Author's: Special thanks to Caitlin and Joanna for proofing this chapter. You guys are awesome.

Chapter Twenty
Playing with Demons
October 8, 1933-October 31, 1933

I thought my fight with Vera would last much longer than it did. In high school we could hold out for days without speaking to each other- sometimes even weeks- waiting for the other person to admit defeat and apologize first. But ever since marrying and having Henry, our fights had become fewer and shorter. Mostly because Vera was becoming more likely to surrender in arguments and apologize quickly. I didn't know if it was because she truly thought I was right and she felt bad, or because she just didn't feel like fighting and holding grudges like we were still in high school. Somehow, I think it was the latter. At any rate, our fight in early October ended the day after it had begun, when Vera came over for a surprise visit- without Henry- and insisted we sit down and talk.

"Where's Henry?" I asked, as I sat down in the chair across from the couch where she perched.

She gave me a scolding look, saying, "With Patrick."

That's right, it was Sunday.

"What do you want to talk about?" I asked icily, folding my hands in my lap.

"Yesterday," she replied immediately, her voice free of agitation or stubbornness. "You stormed out of the house without even allowing me to explain."

I rose an eyebrow. "Explain what?"

She stared at my pursed lips- with a look in her eyes that almost made me feel like she was far older than I was.

When she didn't say anything in response, I cut in, "Explain how you invite me to your house for lunch and then neglect to listen to a word I say? Or how you can't seem to accept the fact that I'm not a wife and mother like you are?"

"Rosalie, what are you talking about?" she asked, her brows furrowed. "I don't care if you're married or-"

"But you have better things to do than talk about my date with Royce- or even listen to me!" I said, as always, on the defensive.

Anger flickered in her eyes and she said, "I have a child, Rosalie, I can't just ignore him because you're present."

"Don't invite me to lunch if you're going to ignore me!"

She shook her head subtly, and then said, "I'm sorry I'm having trouble juggling every aspect of my life."

"I'm sorry my life isn't already over," I spat back, thinking of everyone moving on with their lives without me- turning my hurt and fear into cold, hard anger.

Vera looked as if I had just slapped her in the face and she stared at me with disbelieving, hurt eyes. Though I couldn't know, it never even occurred to me then that Vera might be jealous of the fact that I wasn't married with a child already- that I was somehow still free and able to be immature when she couldn't. It was the pure hurt in her eyes, however, that made me realize how cruel what I had said was. It made me step back from the scene and swallow my pride.

Shaking my head, I looked down and softly said, "I'm sorry, Vera, that was- I didn't mean that."

She shook her head at me when I looked back up, saying, "No, it's- it's fine."

"No," I managed to say, ignoring the part of me that still wanted to declare victory. "That was horrible of me."

Waiting a long moment, she sighed and said, "I came here to apologize to you- about yesterday. I know I can get very preoccupied with Henry and I wanted to make it up to you."

She had come over to apologize and make it up to me. The fact made me feel even worse about what I had said.

"Patrick said he could take care of Henry for the day," she said, smiling weakly at me. "I was wondering if you wanted to go shopping for your concert date."

This really meant a lot to me, and I stood up and strode across the room, sitting down beside Vera and taking her hands in mine. "I'm sorry, I'm the worst friend in the world," I said, the guilt overriding all pride and selfishness.

"No," she said, her face serious and drawn. "Not the worst- probably second worst- or third."

The way she said it- dead pan and solemn- told me that she was kidding, and we both broke into grins. I hugged her tightly and said, "I'm sorry I'm such a witch."

"I'm sorry I'm turning into a housewife," she whispered back.

I let go of her and smiled, both of us waving the white flag in one glance.

"Are you ready to buy something snazzy for your new beau?" she asked with a silly purse of the lips.

I smiled brightly and nodded.

All of Rochester's finest came out for the show at the Browning Concert Hall. My father's superiors from the bank were there, women my mother salivated to be friends with were there, girls I had never met and young men I had never seen were there, dressed to the nines and looking completely aloof and comfortable. The mayor of Rochester was even there, laughing jovially with his wife and friends. And as I walked through the lobby- the gleaming hall, filled with beautiful and rich people- on Royce's arm, I knew that I was rubbing elbows with the creme de la creme of Monroe County. The best part of it all though, was that I felt like I belonged there- felt like this was where I should have been my whole life- and it made me clutch Royce's arm even tighter and smile coolly at everyone, as if we were all a part of one big club that others couldn't even begin to understand.

