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She watches him enter the room before he’s even taken a step in her direction.
Esme is still speaking softly as she shows Alice the proper way to lay the flowers before they get pressed firmly in between the pages of the book. It’s some forgettable volume of a textbook that Carlisle read once—not that he needs to read anything twice—and Alice tries hard to focus on Esme’s words as she delicately layers lavender sprigs.
But the vision that’s already come to her has left her nearly bursting at the seams. She knows that if she doesn’t temper her excitement quickly, he’s going to know that she knows, and that will make him hesitate.
Of course she’ll know, but even after the past three years, he still gets almost shy when he realizes that Alice knows exactly what he’s about to do or say. He has gotten better. When they’re alone there’s no more hesitation when he leans down to press a kiss against the crown of her head, and he doesn’t react anymore when she leans into his embraces before his arms are even extended toward her.
(She understands. It’s a nerve-wracking thing, for all your moves to be anticipated. And this is their reality, and he’s adjusted well.)
But right now, Alice isn’t alone, which is what makes her vision so much more exciting.
Jasper keeps to himself entirely when any of the Cullens are around. It took him a long time to even let Alice out of his sight in the beginning. She knew that no harm would come to them, but even after a shockingly smooth transition into their family (shocking for him, at least) he was still a bit hesitant for those first few months. Alice would embrace and cling to the Cullens as if she’d known them for years, and Jasper stood back, watching carefully as she threw herself at her new family, chatting away about both everything and nothing at all.
There had been no doubt in the house that the two were mates, but the other day Alice had accidentally eavesdropped on a conversation between Emmett, Rosalie, and Edward.
The vision had gone like this:
“Have you seen them touch?”
Rosalie rolled her eyes, pulling her hair over her shoulder and brushing the dirt off her shirt, frowning. “Of course I have.”
“When!”
She shot her husband an unamused look. “I don’t know why you’re so stuck on this.”
“It’s just strange!”
“Yeah. They’re strange people, Emmett.”
“Have you seen him touch her?” He turned his question toward Edward, who was standing a few yards away, waiting for the two to finish tidying up after their hunt so they could return home. “In any way.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Not everyone is as affectionate as you, Emmett,” Rosalie rolled her eyes, but there was a smile on her mouth.
“I’m telling you, he doesn’t touch her. Ever.”
The vision hadn’t lasted too much longer, then. But it had veered into uncomfortable territory for the trio. After all, no one really knows how old Alice is. Least of all, her. Emmett theorized that maybe they aren’t ‘properly’ mated, and that maybe since they’re unsure of Alice’s age, Jasper simply doesn’t touch her.
But Edward has certainly seen something in Jasper’s mind at some point, because he’d shot down that sentiment with a grimace and a comment, his tone slightly disapproving.
Alice had originally turned her nose up at that vision. True, it was none of their business. But Alice also hadn’t realized that in the almost year that they’ve been in the Cullen household, whether or not she and Jasper ever physically touched one another was a hot topic amongst her new siblings.
Embarrassingly enough, it took another few weeks after that before she realized that it really did bother her.
Not the insinuation that her potential age might be causing him to steer clear of her, but because they’re right. Jasper really doesn’t touch her when others are around.
Not that it’s ever mattered to her before. After all, they have their private moments. Moments far away from the house where Alice is able to focus on specific futures and Jasper is able to catch a breath away from the emotional climate of a house of vampires. Moments where he has to lean down, and then down even further, just to kiss her. Moments where she tries to see just how far she can push him, trapping him between her thighs as she picks up the pace of their lovemaking.
They have their moments. But the idea that any members of the household have doubts about their relationship makes Alice feel oddly.
Of course, she’d spoken to Jasper about it the next time they went hunting together.
“Do you really want that?” He’d eyed her skeptically. “Or do you think you need it to fit in.”
Alice didn’t have a straight answer for him that night. But he’d leaned down and hoisted her into his arms, kissing her deeply and assuring her that people didn’t exactly need to see his love for it to be real. And that it was for her, not for show.
Still. She feels like something is missing.
She finds herself watching Carlisle and Esme more. They way that he always keeps his arm held out for her when they enter or exit a room. The way their hands will find each other without either of them having to glance in the other’s direction.
And she can’t help but watch Emmett and Rosalie closer, too. Not that anyone can get away with overlooking their displays of affection. Rosalie is right, Emmett is brazen with the kisses he bestows upon his wife.
(But Alice had watched, years ago, as Rosalie had frozen and hesitated and backed away from such displays. The loud, open love they share now is only indicative of the growth they’ve done both together and separately. And how can Alice judge them for that?)
She doesn’t want Jasper kissing her passionately in front of everyone. And she doesn’t even need him to be holding her hand all the time, either. But as the days continue to pile upon one another, Alice deflates more and more as she watches her new family members glance curiously between the couple.
