Disclaimer: The Twilight series is the creative property of Stephenie Meyer. I do not own any of the characters. Any references or quotes from Meyer do not belong to me. This is a fan-based story. The basis of this comes from Rosalie's story in Eclipse. All lines/plot notes connected to the film King Kong are borrowed here and not my property. The last line is from the movie I'm No Angel starring Mae West. It is not my intention to plagiarize. No copyright infringement intended.

Author's Note: Another huge thank-you to everyone who reviewed! It is much appreciated, as always. A very special thank you to aPPle-frEAk for her inspirational review. She poked my muse with a stick and he finally woke up and decided to do his job.

Correction: In Chapter Four, I had originally said that Rosalie's middle name was Emmeline. However, upon rereading the Twilight Lexicon, I found that her middle name is, in fact, Lillian. I have made this correction in the last chapter.

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"And lo, the beast looked upon the face of beauty, and beauty stayed his hand.

And from that day forward, he was as one dead."

-King Kong (2005)

"I can't wear this!" Rosalie exclaimed, staring incredulously into the mirror.

Edward didn't answer but stood behind her, deftly straightening the cummerbund of his tuxedo.

She turned, her eyes horrified as she stared up at him. "Edward! Are you listening to me?"

"As if I had a choice," he muttered, tugging on the edge of the short auburn wig pulled over Rosalie's ordinarily blond hair.

"It looks like a tabby cat died on my head!"

He shrugged, "You're the one who wanted to get out of the house."

"But red? It had to be red?"

"And what exactly is wrong with red hair?" Edward asked, beginning to look offended.

Rosalie wrinkled her nose as she peered into the mirror again. "Your hair isn't really red. It's…more brown. And anyway, no one would recognize me in New York."

"It's ten to six. Are you going to dress or are you leaving the house like that?"

Rosalie stomped huffily behind the faded print dressing screen, only the top of her head visible as she shimmied out of her blouse and high-waisted tweed trousers.

A rich, honeyed voice floating from the gramophone made her pause in her struggle with her evening gown. "In my solitude, you haunt me with reveries of days gone by…in my solitude…I'm praying…"

"Who is this?" she asked.

"Billie Holiday," Edward said, shrugging on his black dinner jacket. "Are you almost ready?"

"Her name is Billie?"

"It's a very unusual record, isn't it?"

"Filled with despair…there's no one could be so sad…with gloom everywhere…I sit and I stare. I know that I'll soon go mad…in my solitude.."

Rosalie frowned, "Yes. Unusual." She began tugging at the back of her dress, a little more impatient than usual. After several moments of grunting and pulling, she sighed and came around the screen. "Will you please fasten the back?"

Edward's eyes flitted over her figure, accentuated in the crushed black velvet gown that wrapped snugly around her hips and dipping down, kissed the floor with its hem. He pursed his lips, a small furrow building between his eyebrows.

Rosalie fought the urge to duck her head self-consciously at his strange, puzzled stare. What on earth did he have to be confused about? She was ravishing in this gown. She was quite sure of it.

As soon as the frustrated thoughts occurred to her, she regretted them. Edward's expression twisted in devilish humor as he shook his head. "You are, by far, the vainest woman I have ever known."

"It's not vain if it's true," she said, haughtily, turning around to face the mirror.

She felt Edward's fingers brush her shoulder as he reached for the tiny silver hooks near the small of her back. His touch reminded her…She recalled Edward's words about Carlisle and Esme, their expectations, their hopes for the two of them. She tried to imagine turning to Edward now and clasping him in her arms, even pressing her lips to his. The image felt empty…strange. She was conscious of his closeness, of his skin touching her skin. Conscious and yet…she frowned again. Perhaps, confusion was understandable, after all.

If Edward was listening to her thoughts, he made no more mention of it.

"There," he said, as the last hook wound around the small loop of thread.

Rosalie craned her neck to stare once at the bareness of her shoulder blade, her arms barely covered by the thin, black sleeves that widened in flowery layers of chiffon and stopped just short of her elbows. This dress suddenly reminded her of her sixteenth birthday. She had been the most beautiful thing at that beautiful party. An old sensation of pleasure shot through her. She was still the most beautiful thing. At that party, at any party.