"Royce, my boy!"

Turning slightly, Royce smiled as a portly man with a thick mustache and gleaming gold pocket watch hobbled over to us. He had a kind, dark-haired woman on his arm and she smiled back at us as they approached.

"Mr. Miller, Mrs. Miller," Royce said, nodding to them respectfully. "It's good to see you both."

I knew a Mr. Miller was one of my father's bosses at the bank, but I wasn't sure if this was one of them. In any case, I smiled demurely and kept my arm encircled around Royce's.

The man shook his head, saying, "Shouldn't you be off somewhere wasting your youth?"

We all laughed at this, and Royce said, "I'll leave that to you, Mr. Miller."

The man guffawed at this, but grinned through his mustache, saying, "Good man." His eyes flickered over to me and he sobered up. Looking extremely impressed, he asked, "Royce, who is your beautiful date?"

"Oh, forgive me," he said. "Mr. Miller, Mrs. Miller, this is Rosalie Hale." Touching my hand lightly, he said, "Rosalie, this is Mr. Martin Miller and Mrs. Miller."

I smiled as Mr. Miller took my hand in his, looking at me in dramatic awe. "You're not George Hale's daughter, are you?"

"I am."

"You are a gem!" he told me, letting go of my hand. "What's a girl like you doing schlepping around with a guy like old Royce here?"

We laughed again, and I joked, "Oh, he's not so bad once you get used to him," making Royce look down at me with a cheeky smile.

"Ooooh!" Mr. Miller sounded. "She's sharp, King," he said to Royce, "make sure you don't lose her."

"I'll be careful, sir," he replied, winking very subtly at me.

The lights overhead flickered, and Mr. Miller said, "Oh! I think we're being summoned," he said. "Maybe we'll see you kids at intermission."

"Enjoy the show, Mr. Miller, Mrs. Miller," Royce said as the two made their way through the crowd and to the doors, into the concert space. As he began to steer me in that direction as well, he leaned near my ear and whispered, "You look beautiful tonight."

It sent delicious shivers down my spine, and I looked at him, smiling a coquettish thanks, feeling so perfect in this setting- with Rochester royalty- that I felt like I was floating on air.

In the middle of October- a week and a half after our second date- Royce took me dancing. While I had attended dances and parties before, I had never gone out to go dancing at a club. And I had most certainly never been to a club like the one Royce took me to. It was called, simply, Shirley's, and it was hidden behind a restaurant near the river. At first I thought it was suspicious, and I wondered why Royce King would be taking me to a shady club, practically located in an alley. But then, when we had to pass by huge, imposing bouncers, I realized it wasn't as seedy or as classless as I had believed. In fact, I could see the wealthiest, most sophisticated, most eligible, and classiest members of Rochester's younger set, peppered throughout the club. Seeing this relaxed me immediately; the music coming from the stage in the back of club suddenly sounded brilliant instead of crass, the dim light catching against errant plumes of smoke looked glamorous and romantic, instead of spooky and sickly- and now that I could really see them, all of the people looked beautiful and well-off.

Royce found us a tall, circular table off to the side of the dance floor- one without chairs- and leaned close to me to be heard over the music, asking, "Can I get you a drink?"

I looked toward the bar- where people were sipping from martini glasses and champagne flutes, looking so glamorous and sophisticated that I was almost hypnotized- and paused. True, Prohibition was over, but what about my first and last encounter with alcohol? It had ended disastrously- with a splitting headache and a night of vomiting. And I had felt out of control- blissfully so, until the next morning when I remembered the previous night as embarrassing and horrible. Did I really want to subject myself to that again? I considered it, watching a girl with short, brilliant red curls, holding a flute of champagne, the liquid sparkling in the twinkling lights behind the bar. When she sipped, she looked so confident and elegant that I envied her. I had managed to get away with only sipping the wine at dinner on Royce's and my first date- how long before he thought I was immature and unsophisticated because I wouldn't drink alcohol? Besides champagne couldn't be as lethal as Patrick's brandy, right?

"Just a ginger ale would be fine," I found myself saying anyway.

Royce considered me for a moment, then asked, "You sure?"

I nodded, before I could change my mind.

He smiled then, not embarrassed or judgmental- that I could tell- towards my choice and took it all in stride. "Be right back," he said, and turned, making his way toward the bar.

