
“Yes, thank you, I’m quite aware of that,” Edward says with a hint
of irritation in his voice, raising his eyebrows at the waiter. “But
that’s what my date wants.”
“Y-yes, sir. Right away.”
He hurries off and Edward just smiles at me before perusing his
menu.
Wow.
The waiter is back almost immediately, pouring the two different
wines for us, mine white and Edward’s red.
“Isabella?”
I look up from my menu. The waiter is still standing there, and
Edward nods toward my glass.
“Thank you?”
He laughs softly, pushing it toward me.
“Taste it, please.”
I take a careful sip, happily surprised that it’s both sweet and
bubbly.
“Mmm, it’s good.”
He grins at me, and I watch as he does the same thing, tasting his
wine and telling the waiter it’s all right.
“Would you like to hear tonight’s specials?”
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Edward nods and the waiter starts talking. A lot. The more he
says, the more confused I feel.
Glazed couscous. Fijan albacore sashimi. Parsnip mousseline.
Conchiglie.
After the recitation is done, Edward looks at me for a moment
before turning back to the waiter.
“We’ll need a minute or two.”
I blink a couple of times, staring at my menu as I try to make sense
of it all.
“Isabella? What’s wrong?”
Reluctantly, I meet his gaze, putting down my menu with a small
sigh.
“I feel so stupid. I have no idea what he just said. I’ve never been
to a real restaurant before, and this is all so . . . fancy. And I’m not.”
Edward leans forward, looking at me intently.
“Would you like to go somewhere else? Really, anywhere you want
to go. I don’t care where we have dinner.”
He reaches across the table and takes my hand in his.
“And you’re not stupid. Please don’t call yourself that.”
He looks around, giving my hand a small squeeze.
“I wanted to bring you here . . . because it’s something we talked
about but never did. And I thought you’d like it.”
“We talked about going here?” I ask.
“This is where I ordered from when we celebrated my birthday,” he
says softly.
“Oh. I remember.”
495
The wine, the dancing, the lovely dinner we shared, giving him the
DVD box set, the marathon sex, and finally falling asleep in his arms
for the first time.
“That was a good night.” He runs his thumb over the back of my
hand, gently caressing me. “The best birthday I’ve ever had.”
“Yet,” I whisper. “The best birthday you’ve had yet.”
He lifts my hand up, pressing his lips against my knuckles.
“Do you want to get out of here?” he asks. “I just want to spend
the night with you. It doesn’t matter where we do that.”
I shake my head. He smiles, still holding my hand, slowly rubbing
his cheek against it.
“Would you like me to order for you then?”
Relieved, I nod, gazing at him as he places little kisses on the backs
of my fingers, all the while staring right back into my eyes with so
much tenderness, it takes my breath away.
Is it really possible he feels as much for me as I do for him?
The waiter comes back and Edward lets go of my hand, ordering
with confidence as I watch their interaction in quiet awe. I have no
idea what I’m having for dinner, but if it’s anything like what we had
for his birthday, I know it’ll be delicious.
The waiter takes our menus, and Edward raises his glass, giving
me an expectant look. I hold up my own glass, and he touches his to
mine.
“To our first date,” he says softly.
I smile, taking a sip. It’s really good, and I’m glad he ordered it
for me, ignoring the fact that it’s apparently meant for dessert.
“So, Edward,” I say, remembering Alice’s advice, “this is our first
date. Tell me about yourself.”
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He smiles, taking a drink of his own wine.
“What would you like to know?”
“Anything.”
“Well, the first thing you should probably know is I’m quite a bit
older than you.” He leans in, whispering conspiratorially. “I’m forty.”
“I like older men.”
He pretends to wipe sweat off his brow, and I grin, elated by his
humor.
“I have a knack for numbers,” he says, continuing, “so that’s what
I do for a living. I audit large companies.”
“And you’re good at it?”
He winks.
“I’m the best.”
“Modest, too, I see.”
He chuckles.
“And in your spare time?” I ask.
“Not much of that, unfortunately. I travel a lot for work, all over
the world—Europe, Asia.”
“Wow.”
“I told you. I’m the best.” He picks up his glass, swirling the ruby
liquid around. “But when I’m off work, I pretty much stay in all the
time except to eat and work out. I like movies. I have a serious sweet
tooth. And my favorite band is Pearl Jam.”
“So you’re a homebody?”
“Very much so.”
“I am too,” I tell him. “So we have that in common.”
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He smiles at me.
“Tell me about you.”
My immediate thought is to mention Seth since being a mother is
usually how I think of myself first, but I decide against it. Tonight is
just about Edward and me.
“I’m a freshman in college,” I tell him, noticing the look of surprise
that flashes across his face, quickly followed by a dazzling smile.
“Really? Isabella, that’s wonderful.”
“My dad . . . he created a college fund for me. I just started. I’m
still getting used to it all.”
“What are you studying?”
“Business. And later possibly culinary school. I’d like maybe
someday to open up my own shop or be a professional caterer. I . . .
I really like cooking and baking, you see.”
His gaze is warm.
“I’d like to sample your skills some day,” he says. “I don’t cook at
all.”
I send him what I hope is a mischievous smile.
“I could teach you. Really, isn’t it about time for a man your age?”
He leans forward, a grin he does his best to hide away, tugging at
his lips.
“What if I told you I’m conservative about that sort of thing? That
a woman’s place is in the kitchen, cooking for her man?”
I lean forward too.
“I’d tell you to join the rest of us in the 21st century but also ask
you . . . where’s the man in that scenario?”
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“Behind her,” he answers immediately, his eyes smoldering, “watch-
ing her, complimenting her, maybe even . . . distracting her . . .
with his hands. Just a little.”
I draw a shaky breath. I remember how it feels having him with
me in the kitchen. I miss it.
“You’re being very forward.” I chastise him with my words, not
really meaning it. “This is a first date, after all.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, his grin telling me he’s not sorry at all. “I
guess I’m just . . . hungry.”
I laugh, shaking my head.
“I think I’ll have to be careful around you.”
He turns serious, reaching for my hand and taking it in his, caressing
it gently.
“What is it?” I ask.
“You said you regretted trusting me,” he murmurs, “and I don’t
blame you. I really screwed up. But I hope, someday, you’ll trust me
again and . . . not feel the need to be careful around me.”
“I hope that too,” I whisper, “but it goes both ways. I want you to
trust me as well—with your past.”
He nods, looking right at me.
“I do trust you, Isabella. You’ve been nothing but sweet to me,
and I know I have to tell you about why I’m . . . the way I am. But .
. . shit . . .”
He sighs, looking down. I hate seeing the reappearance of his worry
line as his jaw ticks several times. I give his hand a squeeze, and he
lifts his gaze once again.
“You’re not going to look at me the same way,” he says. “Regardless
499
of how you react, it won’t be the same afterward. You’ll either look
at me with pity or . . . disdain.”
He takes a drink and continues.
“I don’t want to lose that. I can’t.”
My heart constricts painfully at seeing him so anguished.
“Believe in me,” I whisper. “Even after everything that happened,
I gave you another chance. I want to be with you, but it can’t ever
be real if I don’t know you. Have you talked about this with your
therapist?”
He nods.
“Yes. She agrees with you that I have to be honest, that you deserve
to know everything before we try a relationship. She understands why
I don’t want to tell you, but . . . I have to. Being with me, it comes
with . . . difficulties.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have . . . well, she thinks I have post-traumatic stress disorder,
and it’s been left untreated for so long . . . my issues aren’t just going
to go away any time soon—even with therapy.”
He keeps my gaze, continuing.
“I have triggers—that’s what she calls them. Christmas is one of
them. And . . . sharing a bed. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to . .
.” He trails off, his tension evident on his face, in its lines.
“I hurt you,” he whispers, “that night Seth was sick, and I fell
asleep in his room. When you tried to wake me I . . . I hurt you. I
didn’t mean to, and I’m so sorry, but it happened. I don’t know if I’ll
ever be able to sleep with you, as much as I want to. Can you live
with that?”
He scoffs.
500
“Can I even ask you to live with that? A life with no Christmas
and separate bedrooms, not to mention all of my other issues.”
Oh my god. He’s talking himself out of this.
“Hey,” I say softly, “none of this is that much of a surprise.”
He blinks.
“I already agreed to the sleeping arrangements before any of this,
and as for the Christmas thing . . . I just wish you would’ve told me.
I mean, we never would have decorated your house if I’d known. It
was meant as a happy surprise for you. I wanted to show you . . .”
“Show me what?” he asks in a calmer voice.
“What it was like not to come home to an empty house after a long
trip. I wanted to show you how much I care about you, how much
Seth cares.”
He exhales.
“That night, I was already on edge. We’d left things in such a bad
place before I went away, and I didn’t know what to expect when I
got home. I was going to apologize to you.”
“You were?” I ask.
“Yes. I felt awful. You gave me so much of yourself the night before
I went away. You let me push your limits without hesitation.”
“I liked it. All of it.” I blush, remembering all of the things we did.
“So did I.” His stare is intense. “Everything we’ve done . . . I never
dreamed I’d find someone like you.”
He presses his lips together for a second.
“And then I left you with that envelope.”
“W-why did you do that?” I ask, doing my best to keep control of
my emotions. “Why did you hurt me like that?”
501
“I was afraid, Isabella. Afraid of how I felt for you. I know it’s not
an excuse, but that’s the reason. I did such a good job of sabotaging
our relationship, didn’t I? I’m amazed you didn’t run away. I thought
you might have. I wasn’t sure if I’d come home from my trip to find
you and Seth gone. And then I saw the decorations outside, and I just
. . . snapped. Instead of being happy that you were still there, I . . .”
His nostrils flare, and he curls his upper lip.
“I yelled at you. God, that was such a dick move.”
He shakes his head.
“I hated myself. Seeing you there on the floor after I’d pushed you
away . . . That was the lowest point for me, and I knew I had to let
you go before I ended up hurting you even more.”
He strokes my hand in that familiar way, his eyes pleading with me.
“I never want to see you like that again, so hurt and so sad, so I
can’t promise you we’ll be able to sleep together. But if you’ll give
me a chance, I’ll tell you everything. I’ll do the therapy, and I will
get better. I swear.”
I draw a shaky breath, blinking several times to force back the tears
I feel approaching.
