Out of habit, I never slept past 6 AM. No matter how late I was up the night before, no matter how much I had drunk or how tired I was, I was usually up by 5:30 in the morning and 6 at the very latest. When I woke up, feeling exceptionally crusty and in need of a long shower, it was 6 AM on the dot, meaning I had gotten around an hour or so of sleep and would be in for a hellish day of attempted hangover recovery today. I had tried packs of Ambien and non-medicinal cures for insomnia, from sucking on honeycombs to drinking a glass of milk before bed. None of it worked. The only person who slept less than I did, of course, was Edward. I hadn't actually seen him sleeping since I had been a teenager.

Needless to say, Jasper having the normal sleeping habits of a healthy human being, I was awake far earlier than he was. I decided this was beneficiary to me, and regained enough dexterity in my aching limbs to ease myself out from his grasp and try to assess the damage in the enormous Louis XVI mirror. It was awful. The ache in my limbs was only the beginning. My hair, which was thick and unruly in the first place, looked like an absolute tornado had hit it, flying up in a cocoon around my head that practically screamed "vagrant" or "fucked". The little makeup I had on last night was mysteriously rubbed off, and besides being unusually fresh-faced, I looked tired as fuck. But all of that notwithstanding, I could have emerged from last night with perfect hair and makeup and still not be able to disguise the vicious dark bruising around my throat, my collarbone, my shoulders. I looked like I had been the victim of an attempted strangulation. I knew right off the bat that this couldn't be disguised with drugstore foundation and a little dab of concealer. I groaned as I pulled my bra back on and ran my fingers through my hair, hunting around for my t-shirt.

"You can take something from the closet if you want," Jasper's sleepy voice, slightly muffled by the sofa cushion, made me jump about a foot as I wandered around looking for my damn shirt. I froze, unsure what to say. "Seriously, just take whatever you want. It'll be faster than trying to find yours."

After five minutes of thorough searching backed up Jasper's claim, I made my way to his closet, which wasn't exactly Edward-level neat, but was definitely on the organized side. It looked cold outside, with a thin layer of frost gathered on the corners of the enormous windows, so I chose a red and black flannel Saint Laurent plaid button-up and tried to make it look less like it swamped me. As I buttoned up the shirt and tucked the front haphazardly into my jeans, I felt the familiar, overwhelming rush of panic seize me by the throat as I realized exactly what I'd done.

I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked, the constant internal monologue chanted as I almost ran out of his closet and back into his room. I didn't make eye contact with Jasper, who was sitting up now, as I pulled on my jacket and snuggled deeply into its shearling, trying to keep the panic at bay. I searched through my bag for my phone, keying in the number for a cab with shaking fingers.

"You're leaving."

Jasper's voice was flat with displeasure, not at all a question as he watched my increasingly panicked movements. What the fuck had I been thinking?

"I… Have to walk my cats."

I wanted to punch myself in the face.

Seriously, Swan? Walk my cats?

Jasper looked thoroughly unimpressed as I finally turned to face him, keeping my eyes averted from his face and his bare torso and choosing to stare out at the magnificent skyline instead. I fidgeted a little, unsure of how to handle the situation at hand.

"What are you doing after… walking your cats?"

"I- I don't really know," I was too hungover and scratchy-mouthed from the weed to think clearly. Or at least that's what I was telling myself.

"Bella-"

"I have to go," I said, and turned away from him, if only to hide my shaking hands. "Look, I'll call you later."

Jasper didn't say a word as I practically ran across the room. I had barely made it into the elevator before I was calling Alice Brandon, trying to keep the hysteria at bay. Predictably, after the damn phone ringing about ten times, she picked up, her sleep-thick voice giving away her annoyance immediately.

"What the fuck, Bella, I know you're some sort of insomniac vampire, but the rest of us are human and like sleeping in past the crack of dawn, you crazy b-"

"Alice, I almost fucked Jasper Hale."

There was a long stretch of silence, during which time I crossed across the immaculate lobby and stepped out into the frosty New York morning, searching for the cab.

"I'll meet you at Denny's in twenty," She said finally, and I felt, for the first time this morning, that things were looking up.

