Disclaimer in Prologue

CHAPTER 1: Silk, Perfume and Liquor

BPOV

I was not sure what the hell the problem was, but whatever the case may be, it needed to be rectified.

Quick.

I was sitting outside of a dressing room stall, waiting for Alice to try on her twenty-seventh dress in the past hour. Now, being the maid of honor and pre-designated co-coordinator, I was subject to all forms of torture, whether it be dealing with the temperamental caterer, handling a flower fiasco or making sure that the Rose Room was secured for the reception, and not the Gold Room. Lord knows that the world is ending if Alice is placed in anything under the supremacy of the Rose Room, when the only difference is the color on the walls.

I really didn't mean to be cross with her. She was my best friend and this was her wedding; her special moment, and in that I needed to be happy for her and smile, making it look like I would rather get hit by a semi than not plan her wedding. But my period was on the way and I was going to be late for my job if she didn't figure out why she didn't want her dress and tell the tailor to fix it. Either than or I was going to ditch, making her walk around in a skirt suit.

"Bella?" her fairy like voice called from behind the door.

"Yes?" Monotone was always safest with her, when you didn't want to let her know how you were truly feeling without upsetting her--in Alice's case, upsetting her would be like Tom Cruise telling Catholics that the pope was gay and in his heart a Scientologist. Nothing could compare to the uproar.

"Will you come here for a minute, please?"

My main purpose and aspiration in life is to serve you.

I stood, laid my bridesmaid dress on the bench and walked over to the door. "I'm right here, Alice."

The lock clicked and she pulled the door open. I couldn't help but smile as I looked in on her, standing on a podium in the most beautiful dress I had ever seen. It clung to her tiny figure perfectly, making her look more fairy-like than I had ever seen her before. It was a crisp white color that was strapless, with intricate beading on the bodice and a long, flowing skirt that flared into a wide lace train. It was gorgeous.

Her face, however, was not.

"You don't like it," I mumbled, already turning to head out the door. Dammit.

She followed me out into the store, ignoring the envious looks that were cast her way by other brides. I grabbed my dress and walked straight up to the cashier, sitting my garment bag on the counter. "All set?" the woman asked.

"Yeah," I mumbled, reaching for my credit card.

I heard the rustling of skirts and smelled Chanel Number 5 before I actually heard her. For someone so small clad in ten pounds of silk and lace, she moves pretty damn fast. "Bella, don't be ridiculous. Put your wallet away." She said to the cashier, "Charge it to my account please." The chashier meerly nodded, instead of asking for a name, indicating that we had been to this shop more than once. Alice took hold of my wrist, pulling me back toward the dressing room.

"Alice," I groaned. "I have to go."

"Please, just wait. One more."

I sighed. "Alice Brandon, you said that thirty minutes ago. After the twenty-third dress."

She stamped her foot but I didn't even think to laugh at how childish she was being. I was growing angrier by the moment, and if she didn't decide on something fast I was going to take off like a bat out of hell.

She sighed. "I know! But there's this saying my mom used to tell me all the time. And her mom told her when she was getting married. You will know when you find the perfect dress. You will turn around and you will see it and think 'That's it. That's the dress I want to see myself in in all the photo albums. I won't be ashamed in that twenty years from now.' And dammit Bella, I want the perfect dress!"

I slung my purse over my shoulder. By now, we had attracted the attention of others in the store. The clerks were watching in worry, other brides were watching in awe, and the men in the store looked scared--and they had a right to be. Anyone that was in the vicinity of Alice Brandon when she had a meltdown would swear that they were witnessing the Apocalypse if they weren't immune to it already.

"Alice," I said in a very calm and level-headed tone. "I have got to get to work. I understand that you want your wedding to be perfect, but I'm beginning to think that it is impossible! You can't decide which flowers you want for your center pieces, you change your mind from filet mignon to smoked salmon and then back again, and you've re-ordered your wedding cake. Five times!" My voice was rising higher and louder as I let all the stress from the past five months leak out. "And now you want to find the right wedding dress, when it clearly doesn't exist!"

I drew in a deep breath. She stared at me for a moment, her doe eyes wide, and then before I could blink had locked herself back in the dressing room. I immediately regretted yelling at her and knocked on the door. "Alice, I'm sorry. Alice?" I could hear sniffles behind the door. Crap. "Alice? I'm really sorry." I knocked on the door again. "Please come out Alice. I'll go get you another dress."

"No," she said softly over the door. "Go to work. I'll figure something out."

"Alice..."