“Isabella, I’ve fallen for you—completely. You’re it for me. If I
thought you’d say yes, I’d fall to my knees right here and beg you to
marry me.”
He sees my shocked expression and laughs softly.
“I won’t make a scene. I promise. And I know it’s too soon, but . .
. if everything works out—and god, I hope it does— I will ask you
again someday.”
I sit, quiet and a bit shell shocked, trying to absorb everything he’s
said, all the while trying not to burst into tears.
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“Edward, I—” My voice comes out as a croak.
He caresses my hand again, giving me a soft smile.
“You don’t have to say anything. I know it’s a lot, but I meant
every word.”
I nod, letting go of his hand to dab my eyes with my napkin.
“Thank you,” I whisper, sniffing.
“And I will tell you everything, but can we, can we just have tonight
first? Just a normal first date?”
I nod again, eagerly this time.
“Yes,” I say, collecting myself. “Yes, I’d love that.”
I watch as he leans back, moving his head from side to side while
drawing a deep breath before giving me a smile.
“Tell me something fun you’ve done recently.”
I return the smile, taking a sip of my wine.
“Well, I went to Disneyland for Thanksgiving.”
“In California?” he asks, acting surprised.
“Yes, with my friends and . . . my son. He’s five. His name is
Seth.”
“I’d like to meet him some day,” Edward says softly.
“I’d like that too.”
His happy expression is contagious, and I feel myself relaxing.
“So, tell me about your trip. I want to hear everything,” he says,
his gaze moving toward the two waiters approaching. “Oh, good. Our
first course is here.”
“First? How many did you order?”
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“A few.” He grins at me. “You’ll need to familiarize yourself with a
lot of different courses for when you become Seattle’s best caterer.”
I laugh.
“All right. Sounds good.”
Nearly three hours later, I feel as though I’m about to go into a
food coma, languidly reclined in my seat, finishing my third glass of
wine. Across from me, Edward looks just as relaxed, although he
switched to sparkling water after his second glass since he’s driving.
We’ve kept the conversation light and casual as the waiter has brought
us course after course, ending with both cheeses and desserts.
“Full?” Edward asks, smirking at me.
“Gawd.” I moan softly. “I couldn’t eat another bite. That was
incredible.”
“Good.” He signals the waiter. “Are you ready to get out of here?”
“Mmmhmm.”
I’m slightly buzzed in a very pleasant way, feeling warm all over.
The waiter brings the bill to the table, and I reach for it, but my
movements are slow, and Edward snatches it up, handing the waiter
a black card without even looking at the bill.
“I’ve got it,” he says.
“Are you sure?”
“Don’t be silly. I invited you, after all.”
“After I asked you to ask me,” I say, reminding him, then saluting
him before draining my glass. “So really, I should pay.”
“You need your money for tuition and books,” he says. “Besides,
now you owe me dinner sometime. Home-cooked.”
He sends me a cheeky smile.
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“Oh, really?” I giggle. “I think we can arrange that.”
The waiter returns, and Edward signs the check before pulling out
some bills for a tip, making the waiter thank him profusely. He goes
to pull out my chair, but Edward intercepts, offering me his arm. I
lean into him, feeling heavy-limbed and content as he wraps his arm
around me instead and escorts me out. The car warms up quickly on
the drive home, and my eyelids get heavier and heavier as I try to
keep up with the conversation.
“You can sleep,” he murmurs.
“I’m not tired.”
He chuckles in response.
“Really, it’s only”—I look at his dashboard—“it’s only a little past
ten. I can’t be tired yet. Talk to me. I like your voice.”
“I like yours too,” he says, placing his right hand on mine. “I had
a wonderful time tonight. Thank you, Isabella.”
“Thank you,” I say, turning his hand to lace our fingers. “Best first
date ever.”
“Couldn’t agree more.”
I manage to stay awake for the rest of the drive. Once we’re at my
place, he jumps out to open the door for me and offers me his arm.
“You’re such a gentleman,” I hear myself say as we start walking
with me all but glued to him.
“I try. You shouldn’t ask me inside though. There are limits to my
self-restraint.”
I look up at him, seeing that he’s smiling, so I’m not sure if he’s
being serious or not, but regardless, he’s absolutely right. I shouldn’t
invite him up tonight. We’re not ready for that.
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Outside my door we stop, and he turns me gently so I’m facing him.
His hands are warm on my face as he touches me, and I look up into
his eyes.
“What you said before”—I place my hands on his arms, stepping
closer—“I’ve fallen, too, and that won’t change, no matter what you
tell me. I’ll still look at you the same way, want you the same way.
Please believe me.”
He nods slowly, lowering his eyes to my lips.
“May I . . . kiss you?” He exhales. “God, I want to kiss you.”
I nod, standing up on my toes to meet him halfway as he presses his
lips against mine, hesitantly at first. I feel him relaxing into me, tilting
my head to the side as he kisses me again, firmer, better, his soft moan
sending my heart into overdrive as I deepen the kiss, opening to him.
His tongue caresses mine, and I feel myself pressing up against him,
desperate for more contact until he wraps his strong arms around me,
enveloping me entirely. A low whine escapes my throat as I cling to
him, letting him take charge. This is who we are. This is how we
fit together, and it feels so right. Much too soon, he pulls back, his
breath harsh against the side of my face as he holds me close for a
few moments before letting me go. I stumble a little, chuckling as I
get my bearings. I give him a shy smile, and he returns it, brushing
his fingertips against my flushed cheeks.
“That was nice,” I say. A wild understatement.
“Can I see you again?”
“You better.”
“When?”
I run through my schedule in my head. Not tomorrow since Seth is
coming back from Alice and Jasper’s. And then it’s Monday. I have
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classes and Seth has school. It’s pretty much like that the whole week.
Shit.
“I . . . don’t know. I’m so busy now with classes during the day,
and I have Seth every night.”
“Of course.” He looks just as disappointed as I feel. I think hard. I
don’t want to have to wait until next weekend.
“Maybe I can ask Rosalie if Seth can come home with JR after
school on Monday or Tuesday. We could meet somewhere?”
“My place?” he asks. “I want to be alone with you.”
“Oh, I, uh . . .”
“I’ll be on my best behavior,” he says quickly. “We’ll just talk. I
promise. We need to talk.”
“A-about you?” A rush of nerves makes my stomach flip-flop.
“Yes.” He closes his eyes for a second. “I’ll tell you about me.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, “for trusting me.”
I stand up on my toes again, and he kisses me softly and gently
before resting his forehead against mine.
“You’d better get inside,” he says. “It’s cold out here.”
“Just one more minute,” I murmur. “I feel warm all over.”
He exhales through his nose, his lips curving up as he embraces me,
and I snuggle against him, tucking my head underneath his chin.
“I feel it too,” he whispers, resting his cheek on top of my head.
Further words are unnecessary tonight. It’s all right here in the
way he holds me, gently stroking the length of my hair as I close my
eyes and listen to his heart beating just as fast as mine.
Love.
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I know, I know. Edward’s past wasn’t revealed in this one.
I wanted to give them a first date and they needed to talk
about some other stuff before getting to that part. Next
chapter, though. That’s a promise.
How’d you like the date? :) I’d love to hit 10,000 reviews
before this story is over, so maybe leave me one?
See you next week!
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Chapter 34

Important AN, please don’t skip.
Normally, I don’t give out warnings about content and the
like, but I do feel like it’s necessary with this chapter dealing
with Edward’s past. If you have emotional triggers, please
scroll all the way down to the bottom of the chapter before
reading.
Ok, now that’s out of the way—Hi! I’m sorry I was unable
to update last week. As you can see this is a beast of a
chapter. I considered splitting it up into two, but decided
against it. Hence the delay.
Thank you so much to my amazing team! Chayasara,
Dawn, Veronica, and Diane, I am so lucky to have you in
my life and I am super excited to see you all in Florida next
month! Geekchic12, it will happen one day. Lobsters4ever.
Thank you to everyone who reads, reviews, and shares
this story. It’s been a crazy ride and I hope you’ll enjoy this
last stretch of the journey with me. Also, I think a tissue
warning might be in order.
BPOV
“Okay, so I have a dilemma.”
I look at Rosalie, grateful for the distraction. I’ve just picked up
both of our kids after school, brought them here to play together, and
now she and I are sitting in her kitchen. Seth is having dinner here
tonight. I’ll be next door with Edward, and I’m nervous as hell. I nod
for her to continue.
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“I’m having a baby shower in a couple of weeks,” she says, lovingly
stroking her big belly, “and you’re invited, of course.”
“Oh, thank you. I’d love to!”
“Fantastic.”
She smiles at me.
“So what’s the dilemma?” I ask.
“Well, I also really wanted to ask you if you’d consider making the
food for it?”
“Like, cater it?”
“I’d pay you, of course!” she adds quickly. “And it’d be good
experience for you too, right?”
“Oh my god, yes!” I exclaim, getting up to hug her. “Of course I
will! And you don’t have to pay me. It can be my gift to you.”
“No way. I’m hiring you—I mean, if that would be all right with
you.”
I take my seat again.
“Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know. You’re my friend. I just didn’t know if it’d be weird
for you.”
“Not even. But I should warn you, I haven’t ever catered anything
before, and I don’t know a lot about fancy cooking.”
“That’s okay. I want something like what you made for Seth’s
birthday party.”
“Mini pizzas and homemade cookies?” I chuckle. “Don’t you think
your friends will be expecting something a bit . . . healthier?”
510
“Oh, screw that,” she says. “I’m already as big as a house, and I
want carbs. You wouldn’t say no to a pregnant woman with cravings,
would you?”
I laugh.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. But how about we make a menu with a few
different choices so there’s something for everyone?”
“You’re the expert.”
I can’t help but clap my hands. This is so exciting. My first catering
job!
“Thank you, Rosalie,” I say, giving her a big smile. “I can’t wait to
start planning. Should we meet tomorrow? I can pick up both of the
kids again after school.”
“That’d be awesome. I can barely fit behind the wheel anymore!
Check it out.”
She grins, balancing her mug on top of her belly to show how it
can stand on its own there, making the both of us laugh. I look at
her, so happy we’ve become such good friends.
“Hey, Rosalie, can I tell you something?”
“Of course.”
I take a big gulp of my coffee, knowing I shouldn’t have any more.
I’m already so nervous, I’m twitching—not about talking to Rosalie—
about what comes after.