I stood on my own for few minutes, watching the crowds on the dance floor, enjoying the big band as their tunes bopped and dipped gaily. Looking around at the expensively suited people- at the fortune and sophistication that was being both displayed and downplayed at this sort-of-speakeasy- made me crave the lifestyle even more. I wanted to be one-hundred-percent a part of this crowd. I wanted the delicious clothes, the jewelry, the service, the homes, the cars, the opportunity, the attention- everything- I was hungry for every bit of it.

"Can I get you a drink, doll?"

Turning, I saw a freckled man with floppy red hair leaning casually against the table, smirking at me. He was okay-looking, not ugly, but not half as handsome as Royce. There was a sheen of sweat along his hairline and upper lip, and a sort of leer in his eyes.

I took one look at him and curled my lip in distaste. I had zero patience for being hit-on. Turning away from him, I coolly said, "Thanks, but someone's already gone to get me a drink."

"Not that stiff, Royce King?" the man countered, and I looked back at him, glaring. "Ditch that sod and come dance with me."

While his tone was flirtatious, something about it was also amused- like he was laughing at his own private joke- but I refused to play along. I was going to take him seriously and tell him off.

Before I could even open my mouth though, another young man, this one with dark hair, strode up to the table and asked, "Is this crumb bothering you?"

"Hey, Clark, I saw her first," the red-haired man said, still sounding as if he was joking, but also dramatically serious and proprietary.

I looked between the both of them, hardly believing that this was happening here- while I was on a date with Royce King- and I scoffed, rolling my eyes. I hoped they noticed- I hope they realized I wasn't planning on giving either of them the time of day.

"Come on, sweetie," the red-haired man said, "Just one dance."

Just then, the red-haired girl whose sophistication and champagne flute I had been envying earlier, sashayed up to our table and slung an arm around the red-haired man's shoulders. They both looked at me with dark green eyes and freckled faces, unnerving me with how similar they looked to one another.

"I think you've scared her enough, boys," she said, giving each of them a mock-scolding look, before turning back to me. "Don't mind them, hon, they just think they're funny."

I was confused and I didn't like it. I was just about to demand an explanation when Royce returned, cheerfully booming, "I leave my date alone for five minutes and you three have to descend like wolves?"

"It's what we do," the man named Clark said, smiling toothily.

Looking between the three and Royce, I pressed my lips together and waited.

"I'm sorry if these three scared you, Rosalie," Royce said, placing my ginger ale on the table in front of me. "These are my friends."

I nodded, forcing a smile for them.

"Sorry if I startled you, doll," the red-haired man said. "It was just a joke."

Royce sighed, as if they tired him and said, "Rosalie, this is Peter O'Malley, and his twin sister Nina." Gesturing toward the dark-haired man, he said, "And that's Clark Bateman."

I smiled and nodded at all of them.

"We've known each other since we were babies," Royce explained. "And somehow I still spend time with them."

"Hey!" Peter interjected. "We're not that bad."

"Right," Royce joked sarcastically. "Anyway, this is Rosalie Hale."

They all smiled and said hello.

When introductions were through, Royce asked, "Where's Freddie?"

Nina leaned against the table, after eyeing my ginger ale for a moment, and said, "Down to New York City again."

"Yeah, apparently Rockie's not good enough for him," Peter put in.

"And Beth?" Royce looked at Clark.

Clark dismissively said, "Home."

"They got into a fight again," Nina put in, raising her eyebrows at me- as if we were old friends and only she and I understood it.

Royce chuckled and I sipped my drink, aloof but pleasant. Even though I wasn't feeling pleasant at all- these people had changed that.

It was because watching all of them- the incestuous closeness they seemed to share and the foreign language it felt like they were using- made me feel like I was watching from the outside- like they were part of a group so close-knit and so welded together, I couldn't become a part of the them I envied. These were Royce's friends though- his inner circle. I desperately hungered to be a part of this knitted group, to be accepted by them, and, of course, by Royce. But at the same time, I wasn't worried. Nina was pretty, but I knew I was beautiful. And maybe they all knew each other from birth, but Royce liked me- of that I was certain- and I fit in with this class like it was made for me. Maybe their uninfiltratable group would make room for one more member.

"You know, King," Nina said. "I like this one," she pointed at me.

I wasn't sure if I should appreciate the comment or be angry by being referred to as 'this one.' She didn't say it in a mean way though, and she had been nothing but friendly to me, so I just stood where I was, waiting.

"You should have seen her when Pete came up and tried to get her to dance," she said, looking both amused and impressed. "If looks could kill...."

Royce laughed loudly and looked at me, our eyes meeting- his dancing in delight. "Is that so?" he teased.