Jasper is right, she tries to reason with herself. She doesn’t need public displays of affection to know that he loves her. That is a truth she will never once question. Jasper loves her. That is that. And she has loved him before she even had a word for the devotion she’d felt toward the man she’d never met. She doesn’t need displays.
But she would be a liar if she said she doesn’t want them.
Esme stops speaking and turns the textbook toward her. “If you close it quickly enough, you don’t have to worry about them shifting, but you have to be careful not to move it too fast, or you risk blowing the flowers right out of the book.”
Alice reaches out to accept the large book, before hesitating. She shakes her head, retracting her hands. “Maybe… maybe show me on more time.”
Esme smiles warmly across the low table. “Of course.” Then, she begins speaking again. “It’s a much more rewarding hobby when you’ve retrieved the flowers yourself,” she smiles down as she rearranges the lavender sprigs once more. Fractions of millimeters in random directions, the tiny bouquet looks nearly identical than it had seconds ago, but Esme sits back, satisfaction on her face as she places her hands on the underside of the opened book, one hand against each cover.
With a quick snap, she holds the book closed tightly in one hand. “What’s good about books is that when we hold them like this,” she shows Alice the closed book as she reaches down to her side, “we can’t damage them too much, even if we aren’t careful. But of course, I can’t hold it tight for a week.” With a thick, flat rope, Esme begins to wrap it around the entirety of the book, one-handed. “So, this is what we do.”
This is the moment Jasper walks into the room. Of course, as quiet as ever, Alice doesn’t even hear his entrance until he’s halfway across it—she simply knows this scene.
So she sits back, and she watches her vision come to life.
Esme smiles up at him, “Good afternoon, Jasper.”
“Esme,” Jasper nods toward them, and just before he can make it into her line of sight, Alice turns toward him and shoots him a bright smile.
“Esme is showing me how to press flowers.”
“A way to prolong them,” she hums as she ties an impressive one-handed knot. “I still have a few flowers from my wedding bouquet, actually.”
Alice pretends not to notice the look Esme shoots between the two of them with that comment. “Thirty years now?”
Esme’s expression is warm. “Nearly.”
Alice tries not to stare when Jasper moves to sit at her side. She figures, if she plays coy and pretends not to know what he is about to do, it will make this entire thing go much more smoothly.
(Not that her vision provides her an alternative, but still. She knows he is going to do it. She just wants him to be more comfortable. Or, as comfortable as he can get.)
“I have to keep them locked away in storage to keep them preserved,” Esme nods to herself as she places the book on the coffee table in between them. “Even the most well-preserved flowers don’t last very long.”
“Where did you learn to do this?” Alice leans forward, picking up a small book. Adhered to each page are fragile, pressed flowers. The more she turns the pages, the more vivid the blossoms are. A testament to how age has dulled them over time.
“My mother taught me, and her mother taught her. There wasn’t a lot to do where I grew up, but I learned how to make all sorts of things out of flowers.”
“I made a headpiece from wildflowers once,” Alice smiles at the memory. She won’t give the information out that she had made it for Jasper, and that he’d laughed and laughed and laughed with her that afternoon as he tried and tried again to help her weave their delicate stems together, failing each and every time. “It was so fun.”
Jasper hums at her side, enjoying the memory they share, and when Alice feels him shift just barely closer to her, she has to force herself to hold Esme’s gaze.
A difficult feat, however. Because the instant Jasper lifts his arm to casually drape over her shoulders—something that he’s done a thousand times in private, but never once with an audience—Esme’s full attention is on him.
Her attention doesn’t waver for long. Esme is far too polite to dare be caught staring. Alice has to admit it’s impressive the way she reigns in any type of reaction and simply continues speaking, diving into another anecdote about her days growing up on the countryside.
But even though Esme’s attention is centered on the conversation once more, Alice’s attention is completely derailed. She can’t even contain the excitement she feels in that moment. With Jasper’s arms around her, she feels safe. But knowing he is choosing Esme to do this in front of—(knowing that this is his way of showing Esme that he, in some small way, trusts her)—makes Alice’s heart burst with strange emotion.
Sure, Alice has adjusted fairly quickly to living amongst the Cullens. But Alice knows that every day is an uphill battle for Jasper. And that isn’t even taking into consideration his new diet. For him to do something like this, no matter how simple it seems, is him taking yet another big step forward.
Another decision solely, and purely for her.
Alice doesn’t think it’s possible to love him more.
I don’t deserve you, she wants to blurt out. But she keeps the irresponsible words to herself, instead ever-so-slightly leaning into his embrace, her head gently resting against his chest as she allows the sound of Esme’s voice to soothe her into a blissful state.
And when Jasper turns his head toward her, and presses a small kiss against the top of her head, Alice lets her eyes flutter closed, knowing that this is his way of telling her, “For you. Anything for you.”
In her heart, she knows she will do the same.