“All right, so I, uh, I went on a date with Edward on Saturday
night.”
“Edward?” Her stare is blank.
Then her mouth pops open, and her eyes widen.
“Edward, Edward? From next door?”
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“Yep,” I say lamely.
I can almost see the gears grinding in her head.
“Oh my god. Is that why you quit?”
“Er, sort of. It’s complicated.”
“Wow.” Her eyes dart back and forth. “Wait. Was something
already going on between you while you were working for him?”
Shit. Why did I tell her anything?
“Um, kind of?”
God, I’m so lame!
“Aw, man! Emmett’s going to be insufferable now!”
She looks more amused than shocked, which I take as a good sign.
“Your husband? Why?”
“Ugh, he said something about it after Seth’s birthday—that he
thought something might be going on. I told him he was crazy, that
there was no way Edward would do that.”
Disappointment stabs at me.
“No!” she says quickly, shaking her head. She must have read my
emotions on my face. “I didn’t mean it like that. I think it’s fantastic.”
I relax a little.
“It’s just not something I ever expected of him. He’s such a recluse.
I was completely floored when I found out he’d hired a live-in house-
keeper, let alone someone with a kid. I didn’t think he really liked
children, to be honest.”
“Oh.” That’s surprising, considering how nice he’s always been to
my son.
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“I remember when JR was born, and we were out walking with
him in the stroller,” she tells me. “Well, we met Edward, and JR
started fussing, so Emmett picked him up. Edward was nice enough,
congratulating us and stuff, but when Emmett asked if he wanted to
hold the baby . . . I swear it was like he’d asked him to hold a live
grenade with how quickly Edward declined. I think he even backed
away.”
“Huh. I guess he’s changed.”
“That’s good. I’ve tried inviting him to social events at the club,
and he’s always said no in the past. Emmett told me to stop bugging
him, but I always felt a bit sorry for him, I suppose. I didn’t think
he dated at all. As far as I can remember, I’ve never seen him with a
woman.”
She smiles at me.
“And then you moved in and suddenly we’re invited to his house
for a birthday party. We’d never been over there before that, not even
once in what, seven years we’ve lived here? I think you’re a good
influence on him.”
I crack a smile. I hope I am. I just want him to be happy.
“I’m going over there soon. That’s why I asked you if Seth could
stay here after school.”
“Oh! So it’s like a date or something?”
“I guess you could say that,” I reply, being purposely vague. “Just
please don’t tell Seth that I’m over there, okay? I don’t want to tell
him anything yet—in case it doesn’t work out. I mean, you heard
what he wished for on his birthday.”
Rosalie’s eyes widen.
“Oh my god. That was so . . . I don’t even know. And Edward
left the table after that.”
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I nod.
“That was when I started to realize it was probably a mistake to
have moved in. Seth got attached so quickly. So we’ve decided to
leave him out of it for now.”
“That makes complete sense.” She nods, reaching for her tea. “Will
you tell me about your date, then?”
I smile, glancing at my watch.
“I have a few minutes.”
“Tell me everything!”
Nearly half an hour later, I’ve left Seth in good hands and walk over
to Edward’s house, feeling my nerves and excitement building with
each step I take. I can’t wait to see him again, and at the same time,
I’m bracing myself for whatever he might tell me. I seriously doubt
he’d be able to say anything that would lessen my feelings for him at
this point, but he seems to think so. I want to prove him wrong. He’s
a good man. Of that, I am absolutely sure.
I look up at the house I used to live in and draw a deep breath
before ringing the bell. I’ve only done that once before—the first time
I came here. This time everything is different.
He opens the door and steps aside for me, his eyes darting between
me and the floor. He looks tired, and all I want is to wrap my arms
around him, which I do as soon as I’ve removed my coat, surprising
him. After a second, he embraces me as well, burying his face in my
hair as he inhales deeply. I feel my heart stuttering with love for him,
closing my eyes. We stand like that for a long time, just holding each
other, rocking gently as though we’re dancing without music. When
he finally pulls back, there’s a small smile on his face.
“You looked like you needed a hug,” I say, reaching up to palm his
cheek.
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He nods.
“Are you okay?” I ask, taking in his somewhat disheveled
appearance—his loosened tie, his uncombed hair, and the hint of
stubble on his cheeks.
He nods again, looking me over as well.
“I am now. I . . . missed you.”
He looks away for a second as though his confession embarrasses
him.
“I missed you too. So much.”
I raise myself up, kissing him softly, enjoying the feeling of his warm
lips against mine as he responds, slowly deepening it until his tongue
is caressing mine. His hands glide up and down my back, tightening on
my waist to pull me closer. I feel him against me, how much he wants
me. My body reacts to his need, and my nipples tighten as I moan
into his mouth. Suddenly, he lifts my legs up, carrying me farther into
the house. He lowers me onto the couch in the living room and hovers
above me, capturing my lips. I arch up into his body, moaning again
as he kisses his way down my neck. I feel him unbuttoning my shirt
and then his large hand palming my breast through my bra.
“This . . . oh my god . . . this isn’t taking things slowly,” I
manage to say, even though I’m doing nothing to stop his advances.
“Yes, it is,” he whispers in my ear, taking my earlobe between his
teeth. “I’ll just touch you. Nice and slow.”
I groan in response as he pulls the cups of my bra down, massaging
my right breast before he lowers his head, his warm tongue flicking
across my left nipple.
“Nice and slow,” he murmurs, wrapping his lips around it before
his hand trails downward, undoing my pants.
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He slips his hand inside, cupping me through my underwear before
he starts gently rubbing me. It’s not nearly enough, and I whine,
lifting my hips up in response. He swallows the sound with a searing
kiss.
“You’re so wanting,” he murmurs as his fingers snake underneath
the thin fabric covering me. “Let me take care of you.”
I gasp as he strokes up and down, a slow smile spreading across his
handsome face.
“You’re wet for me,” he says, gazing into my eyes. “There’s my
sweet g—”
His fingers still.
“Isabella,” he says quickly. “I mean, Isabella. Fuck. I’m sorry.”
“Wh-what . . .” I draw a breath, feeling dazed.
He’s frozen above me, frowning. He called me . . .
Oh.
“Hey,” I say softly, lifting my hand to run it through his hair. “It’s
okay to call me that.”
Some of the tension leaves his body.
“I loved being your sweet girl,” I whisper. “That doesn’t have to
change. And sometimes I can still call you ‘sir,’ if you’d like that. I
mean, I liked doing it. We decide what we want, right?”
He nods, slowly extracting his hand to rest it on my naked stomach
as he blows out a breath.
“You’re right,” he says. “And we decided to take things slowly for
a good reason . . . although I’m having a hard time remembering
why at this very moment.”
I laugh.
516
“I know what you mean.”
“I really did just want to touch you,” he says, leaning down to
brush his lips over my nipples before kissing his way up my neck.
“Y-you did?” I move my head to the side to give him better access.
“Mmmhmm. I wanted to make you come.”
I squirm, pressing my torso up against his and shivering as he takes
my earlobe between his teeth.
“Please, let me,” he murmurs, cupping my breast. “Let me touch
you. I need to.”
I want to. God, I do. But there’s something in his voice that makes
me pause.
“What do you mean?” I ask, tugging gently at his hair until he
lifts his head. “Why do you need to?”
“It was always about me, about what I wanted.”
I start shaking my head, but he continues.
“It was. But I don’t want it to be like that now. And . . . I needed
to remind you.”
The look in his eyes grows intense—darker somehow.
“Remind you of how I can make you feel, how your body responds
to me, how I can make you come harder than you’ve ever experienced
before.”
He palms my cheek before running his hand down my body, the
corner of his mouth lifting as I arch up into his touch.
“It’s been so long,” he murmurs. “I want you to remember what I
can give you.”
“Edward, of course I remember.” I manage to collect myself enough
to close my shirt. “What is this about?”
517
As he pulls back I sit up, following him until I’m kneeling next
to him on the couch. He runs his hands through his hair—a sign of
frustration, I’m sure.
“Talk to me,” I say softly. “What are you thinking?”
He looks at me.
“You’re perfect, Isabella—sweet, smart, beautiful, talented. You’re
a great mother. Just look at Seth. You have a bright future ahead of
you. And you’re young. So young.”
He exhales.
“I don’t understand what you want with me.”
I stare at him, incredulous.
“You don’t need my money anymore or a place to stay. All you get
out of this is . . . me with all of my issues and limitations. So, yeah,
I don’t really understand.”
He shrugs.
“Except the sex. I know how to do that, how to make you feel
good.”
“Edward, that’s not even . . .” I shake my head.
“I know.” His eyes are pleading. “Isabella, I have pretty severe trust
issues when it comes to women. That’s why I have a male assistant.
That’s why I’ve kept my interactions with the opposite sex about just
that—sex. It’s one more thing you’ll have to deal with.”
“Stop that,” I say firmly. “I know who you are. Stop trying to talk
me out of being with you, because it won’t happen. Just be honest
with me.”
“I’m used to women wanting me for money or sex, and the latter is
all I’ve wanted from women for a very, very long time. Until you. I
didn’t trust you at first. Not at all.”
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He purses his lips.
“I don’t know when that changed. Maybe . . . my birthday? You
saw my scars, and you still wanted to stay—even after I’d told you I
would pay the same amount. You still stayed with me. And earlier
that night, I told you to stay over.”
“I remember.”
“You had no idea how significant that was for me—to want to have
you in the house with me while I was sleeping. As my therapist would
say, it was a ‘breakthrough.’ ” He makes quotation marks with his
fingers, chuckling to himself.
“Why’d you choose a female therapist?” I ask, “if you don’t trust
women, I mean.”
“That’s the reason. I figured it was better to face it head on, and I
wanted to push myself. I want to get better.”
Slowly, I reach for his hand, linking my fingers with his as I relax
into a more comfortable position next to him.
“I’m proud of you for doing that,” I tell him.
He sends me a sad smile.
“I should have gone a long time ago.”
“What made you go now?”
“You.” He sighs. “I saw you at your father’s funeral. You were so
sad, and you looked so fragile, like you’d break into a million pieces
if someone brushed up against you. I wanted to go to you, offer you
my arm, my hand, any part of me you needed to hold on to, to get
through that awful day. But I couldn’t. I had nothing to offer you
except heartbreak. All I could see was the way you looked at me after
I’d pushed you away that night in Seth’s room—just the complete
519
shock and hurt in your eyes. You never thought I was capable of
something like that, but I was. I am.”