"How do I look?" she asked, looking up at him from under thick, dark lashes.

The odd, perplexed look had come back in his eyes. He looked as if some unspoken question had gone unanswered.

"Edward?" Rosalie felt the confidence that had sprung up in her wane slightly.

"Hmmm?"

"Do I look alright?"

"You look magnificent," Carlisle said, smiling in the doorway. His face was full of meaning as he caught Edward's gaze.

"Magnificent," Edward echoed, woodenly. His eyes were on something far away, as if trying to sound out a difficult word or decipher some hidden meaning.

Esme appeared behind Carlisle. She was radiant in a soft pink gown that crisscrossed at her bosom, deep rouching running along the edges of her neck.

"Shall we go?" she smiled, pulling gently on her husband's elbow.

Edward held his arm out absent-mindedly for Rosalie. She frowned and linked their arms. The two followed Esme and Carlisle out of the room.

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"Have you been to Radio City, Rosalie?" Esme asked, turning to look into the back seat of the sedan. Her golden eyes shone with excitement.

Rosalie shook her head, shifting her weight on the leather upholstery.

Beside her, Edward sat staring out the window watching the city lights grow closer as they approached the edge of New York City.

"Oh, you will just love it! Carlisle took me in January to see…what was that film, dear?"

"The Bitter Tea of General Yen," Carlisle said, his eyes on the road ahead.

"It's new, isn't it?" Rosalie asked, smoothing her mink coat at the hemline.

"The music hall? Yes," Esme smiled. "It's enormous inside. Red velvet seats and a giant stage. It just seems to go on forever! Didn't you think so, Edward?"

"Hmm?" Edward looked up, uncharacteristically not paying attention.

"Radio City. It's enormous, isn't it?" Esme repeated, looking slightly surprised at his distraction.

"It is big," he agreed, again looking out the small back window of the car.

Esme bit her lip worriedly, her eyes darting between the two of them. She said nothing else.

As they grew closer to the movie palace, the streets grew more and more crowded. Several passing motorists honked at one another. On the broad sidewalks, hundreds of pedestrians jostled one another in the growing dusk.

Rosalie felt the usual burning inside of her increase, lighting a new fire that ran to the pit of her stomach. Small pools of venom flowed in her mouth. She reached up a hand to massage her white throat, willing the ache to disappear. Outside the car, the sound of blood churning in the veins of thousands made her slightly giddy. She felt her muscles tense as a woman walked by, mere feet from the sedan door. Suddenly, it all seemed like too much to handle. She swallowed hard and fought to keep from shoving past Edward and out into the night full of warm-blooded meals.

"Try not to breathe," Carlisle said, not bothering to turn to look at her as he maneuvered the car toward the valet. "It will make it easier."

Rosalie felt Edward's eyes on her in the darkened cab and turned to catch his gaze. He stared back at her and his expression told her that no matter how much she had longed for this night, it would be anything but easy.

"You have nothing to worry about," Esme said, confidently. "We are all here with you. Isn't that right, Carlisle?"

Carlisle smiled in his wife's direction and cast his eyes on Rosalie's panicked face, "You mustn't worry. You'll be perfectly safe."

"I'm not worried about me," Rosalie said.

Carlisle and Esme laughed together.

Esme patted her knee, "I was worried on my first evening out, as well. You'll grow accustomed to it."

"What if I hurt someone?" she asked, balling her hands into fists.

"You haven't hurt anyone, yet, have you?" Esme said. "You're doing remarkably!"

Edward made a small noise in his throat that might have gone unnoticed if Rosalie hadn't been listening for it. It sounded very much like a snort. And yet, it lacked his ordinary edge of derision. He still seemed lost in thought when the valet stepped efficiently to the curb and opened the side door. Stepping neatly out, Edward turned and offered his hand to Rosalie.

As she exited the car, a wave of nausea hit her. Her mouth watered and her leg muscles tightened, ready to spring. A long red velvet rope stretched down the sidewalk in front of an enormous marquis that read: Radio City Music Hall Presents…King Kong on the Silver Screen, Starring Fay Wray, Robert Armstrong, and Bruce Cabot.

