Page 66 of Changing Rules

One article quoted him as saying, “It was a misunderstanding. Isabella is happy with Alexander, and that’s the only thing that matters.”

He loves Bella so much he doesn’t want her to suffer. It’s the only explanation I can come up with. Not that I told my family. Revealing to my parents that my girl was raped by her stepfather? That she was in a relationship with him when she was a teenager? That a man twice her age is still in love with her? Definitely not a conversation I want to have.

When I snag my phone from the nightstand, a notification catches my attention. Three texts from Stacey. They came in around two a.m. My first reaction is to worry, assume a middle-of-the-night text means something is wrong. But in the first two messages, she details her night out, and the third is a bathroom selfie. I close the app. I’ll reply to her later. I don’t see her much, meeting her for lunch once a week, and we stay in touch, messaging almost daily. It works for the friendship we’re trying to build.

As I assess my phone’s home screen, I realize it’s only seven. Why the hell did I wake up so early? Why isBellaup so early?

With a shake of my head, I stroll out of the bedroom. I’m hit with the aroma of pancakes as soon as I reach the living room. A smile instantly stretches across my face. Bella and her pancakes are the perfect ingredients for a stellar morning. With any luck, the rest of the day will follow suit.

“Good morning,” I say, entering the kitchen.

Milo looks up from his bed in the corner, but he doesn’t get up.

Bella is sitting at the table, head bowed over her Kindle. She has a cup of coffee in her hand, an empty plate at her side. Her hair is in a high ponytail, a few wild locks framing her face. She’s in a sports bra and leggings, the ones she usually wears when sheruns. She looks incredible. She always does. But apprehension niggles at the back of my mind as I watch her.

If she’s already gone for a run and made pancakes, I can’t imagine what time she got up.

“Good morning.” She looks up from her Kindle as I approach her. “Did I wake you up? It’s early.”

“No. I couldn’t sleep.” I bend down and gently kiss her lips. She tastes like coffee and Nutella. “When did you get up?”

“Around five.” With a shrug, she slides her Kindle away.

“Five?” I blink. Again? It’s becoming her new habit.

“Yeah. Woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep.” She sips from her mug. “Milo and I went for a run, and since I had time, I figured I’d make pancakes. I know how much you love them.”

“I’m obsessed with them. And your coffee.” I snatch a pancake from the plate and shove the entire thing into my mouth.

She bursts into laughter. “Stop it! Eat like a gentleman, not a caveman!”

“Can’t…do…that…” I mumble around the mouthful. “Your food…is delicious.”

“And your praise is why I love cooking for you,” she murmurs, standing up from her chair. “Do you want Nutella and bananas with your pancakes? I’ll make a plate for you.”

“That would be great.” I slump into the chair next to hers and take a sip of her coffee. “You’ve been waking up early a lot lately. Is something bothering you?”

“No.” She shakes her head, keeping her back turned.

Liar. I know all her tells.

“Just getting ready for my design program. Your spot on the team is safe, and my family won’t bother you again. I’m good.”

“I’m still surprised that man decided not to press charges,” I say absentmindedly.

She fluidly moves around the kitchen, her muscles flexing with every step. Her body is perfect: big, round tits, narrow waist, toned abs, fit ass, long legs. Whether she’s in workout clothes or all dressed up, she’s sexy as fuck—though the fewer clothes the better, in my opinion.

“I’m not.” She shrugs, head bowed over a plate of pancakes. “It was all my mother’s doing, and clearly he’s not happy with her, since he’s filing for divorce.”

My stomach lurches, and the single pancake threatens to make a reappearance. How would she know that? Has she talked to him?

“How—” I cough. “How do you know that?”

“She sent me a message yesterday.” Bella sets the plate in front of me, along with a fresh cup of coffee. “She wanted to make sure I knew I was a whore who destroyed her marriage.”

I open my mouth, but no words come out.Fuck. I don’t know what to say. I want to haul her to my chest and hold her close. She doesn’t deserve it, not these accusations nor her mother’s hatred.

But before I can grab ahold of her, she steps back.

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