I give his hand a squeeze, hoping he’ll continue.
“I left your hometown and went straight home to look for a therapist.
I knew if I were to have any chance of winning you back, I’d have to
change or get better, at least. Choosing a woman for the job . . . I
guess you could call it a crash course.” He gives me a wry smile.
“Is it helping?” I ask.
He nods slowly.
“She’s tough. Doesn’t let me get away with deflecting the hard
questions, and she definitely advises you and I wait until we resume a
sexual relationship, so I pretty much hate her.”
He winks, making me smile.
“She sounds good. Do you . . . do you really talk to her about
sex?”
“Some. It was necessary for her to get the big picture—you and
me.”
“Of course,” I murmur, hesitating for a second. “Can I ask you
something? About sex?”
“Mmmhmm.”
I look at our joined hands.
“Have you always . . . been this way? Or did something, er,
happen?”
“Why do you ask?” His expression is open and curious.
“Oh, well. I think I’ve probably always been like this. Sexually
submissive, I mean. It feels natural somehow.”
“And you said that without blushing.” He teases me gently.
520
“Shut up,” I mutter, grinning a little.
“It’s the same for me,” he says. “When I was a teenager, all of
my fantasies always seemed to revolve around a certain . . . theme,
I guess you could say. I’m sure some of it was enhanced due to my
strict upbringing, but at the core I think I’m just naturally drawn
to submissive women. I like taking charge; I like calling the shots.
As I grew older, my fantasies became more specific.” He finally looks
relaxed. It’s obvious he doesn’t mind talking about his sexuality. He’s
comfortable with it.
“The 1950s dress-up,” I say. “The apron. Baking pie. Serving you.”
He nods, smiling.
“I have no idea where that comes from, and I don’t really care. I
just know it turns me on.” He watches me closely. “And you like it
too, don’t you?”
I return the smile.
“You know I do. Have you . . . done that before? With other
women, I mean.”
“No. Just with you. I’ve never had a woman here at my house
before you.”
“But you have experience.” I know he does.
“Yes. I told you I thought I might be a dominant.”
I nod. I definitely remember that.
“There are places you can go,” he tells me. “Clubs that cater to a
certain lifestyle, and private parties. I went for a while, tried it out.
But in the end, it wasn’t for me.”
I try to contain the flare of jealousy I feel. I know he’s slept with
women before me, and I’m glad he’s being so forthcoming about his
past.
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“Why wasn’t it for you?” I ask.
He shrugs.
“I don’t enjoy doling out pain, and that seemed to be what a lot
of the women wanted. Whipping. Paddling. Leather and latex do
nothing for me, and I don’t care much for playrooms either. It felt
too . . . constructed, I suppose, going into a certain room and using
various toys for a few hours. Impersonal. I wanted something else,
and it wasn’t there.”
He looks me over, a smile playing on his lips.
“Then I met you, and you were just . . . perfect. Everything you
did, everything you said, and how you responded to me. It blew me
away. I found myself missing you the moment you’d leave my house
and thinking of you all the time. So I decided to ask you to move in.
I knew you needed the money badly, and I felt pretty sure you liked
me well enough.”
I snort, shaking my head.
“Liked you well enough? I’d say that’s an understatement.”
He sends me a shy smile before looking down at our joined hands.
He’s so handsome with his long eyelashes and sharp cheekbones, his
sensual mouth and square jaw. I can’t help but stare at him, now that
I have the chance to do so undetected.
“I wouldn’t let myself believe your feelings were deeper than that,”
he says, lifting his gaze to mine again. “But they are. Aren’t they?”
I lean forward, pressing my lips against his, kissing him tenderly.
“Yes,” I whisper, “they are. So much deeper.”
His eyes remain closed as he smiles, rubbing his cheek against mine
before pulling me into his lap until I sit astride him. His arms go
around me, cocooning me in his embrace, and I sag against him closing
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my own eyes. We sit like that for a long time, breathing in sync, heart
to heart. His hands are on my back underneath my still open shirt,
caressing my naked skin.
“Thank you for answering my questions,” I whisper. “I hope it
wasn’t too hard on you.”
He tightens his arms in response, pressing his lips against my hair.
“I like talking to you, darling girl. I want you to know me.”
I smile, cringing a little when my stomach suddenly growls loudly.
“It’s almost dinnertime,” I murmur.
Edward lifts his head, his eyes a bit wide.
“Do you have to leave?”
“No,” I say quickly. “Seth’s having dinner next door. I’m picking
him up later.”
“Good. Let me order in for us.”
“I can just cook something.”
“Oh, er, I’m not sure what’s in the kitchen, actually. I haven’t been
in there a lot—since you left.”
Oh, Edward.
“I’m here now.” I lean forward to kiss him. “Let’s see what I can
find.”
As it turns out, I can’t find much. The refrigerator is practically
empty, wiped down and cleaned except for a few beverages, and de-
frosting something will take a while. Edward orders us a pizza instead,
but when it arrives, he hardly touches it, pushing his slice around on
his plate while he drinks his wine in silence, lost in contemplation. He
clears the dishes before excusing himself, leaving me at the kitchen
table. When he comes back, he’s carrying a picture, wrinkled around
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the edges and lined from having been folded up. He takes his seat
across from me, a somber expression on his face. Slowly, he pushes
the picture across the table toward me.
“It was a very different time back then,” he says. “I was very
different.”
Drawing a deep breath, I pick up the picture, my eyes sweeping
across it. It’s a group photo. A dozen or so young people facing the
camera, smiling faces all around. Most of them are dressed in faded
jeans, t-shirts, and plaid shirts. A few of the girls are in long, flowing
skirts and long shirts on top. Backward baseball caps on some of the
guys. A lot of open-toed sandals and big clunky boots. Nearly all of
them have long hair, both the guys and the girls. To the right of the
center, there’s a young man who catches my eye. His reddish-brown
hair reaches his shoulders and his smile is happy and relaxed, his arm
thrown around the shoulder of the girl next to him.
“Oh my god,” I whisper. “That’s you.”
“Yes.”
I glance up at Edward. His shoulders are tense and his mouth set
in a hard line.
“When was this taken?” I ask.
“1995.”
“Twenty-one years ago,” I murmur after a few seconds. “You
were—”
“Nineteen,” he says. “I was nineteen.”
“Wow. You’re so young here.”
I look at the picture again, at the girl next to him. She’s petite
with wild red hair and a pretty smile.
“Who is she?”
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“My . . . wife.”
My eyes snap up to his, my mouth falling open in shock.
“You were married at nineteen?”
He nods.
“Will you tell me?” I ask.
He rubs his face with his hands.
“I’ll need something a bit stronger than wine,” he says with a smile
that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“That’s okay. Do you want to go into the living room again? The
couch is more comfortable.”
“Just don’t ask me to lie down on it. I get enough of that in
therapy.”
I smile at him, hoping it’s reassuring, before I stand up to take his
hand in mine. A few minutes later we’re settled on the couch, and
Edward is sipping some kind of alcohol over ice.
“Remember how I told you about going to school in England?” he
asks.
I nod.
“My parents were American, but my father worked abroad most
of his adult life. Lots of travel. My mother usually joined him, and I
was sent away to school. It was easier for them, I suspect. I didn’t
see them all that much, even during holidays.”
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him, reaching for his hand again. “Are they . .
.?”
“Long gone,” he says in a monotone. “Good riddance.”
He looks at me.
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“He was an abusive bastard toward me, and she let him. I don’t
miss them one bit.”
“I’m still sorry—for you,” I whisper, “that you had such an awful
childhood.”
“Thank you,” he says softly, stroking my hand before drawing a
deep breath. “Anyway. When I graduated at eighteen, I was more
than ready to get away from them. First chance I got, I put an entire
ocean between us and came over here.”
“I’d inherited quite a bit of money from my father’s mother. She
was nice, as far as I remember. I had a plan all set out. I would start
here on the west coast, buy a car, and drive across the country. I
never got any farther than Seattle.”
“What happened?”
“I met Vickie.” He shakes his head. “It was so strange. I was sitting
outside a café downtown, planning my trip, when suddenly this girl
comes up to my table and sits down, asking me if I could spare a
cigarette and maybe buy her a coffee. I said yes. After that cup of
coffee and a few cigarettes, I left the café with her and along with it
all of my travel plans.”
He glances at me.
“That sounds . . . really romantic,” I whisper, trying to ignore the
acidy feeling in my stomach.
Edward shrugs.
“I was an eighteen-year-old virgin who’d barely spoken to a girl
before that point, and she was pretty candid about what we’d do if
I’d get us a room somewhere.”
“Oh. I guess that makes sense, then.” I try for a smile. “But it
wasn’t just a one-time thing.”
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“It wasn’t. For the next three years, I barely left her side. She was
so different from anyone I’d ever met, free-spirited and wild, but with
absolutely crazy mood swings. One day she’d be bouncing all over
the place and the next she’d stay in bed all day.” He shakes his head.
“With what I know now . . . I can see that she was not . . . okay. I
didn’t realize it at the time, of course. I was too blinded by it all.”
“Blinded by love?” I whisper.
He sighs, taking a drink.
“I know I’m supposed to say that I’ve never . . . never felt that
way about anyone before I met you, but . . . we agreed on honesty.”
I nod.
“I did love her—with all of the naiveté and excitement of the teenage
boy I was. I loved her very much. Too much.”
“How can you love someone too much?” I ask gently.
He looks at me.
“You can. Trust me. Love can become . . . unhealthy.”
I don’t know how to respond to that.
“Anyway,” he says, continuing, “we moved in with some of her
friends. We all shared this big old house. In fact, we shared most
things.”
“Like a . . . commune?”
“Yes, exactly like that. People came and went as they pleased.
Some worked odd jobs around the city, just enough for everyone to get
by. Everyone pitched in with what they could. Money and material
possessions didn’t matter. We grew vegetables out back, kept chickens.
The kitchen was the center of the house. We’d eat together, play cards
all night, have sing-alongs, drink, and smoke. For a while it seemed
like . . . paradise.”
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His smile is sad.
“My whole life, there had been so many rules and regulations, being
told what to do all the time. I’d gotten picked on by older classmen at
school because of my accent, and whenever I was at my parents’ house,
my father always found some excuse to punish or humiliate me. But
when I moved in with Vickie and her friends, there was none of that.