I shrugged, saying, "I'm not his date, am I?"

This made Clark laugh and slap Peter- who looked a little chagrined- on the shoulder. Nina giggled.

"You are right there, Miss Hale," Royce said, smiling slyly. "And on that note, would you care to dance?"

I smiled, pleased that our date was returning to what it was supposed to be about- Royce and I, not Royce, me, and his posse.

I gave Royce my hand and he said, "If you'll excuse us," to his friends, leading us away from the table.

As we began dancing, I noticed that- even as we swung and bopped to the music- Royce's eyes never left me. He watched me the whole time, and it made me flush with pleasure.

At one point, he pulled me to him and whispered in my ear, "I think you've won over all of my friends."

I pulled away and he spun me under his arm as I smiled, trying not to grin. "Is that hard to do?" I asked, overconfident and teasing, as always.

"Let's just say that they're not very forgiving," he told me, sending a thrill of excitement through me.

He said I had won over his friends- maybe that meant that they liked me- that I could easily become a part of their group.

Whether I had won them over that first night or not, I don't know, but Royce was positively right about one thing- his friends weren't very forgiving.

The roses never stopped coming. Ever since that first day, I had received a bouquet at around noon, every day, like clockwork. The flowers filled up my room, pungent and sweet, beautifully and brilliantly red, dropping petals here and there. I loved them- adored them- spent more time in my room than I ever had before because of them. But because of the cleanup and maintenance- the need for extra vases, having to keep enough water in each vase, picking up the petals, keeping away from the thorns- they sometimes drove Cooky crazy. My mother however, was beside herself with happiness. Sometimes I noticed that she would come up with the most transparent excuses, just so she could come up to my room and admire the roses- an ostentatious reminder of who I was currently seeing. But I didn't even mind it- wasn't bothered by her wanting to admire the flowers. I was too busy enjoying all of it myself to worry about anyone or anything else.

A week or so before Halloween, right after lunch, the doorbell rang. I expected it was just my flowers, so I stayed in my room, trying to decide what earrings I should wear for the day.

"Rosalie! You have a delivery!"

I sighed and stood up, leaving my room and taking my time going downstairs. Following the sound of my mother's voice, I went into the living room, saying, "I know, Mother, the roses aren't-" I stopped myself when I saw a large, garment box sitting on the coffee table next to my newest bouquet. "What is that?" I asked instead, walking over to it.

"It's from Royce!" my mother said breathlessly, Cooky standing by in the background. "Open it!"

The box was black, with orange ribbon around it. Kneeling on the floor in front of the table, I tugged at the ribbon and it fell away easily. Gently, I pulled the top of the box off and brushed aside the tissue paper within. When I revealed what was inside the box my mother and I gasped, nearly in unison. Inside the box was the most beautiful gown I had ever seen. It looked like it belonged to an Elizabethan queen- made of a rich, burgundy velvet, and a crisp, glittering gold. On top of the gown was a note. I quickly picked it up and read:

Dear Rosalie,

The O'Malleys are throwing a ridiculously over-the-top Halloween
party on the thirty-first. I think I might be able to bear it if you
come as my date. I hope you don't mind that I took the liberty of sending
this costume to you. The idea of 'queen' seems to fit you though.
I hope you'll accept my invitation.

With love,

Royce King the Second

By the time I was finished with the note, my mother had gone through all the contents of the box. Aside from the gown with the elaborate white lace collar, there were stockings and a collapsable hoop for the costume as well.

"Well of course you can't decline the invitation," my mother said to me, bubbling over with excitement. "Not when he went to all the trouble of getting you this beautiful costume!"

Even if he hadn't sent the costume, there wouldn't have been a chance in the world that I would have declined.

Royce arrived- as usual- right on time. I was already waiting in the living room with my parents, dressed in the heavy, scarlet and gold gown, with the lace collar fanning out around my head, my hair in a low bun, and my make-up just subtly dramatic. My mother called for Cooky to get the door, and I stood from where I had been sitting in an armchair. When she brought Royce into the living room and I saw him, my face broke out into a smile. He was dressed in the attire of an Elizabethan royal as well, with a gold crown on his head, in more gold than scarlet- still matching my costume though- the king to my queen.

"You two look absolutely perfect," my mother gushed from where she was standing with my father.

Smiling at them briefly, Royce produced a golden, diamond-encrusted crown from behind his back. When I saw it, I smiled even more brightly.

"May I?" he asked me, raising it to put it on my head.

