A/N: Thanks to my wonderful ladies for pre-reading & beta'ing: Ciaobella27, TwiDi, Mrs Boyscout & Phoenixhunter47. Couldn't do it without all of your help.
Dedicated to my friend, Pree.
DISCLAIMER: I own NOTHING. Well, apart from Mark. Everything else belongs to their various owners.
Love & Desire
When we are in love, our hearts are in the hands of our beloved and because of this we are left vulnerable to them. The idea that our beloved has the power to make or break us creates doubts and insecurities in our mind.
The way a man falls in love with a woman is different from the way she falls for him. A man, who hasn't had the opportunity of delving into the mind of his beloved, will merely be attracted to what she looks like at first glance. And so it will be, until he peels away each layer and gets to the core that makes her very special and truly beautiful.
"The most precious possession that ever comes to a man in this world is a woman's heart." - Josiah G. Holland
November 1899.
Rosalie pulled the black hood of her cloak over her head to obscure her face as she snuck out of her room. She padded down the dark hallway, hoping her boots did not make noise as they battered down the wooden floors. Her heart hammered in her chest as she passed her father's room, hearing his loud snores drift from his bedchamber.
She tried not to lose her footing as she scurried down the stairs and walked straight through the maid's quarters. Her hands grabbed onto the black, heavy metal latch and pulled it. Rose opened the door with shaky fingers and was welcomed into the cold, dark night.
She felt victory as she escaped the premises of the Hale Manor and scampered off into the streets, holding her skirts and following the empty road all the way to the Whitlock's mansion.
"Psst," she hissed, an opaque wisp exhaling from her lips. "Seth, are you there?" she called as she looked through the door scope for any sign of him.
"Rosalie?" his sleepy voice asked in bewilderment, as he stood up from his bed and walked to the door.
"Do not call my name you fool!" she hissed, glancing around for anyone in sight who might have heard him. When she was satisfied that there was no one around, she turned back to him. He had opened the door and was standing by the side of it, ushering her in.
"I thought you were not supposed to make it until–" he tapered off as he rubbed his eyes, eliminating any lingering traces of sleep now that Rosalie had taken her hood down, and the door had been closed.
"Are you going to waste this precious time by talking or are you going to kiss me?" Her pink, plump lips curved into a sinful smile that only served to stir Seth from sleep to full consciousness.
He grabbed her face with his two hands, sketching it with his palms as he drew her closer to plant his lips on hers. Rosalie closed her eyes as his tongue caressed her lower lip, making her senses spin. His left hand shifted and grabbed her shoulder with force and pulled her, yielding body to his. Seth's calloused hands roamed her body under the cloak, gliding down her waist all the way to her thighs. His fingers stroked her soft, creamy skin, sending jolts of pleasure through her body. Rosalie melted in his arms as the desire crushed her, and she was reminded of exactly why she always came to him.
~o~
Dearest Edward,
Oh, you are far too kind to compliment my beauty from only the sketch of a drawing. Would showing my face not spoil the anticipation of having you wait years to see it? When you arrive, it shall give me the pleasure of discovering if you can match my dear words to my face.
For now, I shall plead to be anonymous to you in that aspect.
Your letters give me great joy Edward, a greater joy than I am allowed to feel at the sight of them.
And you should also not tempt me with amorous words that you know a foolish girl such as me would believe and take to heart. My poor heart cannot stand false desires from you. So dear friend, it is I who is in much danger of falling for you.
I am glad that your birthday was glorious, perhaps a little of your celebration could infuse mine.
Forks is as grey as ever, even more so without your presence.
I hope to hear great stories from you soon.
Yours unconditionally,
Rosalie.
Isabella looked at her letter and felt contentment at the words she had written. Yes, Edward had professed his love for her, but she did not want to feel foolish for reciprocating those same words with affection.
However, she did indeed feel foolish for even writing the letter in the first place. Her heart could only handle so much.
"Alice, I have a question," she said, dropping the quill on top of her drawing book.
"Ask," Alice responded, as she continued braiding the curls of Isabella's long brown hair.
"What effect does love have on you?" she asked, as Alice paused and stared at Isabella's head.
She had not been anticipating that kind of question from Isabella, and so she was a little bit shocked. "I am not sure what you mean by 'effect'," Alice said, as she resumed the task of braiding once again.