They welcomed me with open arms. The freedom, the friendships, the
acceptance—it was intoxicating. It felt like home.”
“It sounds wonderful,” I say.
“It was—for a while. Like a non-stop party. Vickie and I got
married on a whim. Some guy – a friend of a friend – was already
ordained, so all it took was a marriage license. We had the ceremony
in the back yard. Danced until dawn. It was fun. Everything was
about having fun, no matter the cost.”
I wait patiently for him to continue.
“There were a lot of drugs in the house,” he says, clenching his jaw.
“I didn’t think much of it in the beginning. Everyone was doing it. It
seemed normal, like the thing to do. Pot and beer, at first. Cheap
wine. Everyone did it.”
“Even you?” I ask softly, hoping he knows I’m not judging him.
“Even me. I never got hooked, though. I don’t know why. But
Vickie . . .” He shakes his head. “She had an awful childhood. Made
mine look like a Norman Rockwell painting by comparison. Both her
parents were drunks, and after she was taken away from them, she
bounced around in the foster care system until she turned eighteen.
I’ll spare you the details, but it was bad. The second year we were
together, probably just around the time that picture you saw was
taken, a new guy moved into the house—Jimmy. He brought new
drugs with him, harder stuff. Handed them out like they were candy.”
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He lets out a bitter laugh.
“Everyone was so happy. They said, ‘What a nice guy, sharing the
wealth!’ It didn’t take long before most them were hooked, and then
they had to pay, of course.”
“And your wife?” I whisper.
“She took whatever he gave her even though I told her it was a bad
idea. Completely hypocritical of me since I was still smoking weed,
but the pills and the coke didn’t mellow her out like the pot did. They
made her . . . different. And mean-spirited when she was coming
down from a high. I thought about leaving once or twice when she
was really bad, but . . . I loved her. It wasn’t her fault all of those
bad things had happened to her, and I knew she was just trying to
cope the only way she knew how. I took care of her as much as I
could, making sure she’d eat, going with her whenever everyone went
out to make sure she’d be all right. It went on like that for a while.
But then . . . we found out she was pregnant. We hadn’t exactly
been careful all the time.”
I chew on my lip as I watch him, a sense of dread building up inside
me.
“I was so happy. We’d never talked about having kids, but . . .
I wanted it. We’d both had such miserable childhoods, and I guess
I saw this as a chance to do things right. To give our kid the great
childhood we were deprived of. To be a family, a real, happy family.
So I took action. I grabbed Vickie, and we moved into our own place,
away from the drugs and drink. I told her we were done with all of
that, that we’d be good parents, starting immediately. I spent some
of my inheritance and got her into a program. We went shopping for
baby stuff. For a little while it seemed like everything was going to
work out.”
Abruptly, he lets go of me and leans forward, pouring himself
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another drink. His hands are trembling.
“You don’t have to tell me any more tonight,” I say gently. “It can
wait. Really.”
He drinks deeply, emptying the glass before wiping his mouth with
the back of his hand.
“No, it has to be now. I just want it over with.” He looks at me.
“But, will you sit with me?”
Leaning back, he opens his arms hesitantly. I climb into his lap
and he embraces me, resting his chin on my head as he inhales deeply
and lets it out again.
“She started disappearing,” he whispers. “I’d wake up and she’d
be gone, not to return for hours and hours. She said she needed space,
that I was smothering her—always watching her and hovering over her.
We fought a lot during that time. I was worried about her and the
baby, and I didn’t think she was taking good enough care of herself.
She accused me of being controlling, and looking back, I can see that
I was. But I was only doing it because I was . . . afraid—afraid of
losing her, of losing everything that meant something to me.”
He pauses, stroking my hair.
“The more she pulled away, the harder I clung. Or maybe it was
the other way around. I don’t know. I suspected she was using again.”
“But she was pregnant,” I whisper. “She wouldn’t . . .”
Edward sighs, tightening his arms around me.
“She stopped coming home for days on end, and I went to see
our friends at the house. They told me she was off with Jimmy
somewhere—that she’d been coming around a lot since we moved out.
I had no idea. I got . . . very upset. I asked if she’d been doing drugs.
They said yes, like it was no big deal. I trashed the kitchen, beat up
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two of the guys. They were my friends. Why hadn’t they told me? Or
tried to stop her? I looked at them, all of them so fucked up. Addicts.
The house was supposed to be about freedom, but they were all slaves
to the drugs.”
He swallows audibly.
“She came home that night, and I looked at her, really looked. Her
skinny arms and vacant eyes. And that swollen belly she took with her
whenever she left my sight. She was hurting our baby, and I couldn’t
do a thing about it. I-I lost it. I just lost it.”
I sniff quietly, my eyes welling up with tears. I’ve never heard his
voice like this before—so raw.
“I screamed at her. I called her awful names. I threw things. I
cried. I accused her of fucking Jimmy. I knew he wanted payment for
whatever he was giving her, and she didn’t have a dime. She didn’t
deny it. She screamed right back at me, hitting me, and pushing me.
Said she couldn’t be a mother, that I hadn’t given her a choice, that I
was forcing this life upon her. She didn’t want it, didn’t want me.”
I can’t hold back my tears, but I do my best not to sob, not wanting
to interrupt him.
“She was right. I never asked her what she wanted. I only saw
what I wanted. I realize that now. Back then I didn’t. All I could see
was her betrayal. I hated her, and . . . and I told her as much. She
ran out. I didn’t follow.”
He draws a shaky breath.
“It only took me a couple of minutes to realize what I’d just done.
It wasn’t just Vickie who had left. She still carried our baby. I looked
for her, but . . . nothing. My former friends wouldn’t help. Why
would they? I filed a missing persons report, walked all over the city,
handing out flyers with her name on it. I just wanted her to come
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home. We’d try again. I’d get her help. I was sick with worry.”
He clears his throat above me, and I reach up to rest my hand on
his shoulder.
“About a week later, in the middle of the night, I woke up . . . to
screaming—hers. I remember seeing Jimmy above me, his face partly
in the shadows, and the flash of the knife a moment before he started
stabbing me. I-I managed to roll away from him a little, sustaining
the wounds in my side mostly. All the while, Vickie was screaming at
him, telling him she’d already found my money, begging him to stop.
The absolute terror in her voice—I’ll never forget it. Never.”
He shudders, his breaths coming faster.
“The pain was . . . I think I blacked out. They were gone when I
came to. I made it into the hallway somehow. A neighbor found me,
called 911. I thought I was going to die. There was so much blood.
So much blood on me. Sometimes I wake up and I can still feel it . . .
clinging to my clothes, to my skin. I can still smell it.”
“Oh my god.” I can’t stop myself from whimpering as I cling to
him.
“I was still in the hospital recovering when I got word. They’d
found her, and she was . . .”
He lets out a sob, unable to continue. I move out of his lap and
hold him to me, feeling his body sagging against me, his face buried
in my hair.
“She’d OD’d,” he croaks. “But the baby . . . a C-section. They
tried . . .”
“Oh, no.” I cry, stroking his head. There’s nothing I can say to make
this better, but I try just the same. “I’m here, I’m here, Edward.”
“I held him. God.” His voice cracks. “He was so little, but so
beautiful—even with all of the wires and the mask on his face. And
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he was strong. He fought t-to live. He wanted to live. I held him and
he lived . . . for almost two hours. And I whispered to him that I
loved him, that I was his dad, and I wanted him more anything in the
world. I held him until they made me let go.”
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” I whisper, holding him tighter.
He’s silent for a long time, his breaths tickling my neck. I cry, my
tears wetting his hair.
“I buried them together,” he says, his voice hoarse. “She didn’t
deserve him, but . . . I couldn’t bear the thought of him being all
alone in the dark. Do you think that was right of me?”
I nod, pressing my lips against the top of his head.
“You did everything right. Everything. It wasn’t your fault, any of
it. You did everything you could to help her.”
“I tried,” he whispers, leaning heavily on me.
He turns his head away, wiping at his face. I stand, reaching for
his hand.
“C’mon,” I murmur.
He looks up at me, his eyes red-rimmed, as he moves off the couch,
following me upstairs. I undress him slowly, kissing his skin. He
shivers as I brush my lips across his healed scars. This isn’t about
sex, and he seems to sense that, too, because he doesn’t try to initiate
anything. He lets me tuck him in before I lie down next to him, on
top of the covers. He closes his eyes when I begin stroking his hair off
his forehead, using my thumb to smooth out the line between his eyes.
“Thank you for telling me,” I whisper.
“Now you know what kind of man I am,” he says, his voice sounding
hollow. “The kind who tries to control the people he loves, who loses
his temper, and makes them run away.”
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“That’s not who you are,” I say softly, tracing his features with
my fingertips. “You fought to help her. You fought for your son’s life.
You’re good and strong, Edward. You survived, and I’m so grateful
you did.”
“I thought about ending it all,” he murmurs. “After I’d buried
them, I wanted to die too. But I realized something.”
“What?”
“If I were gone . . . there wouldn’t be anyone left to remember
him, to love him. He may as well never have been born.”
He draws a deep breath, his chest stuttering.
“It’s been twenty years, but I still think about him every day. I go
to the cemetery every week. I remember.”
“You’ll always be his dad,” I whisper, trying to hold back tears.
“He was loved.”
He nods, his eyelids fluttering as wetness begins to coat his long
lashes.
“It happened on Christmas,” he tells me. “I was so excited. I’d
bought presents, even though he wasn’t due until February. I’ve never
celebrated since. After the funeral, I left. I went back to the apartment
for some papers and a photo album, but I left everything else behind.”
“The Indiana Jones movies. You said you lost them or something
like that.”
“I lost everything. I had no one. I studied. I worked. I found . . .
distractions. But I never had anyone until . . .”
“Until?”
“Until I met you.” He opens his eyes and looks at me. “You made
me feel again. You and Seth. I didn’t want to, and I fought it hard,
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but it didn’t work. I thought I could keep it all separate, that I
wouldn’t cross any lines. You and Seth downstairs and me upstairs.”
He moves closer, touching his forehead to mine.
“You didn’t just move into my house. You moved into my heart,
the both of you.”