Alice Brandon was the typical New York blueblood, except not at all. The Brandon family fortune stretched back into the late 1800s, when Alice's great-great grandfather, Jonah Brandon, struck a fortune in the South African diamond mines. The wealth of Alice's family, however, wasn't guaranteed during the initial discovery of the diamonds. Instead, they had made their wealth through buying up large parcels of land and charging prospectors the right to dig on Brandon property. They made money even if the prospectors did not. By the early 1900s, the Brandon family owned the majority of the land in South Africa, and began expanding their land empire by having the foresight to snatch up enormous pieces of rural East Asian land and enormous stretches of rivers that would eventually end up being bought back by Asian governments, bit by bit, over the years as the country developed.

No one had had the foresight of Alice's great grandfather, who realized the potential for wealth in buying land off of impoverished nations from a desperate, cash-strapped government, and then selling it back when future development required land. It wasn't exactly a charitable business, but it was solid business either way. The media speculation about how much land the Brandon family still controlled around the world was rife- most of the Chinese land that the Brandon family had owned had been sold in the late 1970s, but they still controlled the majority of South American farm land and jungle, and controlled large stretches of coast in Africa, South America, and the North.

These days, their wealth came from the fact that the critical pieces of land they had left had, by chance, become hot spots for oil. The Brandon Corporation, currently being run by Alice's father, owned companies that owned oil rigs in all of the 'hot spots' around the globe, except for investments deemed risky, such as the Middle East minus Saudi Arabia. No one knew exactly how wealthy the Brandons were- I doubted even Alice knew exactly how much money she had. But Alice had forgone the route of business, had studied at Parsons, and was now one of the city's most in-demand personal stylists. She catered to old money, the friends of her parents and grandparents, and also charged exorbitantly to new money, the nouveau riche of New York City that were desperate for any connection to Alice's breed.

We had met, by chance, when I was 18 and had worked a stint as a model in the City, like every reasonably pretty and tall girl. After meeting backstage at a Marc Jacobs fitting, we had hit it off immediately, and spent the rest of Mercedes Benz Fashion Week getting hammered and sitting in the gutter. Nothing cements a blooming friendship like eating chicken and rice at 3 in the morning, sitting on a manhole cover. This is fact.

Our Sunday morning Denny's breakfasts had become tradition, though we rarely ever met so early, as Alice had a tendency to sleep past noon almost every day. She loaned me clothes and bequeathed me with extravagant gifts she thought nothing of, and made sure I was the best-dressed girl at any event and any boardroom. She was the reason I felt confident, and her endlessly positive outlook was the reason I felt happy.

I had ordered a coffee and an Oreo milkshake by the time Alice stumbled in at around 7:30, looking half-awake but still incredibly cute. She was very small- 5'2" at best and very skinny, with a chic, smooth black bob that was always immaculately styled. She had a quirky sense of style, and even at what she considered an Ungodly hour, she was dressed smartly in Vivienne Westwood and had her pretty features subtly enhanced by the lightest touches of makeup. She came in carrying an enormous bag, and I groaned inwardly to myself as she sat down, ordering a strawberry milkshake to the waiter as he delivered my drinks.

"You're telling me everything," She said as she began rifling through her bags. "But before you do, I have some things for you."

She hurled a silvery pot at me.

"It's diamond cream, Beyonce uses it and she says it's great, give it a try for me, will you doll?" Alice then hurled an enormous black Chanel cosmetics bag at me. "Chanel released their winter line yesterday, so I picked it up for you- If the foundation color is a little off… it looks a bit yellow to me… You can return it at Barneys later or swap… There's a new bottle of Chance in there too, I know you're out…. And Cle de Peau concealer… they were having a sale so I think there's 4 or 5 in there too… Oh, yeah, and there's a ton of other shit in there. I had Francis go to your place and take last week's clothes and swapped them for this week's."

"Ali, you're amazing-"

"But here's the miracle worker," Alice shot me a sly smile. "I thought you might be having some… industrial concealment needs. So here."

She passed me a grey tube, completely unremarkable, and I squinted at the German writing on the side.

"Kryolan TV Paint Stick," Alice grinned triumphantly. "Conceals everything from tattoos to scars to… hickeys. I promise. Just buff it out with the Sonia Kashuk brush and put some HD powder over it and no one will be able to tell."

"You're a Queen," I felt a heavy weight lift off my shoulders as I set all the things down on the booth next to me and took a long sip of my milkshake. Alice laughed, and then shot me a look.

"Jasper Hale, spill!"