I dipped slightly and he nestled it securely atop my head.

When I straightened up again, I was fighting away a grin- something my mother was failing to do. "Absolutely perfect," she echoed herself, looking as if she was going to burst with glee.

"Shall we?" Royce asked, offering my arm. I nodded and slipped my arm around his. "Good night Mr. Hale, Mrs. Hale."

"You two have a good time!" my mother told us, practically pushing us into the foyer. "Tell the O'Malleys we say hello!"

My mother had never spoken to the O'Malleys in her life. Mr. O'Malley was an extraordinarily wealthy newspaper editor, and Mrs. O'Malley spent almost all of her time in France- supporting one artist or another and being supremely flighty. My parents had never met either of them and I'm sure Royce knew that, but he didn't say anything- only smiled- when my mother said it and walked us out the door.

It wasn't until the front door closed behind us- when I looked up from the hem of my dress and my feet- that I saw the limousine waiting for us by the curb. Royce's usual driver was waiting by the back door, but this limousine wasn't like his usual car. This one was longer, sleeker, and white. Royce saw the look of awe and delight on my face, and he laughed, pleased.

The O'Malley's house was- of course- in the wealthiest neighborhood in Rochester. It was big and white, with beautiful, expansive lawns, brightly lit picture windows, and an overall air of wealth and gaiety on that Halloween night. As I sat in the backseat beside Royce- stewing in my excitement and giddiness- his driver followed the long line of expensive cars around the long, circular driveway, to the front door. There, people were spilling into the house- all of them in different kinds of ridiculous and over-the-top costumes.

When we pulled up to the front, a tuxedoed valet opened our door for us. Royce got out and then offered me his hand as I stepped out as well. He smoothly linked my arm in his and followed the throng of people entering through the front door.

There was a man at the door taking names and checking them off from a list. For the briefest of moments I panicked- afraid I would be banished from the party because my name wasn't on the list- but then Royce approached the man with such confidence that all my fears dissipated.

"Sterling," he said, sweeping through the door without having to give his name.

"Good evening, Mr. King," the man said, just as Royce was guiding me into the foyer, allowing us to become one with the crowd.

Royce looked around for a moment, then leaned toward me, whispering, "You see that man- the one dressed up like a sultan?"

I looked, finding a man dressed in golden and amber robes and a turban, young and good-looking, laughing and greeting people at the bottom of a grand staircase. I nodded.

"That's Mr. O'Malley."

That was when I noticed the faint freckles on his face- the brilliantly green eyes.

"Where's Mrs. O'Malley?" I asked, turning back to Royce.

"I suppose she's spending her Halloween in London or Paris," he shrugged. "Let's go say hello."

He led me over to our host- who had just finished talking to a dark-haired couple dressed as fancy devils.

"Mr. O'Malley!"

The man turned and saw Royce, his face lighting up, "Royce! Son, how are you?"

"I'm good, sir, and yourself?" he asked.

"Fine, fine," he nodded, smiling a closed-mouthed smile. "Just arrived?"

Royce nodded, "We thought we'd say hello."

Mr. O'Malley's eyes flickered to me and the familiar recognition fell into place and he sobered up. I knew the look, he was just noticing how beautiful the person standing in front of him was.

"Royce, son, who is your friend?" he asked, his eyes barely leaving my face.

"Mr. O'Malley, this is my date, Rosalie Hale," he said, his hand going to the small of my back- comforting and safe.

Mr. O'Malley shook my hand, "Charmed, Miss Hale."

"Thank you for having me," I replied, cool and pleasant.

"It's a pleasure, really," he smiled.

He looked like he was about to say something else, but before he could get a word out, Nina swept up to us, a long black cigarette holder between her fingers, and a champagne glass in the other hand. She was dressed like a shepherdess, in a hoop shirt of white ruffles that stopped at her knees, revealing frilly bloomers halfway down her shins. Her fiery curls were arranged under a jaunty bonnet and she had a stalk in the hand with the cigarette.

"Royce!" she crowed, leaning in and kissing his cheek, giving him a half hug. Then she turned to me and smiled, "Rosalie Hale!" she said, and hugged me as well, kissing me on both cheeks. "You two have to come into the library- everyone's playing the most juvenile games and I'm about to dump my champagne all over them."

Royce laughed and we said a quick good-bye to Mr. O'Malley, before following Nina through the massive house and to an extensive library.

"I brought a couple of strays!" Nina announced, flopping down on a settee in the middle of the room.