“Edward,” I whisper, leaning in to kiss him softly. “It was the same
for me. I tried to convince myself I shouldn’t fall for you, and I tried
to fight my feelings. It didn’t work.”
He smiles, rubbing his nose against mine.
“What a pair we make.”
I return the smile, hesitating for a second before I ask him something
I know I need the answer to.
“What was different about me? Why did you invite me to your
house that first night after . . . what we did it your car? Was it . . .
was it because I reminded you of Vickie?”
He exhales.
“In a way, yes. There was no real resemblance. It was the look in
your eyes as you left that club. I recognized that look—so sad and
lost. You were so thin and pale, but beautiful, too.”
“Do I still remind you?”
“No,” he says immediately. “I thought you were troubled and frail,
but I couldn’t have been more wrong about that. What I saw was a
bad night for you, not who you really are. You’re strong and capable,
sweet and gentle. I can’t tell you how happy I was to realize that. I
thought I could help you, maybe even save you, but it turned out to
be the other way around. You saved me. So, no. You don’t remind
me of her at all. That’s not why I want to be with you, Isabella.”
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“We saved each other,” I murmur. “I needed you and you needed
me.”
“Need,” he says. “Present tense.”
“Need,” I whisper, kissing him. Before I can deepen it, he pulls
back.
“I want you to take some time to think about all of this,” he says.
“I don’t need time to think,” I protest softly.
“Please. I won’t allow myself to hope unless I know you’ve thought
about this. About what it means being with me. About what it means
for Seth. I want you to trust me again, and I swear I won’t ever break
that trust. I will try to get better about my issues, but with me, what
you see is pretty much what you get. I’m too old to change all that
much.”
“I don’t want you to change.”
He leans in, pressing his lips against mine.
“I’m yours,” he whispers. “I’ll take my cues from you. Think about
it, Isabella. Please.”
“All right. I will.”
He exhales, resting his head back down on his pillow. I stroke his
hair again, studying his features as they become relaxed, his eyelids
drooping.
“You can sleep,” I murmur. “You look exhausted.”
“I am. But promise me?”
I nod.
“You have to leave when I fall asleep. I’m sorry.”
I shake my head, shushing him softly.
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“It’s okay. I promise.”
I watch as he closes his eyes, turning his face into my hand as I
caress him. He’s asleep within minutes, and I slip out of bed, keeping
my promise. After I’ve picked up Seth and find myself back in my
own bed later that night, I keep my other promise to Edward and
think. I think about everything that’s happened between us from the
day we met up until tonight. Everything about him makes more sense
to me now, how he reacted to Seth being sick, his strong aversion to
drugs, how he tried to keep his distance to us but failed, how he fell,
not just for me, but for the both of us. I can’t imagine how he was
ever able to go on living after suffering such a terrible tragedy, and I
feel the telltale prickling in my nose and the corners of my eyes just
thinking of what he told me. I breathe deeply, looking at the door to
Seth’s room. Could he be Edward’s someday? I think so. I think they
need each other, too—a boy without a father, and a man without a
son. Seth’s birthday wish could come true.
Nothing Edward has told me tonight has changed how I feel about
him. I don’t know why he thought it might. Maybe he feels like he
doesn’t deserve a second chance for happiness, but he does. He’s a
good man, wholly deserving of love. I will love him. I will be with
him. I will be his, and he will be mine. Everything else we will work
out together.
I smile. Easiest decision of my life.
The next day, I find myself downtown, back in Edward’s office. I
fluff up my hair and untie my scarf before knocking on his door.
“Come in.”
I open, leaning on the frame as I watch him. He’s bent over his
desk, poring over his usual paperwork.
“What is it, Marcus?” he asks with slight irritation as he looks up.
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I smile at the stunned expression on his face.
“Hey,” I say softly.
“Hello.”
He sits up straight, all business-like in his demeanor, but I see the
flash of uncertainty in his eyes, not certain what I’m doing here. I
know him.
“I was just in the neighborhood. Wanted to ask if you’d like to go
see a movie with me?” I ask.
I wasn’t just in the neighborhood. I called ahead and asked Marcus
about Edward’s afternoon schedule.
He blinks, parting his lips.
“A movie?”
I nod.
“Something else we talked about but never did. My treat!”
Slowly, the corners of his mouth turn up until he’s sporting a huge
grin.
“A movie sounds great,” he says, pushing back his chair and walking
over to me.
I look up at him, my happy expression matching his, I’m certain.
“Fitting for a second date,” he says, placing one hand on my waist
and the other on the side of my face.
“Well, technically it’s our third—if you count the hot chocolate at
the beach.”
“Third date, huh?” he arches his eyebrows. “That sounds . . .
promising.”
I laugh, standing up on my toes.
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“Behave yourself, sir. I’m a good girl.”
“Yes, you are,” he murmurs, leaning closer. “My good girl. My
sweet, darling girl.”
He presses his lips against mine, pulling me close, his thumb ca-
ressing the apple of my cheek. I melt into him, the soft, warm, and
certain glow of happiness radiating through me, coupled with the
frantic flutters of my heart telling me I’m right where I belong. With
my Edward. With my sir.
And there you have it. That was the final chapter. Sort
of. I will do one or possibly two futuretakes, epilogues, flash-
forward chapters or whatever you want to call them, just to
check in with them once everything has settled.
I have had such a blast writing this story, and I am so
grateful to all of you for joining me here—taking a chance
on me, the queen of WIPs. LOL! ;)
While I am sad to watch this story come to an end, I am
also excited to start working on my much-neglected older
stories again and give them some needed attention and love.
I hope to have the next (and possibly very last) chapter for
this one out next week, but it depends how long it turns out
to be. We’re past my original outline now, so anything goes.
:D
Finally, I wanted to remind everyone that you can still
register for the Twific Meetup in San Diego later this month.
Details here: www . twilightfanficmeetup . com (leave out
spaces). I was able to attend the past two years and had the
time of my life! You won’t regret it!
*** Trigger warning: This chapter deals with violence and
the death of a baby. Please proceed with caution.
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Chapter 35

BPOV
“What a pretty dress, honey.”
I smile at my mom as she comes into my old room, taking a seat
on the bed.
“Thanks.”
I turn back to the mirror and put on a bit of red lipstick, its shade
matching my dress perfectly, before looking myself up and down.
“Not too shabby, eh?” I say with a grin. “Thank goodness Alice
didn’t go for the tradition of putting the bridesmaid in something
unflattering. I want to look good today.”
My mom laughs softly, meeting my eyes in the mirror.
“I’m sure I can guess why. Will I get to meet this young man of
yours then?”
Young man? Oy.
“Yes, he’s picking us up here,” I murmur, turning around to face
her. “Look, Mom, about Edward . . . he’s not exactly, er, young.”
She raises her eyebrows.
“I mean, he’s not old either,” I quickly add. “But he is older than
me. He’s forty.”
Before she can respond, I continue.
“I know it’s a big age gap, but it doesn’t feel like that. I have a lot
of responsibilities and I need someone who understands that, and who
isn’t into drinking and partying every weekend. We’re really good
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together and I really hope you’ll be nice to him. He’s pretty nervous
about meeting you. Shit, I mean shoot, I promised I wouldn’t tell you
that.”
I finish my rant with a helpless shrug.
“So you really like him then?” she asks.
“No, Mom,” I say softly. “I love him.”
She nods, giving me a warm smile.
“Has Seth met him?”
“Yes.” I draw a breath, deciding to just tell her everything now
since she’ll probably find out down the line anyway. “Edward used to
be my boss. We lived with him while I was his housekeeper. It, er,
didn’t work out with the job, obviously. I couldn’t keep working for
him.”
“Because you developed feelings?”
I nod, not willing to elaborate. It is the truth, and that’s all my
mom needs to know.
“And he’s accepting of Seth?”
I smile.
“Completely. And Seth really likes him too. We’ve told him that
we’re dating, but that’s all. We’re taking things slowly, especially for
Seth’s sake.”
I hesitate for a second.
“He, uh, he got pretty attached to Edward while we were living
there and I just don’t him to get hurt if it doesn’t work out. He’s had
enough of that.”
My mom nods, looking thoughtful.
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“Isabella, I wanted to tell you . . . I saw Michael’s parents a few
days ago. They moved a while back, but I ran into them in Port
Angeles.”
I stare at her. Mike’s parents? I haven’t heard a thing from them
since I called them after Mike left us, hoping they’d help. That was
more than a year ago and of course the help never came.
“W-what did they say?”
“Not a lot. I did most of the talking.” Her mouth sets in a grim
line. “I told them if they knew where their good for nothing son was
holed up they should tell him a lot of people are looking for him, and
that he’d better sign those custody papers you filed, or I’d hire the
best lawyer around here and haul Michael into court to sue him for
every child support payment he’s missed.”
“Wow,” I whisper, staring at my mom with awe.
She’s never been assertive like that before, not ever.
“I think they got the message,” she says with a small smile.
“Thank you, Mom. I’m so ready to leave all of that behind me and
move on.”
“That sounds like an excellent plan. Now, am I still watching Seth
for the rest of the weekend, or are you taking him home with you
tonight after the wedding?”
“Oh, uh, he can stay here with you—if that’s not a problem?”
“No problem at all. If you don’t mind him missing a day of school,
I can keep him until Monday afternoon and you can have some time
for yourself?”
“That’d be great!” I beam at her. “And you’ll stay for dinner then,
right?”
“I’d love to.”
542
I give her a hug, smiling as she strokes my hair. We’ve come a long
way, she and I, and I feel closer to her now than I ever did living at
home. We visit each other frequently and talk on the phone every
other day or so. I’m sad that it took my father’s death to get us to
this place, but I am grateful that something good came out of it. I
finally have a mother I can depend on, who loves me, and I love her
in return.
While my mother is helping Seth get dressed I go downstairs to
find my shoes and bag, and as I pass the kitchen window I see Edward
exiting his car. My heart leaps at the sight of him and I rush to the
front door to greet him, surprising him as I fling the door open just
as he’s walking up the steps to the house.
He smiles, looking me up and down, while I admire him right back.
Today he’s in a blue suit, white shirt and no tie. After four months of
dating he’s a lot less buttoned up around me, both figuratively and
literally speaking. It’s still a novelty seeing him so relaxed and happy,
but it’s definitely something I could get used to.
“Hello,” he says, “you look beautiful.”