Behind the rope stood hundreds of people, some with binoculars, others waving small autograph books. A large flashbulb went off nearby.

Rosalie looked down self-consciously and noted that the small amount of skin exposed between the edge of her gloves and the beginning of her fur coat was glittering.

She almost turned and ran back to the car but felt a reassuring squeeze of her fingers and looked up at Edward. He was looking past the crowd of cheering fans to the large, glass door entrance and the waiting doorman. He tugged once on his fedora, pulling it lower to avoid the flashes of light from the camera. Even so, the right side of his face caught the light and sparkled strangely. No one around them seemed to notice. Rosalie didn't suppose they would.

There was so much commotion and most of it seemed to be focused on the other side of the entrance where a long Rolls Royce had pulled up. Rosalie dimly recognized one of the men who had stepped from the car. An actor she had seen in something…what was it?

Edward put a firm hand at the small of her back and guided her towards the edge of the rope. An enthusiastic girl waving a publicity of photo of some starlet leaned close to Rosalie as she passed. She felt a predatory snarl catch in her throat. Edward held tightly to Rosalie, reminding her to continue walking.

Again, no one seemed to notice the Cullens, beautiful and pale as they were. The screaming and shoving continued as people fought to catch a glimpse of their favorite star.

Carlisle smiled, nodding politely at several well-dressed people entering the theater. On his arm, Esme radiated happiness and relaxation. Rosalie envied her.

Inside the music hall, the cloakroom attendant stood waiting. Wordlessly, Edward lifted Rosalie's wrap from her shoulders and handed it to the man who bowed slightly before disappearing with their things.

Nearby, someone lit a cigarette. In her human life, tobacco smoke had bothered Rosalie. She had an embarrassing tendency to cough and draw attention to herself. So while most of her female counterparts had adopted the fashionable habit, she had abstained. Her new lack of need for oxygen made her wonder, though. She had often pretended to smoke, alone in her bedroom, wishing desperately to be as up-to-date as the other girls in her circle. She wasn't sure she would enjoy it much now.

Looking around her at the elegant lobby interior, Rosalie grew curious. How was it that an ordinary, by all appearances, doctor like Carlisle kept this sort of company? In Rochester, the Cullens were known as a modest couple, preferring to spend the quiet evenings in their country home and avoiding most social events. This night put any Rochester soiree to shame.

"Carlisle acted as Fay Wray's personal physician on the set of her last film," Edward murmured, leaning casually against a tall marble pillar. "He often receives invitations to her premieres, though he seldom attends."

A tinkling laugh made Rosalie glance up. A statuesque brunette in an off-the-shoulder gown stood near Carlisle and Esme, her head thrown back in delight at something the doctor had said. As before, Rosalie recognized the woman as an actress…she had seen her in a thriller. Some film Royce was all hot and bothered by. Royce…She smiled grimly, looking again at Fay Wray from under hooded lashes.

Again, she felt Edward's gaze. She turned towards him and frowned at his still confused stare, his eyes focusing on the details of her face as if trying to memorize them, understand them. "Is something wrong?"

Edward shook his head, lips pursed firmly together, "No. Nothing."

She stared back a moment before speaking, "I don't believe you."

"Suit yourself," he shrugged, following an usher into the theater.

Rosalie bit down on her tongue, hard, and followed him.

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"And now, ladies and gentlemen, before I tell you any more, I'm going to show you the greatest thing your eyes have ever beheld. He was a king and a god in the world he knew, but now he comes to civilization merely a captive - a show to gratify your curiosity. Ladies and gentlemen, look at Kong, the Eighth Wonder of the World."

Rosalie sat transfixed. Around her, whispers fluttered in the crowd.

"Don't be alarmed, ladies and gentlemen. Those chains are made of chrome steel."

As the giant gorilla broke through his restraints, the screams onscreen mingled with the screams of the audience. Rosalie felt the now familiar ache behind her eyes where her tears crystallized, never falling, frozen always. As cars and men ran after Kong, the monster searched for Ann Darrow and Rosalie felt a strange anger. He only wanted to be with Ann, only wanted to see her, to protect her…was that so wrong? Why were some creatures more deserving of happiness than others?