"It's fine, Bella. Go to work."

Figuring that arguing any further with her was pointless, I turned and walked up to the cashier. I handed her my credit card. "Please, just charge it to this."

She eyed me over her moon-framed spectacles. "Do you really think that would be wise, dear?" she asked.

I felt my mouth open but put my card in my purse and without another word turned to leave the boutique. A person can only feel bad to a certain extent, but having a complete stranger know more about your best friend than you do and calling you out on it is the worst feeling in the world.

*

I rubbed my eyes as I sat in the library, staring at the same highlighted paragraph I had been trying to decipher for the past half hour. There was only so much one could take of the same subject before their brain turned to mush and couldn't even tell the difference between light and dark.

I had been sitting there for the past three hours, cramming for an exam the next day. Life was getting more and more difficult as it progressed, school becoming less and less of a priority as other things took precedence in my life--Alice and her wedding, taking care of Charlie who was getting sicker and sicker, keeping up with my regular job and my internship, plus making sure I ate and slept and went to the bathroom regularly, though it felt like taking a shit had to be scheduled to fit in.

To say that I had forgotten about the test tomorrow was an understatement.

I had chosen to stay in school, even though I didn't have to. I had already gotten my Bachelor's and Masters degrees, and now was working toward a PhD in English Literature, though right now I was beginning to doubt why anyone in their right mind's would choose such a hideous profession. I was sick to death of analysing and dissecting and trying to get into the brains of dead writers. I wanted to get that piece of paper, hang it on my wall and move on my merry way, saying, See Edward, I told you so!

My eyes suddenly filled with angry tears and I slammed my book shut in frustration, causing dust mites to fly and several other late-night crammers to look over in my direction. In agony, I folded my arms on the table and I put my head down, taking deep breaths. It had been ten years, and he was still affecting me like this. Ten years and I still thought of him as I had when I was a hormone-filled, lovesick teenager.

There were days when the hopeless romantic in me would wake up and hope that he had come back for me, that he was waiting just outside my door ready to sweep me off my feet and take me to the places of my dreams, letting me leave everything behind and showing me what it was like to truly live.

And then there were days when I just wanted to curl up and cry, knowing that he would never come back.

And why should he? I was nothing special. Just the ordinary Bella Swan, who even at twenty-four tripped over the air, blushed whether she was being complimented or humiliated and was nothing above average in the looks or brain power department. I had always been thin, with virtually no cleavage and the body of a twelve year old. I had always stayed in the B and C range in Advanced Placement in school, never doing outstandingly well and yet never giving up on hoping that one day I would be exactly what he wanted.

Even as a fifteen year old, I had always had the inkling that I wasn't good enough for him. Back then, he had been the epitome of perfection, glowing brilliantly in his beauty and intelligence, outshining everyone at the tiny school of Forks High. Whether it be in a heated debate over politics, making an impossible catch to win the state championships, or disproving the anatomy teacher with his outstanding intellect, he was always in the spotlight, proving himself as superior. He could walk through a rainstorm and still come to school looking like he belonged in a hair gel commercial, or could come out of football practice looking like a pale Adonis.

I had fallen in love with him from the moment he introduced himself to me in Biology, and would have followed him around like a lost puppy had he allowed me to. But he didn't because he was never leading me anywhere; he was always standing by my side, taking me with him wherever he went, standing by me, holding my hand, and on occasion following me.

He had never made me feel unwanted, but there was always this feeling that there was something off between us.

He was adopted into his family, leaving him as the youngest after Emmett. His parents were well known throughout society, and were fairly wealthy at that. His mother Esme sat as president, head chairperson, and representative on so many committees it was hard for me to keep them straight. His father Carlisle was a prominent doctor in the area, preferring to work at the smaller hospitals yet still being well known throughout the state of Washington. His brother was nothing short of huge, literally and figuratively, being the star on the varsity football team, and having muscles wrapped around his tall frame that made even me cower in front of him. Though he was a little on the dim-witted side he was known throughout the Senior population at Forks High--as well as all of the other classes--for being one of the most lovable and respectable boys in all of Forks.

He never complained about his family, yet I knew he still felt like he didn't quite belong. Carlisle, Esme and Emmett had greeted him with open arms, making him feel nothing short of loved, and though he never said it I could tell that he was grateful and beyond appreciative. But there were times when he would sneak into my room through my window late at night and hold me in my bed, and after he had drifted off to sleep I would hear him muttering, "Mommy. Mommy, don't make me go."

He always called Esme by her first name.

He was referring to his biological mother.

