Chapter 82
Anna POV
Edward's fingers curled around my wrist as he pulled me into the tiny bathroom, his eyes never leaving mine. The heat in his gaze contradicted the coldness I'd witnessed earlier, creating a disorienting mixture of signals that left me struggling to find solid ground. My back pressed against the cool tile wall, his broad shoulders blocking the exit, leaving me trapped between porcelain fixtures and his imposing frame.
Before I could form a coherent thought, Edward reached behind me. The sudden hiss of the shower startled me, but nothing compared to the shock of ice-cold water cascading down on both of us without warning. The freezing torrent drenched me instantly, plastering my clothes to my skin and shocking my system into full alertness.
""Jesus Christ!"" I gasped, my body instinctively trying to escape the frigid assault. My hair clung to my face in wet ropes as I tried to push past him. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Edward remained immovable, his white shirt now transparent and molded to every contour of his chest, droplets clinging to his eyelashes like tiny crystals. His forearms braced against the wall on either side of my head, creating a prison I couldn't escape. That dangerous electricity I'd felt moments earlier now sparked with indignation.
"This isn't funny, Edward!" I shoved against his chest, my palms sliding ineffectively against the soaked fabric. "Let me out "now"."
A furious pounding erupted from the other side of the wall, followed by my neighbor's irritated voice. "Hey! People are trying to sleep here! Take your bathroom musical somewhere else, for Christ's sake!"
"Perfect". Humiliation burned through me hotter than any anger. I'd lived here six months without disturbing anyone, and now Edward had managed to destroy that in less than an hour.
To my complete surprise, Edward's demeanor suddenly shifted. His arms dropped from the wall, and his expression softened into something almost unrecognizable.
"Don't move," he said, his voice gentler than I'd ever heard it. "You're soaked through."
I stood frozen, confusion replacing fury as Edward carefully helped me remove my drenched outer shirt, leaving me in my camisole. His movements were measured, almost... respectful? This whiplash-inducing change left me speechless.
He reached for my shower gel, squeezing a small amount into his palm before working it through my hair with practiced motions. His fingers moved across my scalp with just enough pressure to be strangely soothing.
"Turn around," he instructed, and I complied without thinking, my brain still trying to process this bizarre turn of events.
He washed my back with careful attention, his hands never straying to areas that would suggest ulterior motives. The intimacy of this moment—one entirely devoid of sexual undertones—felt more disarming than any of our previous encounters.
"You're very quiet," Edward observed, his breath warm against my ear. "That's not like you."
I found my voice, though it sounded strange even to my own ears. "I could be less quiet, but maybe that's better saved for the bedroom. I don't think you want another noise complaint."
I felt rather than saw his smirk, and heat crept into my cheeks despite the cold water. I chose silence after that, unwilling to examine why his touch without sexual intent felt somehow more invasive, more intimate than anything that had come before.
Later, wrapped in my only decent towel, I sat on the edge of my bed while Edward gently dried my hair with another, smaller towel. The city lights filtered through my window, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor. This strange domesticity felt like a scene from someone else's life—certainly not mine and Edward's.
"Frost Industry might have an heir I don't know about," Edward said suddenly, his hands pausing in their rhythmic movement.
I turned to look at him, genuinely startled by this abrupt confession. "What?"
"My father may have had another son." His voice remained steady, but something in his eyes shifted. "My mother implied as much yesterday."
I studied his face, searching for the angle, the manipulation behind this revelation. Finding none, I asked, "Why are you telling me this?"
His hand resumed its movement in my hair, but slower now, almost thoughtful. "Because you're probably the only person who wouldn't use that information against me."
The weight of that statement settled between us, changing something fundamental in the air. For the first time since I'd known him, Edward's eyes held uncertainty—a vulnerability I'd never imagined him capable of showing.
"He trusts me". The realization was as uncomfortable as it was surprising. Trust wasn't part of our arrangement, and I didn't know what to do with it.
"You can take the bed," I said, standing up, needing to escape the sudden intensity. "I'll sleep on the couch."
Edward's hand shot out, catching my wrist before I could move away. "The bed is big enough for both of us."
"This is my apartment," I countered, attempting to reclaim some authority. "I decide who sleeps where."
His eyes cooled several degrees. "Stay. I don't want to be alone tonight."
I stared at him, trying to understand what did he mean. The truth—which I wasn't ready to acknowledge even to myself—was that I wasn't entirely opposed to sharing a bed with him. I just didn't want to appear too compliant, as if his invasion of my space was acceptable or expected.
"I need to dry my hair properly first," I said, a small concession that allowed me to retreat to the bathroom.
When I returned, hairdryer finally silenced, Edward was already asleep on my bed. Moonlight traced the sharp line of his jaw, somehow softer now in unconsciousness. It struck me that this was the first time I'd seen him truly relaxed—no control, no calculation, just a tired man asleep in rumpled clothes.
I sat carefully on the edge of the bed, studying him. What a strange relationship we had. Not husband and wife, not even lovers in any real sense. More like strangers bound by a cosmic joke. I remembered sketching his face when I was sixteen, after seeing him in a business magazine—already a legend in New York finance while I was just a nobody, a rescued girl with no name that mattered.
"The distance between us," I whispered to the quiet room, "was never just physical."
I was about to stand when Edward's eyes snapped open, sharp and alert as if he'd never been asleep at all.
"What are you looking at?" he asked, his voice husky from sleep but no less commanding.
Before I could answer, he caught my arm and pulled me down, flipping our positions until I was beneath him. His hand slid toward the hem of my sleep shirt, and I braced myself for what I thought was coming next. But then, unexpectedly, Edward paused. Something flickered across his face—a memory, a thought, I couldn't tell. He sighed, his palm coming to rest against my cheek instead.
"Sleep," he said simply.
Confused, I felt his hand tremble slightly against my skin before he turned me onto my side, one arm wrapping around my waist to pull me against his chest.
"Just sleep like this," he murmured against my ear, his voice unexpectedly gentle. "Just... sleep."
I held my breath in the darkness, not understanding why this simple act of being held made my heart race more than any of our physical encounters. For the first time since our divorce, I found myself reaching back, my fingers curling around his forearm, anchoring myself to this moment that felt impossibly genuine.
"What are we doing?" The question echoed in my mind, unanswered and perhaps unanswerable. This wasn't about our agreement. This wasn't about Helen's care or my financial security. This was something neither of us had acknowledged existed between us—something vulnerable and honest that terrified me more than any threat he'd ever made.
I listened as his breathing gradually slowed, becoming deeper and more regular against the nape of my neck. The warmth of his chest against my back felt like a shelter I'd never expected to find, especially not with him. Outside my window, Brooklyn continued its nighttime symphony of distant sirens and occasional voices, but in here, wrapped in Edward's arms, I'd found an impossible moment of peace—as fragile as a soap bubble and just as likely to burst with the coming of morning.
But for now, just for tonight, I allowed myself to sink into it, my own breathing eventually syncing with his as sleep finally claimed me.