"I think I should rephrase this." Isabella thought of a different approach to the conversation she had started. "How does love make you feel?" She chewed her lip, hoping that Alice would not consider her a child and decide not to answer.
"Well…" Alice trailed off, looking for the words to describe what it felt like for her. "I cannot exactly say. There are so many feelings that come with it. There is the pleasure I get when I see his face. When I look into his eyes, it is as if there is no other thing in the room, just me and him. His look says a thousand words without him uttering one. And when he touches me, I swear I get shocked by a sudden jolt that spreads and brightens almost every nerve in my body." Alice smiled as a picture of Jasper's face danced in her memory. "It is not like anything I have ever experienced before."
Isabella smiled at Alice's words, but then her face crumpled into a frown. Perhaps the feelings that she had toward Edward were not of love. She had dreamed of touching Edward, but he hadn't touched her in order for her to feel the kind of jolt that passed between two lovers. He didn't even know that she possessed such strong feelings for him.
"May I confide in you, Alice?"
"Go on."
"I know you once told me that I do not know what love is; and maybe that is true. Maybe what merely resides in my heart is of a different kind of affection. But one day, I was reading one of Sappho's poems and could not help but relate to how she felt about her lover."
"And who is Sappho?" Alice inquired with a confused brow. Alice had not been provided with the benefits of reading books or poetry; they were activities that only ladies usually engaged in. And after all, she was just a maid. It was not her business to learn about such things, unless her employer requested it.
"Sappho is a Greek poet of the sixth century who wrote very passionate love poems. And in one of her poems, she described her feelings for her lover. It was very intense." Isabella paused, getting lost in her thoughts. "He does not love me. He loves someone more beautiful. Someone who would not recognize his heart in an instant, even with her eyes open. I love him, but he will never know, and even if he does, it is not me he seeks. Yet, I cannot find the will to stop writing to him. I know I should. I know what I do is immoral behavior, and if mama heard of this she would be disappointed. But I simply cannot stop. Because I know every time he would be expecting something written from her and my heart simply cannot stand the disappointment he would feel if he receives nothing."
Isabella released a sigh, "You must think I am insane." She tucked an escaped tendril at the back of her ear.
"No, I do not." Alice placed a hand on her shoulder. "You are in love," she said with a sympathetic smile. "But you will have to let him know one day Bella. You cannot escape it. He has to know you have these feelings and he has to know it before he finds out that it is you writing the letters."
Isabella exhaled and shuddered at the thought of Edward finding out. She did not think that she could face him if he ever did. However, she was going to tell him...sometime, but not now. Now, she would send the letter to him and bask in the borrowed elation that he loved Rosalie, who in another world was her.
~o~
January 1900,
My darling Rosalie,
I am most undeniably upset that you think my desires toward you are of falsehood. Do you not know how much I have longed for you? My ardor for you has long been present before you ever spoke of yours, my love.
I feel grief toward the notion that you hold consciously in your mind that I will not be able to match your words to your face. What difference could there be in the two? Yes, the beauty of your face is a mystery for it must have changed with that of time. However, your words and you are one. You are a part of me, my dear; I will be able to recognize you in an instant once I return home. Do not underestimate me, my love.
Tempt not a desperate man! As Romeo once said.
I wish to hear those words you write with your bare hands soon, for they are the food to my poor soul.
Until then, my Rosalie, I shall think of nothing but you in my arms.
Yours always,
Edward.
"I am thinking of suitors for Isabella," Renee Swan said, as she placed her expensive pearl necklace in her jewelry box. She turned to her husband, who was using his reading spectacles to read a column in the Forks Inquirer. He was so invested in the news about the invention of light bulbs (so he could finally stop using dim candles to read in the dark) and was too intrigued by the idea of using telephones and automobiles, that he did not pay attention to what his dear wife had just said.
But this did not stop Renee from continuing her conversation. "She is maturing and turning into a beautiful woman." She walked towards the bed to join her husband, "She turns eighteen this year." She smiled proudly, as Lord Swan lowered his newspaper to glance at her, "I think that she is ready for a betrothal."
"The final age to consider marriage is five and twenty. I believe she has more time and I am sure she will not be too old by then. She is as beautiful as her mother," he added for Renee's benefit, as if that would dissipate the look of horror that had come over her face.
