Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight, but Carlisle Cullen owns me.

The Right Kind of Wrong

Carlisle Cullen's Point of View

I turned onto the gravel drive that led to our house, smiling when I heard the sounds of the piano drifting out from the house. Edward was playing a whimsical tune, welcoming me home, and I was eager to hear about his day with Isabella. As I got closer to the house, however, I saw Rosalie standing on the porch, waiting for me.

I parked the car and moved to the porch to stand next to her.

"It's my turn," she said, folding her arms over her chest.

"Pardon?"

"I know my brothers have all dragged you out for a Come-to-Jesus, and it's my turn."

I shook my head. "Rosalie, you don't have to try to convince me of anything. I haven't changed my mind.

"Fine," she said. "I just want to make sure you don't. They've had their say, and I want to have mine."

I sat down on the porch railing. "Please," I said, gesturing for her to go on.

"You're a man, Carlisle. It's impossible for you to understand exactly what it means to a woman to have children. But you've seen how it has hurt me not to have them, and you've seen how it hurts Esme."

I nodded. "You're right, I don't believe I can ever fully understand. I am only a spectator to your pain, but please believe me when I tell you that I take your advice very seriously."

The piano music stopped and Edward joined us on the porch. "Rosalie–"

I held up my hand. "Edward, you have made your case, and I have no doubt that you will make it again many times in the future. Please excuse us while we finish our conversation."

Edward straightened. "How do you even know whether Bella wants kids?"

"Edward, enough," I said sharply. "Please go back inside."

He glared at Rosalie for a moment, then turned and stormed back inside the house. After a moment, the sound of Beethoven's fifth symphony reached our ears.

"Please continue," I told Rosalie, ignoring Edward's nonverbal protest.

"She can't have kids with you," she said. "It's not enough just to promise not to change her; you can't be with her."

"I know. All I ask is the short time I have to interact with her as a friend. When she leaves Forks, I'll no longer be able to converse with her . . . and she'll forget me."

A look of deep sadness came over Rosalie's face. She took my hand, pulling me to my feet, and hugged me tightly. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "But it's the right thing to do."

"I know, sweetheart. I can't tell you what it means to me to have your support in this."

She buried her head in my chest. "I love you. I hate that this happened to you, Carlisle. You should be happy."

"I am happy," I murmured, wondering if I was really telling her the truth. "This is a good life, here with our family, surrounded by people I love."

She didn't answer, but tightened her arms around my waist.

We stayed on the porch for several long minutes, and Edward's piano playing gradually drifted from angry to mournful. Even having been banished from the conversation, he refused to keep his opinions to himself.

But I couldn't blame him. Had our positions been reversed, had Esme been human when he met her, I couldn't say I wouldn't have encouraged him to pursue a relationship with her. And with him being such an intimate witness to the aching loneliness I carried with me, it was only to be expected that he would try to ease it.

"Thank you, Rosalie," I said. "For your perspective, and for your compassion. You are a jewel, and I can't imagine my life without you."

She released me and stepped back. "If there's anything I can do, please tell me."

I nodded. "I will, sweetheart."

She moved away from me and rounded the house, heading out back into the trees. I let her escape into solitude and slipped into the house, taking a seat at the couch near the piano.

Thank you for allowing Rosalie to express her feelings.

The melody he was playing changed to the song he had written for me. "Her entire argument is based around the idea that Bella wants children–or that she could ever love another man enough to have a contented life with him. And I don't believe it, Carlisle, because the moment I saw Esme, I knew I could never settle for anyone else. It was her or nothing."

"Edward–"

"No!" he snapped, pushing himself to his feet to face me. "Listen to me, Carlisle. Love is not something to take lightly. It is everything, the absolute ultimate happiness that can be found in this world." Dark fury colored his voice. "Do you think I would ever have risked our friendship for anything less?"

My chest tightened. Risked our friendship?

"I knew how you felt when Esme and I fell in love," he said. "I knew I was hurting you, and it destroyed me." He looked at me with agony in his eyes. "What kind of man do you think I am, that I would torture my best friend for something that could be tossed aside if it wasn't convenient?"

"Edward, please. You know I'm not trivializing this."

"You are," he growled, his eyes flashing. "You should be doing everything in your power to hold onto her, to keep her with you forever. Anything less is unacceptable."

I shook my head sadly. "I won't incur her resentment, Edward. I won't steal her life from her the way Rosalie's was stolen."

"At least give her the opportunity to give it to you."

"It's too dangerous for her. I'm sorry, Edward, but the matter is decided."

He sank down onto the piano bench, hanging his head. "This is wrong," he whispered.

"I know," I said softly. "But there is no right this time, Edward. The best I can hope for is to try to cause the girl the least possible pain."

He was silent for a few minutes, but finally he heaved a sigh and started to play again. "Mike Newton asked her if she was planning on asking him to the dance this weekend," he said, his voice tinged with sadness.

I smiled softly. How did she handle it?

"With surprising finesse," he said. "Another girl had asked him, and she encouraged him to say yes to her. . . ."