It was doing me no good remembering thpse things now, so I picked my head up and slid my books off the table and into my bag. Sighing, I stood from the table and walked toward the sliding doors, ignoring the prickling in my legs from having been seated for so long. I turned to nod at the librarian, but sighed when I saw that she wasn't there. I glanced at the clock above the door and saw 11:45.

Terrific.

My eyes threatened to slide closed as I drove back to the dorms. I had always found it a little ridiculous that I was still living in a dormitory at the age of twenty-four, but I had yet to find the time to go apartment hunting. And money was tight with Charlie's illness and tuition fees, so staying in the dorm with the little bit of furniture and clothing I had was about as good as it was going to get until I graduated. I was embarrassed about it, being one of the oldest people there but mainly kept to myself.

I let myself into my room, being so tired that I didn't notice that there was a tiny piece of white material hanging from the knob. As I flipped on the light I was met with the disturbing sight of my roommate Tanya and a boy she probably picked up from a party twisted into a position that even I didn't recognize--and I had seen many, being a sexually frustrated adult who had nothing to resort to but her computer.

"Oh, jeez," I put my hand up in front of my eyes, tossing my bag onto the floor. The boy that was underneath her looked over at me, blinking but not pausing in his thrusting. Tanya did not open her eyes, but I could hear her hiss. I turned on my heel and slammed the door shut behind me, forcing the tears that were forming in my eyes away.

I slunk down to the common room, ignoring the looks of pity and curiosity that were cast my way. I pulled a shawl from a cabinet in the corner of the room and curled up on the shabby couch. The TV was on, but the news had rarely held any interest for me. Several students were formed in a study group, pulling an all night study session, but I saw no sense in bothering them so I turned toward the fire burning in the fireplace. The orange flames acted as tongues, licking up through the brick, eating away the wood underneath them.

It was mid-December. Outside, the wind picked up as I continued to stare at the orange flames, slowly beginning to die down. One by one, students began to realize how tired they were and packed up to leave. I sat on the couch, my legs beginning to tingle in restlessness. No one came up to talk to me, and for that I was grateful. The longer I could continue to exist in my comatose state with no disruptions, the happier I would be.

I must have drifted off eventually, because when I opened my eyes, the fire had died down to a soft glow. The light was beginning to creep over the horizon through the window, and I could smell coffee brewing somewhere in the vicinity. I yawned and stretched, glancing around. The lights were dimmed, and I could make out the soft sounds of everyone in the dorm beginning to wake. Footsteps echoed off in one direction, a sneeze sounded from another. Deciding that I couldn't avoid the inevitable, I stood, placed the blanket back in the cabinet, and made my way back to my room.

I stepped into the room to find Tanya sitting at a stool in front of her vanity, clad in nothing but a skimpy white robe, applying her makeup. She looked up at me, eyeing me, and then turned back to her face.

"So," she said, lifting the eybrow pencil. "Where did you go last night?"

"The library," I mumbled, pulling a t-shirt from the dresser we shared.

She snorted. "You slept in the library?" Her tone was cocky and condescending, but the way it sounded made me want to giggle.

I blushed. "No, I slept in the common room." I pulled my sweatshirt off.

She arched her perfectly colored eyebrow. "I underestimated you, Swan."

I blushed at her pointed look at my breasts.

"You always wear those ugly sweatshirts all the time. You should try a form fitting shirt."

I shook my head and slipped the shirt on. "I'm fine."

"Whatever." She batted her thickened black eyelashes at her reflection, then stood and stretched her perfectly shaped, perfectly tanned, perfectly blonde body. Without looking at me, she pulled open the closet door and pulled out a flashy red dress. She held it up to herself, eyeing it constructively in the mirror. "Too Eleanor Roosevelt."

I felt my eyes widen. "Tanya, it's like, five inches long."

She shrugged and tossed it haphazardly on the bed. She went back to the closet, rifled around for a few seconds, then pulled out another dress, midnight blue and probably about three inches shorter. I felt my mouth drop open slightly.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. You should know better than to think I would wear something conventional." She scoffed and shredded her robe without a second thought.

And I got to see all of her.

I squeezed my eyes shut and turned my head.

She chuckled and murmured, "Such a prude. I'm done."

I opened my eyes to see her reaching over to grab a clutch from the chair and slipping her feet into sky high heels. She glanced around the room for a moment before spotting a tiny bottle of perfume. She spritzed herself and I winced.

"You smell like a baby prostitute."

She glared at me. "And who brings men back to the room?"

I blushed.