"What?" She exclaimed in disbelief as she stared at her husband, who had gone back to imagining the possibility of communicating with someone in England from Forks without sending a telegram. Oh, what joy! he thought. The 20th Century was looking better and better each day.
"You want her to wait till the age of five and twenty?" she asked, incredulously. "Have you no fear that Forks would be out of suitors by then?"
Of course, this reason did not deter him as much as it did his wife. As far as he was concerned, Isabella was his only child and if there was no other man to take care of her, he would gladly continue his job as her father. It pained him to think of her leaving him, especially when there was no one else to balance the ludicrousness his wife sometimes exhibited.
However, he tried his best to calm her down by saying, "I am very sure Forks will not be out of suitors by then. Men cannot miraculously disappear from the surface of the earth. Surely, if that were to happen, other men will migrate just as they migrated from Britain," he said, trying to be comical.
"You must have lost your mind!"
And that was also one of the reasons why he needed Isabella here. Who else would find humor in his jokes? Charlie sighed and dropped the newspaper on the bed. Sometimes, his wife did not understand when he just wanted to read. If he did not keep up with the news, how was he ever going to catch up with court?
"My darling," he started, only to be cut off by Renee's raging.
"No this is highly unacceptable!" She threw her hands dramatically in the air. "We cannot allow our daughter to be one of those girls who marries at an advanced age. I understand that she is a Lady and she does not need the money, but still. She cannot be the only woman in Forks who is without a husband."
Charlie fought the urge to roll his eyes, "She will not be." He rubbed his head. "At least let her reach eighteen."
"Good!" Renee huffed as she got under the thick covers and lay beside her husband. "I will think of sons of our friends that she can find similar interests with. And then we can consider what happens next."
Charlie did not want to hear his wife continue on with her rampage, so he decided to agree with her in order to sleep peacefully.
~o~
May 1900.
Rosalie Hale stood in front of the full length mirror, admiring her hour glass figure. Her eyes surveyed her beautiful reflection, darting over the purple dress cascading over her body and accentuating all her feminine curves. Her blonde hair was in wavy, glossy curls tucked in a hat with little strands escaping from it. Ladies were required to hide their hair at all times and she did loath this rule. What was the point of having hair, if you could not show it?
"You look beautiful, Miss Hale," her personal maid complimented with a smile.
Rosalie planned on expressing her gratitude, but stopped and thought about it. Her maid was merely saying the truth so there was nothing to be grateful for. Instead, Rosalie returned her smile, which was something she rarely did, before going straight to her father's study.
She knocked on the door gently and waited for her father to signal her to come in. Mr. Hale was always busy with whatever he did in his study, so much so that Rosalie was not disappointed when he told her that he could not escort her to the theatre.
"I am afraid I cannot go to the opera this evening. I have a lot of things to take care of," Mr. Hale said firmly with his eyes fixed on a bunch of papers lying on his table. "Your cousin Mark will be escorting you."
She turned her back and was on her way out when her father added, "And Rosalie?" He waited for her to turn around to face him before continuing. "Do not embarrass me," he said with a hardened glint in his eyes.
"Dear father, do I ever?" she said mockingly as she curtseyed and left him to his work.
Rosalie tried not to feel guilty and hurt at her father's reaction. He always expected the worst from her. Most of the time, she ignored him. She had become immune to his antagonism, his absence and even his anger. They both lived in the same manor, but yet it felt like they were a distance apart from each other.
Ever since her mother left, she had worried that her father had pushed all his resentment toward her.
"You are just like your mother!" He had once shouted at her, "Never happy with what you have, gallivanting all over the place like a whore."
Since then she had constructed a soul-barricade for herself to escape whatever unhappiness she saw in his face.
"My dear cousin, you are as ever – beautiful." Mark inclined himself in a bow, before kissing her gloved fingers.
"Why, so are you," she smiled.
He was about six foot tall and much built for a twenty year old gentleman. His starched suit and high collar complimented his profile. He had been her escort for a couple of events and she had found his company remarkably gratifying, especially with all the ladies that flocked toward him like moths to a flame.
He gave her most of the delightful gossip in town.
"We are stopping at the Swan's residence, Mason," she said to the coachman, before Mark lifted her onto the black velvet cushions of her carriage.