He tells me every time we’re together, apparently determined to
make up for believing he hasn’t told me enough in the past. There’s
really no need—I was never doubtful about his attraction to me, but
I’d never ask him not to tell me.
“You look great too,” I say.
He brings his hand out from behind his back, holding out a box.
“This is a little silly,” he says with a grin. “But I never had a prom,
and I know you didn’t go to yours senior year, so I bought you a
corsage.”
He opens the box, fishing out a white flower attached to a wristband.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper as he slips it on me.
543
I move into his embrace, standing up on my toes to kiss him. His
lips are warm and soft against mine, his body firm and strong.
“Thank you,” I murmur. “It’s not silly at all. It does feel a bit like
prom with you picking me up here and all.”
“Does that mean you’ll let me drive us up to the make-out spot
after the wedding ?” he asks, wagging his eyebrows. “Tradition is
tradition, after all.”
I laugh softly.
“Maybe,” I say, acting coy.
“Tease,” he whispers, caressing my cheek with the backs of his
fingers.
“You like it that way.”
His smile is warm as he gazes down upon me.
“I certainly do.”
“Isabella?” My mom calls my name before she appears in the
doorway, her eyes going to Edward immediately.
I quickly step back, feeling like a kid in high school again. Edward,
on the other hand, looks entirely unaffected, smiling politely at her as
she stares at him wide-eyed. I don’t blame her— he really is quite a
sight.
“Mom, I’d like you to meet Edward,” I say.
“Hello.” She recovers, taking his outstretched hand. “It’s nice to
finally meet you.”
“You as well, Mrs. Swan. I realize this comes very belatedly, but
please accept my sincere condolences.”
“Thank you. I understand you attended the funeral?”
“I did. It was a lovely service, very dignified.”
544
My mom nods, .
“I’m happy we’re meeting under happier circumstances today.” Ed-
ward continues, giving her an easy smile as they let go of each other’s
hands. “I’ve been looking forward to making your acquaintance.”
I stifle a chuckle. He’s such a liar. He’s been worried about meeting
her, doubting if she’d approve of him because he’s so much older.
You’d never know it to look at him now, but I suppose he’s used to
small talk in his line of work, always meeting new people.
“Look, Mom. Edward got me a corsage,” I say, holding out my
wrist for her to see. “Isn’t it pretty?”
“Nana! I need help with my tie!” Seth’s voice reaches us just
seconds before he comes outside, stopping abruptly at the sight of us
before barreling into Edward in his usual fashion, nearly knocking me
out of the way to get to him.
“Hello Seth,” Edward says, stroking his hair. “You know, you can
just call me Edward now.”
Seth frowns.
“Why?”
“Well, that’s my first name. And I’m not your mom’s boss anymore.”
“But my teacher says you’re supposed to call grownups Mister and
Mrs. It’s, uh, respectful—especially to old people.”
“Old people?” Edward gives him a look of mock horror, making
my son grin from ear to ear.
Next thing I know the two of them are engaged in a game of tag,
which Seth is obviously losing, his shrieks loud and happy as Edward
chases him around the front yard, lifting him up above his head to
spin him around and around. It’s moments like these that make me
fall all the more in love with him, seeing the two of them together.
545
My mother nudges me gently, giving me a smile.
“Should we start planning your wedding next perhaps?”
“Oh, Mom.” I roll my eyes. “It’s way too early for anything like
that.”
I can’t help but smile, though.
The wedding is lovely and low-key, just as I knew it would be.
Neither Alice nor Jasper are into making a big production. Therefore,
they’re married at the courthouse with just their closest friends and
family present. Jasper wears a black suit with a white shirt underneath,
and his usual converse sneakers. Alice is in a pretty blue dress, refusing
to wear a white one.
“Uh, no. I’m not a virgin, I have two kids. The jig is up!” she had
said, quoting Miranda from Sex and the City. “Besides,” she added,
ever being the practical one, “this way I can wear it again afterward.”
After the brief ceremony we all head over to the lodge to have
lunch. It was important to Alice and Jasper that their daughters
could attend the wedding so they decided to have it during the day
so they wouldn’t get tired and miss out. The whole thing is very
kid-friendly with good, simple food—a lot of it made by me—and a
corner with a few iPads and toys set up to occupy them. Edward
smiles politely and makes effortless small talk with the guests, but he
doesn’t leave my side much, except to go outside and smoke a cigar
with the groom and his friends. I guess it’s a guy thing. I take the
opportunity to catch up with Alice, who’s drinking champagne and
laughing, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked.
“I’m married!” she exclaims, doing a twirl. “And possibly a little
tipsy.”
“Hey, it’s your wedding day, you’re allowed. Your mom is taking
the girls tonight, right?”
546
“Yep. We’re going to the airport in a couple of hours. I still can’t
believe it. A whole week’s honeymoon in Key West!”
I chuckle, smiling.
“I can. That’s Edward.”
“I should thank him again!” Her gaze flickers around the room.
“Please don’t. I think it makes him a bit embarrassed being the
center of attention,” I explain. “He’d hate it if today becomes all
about him and his generosity. I know him.”
She smiles, returning her focus to me.
“You do know him. How are you guys doing? We’ve both been so
busy lately, we’ve barely talked.”
“I know, it should settle down now, though. We’ll make time. But
to give you the short version, it’s going really well. We talk every day,
we Facetime a lot at night after Seth’s asleep, and we’ve gone out just
about every weekend.”
“And are you still taking things slowly?” she whispers.
I nod my head, letting out a laugh.
“Somehow, yes.”
“Wow, I don’t know how you do it! It’s been months, and, I mean,
you already know it’ll be amazing.”
I grin at her.
“It will be amazing. Soon. Very soon, I hope.”
I won’t lie, it hasn’t been easy for either of us taking the physical
side of our relationship slowly. But it’s been worth it and is very
significant—especially to Edward. I haven’t forgotten what he said
to me, expressing his disbelief that I was still interested in him now
that I no longer need money or a place to stay. He felt like the only
547
thing he had to offer was good sex, and I hope I’ve proven him wrong
these last months. I think I have. Every time I’ve stopped a make
out session before things have gotten too heated, I swear he’s looked
pleased, albeit also a bit frustrated. For me, the time we’ve spent
together has meant that I’ve regained the trust I had in him, and
that it’s grown beyond that. I’m no longer afraid of my feelings now
that I know they’re reciprocated, which Edward shows me in a million
different ways. He’s opened up, finally, and is honest about his fears
as well as his hopes for the future. He wants me and Seth, and unlike
before he doesn’t merely want to us to be a part of his life. He wants
it to be our life. One we share the three of us, as a real family. He
hasn’t asked us to move in yet, but I know he will some day. I think
he’s waiting for me to give him a sign that I’m ready to take that step.
I’m not sure I’m quite there yet, though. I love him and I trust him,
but I also have to admit that I’m enjoying this courting phase very
much. I like being picked up, being brought flowers and taken out
by the most handsome man I’ve ever met, being wined, dined, and
charmed by him. I like slow and deep kisses at the end of the night,
lingering touches, longing looks, and reluctance to go inside. I’m a
girly girl. I like romance. So sue me.
The happy couple leaves for the airport, and Seth only complains
a little when we drop him off to spend the rest of the weekend with
my mom. I know he wants time with Edward too, and I promise him
that the three of us will do something together soon. Tonight and
tomorrow, though, is the first chance Edward and I have had to spend
some real alone time and I intend to make the most of it.
“So . . . make-out spot?” he asks me, as we pull out of my mother’s
driveway, winking so I know he’s only joking.
I smile at him.
“Would you really take me there if I asked you?”
548
“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “Like I said, I’m taking my
cues from you, and . . .”
“And what?”
He gives me a smile, one I never saw before we started opening up
to each other, a sweet, shy smile.
“I really like how that’s going. With you and me.”
“I really like it too,” I say, reaching for his hand.
He laces our fingers together, easily maneuvering the car one-handed
as we head out of town toward Seattle. Someday we might visit that
make-out spot, but tonight I want something else.
It’s a long drive, but it doesn’t seem that way. We talk about
everything and nothing, stopping once for coffee, and then later to
grab some takeout. We listen to music and hold hands as the miles
fly by. It’s late by the time we reach my place. Edward leads me to
the door, his hand resting on my lower back. I turn and look up at
him, a bit startled at the suddenly intense look in his eyes as he pulls
me into his arms, holding me tightly against his body.
“Invite me upstairs,” he whispers.
I shiver as he tangles his hand in my hair, tilting my face upward
before he captures my lips with his. His kiss is demanding and makes
my heart pound furiously as I cling to him, feeling my knees actually
weaken at the sensations coursing through me. Abrupt, he pulls back,
gazing at me for a moment before he gently caresses my cheek.
“Invite me upstairs,” he says again.
I nod eagerly, my fingers trembling as I try to locate the keys in
my bag. The house is quiet as we tiptoe up the stairs and I let us
inside my apartment, closing the door to the outside world. I turn
and look at Edward, who’s staring at me with that same look in his
549
eyes, noticeable even in the darkness of the room. We’re finally alone,
truly alone, for the first time since we started dating and I suddenly
feel unsure of how to proceed. We’ve had sex, so much sex, but we’ve
never done this.
“Will you hold me?” I whisper, feeling vulnerable and ridiculous.
He’s right here, not going anywhere, but right now I need his arms
around me more than anything. He takes two long steps and wraps
me up in his embrace.
“T-tighter please,” I hiccup, remembering how I asked him the
exact same thing when he showed up at my apartment the day after
I’d left him, when I felt scared and lost, unsure of my future.
“Are you all right?” he murmurs, running his hand down the length
of my hair.
I nod against him.
“I’m sorry. I feel silly, you know, being nervous. It’s not like we
haven’t . . . before.”
“But that was before,” he says quietly.
“Yes.”
He pulls back a little, touching me underneath my chin until I’m
looking up at him.
“What do you need from me, Isabella? Name it and it’s yours.”
I see the truth in his eyes plain as day. He’s taking his cues from
me.
“Stay with me?” I whisper. “Spend the night?”
Emotions flicker across his face, deepening the line between his
eyes.
Shit.
550
I know he’s been talking with his therapist about this, trying to get
more comfortable about the idea of sharing a bed, which is a major
issue for him. I don’t blame him—he was almost killed in his sleep.
