A/N: My thank yous to Team Jazzward for your help with this chapter. xx

DISCLAIMER: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight, but if you're here, you knew that already. ;)

-FONO-

My head aches as my eyes crack open. The room is dark and nothing looks familiar. I toss and turn uncomfortably as the sound of leather protests my movements. Something soft covers my body and footsteps fade with the gentle click of a closing door.

The next time I wake, the room is brighter as the sun spills through the cracks of the pulled draperies. Immediately, I recognize the room as Father's office. My head is pounding and my thoughts hazy as I try to recall what led to being here last night, but realize it was probably morning when I drove out to my family's estate outside the city.

I remember arriving with Mary Alice and Jane, while Victoria rode with Jimmie and Sam. Mike brought Miss Stanley along with several bottles of the good stuff. I added my contribution to the mix, raiding Father's liquor cabinet for one of his crystal bottles full of whiskey.

With everyone's help, we pulled off the heavy dust cloths covering the furniture and my piano, and in no time, our exclusive party of eight resumed our earlier boisterous antics. I played while the girls danced and sang, making up their own songs between bouts of unbridled laughter.

Jane found the phonograph I purchased several years ago, replacing Mother's wax cylinder version. She selected a variety of music from the wide array of records I've collected over the years. While most are acoustic songs, we danced to the vocals of many including Frank Crumit and the latest instrumental additions to my collection from Paul Whiteman and his orchestra.

The door to Father's office cracks open, garnering my attention, as Mrs. Cheney's welcoming smile comes into view.

"Mr. Edward. My apologies. We did not know you would entertain this weekend or I would have been better prepared for you and your guests."

"Guests?" I reach up, running a hand nervously through my hair. "They're still here?"

"Yes. I left food warming in the kitchen for whenever everyone is ready."

"My apologies. It was a last-minute decision."

She walks farther into the room. "Ben is waiting, as we are late for church. If you need anything else, I will be back after services. You should take this."

"What is it?" I sit up, curious about the glass she's offering.

Her smile shifts to more of a smirk. "Prairie oyster. Your father requested them a time or two."

"What's in it?" I stare at the raw egg as my stomach churns with the thought of its consumption.

"Egg, salt, pepper, and that fancy Worcestershire sauce your father brought back from England. Swallow in one gulp and you'll feel right as rain in no time at all."

"Thank you, Mrs. Cheney." I down the contents, grimacing as I swallow. "I'm having dinner with the Cullens later before going back into the city. My apologies for any messes we made."

"Think nothing of it, Mr. Edward. This is your home and we're always happy to see you." She holds out her hand, accepting my empty glass, but I can tell there's something else troubling her, as she makes no move to leave.

"Is everything okay?" I wonder, readjusting my position and sitting on one end of the leather Chesterfield.

"Of course. I'm . . . I'm just worried about you is all."

"Worried about me?" I wave off her concern. "I'm fine."

"Are you? I know losing parents isn't easy at any age, but I want you to remember we're here if ever you need us. You know we could never have children of our own and you've always held a special place in our hearts."

"I understand. Thank you."

"Um . . . there's something else," she hesitates.

"Mrs. Cheney, you can always speak freely with me."

At her nod, she continues. "There's a woman . . . upstairs in your room."

My eyes widen; I'm bewildered at the thought, and wondering who wandered upstairs since I remember being downstairs with everyone. "Who?"

"A blonde. It looks like Miss Jane?" she queries, tilting her head.

"Right. Jane. She arrived with us last night. It's probably her."

"Is she . . . is she someone who is important to you? You mention no one, but I know your mother would be happy to know you aren't alone." Mrs. Cheney gives me a hopeful smile.

"I don't know. She's a friend, but she isn't . . . I mean she's not—" Miss Swan, my brain easily finishes my thought.

My heart sinks at that unexpected realization. It has far-reaching consequences as I wonder if Miss Swan has become the new standard, which I will hold to all women I meet.

It's probably the reason I'm here in Father's office and not upstairs with Jane in my room. Even in my drunken state I didn't choose Jane, who has happily satisfied any curiosity I may have had in the past.

"You don't have to tell me, Mr. Edward. I won't pry. Maybe it's too soon to know? These things can take time. Jane's from a good family. Your father would be pleased with the match."

I expel a heavy sigh as I consider for a moment the possibility of a life with Jane. She's a beautiful woman, but I've felt nothing more than a superficial attraction to her. Most of our interactions were born from curiosity and a convenience of being one of Mary Alice's more than willing party friends.

Our families have known one another for years and her father is a prominent, respected businessman who would demand many things including the sacrifice of my musical pursuits. A match with Jane would thrust me unwillingly into the world of business and industry, crushing my soul with every acquisition or merger.

There's no way I'm agreeable to a life with Jane and all that would entail. I understand Mrs. Cheney's prompting, as she was one of Mother's closest confidants, but I can't have her whispering anything that would encourage Jane or anyone else to think otherwise.

"I'm sorry, but I have no interest in pursuing Jane." Waving my hand toward the door, I imagine what Mrs. Cheney found unexpectedly this morning. "I know I shouldn't ask this of you, and I don't want to give you or anyone the wrong ideas, but you won't tell anyone about—"

"Not a word, but, Mr. Edward?"

"Yes?"

"I want you to be happy with whomever that may be. It's important. Will you promise me you will focus on that? Not for just a moment or an evening, but for a lifetime."

"I'll try my best."

"That's all anyone can ever ask."

A/N: Prairie oyster, anyone? I don't believe this hangover cure has been scientifically proven to do anything other than encourage the inebriated to pull it together the next morning. If you can down it and keep it down, you can do anything! Lol On my website, kayrichard dot com, I also shared two posts of musical inspiration for this chapter from during Edward and Co.'s after party. The first is Frank Crumit's, "Show Me the Way to Go Home," and the second is Paul Whiteman's, "Whispering," if you're interested in listening to either song. Don't forget to check out the photo gallery for this story while you're there. As always, thank you for reading and taking the time to share your thoughts. xx