Meanwhile, at the Swan Residence, Isabella pulled her black net gloves over her hands and tried her best to tuck the rest of her hair into her bonnet. Felicia came into the room with an announcement.
"M'lady," the fifteen year old girl said, as she curtseyed in front of Isabella. "Your carriage is here and so is Miss Hale. Shall I tell her you will be out soon?" Felicia kept her eyes downcast as she waited for Isabella's approval.
"Yes, please," Isabella replied, as Alice wrapped up the finishing touches on her dress.
"I believe you are ready," she smiled at Isabella's reflection in the mirror. "Enjoy the opera and tell me all about it when you come back." Alice gave her one last glance before leaving the room.
Isabella picked up her lorgnette from the bed and then scurried outside to meet Rosalie.
"Oh, look at you," Rosalie said, as she peered through the window of her carriage. "You look gorgeous, though not as beautiful as I look. Who will be your escort?"
"I thought we always go to these things together, Rose," she blushed, noticing the way Mark kept on appraising her with his onyx eyes.
Mark, on the other hand, had never paid attention to Isabella before. And he wondered why, because he thought she looked like a very pretty girl.
"Yes, that was before we became young adults, Bella." Rosalie laughed.
"I can be your escort, Miss Swan," Mark said with a huge smile, as he opened the door.
"Oh, I do not know," Isabella replied. "Rosalie might not want to share." Isabella tipped her hat to cover her eyes as she looked down at her feet. She was slightly nervous at the attention she garnered from Mark.
Rosalie noticed this too, and replied. "What nonsense! Come in with us. Mark is greedy tonight to want to have two beautiful women on his arm, the rake that he is. Come in," Rosalie replied as Mark got down from the carriage and helped Isabella get in.
"You do look beautiful tonight, more beautiful than my cousin if I must say," he whispered in her ear as he lifted her up.
"Thank you." Isabella smiled.
"Oh, he is just deceiving you. He knows he cannot have me, so he tries to flaunt every woman in my face." Rosalie smacked his arm.
Carriages occupied both sides of the street as they stopped in front of the Metropolitan theatre. Mark got down and offered Isabella his hand. He helped both ladies out of the carriage and they were about to walk into the theatre when they were interrupted by the sound of Rosalie's name.
"Holy mother of God!" Rosalie said with disdain, as she held her chest and looked at Seth, who was panting in front of her. "What is this?" she shouted in disgust, gaining attention from pedestrians on the road. She tried to lower her voice.
"I have not heard from you since last year," Seth said, while trying to regain his breathing.
"And so you chase me down here in public. Are you out of your mind?" she questioned, as Isabella and Mark watched their conversation with curiosity.
"I am in love with you, Rosalie. I told you before and then you stopped receiving–"
"You think you are in love?" Rosalie burst into a fit of laughter, as Seth flinched backward from the sound. "In love, you say?" She continued to cackle. "Boy, you have no idea what you speak of. Now leave this place at once before I order Mason to drag you out of here on your buttocks," she hissed. "Let's go," she called out to her cousin and Isabella.
Isabella hooked her arm around Mark's right arm, while Rosalie clung to his left. When they were inside, Mark went to greet some of his friends while Rosalie and Isabella went to their opera box.
"Rosalie, that was cruel," Isabella said, once they had taken their seats.
"He does not love me. He just desires me. Desire and love are two different things that can be mistaken, and men have difficulty in separating the two. When I, the object of his affection fade away, he will run for the hills. Young boys do not love; they are only after their own sexual satisfaction," Rosalie said, picking up her lorgnette as Mark walked into their box. "Is that not right, Mark?"
"Is what not right, sweetheart?" Mark asked, taking his seat beside Isabella.
"Forget it." Rosalie did not have the energy to repeat herself. In fact, she hated repeating herself, so she turned her attention back to the stage.
Isabella was left to ponder what Rosalie had said. She wondered whether the affection Edward had for her had been just a fling. A craving, that once he was satisfied with, he would flee. Perhaps he didn't really have a strong affection for her and this was clearly just a way to possess Rosalie's beauty. After all, that was what he was attracted to in the first place.
That night, Isabella poured her fears, insecurities and frustration into the letter she sent to Edward.
Dear Edward,
How am I sure that you have indeed longed for me? How can I believe that you indeed possess any of these feelings that you claim to have? Can you prove it?