I’ve seen his scars, the violence inflicted upon his flesh, and I suddenly
feel greedy and selfish for pushing him when he’s already come so far.
I open my mouth to apologize, to retract my question, but he’s faster.
“All right,” he says. “I’ll stay.”
“You will?” I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice.
He nods and smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Before I
can say anything else, he starts removing his shoes with a determined
look on his face.
Wow. We’re really doing this.
We get ready for bed, literally bumping into each other in the
small corridor as he goes to use the bathroom after me, taking a new
toothbrush I’ve found from my hand. It’s slightly awkward, both
of our nerves making our movements a bit stiff. This is unfamiliar
territory. I quickly change into a loose t-shirt and turn off the lights
before crawling underneath the covers, waiting with bated breath.
Edward comes out of the bathroom, hesitantly approaching the bed
as he shrugs out of his suit jacket. I can’t help but watch him undress
in the darkened room, a bit overwhelmed by the intimacy of seeing
him at such a private moment, getting ready for bed. His body is
gorgeous, and even more toned than I remember. All of that extra
time spent at the gym has paid off in a big way.
He slips underneath the covers, his hands immediately seeking me
out, pulling me to him. His embrace is tense and tight, his breathing
faster than usual. He’s obviously uncomfortable, and I feel like an
absolute louse for making him do this.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have asked this of you.”
551
His reply is immediate.
“Yes, you should. You should have someone who can hold you at
night, who can sleep beside you.”
He tightens his arms demonstratively, letting out a shuddering
exhale.
“So should you,” I say softly. “I don’t care if you have—are they
nightmares?”
“Sometimes. Other nights it’s waking up with this feeling . . .”
He sighs softly, stroking my hair.
“What feeling? It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, but I’m
here if you do.”
“A feeling of dread, and the memories still so vivid after all these
years. I almost died, and I remember every part of that. The pain,
the fear, the helplessness.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, burrowing myself deeper into his embrace.
“I wish I could take all that away from you.”
“You do, a little bit every day. I just don’t want to accidentally
hurt you if I . . . lash out.”
“Has that happened before? I mean, before the night Seth got
sick?”
“Not exactly. I was in recovery at the hospital, after the stabbing.
I woke up during the night at some point, and I could hear someone
else the room. Full-blown panic. I must’ve scared the poor guy half
to death with how I started screaming and thrashing about. I almost
reopened my stiches.”
“Who was it?”
“Just another patient. I guess they were short on rooms, so they’d
552
wheeled him in there earlier that night after I’d fallen asleep. I just
reacted—didn’t even think. Just like the night I pushed you away.”
He draws a deep breath, brushing his lips across my forehead.
“It’s okay if you want me to leave.”
“I don’t,” I whisper. “Only if you don’t like this.”
He chuckles.
“Right. Because being pressed up against you, all warm and soft,
is a real chore.”
I smile in the dark, suppressing a yawn.
“Sleep, darling,” he murmurs, caressing my back with slow, lazy
strokes.
“You don’t want to . . .”
He laughs softly.
“Of course I do.”
Still, he makes no move to initiate anything, his hands never moving
away from my hair and my back.
“This is nice,” he whispers. “I’ve never had . . . this before.”
“Me either.”
Slowly, little by little, his body relaxes and his breathing deepens.
I close my eyes and listen to his heart.
I jolt awake as I’m jerked across the mattress, then pressed against
a wall of warm, solid muscle, held captive by strong arms. I blink,
lifting my head from Edward’s chest, which is moving up and down
much too fast for sleep. In the darkness, I’m able to make out that
his eyes are open, staring up at the ceiling. His lips are parted and
he’s panting as though he just ran a marathon.
553
“Edward?”
I manage to lift myself up on one elbow, still restricted by his arms
that clutch me to him, and gently touch his cheek. He flinches, but
doesn’t withdraw and he doesn’t push me away.
His gaze moves and he stares at me for what seems like a long time,
lifting his hand up to run the pads of his fingers gently across my face.
“I’m here,” I murmur. “Are you all right? What do you need?”
His fingers still and his eyes seem to darken in their intensity.
“Be mine,” he says, his voice rough with remnants of sleep.
Before I can react he rolls us over, settling between my legs, which
fall open on either side of his hips, and presses his lips against mine.
His body is tense and hard, his hands demanding as he pulls my hair
to tilt my head back, deepening his kiss. As I lift my arms to hold
him he grabs my wrists, pinning them to the mattress above my head
and kisses me harder still, causing me to moan. When he pulls back
I’m panting, writhing beneath him.
“What—” I try to catch my breath, collect my jumbled thoughts.
“There’s nothing civilized about the way I want you,” he says,
tightening his grip on my wrists. “I can dress up in a suit, look the
part, but it’s not who I really am when it comes to you. I want you to
be mine in every sense of the word. I want to possess you, Isabella.”
“I-I know.”
“And that doesn’t scare you?” he whispers.
“Not at all,” I answer truthfully.
“Then marry me. Be my wife.”
His gaze never wavers as I lie underneath him stunned, trying to
remember how to breathe.
554
“You did ask,” he says gently, leaning down to brush his lips against
mine in a sweet kiss. It’s such a stark contrast to the way he’s holding
me captured with his hands.
“That’s what I want. That’s what I need.”
“A-All that, and worship too?” I finally manage to get out, echoing
the words I spoke the first night I cooked for him, when I asked him
what he wanted from me.
The corners of his mouth twitch with what I’m hoping is amusement.
I’m stalling for time and I think he knows it. I want everything he
just said so badly I can taste it, but . . .
“If it was just me, I’d say yes right now,” I murmur. “But Seth . .
. it’s so soon. I mean, isn’t it? A little more time . . .”
“Time wouldn’t change anything. I’d just love you both more,” he
says, his voice clear and calm.
My heart stutters, making me lose my breath for a second.
“You . . . love me?”
A flash of surprise crosses his face before he lets go of me, lifting
his hand up to caress the apple of my cheek. He gazes at me again,
the dark demanding look in his eyes now replaced by tenderness.
“Of course I love you, Isabella.”
My chest expands with unexpected warmth and tears rush to my
eyes. He catches them all, brushing my temples with his thumbs, still
watching me. I realize I haven’t spoken.
“I wasn’t sure,” I whisper. “I hoped because . . . because I love
you. I love you, Edward. I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time.”
He drops his head on my shoulder, drawing a deep breath as his
body becomes heavier on top of mine.
555
“I want Seth to be mine, too,” he says, looking at me again. “I
want us to be a family.”
I nod eagerly, lifting my head up to kiss him.
Slowly, both of our hands start to roam, tugging at fabric that
separates us, and our lips become reacquainted with each other’s skin.
He kisses his way down my body, drawing gasps and shudders from me,
pleasuring me with his mouth and fingers until I pull on his shoulders,
needing more.
I can’t help but shiver at the intensity of his stare as he pushes
inside me with a deep groan.
“Oh God.” My eyes flutter closed.
“No, no, no,” he murmurs. “Look at me, Isabella.”
Lacing our fingers, he loves me slowly, only taking his eyes off me
when he leans down to kiss me or to whisper sweet words in my ear.
My heart is so full I have to fight not to cry with happiness, freeing my
fingers to throw my arms around him, needing him closer still. Even
quietly and gently like this, our physical connection is breathtaking in
its intensity, and he swallows my cries as I come.
Afterward, we lie close together, still touching and kissing. It seems
neither of us can stop.
“Did you sleep before this?” I whisper.
He nods, catching my hand to brush his lips across my fingertips.
“You didn’t push me away. You pulled me closer.”
He smiles.
“I know.”
“That’s a pretty big thing, isn’t it?” I ask.
556
“Mmmhmm. I’m not exactly cured, but . . . I can sleep with you
now. That’s amazing.”
“Did you sleep okay?” I ask carefully, wondering if he had a
nightmare.
He grins, leaning over to rub his nose against mine.
“It was worth it considering what happened when I woke up,” he
says. “But tomorrow we’re going out and I’m buying you a new bed.”
“What? Why?”
“There’s no way to say it without sounding ancient, so please just
let me get you one with a good mattress, or better yet—” he dips his
head to kiss my neck “—Marry me, move in with me, sleep in my bed
every night.”
“Edward.” I sigh as he drapes his arm around me and pulls me
close.
“Surrender,” he whispers against my lips. “You know I always get
what I want anyway.”
“I know. Eventually,” I say, opening my legs as he moves on top of
me again.
His chuckle turns into a moan as he sinks inside me again.
“Eventually then, but we’re getting that new bed tomorrow, you
hear?”
“Yes, sir.”
I gasp as he thrusts hard, his physical reaction to my words beyond
noticeable.
“That’s more like it.”
His expression turns serious and he stills.
“You won’t regret it. Not any of it, Isabella.”
557
I smile.
“I know. We’re going to make each other so happy. And . . . yes.”
“Yes? To what?”
“Yes to all of it.”
Edward’s rare boyish grin makes a quick appearance before he
throws himself back into making love to me, moaning both endearments
and dirty words, promises of great romance and naughty kink in the
future.
Much later, I lie in his arms, watching his face while the sun
comes up, illuminating his peaceful expression as he sleeps. I think of
everything that’s happened to bring us to this perfect moment and I
know in my heart that I’d do the same all over again. It was all worth
it to find this man, to find this love.
There are no more lines to cross—we’ve left them all behind us,
but that doesn’t mean it’s the end. It’s . . .
The beginning.
558
Chapter 36
ARGH! I’m so sorry for the chapter 35 repost. I messed

up the technology and accidentally deleted it! Eek!
Anyway!
I wanted to give you a heads up that I’m taking this story
down in one week (the 7th of July) because I’ve been given
a chance to publish it. I’ve been rewriting and editing it for
several months with the help of some very talented people,
and I’m very proud of the result. So if you want to keep the
fanfiction version now is the time to save it. :)
If you’re interested in my other published work you can
find me as SJ Hooks on Amazon, ibooks, Facebook, etc.
This won’t affect my other fanfic stories. They’re staying
up here.
Thank you.
559

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Crossing the Lines

This ebook was automatically created by FicLab on 30th June

title: Crossing the Lines

published: 18th November 2013

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyers.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyers.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyers.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer

Hey, everyone. A lot has happened since my last update.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyers.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Twilight. It belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

ARGH! I’m so sorry for the chapter 35 repost. I messed

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