She opened the door and in the process of closing it she said to me, "If anyone comes here for me, tell them I will be back at three."

I said nothing as the door closed and instead slipped out of my jeans and into sweat pants. Where she could possibly be going dressed like that at ten in the morning I had no clue, but I had to take my test, so I don't know why she thought I would be staying here to take her messages. I fixed my hair--pulling it into a more conventional ponytail--and one look at my reflection told me that not even makeup could hide the huge bags under my eyes of puffiness in my lips. Sighing, I snagged my Chapstick, slipped my feet into flip flops and slung my bag over my shoulder.

I desperately wanted to piss Tanya off, but couldn't bring myself to do it. I scribbled a note on a piece of paper dictating where she was--because she was the only person that people came to the room to look for--and stuck it to the door, closing and locking it behind me.

*

I closed my fingers around the rag Jake had tossed at me and dragged it along the counter. The strong smell of lemon 409 make my throat burn, but I continued to brush peanut crumbs and water droplets onto the floor.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

Anything to distract me from the butchering I had done of a rather simple exam.

"Bella, calm down," Jake said from the taps as he filled a mug with Bud Light. "You're gonna wear the varnish off the counter. Relax."

I tossed the rag into the bucket under the counter and swiped a napkin, placing it in front of a past drunk old man who could barely keep his head up. I grabbed the bowl of peanuts out from under his chin, refilled it and placed it back in front of him.

I looked up at the man who sat down in front of me, and it barely registered when he ordered a Sex on the Beach. I just moved back to the counter and began mixing the alcohol. It sloshed into a glass without any notice and I slid it in front of him.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he said. I nodded and moved to collect a tip that was laying on the table.

Jake had noticed when I came in, drained and exhausted, that something was up. He immediately suggested that I take the night off, but when I said 'no' didn't press the issue. He had respectfully kept a peaceful silence, and knew not to ask what was wrong. He let me work, doing what I did best, and didn't press me to talk or be polite to the customers--they were the same every week anyway.

I continued to fill orders and mix liquor in a comatose state for the next hour, only stopping to brush errant strands of hair out of my face. Jake and I worked side by side in silence, slipping tips into the drawer for divvying later, occasionally wiping down the counter and refilling peanut bowls. There was a slight tension in the air, and even the customers could sense it, because we didn't have to break up any fights, and when they sat down, no one bitched about their lives. They just drank and stewed in angry silence.

"So, what does a person have to do around here to get a shot?"

I looked up to see Rosalie, one of my longest friends, sliding onto a bar stool in front of me. I grinned. She was known for popping up out of nowhere, and looked perfect whenever she did it. I noticed as all eyes along the bar slid over to her and eyed her appreciatively. I reached instinctively under the counter and pulled out two shot glasses. "What'll it be?"

"Tequila," she said, and I reached behind me and pulled up the bottle.

"Lemon or Tabasco?"

She pondered this for a moment, and then said shortly, "Tabasco."

I pulled the small bottle out from under the counter and sat it in front of her. I poured the clear liquid from the Tequila bottle into the shot glasses and the opened the Tabasco, dabbing it on the skin in between my thumb and forefinger. I handed her the bottle and she did the same, looking up at me. We crossed arms, licked the hot sauce from our skin and threw back the shots.

I grimaced as the warm liquid flowed down my throat and into my belly. I shivered.

Rose chuckled.

"So," she said, reaching for a peanut and popping it into her mouth. "Alice told me about the finalized guest list, and I can't tell you how excited--"

"Final guest list?" She hadn't said anything to me about it.

Rose nodded. "Yep. She got the final acceptance card today."

"Oh. Who from?"

Rosalie looked at me warily. "You mean, you don't know?"

I shook my head. "No. She hasn't talked to me in two days."

Rose fidgeted, pulling a loose string from her shirt. "Oh...well..."

"Rose, who is it?"

She looked up at me, sadness and hesitation coloring her blue eyes. And even then, without her saying anything, I knew who had sent in the RSVP card. I felt my heart clench as I waited for her to respond. It wasn't possible. How could Alice know where he was and not tell me. How could she invite him without telling me? Why was all this happening now. I didn't need the added stress now. I wasn't sure if I could handle it.

"Bella... Edward's coming to the wedding."

I let go of the breath I didn't know I had been holding and felt something hard and cold catch me as my knees gave out.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is all human! It's not Edward that catches her! So please don't think that. So, I hope this was worth the wait. If you have any questions or requests, just review. Well, review period, but extra review if you have a question.