Clark and Peter were both in the room, as was a young man and woman I didn't recognize. The three young men were dressed like the Marx brothers, and the woman- with her short, wheat-colored hair in poor waves around her face- was dressed like Joan of Arc.

"Freddie decided to come back from the Apple," Peter said, lounging in an armchair with a sweating glass in his hand.

"And Beth decided to to come out of her house!" Nina sang, making the Joan of Arc scowl. "Sit down you two, we're going to play the Minister's Cat."

Royce looked at me, shot me an apologetic and amused look- to which I smiled- and sat down with me on a small sofa.

"I'll start!" Nina trilled, sitting up straight and taking a drag from her cigarette. When she blew the smoke out of her mouth, she said, "The minister's cat was an abominable cat."

Peter looked like he was about to go next, but Joan of Arc- Beth, I'm sure- cut him off and said, "The minister's cat was a brown cat."

"Real entertaining, Beth," Peter muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Hey, Pete, would you back off?" Clark snapped.

Nina looked at me and shook her head, smirking- as if I knew the habitual behaviors and interactions of these people. Royce cleared his throat and said, "Rosalie?"

"Um," I sounded, thinking for a moment. "The minister's cat was a cuddly cat."

Royce picked up right after me, staring me in the eye and saying- in a coy voice- "The minister's cat was a dangerous cat."

"The minister's cat was an egotistical cat," Peter crowed. Then, pointedly, with a mocking voice he said, "Clark?"

We all laughed, and the game went on like that- fun and familial- and I felt as if I was seamlessly becoming a part of Royce's world.

After playing a few rounds of the Minister's Cat, charades, and some other silly parlor games- that, with Royce's set of friends, seemed completely entertaining and amusing- Royce and I had gone back out into the party, mingling with people I had never met or heard of. I didn't have a problem with it though. I smiled and listened to all of the conversations, comfortable and easy in this setting, memorizing faces and names and gossip.

After an hour or two, Royce disappeared to get me a drink. I waited by an end table in the living room, people-watching and trying to look unbothered by being alone, but I ended up standing there for almost half an hour.

Feeling a creeping fury and embarrassment settle under my skin, I left the living room and searched for Royce in the entrance hall. Instead of finding him, I found Nina.

"Nina," I said, approaching her as she traipsed away from an older woman dressed as a pilgrim. "Have you seen Royce?"

"Run on you already?" she clucked. "I think I spotted him going outside- probably on the terrace, taking some air. You could go outside and give him a good whipping- I'll join you if you want-"

I smiled, but stopped her, "That's all right- I'll go check myself. Thank you," and I headed for the back of the house.

Royce was on the terrace- standing by himself, leaning on the iron railing, looking out over the back garden, with a champagne flute on a table beside him.

I walked over to him- trying to keep my gait assured and a little annoyed.

"I didn't forget about you, if that's what you were thinking," he said, not looking at me.

I stopped beside him and stared.

He turned to me and smiled, "I was hoping you would come out here looking for me."

I stared at him questioningly.

He gestured to the flute, "It's ginger ale."

There was a warm flush creeping up from my chest- up my neck and to my hairline. Steadily, I asked, "Why did you want me to come out here looking for you?"

"I wanted to be alone with you for a minute," he said, leaning back against the railing, looking at me as if he was bashful. "Didn't want to share you with everyone else."

My stomach fluttered pleasantly and my blood whooshed in my ears. "You could have just asked, you know," I said, half-teasing, half-accusing. "You didn't have to disappear for thirty minutes and send me looking for you- if it wasn't for Nina I wouldn't have even come out here."

"Remind me to thank her later then," he said, smirking.

I shook my head subtly, confused, and knotted my eyebrows, still looking at him in a quizzical manner.

He stepped away from the railing and moved toward me, quietly saying, "God, Rosalie, you're so beautiful." At this, I let all suspicions and doubt flit away.

The flush was hot in my face, and I couldn't help but smile at his words. I looked down at the hem of my dress though, trying to be modest about it- trying to hide my blush.

Royce was suddenly close to me, so close I could easily reach out and touch him, but he touched me first, guiding my chin up with the crook of his bent finger.

"I'm going to kiss you now, Miss Hale," he whispered, his voice husky and light, his breath skittering across my face- sending my heart racing all across my body and in my brain.

I didn't say anything to that- couldn't even think of anything to say- but I managed to nod.

And then he was leaning in- his hand gently holding my waist- pressing his lips to mine and sending my eyes to a fluttering close.