A/N: Hey, y'all. This is my first fanfiction. Hope you like it. And there are more chapters than this one.
Chapter One
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Bella sits in the waiting room.
It smells like cold, if that makes any sense. The whole place is covered in pop art and unique furniture, but there's nothing artistic or edgy about it. You could find the most brilliant scenery in an apartment void of anything but a threadbare sofa, but see nothing beautiful at all in the Met. This place is just plain ugly, and trying far too hard.
The receptionist is typing away at the keys on her desktop, the speed just ever so slightly off from the steady beat of the Seattle rainfall.
Bella fumbles with her camera for a few minutes, just turning it off and on and cleaning the lens on her navy cardigan. She adjusts her winged glasses and leans back in the seat. She's underweight, but it creaks loudly as if it's about to break.
After the client is certainly late, and Bella is wondering if she'll even turn up, the door opens. A beautiful woman about Bella's age with platinum hair and piercing golden eyes walks in, looking fresh off the train from Beverly Hills. Everything about her is expensive and undeniably loud. But there's something classical to her face, and the gentle part of her lips.
Her umbrella drips with rain for a few moments before she closes it, running her fingers along the metal bar. She glances around before her eyes fall on the secretary and she steps forward. Before she can say a word, the receptionist points to Bella.
"Thank you." The woman's voice is high and seductive, trained from hours in front of movie cameras.
Bella waves feebly. She's photographed countless models, but no one this famed and important. And, from her work with models that have even a shred of popularity, Bella knows that Alice Cullen is going to be a mega bitch.
She stands, swinging her camera bag over her shoulder, and walks down the hallway. Bella walks into the dressing room, where Evelyn is laying out her make-up in a very meticulous manner. Bella rolls her eyes at the magazine's make-up artists OCD, and Bella drops off Alice without a word. It would be pointless to talk to her.
Bella looks around the room and tries to set it up nicely—a plan white backdrop, an ivy patterned chaise lounge and a lovely arrangement of spotlights. She likes to be here on her own, surrounded by this big, wide photographer's heaven.
She sits down on the chaise and prepares the lenses, wondering why she isn't here screams of bratty rage yet. Perhaps Evelyn hasn't screwed up even one strand of hair this time.
"I'm ready," comes the husky voice of Alice.
"Yep," is all Bella replies, stepping off of the chaise and gesturing to it.
"Thank you," Alice says with a glimmering white smile. Bella picks at her teeth slightly, embarrassed that they're yellow from too much coffee and cigarettes. Oh, the vices of the ordinary.
"Alright, are you ready? Just pose how you'd like to and I'll give direction," Bella says calmly, kneeling and pressing her eye against the viewfinder.
Alice removes the robe, revealing a thin, flowing white Chanel dress. She sits on the chaise for a moment in a very boring fashion. Bella rolls her dark eyes and brushes her brunette hair out of her face. Finally, Alice lays back, one arm draped over the chaise.
There's something strange about her eyes—a kind of depth. Bella has only seen that before in those she captures on film because they're in misery—the homeless, the orphaned, the lonely animals. Wounded. Their golden hue is utterly transfixing. Bella forgets to take the picture.
"Umm…?" Alice asks hesitantly as Bella finally pushes her finger down. Her voice is high, clear and blithe, but her eyes show so much pain.
"Bella," Bella informs and Alice nods. She moves regally, intoxicatingly.
"Bella," she continues, the name rolling off of her tongue like sugar, "just tell me to stop when I hit a nice pose."
It makes something in Bella clench. She doesn't know how to phrase it, but it feels like a cross between longing and foreboding. Alice brushes her hair out of her face and starts to move, shifting between different poses gracefully. Bella is lost in it for a moment, finding Alice to be a work of art instead of a pretty face.
The strap on the dress slides and reveals a scar in the shape of a cigarette burn. Bella snaps a photograph and Alice freezes. Again, she starts to move before Bella raises a hand and she stops, frozen in a strange position, something a sculptor could never do with human hands.
Bella takes one picture, then stands to take one from above.
Alice poses in a different way, but it's less satisfactory. Bella urges her to move differently and she obeys.
After six more shots, Alice reaches for the strap on her dress with her thin fingers. Her ruby nails glint in the same way as her crimson lips. She slides the strap off, revealing a glimpse of pale skin and slight curve. Bella feels somewhat faint.
It doesn't seem like artistic nudity; it's incredibly sexual. She focuses on taking the photograph when the other strap slides off and the dress hits the black floor. The picture that Bella was taking became far more pornographic.
Alice's toes curl on the chaise, crimson nails popping against the soft gold of the fabric. Bella nearly drops the camera, uncertain how to react. Alice's lips part with a faint smile as she lies back on the chaise, her fingertips brushing against the dusty floor.
Bella is more confused than she ever has been in her life—startled by what seems like a very clear sexual advance. Alice Cullen is married to Jasper Cullen, a much older world famous Hollywood director. Bella Swan is an art school graduate from Arizona. They have nothing in common.
"I'm sorry if you're not interested," Alice suddenly says, blushing light pink against pallid skin. "I thought maybe you would be."
Bella is speechless.
Something very stupid in her makes her say, "I'm interested."
She steps towards the chaise and Alice sits up, her rail thin body glowing in the spotlights. The lights blind Bella from seeing anything other than the angelic body in front of her. It's so wrong to sleep with someone else's wife, she realizes—wrong to sleep with a celebrity to—but she's already falling into her arms.
Alice reaches for her cardigan, unbuttoning it with her long fingers. Bella barely moves, hardly breathes. Her hands slip off Bella's camisole, toss her glasses on the floor and finally unbutton her denim skirt. Bella leans forward, her hands slipping behind Alice's back and removing the lacy white bra.
Her leg slips behind her back, their hands on each other. It's an odd touch—strangely cold skin, but smooth like satin. Their lips meet and the kiss is fiery, another and another. Bella finds herself lying on her back on the chaise, her clothes littering the floor.
She does not know why Alice feels so cold.
All she can see is the light and platinum hair of Alice, and the sweet touch of the beautiful actress. Her tongue slides into Alice's mouth as they slide against each other, touching and feeling. It's hot, sensual, passionate, unexpected. Bella never even dreamt of something like this.
It escalates, rises, falls, flying and gasping. She feels numb when they're finished, though she gasps for breath. The whole essence of it was orgasmic, quite literally. Alice is smiling faintly, mostly to herself, as she snaps back on her undergarments and slides the white dress over herself. Her previously flawless hair is messy, and her perfect make-up smudged. Evelyn will be unhappy.
Bella can only lie on her back, at a loss for words. She eventually gets up and slips on her clothing, nothing fitting the way she feels like it should. She picks up her glasses and puts them on, the world and the situation clearer.
"I didn't know you were…" Bella doesn't know how to phrase it.
"I wasn't certain about you either. But Hollywood taught me to take my chances," Alice says with a smile. "Life did too." A slight pause.
"Well." Bella blinks. That's all she can honestly do.
"Where do you live, Bella?" Alice asks casually, as if this is something she does every day.
"Port Orchard," Bella murmurs, nearly speechless.
"I'm staying in Forks for a while, Bella. With my Uncle Carlisle. Maybe I'll see you around," Alice says blithely, walking back towards the dressing room.
Bella is left alone to pick up the pieces of her camera and walk back to her apartment in the rain.