Rosalie, 1950

Finally. It was time. As I prepared to go through the double doors leading to the sanctuary, I sensed something was amiss. Where was the organ? Kate's fingers should already be weaving across the keys in harmony with Irina's harp, a skill she'd picked up nearly eight hundred years ago and had finessed to perfection since then. Why weren't Carmen and Eleazer spinning a wordless accompaniment with their ethereal voices? Why weren't my flower girls moving? Tanya, Esme, and Alice, my bridesmaids, stood motionless, glancing back at me. Carlisle was suddenly at my side, his lips moving so swiftly no human could understand.

"Emmett isn't out there. He's frantic about a woman in the audience recognizing him."

I didn't like Carlisle's calm tone; it made me suspicious. "Who is it, Carlisle?" I asked.

Carlisle said, his voice soothing, "Rosalie, that is of no importance. Right now I need you to come convince Emmett to come out of his dressing room."

"Who is it?" I could feel the sharpness of my voice. Carlisle looked into my eyes as Esme stepped forward carefully. She clasped his large hand with her small, dainty one, lacing her fingers through his. She looked up into his eyes; they were communicating wordlessly, which was extremely irritating. I wanted answers. Immediately.

As if sensing this, Esme turned her golden gaze to me, and spoke in a placating voice.

"Rosalie, please, don't make a bigger fuss about it than has already been made. Emmett needs you to talk to him."

I growled. Not in an aggressive way – I would never let anyone, myself included, lay a harmful hand on Esme- but in a way that let her know I was not satisfied with this answer.

Eight golden orbs focused on me in surprise—Tanya's eyebrows were almost in her hair. Esme's eyes were pleading, and of course I hated upsetting her, my loving mother, but it was my day…no trite human was going to ruin it for me! I would know her identity, so I could throw her out myself if necessary. The anger was bubbling in my stomach, hot and acidic.

"Who is it?" I repeated, the slightest of snarls in my voice. I was no longer asking to know; I was demanding.

Esme brushed my cheek with her marble-smooth hand, her expression sad—for whom, I wasn't certain.

Carlisle sighed, resigned. Alice's eyes were wide and unseeing; she was having a vision. One of her arms was upraised slightly as she swayed on the spot, a tiny willow tree in the wind; she was used to having Jasper nearby to steady her. But Jasper and Edward were at the front of the church, which was a pity; I could have used Jasper's gift. No doubt everyone else wished Edward were here to tell them what I was thinking.

Carlisle's gaze darted to Alice for the briefest of moments as he placed a steadying hand on my arm. Or a restraining hand, I wasn't sure which.

"Rachel."

Rachel, New Year's Day, 1935

I leaned up on my toes to meet Emmett's kiss. He pulled me closer, and I sighed slightly. The happiness I felt when I was with him still surprised me at times, though we'd been courting for about a year.

"Happy sixteenth," he whispered into my ear, and I shivered as his breath tickled the hairs on my neck. And he pulled out a ring.

I gasped. How could a boy from the backwoods of Tennessee, where we traded more than purchased what we needed, have afforded a diamond ring?

He chuckled gently at my stare, and slipped it on my finger. "But…Emmett…" I groped in my head for the right words, but my mind wasn't functioning properly. I felt rather faint, but I had to keep myself upright. I didn't want him to see me as weak or helpless.

"Say yes, Rachel," he said, eyes gazing into mine, his lips forming my name with an adoration that made my knees tremble.

I twisted out of his grasp and smoothed my hair with one hand, extremely conscious that I still had the ring on my finger—my left hand hung stiffly and awkwardly at my side.

Looking up at him through my lashes I asked, sounding playful but being really quite serious, "Why do you want silly little me to marry you? You're nearly twenty…and you could get anyone you wanted." I cringed internally as I remembered how much pretty Carlotta Thomas had flirted with him at the church's Christmas party, her pretty blonde hair framing her pretty little face with those pretty blue eyes. To top it all off, she was wearing a pretty pink dress that was pretty low cut.

I tried to remind myself that Emmett had barely spared her a glance, and he'd danced every dance with me, but I couldn't block the image of her pretty white hands on his muscular shoulders as she "fell" and he, being the nearest male, had caught her, hands placed around her pretty little waist. She'd held herself close to him for an extra moment after she regained her footing, her pretty, plump lips slightly parted, her eyes looking into his with a look that should have gotten her in a lot of trouble with her father.

Carlotta Thomas was such a pretty little slut.

Even as I stayed away from his still outstretched arms I longed to fall into them. But I couldn't; I had to hear what I wanted to hear first.

"Rachel," he sighed, exasperated. "I want to marry you because I love you. Because you're my gal."

My face lit up at the old nickname. I knew he could read the answer in my eyes because his face, which had been uncharacteristically nervous at first, became good-humored and confident once more.

"Yes!" I cried. I leapt into his arms and he twirled me about in the moonlight, the tips of my toes skimming the dewy grass.

"'Why do you want to marry me?'" He teased. "Honestly, Rachel, that was a stupid question. What other reason could I possibly have?"

I kissed him in reply, and then, hands twined tightly together, we went back to the party, his ring glittering on my finger, finer and more beautiful than the stars above us.