"I don't really…" I paused, deciding how to phrase this. Alice and I didn't keep secrets from one another. She was really the only person who knew of my tempestuous relationship with Edward, and at times seemed to understand it more than either of us. She was blessed with a sense of clairvoyance, being able to see through all the bullshit and be able to understand. She and Edward ran in the same circles, but she always kept him at a distance, treating him with a cool disdain that I was sure he didn't miss.

After we ordered our American Grand Slams with two chocolate chip pancakes and chocolate syrup, I began to speak. I started from the beginning, about the dinner with Jasper and Rosalie, to Edward's confrontation yesterday, and skimmed over the nature of Jasper and me last night. Alice let out a low whistle as our food arrived, and for a moment, we began eating in silence.

"You realize Edward's going to flip out, right?" Alice asked gingerly as she poured about half a gallon of maple syrup over her pancakes. I nodded around a mouthful of scrambled eggs and shredded cheddar cheese, slurping my milkshake in such a disgusting way that Alice shot me a dirty look before taking a dainty mouthful of pancake. She chewed thoughtfully. "Belly boo, if Edward finds out-"

"He can't," I said, stabbing a link sausage and sticking the whole thing in my mouth. "Ali, he can't. He's going to lose it."

"He will find out, though. It's inevitable," Alice picked up a forkful of scrambled eggs but paused before putting it in her mouth, watching as I doused my hashbrowns, eggs, and sausages in Tabasco sauce. "He's not fair, is he?"

"Really, Al?" I asked sarcastically, capping the Tabasco and shoving a monstrous amount of eggs into my mouth. "Of course he's not. But we all play by his rules."

"Until now."

"Until now."

"Are you going to see Jasper again?" Alice asked, and I paused. I told her about my hasty exit, his obvious displeasure. Alice threw a used napkin at me. "Bella Swan, you total idiot!"

"I know, I know," I agreed genially, and her lips thinned as she watched me eat.

"Call him. Tonight," She ordered, her face set in stone. "I mean it, Bells. He's a good guy. I hear things."

"Tell me," I commanded, and Alice smirked.

"Well, from what I hear, Jasper Hale is strictly a relationship man. Nice change from Edward, don't you think? He dated Maria Gonzalez-"

"She's like thirty five-"

"And her father owns half of Mexico," Alice brushed aside my comment. "He dated Maria Gonzalez for like four years on off, the whole relationship was completely fucked up but he was a gentleman for the whole thing, she cheated on him after he graduated from Harvard. He dated some Southern belle… Blanche something? For a year or so. He went on a date with one of Rosalie's friends… Remember Julia Noble? The model from the Midwest… She walked in the Hermes show with you back in 2010…"

"Speaking of," Alice interrupted herself mid-stream, and I giggled. "I checked the itinerary you sent me. What are you wearing to the Metropolitan Gala Exhibit on Friday night? It's the first big social of the fall season."

"Am I going?"

"Edward doesn't talk to Manhattan's upper crust without you there making sure he remembers everyone," Alice reminded me, and I laughed. "Of course you are. Can you fit in a fitting on Tuesday or tomorrow? I have something from Valentino that I think would look great on you… Or maybe a McQueen…"

"I'll try to see what happens tomorrow night," I said, even though I privately dreaded fittings with Alice. Her studio was filled to the brim with ridiculously expensive designer gowns that she forced me to wear and then spent hours tucking and pinning and occasionally stabbing me with viciously large pins. I always looked great, of course, but it was an agonizing process I would have preferred to skip out on.

"Jasper and Rosalie Hale are attendees," Alice winked while I choked. "Word is Rosalie is thinking of making the City her new stomping grounds."

"Great," I said sarcastically. It wasn't that I didn't like Rosalie. But the city was already filled with women like her, and I existed on an uneasy balance with the lot of them. You never knew when they would turn on you for their convenience.

The great thing about Alice was that she knew when I needed space, and when she needed to push. We spent the rest of the day browsing the farmer's market, where I bought bags and bags of produce I knew I had no hope of finishing before they went to hell, and doing light shopping at Saks before calling it a day. Not once did she mention Jasper or Edward, but instead occupied my mind on other things. After buying 'adorable' matching collars for Mookie and Blaylock from Louis Vuitton, we air-kissed, promised to see each other within the next two days, as we always did, and parted ways.

The entire cab ride home, I couldn't help but think of tomorrow, and of the trouble I knew would follow me into the steel doors of Cullen Tower.