I am terribly afraid that the feelings you possess for me may constitute that of a superficial nature. And that once you have been satisfied of the desires you say you have, you will flee and abandon me, and I shall be left heartbroken.
The feelings that are embedded in my heart are those of a constant nature and they seek nothing but you, Edward. The type of love that I have for you is Celestial, according to Pausanias in Plato's symposium, which I advise you to read.
You are in my every thought. My heart burns for every word that you write; it seeks your letters almost every day. It aches with regret at the distance that separates us.
And sometimes it brings me anguish at the mere perception that someone else in England might captivate your interest and then your words would become only an ephemeral memory to me.
So I ask you to inform me sincerely if it is me you want, or merely the desire to have me, by which I mean corporeal desire.
Because when you return and I am old and haggard, I shall be longing for you, however you may desire me no more.
Take care, dear friend.
Yours unconditionally,
Rosalie.
~o~
September 1900.
"Well, he would have to be strong to be my husband; I believe no one would want a weakling to be their protector." Rosalie said, as she twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. "A man, who is worthy enough to be called a man, is an ideal man."
Currently, she sat in the Swan's drawing room with Mark, who had suddenly found such an interest in Isabella that he decided to show up at least once a week at her manor with his cousin. Isabella feigned ignorance to this fact.
"And what is your own version of an ideal man?" Mark turned to the brown-haired damsel, who was sketching the statue of Cupid and Psyche that sat on top of the fireplace. Cupid's wings were protruding up to the sky, and he held his beloved's head as if he was about to kiss her. His right hand held her face, while the left covered her breast. Psyche's two hands drew Cupid's head closer to her own, while the rest of her robe wrapped around her thighs. Isabella studied the statue a few times and found that drawing it was a bit difficult.
Mark was intrigued by the quiet and decorous attitude she had, compared to the other girls he had the pleasure of meeting. He also thought that Isabella would not enjoy the kinds of meetings he held with those girls. Isabella was the true definition of what a lady should be. Even his cousin could not argue with that.
"I do not think I have a preference," Isabella offered simply. "I do not think love has a preference. It simply loves what is bestowed upon it. It loves what it sees."
Mark leaned forward, becoming more and more fascinated by her. "So you want to marry for love?" he asked, curiosity beaming in his eyes.
"Yes, would you not?" She tore her eyes away from her sketch pad to glance at him, before returning back to the statue.
"If there is such a thing, yes," Mark relaxed back into his chair. "Perhaps if I consider that it exists."
Mark was going to elaborate on what he meant and ask her a few questions when Alice interrupted them.
"Miss Swan, your attention is needed immediately," Alice said. She always tried to call Isabella appropriately whenever she was in the presence of visitors.
"Please excuse me." Isabella dropped the drawing book on the table and followed Alice out of the room.
"This came for you." Alice handed a white, sleek envelope that had Rosalie's name scrawled elegantly on top of it in black ink.
At once, she knew whom it was from. Her heart started banging in her chest as she collected the envelope and walked to her bedchamber. She was not sure what she would find in it as she tore open the seal and sat on her bed. She unfolded the letter and took a deep breath before reading it.
Dearest Rosalie,
The familiar sea of emotions drowned her as she read the name. She wondered when she would stop hoping to see hers written in his elegant script at the top corner of the letter. With the disappointment tugging at her heart, she continued.
I understand the kind of thoughts that must be passing through your head. To say that I am quite surprised would be an understatement, because never in a thousand centuries, would I have thought that you would have such feelings for me residing in your heart.
I read your letter three times before I slept the night I received it. I was a bit overwhelmed by the declarations that you made.
But you are terribly wrong, my love. You think that I want your body, that I crave your beauty and that I want to covet you in the most animalistic and depraved way. And this is true; it might disappoint you to have you know. However I will not deny that I do not possess such feelings for you; that I do not think of what it would be like to have your body in my arms writhing in pleasure.
To see the sight of your face flushed with ecstasy. To see our bodies mold together as we become one through such an immoral act.
But why should it be immoral to have these sinful thoughts of claiming your body? I desire you, my Rosalie. I am a man and I should be ashamed of it, however I am not.
