PROLOGUE: A Funeral

JASPER

I'd be lying through my teeth if I told you that I loved this life. I wasn't rich. If I hadn't any sense of realization at all, I'd believe I wasn't born by anyone. Sometimes, I'd wish it was true. It was easier to believe that you had nothing, than know you once had everything, and lost it before you could even process what was going on. My life was a quicksand, that was why instead of struggling to get out of it, I just let it consume me. Some days, I'd be almost convinced that it would bring me to the lowest point the Earth could offer, and then it would all stop there. Most days, I just sucked it up and survived.

My name was Jasper. Jasper Whitlock. At twenty two, all I could take pride in were the scars all over my body, telling everyone the stories that wouldn't escape my tongue. I worked for an all occasion catering services called Adelaida's, and I lived in New York, on my own. But that was changed the day she came back to my life, with a little bit of something more than herself.

"Jasper, I know I'm out of town, but that doesn't mean you can postpone paying your rent again."

I rolled my eyes, ignoring the message my landlady left me. Sure, I've been slacking off in paying my rent these past few months, but work has been really slow, what with all these business competitors my employer had. We weren't the only caterers in New York… Well, that was partly the reason, anyway. The other was that I hadn't really been saving enough for more important things than cigarettes and beer.

I sighed, dragging myself up from bed to take a shower. We wore this white shirt, black vest and bow tie ensemble to work, which was neither hideous nor flattering. It was just right, and we were sometimes allowed to spice it up with a fedora.

I checked myself in the mirror for the last time before heading out. It was a beautiful day in September, and my neighbor was listening to "Marry Me" by Train. This I knew, for her door was slightly ajar when I passed by. How ironic, I thought. We were catering to a funeral service today.

It was a nice day out, a bright September morning. I walked my way to work, like I usually did, whistling nameless tunes and smiling at strangers. I never really liked funerals, but I really needed the money, or else I might just get kicked out of my humble abode.

The van we ride to events was already parked when I arrived. Our supervisor just gave us a briefing, and then sent us to the venue, which was just a few blocks away . I was stationed to wait and serve tables today, which was better than being stuck in the makeshift kitchen, washing dishes.

"Good mood, bro?" Emmett commented, slapping my back as we started preparing for the day.

Emmett was like a big brother to me. Goofy, muscled, experienced. He was the closest I could get to having a friend, if that was the applicable term to refer to it. I nodded, grinning back at him. "Gotta make money."

It wasn't long before people began filling up the huge Mediterranean garden, black coats and veils and sunglasses creating a slightly Parisian feel in contrast to the green lawn. There were kids running around, their rich looking mothers running after them, pleading for them to behave, using terms like "new toys" and "shopping".

I began making my way to each table, holding a tray of champagne glasses and catering to every guest's wishes. I didn't know who died, but I was pretty sure he or she must have had a fortune while he was alive. It was easy to distinguish who had some and who had none, even in New York, regardless of the way people dressed. You could see it in their eyes, the way they acted around people, and their manners. These people were from the upper class. The hushed whispers and elegant hand gestures said so.

"Excuse me, Sir." I turned around, feeling someone tug at my shirt.

Seeing a little girl, I smiled. "Hi, are you lost?"

"No." she shook her head, her braids wiggling as she did so. "This is our house."

Another waiter passed by us, and I nudged him, passing him my tray. "I'll just take a minute," I said.

I crouched down, staring curiously at the child. She was beautiful. Her eyes were green, and she had freckles on her nose. She was missing a tooth, adding to her charms. "Then what is it you need?"

"Is it true that my grandpa is going to hell because he was bad? But he wasn't bad. But Jaron says he was bad."

"Who's Jaron?" I raised an eyebrow. I then spotted a little boy about the girl's age, standing two feet behind her, wearing a taunting smile. He poked his tongue out when she pointed him out to me, and I couldn't help but chuckle when she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

"That's Jaron," she confirmed.

I grinned, ruffling the top of her head. "How old are you, little girl?"

"Four," she answered, holding three fingers up. I chuckled, shaking my head.

"Your grandpa's not going to hell," I assured her, nodding at the boy's direction. "Don't listen to him."

I left then, still shaking my head. Back in the makeshift kitchen everyone was busy mixing cocktails or cooking more food. I took a tray from the table, filling it with a fresh batch of champagne glasses. Skillfully, I held the tray up in one hand, plastering a big smile across my face as I made my way back to the crowd, offering everyone drinks and collecting empty glasses.

The visitors were starting to leave little by little, and what I guessed to be the deceased's immediate family gathered around one big wooden table, with someone looking smart – a lawyer, at the head of the table, supplying everyone with documents.

"The last will and testament of Mr. Jeremy Brandon," he said, his voice booming as everyone proceeded to open the manila folders handed to them.

I walked idly back and forth, stacking chairs and tables in the van stealing glances at the conference happening inside the big house. That was when Emmet pulled me aside, handing me a tray filled with drinks.

"Sorry, man. I'm stepping out for a smoke. Bring it inside."He pointed to the house, with the family huddled beside each other. I took the tray, rolling my eyes. As if I had a choice.

I was halfway through the door when I nearly tripped on my loose shoelaces. It was then, too, that someone decided to rush out of the door, pushing me off balance, making me spill the drinks all over her, and myself.

"Fuck" I muttered, quickly pulling out a handkerchief from my pocket, dabbing at the woman's clothes. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"I am, too," she whispered, and I froze in place when her hand reached out to stop me from trying to wipe her clothes dry.

I looked up, certain that my ears – and heart – were deceiving me. She took her sunglasses off, and, for the first time in almost two years, our eyes met again.

I swallowed hard, taking in a sharp breath when I was sure I wasn't dreaming. My hand dropped to my side, and I found myself barely whispering her name.

"Alice."

Her face was ashen, tear streaked, but she forced out a tight smile. "Jasper.."

I was pinned to the ground. I yanked at my feet to no avail. I didn't know if I wanted to run, or to pull her into my arms, or to be happy or be mad. Whatever happened in the past, I had decided, should stay there. I was opening my arms for her, when all of a sudden, I heard a loud cry.

I looked down to see where it was coming from. I'd been too mesmerized by her face, she was still so beautiful, that for a moment, the world stopped revolving for me. I looked down, and I saw what I didn't see earlier.

She was holding a baby.

How long has it been since I've last written a fanfic? I missed it! So now I'm back and trying to write again... I'll try not to slack off. Please review! I'll be updating once a week, promise. :)