As the airplanes circled over the Empire State Building, Rosalie cast her eyes down into her lap. She didn't want to see anymore. Around her, the gasps of the glittering crowd continued. Ann Darrow continued to scream and struggle and Rosalie clenched her teeth. Why did it bother her so much? He loved her. Why couldn't she love him back?

She turned her head and her eyes met Edward's, the sound of the airplanes buzzing as the music swelled. Edward glanced back at the screen. The gorilla tumbled off the skyscraper and hurtled toward the ground. Rosalie grabbed Edward's arm, her face stricken.

"Oh, no…" she whispered.

"The airplanes got him."

"Oh, no. It wasn't the airplane," the showman on the screen said, staring at the fallen animal. "It was Beauty killed the Beast."

The music swelled again and the curtain fell on the scripted letters: THE END.

Loud applause surrounded them.

Rosalie looked at Edward again and he seemed to be making up his mind about something. Suddenly, he was on his feet and pulling her with him through the row of scarlet seats and towards the smoking rooms on the east end of the lobby.

"What's wrong? Where are we going?" Rosalie hissed, trying to tug herself out of his firm grip.

The three ushers they passed watched them curiously but said nothing.

Once alone in the farthest parlor, Edward spun and pushed her against the wall, his golden eyes blazing with indecision.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"You are beautiful," he spat. "You are exquisite and refined and educated and like me, you don't want this life."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, shoving against him.

"So why shouldn't I love you?" he went on, brazenly. "Why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't I?" He shook her.

"Edward…" Rosalie's mouth opened in surprise.

"What is so wrong with being happy?" he said, clenching and unclenching his teeth.

Rosalie wondered if he had finally become unhinged. "What are you sa—…"

"And I have been unhappy, Rosalie," he said, pointing a finger at her. "I have been sad and alone and in hell. So why can't I love you? Why do I feel…nothing?" His face was conflicted as he watched her.

"Maybe…" she started and stopped.

"Maybe what?" he pressed, fervently."Maybe what?"

"Maybe this is what it feels like," Rosalie said, slowly. "You've been alone so long…maybe this is how it feels to love someone." She frowned at the thought.
"This?" he repeated. "This is how it feels?"

She nodded, half-heartedly.

"Insufferable nausea and rage?" he asked. He spoke sarcastically but his eyes were torn.

Rosalie considered his words and lost expression. She pressed her lips together in thought and lifted an uncertain hand to his cool cheek. "I think," she said, finally, her voice shaking. "If we have to guess, this can't be it."

Edward nodded and pulled her hand from his face. They stood staring at one another for several long moments. Rosalie moved away from him, walking towards a small sofa near the door.

"Besides," she sniffed, breaking the silence and lighting a cigarette she had taken from a side table. She took a drag and blew out the corner of her mouth. Mae West had done that in a film once. "You are far too irritating to make anyone a suitable husband."

"I'm sure," he agreed, glancing up as a group of gentlemen entered with cigars. He watched, amused, as Rosalie attempted to blow a ring of smoke into the air. He snickered and smiled a crooked smile.

She glared and smacked him with her beaded clutch. "Don't laugh at me!"

"Come along, Miss West," Edward said, dryly, holding the door open.

Rosalie tossed her head as she exited the room, quoting, "When I'm good, I'm very good. When I'm bad, I'm better."

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Epilogue to come…

Author's Note: Looking forward to hearing what you think. If you've been reading and haven't left a review, I hope you'll leave one now. Thanks!

Research notes: The actual premier of King Kong took place on March 2 or 3 in 1933 at the Radio City Music Hall in New York City. The timeframe has been changed by approximately two months for the purposes of this narrative. A movie ticket cost 51 cents. Carlisle's car is a 1933 Buick Model 68 Victoria Coupe. The Bitter Tea of General Yen was the first film to premiere at Radio City in January of 1933. Smoking rooms really did exist in movie palaces, although smoking was fairly acceptable in almost any public place, regardless.