Because I want you, both body and soul. I want to offer you every single thing that I am capable of providing. I want you to be fulfilled with my love. I want you to feel it in my words, in my whisper, in my touch and in my flesh.
I want you to know what you do to me. I want you to touch my body and hear my heart race just at the feel of your hand. And I want you to acknowledge how you make me feel when I cannot find the words to express it.
How can you think that when I return I would not want you anymore, my love? I am in love with your mind. Your words keep me company. Your knowledge inspires me to do things that I have never done before. It opens my eyes to see things that I never dreamed of finding interest in.
And so even if you are old and haggard (which I know you will not be) when I return, your mind will be as intriguing and as refreshing as the very first letters we shared three years ago.
It is unbelievable to think that I have written to you for so long and yet you doubt me. I am disappointed, my love.
I know your birthday is coming up, so I have attached a gift with this letter. It is a necklace with a beautiful pendant; I think you will like it.
When you wear the chain, the pendant will rest on your chest and I will be one step closer to your heart.
I crave to read your words soon.
Yours undoubtedly,
Edward Cullen.
PS: I read the symposium and I am quite an enthusiast of Alcibiades, Socrates' lover.
Isabella crushed the letter to her heart, as if Edward's words could feel her heart beat erratically in her chest and know just exactly what he did to her. Her insecurities washed away from her body as a new feeling swallowed her.
He desired her.
Isabella's blood ran to her cheeks as she remembered his words.
That I do not think of what it would be like to have your body in my arms writhing in pleasure. To see the sight of your face flushed with ecstasy. To see our bodies mold together as we become one through such an immoral act.
She had never really thought of having Edward in such a way yet, but now that he had planted the idea into her mind, the seed grew fruitfully in her brain. Sure, she had condemned him for having those exact thoughts and he had confirmed to have them. But the way he had tied it all up and placed the icing on the cake, made her feel complete.
I am in love with your mind. And so even if you are old and haggard (which I know you will not be) when I return, your mind will be as intriguing and as refreshing as the very first letters we shared three years ago.
He wanted her body and soul. He wanted all of her, not just one part. Isabella closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Her eyes flashed open when she remembered he said he had bought a necklace for her.
Oh, he had thought of her birthday! Well, not quite. He had thought of Rosalie's birthday which was in October, while her birthday was in September. But she wouldn't allow the truth to dampen her mood.
Isabella picked up the envelope and pulled out something that was wrapped in a lot of paper. She removed each layer piece by piece until it unveiled a gold necklace with a small heart shaped pendant.
She quickly put it on and vowed to never take it off.
"Your friend is quite charming," Mark said, his fingers fiddling with his white cravat.
"Please tell me that you are not interested in her." Rosalie looked at him with a caveat glance. She knew her cousin was attracted to Isabella, but she decided to act ignorant until he informed her of it. "She is not one of those scandalous girls you know. She is every bit a lady."
"Which is why I am fascinated by her." Mark leaned forward, "I did not know that there were still such innocent girls in Forks. She is like the conquest that I never had the pleasure of taking."
"What? All the Denali whores were not good enough for you. Didn't they give you enough fight? I hear Tanya is like a priest's daughter. Surely, you could not have had it that easy."
A smug smile spread across Mark's lips.
"You are such a rake!" Rosalie looked at him in awe.
"Oh, do not make such a fuss about it. It was merely nothing." Mark smoothed his hair back.
"I see…" Rosalie brought the glass of lemonade to her lips and took a sip. "Forgive me for being curious, but why is she suddenly captivating to you? She has always been there, yet you have never showed any interest. Why now?" she questioned.
"Well, she turns ten and eight this year, and she has developed into a fine young woman."
"You want to be the first one to get your claws in her." Rosalie whispered with realization. "Son of the devil! She will not fall for you. She is better than that."
"Well, it would be worth a try. Besides, we both know she would not succumb to any of my advances, so this might purely be pleasurable for you to see me be unsuccessful using my charm. What harm could come from this?"
"Fine." Rosalie placed her cup down. "It will be nice to see someone turn you down, especially with that ego of yours."
It would also be good for Isabella to see that there were other things other ways to occupy her time, besides living in her fantasy of falling in love, Rosalie thought as she smiled.
Thank you for all the lovely reviews and also for reading!
I wrote a o/s called 'The Day Is Brave' check it out under my stories.